This explanation instantly brightened up Sir Lavé's features. He seemed

at once to comprehend the drost's good-natured intention in this

communication, and held out his hand to him with unrestrained emotion.

"You are welcome to me, sir drost," he said, with a trembling voice,

and drawing him aside to the open garden-door. "What has occurred

between us concerns nobody," he continued, anxiously, descending the

garden-steps with him. He cast back a look towards the saloon, and

perceiving old Sir John in lively conversation with the chancellor and

the ladies, he drew Drost Peter hastily into a by-path in the garden.

"A word in confidence, Drost Hessel," he continued, in a fatherly tone,

that reminded the drost of his childhood: "what occurred when you were

last here, might be misinterpreted in a manner dangerous to my honour

and rank; but I have sufficient confidence in your integrity to rest

assured that you will not abuse the advantage which circumstances gave

you over me, to ruin and destroy me. Will you give me your word of

honour thereupon?"

"By my knightly honour!" answered Drost Peter, much affected, and

giving him his hand. "God be praised, I have never deemed myself bound

to come forward as your accuser; and Heaven forbid that I should ever

be obliged to do so."

"Good," exclaimed Sir Lavé, reassured: "I only desired to know that I

was safe in your hands as regards the past; and for that, your honour

is now my pledge: the future, I shall myself take care of. Our old

relationship is now dissolved, and a new one cannot be formed between

us. We two can now be as if dead to one another."

He turned to depart; but Drost Peter retained him. "Hear me, Sir Lavé,"

he exclaimed, warmly. "I have also an important word to say to you. I

do not regard that relationship as dissolved, which I first learned to

prize highly at the moment it appeared to be torn asunder. That which

estranges you from me, binds me to your house and noble race still more

firmly, and with a bond that no earthly power can dissolve. It is the

same bond that unites Denmark's crown and Denmark's hearts together. In

this, your noble-hearted daughter shares my views, and that, too, with

an ardour and animation that have enchained my soul irrevocably with

her's, spite of every opposing or doubtful circumstance. I have not

spoken a word to her but what you have yourself heard, and what I now

with certainty know I feel for her. Whether she entertains the same

feelings towards me, I dare not yet say; but I have a great and fond

hope, which I will not relinquish while I live, unless she herself,

which God forbid! should rob me of it."

"Every word of this is now superfluous, sir drost," interrupted Sir

Lavé, coldly and strangely. "For me, you may hope and feel what you

will. My will, as her father, you know. Your connections and principles

render me, and every open-minded Dane, common heretics in your eyes;

and, for the future, I can never think of any union with you. Let us

mutually esteem each other's hearts and good intentions, however

dissimilar, in other respects, we may be in our views," he added, with

less coldness: "let us not, as professors of a different political

faith, condemn one another for the sake of our opinions. So, let us bid

each other a peaceful farewell--for ever!" With these words, and with

averted face, he extended his hand to Drost Peter.

"This, then, is the last time you give me your hand, Sir Lavé?"

exclaimed Drost Peter, with subdued grief. "Oh, that I could hold fast

by this hand, and drag you from the uncertain, tortuous path on which

you falter--"

"Unhand me, man! and be silent!" whispered Sir Lavé, looking uneasily

about him. "Would you bring me to misfortune by your discourse? My way

is not your's; but I had learnt to go alone, before you were born.

Unhand me! We belong not to each other."

"Pity 'tis that you are right!" sighed Drost Peter, with secret horror,

as he relinquished the cold, trembling hand.

Without again looking at him, Sir Lavé hastily returned to his other

important guests; whilst Drost Peter, violently agitated, took his way

along a gloomy arched walk in the garden.

In the garden-hall, to his great comfort, Sir Lavé found old Sir John

still engaged in jocular conversation with Master Martinus; whilst Fru

Ingefried and her daughter, in company with Lady Ingé, were about

leaving it, to view the castle-garden.

"Drost Hessel is already outside, enjoying the beautiful prospect,"

said the commandant, bowing to the stranger ladies. "My daughter will

conduct you to some of those remarkable spots where the clear waters

and the green trees furnish abundant themes for the most passionate

admirers of their country's beauties. I am not so fortunate as to

appreciate these things myself."

The ladies smiled courteously at these careless remarks, and descended

the garden-steps. Sir Lavé cast an inquiring look at the weathercock

over the castle-gate, and then approached the two gentlemen, without

disturbing their conversation.

"You astonish me, learned sir chancellor," said Sir John, laughing

heartily. "Who could have believed that dry philosophy should be so

amusing? And this is altogether your own discovery?"

"Certainly, sir counsellor," replied the learned chancellor, gravely,

with a self-satisfied air: "it is the fruit of many a waking night's

inquiries. I had already thought of it before I took degrees at Paris;

but it first became quite clear to me in my peaceful _otium_ at

Antvorskov, and now it is taught in all the universities of Europe."

"And this is the famous Martinian mod--mod--what do you call it?"

"_Modi significandi Martiniani_," said the chancellor, correcting him.

"It is a treasury of learning, and a fund of science, which I ought not

to boast of; but I still hope, in all humility, that, with God and the

Holy Virgin's aid, this important discovery in logic will preserve my

name in the history of philosophy, and be remembered as long as solid

learning and universities exist."

"Now, indeed, that I can understand," replied Sir John, with a

suppressed smile. "Sooth to say, it must be learned and philosophic,

for I will give you my head if I can understand a word of it. But what

can a layman, and others like myself, know of such things?"

"How, sir counsellor!" exclaimed the chancellor, astonished, and wiping

the perspiration from his bald forehead. "Is it not as clear and

evident as God's daylight? and have I not taken pains to translate for

you all the Greek and Latin terms, which are a great ornament in such

matters, though, perhaps, dark to the uninitiated? Allow me, and I will

again explain to you the whole system from the beginning. By _modus

significandi_, is to be understood, in logic--"

"Nay, for heaven's sake--nay, best of chancellors!" interrupted Sir

John, hastily; "plunge me no deeper into the science. I have every

respect for it, and believe that it will immortalise you, among the

learned, to the end of time; but, if I cannot become immortal by other

means, my memory must perish, and I must be contented, in God's name,

to do the best I can when living, and leave our Lord to care for the

rest. Seriously speaking, sir chancellor: if a man cannot become wise

and intelligent without all this vexatious trouble, and if I must twist

and turn my thoughts by this method, before I can know whether they are

wise or foolish--by the Lord's truth! I should be a hundred years old

before I could master a single common thought, and should require the

lifetime of three men before I could put an excellent thought into

practice. Nay: I must make use of another method. When I know what I

wish to say, I say it; and when I know what I wish and ought to do, I

do it; and do not trouble myself whether the world stands or falls.

There you have the whole of my system. It is not so learned as your's;

but that you also follow it, in the main, you have given me excellent

proof, for which I have every esteem and honour."

So saying, he shook the learned chancellor heartily by the hand, and

cast a look towards Sir Lavé. "See, there stands my cousin, the

commandant," he continued, gaily: "he is nearly five years younger than

I, and can perhaps still learn something in the world. If you can bring

him to see how we should think justly and reasonably, in these crazy

times, it may not perhaps be out of the way. But I must out, and draw a

breath of fresh air in the garden."

Surrendering Sir Lavé to the somewhat tiresome, philosophic chancellor,

he made his exit hastily by the garden-door, and was soon plunged in

serious thought in the arched walk.

On a green knoll, commanding a magnificent view over the Sound, Drost

Peter stood, meanwhile, between Jomfru Ingé and Lady Cecilia, in lively

conversation respecting those notable events of olden times, of which

the traditions and supposed memorials were still preserved in this

glorious region. Contrary to Jomfru Ingé's opinion, Drost Peter

maintained that these events must be referred to other, and, to him,

well-known spots in Jutland. The subject of their conversation was the

great tragical legend of Hamlet. Fru Ingefried listened with interest,

whilst the animated, patriotic Jomfru Ingé enlivened her description of

these events by traditions and snatches of popular ballads, and pointed

to every spot where, as a child, she had heard and believed that they

must have happened. Fru Ingefried now perceived her husband by the end

of the arched walk, and went to meet him; while Drost Peter and Jomfru

Ingé continued to converse of Hamlet and his daring plans, the sagacity

of which Drost Peter admired, but maintained that they still wanted

truth, justice, and noble grandeur.

"This knavish cunning," he said--"this merely apparent love of truth,

by means of which the real truth is concealed, when it is spoken

ambiguously and figuratively--this crafty play with sound sense and

madness, with jest and cruel earnest, is to me sufficiently detestable;

but these features of the tradition, however un-Danish they may appear,

are still founded on a remarkable peculiarity in the character of our

people."

"What mean you, Drost Peter?" inquired Lady Ingé, with wounded pride.

"Do you accuse yourself, and all of us, with a base proneness to craft

and falsehood?"

"Understand me rightly, noble lady. The craft of Hamlet is, in the

main, completely Danish, though I cannot prize it as in anywise great

and noble. This kind of craft ever betrays itself in a respect for

truth, even when it may not and dare not be spoken openly. Every period

of disquiet and internal disturbance in Denmark will show us that, with

the best and noblest of the people, our honesty, justice, and love of

truth never entirely disappear, but reveal themselves where the mere

semblance of truth is used as a cloak to deceit. The greatest deceiver

and nidding amongst us will always blush to deny or disguise the truth

openly: he is too proud to lie, even were it to save his life; and he

will speak the truth even where it may endanger him, but so darkly and

figuratively, that himself only and his friends can understand it,

while his foes receive it in an opposite sense."

"Therein, perhaps, you maybe right," said Jomfru Ingé, gravely; "but a

wish to wrest and distort the truth does not, in consequence, lie in

the people's mode of thinking.

"Far be it from me to assert that it does," replied Drost Peter; "but I

have observed that even the most upright of our commoners take a

singular pleasure, whilst jesting, in striving to tack something on a

person's sleeve, as they term it, strictly, however, without telling an

untruth. In this consists a great portion of the craft and wit of our

common people. It may be highly good-natured and innocent; but, in

times like these, it is still a dangerous quality, which renders it

extremely difficult to distinguish the true friends of the crown from

its secret enemies."

