“Moritz,” I continued, “you believe in God. You believe that He is kindly, compassionate, forgiving; that if He is merciful to our sins, He is still more merciful to our blunders. Do you think it for His honor and glory, and do you think He is well pleased that when one of His children has taken upon herself vows for a life for which she is all unfitted, a life which makes herself and one she truly loves miserable beyond words, that those vows should be kept forever?” He looked at me distractedly an instant, then his eyes opened in a mingled wonder and dread. “Holy Christ!” he swore, “you do not mean--” With him I knew there was no way better than perfect frankness. “I mean full soon to ride into the Regenstein with your sister my true and honored wife.” He was somewhat slow of thought; at last he spoke, though all over he was a-tremble. “Yesterday at this hour I would have vowed ‘impossible.’ To-day, after hearing Dr. Luther’s great words, after feeling that the old priests’ faith was dying, that the better men’s faith was at hand--what shall I say? She is my sister. Who shall guard her honor save I?--” A long pause, and then, “You shall have her, Walter, if but Dr. Luther bless your wedding; and then God keep and bless us all!” We pressed hands silently. A little later Andrea came to say that a strange man in burgher’s dress demanded to see me, and I went to the outer chamber. * * * * * It all befell very simply. I had gone to my fate as blindly as an ox to the slaughter. A decently dressed fellow of few words had asked me to visit a certain obscure inn situate near the Rhine gate, “Where he believed he could reveal to me a conspiracy against Dr. Luther.” I had followed him unhesitatingly, without even a word of explanation to Moritz. My informant declared I must come alone, or the plotters would grow suspicious. Possessed by the single thought that my master might be in some new danger, I had gone out into the street with barely the word to Andrea “To watch Dr. Luther like gold till I returned.” As for myself, I had not the least anxiety in the world. Was I not surely as safe as the hundred other German nobles attending the Diet? I had followed my conductor through circuitous and noisome alleys, until we passed into a narrow court before a tall, but very decrepit ancient mansion. Throwing open the narrow battered door the fellow motioned me to enter. “This is a strange place to bring me,” I remarked with a shrug, for the first time debating the good faith of his errand. “Your Lordship will discover in a moment the object of bringing you hither,” came the complacent answer. “You will have opportunity to hear the converse of some of Luther’s most malignant enemies.”