CHAPTER IV.
THE FLIGHT.
How often does man, proud man, make calculations for the future, and think he can bend stern fate to his will! Alas, we are but creatures in its hands! How many a slip between the lip and the lifted wine-cup! How often, though seemingly with a choice of couches to repose upon, do we find ourselves dashed to earth; and then we are fain to say the grapes are sour, because we cannot attain them; or worse, to yield to anger in consequence of our own fault.

Sir Ludwig, the Hombourger, was NOT AT THE OUTER GATE at daybreak.
He slept until ten of the clock.

The previous night's potations had been heavy, the day's journey had been long and rough.

The knight slept as a soldier would, to whom a featherbed is a rarity, and who wakes not till he hears the blast of the reveille.
He looked up as he woke.

At his bedside sat the Margrave.