“Your uncle is downstairs under the arbor, Yolanda,” said Frau Castleman, gently.  “He will tell you, sweet one, why Sir Max is not here.”

Frau Katherine and Twonette put aside their tapestry, and went with Yolanda to question Castleman in the arbor.

“Well, uncle, where are our guests?” asked Yolanda.

“They are not at the inn, and have not been there since nearly a fortnight ago,” answered Castleman.

“Gone!” cried Yolanda, aflame with sudden anger.  “He gave me his word he would not go.  I’m glad he’s gone, and I hope I may never see his face again.  I deemed his word inviolate, and now he has broken it.”

“Do not judge Sir Max too harshly,” said Castleman; “you may wrong him.  I do not at all understand the absence of our friends.  Grote tells me they went to the river one night to bathe and did not return.  Their horses and arms are at the inn.  Their squires, who had left them two hours before, have not been seen since.  Grote has heard nothing of our friends that will throw light on their whereabouts.  Fearing to get himself into trouble, he has stupidly held his tongue.  He was not inclined to speak plainly even to me.”

“Blessed Mother, forgive me!” cried Yolanda, sinking back upon a settle.  After a long silence she continued:  “Two weeks ago!  That was a few days after the trouble at the bridge.”

“What trouble?” asked Castleman.

“I’ll tell you, uncle, and you, tante.  Twonette already knows of it,” answered Yolanda.  “Less than three weeks ago I was with Sir Max near the moat bridge.  It was dark—­after night—­”

“Yolanda!” exclaimed Castleman, reproachfully.

“Yes, uncle, I know I ought not to have been there, but I was,” said Yolanda.

“Alone with Sir Max after dark?” asked the astonished burgher.

“Yes, alone with him, after it was very dark,” answered Yolanda.  “I had met him several times before.”

Castleman tried to speak, but Yolanda interrupted him:—­

“Uncle, I know and admit the truth of all you would say, so don’t say it.  While I was standing very near to Sir Max, uncle, very near, Count Calli came upon us and offered me gross insult.  Sir Max, being unarmed, knocked the fellow down, and in the struggle that ensued Count Calli’s arm was broken.  I heard the bone snap, then Calli, swearing vengeance, left us.  Why Sir Max went out unarmed that night I do not know.  Had he been armed he might have killed Calli; that would have prevented this trouble.”

“I, too, wonder that Sir Max went out unarmed,” said Castleman musingly.  “Why do you suppose he was so incautious?”

“Perhaps that is the custom in Styria.  There may be less danger, less treachery, there than in Burgundy,” suggested Yolanda.

“In Styria!” exclaimed Castleman.  “Sir Karl said that he was from Italy.  He did not tell me of Sir Max’s home, but I supposed he also was from Italy, or perhaps from Wuertemberg—­there are many Guelphs in that country.”