"Nay, nay," exclaimed Jomfru Ingé, gladly; "in this you greatly err,

Drost Peter. You know our brave and trusty countrymen better. I often

see and converse with the poorest and humblest of them. They speak

openly and impatiently of their burdens, and, in their language, do not

spare the great and powerful. They are not afraid to utter the boldest

truths, even as regards the king and his favourites; but, when I speak

to them of the crown and kingdom, with the view of ascertaining their

opinions respecting an illegally imposed king, you should see how

readily they forget their own grievances, and how uprightly they

express their devoted attachment to the ancient, legitimate, royal

family. It is true that, when jesting, they often find great amusement

in figurative language, and in befooling each other with old proverbs,

and suchlike; but this good-natured sort of waggishness I rather

admire, and certainly think there is nothing wrong in it."

"I do not blame that which is so natural to the people, and, in a

manner, born with them," replied Drost Peter. "None of us are entirely

free from it," he added. "We have both, perhaps, to-day, noble Jomfru

Ingé, and even at this very hour, concealed what we know, and avoided

the truth, to spare ourselves or others, without having said an untrue

word."

Lady Ingé blushed. "Every one has a right to do so," she said,

earnestly. "What I will not and ought not to say, no power on earth

shall compel me to speak. If we could not be veracious and upright,

without telling everything we know, there would be few honest men in

existence. You shall judge between us, good Cecilia," she continued,

turning playfully to her relation, who had hitherto been a silent

listener. "Think you Drost Peter himself is so upright, that he would

tell us truly, were we to ask him, which colour he esteems most

highly?"

"We need not ask him that," replied Cecilia: "the colour you now wear

in your hairband, is that worn by the drost--last year, at least."

Drost Peter blushed deeply. "I wore it last year, because it was the

queen's colour," he replied. "I won the right to do so at the

Helsingborg tourney. But for twelve months before last May I have not

worn it; although it has, since then, become dearer to me than ever. I

fancy I have known from my childhood that crimson band, with the small

pearl-lilies, and it is the only band I would suffer to bind me

prisoner; but were Jomfru Ingé even now to present me with it, I dare

not openly wear it. The reason, too, must remain a secret."

Lady Ingé had hastily raised her hand to the crimson fillet, as if she

would remove it; but, on hearing Drost Peter's latter words, she only

secured it more firmly, and changed the conversation to another

subject.

"Look at my handsome, watchful bird," she said, merrily. "Had Hamlet

possessed him, he would certainly have known how to make use of him."

As she said this, she patted a large tame fowl that had flown towards

her, alarmed, as it appeared, by Claus Skirmen, who was in search of

his master, to inform him, as he had been ordered, of the state of the

wind.

Drost Peter paid no attention to his squire's announcement. He praised

the noble bird, and looked at his mistress with a singularly blended

sentiment of joy and melancholy, while many fond memories of childhood

flitted across his soul, and mingled with his feelings of the present

moment. It almost seemed to him as if he were in a dream, and that the

knight's tall, fair daughter was again changed into the child-bride of

former days.

In the meantime Sir John, with his wife, was leisurely approaching

the knoll. He stopped, and gazed at the young man on the green

strand-height. "A fine, brave, excellent young man," he said, pointing

to Drost Peter; "he is quite another drost than Sir Abildgaard. Our

Cecilia's interest in that subtle knight does not please me. The

suspicions that have attached to him, since his imprisonment, ought to

have cured her of her whimsy. Has she not determined yet?"

"Your silence has made her anxious," replied the mother, with concern;

"and, without your consent, she gives him no decisive answer."

"She is free; but from me, she shall not hear a syllable on the matter.

What I think of him, she well knows."

"Then she never becomes Drost Abildgaard's wife. God strengthen her!"

"Drost Peter takes his time," interrupted Sir John, hastily.

"His childhood's bride no longer hates him," replied Fru Ingefried; "he

does not delay thus merely on account of the wind."

Sir John cast a look at the vane on the turret. "You are right," he

observed: "we must away. If our good Drost Peter means to jest with us,

he shall have the worst of it."

They were now close to the knoll.

"Drost Peter!" shouted Sir John, "the wind is fair, and we are ready to

set sail. If you will with us, come quickly." Whereupon, the old

gentleman hastily returned to the garden-hall, and the whole company

followed him.

When Sir John entered the great hall, he found the learned chancellor

alone, deeply engrossed in a small, neat manuscript.

"Up to the ears in study again?" said Sir John. "Is that your Logica?"

"Nay, nay, noble sir," exclaimed the learned chancellor, as his eyes

sparkled with almost youthful liveliness. "See, here I have found some

of the glorious old Danish ballads I heard in my childhood, besides

many excellent national ones I never knew of. Your cousin, the

commandant, must be a brave, patriotic-souled man, and well versed in

our old legends and histories. There are some capital notes in the

margin of the songs; and here, of a truth, pour living fountains from

the people themselves.

"That is brave!" exclaimed Sir John, with singular interest: "that is

more than I could have imagined of my good sir cousin, and I like him

all the better. The ballads themselves may be pretty enough. I do not

understand much of these wares; but, when they are sung, I listen to

them willingly. One half of these ballads are fictions and fables, I

doubt not; but their intention is good, and they must have been a brave

Danish people who made them."

Jomfru Ingé, with the other ladies and Drost Peter, now entered.

"Ingelil, child," called Sir John to her, "when did thy father become

so learned, and take such pleasure in old songs and ballads? Formerly,

he could never endure them."

"It is not my father's--it is my own little song-book," replied Lady

Ingé. "My blessed mother wrote many of them."

"And the glosses--the marginal notes?" inquired Master Martinus.

"Oh, nothing more than what I heard from my old spinning-women, and

what I sometimes thought of myself."

At this discovery, Master Martinus seemed almost to blush at his zeal

for a work that he had only women and unlettered lay-people to thank

for; but his true attachment to the ancient ballads overcame this shock

to his learned pride, and he grasped Jomfru Ingé's hand warmly, while

he returned her the manuscript. "You have rejoiced my soul, noble

lady," he said, much affected; "and I could almost, in exchange for

this unlearned feminine manuscript, give you my own sufficiently

well-known work, _De Modis Significandi_."

"Such an exchange the girl would not much desire," said Sir John,

interrupting him. "But where is thy father, Ingelil? We must bid him

farewell, and get on board immediately."

"I will seek him," answered Ingé, as she went hastily away.

"The commandant is in his closet, in conversation with a good friend,"

said Master Martin: "I had forgotten him, over the book. He is

travelling in great haste."

"Do you know this good friend?" inquired Sir John, with apparent

indifference.

"I must relinquish this," replied the chancellor, in a half-absent

manner, and still keeping his eye on the manuscript, which Lady Ingé

had laid on the table. "He wore his visor down: it was a warlike

figure."

"A masked warrior?" inquired Sir John, attentively.

"Probably, a coast-guardsman," answered the chancellor. "In a royal

castle, one is always in a state of war. The commandant seems to be as

cautious as he is vigilant; and I do not blame him, that, in these

troublous times, he should avail himself of spies and disguised

servitors."

Jomfru Ingé had now returned. She was deadly pale, and sought in vain

to conceal her deep anguish and embarrassment. "My father," she said,

with half-choked utterance--"my father will be here immediately."

Drost Peter, alarmed, advanced a step or two towards her, with an

expression of deep concern; but he paused and was silent, as he

suddenly guessed the cause of her perplexity.

"What ails thee, my child?" demanded Sir John, with an uneasy inquiring

look. "Thou hast run too fast," he added, considerately, giving her

time to answer.

"I am not quite well," she answered, as she supported herself by a

chair. "He will come immediately: I have sent a message to him."

"He is engaged officially, I hear, and we will not disturb him. Salute

him, and say we were in haste. God bless thee, child! Come, gentlemen."

Anger and deep sorrow were visible in the countenance of the old

knight, and, as he regarded the pale Lady Ingé, a tear stole into his

eye; but in another moment he was again calm, as usual. "See, here we

have the vigilant sir commandant still," he said, in his customary

lively tone, as Sir Lavé opened the door, and entered with a

constrained but smiling countenance. "No excuses, cousin," added Sir

John: "the king's service takes precedence of every other. We must,

therefore, in all haste bid you farewell."

"Already, sir counsellor!" stammered Sir Lavé: "I thought the wind--"

"We have not the most favourable wind, if your weathercock may be

depended on," replied the old gentleman; "but I fear a person would be

misled, were he to depend upon that. I go by the king's yacht; and I

know that vessel can make head against a contrary wind tolerably well.

I understand a little of sailing, too; and we have, moreover, a good

steersman in Drost Peter. Farewell."

These apparently indifferent words, which the old counsellor pronounced

with a peculiar emphasis, had to Sir Lavé a serious and fearful

signification, that deprived him of the power of utterance. He bowed

civilly, though with embarrassment, as he followed his guests to the

door. Old John once more gave his hand to Jomfru Ingé, with a warmth

and heartiness unusual in him. Drost Peter bowed to her with a look

that carried comfort to her soul; and Master Martinus again thanked her

for the pleasure her songbook had yielded him. Fru Ingefried and Lady

Cecilia, like the worthy chancellor, seemed to have no idea of the

cause of her indisposition. The ladies, however, would not permit her

to follow them to the door; and having embraced her with hearty

affection, the mother, with kind solicitude, gave her all the domestic

remedies she could think of, for sudden depression of spirits.

Scarcely had they left the door, before Lady Ingé burst into a flood of

tears, and sank into a chair, with her hands before her eyes. She sat

thus, immovable, for some minutes. When she took her hands from her

eyes, her father stood before her.

"What is this? What means this conduct, child?" he inquired, in tones

that sounded almost harshly. "Dear, best Ingé!" he added, with greater

mildness, "compose yourself. What is the matter?"

"Father, father!" she exclaimed, eagerly, as she rose, "is the strange

knight still in your closet?"

"What leads thee to trouble thyself about my official business?"

inquired the father, perplexed: "I do not permit this interference in

my affairs. Go to thy chamber, and make ready my travelling-wallet. I

journey from hence in half an hour."

