uch," replied Wolff firmly.

"And the law of love gives you the right to withhold an answer. But,
sir, we must nevertheless learn for the sake of what fairest fair we
have each foregone sleep."

"Then tell me, by your favour, your lady's colour," Wolff asked the
Swiss.

The latter laughed gaily: "I am still putting that question to my
saint."

Then, noticing Wolff's shake of the head, he went on in a more serious
tone: "If you will have a little patience, I hope I may be able to tell
you, ere we part."

This assurance also seemed to Wolff an enigma. Who in the wide world
would come from under the respectable Ortlieb roof, at this hour, to
tell a stranger anything whatsoever concerning one of its daughters?
Neither could have given him the right to regard her as his lady, and
steal at night, like a marten, around the house which contained his
dearest treasure. This obscurity was an offence to Wolff Eysvogel, and
he was not the man to submit to it. Yonder insolent fellow should learn,
to his hurt, that he had made a blunder.

But scarcely had he begun to explain to Heinz that he claimed the right
to protect both the daughters of this house, the younger as well as the
older, since they had no brother, when the knight interrupted:

"Oho! There are two of them, and she, too, spoke of a sister. So, if it
comes to sharing, sir, we need not emulate the judgment of Solomon. Let
us see! The colour is uncertain, but to every Christian mortal a name
clings as closely as a shadow and, if I mention the initial letter of
the one which adorns my lady, I believe I shall commit no offence that
a court of love could condemn. The initial, which I like because it is
daintily rounded and not too difficult to write-mark it well--is 'E.'"

Wolff Eysvogel started slightly and gripped the dagger in his belt,
but instantly withdrew his hand and answered with mingled amusement
and indignation: "Thanks for your good will, Sir Knight, but this, too,
brings us no nearer our goal; the E is the initial of both the Ortlieb
sisters. The elder who, as you may know, is my betrothed bride, bears
the name of Elizabeth, or Els, as we say in Nuremberg."

"And the younger," cried Heinz joyously, "honours with her gracious
innocence the name of her through whom sin came into the world."

"But you, Sir Knight," exclaimed Wolff fiercely, "would do better not to
name sin and Eva Ortlieb in the same breath. If you are of a different
opinion----"

"Then