It was six good leagues from Marburg to Giessen. We put our horses at speed, but the afternoon was half sped when we clattered over the stones of the little South Hessian city. We lost more precious time in searching the inns for Moritz and for my own retainers, who had wisely attached themselves to him. At last at the “Landgraf” we found them. Time fails to relate all the laughter and greetings, and what I said, and Moritz said, and Ilsa said, or how Adolf and Gunter almost hugged me like bears when they fairly had me. Then when the raptures had ended we held a hurried but sober council. Forli had nigh ten hours the start of us, and I had not been able to overhear, in my captivity, all the details of the route he intended to follow. The only thing whereof we could be certain was that he was posting for Eisenach, and that near that city Dr. Luther had intended to halt and visit his kinsfolk. There seemed nothing for it save to spur after, and to trust to such tidings as we could get along the way to guide us more securely. Then when this seemed settled Moritz and I both looked at one another and spoke one word. “Ilsa?” Manifestly it had been impossible to leave her amongst strangers at Marburg, as manifestly it seemed impossible to leave her alone at Giessen. I was even talking of seeking whether a local nunnery could harbor her a few days, when Ilsa cut all knots for us. “Dear brother, you know all that I am to Walter and what I wish to do. Could I not ride with the best over the slopes of the Brocken? Give me a horse. I will show myself your sister still. And then come what may,” her hand stole into mine, “we shall always be together.” Moritz pursed his lips and frowned, but ended with a laugh. “Another horse,” he ordered. And then he looked at Ilsa’s clothes. For though at Marburg we had called into requisition one of Sister Hemma’s cloaks, a nun’s dress was a strange enough habit for a ride like ours. But Ilsa’s face turned rosy red; a red that did me good, her cheeks had been pale so long. “I will ride, brother. By the time the horse is ready, I am ready also. Leave the rest to me and to Andrea.” So we suffered her to quit us, being ourselves full of such matters as sifting out the best of our men, providing weapons, and looking to the saddlery. At last, even as we ordered “One side-saddle” to the grooms, forth to the courtyard to greet us came as pert and smiling a page-boy as ever wore a red doublet, high black boots, or a rakish green cap and feather, which sat delightfully upon a mass of waving golden hair. How Andrea had found the costume, time lacked to inquire; but I was long past wondering at his legerdemain. Moritz frowned again; but who could deny her now? Lightly as a sprite she bounded to the saddle of my tallest palfrey, and looked down on me, smiling radiantly.