power behind the throne, and she watched his continued advancement with
a love resembling that lavished on a favorite son. Her writings now and
then betray an affection of a quality so motherly that I came to believe
she was much older than the great Churchman, but then there is the fact
that she long outlived him, so it is possible she may have been the
younger."

"Why, my Lord, are you about to weave us a romance?"

The Archbishop smiled, and for a moment placed his hand upon hers, which
rested on the table beside him.

"A romance, perhaps, between myself and the Countess of long ago, for as
I read these letters I used much of their contents for my own guidance,
and found her precepts as wise to-day as they were in 1250, and to me
... to me," the Archbishop sighed, "she seems to live again. Yes, I
confess my ardent regard for her, and if you call that romance, it is
surely of a very innocent nature."

"But the other Archbishop? Your predecessor, the friend of Matilda; what
of him?"

"There, Hildegunde, I have much less evidence to go upon, for his
letters, if they exist, are concealed somewhere in the archives of Sayn
Castle."

"To-morrow," cried the girl, "I shall robe myself in the oldest garments
I possess, and will rummage those dusty archives until I find the
letters of him who was Archbishop in 1250."