Mentally I counted the leagues as we told them off. Four hours’ start Forli had possessed; but one great thing was in our favor. Dr. Luther at least would not travel by night, and the Cardinal would hardly be mad enough to attack him in his lodgings; rather, fearing no pursuit, he would follow at safe distance until the Wittenberger’s little company was on a solitary road, ere speeding his foul arrow. I knew the chances were still even as to ultimate failure; that any mistake in the road, any least delay, would ruin all; but after the deeds of the past day I could misdoubt nothing. Every creaking tree, every chattering brook, spoke the same words, “God is with us! God is with us!” At length as we rode with our faces towards the East, we saw the first bright bars that tell of day. Touched by the red enchanter, rocks, streams, woods, and uplands were leaping out into glorious being. The horses themselves found again their speed and carried us swiftly forward. And with the young dawn full on her face, Ilsa turned to me and spoke, “Dear Walter, do you believe in omens?” “Just now I believe in them implicitly.” “And so do I. We have ridden out of the darkness into the light. We will ride in it hand in hand forever.” Our horses kept pace as we flew on together. If Moritz saw me riding with Ilsa’s hand in mine, no protest came from him, dear fellow; and so we sped out of the Maytime twilight into the Maytime morning. From overhead, all out of sight, came the song of the soaring lark, closer down, so that the soft leaves whipped in our faces, was the whisper of the uncounted beeches. Weary as we were with the sleepless night in the saddle, the morning air came to us like wine. “God is with us! We will save Luther!” so we called to one another, and mounted another steep. The sun had fairly given us the new day when we whirled into the one long wandering street of Liebenstein, nestling between its guardian hills and beside a clear-flowing little river. We felt not need of food, nor drink, nor rest; but for the sake of the horses we were fain to halt for a little baiting and to ask a few questions. “Had a party of riders passed before us through the village?” The brawny hostler nodded. They had spoiled his sleep a good three hours before. Eight to ten men, well mounted and armed, and seemingly hot on the road to Ruhla where the Eisenach highway came in from the west. “Is Dr. Luther in Eisenach?” demanded I with a quickness that made the fellow start. “Why, yes, your Lordship; that is, he was reported as spending the day there with his kinsfolk, and about to set forth this morning for his former journey homeward.” “Hark you, my man,” I asked, not mincing further words. “Are you his foe or friend? Do you love Germany or Italy the best? If Luther and Germany, give us a guide. It is his life or death we ride for.” “Luther and Germany? _Donnerwetter!_ what may I do for _him_!” He spoke it out in a kind of wrath at seeming to be doubted.