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

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СКАЧАТЬ coming, priest?” shouted Eberhard, from his stand at the mouth of the cave.

      And, as Norbert at once appeared with the pyx and other appliances that he had gone to fetch, the Freiherr held out his hand with an offer to “carry his gear for him;” and, when the monk refused, with an inward shudder at entrusting a sacred charge to such unhallowed hands, replied, “You will have work enow for both hands ere the castle is reached.”

      But Father Norbert was by birth a sturdy Switzer, and thought little of these Swabian Alps; and he climbed after his guide through the most rugged passages of Eberhard’s shortest and most perpendicular cut without a moment’s hesitation, and with agility worthy of a chamois.  The young baron turned for a moment, when the level of the castle had been gained, perhaps to see whether he were following, but at the same time came to a sudden, speechless pause.

      On the white masses of vapour that floated on the opposite side of the mountain was traced a gigantic shadowy outline of a hermit, with head bent eagerly forward, and arm outstretched.

      The monk crossed himself.  Eberhard stood still for a moment, and then said, hoarsely,—“The Blessed Friedmund!  He is come for her;” then strode on towards the postern gate, followed by Brother Norbert, a good deal reassured both as to the genuineness of the young Baron’s message and the probable condition of the object of his journey, since the patron saint of her race was evidently on the watch to speed her departing spirit.

      Sir Eberhard led the way up the turret stairs to the open door, and the monk entered the death-chamber.  The elder Baron sat near the fire in the large wooden chair, half turned towards his daughter, as one who must needs be present, but with his face buried in his hands, unable to endure the spectacle.  Nearer was the tall form of his wife, standing near the foot of the bed, her stern, harsh features somewhat softened by the feelings of the moment.  Ursel waited at hand, with tears running down her furrowed cheeks.

      For such as these Father Norbert was prepared; but he little expected to meet so pure and sweet a gaze of reverential welcome as beamed on him from the soft, dark eyes of the little white-checked maiden who sat on the bed, holding the sufferer in her arms.  Still less had he anticipated the serene blessedness that sat on the wasted features of the dying girl, and all the anguish of labouring breath.

      She smiled a smile of joy, held up her hand, and thanked her brother.  Her father scarcely lifted his head, her mother made a rigid curtsey, and with a grim look of sorrow coming over her features, laid her hand over the old Baron’s shoulder.  “Come away, Herr Vater,” she said; “he is going to hear her confession, and make her too holy for the like of us to touch.”

      The old man rose up, and stepped towards his child.  Ermentrude held out her arms to him, and murmured—

      “Father, father, pardon me; I would have been a better daughter if I had only known—”  He gathered her in his arms; he was quite past speaking; and they only heard his heavy breathing, and one more whisper from Ermentrude—“And oh! father, one day wilt thou seek to be absolved?”  Whether he answered or not they knew not; he only gave her repeated kisses, and laid her down on her pillows, then rushed to the door, and the passionate sobs of the strong man’s uncontrolled nature might be heard upon the stair.  The parting with the others was not necessarily so complete, as they were not, like him, under censure of the Church; but Kunigunde leant down to kiss her; and, in return to her repetition of her entreaty for pardon, replied, “Thou hast it, child, if it will ease thy mind; but it is all along of these new fancies that ever an Adlerstein thought of pardon.  There, there, I blame thee not, poor maid; it thou wert to die, it may be even best as it is.  Now must I to thy father; he is troubled enough about this gear.”

      But when Eberhard moved towards his sister, she turned to the priest, and said, imploringly, “Not far, not far!  Oh! let them,” pointing to Eberhard and Christina, “let them not be quite out of sight!”

      “Out of hearing is all that is needed, daughter,” replied the priest; and Ermentrude looked content as Christina moved towards the empty north turret, where, with the door open, she was in full view, and Eberhard followed her thither.  It was indeed fully out of earshot of the child’s faint, gasping confession.  Gravely and sadly both stood there.  Christina looked up the hillside for the snow-wreath.  The May sunshine had dissolved it; the green pass lay sparkling without a vestige of its white coating.  Her eyes full of tears, she pointed the spot out to Eberhard.  He understood; but, leaning towards her, told, under his breath, of the phantom he had seen.  Her eyes expanded with awe of the supernatural.  “It was the Blessed Friedmund,” said Eberhard.  “Never hath he so greeted one of our race since the pious Freiherrinn Hildegarde.  Maiden, hast thou brought us back a blessing?”

      “Ah! well may she be blessed—well may the saints stoop to greet her,” murmured Christina, with strangled voice, scarcely able to control her sobs.

      Father Norbert came towards them.  The simple confession had been heard, and he sought the aid of Christina in performing the last rites of the Church.

      “Maiden,” he said to her, “thou hast done a great and blessed work, such as many a priest might envy thee.”

      Eberhard was not excluded during the final services by which the soul was to be dismissed from its earthly dwelling-place.  True, he comprehended little of their import, and nothing of the words, but he gazed meekly, with uncovered head, and a bewildered look of sadness, while Christina made her responses and took her part with full intelligence and deep fervour, sorrowing indeed for the companion who had become so dear to her, but deeply thankful for the spiritual consolation that had come at last.  Ermentrude lay calm, and, as it were, already rapt into a higher world, lighting up at the German portions of the service, and not wholly devoid of comprehension of the spirit even of the Latin, as indeed she had come to the border of the region where human tongues and languages are no more.

      She was all but gone when the rite of extreme unction was completed, and they could only stand round her, Eberhard, Christina, Ursel, and the old Baroness, who had returned again, watching the last flutterings of the breath, the window thrown wide open that nothing might impede the passage of the soul to the blue vault above.

      The priest spoke the beautiful commendation, “Depart, O Christian soul.”  There was a faint gesture in the midst for Christina to lift her in her arms—a sign to bend down and kiss her brow—but her last look was for her brother, her last murmur, “Come after me; be the Good Baron Ebbo.”

      CHAPTER V

      THE YOUNG FREIHERR

      Ermentrude von Adlerstein slept with her forefathers in the vaults of the hermitage chapel, and Christina Sorel’s work was done.

      Surely it was time for her to return home, though she should be more sorry to leave the mountain castle than she could ever have believed possible.  She entreated her father to take her home, but she received a sharp answer that she did not know what she was talking of: the Schlangenwald Reitern were besetting all the roads; and moreover the Ulm burghers had taken the capture of the Constance wine in such dudgeon that for a retainer of Adlerstein to show himself in the streets would be an absolute asking for the wheel.

      But was there any hope for her?  Could he not take her to some nunnery midway, and let her write to her uncle to fetch her from thence?

      He swore at woman’s pertinacity, but allowed at last that if the plan, talked of by the Barons, of going to make their submission to the Emperor at Linz, with a view to which all violence at the ford had ceased, should hold good, it might be possible thus to drop her on their way.

      With this Christina must needs content herself.  Poor child, not only had Ermentrude’s death deprived СКАЧАТЬ