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

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.  Nobody came near the maidens but Ursel, and she described one continued orgie that made Christina shudder again with fear and disgust.  Those below revelled without interval, except for sleep; and they took their sleep just where they happened to sink down, then returned again to the liquor.  The old baroness repaired to the kitchen when the revelry went beyond even her bearing; but all the time the wine held out, the swine in the court were, as Ursel averred, better company than the men in the hall.  Yet there might have been worse even than this; for old Ursel whispered that at the bottom of the stairs there was a trap-door.  Did the maiden know what it covered?  It was an oubliette.  There was once a Strasburg armourer who had refused ransom, and talked of appealing to the Kaiser.  He trod on that door and—Ursel pointed downwards.  “But since that time,” she said, “my young lord has never brought home a prisoner.”

      No wonder that all this time Christina cowered at the discordant sounds below, trembled, and prayed while she waited on her poor young charge, who tossed and moaned in fever and suffering.  She was still far from recovered when the materials of the debauch failed, and the household began to return to its usual state.  She was soon restlessly pining for her brother; and when her father came up to see her, received him with scant welcome, and entreaties for Ebbo.  She knew she should be better if she might only sit on his knee, and lay her head on his shoulder.  The old Freiherr offered to accommodate her; but she rejected him petulantly, and still called for Ebbo, till he went down, promising that her brother should come.

      With a fluttering heart Christina awaited the noble whom she had perhaps insulted, and whose advances had more certainly insulted her.  Would he visit her with his anger, or return to that more offensive familiarity?  She longed to flee out of sight, when, after a long interval, his heavy tread was heard; but she could not even take refuge in her turret, for Ermentrude was leaning against her.  Somehow, the step was less assured than usual; he absolutely knocked at the door; and, when he came in, he acknowledged her by a slight inclination of the head.  If she only had known it, this was the first time that head had ever been bent to any being, human or Divine; but all she did perceive was that Sir Eberhard was in neither of the moods she dreaded, only desperately shy and sheepish, and extremely ashamed, not indeed of his excess, which would have been, even to a much tamer German baron, only a happy accident, but of what had passed between himself and her.

      He was much grieved to perceive how much ground Ermentrude had lost, and gave himself up to fondling and comforting her; and in a few days more, in their common cares for the sister, Christina lost her newly-acquired horror of the brother, and could not but be grateful for his forbearance; while she was almost entertained by the increased awe of herself shown by this huge robber baron.

      CHAPTER IV

      SNOW-WREATHS WHEN ’TIS THAW

      Ermentrude had by no means recovered the ground she had lost, before the winter set in; and blinding snow came drifting down day and night, rendering the whole view, above and below, one expanse of white, only broken by the peaks of rock which were too steep to sustain the snow.  The waterfall lengthened its icicles daily, and the whole court was heaped with snow, up even to the top of the high steps to the hall; and thus, Christina was told, would it continue all the winter.  What had previously seemed to her a strangely door-like window above the porch now became the only mode of egress, when the barons went out bear or wolf-hunting, or the younger took his crossbow and hound to provide the wild-fowl, which, under Christina’s skilful hands, would tempt the feeble appetite of Ermentrude when she was utterly unable to touch the salted meats and sausages of the household.

      In spite of all endeavours to guard the windows and keep up the fire, the cold withered the poor child like a fading leaf, and she needed more and more of tenderness and amusement to distract her attention from her ailments.  Christina’s resources were unfailing.  Out of the softer pine and birch woods provided for the fire, she carved a set of draughtsmen, and made a board by ruling squares on the end of a settle, and painting the alternate ones with a compound of oil and charcoal.  Even the old Baron was delighted with this contrivance, and the pleasure it gave his daughter.  He remembered playing at draughts in that portion of his youth which had been a shade more polished, and he felt as if the game were making Ermentrude more hike a lady.  Christina was encouraged to proceed with a set of chessmen, and the shaping of their characteristic heads under her dexterous fingers was watched by Ermentrude like something magical.  Indeed, the young lady entertained the belief that there was no limit to her attendant’s knowledge or capacity.

      Truly there was a greater brightness and clearness beginning to dawn even upon poor little Ermentrude’s own dull mind.  She took more interest in everything: songs were not solely lullabies, but she cared to talk them over; tales to which she would once have been incapable of paying attention were eagerly sought after; and, above all, the spiritual vacancy that her mind had hitherto presented was beginning to be filled up.  Christina had brought her own books—a library of extraordinary extent for a maiden of the fifteenth century, but which she owed to her uncle’s connexion with the arts of wood-cutting and printing.  A Vulgate from Dr. Faustus’s own press, a mass book and breviary, Thomas à Kempis’s Imitation and the Nuremburg Chronicle all in Latin, and the poetry of the gentle Minnesinger and bird lover, Walther von Vogelweide, in the vernacular: these were her stock, which Hausfrau Johanna had viewed as a foolish encumbrance, and Hugh Sorel would never have transported to the castle unless they had been so well concealed in Christina’s kirtles that he had taken them for parts of her wardrobe.

      Most precious were they now, when, out of the reach of all teaching save her own, she had to infuse into the sinking girl’s mind the great mysteries of life and death, that so she might not leave the world without more hope or faith than her heathen forefathers.  For that Ermentrude would live Christina had never hoped, since that fleeting improvement had been cut short by the fever of the wine-cup; the look, voice, and tone had become so completely the same as those of Regina Grundt’s little sister who had pined and died.  She knew she could not cure, but she could, she felt she could, comfort, cheer, and soften, and she no longer repined at her enforced sojourn at Adlerstein.  She heartily loved her charge, and could not bear to think how desolate Ermentrude would be without her.  And now the poor girl had become responsive to her care.  She was infinitely softened in manner, and treated her parents with forms of respect new to them; she had learnt even to thank old Ursel, dropped her imperious tone, and struggled with her petulance; and, towards her brother, the domineering, СКАЧАТЬ