"Strife and blood will it cost," said Master Sorel, gravely.
"What can be had worth the having save at cost of strife and blood?"
said Ebbo, with a glance of fire.
"Youth speaks of counting the cost. Little knows it what it saith,"
sighed Master Gottfried.
"Nay," returned the Rathsherr, "were it otherwise, who would have the
heart for enterprise?"
So the young knights mounted, and had ridden about half the way in
silence, when Ebbo exclaimed, "Friedel"--and as his brother started,
"What art musing on?"
"What thou art thinking of," said Friedel, turning on him an eye that
had not only something of the brightness but of the penetration of a
sunbeam.
"I do not think thereon at all," said Ebbo, gloomily. "It is a
figment of the old serpent to hinder us from snatching his prey from
him."
"Nevertheless," said Friedel, "I cannot but remember that the Genoese
merchant of old told us of a German noble sold by his foes to the
Moors."
"Folly! That tale was too recent to concern my father."
"I did not think it did," said Friedel; "but mayhap that noble's
family rest equally certain of his death.
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