That lapse of mine was almost my undoing. I was carried backward by a new onslaught led by Jan. He bounded into the room. In an instant the rest would have followed; we would have been hewn in pieces before any could hearken to a word; but even as I swung my partisan and strove by one last effort to beat him down, Ilsa did one deed more. I saw her bend and take from the lifeless grasp of Marianna the second pistol, then straight over my shoulder she aimed it as coolly as when she levelled on a Harzland doe. The black serge of the sleeve swept against my cheek. Close to my ear went the rattle of the wheel-lock. The thunder flash! Through the cloud of smoke I saw the mighty Jan sinking to his knees. I ran to the door, my weapon flashing terribly, and the rest cowered back like sheep. “Enough of folly!” I trumpeted, and at length they heard me. “I am not mad; but this Italian woman has murdered the Abbess of Quedlinburg and striven to murder this nun. We fought only in defence of our lives. I am a German nobleman, the free Graf von Regenstein, and can prove my name and sanity to any magistrate. Now you who love truth, justice, Germany, and Luther make ready swift horses and escort, for this French Vicomte di Barras, who is in truth the Cardinale di Forli, has ridden after Dr. Luther to seize him and burn him at Rome.” They heard me readily enough now. The fall of Jan had robbed them of all stomach for fighting. The landlord of the inn came forward, pitifully distressed at recent happenings under his roof, and anxious at all costs to still the tumult. A grave Sir Councillor of the city appeared, a man who had read all of Dr. Luther’s books and who loved the Cause right well. My clothes hung about me in ribbons, my face was bloody, I had a shrewd wound on the thigh; but I could still put on dignity and talk as became the Lord of the Regenstein. In ten minutes I had convinced these worthies that my tale rang true. In ten minutes more they were ordering the fastest horses in Marburg under saddle to speed us to Giessen, to join our other friends, and ride as seldom men ride, to save the hero of Germany. Only when all this was done could I turn back for words with Ilsa. She had not left the room of battle. They had taken away Jan, still alive, and with a passing chance to recover; but on the two beds lay the silent forms which an hour before had been the abbess and the Italian. Ilsa’s dress was tattered beyond telling. The black coif and white veil had vanished. Over her head the short nun’s hair was scattered in golden curls. As I came to her she cast herself into my arms. There for a good moment she sobbed, and we had joy together. At last she looked upon one of the beds. “Was she indeed so evil?” she asked gently; “she was very beautiful.” I could not but smile, though I fear not merrily.