"Nay," said Baron Conrad, gruffly, "I will rob the city swine no
longer, for that was the last thing that my dear one asked of
me."

The old Abbot's face lit up with a smile. "I am right glad that
thy heart was softened, and that thou art willing at last to
cease from war and violence."

"Nay," cried the Baron, roughly, "I said nothing of ceasing from
war. By heaven, no! I will have revenge!" And he clashed his
iron foot upon the floor and clinched his fists and ground his
teeth together. "Listen," said he, "and I will tell thee how my
troubles happened. A fortnight ago I rode out upon an expedition
against a caravan of fat burghers in the valley of Gruenhoffen.
They outnumbered us many to one, but city swine such as they are
not of the stuff to stand against our kind for a long time.
Nevertheless, while the men-at-arms who guarded the caravan were
staying us with pike and cross-bow from behind a tree which they
had felled in front of a high bridge the others had driven the
pack-horses off, so that by the time we had forced the bridge
they were a league or more away. We pushed after them as hard as
we were able, but when we came up with them we found that they
had been joined by Baron Frederick of Trutz-Drachen, to whom for
three years and more the burghers of Gruenstadt have been paying
a tribute for his protection against others. Then again they made a
stand, and this time the Baron Frederick himself was with them.
But though the dogs fought well, we were forcing them back, and
might have got the better of them, had not my horse stumbled upon
a sloping stone, and so fell and rolled over upon me. While I lay
there with my horse upon me, Baron Frederick ran me down with