t was maddening to think of her, just a child turning into a woman, and
wholly in his power defying him as if he were some humble lieutenant and
not the mighty Prince Karl of Auersperg.

He rose and walked angrily back and forth. Now and then he went to a
window and looked out at the dusky panorama of valley, mountain and
shaggy forest. As far as he could see and farther it was all his and
yet he was powerless in the matter that now concerned him more than all
others. She was his prisoner, and yet she was as free as air. Her soul
and her heart were her own, and he could not reach either. He knew it.
That knowledge like the little poisoned needle had punctured the
triple-plate of his complacency and pride and left him no relief from
pain, a pain that would have become intolerable had he known that of all
the bars that stood between her and him the one that nothing could move
was a young peasant in his employ, who watered and fed horses, and who
often led them up and down the road within his plain view.

And yet knowing what he did, knowing that she would not marry him, he
had no thought to give her up. Hope will often spring anew in the face
of absolute knowledge itself, and deep in his heart a belief would
appear now and then that he might yet break her to his wish. He knew
that von Arnheim, Pappenheim and Kratzek knelt at the same shrine and he
laughed harshly to himself because he was sure that they knelt in vain.
They were young, handsome, attractive, men of the world, men whom any
girl might love but she did not love any of them. He knew the signals,
and Julie certainly hung out none for von Arnheim, nor for Kratzek nor
for Pappenheim.

He ran his fingers through his great brown forked beard, just such a
beard as many a robber baron might have worn, and thought deeply of what
he should do with her, before the great council of princes and generals
assembled in his castle. She must not be there then. Awkward questions
might be asked, but if she were well hidden no trouble could befall. Von
Arnheim or Kratzek or Pappenheim might speak, but any words of his would
outweigh all of theirs and that term of a spy was wonderfully
convenient.

But he wished only himself to know where Julie had gone. He wanted no
tattle and gossip about the castle and where there were so many servants
and followers it could not be prevented unless they were kept in
ignorance. It would be best to use a stranger, one who was known but
little