The road we were travelling clung to the Rhine for several leagues. In
many places it was cut from the bank at the water's edge. At others it
ran along the brink of beetling precipices. At one of these Max guided
his horse close to the brink, and, leaning over in his saddle, looked
down the dizzy heights to the river below.
"Please do not ride so near the brink, Sir Max," pleaded Yolanda. "It
frightens me."
Max had little of the braggadocio spirit about him, but no rightly
constituted young man is entirely devoid of the desire to "show off" in
the presence of timid and interesting ladies. Without that spirit of
"show-off," what would induce our knights to meet in glorious
tournaments? Without it, what would our chivalry amount to? Without it,
why should a peacock spread its tail? I do not belittle it, since from
this spirit of "show-off" arises one great good--respect for the opinion
of our fellow-man. So Max, with a dash of "show-off" in his disposition,
laughed at Yolanda's fears and answered that he was in no danger.
"It is very brave in you, Sir Max, to go so near the brink," said
Yolanda, ironically, "but do you remember what Sir Karl said concerning
'wise bravery'? There can be no need for your bravery, and therefore no
wisdom in it. Were there good reason why you should go near the brink, I
should despise you if you refused; but there is no reason and, since it
frightens me, I wish you would remain in the road."
"Gladly I will," answered Max, reining his horse beside her.
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