"Thou travellest, father? and leavest me behind alone? How long

remainest thou away?"

"But a few days: it is on important business. When wert thou wont to be

afraid of being alone? I shall provide for the safeguard of the castle

during my absence. Thou canst therefore be calm."

"For thee, too, father? Nay, nay, I cannot maintain this painful

silence: thou must know the truth, father. I tremble for thy secret

schemes--I tremble for thy terrible friends--I am tortured by the most

dreadful anguish for thy soul!"

"Art thou mad, girl?" exclaimed the uneasy father, exasperated, and

stamping violently. "Hast thou, too, conspired against me? Is it not

enough that my own tyrannical kinsman and his understrappers must

torture me in my own house, and threaten me, covertly, with the

despotic kingly power? Shall my own child be my betrayer? Must I not

converse with a trusty friend in my closet, without being suspected and

betrayed by my own? Get thee to thy apartment, child, and weep not; or,

if thou must weep, let it be only in private. Guard thy tongue, also,

that thou betrayest not thy father's life with thy childish nonsense.

My affairs thou understandest not; and for my soul thou needest not

care. I know what I dare do: my confessor is a man who better

understands my salvation than thou and the conscientious Drost Peter.

Do as I say, my good child, and be reasonable. I shall not have time,

after this, to bid thee farewell. The gentleman I travel with is my

friend, and a man I can depend upon. Farewell."

With these words he hastily departed. The unhappy daughter wept no

longer: she appeared calm, almost to indifference, and proceeded to her

chamber to execute her father's orders.

Scarcely had she finished packing her father's portmanteau, ere a

trooper appeared, to take it to him. He was a tall, strange carl, in

complete iron mail, and with a wild, audacious countenance.

"What is thy name, and who is thy master, countryman?" asked Lady Ingé,

as she looked at him calmly and keenly.

"I need not conceal my honest name here," replied the man, with a

Jutland accent: "people call me long Mat Jute. My master has a better

name, but I dare not mention it on Zealand's ground. The three rogues

who have just left, are not worthy to see his face. He never sets foot

on shore here, without being cased in steel from top to toe; and

whoever merely catches a glimpse of his eyes, through the bars of his

helmet, is seized--with decency be it spoken--with the gripes, on the

spot. But with your father it is quite another matter, fair jomfru: he

is a brave man, I wot."

"Mat Jute!" repeated Jomfru Ingé: "my little maiden Elsie's

sweetheart?"

"O yes, fair jomfru," smirked the man, stroking his beard: "a little

sweethearting one must have, wherever he goes: it never binds him, and

it is good for both man and beast. But there goes my master to the

skiff. Farewell, fair jomfru." And seizing the tolerably heavy

portmanteau by the thongs, with two of his fingers he swang it on his

shoulder.

Lady Ingé went to the window. At the door stood Elsie, to bid farewell

to her warlike sweetheart once more. He did not waste time, however, in

a long and touching adieu, giving her only one hearty kiss in passing

along the narrow passage, and then pushing her aside to overtake his

master.

Lady Ingé stood as if rivetted to the window. She saw her father,

closely wrapt in his travelling-cloak, cross the court-yard of the

castle, by the side of a tan, stalwart knight, who, in a dark,

tarnished steel harness, strode proudly towards the castle-gates. The

castellan paused once or twice, as if he had forgotten something, or

was undecided; but the strange knight seemed to give no heed to this.

Near the entrance of the dark archway, the tall, giant-like figure

stopped and turned round, and Lady Ingé now saw that his face was

concealed by a black iron visor. He raised his mail-clad arm and

beckoned. Sir Lavé still lingered a moment. The sword of the strange

knight rang sharply against the stones at his feet, and again he

beckoned, with an authoritative motion of his arm, like a general, and

turned away. Sir Lavé hastily followed him, and both disappeared under

the dark archway of the gate.

To Lady Ingé, it seemed as if her father was drawn into an abyss by the

dreadful iron giant. "Merciful God! Stig Andersen himself!" she

exclaimed, as, with a scream, she fell back, devoid of consciousness,

on the floor.

When her recollection returned, she found herself in the arms of her

waiting-maid; and little Elsie, with all her giddiness, was almost

weeping over her dear jomfru's condition. But Lady Ingé soon recovered.

A sudden thought seemed to inspire her with new strength and courage,

and, rising hastily, she left her waiting-maids. Taking her bunch of

keys, she proceeded to her father's private closet, at the door of

which she stopped doubtfully, and searched uneasily among the keys;

but, to her surprise, she found the closet door ajar. On examination,

however, she found that it had been locked, but probably in such haste

and agitation, that the iron staple, which should have held it, was

broken. This accident seemed to relieve her from every doubt, and she

stepped promptly over the threshold, and looked around her.

Her attention was first directed to a well-known cabinet in the wall,

wherein her father kept his private letters. The steel knob, by which

it could be opened, glistened in her eyes like a dangerous snake's

head. She pressed the knob, the cabinet sprang open, and a bundle of

papers and letters came to view, which she instantly recognised.

Shortly before Duke Waldemar's visit, in the previous year, she had

seen her father receive, with great anxiety, this well-known packet

from a lively, fat carl, who had sung merry songs in the servants'

hall, and assisted the maids in the kitchen. That these letters were of

an important and dangerous character, was, to her, only too evident.

Without stopping to examine them, she placed them in an iron box,

wherein her father was accustomed to keep the royal toll-money, but

which now stood, empty and unlocked, near the door. Having locked the

box, and placed the key in her bosom, she sank down in a praying

posture, and thus remained, for the rest of the day, in the lonely

closet. As soon as it was dark, she dragged the heavy iron box down

into the castle-garden, where, with great effort, she buried it in the

knoll, near the Sound.

"God forgive me!" she sighed; "he is my father! I bury his infamy, and

thus save his name and honour! But, away from me, the key to the

horrible secret! It presses on my heart with the weight of a mountain."

As if seized with extreme horror, she took from her bosom the key of

the box, and threw it with all her might into the deep Sound, that

roared at the foot of the height. She then returned, quietly and

thoughtfully, into the fortress.

* * *

In the southern part of the parish of Felballe, in the diocese of

Aarhuus, stood the famous castle, Möllerup, close by a stream with a

few water-mills, and near a dark wood of half a mile[27] in extent. It

was a strongly-fortified place, in the heavy Gothic style of building,

with thick walls of hewn stone, and a lofty square tower in the centre.

The fortress was provided with earthen ramparts and wide ditches, both

before and behind.

Here resided the celebrated Marsk Stig Andersen Hvide, with his family.

He had himself erected and fortified this castle, whose lofty tower was

visible, from a considerable distance, over the wood. On the flat

summit of the tower, within the battlements, stood four iron-clad men,

day and night, as sentinels, who constantly kept their looks fixed

towards the four quarters, like the stone giants on Kolding Castle. The

heavy drawbridge was already up, and over the arched gateway fluttered

a large banner, adorned with the arms of the lord of the castle--a

seven-rayed star on azure, under a helmet with two white wings.

On the ramparts stood large bliders, or wall-slings--a kind of wooden

machine, by which immense stones were thrown. At great expense, the

marsk had here collected numerous defensive machines, some of which had

been made in Roskild, by German artificers. Here might be seen the

fearful igel-cat[28] with oak-peg bristles on the back, used for

crushing besiegers; here, also, was to be found the dangerous brynkiöl,

of iron, with crooked steel spikes, and pointed iron claws, whose

purpose was, when let down from the ramparts, to seize besiegers, and

drag them up. Shot-waggons, for red-hot stones, stood ready for

defence, night and day. Seven hundred men in armour guarded the

fortress. The order and quietness that reigned within the walls denoted

the strictest discipline. The grim, ironclad men moved about with a

silence and regularity that fearfully indicated the dark temper which

ruled in that fortress.

The powerful master of the castle was now absent, but his return was

daily expected; and the place was filled with grave and quiet guests.

Every night the drawbridge was lowered at a secret signal, and the gate

opened for the admission of strangers, who came disguised in the gray

cloaks of friars, or in knight's full armour. In the large riddersal,

and in the lofty arched apartments, were daily assembled a great number

of guests; and although the clatter of knives, and other table

utensils, might be heard, there was no loud conversation, nor any sound

of social glee. Among these guests no woman was to be seen; a remote

wing of the castle being devoted to the female portion of its

inhabitants, who there passed their hours in almost conventual

separation from the more warlike community.

It was now the afternoon of the third day after Sir Lavé's departure

from Flynderborg with the mailed knight, in whom, for the first time,

and with so much terror, Lady Ingé had seen the powerful marsk. In the

women's vaulted apartment of Möllerup sat the reserved lady of a

knight, in a dark coloured dress, with her countenance concealed by a

black head-dress.

Two little maidens, also in black, but without veils, sat on high

stools by her side. They were both beautiful children, with light hair

and blue eyes. One, who was almost a head taller than the other, and

had her smooth, plaited locks tied up with a dark pearl-band, appeared

to be about fourteen years old: her cheeks were so faintly coloured,

and her skin was so clear and white, that she almost resembled a

beautiful marble statue, miraculously endowed with life, but still only

half belonging to the world of mortals. A deep, calm melancholy

overspread her fair, earnest countenance: there was nothing painful and

consuming, however, in its grief, which was softened by a pious and

kindly expression, as if she had already overcome some awful sorrow,

and had found her lost, youthful joys in the far-off mysterious world

to which she appeared to belong. She sat, with a weaving-frame in her

lap, working, with threads of silk and gold, a picture of the Virgin

and Child, surrounded by a halo of worshiping angels.

The other little girl had yellow flaxen hair, which hung down her neck

in ringlets. She did not appear more than nine years old, and had a

merry and extremely lively, childish countenance, red rosy cheeks, and

a pair of wild, playful eyes, which were never at rest, but constantly

twinkling. She was rather handsome, but violent, impatient, and

restless: scarcely remaining quiet for an instant on her stool; now

throwing aside her work, and then taking it up again; with a thousand

other antics, which she abandoned as rapidly as they were conceived.

"Still, Rikké!" said the veiled lady, without looking at the child, or

uncovering her face. "Wilt thou into the nursery again?"

