The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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      Christina had expected to see a ruffian, and had found a boor; but she was to be convinced that the ruffian existed in him.  Notice came up to the castle of a convoy of waggons, and all was excitement.  Men-at-arms were mustered, horses led down the Eagle’s Ladder, and an ambush prepared in the woods.  The autumn rains were already swelling the floods, and the passage of the ford would be difficult enough to afford the assailants an easy prey.

      The Freiherrinn Kunigunde herself, and all the women of the castle, hurried into Ermentrude’s room to enjoy the view from her window.  The young lady herself was full of eager expectation, but she knew enough of her maiden to expect no sympathy from her, and loved her well enough not to bring down on her her mother’s attention; so Christina crept into her turret, unable to withdraw her eyes from the sight, trembling, weeping, praying, longing for power to give a warning signal.  Could they be her own townsmen stopped on the way to dear Ulm?

      She could see the waggons in mid-stream, the warriors on the bank; she heard the triumphant outcries of the mother and daughter in the outer room.  She saw the overthrow, the struggle, the flight of a few scattered dark figures on the farther side, the drawing out of the goods on the nearer.  Oh! were those leaping waves bearing down any good men’s corpses to the Danube, slain, foully slain by her own father and this gang of robbers?

      She was glad that Ermentrude went down with her mother to watch the return of the victors.  She crouched on the floor, sobbing, shuddering with grief and indignation, and telling her beads alike for murdered and murderers, till, after the sounds of welcome and exultation, she heard Sir Eberhard’s heavy tread, as he carried his sister up stairs.  Ermentrude went up at once to Christina.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