he following morning Fritz went early to the Wartburg. This, his last day, he would spend with his little playmate. Some time before he reached the castle, as he was walking up the hill, he caught sight of Katrina standing in the courtyard.

She made a lovely picture dressed in white, with her pigeons all about her; while in the background was the old, ivy-covered wall. Back and forth her pets were swarming; some ate the grain she had just scattered on the ground, while others preened themselves upon the brink of the now dilapidated fountain.

But as Fritz drew near, and his footsteps sounded on the gravel, there was a scurry and a rustle of wings; while very soon the birds were lost to sight in their lofty retreat in the tower. Katrina, however, the moment she spied Fritz coming, gave a little cry of pleasure, and ran to the gates to meet him.

“I was sure that thou wouldst come,” she said, “and dost thou know, Fritz, I could declare I heard thee walking here last evening, I know thy step so well. But,” the little girl added, as she took her playmate by the hand, “mÜtterchen said it was only fancy, that of course you wouldn’t be here at the castle without coming in to see us. I knew that too, Fritz; so though I thought I heard thee passing the window twice, I laughed at the very thought of thy going by just as if thou wert a ghost.”

To this Fritz said not a word. For some reason he felt that he wished to keep as a secret that which the Ivy told him; so, in consequence, would say nothing about his twilight visit to the Wartburg.

“Fritz, Fritz!” Katrina suddenly exclaimed, and it seemed as though a cloud had passed suddenly across the sun, so quick was the change in Katrina’s face. “Is it true that thou art really going to leave to-morrow?”

“Yes, Katrina, the count has written that he will send for me Thursday morning. Thou knowest the promise my father made him. But at first the count was too ill to send for me; in fact it was only the other day he was told of my father’s death.”

There were tears in Katrina’s eyes.

“What am I going to do, Fritz? I sha’n’t have any one at all to play with. Dost thou really want to go away and leave me?”

“No, no, little sister; but sometimes it falls to our lot to do things that we don’t quite wish to do. Thou knowest what duty is, Katrina?” “Yes,” replied the little girl, “mÜtterchen has told me that I must always do my duty, no matter how disagreeable the task may be.”

As she spoke, there came into the sweet childish face the promise of a nobility that would know so well how to translate duty into happiness; while, as for Fritz, he was one day to learn that ambition sometimes appears at our gates disguised as duty, and in our blindness we bid him enter.

“Is thy father here, Katrina?” Fritz asked a moment later. “Ah, yes,” he added before Katrina had time to answer, “there he is, over near the belfry; he and Hans are talking.”

“So thou hast come, Fritz, to claim the promise I made thee yesterday in Eisenach;” and, as he spoke, Rudolf came over to where the children stood. “I told thee, I remember, that as thou art going away so soon, I would give thee and the mÄdchen here a glimpse into the castle.”

Both Fritz and Katrina were delighted, and the latter, catching one of her father’s hands, kissed it rapturously.

“It will have to be only a little visit, though, as I’ll be very busy later in the morning, so where shall we begin?”

“This is to be your treat, Herr Rudolf,” Fritz replied; “so we’ll leave the choice to you.”

“Well, then, suppose we begin out here with the rooms where Martin Luther stayed when he was a prisoner at the Wartburg.”

“Yes, yes, show us Luther’s rooms!” and the two children took Rudolf by either hand.

He led them across the courtyard, past the old stables now converted into a brewery; on beyond the barbican, the south tower, and the belfry, until they reached the Knight’s House, sacred with its memories and traditions of Martin Luther.