Should Max marry a burgher girl, his father and mother would never look upon his face again. It would alienate his subjects, humble his house, and bring him to the level of the meanest noble on the Danube. To all these dire consequences Max was quite as wide awake as I. He had no intention of bringing them upon his house, though for himself he would have welcomed them. So I felt little uneasiness; but when a great love lays hold upon a great heart, no man may know the outcome. CHAPTER VIII ON THE MOAT BRIDGE Awaiting Castleman's return, we remained housed up at The Mitre, seldom going farther abroad than Grote's garden save in the early morning or after dark. But despite our caution trouble befell us, as our burgher friend had predicted. Within a week Max began to go out after dark without asking me to accompany him. When he came into our room late one evening, I asked carelessly where he had been. I knew where he had been going, and had burned to speak, but the boy was twenty-two. Within the last few months he had grown out of my tutelage, and his native strength of character had taught me to respect him and in a certain way to fear him. From the promptness of his reply I thought that he had wished me to ask concerning his outgoing and incoming. "I have been to the bridge over the moat, near Castleman's House under the Wall," he answered. "What did you there?" I asked, seeing his willingness to be questioned. "I stood there--I--I--" He paused, laughed, and stammered on. "I looked at the castle and at the moat, like a silly fool, and--and--" "Castleman's house?" I suggested, helping him out. "Y-e-s," he answered hesitatingly, "I could not help seeing it. It is close by the bridge--not twenty paces distant." "Did you see any one else--except the house?" I asked. "No," he returned promptly. "I did not want to see any one else. If I had I should have entered the house." "Why, then, did you go to the bridge?" I queried. "I cannot answer that question even to myself," he replied. "I--I--there is a constant hungering for her, Karl, that I cannot overcome; it seems as if I am compelled to go to the bridge, though I know I should not. It is very foolish in me, I am sure, but--" "I heartily agree with you," I answered. "It is not only foolish, it is rash; and it may bring you great trouble." I did not deem it necessary to tell him that he was following in the footsteps of his race. I left him to suppose that he was the only fool of the sort that had ever lived. The thought would abate his vanity. "But I _must_ go to the bridge," he continued, finishing the sentence I had interrupted, "and I do not see how there can be evil in it."