"To
the cherished memory of the Royal lovers of Gutenfels!"
The Archbishop's eyes twinkled as he looked across the table at
Hildegunde.
"This seems to be a time of Royal betrothals," he said, raising his
flagon.
"'Seems' is the right word, Guardian," replied the Countess.
Then she sipped the ancient wine of Caub.
Next morning Hildegunde was early afoot. Notwithstanding her trouble of
mind, she had slept well, and awakened with the birds, so great is the
influence of youth and health. During her last conscious moments the
night before, as she lay in the stately bed of the most noble room the
Castle contained, she bitterly accused herself for the disastrous
failure of the previous day. The Archbishop of Cologne had given her
good counsel that was not followed, and his disappointment with the
result, generously as he endeavored to conceal it, was doubtless the
deeper because undiscussed. Thinking of coming captivity, a dream of
grim Pfalz was expected, but instead the girl's spirit wandered through
the sweet seclusion of Nonnenwerth, living again that happy, earlier
time, free from politics and the tramp of armed men.
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