“I myself am but just from Palestine, brave chief and noble maiden. I saw the gallant knight of Liebenstein at the right hand of the imperial Conrad. And he, ladye, was the only knight whom admiration shone upon without envy, its shadow. Who then,” continued the minstrel, once more striking his harp, “who then would remain inglorious in the hall? Shall not the banners of his sires reproach him as they wave; and shall not every voice from Palestine strike shame into his soul?” “Right!” cried Otho, suddenly, and flinging himself at the feet of his father. “Thou hearest what my brother has done, and thine aged eyes weep tears of joy. Shall I only dishonour thine old age with a rusted sword? No! grant me, like my brother, to go forth with the heroes of the Cross!” “Noble youth,” cried the harper, “therein speaks the soul of Sir Warbeck; hear him, sir, knight,--hear the noble youth.” “Heaven cries aloud in his voice,” said the Templar, solemnly. “My son, I cannot chide thine ardour,” said the old chief, raising him with trembling hands; “but Leoline, thy betrothed?” Pale as a statue, with ears that doubted their sense as they drank in the cruel words of her lover, stood the orphan. She did not speak, she scarcely breathed; she sank into her seat, and gazed upon the ground, till, at the speech of the chief both maiden pride and maiden tenderness restored her consciousness, and she said,-- “_I_, uncle! Shall _I_ bid Otho stay when his wishes bid him depart?” “He will return to thee, noble ladye, covered with glory,” said the harper: but Otho said no more. The touching voice of Leoline went to his soul; he resumed his seat in silence; and Leoline, going up to him, whispered gently, “Act as though I were not;” and left the hall to commune with her heart and to weep alone. “I can wed her before I go,” said Otho, suddenly, as he sat that night in the Templar’s chamber. “Why, that is true! and leave thy bride in the first week,--a hard trial!” “Better than incur the chance of never calling her mine. Dear, kind, beloved Leoline!” “Assuredly, she deserves all from thee; and, indeed, it is no small sacrifice, at thy years and with thy mien, to renounce forever all interest among the noble maidens thou wilt visit. Ah, from the galleries of Constantinople what eyes will look down on thee, and what ears, learning that thou art Otho the bridegroom, will turn away, caring for thee no more! A bridegroom without a bride! Nay, man, much as the Cross wants warriors, I am enough thy friend to tell thee, if thou weddest, to stay peaceably at home, and forget in the chase the labours of war, from which thou wouldst strip the ambition of love.” “I would I knew what were best,” said Otho, irresolutely. “My brother--ha, shall he forever excel me? But Leoline, how will she grieve,--she who left him for me!”