"Yes, willingly, mother: it is much more pleasant," exclaimed the

little restless girl, running out.

The veiled lady heaved a deep sigh, and relapsed into her former

silence. She was busied in rubbing spots of rust from a large broad

battle-blade, which lay across her knees; but she appeared to direct

her thoughts to her work with difficulty, and her hands often fell

inertly on her knees.

"Mother," said the quiet, grave maiden with the gold embroidery, "I am

thinking of what our Lord and Redeemer would say, if he still journeyed

about the world, and were to come to us here."

"If the Just One stood amongst us, child, he would ask why justice

slumbers so long."

"Ah, mother, think you not he would rather say as he said to the holy

Peter, the night he was betrayed by the false Judas?"

"I have forgotten it," answered the mother. "Has Father Anton taught it

you? What said he, then?"

"It stands in the holy text, dear mother." And she repeated, with

folded hands, and in a singing tone, the passage in Matthew--"'Put up

again thy sword into his place; for all they that take the sword shall

perish with the sword. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my

Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of

angels?'"

The mother was silent, and sank into a gloomy reverie. "Thou art a

pious child, my Margarethé," she said, at length; "but thou art little

like thy brave father. Thou art still too young to understand the cruel

injustice and the monstrous scandal that befell his house. Thou canst

not understand wherefore thy mother will not suffer any one in the

world to look upon her face. There are stains, unmerited stains, that

can only be washed out in a manner that is costly, and dangerous, and

dreadful, but necessary as eternal justice. Thy mother has not quite

forgotten the pious instructions of her childhood. Knowest thou what

our righteous Lord and Judge said, when he foresaw the cruel injustice

he should suffer?--'He who hath not a sword, let him sell his garment

and buy one!'"

"Yea, right, right, my daughter Ingeborg!" was uttered by a broken,

aged voice, from an obscure corner of the apartment: "so it stands

written. It is God's own word. Buy me a sword for my garment: I need no

garments. All the garments in the world will not hide our shame!"

The person who thus spoke now made his appearance--a little, bent, aged

figure, greatly emaciated, who groped his way forward, for his red,

half-shut eyes were without vision. His head, almost entirely bald,

appeared all scratched and torn; and his coarse gray beard was in

tufts, as if it had been half plucked out. His lean fingers were

crooked, and provided with monstrous nails. His dress was of a new and

fine black fur, but hung about him in tatters; and his wild, crazy

expression clearly enough indicated that he had thus maltreated it

himself, in his fits of madness.

"Ah, poor old grandfather!" exclaimed the little Margarethé: "he has

got his hands loose, and has been tearing himself again."

"Call a couple of the house-carls, child," whispered the mother,

hastily; "but with all quietness. Perhaps I, myself, can talk to him

best."

The little Margarethé went hastily out, with her hands folded over her

breast, as if praying.

"Quiet, quiet, father!" said the veiled lady, placing the sword under

the table, and advancing leisurely towards him. "The time is not yet

come; but it draws near: thou shalt yet, perhaps, before thou diest,

hear thy daughter's voice without blushing. To see me and my scandal,

thou art free."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the old man, wildly: "that freedom, old Pallé Little

has taken himself; for that he has asked neither king nor pope. If thou

wilt bind me again, my daughter, do so; but quickly, and touch not my

claws, I advise thee! They will serve to tear out the tiger-heart and

the blinking goats' eyes. Only promise me that you will yourself unbind

me, and hand me my Toké's sword, when the time arrives."

"That I have already sworn and promised you, dearly and holily, my

father. But you must also keep the promise you have given me, and

ill-use neither yourself nor others in the meanwhile."

"Well, bind me, then, child, and lead me back to my owlet's hole. You

spoke of a sword, my daughter, and I thought the time had come. It is

long, long--it is now nine long winters. There is not much life left in

me; but die I cannot, before it comes to pass: that knowest thou well."

"Unhappy father!" sighed the tall female form. She knelt; and, with her

own wasted fingers, took up the crooked and trembling hands of the old

man, which she kissed through her veil, and then bound loosely, behind

his back, with a silk riband. "Now that thou art again bound, my

father," she continued, rising, "let me lead thee back to thy corner of

hope. Refuse not, father. The day of retribution is certain, and not

far distant."

Quietly and silently the trembling old man followed her to his nook,

where he sank, as if in a slumber.

The little Margarethé now returned with two servants, who remained

standing by the door.

"Hold back! I require you not!" said the lady, giving them a signal to

go. The servants bowed respectfully, and retired in silence.

"The dear Holy Virgin be praised! grandfather again sleeps calmly,"

said little Margarethé, sitting quietly down to her work.

The mother and daughter remained a long time in silence, and all was as

still as death around them, until they heard the noise of horses in the

courtyard.

"Listen! more strangers have come," said Margarethé: "there are still

many of father's good friends to defend us." She went to the window.

"It is father himself, and a strange gentleman," she exclaimed,

hastily: "he dismounts on the great stone by the stairs. God be

praised, he is come! I was almost afraid of so many strangers."

The unhappy house-mother heard this account, with emotions that

betrayed a momentary gladness. She arose, but, without saying a word,

again seated herself, with a deep sigh.

In the large riddersal of Möllerup, thirteen grave strangers awaited

the arrival of the master of the castle. They were seated at a long

oaken table, which stood in the middle of the hall, covered with black

cloth. Eighteen chairs stood around the table. One of these chairs was

higher than the rest, and covered with red velvet: it was vacant. That

on the left side of it was also vacant; but on the right sat the heavy

Count Jacob of Halland, with his legs stretched out, and drumming on

the table with his fingers. Between him and his brother, Niels

Hallandsfar, who resembled him in manner and disposition, sat the

notable dean, Master Jens Grand, regarding, with a grave and

scrutinising look, the assembled personages, most of whom were his

kinsmen, and as proud as himself of belonging to the great family of

the Absaloms. He appeared particularly gratified at seeing four

knights, whose dark visages and haughty mien indicated displeasure and

resoluteness for revenge. These were Sir Jacob Blaafod, Arved Bengtson,

Peder Jacobsen, and Niels Knudson of Scania, who had all distinguished

themselves, under Stig Andersen and Count Jacob, in the Swedish war,

but had, along with their general, fallen into disgrace for their

arbitrary proceedings in dethroning the previous Swedish king.

The dean had, opposite to him, a smart young gentleman, with a proud

but lively and frivolous countenance: this was Duke Waldemar's drost,

and fellow-prisoner in Sjöborg, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. Next to him

sat a personage who had long been regarded as one of the king's true

men--Chamberlain Ové Dyré: he, and the man by his side, Peder Porsé,

had recently come to an open rupture with the king, on account of a

debt which the latter would not acknowledge; and in consequence of this

quarrel, they had taken refuge with King Magnus in Sweden.

All these gentlemen the dean seemed to observe with satisfaction. A

noble old squire, Aagé Kaggé, who had long vainly expected the honour

of knighthood from the king, the dean likewise appeared to regard with

confidence and pleasure; but he cast a doubtful glance at the tall,

overgrown person by his side, whose crafty countenance wore a smile of

self-satisfaction, while he seemed to fancy himself a man of

considerable importance in this secret council. This was the king's

double-minded, cunning counsellor, Chamberlain Rané.

In the midst of the company, with an air of boorish pride, sat a short,

coarse, splendidly dressed personage, with diamonds on the hilt of his

dagger, and a gold chain about his animal-looking neck. His countenance

was fierce, rough, and hideous, and he seemed to be tired of the long

silence. This was the Norwegian freebooter chief, Jarl Mindre-Alf.

"Now, by Satan! how long will it be ere they get off their horses?" he

at length growled forth, breaking the silence. "They must first in, and

comfort the women, we shall find. I have ridden three beasts to death

to be in time, and yet I have to wait. My time is precious, but here

have I now been sitting for half an hour, like an empty barrel, without

tasting either wet or dry. I have only three words to tell you from my

good king, ye worthy gentlemen, but they are worth gold: if you keep me

much longer, I must ride my own way, with the devil's help; and then,

we shall see what comes of all your whispering and sour mouths."

"Highborn sir jarl," replied Master Grand, hastily, "after such a

hurried journey, you must needs require a heart-strengthening, before

you can think of more grave affairs. Please to follow me into the next

apartment: there we shall find a magnificent gammon, and excellent old

wine, which you have scarcely found a match for in any of our

convents."

"Ha, I can understand that!" growled the heavy gentleman, rising "You

are a man who understands both body and soul: you know what an honest

sea-dog stands in need of, on the cursed land. A house without a host,

or wine, or women, the devil may set foot into! Come, then. But it must

only be a slight strengthener," he added, thoughtfully: "if I set

myself regularly down to the drinking-board, you will scarcely get a

word out of me concerning these vile land-crab affairs."

Master Grand took him hastily by the arm, and led him out of the

riddersal.

"By St. Canute! I think I shall go too," said Count Jacob, rising: "my

good comrade the marsk does not remember whom he has invited as

guests."

"There he is! there is the marsk!" exclaimed one knight to another.

Count Jacob remained standing, while all the others rose, and looked,

with fixed attention, towards the door, which was thrown open for the

powerful lord of the castle.

Proud and majestic, entered the well-known heroic figure, in his black

harness and closed visor. He was accompanied by Sir Lavé Little, who

looked anxiously around him, and appeared highly disquieted as his eye

fell on Chamberlain Rané.

The marsk saluted the company in silence, and advanced to the table,

where he placed himself on the left side of the vacant, velvet-covered

chair. He then struck aside the visor of his helmet, and made a

scrutinising and earnest survey of the company. On his stern,

energetic, and commanding countenance was an expression of almost

painful sadness, which singularly affected them all. "Be seated," he

said, with a subdued voice: "my father-in-law and my wife are agreed in

what we may determine; their seats may therefore remain empty. But I

miss two important men."

At that instant, the door of the side apartment opened, and Master

Grand led the pacified jarl into the hall. They both bowed in silence,

and took their places. The lofty marsk alone remained standing.

"Secure the doors--we are all here," he said to the two at the further

end of the table.

