He was too agonized now even to protest. As for myself, I leaned upon the casement and gazed forth upon the neighborly battlements of Schloss Blankenburg. Old Hedwig’s words were running in my head:-- “Half of Northland, Half of Southland, Never gay Till all of _one_ land.” “Perhaps,” I said very carelessly to myself, “Lady Ilsa will never enter the convent.” CHAPTER VII WHAT BEFELL AT SCHLOSS BLANKENBURG Two days later young Lord Moritz rode over from Blankenburg, and with blunt civility invited me to join in the hunt; and I ran down a red deer that afternoon in his company, enjoying a notable chase. His sister rode with us. She mounted a tall Pomeranian bay, taking the hedges and ravines like a Turkish trooper. She wore a bewitching green habit, with a green silk cap set with a long red feather; and was in at the death, aiding us in flogging off the dogs. “A proper novitiate for a destined nun,” I meditated, as I watched her spring unaided from the saddle, her golden hair flying, her eyes dancing, her cheeks all red and bloom with fair excitement. Artlessly as the brook she chattered, and I found the same delight in her company one would take with a merry child. Our chase led us far over the Harz, beside the rocky windings of the stream by the Ilsenburg, and while we halted to watch the slim trout shooting in the pools, my companion told me the story of the Princess Ilsa--her namesake of legend--the king’s daughter who dwelt on the crags above the stream, and all that befell her. As for Ritter Moritz, I found him a sober young cavalier, courteous after a blunt way, and very anxious to show civility. I could guess that his position at Blankenburg was a hard one, and resolved to return his friendship. The next day my precious books arrived at the Regenstein and I was happy for the next two weeks. Then came an invitation to spend the evening with the Graf von Blankenburg, and since I was beginning to grow tired even of Homer, Sophocles, and Politiano, I was not sorry to signify my acceptance. * * * * *