dishonour. If thou fearest that thy dull lord suspects,
let us part. The emperor hath sent to me from Frankfort. Ere evening I
might be on my way thither."

"And I left to brave the barbarian's revenge alone? Is this thy
chivalry?"

"Nay, prate not so wildly," answered the Templar. "Surely, when the
object of his suspicion is gone, thy woman's art and thy Greek wiles can
easily allay the jealous fiend. Do I not know thee, Glycera? Why, thou
wouldst fool all men--save a Templar."

"And thou, cruel, wouldst thou leave me?" said the Greek, weeping. "How
shall I live without thee?"

The Templar laughed slightly. "Can such eyes ever weep without a
comforter? But farewell; I must not be found with thee. To-morrow I
depart for Frankfort; we shall meet again."

As soon as the door closed on the Templar, the Greek rose, and pacing
the room, said, "Selfish, selfish! how could I ever trust him? Yet I
dare not brave Otho alone. Surely it was his step that disturbed us
in our yesterday's interview? Nay, I will fly. I can never want a
companion."

She clapped her hands; a young page appeared; she threw herself on her
seat and wept bitterly.

The page approached, and love was mingled with his compassion.

"Why weepest thou, dearest lady?" said he. "Is there aught in which
Conrad's services--services!--ah, thou hast read his heart--_his
devotion_ may avail?"

Otho had wandered out the whole day alone; his vassals had observed
that his brow was more gloomy than its wont, for he usually concealed
whatever might prey within. Some of the most confidential of his
servitors he had conferred with, and the conference had deepened the
shadow of his countenance. He returned at twilight; the Greek did not
honour the repast with her presence. She was unwell, and not to be
disturbed. The gay Templar was the life of the board.

"Thou carriest a sad brow to-day, Sir Otho," said he; "good faith, thou
hast caught it from the air of Liebenstein."

"I have something troubles me," answered Otho, forcing a smile, "which I
would fain impart to thy friendly bosom. The night is clear and the moon
is up, let us forth alone into the garden."

The Templar rose, and he forgot not to gird on his sword as he followed
the knight.

Otho led the way to one of the most distant terraces that overhung the
Rhine.

"Sir Templar," said he, pausing, "answer me one question on thy knightly
honour. Was it thy step that left my lady's bower yester-eve at vesp