"I swear to you, Mein Herr, that you mistake me for some one else. I am the poor little wife of a citizen, Juliane Eichhörn--who sells groceries in the Bürger-platz. My husband has been maltreated by the boors, and is lying in deadly peril at a farmhouse, some ten miles distant. A hundred yards from the gate I am to meet a messenger, who will tell of his health. Oh, Mein Herr! excuse me--excuse the order; for I swear that I have lost it, and am dying with anxiety to hear how my husband--my dear husband--my Reichardt, is." All this was said with such an air of candour and sincerity, and accompanied by so many sobs and tears, that I was greatly moved and perplexed. Duty on one hand urged me to send her back to the city or guard-house, from whence, if her story was false, she might be sent to the Rasp-haus; curiosity, love, and jealousy, all prompted me to fathom the story, and send her on her mission. "I will follow her for a hundred yards or so--'tis only a falcon shot from the gate," said I; "but, lest there should be treachery, lend me your pistols, Diarmed, and if you hear me fire send out a few files to my assistance. You may pass, lady," said I in Spanish, "but pray excuse my accompanying you." I led her through the klinket, stuck Diarmed's pistols--a handsome pair of Highland pops, mounted with silver and bushed with gold--in my belt, and, with a mixed feeling of curiosity and apprehension, followed my mysterious little dancer; with curiosity and eagerness to make her acquaintance, and apprehension lest I might be led into some wicked ambush, or be found absent from my guard when the governor went his rounds, which he did every night at a certain hour. And what think you decided me in perpetrating this rashness? only a glimpse of a pretty foot and ancle, as my dancer was about to step through the klinket! Avoiding the road which led to Crempen, she struck into a solitary pathway that led between low hedgerows, along the north bank of the Elbe. "Señora," said I, in Spanish, "you walk very fast." "Señor--I walk as I please," she replied in the same language. "Oho! then you acknowledge that you are not of Sleswig, but a Spaniard?" "I acknowledge nothing," she replied, with some asperity. "And that you are not the little wife of a citizen who sells groceries, but the charming Prudentia?" "I acknowledge nothing," she repeated, but with a smile that shewed her fine teeth under the dark mask. "But I have every reason to suppose----" "Cavalier, you may suppose just what you please. I am outside the barrier now; ha, ha!" and she laughed. "But I may take you prisoner yet." "Scarcely," said she, with another of her ringing laughs, as her small jewelled hand held before me the blade of a short but sharp stiletto of polished steel. "The devil!--bright eyes and a dagger!--'tis quite a tragedy this!" "It may end as a comedy, if you are kind to me."