The lay sister returned, bearing some wine and a plate of biscuits; and seating her in an arm-chair, the mother superior bade Elise partake of these, which she did gladly. When she had finished, the two dignitaries, who were own cousins and old friends, drew from her, little by little, the story of her flight from the castle, and of her reasons therefor. As the emperor listened he paced up and down the little stone-floored room, now frowning sternly, now softening a bit as he looked upon the fair young maiden, so spent with fear and hardship. “This is bad work, Mother Ursula,” he said at last, “and well is it that we have come to clean out the jackal’s nest. But this boy Wulf whom she speaks of—he would be here yet. Him I would see—and our good old Karl; would he were here now!” So Wulf was summoned before the great emperor, and came with swift-beating heart. Brought face to face with Rudolf, he fell upon one knee, cap in hand, and waited the monarch’s will. When the latter spoke it was with great kindliness; for well was he pleased with the goodly-looking youth. “Thou mayst rise,” he said, when he had glanced keenly over the kneeling figure. “And so thou’rt my old friend Karl’s grandson. If there’s aught in blood, thou shouldst be an honest man and a brave; for truer nor braver man ever lived, and well knows Rudolf of Hapsburg that.” A thousand thoughts and impulses surged through Wulf’s brain while the emperor spoke, but the moment seemed none for speech other than that with which he finally contented himself, saying simply: “He brought me up, Sire.” “And that is thy good fortune,” cried the emperor. “But tell me when I may have speech of my friend, for there is a matter hath brought me hither that needeth his help, though I knew not that he were even alive until the mother superior here told me of his presence hereabout. Well knew she how Rudolf loved his ancient man-at-arms.” “An he knew what was afoot,” Wulf said respectfully, “he were here now to honor the emperor. Readily could I take him a message, your Majesty,” he added. “That were well done,” began Rudolf; but Mother Ursula interrupted. “Nay,” she said, “the baron’s men belike are even now scouring the country for the boy. ’Twere the price of his life to send him forth again—at least, till the Swartzburg is taken.” “True enough,” said the emperor. “In faith, my longing in this matter hath made me forgetful. Well, I must e’en seek another messenger.” “If I might go, Sire,” Wulf persisted, with manly modesty that still further won Rudolf’s straightforward heart, “no messenger could go so quickly as I—by ways I know that are quite safe. I can fare back now, and be there by daylight.” “By the rood, no!” cried the emperor. “Thou shalt rest some hours ere we think further of this. There’s none too much such timber as thou in the land, that we should be in haste to fell it. Get thee now to refreshment and rest, and if we need thee thou shalt know it.”