Squire Kaggé and Chamberlain Rané rose, and placed bars across both

doors of the hall. They again took their seats, and there was an

expectant silence, all eyes being fastened on the marsk.

"You all know wherefore we are again assembled, my trusty friends,"

began the grave marsk, in a deep, subdued voice, betraying powerfully

suppressed indignation: "you all know what has rendered this castle,

for the last nine years, a dismal and sorrowful abode. I declared it

before the people of Denmark, and before all the world, in the hour

when I denounced the King of Denmark in the Ting of Viborg, and swore

to revenge my shame or to lose my life. I have not had my revenge, and

Marsk Stig Andersen still lives. Had I delayed so long from base fear,

and had I rather wished to be a braggart and perjurer than to risk my

life for my honour, then might you all despise me--then might every

drop of blood in my body suffuse these cheeks with shame, in presence

of my friends and kinsmen. But see! I blush not: I am calm and cool, as

beseems a man who can keep his revenge until his hair becomes gray, and

suffer his thoughts to grow until they ripen. My own disdain I have

hitherto borne for your sakes and for the sake of my country. I have

had a greater and more important aim in view than merely to wipe out

the stains on my own and my house's honour. The great hour of

retribution has not yet arrived; but it approaches. No impatience--no

precipitation, friends--and it shall surely come. I see no one present

who has not been deeply wronged and injured by this same tyrant, whom I

have denounced, and whose death and downfall I have sworn; but none of

you have so much to revenge as I. So long, then, as Stig Andersen can

brook delay, so long may you also."

Count Jacob exhibited some impatience, and seemed desirous to speak;

but a look from the marsk immediately quieted him.

"It is for more than one man's revenge," he continued; "more than the

weal and woe of our whole race together: it is for the deliverance of a

degenerate, but still a noble, though cast-down and unhappy people. It

is not enough that we overthrow the tyrant who contemns all law, both

human and divine: he must fall, but the throne must stand. While we

overthrow the nidding, we must not only secure ourselves and our

privileges, but must, at the same time, secure a worthy ruler for the

throne. We certainly hoped to have found him, and we hope so still; but

his imprisonment put a stop to our grand designs, and his oath and

renunciation have, for the present, deprived us of his participation in

our council. We have him not amongst us--his elevated seat stands

empty; but I see here, nevertheless, his chivalrous friend and

fellow-prisoner; and I see, moreover, his confessor, the sagacious,

worthy sir dean. Speak, noble sirs: what may we expect of the duke?"

"Everything--everything possible!" replied Drost Tuko Abildgaard,

rising. "These are not the words of my prince and master, but my own.

The oath binds his tongue; but I know his heart, and dare pledge my

head, that now, as formerly, he is your friend and secret defender, and

that, when the time comes, he will step forward and act with energy."

"I confirm this testimony," began Master Grand, solemnly, and rising

with bold dignity. "Our secretly chosen David has selected me for his

spokesman here. I have, with peril to my life, shown him the way to

freedom, as you desired; and he is now serving our heaven-abandoned

Saul till the hour of doom arrives. He is too conscientious to break

his oath, and too magnanimous to demand a dispensation of it from the

father of Christendom. He cannot, and will not, at present, take any

open part in your great undertakings. He will and ought not to know

anything that his friends may determine for the freedom of the country.

But when the time arrives, to which, in calm self-denial, he looks

forward--when the way and place stand open for him--he will come

forward, with the aid of the Church and the Almighty, as he can and

ought, and, with honour, crown the work. This, in his name and by his

princely soul, I dare swear to you, faithfully and piously."

"'Tis well!" resumed Stig Andersen: "two such creditable witnesses we

may rely upon. But the tyrant has bold and sagacious friends: a great

portion of the blinded people remain inconceivably firm, both with him

and his sons; and without certainty of powerful assistance from the

noble Norwegian king, our undertaking would be foolishness. I see our

trusty sworn friend, the bold Jarl Alf of Tönsberg, in the midst of us.

The answer he brings from his king must determine us when to act."

"Now, then, by Beelzebub! comes my turn, at last, to say a word,"

muttered the pirate chief, who had long been impatiently rubbing the

jewels on his dirk. "My king's answer is short and good, Marsk

Andersen," he continued, aloud, rising leisurely, and standing with his

legs apart, as if he had been on a ship in motion. "You are a man,

every inch of you, says my king and master; and he is to you a faithful

friend, whether in fair weather or foul. Your friends are also his; and

he who offends you has to do with him. With your secret councils he

will have nothing to do; but as a true and honest Norseman, he will

openly defend you against every foe, and stand by you with a fleet when

it is wanted. His land and kingdom are open to you and your friends,

should mischance befall you; and I, his jarl and admiral, do not quit

these coasts with my own seadogs, so long as you want help, and there

is anything to take a hand in. In all this I am clear and ready. What

you farther do here does not concern me. What comes in at the one ear,

I shall let go out of the other. Talk is not my business; and you

have had my oath once. But, sooth to say, you go on too quietly and

sour-mouthed here. I cannot relish these secret councils and fine

projects. I am good for nothing but the rude work of giving the order,

and setting to, without more ado. In a word: I will burn all Denmark

before your eyes, if that will help you. As for the rest, it matters

not to me who is king of the country. So long as good booty is to be

had, I am with you; and how I can hit, you well know. Let me now drink

to your health, and waste no more time in talk. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, sir jarl," answered the marsk. "Yet a word. Will you keep

the promise you made to Duke Waldemar, concerning my wife's sister's

son, Chamberlain Rané Jonsen, who is sitting there? On that condition

he is our friend; and his assistance is of greater importance than you

may suppose."

While the marsk uttered these words, Chamberlain Rané had risen, and

approached the jarl.

"Is it thee who would be my son-in-law?" inquired the jarl, with a

smile, and measuring him with a proud look. "Now this I must say, that

thou dost not look exactly the kind of carl who should woo a jarl's

daughter. I gave the duke the word in an honest guzzle, and I doubt if

my daughter will say yea to it. But if you are as cunning a fellow as

you have credit for, we can talk of it when the time comes: if the

child don't refuse you, well, the sober jarl will answer for what the

Count of Tönsberg promised when he was drunk."

"Farther my bold wishes do not extend, sir jarl," replied Rané. "When

the terms on my side are fulfilled, I shall show you that I have not

aimed higher than I can reach."

"Good: with the time comes the care!" muttered the jarl. "Show me

first, by some able exploit, what thou art worth, and in exchange I

will dub thee a knight with a stroke that shall crack thy puny

collar-bone?"

"That is the word, sir jarl. You all hear this, gentlemen?" said Rané,

looking boldly round the assembly. He then returned to his seat; whilst

the freebooter, without giving farther heed to him, nodded to the

others, and withdrew into the drinking-room. At the marsk's signal, all

the rest resumed their seats, and there was a death stillness amongst

them.

"We have held counsel long and often enough," resumed the marsk,

mysteriously. "What shall and must happen, we all know. The time has

now arrived when we ought to take the last resolute determination. But

what is to be resolved in our souls at this hour, even these silent

walls shall not hear. An approving or disapproving sign is sufficient,

and we understand one another."

Thereupon he whispered a few words in Count Jacob's ear, who

immediately answered by a grave nod. In the same manner the secret word

was communicated from man to man. A long and deep silence prevailed

during this proceeding. Several of the gentlemen considered long before

they nodded, and among these was Sir Lavé Little. He, at length, made a

motion with his head, which was understood to be a nod, but which more

resembled an involuntary convulsive contraction of the muscles.

At last it came to Chamberlain Rané's turn. The marsk scrutinised him

with a penetrating look, and Master Grand's eyes were fixed upon his

countenance. The crafty chamberlain heard the whispered word, and he

opened his eyes as if greatly astonished, whilst with secret pleasure

he seemed to enjoy the triumph of beholding the general attention

turned on him alone. He assumed a highly thoughtful air, and still

delayed giving the decisive nod. It was necessary that all should be

unanimous in a project which the meanest of the witnesses could betray

and ruin. The chamberlain was the last, and, next to Squire Kaggé, the

humblest in rank of all; but, as the king's familiar, he was an

important man; and he seemed to feel with pride that a king's life,

and perhaps the weal or woe of a whole nation, solely depended on a

slight motion of his cunning head. Whilst he thus remained considering,

and apparently undecided, three knocks were heard at the barred

entrance-door. All started, and looked in that direction. At a signal

from the marsk, Squire Aagé Kaggé opened it, and the gaze of all was

turned with a degree of terror towards the open door, through which a

tall veiled lady, dressed in black, entered, leading by the arm a

blind, decrepid old man, whose hands were bound behind his back, and on

whose sightless countenance appeared an expression of quiet, but horrid

insanity. These two silent figures remained standing at the end of the

table. All arose, and remained motionless as statues.

"Friends and kinsmen!" exclaimed the marsk, in a voice nearly

suffocated with anger and sorrow--"descendants of the great race of

Absalom! look upon my wife and her hapless father! Need I say more?

Would you see the unmerited blush of shame through that veil, which,

for nine years, has concealed, even from me, the face of my wife? Would

you hear the mad, despairing shriek of her dishonoured father? Is there

one amongst you who yet hesitates in coming to the conclusion that

shall cast down the tyrant, and free our unhappy fatherland?" As he

uttered these words, his keen glance rested on Chamberlain Rané, who

also, for a moment, appeared surprised and affected.

Rané nodded.

"'Tis well!" continued the marsk: "you have all approved. Now, lay your

hands on the holy Gospels, and swear!"

He gave Master Grand a signal, and the ecclesiastic drew forth a large

book, bound in black velvet.

"It shall be truly done, so help us God and his Holy Word!" said the

dean, slowly and solemnly, laying his own hand first upon the Gospels.

The book then passed from man to man. After a violent internal

conflict, which was visible in every feature, Sir Lavé also laid his

trembling hand upon the book, and stammered out the oath. When it came

to Rané's turn, he repeated the same words audibly and distinctly; but

his lips continued to move after he had pronounced the oath, although

none could hear what he seemed to add to it secretly. Thereupon he laid

his hand upon the book, without farther hesitation.

