Thus it was on all the journey back to the Harzland. Our travel was clouded by the manifest anxiety of Ilsa lest she arrive too late to find her father alive. I pitied her drawn lips and anxious eyes; her respite at Wittenberg had been such a joyous one, and all too short. In my sympathy for her, and in her willingness to turn to any one who might afford hope and comfort, we were drawn more together than ever. If we were not yet lovers, my relations to her were already exceedingly brotherly. I could see that Moritz was remarking as much with sly and friendly eyes. “You forget that I also have ears, Ilsa,” he remarked once meaningly; “you keep all your fine talk for Walter.” The little Gräfin colored and let me alone for the next hour’s ride, but the next day we were more friendly than ever. Near Blankenburg we met news, welcome indeed to Ilsa; not so welcome for me (who heartily wished the venerable wretch dead, and his daughter through mourning him). Graf Eckbert was still alive, and despite his evil courses his tough old frame seemed like to keep his soul from his last deserts for some months longer. He was utterly helpless, however, and the ribald clowns around him were wholly unfit nurses. Ilsa’s mouth grew firm when she comprehended the situation. “He is my father,” she said gravely. “So long as he lives my place is at his side.” * * * * * Her decision, of course, destroyed my pleasure for the rest of the winter. It was impossible for me to see her; save at very rare intervals. She would not join Moritz and myself in a gallop over the frozen crust, for might not the end come at any instant? Moritz himself felt bound not to quit Schloss Blankenburg too frequently. Despite, therefore, the glory of ice and snow upon the hills and gorges I could hardly bring myself to await the end of the winter in the barren halls of the Regenstein, with only Adolf and Andrea for company. I could hardly return at once to Wittenberg, and, therefore, I resolved to go to the Rhine lands, and present letters which I had to the Archbishop of Mainz’s elegant court. I went the more willingly because I believed I might be able to win the favor of that mighty prelate, and influence him in behalf of Dr. Luther. The day before I set forth, I rode across to Blankenburg, and took leave of Ilsa. Her brother was present and we made no attempt at many words or sentiment. Her face showed her to be weary with watching, but she seemed to be striving hard to seem gay when I talked of returning “with the first buds of the spring” to join her in the chase of a red deer over the Brocken. “By that time,” I said, “I trust your father will be--better.” “Yes, better--surely better,” answered she, with a tremor in her voice, as I bowed and kissed her hand. She let it linger under my lips perhaps a little longer than mere courtesy demanded. Perhaps I, in turn, made no haste with the little ceremony.