"Alas!" said she, faintly, "I have but too long suspected what you now tell me—Rise, I pray you, rise."
"Never till you hear me," said the youth, seizing one of her hands, which trembled, but hardly could be said to struggle in his grasp.—"Hear me," he said, with the enthusiasm of first love, when the obstacles of bashfulness and diffidence are surmounted,—"My father and I are—I acknowledge it—bound on a most hazardous and doubtful expedition. You will very soon learn its issue for good or bad. If it succeed, you shall hear of me in my own character—If I fall, I must—I will—I do claim a tear from Anne of Geierstein. If I escape, I have yet a horse, a lance, and a sword; and you shall hear nobly of him whom you have thrice protected from imminent danger."
"Arise—arise," repeated the maiden, whose tears began to flow fast, as, struggling to raise her lover, they fell thick upon his head and face. "I have heard enough—to listen to more were indeed madness, both for you and myself."
"Yet one single word," added the youth; "while Arthur has a heart, it beats for you—while Arthur can wield an arm, it strikes for you, and in your cause."
Annette now rushed into the room.
"Away, away!" she cried—"Schreckenwald has returned from the village with some horrible tidings, and I fear me he comes this way."
Arthur had started to his feet at the first signal of alarm.
"If there is danger near your lady, Annette, there is at least one faithful friend by her side."
Annette looked anxiously at her mistress.
"But Schreckenwald," she said—"Schreckenwald, your father's steward—his confidant.—Oh, think better of it—I can hide Arthur somewhere."