"Unbind me--unbind me, my daughter Ingeborg!" cried the crazy old man,

suddenly waking up, as if from a dream. "I will swear and bind myself,

so that the Almighty above shall hear it, and all the devils shall

shake and tremble!"

"Still, still, father! Remember thy promise," whispered Fru Ingeborg;

while the marsk gave her a sign to lead out the unhappy old man.

But before any one could prevent it, he had torn asunder his bands with

almost inconceivable strength, and stretched forth his liberated arms

with a wild and fearful burst of laughter. "For ever, for ever doomed

to perdition may I be, if I be not the first," he shouted, striking the

Gospels with his clenched hand: "if old Pallé is not the first who

strikes, I shall wander on earth till doomsday!"

Master Grand had nearly lost his hold of the book. The marsk again

beckoned, and two knights led the crazy old man from the hall. A

profound silence followed, during which the dean had recovered himself,

and now stood with the Holy Book in his hand, before Fru Ingeborg. She

bowed her head affirmatively, and, in a voice that penetrated the souls

of all who heard her, repeated the oath they had all sworn, while she

bent her knee, and touched the book with her wasted hand. She remained

without changing her posture, and, at the marsk's signal, all the

others silently withdrew. Involuntarily, as it were, the gloomy master

of the castle stretched forth his mailed arm towards his unhappy wife,

but again let it fall by his side. He hastily pulled a bell-rope, when

Fru Ingeborg's waiting-maidens entered, and carried their fainting lady

to her own apartments.

* * *

What had taken place at Möllerup was a secret known only to the

initiated. The disguised strangers left the castle, one by one, at

different times, and generally by night, as they had come. Even in the

immediate neighbourhood, no one seemed to have been aware of this

secret gathering. In the castle itself no change took place. The four

mailed watchers were still constantly to be seen on the tower. The

drawbridge, as usual, was kept raised; and, notwithstanding its

numerous garrison, everything was as quiet and still as if the fortress

had been waste and deserted.

The contract with Duke Waldemar had set the royal mind at rest; and the

council of the kingdom did not appear apprehensive of any danger. The

king and queen passed the beautiful summer at Scanderborg Castle,

surrounded by their whole court, and the most considerable people of

the country. Old Sir John, Master Martinus, and Drost Peter, had

returned from Stockholm with good tidings concerning the object of

their mission.

The negociations opened with King Magnus chiefly referred to a closer

alliance between the two royal houses, by means of a double marriage.

The little Danish Princess Mereté, who had been betrothed to the

Swedish crown-prince, was to be sent to the court of Stockholm during

the following year, where her education, according to agreement, was to

be completed. In the same way the little Swedish Princess Ingeborg was

to be educated at the court of Denmark, if the request were made. Her

betrothment to the Danish crown-prince was concluded by a written

document, but the public announcement of this alliance was to be

deferred for a few years.

With lively satisfaction, the Danish ambassadors had beheld the little

Swedish princess, whom they hoped would one day be Denmark's future

queen; and even old Sir John, who did not expect to live to see the

time, could not speak of the pretty kindly child without particular

animation, as if he expected in her another Dagmar, who would bring

peace and blessings to Denmark. This prudent statesman, as well as

Drost Peter, placed all his hopes of better times for Denmark in the

hopeful heir to its throne and his descendants. Old Sir John often

sought to be useful to the young prince; and, with all his esteem for

Drost Peter, he frequently shook his head when he saw how the young

chivalrous drost desired to educate the prince's feelings of honour and

justice to a degree that appeared to him dangerous.

One day the old knight was present, with the queen's household, at

Scanderborg, to witness the prince's exercises in arms, and observed

how he sought to convert these sports and exercises into gay and costly

imitations of the ordinary jousts and tournaments; the young king, as

he was always called, dispensing royal gifts to the squires, and

pronouncing sentence with excessive severity on every transgressor of

the laws of chivalry, as applicable to the game. The old counsellor

smiled, and seemed to participate in the pleasure evinced by the queen

and Drost Peter on the occasion; but, when the game was ended, he

called the drost to his private room.

"I am old," he said, seriously, "but I do not think I am niggardly or

avaricious, although I may set greater store by outward fortune than

you approve of. It is right that the prince should be liberal and

magnanimous; but do not therefore teach our future king to be a

spendthrift, and to despise the wealth of his people and their

possessions, like the dust on which he treads. Take care that he has

not more regard for knightly pomp and splendour than for substantial

power, true achievements, and real greatness."

"God forbid!" said Drost Peter. "But, if the days of the great

Waldemars are to be restored--"

"Good, good. I know what you would say," interrupted the old knight:

"therefore, if you would make a Waldemar Seier of Prince Erik, take

care that his love of honour is not mere empty love of glitter, and his

love of justice untimely obstinacy. He is a youth that, with God's

help, much may be made of. You have a great charge, Drost Peter:

consider it well. The swiftest falcon never makes an eagle. It is

dangerous to attempt to create God's work anew; and he is a fool who

tries to add a cubit to his own or another's stature."

So saying, he warmly pressed the hand of his young friend, and left

him. The drost found him, afterwards, as lively as usual; and it did

not appear that he cared farther about giving his opinion in the

matter. Sir John's warning, however, disposed the drost to very serious

thoughts, and he could not deny that the sagacious old man was right in

many of his views.

The learned Master Martinus, too, with the tenderest zeal, took upon

himself, in his own fashion, the education of the prince; but he

endeavoured in vain to form him into a philosopher, or to teach him his

dry, logical _Modos Significandi_. The prince had great respect for the

learned chancellor, but was never better pleased than when he could

escape from his Latin.

At Scanderborg, the merry, lively heir-apparent was most happy when

engaged in games of chivalry with his active squires and pages, among

whom the little friendly Aagé Jonsen was his dearest comrade. When, at

such times, Junker Christopher would spoil the game by some wanton

boyish trick, or cause division among the pages, the little king was

always umpire; and his strict impartiality rendered him as much beloved

by the young pages, as disliked by his quarrelsome brother. When his

daily exercise in arms was over, it often pleased Prince Erik to take

diversion on the lake at Scanderborg, where his skilful tutor, Drost

Peter, had also taught him to steer a boat easily and safely, even when

the waters were roughest.

Drost Peter's active participation in the affairs of government, as

well as his care for the important crown-prince, forbade him almost to

think of himself and his private affairs of the heart. But frequently,

when boating with his pupil on the Scanderborg lake till late in the

evening, he would fall into deep thought, while steering the little

vessel in the direction of the light from the ladies' apartment, that,

from a lofty turret, looked out on the waters, like Jomfru Ingé's

chamber at Flynderborg. He would often, on these occasions, sit for

hours in a kind of reverie, and steer for the distant light, without

observing what was taking place around him, until a lusty squall or an

uneasy tossing of the boat brought him to his senses. At times, when

in these reveries, he would suddenly start up and reproach himself with

his forgetfulness, when the daring Prince Erik had made a hazardous

alteration of the sails, and, by so doing, had embroiled himself in a

violent dispute with Junker Christopherson.

The king's chief amusement was hunting, of which he was passionately

fond, and for which he frequently neglected the most important state

affairs. Chamberlain Rané was still his constant favourite. The crafty

chamberlain was often absent on secret errands; but these appeared to

have reference merely to the usual love affairs, or to miserable

adventures of the basest description, which were generally pursued in

connection with the king's frequent hunting expeditions.

The queen did not appear desirous of knowing anything concerning them.

Since the last Dane-court at Nyborg, she had become singularly reserved

and serious; and though she still affected the splendours of royalty,

and showed herself with dignity at court festivals, she no longer took

any part in the dancing, and withdrew herself more and more from the

pleasures of the court. She seemed now to prefer the quiet, retired

country life of the beautiful castle of Scanderborg, where she partly

busied herself with useful occupations. Sometimes, when the king's

absence embarrassed his advisers, the prudent queen would take his

place in the council; and, on such occasions, all admired the delicacy

with which she conducted the business, and avoided every appearance of

assumption, while she sought to maintain the dignity of the throne, and

to promote every plan that could alleviate the burdens of the people,

or quench the still smouldering embers of sedition. With Drost Peter

she conversed with favour and confidence, but with remarkable attention

to the strictest forms of court. She never spoke to him except in the

council, or in the presence of old Sir John, when she had anything of

importance to say to him in reference to the prince's education.

Notwithstanding the increased admiration with which he now regarded the

fair and prudent queen, he felt, in her presence, as if bereft of his

usual freedom and liveliness. But his heart did not take the same warm

share in this admiration, as when, acknowledged as her knight and

distinguished favourite, he wore her colours. When he now beheld her in

her scarlet robe, and with a diadem of rubies in her dark hair, he

still, indeed, thought her beautiful and majestic; but the tall and

noble Jomfru Ingé, with all her simplicity, was, in his eyes, far more

dignified, and the crimson hair-band in her golden locks far more

beautiful than the glittering diadem of the queen.

Notwithstanding the king's partiality to Rané, he always reposed the

greatest confidence in Drost Peter, on whom he had bestowed many

honourable proofs of his favour, especially since the drost's important

and successful undertaking respecting the duke's imprisonment, and

after the contract with that dangerous nobleman, who had ever since

remained quietly at his castle in Sleswick. No royal letter of any

importance was issued which was not signed and sealed by Drost Peter,

Sir John, and the learned chancellor; whilst many important Ordinances

were prepared by the drost alone; and he was justly regarded as one of

the king's most influential and favoured men.

The king had often proposed to visit Drost Peter at his ancestral

castle at Harrestrup, where deer-hunting, especially in autumn, was

excellent. This visit of honour was fixed for the month of September,

and the drost made sumptuous preparations for the reception of the king

and his court. But, on account of one diversion or another, the visit

was postponed from week to week. The month of October passed away; and

the drost began to think that the king had either forgotten it

altogether, or intended to defer it until the following autumn.

It was already the middle of November, but the autumn did not seem

willing to give way to winter, and the many-coloured leaves had not yet

all fallen in the woods. One morning, Drost Peter was surprised with a

message from the king, brought by Chamberlain Rané, that his majesty

would pay him a visit, next day, at Harrestrup, and amuse himself for

eight days in hunting. Sudden resolves of this nature were not unusual

on the part of the king, especially when they had reference to hunting

expeditions, and were verbally announced by the chamberlain.

