Then
I knew the saint had won, and that thou wouldst win."
"I! What, not thyself--his own namesake?"
"I thought, Ebbo, if the fight went very hard--nay, if for a time the
grandame led thee her way--that belike I might serve thee best by
giving up all, and praying for thee in the hermit's cave, or as a
monk."
"Thou!--thou, my other self! Aid me by burrowing in a hole like a
rat! What foolery wilt say next? No, no, Friedel, strike by my
side, and I will strike with thee; pray by my side, and I will pray
with thee; but if thou takest none of the strokes, then will I none
of the prayers!"
"Ebbo, thou knowest not what thou sayest."
"No one knows better! See, Friedel, wouldst thou have me all that
the old Adlersteinen were, and worse too? then wilt thou leave me and
hide thine head in some priestly cowl. Maybe thou thinkest to pray
my soul into safety at the last moment as a favour to thine own
abundant sanctity; but I tell thee, Friedel, that's no manly way to
salvation. If thou follow'st that track, I'll take care to get past
the border-line within which prayer can help.
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