Ekkehard had been trying meanwhile to compose an address, which in faultless Latin was intended to justify the strange liberty he was about to take,--but when she stood before him, proud and commanding, his voice failed him, and the speech remained where it had been conceived,--in his thoughts. Otherwise, however, he had not lost his courage, and so he lifted up his fair burden with his strong arms, who, putting her right arm round his shoulder, seemed not displeased with her novel position. Cheerfully he thus stepped over the threshold which no woman's foot was allowed to touch; the abbot walking by his side, and the chamberlain and vassals following. The serving ministrants swung their censers gaily into the air, and the monks marching behind in a double file as before, sung the last verses of the unfinished hymn. It was a wonderful spectacle, such as never occurred, either before or after in the monastery's history, and by those prone to useless moralising many a wise observation might be made, in connexion with the monk's carrying the duchess; on the relation of church and state in those times, and the changes which have occurred since,--but these reflections we leave each one to make for himself.--Natural philosophers affirm, that at the meeting of animate objects, invisible powers begin to act, streaming forth and passing from one to the other, thus creating strange affinities. This theory was proved true at least with regard to the Duchess and her bearer, for whilst she was being rocked in his arms, she thought inwardly: "Indeed, never the hood of St. Benedict has covered a more graceful head than this one," and when Ekkehard put down his burden with shy deference in the cool cross-passage, he was struck by the thought, that the distance from the gate had never appeared so short to him before. "I suppose that you found me very heavy?" said the Duchess. "My liege lady, you may boldly say of yourself as it has been written, 'my yoke is easy and my burden is light,'" was the reply. "I should not have thought, that you would turn the words of Scripture into a flattering speech. What is your name?" "They call me Ekkehard." "Ekkehard, I thank you," said the Duchess with a graceful wave of her hand. He stepped back to an oriel window in the cross-passage, and looked out into the little garden. Was it mere chance that the image of St. Christopher now rose before his inward eye? He also considered his burden a light one, when he began to carry the child-stranger through the water, on his strong shoulder; but heavier and heavier the burden weighed on his back, and pressing him downwards into the roaring flood, deep, and deeper still; so that his courage began to fail him, and was well nigh turned into despair?...