Although it was unpleasant for Drost Peter to receive Rané's

announcement, delivered, as it was on the present occasion, in a

somewhat authoritative manner, he still behaved courteously, and left

Scanderborg without delay, to prepare everything to the king's wishes,

and that he might, on the following day, receive him at his castle in

person, with that respectful distinction which the forms of court-life

demanded. He heard with pleasure that Sir John would accompany the

king, and that Sir Rimaardson would remain at Scanderborg, as captain

of the body-guard, with the queen and the young princes.

From Scanderborg to Harrestrup Castle, by the tortuous and uneven road,

was a distance of above ten miles.[29] It was somewhat advanced in the

morning when Drost Peter left the palace, attended merely by his

squire, Claus Skirmen, who had a second horse with him to change on the

way.

The drost rode so rapidly, and was so much engrossed in his own

thoughts, that his squire several times began and broke off a

conversation in which he could not bring his master to take the least

interest. It was somewhat past noon when they caught sight of an

eminence, of considerable height, at no great distance from Harrestrup,

which, from the south and west, can be seen at a distance of four

miles, and may be known by the blueish haze, arising from the adjacent

morass, that almost invariably covers it.

"Seest thou Daugberg-Daas, Skirmen?" asked Drost Peter, pointing to the

hill, as he drew up, and dismounted to change his horse. "Six miles

have been got over quickly. We may easily reach Harrestrup before

evening."

"We shall get to Harrestrup time enough," said Skirmen, as he sprang

from his norback and brought his master the other horse. "Would that we

may be only as fortunate in leaving it, sir!"

"How so, Skirmen? Thou art not wont to be so reflective. What has

happened to thee? Thou seemest rather downcast."

"Nothing is the matter with me," replied Skirmen, holding the stirrup

for his master, "if nothing is the matter with yourself, or, perhaps,

with the king. You may believe me or not, as you choose--but all is not

right. 'Tis true, indeed, they were so drunk that they could not see a

fly on the wall; but a drunken man's jabber is not always to be

despised. In our old ballads it is often said, that wisdom may be

learnt in the song of birds, when it is understood. People, however,

are not so wise now-a-days; yet still I think I can guess what the cock

crowed this morning."

"Art thou crazed, Skirmen? I cannot understand a word of this."

"That, in sooth, is not my fault, stern sir," replied Skirmen, mounting

his horse, and riding on by his master's side. "For five long hours you

have not cared to listen to what I have been telling you, but have

allowed me to speak to the wind. Trust me, something will come of this

journey to Harrestrup. Did you not perceive how glad the crafty

chamberlain was, when you rode off? Did you not mark how eagerly he

repeated, that the king would meet you at home like a careful host, I

and that you were not, on any account, to ride out to meet him

to-morrow?"

"Ay, truly: but that is merely a curious whimsy of the king's."

"But none can better lead the king to your abode than yourself, sir.

And is it not singular that you should be sent off beforehand, dancing

to the chamberlain's pipe--you that are both a knight and a drost?"

"No childish vanities, Skirmen. I must obey the king's message, whoever

brings it to me. I find nothing more remarkable in this than I have

heretofore discovered in your sage suspicions respecting certain

grayfriar monks, and hens, and Rypen burghers. If the king will visit

me, it follows, as a matter of course, that I must be at home

beforehand, to receive him becomingly. Sir John accompanies him, with

his trusty jagers; and the country around here is perfectly quiet and

secure."

"How know you that, sir? No one can tell where Niels Breakpeace is; and

the algrev is constantly cruising on our coasts; to say nothing of the

marsk, at Möllerup."

"He is a knight, and not a highwayman; and Niels Breakpeace is no

general. A prudent robber will never rub against the king's arm; and no

pirate will venture within the coast-guard. So long as Sir John and I

are not afraid of highwaymen or rebels, you may make yourself quite

easy, my good Skirmen."

"But have you not heard of the numerous grayfriar monks at Rypen?"

"Are you there again, with your monks? Why, there are plenty of them

everywhere."

"But they are not wont to ride about in troops, and during the night;

and if, as people say, they have swords and knights' harness under

their gray cloaks, it is not on God's service that these good gentlemen

have sneaked into monks' habits."

"Who told you this?" inquired Drost Peter, with more attention.

"The three men from Rypen, who yesterday desired to speak with the

king--they whom the king told, through Chamberlain Rané, that he had

something more to do than listen to their stupid quarrels: it was on

that account they were so angry. When I met them at the tavern, in the

evening, they were completely drunk; but this much I could gather from

their conversation--that it was not for nothing they had seen three

suns in the heavens--"

"Sheer twaddle, Skirmen! Drunken people can see as many suns in the

heavens as there are stars."

"Many sober people have also seen the same, sir. It betides a great

misfortune, they said, and they could reveal things of great importance

to the king. But he must now take care of himself, since he was too

proud to speak with honest burghers."

"Ay, this is the loyalty now-a-days," exclaimed Drost Peter,

indignantly: "when a man is offended, he bids his king and country a

good day. If you thought there was anything more than vile superstition

and silly braggadocia in this ale-gossip, why did not you inform me

immediately?"

"You were, with Sir John, in attendance upon the queen and the princes,

sir; and I did not wish to raise a blind alarm, on the instant, about

such loose talk. The Rypen burghers seemed as if they would take their

ease for some days at the tavern, and this morning I was there betimes

to meet them sober; but they had disappeared overnight, it was said,

and no one knew what had become of them. I could not get speech of you

this morning, on account of the chamberlain, and your many

distinguished visitors; and ever since you mounted your horse, you have

not listened to one word of all I have already told you--not even about

the handsome cock with the necklace."

"Enough. To what does all this trifling tend? How can you imagine that

I have leisure to think of your cock and his battles?"

"But what if it should be the same bird you so much admired at

Flynderborg?"

"Flynderborg?" repeated Drost Peter, starting: "who talks of

Flynderborg? Was it not at Scanderborg the marvellous cock was to be

seen, that gained the victory over all the rest?"

"Truly, sir; but it came from Flynderborg, nevertheless: it is the

selfsame bird respecting which you held such fair conversation with

Lady Ingé, when she stroked his wings in the garden, on the hillock

near the strand. I stood by, and ventured not to interrupt you. You had

just been talking of Hamlet's cunning, with his charred wooden

hooks,[30] and with the gad-fly and the straw; and Lady Ingé thought

that her watchful bird had been a better sign of warning against

treachery and danger."

"And this bird, you say, is now at Scanderborg?"

"There is no doubt that it is the same: I made the discovery this

morning. You may remember the fowler from Zealand, who, one evening

lately, forced his way to you into the palace, and wanted you to look

at his hens? You closed the door against him, and thought him a

simpleton. I, too, thought the man crazy, when he ran away, and let

loose his best cock in the court of the palace. It first occurred to me

this morning that the brave pugnacious bird was an old acquaintance.

The falconer had caught him, for the sake of a crimson pearl-band he

had about his neck. I procured the band, and certainly think I know it.

You may, perhaps, know it yourself, sir." So saying, he drew forth a

crimson riband, wrought with pearls in the form of a few white flowers.

With blushing cheeks Drost Peter recognised Lady Ingé's hair-band. "Let

me have it," he said, eagerly; "it is mine." He pressed it closely to

his lips, then concealed it in his bosom, and, setting spurs to his

horse, rode on in the strangest frame of mind. He felt himself happy

beyond measure, yet at the same time disquieted and uneasy.

But the joyful hope awakened in his breast by the possession of the

band, did not long sustain him. The mysterious warning, and the summons

to vigilance, associated with this fond memorial, had, to him, a

signification that almost forbade him to think of himself and his

affection. What the patriotic maiden intended to communicate to him, by

this mysterious symbol, appeared to him to have reference to the crown

and the royal house alone. He suddenly checked his horse, and reflected

whether he ought not at once to ride back to Scanderborg, and accompany

the king himself on the following day, or, rather, induce him to

abandon the visit entirely. But when he considered how absurd such a

course would appear to the king and his court, and the ridicule to

which it might expose him, he relinquished the thought, with a smile at

his own credulity.

Skirmen, in the meantime, had overtaken his master.

"Well, now," said the drost, "the cock may still be right. We shall be

cautious; although, as the king travels with a considerable retinue,

there is no rational ground for apprehending any impending danger. I

shall, however, ride to meet him to-morrow, and follow him through the

wood with my people. At Harrestrup he can be safer than at Scanderborg

itself."

"I think with you," replied Skirmen: "at present, indeed, nothing

farther can be done. But that there are night-birds in the moss, I

certainly believe."

They now rode on thoughtfully, and in silence. The night was beginning

to darken as they passed Daugberg Church, and they continued their

course northwards towards the town, through a long valley between

considerable heights, wherein deep pits had been formed by the

important lime-stone quarries. The dark green, newly-sprung winter corn

grew on the heights, between heaps of stones and half-fallen groups of

trees. The sight of this wild, picturesque spot awoke many youthful

memories in the mind of the drost, and dissipated his uneasy thoughts.

"Here have I often played at robbers in my childhood," he said: "little

thought I, then, that I should now be riding here in this serious

mood."

"Look, sir!" said Skirmen, riding close up to his master: "see you not

something twinkling, and in motion, in that great gloomy pit?"

"Are you dreaming of robbers?" inquired the drost. "I see nothing."

"Now, also, do I see nothing," replied Skirmen; "but the pit is full

seventy ells deep--it could conceal a whole band."

"The place is well suited for such fellows," observed the drost; "but

hitherto, this spot has been secure enough. My brave warden Tygé is not

to be trifled with. Do you see the old wheel on Daugberg-Daas? It still

stands there, as a grave warning to rievers and highwaymen. The wood

would better suit such gentry; but, there, old Henner Friser is on the

outlook."

"Henner Friser!" repeated Skirmen, in astonishment: "is he here?"

"It is true, indeed. You should not have known it, Skirmen; but

you can be silent. You may remember that he killed a royal squire in

self-defence; and, to be out of the way of trouble on that account, he

is attached to one of my hunting-seats."

