His daughter Trude had served for a number of years in the scullery of the nuns of Quedlinburg. She was a “pious and honest maid,” her father avowed, “in whom the Lady Abbess had great confidence, and indeed it was for her sake, I think, I was merely flogged and driven out, not hanged outright.” She knew all the convent gossip, what young Sister Marthe said, and what old Kunigund said, besides picking up a good many stories on her own account,--all of which tales, mostly silly and harmless enough, she was wont to pass on to her father when they met on Sundays and feast days. Very good. I led the fellow through a long maze, he, poor wretch, never dreaming whither all my talk ran, and instantly expecting Adolf and Rüdiger to come in and march him straight to the gibbet. “Now, fellow, recollect carefully.” I put all possible menace into my tone. “Do not lie, or your eyes are gouged out and hot coals inserted. Has your daughter ever spoken of a kinswoman of the abbess who lately entered the convent?” “The new Sister Ilsa?” “Yes, scoundrel, that I think was the name. Now tell all this Trude of yours had to say about that new Sister Ilsa.” “Well, Sister Ilsa entered the convent in the winter. She had a very short novitiate. A dispensation from the bishop or something like that--your Countly Grace knows better than I. They said she was the abbess’s niece, but I think My Lady showed her more rather than less severity on that account. Bread and water all day in her cell, for the most trivial error in telling her beads; and then to lie all night in the cold chapel before the altar, her arms spread out cross-fashion.” “That is Aunt Theckla for a surety!” muttered Moritz in my ear. “The poor thing would be all blue and pale from the cold until the summer came. The nuns said she was very pious; no one more rigorous with herself than she. She seemed very unhappy. Often Trude said she looked to have been weeping. Once Sister Marthe said that there was a long story about this nun; that her father had died a raging and godless man; that she had once a lover who seemed a fine brave ritter indeed; but who presently seemed like to prove as bad as her father. So Sister Ilsa had sought the convent to pray for their souls, but she was finding no peace, much less happiness. ‘She is not the kind for the convent,’ Sister Marthe said; ‘still vows are vows, and so she must make the best of it.’” If Moritz had not given my elbow a mighty nudge, I would have cried out some witless thing, even before that felon. As it was, I plucked up strength to ask--my own lips twitching. “How long since you heard this from Trude?” “The day, Countly Grace, before I had the quarrel with the Vogt: ah! mercy! pity! great lords. I was in great misery! I have tried indeed to live honest!” Down he went on his knees, and began at once bleating and bellowing. I clapped my hands: Adolf and two others entered expectantly.