"I will say no more; I am silent as a karthäuser monk. But I will say that this hand is not an old woman's ... well, well, your lovely venerableness hears that I keep silent."
"Tempus est consummatum, itur in missam," said a solemn voice at the door, and the nun hastened her task. In a few moments the prisoners were again alone.
"I have heard that voice before," said Bertel thoughtfully. "We are surrounded by mysteries."
"Bah!" replied the captain, "it was a mangy and jealous monk. Bless me, what a dear little hand!"
CHAPTER II.
TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
When the autumn sun on the following morning spread its first rays into the turret room, Bertel arose and looked out of the iron-barred window. It was a beautiful view that here met his eye. Underneath the turret wound a lovely river, and on the other side of it lay a town with thirty spires, and beyond were seen a number of still verdant vineyards.
Bertel at once recognised Würzburg. The castle of Marienburg, where the prisoners were confined, had at the retreat of the Swedes fallen back into the bishop's hands; but his grace, on account of the insecurity of the times, did not return there himself, but remained in Vienna. The castle had suffered much, from the last conquest, and the consequent plundering; one tower had been destroyed, and the moat was filled up in several places. At present there were only fifty men in the garrison, guarding the sisters of charity from the cloisters in the town, and many sick and wounded.
When Bertel had carefully examined his prison, he thought he recognised Regina's room, the same in which that beautiful young lady with her maids in waiting had watched the battle, and where the image of the Holy Virgin had been broken into fragments by the splinters from the cannon-shot.*
* The surgeon forgets that this room was totally destroyed.—Author.