fray, and in a few minutes the enemy were in full retreat.
As Conrad was putting his dagger back in its sheath, two of Albrecht's men came forward with a prisoner. It was none other than the minnesinger, his lute gone, his gay clothes torn, his face pale with terror, as he stood before the man he had betrayed.
Conrad gazed scornfully upon him.
Then he turned to Dolf, who stood apart.
"Come hither!" he cried. Dolf approached with a firm but modest mien.
His young master laid a hand gently upon his shoulder.
"Good and faithful friend," he said, "I have done wrong in trusting a stranger rather than thee whom I have so long known and so often proved. This stranger is now at thy mercy. Do what thou wilt with him."
Dolf's breast heaved, and for a moment