"Which, sir? That of Finnerup?"

"Well, then, since you have guessed so much, he resides there. But you

must be silent on the subject."

"I understand you, sir," replied Skirmen, highly delighted: "I shall

take care not to bring the brave old man and the pretty little Aasé

into trouble. But had they not better leave the hunting-seat for the

next few days? How easily the king and his huntsmen might discover

them! And, should that cursed coxcomb, Rané, meet them--"

"Skirmen," replied the drost, "you are more circumspect than I.

To-morrow, betimes, you can ride over and warn them."

"Thanks, sir, thanks!" exclaimed Skirmen, jigging gaily in his saddle.

They now entered a little plantation of young beeches and poplars.

Twilight descended, but they could still see the tall white trees.

"I scarcely know my little Kjælderriis again," said the drost: "see how

proud my poplars are grown."

"However good a look-out Henner Friser may keep, there are still

poachers enough here," said Skirmen. "I heard the twang of a steel-bow

just now; and--do you not hear that rustling in the thicket there?"

"Nonsense, Skirmen. It is my poplars, rustling me a welcome," replied

the drost, "or a startled roebuck among the leaves. The rascals,

however, should not be admitted here," he added: "probably the fences

are not in good condition."

They were soon out of the plantation, and then rode through a deep

dale. The last glimmer of day still lighted up the brow of a

considerable hill, which rose nobly from the valley. Harrestrup Castle

lay before them, on the smooth and almost circular summit of the

height. The castle was small, but so well fortified by nature that it

required no artificial trenches; and its steep; lofty walls and

buttresses seemed inaccessible to the most daring assailants. The

entire castle appeared to consist of a single round tower, built of

bricks and hewn stone. It was approached only by a steep and narrow

pathway, which the tired horses had some trouble to ascend; the road,

at every step, becoming narrower and steeper.

Drost Peter and his squire at length dismounted, and led their horses

over the most difficult spot, between two steep gullies crossed by a

small drawbridge. As usual in time of peace, the bridge was down. At

length the travellers stood by the castle-gate, which was closed. High

over Drost Peter's head, on the summit of the wall above the gate,

waved a large banner, adorned with the armorial bearings of the master

of the castle--three parallel descending bars, _gules_ on a field

_d'or_.

"You have brought the horn, Skirmen," said the drost: "blow a merry

stave, that they may know we are here."

Skirmen carried a curved golden horn in a band over his shoulder. He

set it to his lips, and blew the commencement of the air of the merry

old ballad about Sir John, who took the bride from her loutish lover.

This signal was immediately answered from the tower by a brisk,

youthful voice, which sang the burden to the well-known song:--

"Bind up your golden helmet--

Bind up, and follow Sir John."

"Is it you, stern sir?" then inquired the voice from the wall.

"Ay, truly. Open, Tygé," replied the drost; and the great iron-studded

door was instantly opened, and Drost Peter was received, with hearty

pleasure, by his bold young warden and a numerous band of house-carls,

all active young men, and, as was the warden, armed with round steel

caps and bright halberds. A number of grooms and torchbearers also

pressed forward to see and salute their master.

Drost Peter shook hands with his warden, patted some of his house-carls

on the shoulder, and nodded kindly to them all.

"Is everything in order?" he inquired. "To-morrow the king will be

here."

"Came a kaiser himself here, sir," answered the warden, "you would not

be ashamed of your house. Dorothy has had the waxlights placed, and the

tables covered, these two months. The whole castle has been cleaned,

and is as bright as are our halberds. The pantry is full of choice

viands, and the cellar of prime ale and sweet wine. If the king should

stay the whole winter, he will not have to lick his fingers."

"And the hunters, the hounds, and the falcons?" inquired the drost.

"They are fleet and well-trained. You shall get honour by them, sir."

"One thing more, Tygé. Is the neighbourhood secure? Are there no

poachers in Kjælderriis, and no loose and suspicious people in Daugberg

quarries?"

"Why should such an idea enter your thoughts, sir? Beggars and tinkers

pass by here now and then: we give them bread and meat in God's name,

and they touch not a rabbit in the woods, nor a feather in the

hen-house. If the district were unsafe, we must have heard of it. No

thief or robber may venture near Harrestrup Castle, so long as your

banner hangs over the gate. Have you perceived anything, sir?"

"Not I. It was only a fancy that seized Skirmen on the road."

"What, Claus Skirmen!" exclaimed the lively warden; "when wert thou

wont to have old women's fancies?"

"If you will trust me with half a score of house-carls, sir," said

Skirmen, quickly and decidedly, to the drost, "I shall yet perhaps,

before you go to bed, show your confident warden that I have not had

old women's fancies."

"Well, if you have a desire to see a little about you, you may have ten

carls, willingly. If you do not break your neck in the pits, you must

be here again before midnight. The moon rises late: have you torches?"

"They are not required," said Skirmen: "the darker the better. On

foot, we can find our way blindfolded. Take good care of my norback,

lads. I shall have none of you with me but you, nimble John, and you,

warder Soeren, and you--" And he thus selected ten of the most active

house-carls, and hastened from the gate with them, whilst the grooms

led the horses to the stable.

Drost Peter accompanied the castle-warden across the court, and up the

stone steps, to the dwelling-house.

Before the young master of the castle partook of either rest or

refreshment, he inspected the whole arrangements. He found everything

in the best order, and prepared sumptuously to receive the king and his

train. Drost Peter's old nurse, the careful Dorothy, with a broom and

dish-cloth in her hand, bustled towards him from the kitchen, and, in

her extreme joy, would have embraced him. She was not a little proud of

having been entrusted with the entire management of the domestic

affairs of the castle. She wept with joy at the proud thought that she

should be hostess to the royal party; and it was to her an honour

without parallel, to be reigning queen of the kitchen and pantry on so

important an occasion--the crowning event of her life. She dragged her

young master about with her everywhere, to show him all the choice

arrangements she had made for the convenience of the king and his great

lords, and was inexhaustible in explaining to him how she had prepared

for every hour of the day, so long as the royal visit should last.

"Good, good, my dear Dorothy," said Drost Peter, at length, somewhat

impatiently, and patting her kindly on the shoulder: "you have done

everything excellently. I do not understand these matters, but I well

know that you care for the honour of the house, as much as if you were

my wife."

"Ah, dear young master," replied Dorothy, kissing his hand, "when shall

I have the heart's joy of seeing you cared for and received by a pious

and handsome young housewife in the castle here? You truly deserve that

one of God's dear angels should come to you. God's blessing rests here,

and, like the prosperous Joseph, you are, next to the king, the first

man in the land; and, I dare be sworn, should Potiphar's wife tempt

you--"

"Enough, enough, Dorothy," exclaimed Drost Peter, interrupting her, and

blushing. "I do not doubt your good opinion of me."

"Ah!" continued Dorothy, "but what avail you honour and fortune, my

dear young master, when you live in this way, like a lonely bird in the

world. Trow me, fair sir, it is not good for man to be alone. So my

blessed husband always said, God gladden his soul! He banged me well at

times, the blessed creature, when he did not get warm hashed meat to

supper--it was always a favourite dish of his--and every mortal has his

weakness; but he was still a good sort of man, and as pious as an

angel, after he had his supper. Ay, ay; everything in the world is

transitory. My happy days have gone by; and now I have no greater joy

than to see you comfortable, my dearest young master; and could I once

see my good Peter Hessel married, and rock his children and his

children's children in my arms, I should willingly close my old eyes,

and bid this weary world good night."

So saying, she wiped a few tears from her withered cheeks with her

kitchen-apron, without noticing warden Tygé's dry remark how much she

would be beyond a hundred years of age before all her wishes were

fulfilled.

"But come in now, my dear master, and take something to live upon," she

added, going before him to open the door: "you are famishing, God help

me, in your own house, and in the midst of all God's blessings." So

saying, she ran back, and drew him with her into the clean, polished

day-room, where she compelled him to sit down, while she busied herself

about his refreshment.

Drost Peter had still much to say to his warden; and having at length

prevailed on Dorothy to go to bed, he remained alone with Tygé in the

apartment. He then made inquiries into the condition of his estates and

his subordinates, during which some hours elapsed.

The warden had gone out to inspect his people, and had again returned.

"It is late, Tygé," said the drost, with a feeling of weariness: "what

has become of Skirmen? It is time all were retired to rest. Before

daybreak we must ride to meet the king, with our boldest swains. You

have taken care that they hold themselves ready to start betimes?"

"The knechts are already as sound asleep as stones," replied the

warden; "but this is not according to my way of management. Three of

the carls who should have kept watch to-night, followed Skirmen, and

their posts stand vacant. This is sad irregularity, sir drost: it has

never happened to me before, and you must graciously excuse me. It is

strange enough, sir, but we two are the only souls awake in the castle.

Our house-carls are, at other times, brave and sober fellows; but, out

of joy at your return, they have all looked a little too deep into the

ale-can, and have tapped the German tun."

"What? have you German ale in the castle?" inquired the drost, much

displeased. "That, you know, I have strictly forbidden: it is contrary

to the king's orders, which I and my people ought to be the first to

obey."

"I have said so, stern sir; but it was on Dorothy's account: she would

not let me have either peace or quiet until I had brought her a couple

of barrels from Viborg. Without German ale, she thought it would be

impossible to entertain the king's people becomingly, even if the king

had ten times forbidden it. If he himself and his people thought good

of it, there would be no sin in it, she argued."

"'Tis like her," said the drost, smiling; "and it must be so for the

present; but to-morrow, betimes, let every drop of it run down the

drain, whether Dorothy be sour or mild."

"It shall be done, sir; but for the sake of peace in the house, had you

not better inform her of it, yourself? What now is this?" he continued,

listening: "I fancied I heard a creaking at the door of the riddersal.

I thought Dorothy was sound asleep, but it would seem she is still

bustling about. She is so zealous in her housewifery, that, at times,

she gets up in the middle of the night, and dusts everything anew. It

will be a God's blessing, however, if she does not get crazy with joy

at all this magnificence. But, if you will allow me, sir, I will just

see if it be her."