The two religions stood in arms against each other; Catholics and Protestants differed not only in faith but in politics.  In all things they were actively and openly opposed to each other, and the thought that she might be compelled to abjure her faith was most terrible to the girl; and she was firmly resolved that, so long as her strength lasted and her mind was unimpaired, she would resist whatever pressure might be placed upon her, and would yield neither to menaces, to solitary confinement, or even to active cruelty.  The prospect, however; had weighed heavily upon her mind.  Her father had appeared to consider any escape impossible; her mother had said nothing of her hopes; and the words which Malcolm had spoken, indicating something like a surety of freeing her from her terrible position, filled her with surprise and delight.

“Whom have you here?” the governor asked, indicating Malcolm by a motion of the head.

“It is a craftsman from Nuremberg.  The clock had stopped, and the count, with whom the hours pass but slowly, fretted himself at not being able to count them; so I asked our attendant to bring hither a craftsman to put it in order, first sending her with a note to you asking for permission for him to come; as you were out your deputy signed the order.”

“He should not have done so,” the baron said shortly, “for the orders are strict touching the entry of any here.  However, as he has taken the clock to pieces, he can put it together again.”  So saying he went over to the table where Malcolm was at work and stood for a minute or two watching him.  The manner in which Malcolm fitted the wheels into their places, filing and oiling them wherever they did not run smoothly, satisfied him that the youth was what he seemed.

“You are young to have completed your apprenticeship,” he said.

“It is expired but two months, sir,” Malcolm said, standing up respectfully.

“Under whom did you learn your trade?” the governor asked; “for I have been in Nuremberg and know most of the guild of clockmakers by name.”

“Under Jans Boerhoff, the syndic of the guild,” Malcolm replied.

“Ah!” the baron said shortly; “and his shop is in —­ "

“The Cron Strasse,” Malcolm said promptly in answer to the implied question.

Quite satisfied now, the baron turned away and conversed a few minutes with the count, telling him that as the surgeon said he could now be safely removed he would in three days be transferred to an apartment in the fortress.

“Will the countess be permitted to accompany me?” the count asked.

“That I cannot tell you,” the baron replied.  “We are expecting a messenger with his majesty’s orders on the subject tomorrow or next day.  I have already informed you that, in his solicitude for her welfare, his majesty has been good enough to order that the young countess shall be placed in the care of the lady superior of the Convent of St. Catherine.”