The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

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      “After all there was little for us!” she said. “It was only a wain of wine barrels; and now will the drunkards down stairs make good cheer. But Ebbo could only win for me this gold chain and medal which was round the old merchant’s neck.”

      “Was he slain?” Christina asked with pale lips.

      “I only know I did not kill him,” returned the baron; “I had him down and got the prize, and that was enough for me. What the rest of the fellows may have done, I cannot say.”

      “But he has brought thee something, Stina,” continued Ermentrude. “Show it to her, brother.”

      “My father sends you this for your care of my sister,” said Eberhard, holding out a brooch that had doubtless fastened the band of the unfortunate wine-merchant’s bonnet.

      “Thanks, sir; but, indeed, I may not take it,” said Christina, turning crimson, and drawing back.

      “So!” he exclaimed, in amaze; then bethinking himself,—“They are no townsfolk of yours, but Constance cowards.”

      “Take it, take it, Stina, or you will anger my father,” added Ermentrude.

      “No, lady, I thank the barons both, but it were sin in me,” said Christina, with trembling voice.

      “Look you,” said Eberhard; “we have the full right—’tis a seignorial right—to all the goods of every wayfarer that may be overthrown in our river—as I am a true knight!” he added earnestly.

      “A true knight!” repeated Christina, pushed hard, and very indignant in all her terror. “The true knight’s part is to aid, not rob, the weak.” And the dark eyes flashed a vivid light.

      “Christina!” exclaimed Ermentrude in the extremity of her amazement, “know you what you have said?—that Eberhard is no true knight!”

      He meanwhile stood silent, utterly taken by surprise, and letting his little sister fight his battles.

      “I cannot help it, Lady Ermentrude,” said Christina, with trembling lips, and eyes filling with tears. “You may drive me from the castle—I only long to be away from it; but I cannot stain my soul by saying that spoil and rapine are the deeds of a true knight.”

      “My mother will beat you,” cried Ermentrude, passionately, ready to fly to the head of the stairs; but her brother laid his hand upon her.

      “Tush, Trudchen; keep thy tongue still, child! What does it hurt me?”

      And he turned on his heels and went down stairs. Christina crept into her turret, weeping bitterly and with many a wild thought. Would they visit her offence on her father? Would they turn them both out together? If so, would not her father hurl her down the rocks rather than return her to Ulm? Could she escape? Climb down the dizzy rocks, it might be, succour the merchant lying half dead on the meadows, protect and be protected, be once more among God-fearing Christians? And as she felt her helplessness, the selfish thoughts passed into a gush of tears for the murdered man, lying suffering there, and for his possible wife and children watching for him. Presently Ermentrude peeped in.

      “Stina, Stina, don’t cry; I will not tell my mother! Come out, and finish my kerchief! Come out! No one shall beat you.”

      “That is not what I wept for, lady,” said Christina. “I do not think you would bring harm on me. But oh! I would I were at home! I grieve for the bloodshed that I must see and may not hinder, and for that poor merchant.”

      “Oh,” said Ermentrude, “you need not fear for him! I saw his own folk return and lift him up. But what is he to thee or to us?”

      “I am a burgher maid, lady,” said Christina, recovering herself, and aware that it was of little use to bear testimony to such an auditor as poor little Ermentrude against the deeds of her own father and brother, which had in reality the sort of sanction Sir Eberhard had mentioned, much akin to those coast rights that were the temptation of wreckers.

      Still she could not but tremble at the thought of her speech, and went down to supper in greater trepidation than usual, dreading that she should be expected to thank the Freiherr for his gift. But, fortunately, manners were too rare at Adlerstein for any such omission to be remarkable, and the whole establishment was in a state of noisy triumph and merriment over the excellence of the French wine they had captured, so that she slipped into her seat unobserved.

      Every available drinking-horn and cup was full. Ermentrude was eagerly presented with draughts by both father and brother, and presently Sir Eberhard exclaimed, turning towards the shrinking Christina with a rough laugh, “Maiden, I trow thou wilt not taste?”

      Christina shook her head, and framed a negative with her lips.

      “What’s this?” asked her father, close to whom she sat. “Is’t a fast-day?”

      There was a pause. Many were present who regarded a fast-day much more than the lives or goods of their neighbours. Christina again shook her head.

      “No matter,” said good-natured Sir Eberhard, evidently wishing to avert any ill consequence from her. “’Tis only her loss.”

      The mirth went on rough and loud, and Christina felt this the worst of all the miserable meals she had partaken of in fear and trembling at this place of her captivity. Ermentrude, too, was soon in such a state of excitement, that not only was Christina’s womanhood bitterly ashamed and grieved for her, but there was serious danger that she might at any moment break out with some allusion to her maiden’s recusancy in her reply to Sir Eberhard.

      Presently however Ermentrude laid down her head and began to cry—violent headache had come on—and her brother took her in his arms to carry her up the stairs; but his potations had begun before hers, and his step was far from steady; he stumbled more than once on the steps, shook and frightened his sister, and set her down weeping petulantly. And then came a more terrible moment; his awe of Christina had passed away; he swore that she was a lovely maiden, with only too free a tongue, and that a kiss must be the seal of her pardon.

      A house full of intoxicated men, no living creature who would care to protect her, scarce even her father! But extremity of terror gave her strength. She spoke resolutely—“Sir Eberhard, your sister is ill—you are in no state to be here. Go down at once, nor insult a free maiden.”

      Probably the low-toned softness of the voice, so utterly different from the shrill wrangling notes of all the other women he had known, took him by surprise. He was still sober enough to be subdued, almost cowed, by resistance of a description unlike all he had ever seen; his alarm at Christina’s superior power returned in full force, he staggered to the stairs, Christina rushed after him, closed the heavy door with all her force, fastened it inside, and would have sunk down to weep but for Ermentrude’s peevish wail of distress.

      Happily Ermentrude was still a child, and, neglected as she had been, she still had had no one to make her precocious in matters of this kind. She was quite willing to take Christina’s view of the case, and not resent the exclusion of her brother; indeed, she was unwell enough to dread the loudness of his voice and rudeness of his revelry.

      So the door remained shut, and Christina’s resolve was taken that she would so keep it while the wine lasted. And, indeed, Ermentrude had so much fever all that night and the next day that no going down could be thought of. СКАЧАТЬ