But if the Little Playmate be as beautiful as you say, 'tis high time that she should not be left immured in the Red Tower of the Wolfsberg.

True, the Duke, like a careful man, neither makes nor mells with womankind.

'Tis his only virtue.

But any questing Ritterling or roaring free companion might bear her off." "I think not," said I, smiling, "so long as the Red Axe of the Mark has a polished edge and Gottfried Gottfried can send it sheer through an ox's neck as he stands chewing the cud." I hardly think that I ever boasted of my father's prowess before.
And, indeed, I had some skill in the axe-play myself, but only in the way of sport.
"All one," said Ysolinde.

"Your father, like great Caesar and Duke Casimir, is but mortal, and may stumble across the wooden stump some day himself and find his neck-bone in twain! None so wise that he can tell when the Silent Rider shall meet him in the wood, leading by the bridle the pale horse whose name is Death, and beckoning him to mount and ride." The Lady Ysolinde paused a while, touching her lips thoughtfully with her fingers.
"Let your Playmate come," she said.