"They have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half

erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the

hilt of his sword.

Both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes,

but there was a profound silence.

"What day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse I have

never lived."

"This is St. Cecilia's night, sir king," replied little Aagé, who

perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "Ah,

gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy

Cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night."

"Pray!--pray thou, child! I cannot," replied the king. "Mass-bell and

church-hymn, I never followed: the holy Cecilia aids not me."

The little Aagé folded his hands and prayed. Rané still held the

lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king,

who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the

straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt.

"That is well, Rané: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered.

"How many studs are there in my belt?"

Rané held the light closer. "I count twelve," he replied: "but why

desire you to know that?"

"That was a singular woman in the forest, Rané. She could see up into

heaven and down among the damned. She bade me count the studs upon my

belt, if I would know the number of my traitors. Twelve only you

reckoned? I fancied I had counted fourteen. Thirteen there are, at

least."

"Who would be guided by the number of buttons, sire?" replied Rané.

"When a man cannot make up his mind, I have heard that he should count

his buttons; but that is suited only to children, sire."

"Thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, Rané? Reckon again,

and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. Is it not so?--there are thirteen?"

"Well, possibly," replied Rané, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is

not a lucky number, sir king."

"Thou art right. Thirteen was the number when the false Judas betrayed

his heavenly Lord and King. But, why becomest thou so pale, Rané?"

"I have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied Rané, looking

towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if I am a little

palefaced. But listen! What is that?"

Lusty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and

poles.

"Arise, King Erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice

outside.

"I am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "That was the

terrible Stig Anderson's voice." He had drawn his sword; but stood

irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre.

The chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "King

Erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "Conceal

yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "Lay yourself

down: I will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." He

extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now

stood in total darkness.

"Rané, Rané! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the

wretched king.

"Hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! I shall defend you to the last

drop of my blood."

"So shall I too!" cried little Aagé Jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and

prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "Alas! had I but a

sword!"

The little Bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without

continued.

"Be still--be still, youth! Resistance is useless here," whispered the

king to Aagé. "Do not betray me with your whining, Bent," he added;

"but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner."

They hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded

them.

The noise outside was still increasing. The assailants hammered lustily

against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when

it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of

straw. Twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered

silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. They

looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not

finding what they were in search of.

"Where is he? He hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful

voice from the midst of them. They searched fruitlessly every spot,

except where Rané stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw.

"Save my life, my trusty Rané!" whispered the king from beneath the

straw, "and I give thee my own sister in marriage."

"My king and master is not here, but I guard his jewels and treasures,"

cried Rané, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and I shall

cleave the skull of the first who approaches." And he swung his puny

sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a

clump of wood lying on the barn-floor.

"You defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered Aagé:

"give me your sword, if you will not use it better."

"Away, boy!" shouted Rané, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of

the page, but without touching him.

Among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who

tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by

the side of a powerful and gigantic form. These two pressed on at the

head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of

the other, until they reached the spot to which Rané had pointed. They

both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king.

"Here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall

masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. At the same

instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light

of the torch.

"Aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he

suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of

straw.

A scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter,

issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving

murderer. In their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole

of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch.

Rané continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any

one. At last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of

him who carried it. "Help, help! They are murdering my king and

master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed

furiously from the barn.

A fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene.

The gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where

it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. The fearful monk-like forms

stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their

hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the

murdered Erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes

of death.

"He is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their

leader, breaking the fearful silence. "Away! To horse!"

In an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had

once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have

torn it asunder with his nails.

The two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the

mangers.

"Monster!" now cried the little Aagé; and rushing towards him, he

plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the

madman's heart.

"Good, good--now I can die! Blessed be the angel from heaven who has

redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the

murdered king.

One half of the barn was already in flames. The four horses in the

stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door;

and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. The flames burst through

the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den

of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of

persons hurrying to the scene.

"Help me to save the king's corpse, Bent," said Aagé to his weeping

comrade. And with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the

entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated.

"God be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed

Aagé, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. Make haste!"

They were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud

crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse.

A great number of people had now assembled; but they gave little heed

to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding

the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. The

crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping

youths in front of the burning pile. The feelings awakened in the minds

of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the

murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed.

The consternation and the confusion were great. They screamed and

shouted from one to the other.

"Pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"Take care of the king's body!"

cried others.--"Send word to Harrestrup!"--"Bring the drost! bring Sir

John!"--"Send word to Scanderborg! there are still the queen and the

young king!"

Such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered,

but no one stirred to give them effect. Women and children thronged

towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the

frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. Many commanded,

but none obeyed.

At length was heard, in the midst of the hubbub, the cry of--"Room,

room! the drost is coming!" and the noisy crowd was divided by three

horsemen, who urged their panting steeds eagerly through them. It was

Drost Peter, with Skirmen and old Henner Friser. Behind them followed a

troop of huntsmen, having Chamberlain Rané, bound, in their midst.

"Silence here--give place!" cried Drost Peter, springing from his

horse.

The crowd fell respectfully to one side, and a dead silence ensued. The

drost beheld the king's body with horror. He hastily examined it, and

found that there was no longer any sign of life. He counted fifty-six

wounds, all of which were mortal. Under the king's vest he also found a

dagger, which had not been withdrawn from where it had been planted in

his bosom. He drew it out, and examined it closely: it was a

magnificent weapon, wrought with great skill, its hilt representing a

gilded lion. Having displayed it to the nearest spectators, he put it

carefully aside.

"King Erik Christopherson is dead," he cried, with a loud voice, whilst

he rose from the corpse and surveyed the crowd, whose earnest and

sympathising faces were illumined by the flames of the barn: "he has

been shamefully murdered, and this atrocious crime shall not remain

unpunished, as certain as there is a righteous Judge above us!" He

paused an instant, and a deep silence prevailed around.

"The young King Erik Erikson is now our lawful lord and king," he

continued, with greater calmness, and raising his right hand: "the

people of Denmark have themselves elected and sworn allegiance to him.

The holy Church will ratify his election; and soon shall he sit,

anointed and crowned, on the throne of his ancestors. If you be true to

him, brave Danish people, he shall, if it please God, be a good and

righteous king, and shall severely punish the cruel and audacious

murderers of his father. May the Almighty give him strength, and throw

his protecting arm over him and his loyal people!"

"Long live King Erik Erikson! long live our young king!" shouted the

multitude; whilst a few cries of "Vengeance--vengeance on his

murderers!" were heard.

Drost Peter waved his hand for silence, and turned to those who stood

nearest to him. "Who here has the fleetest horse?" he demanded.

"I--I have!" cried Skirmen, springing forward.

"Right--none can speed as thou canst. Bide instantly to Scanderborg, my

trusty Skirmen. Speed thee, and carry to the queen the woful tidings.

Relate what thou hast heard and seen. Say to Sir Thorstenson, in my

name, that every avenue to the palace and to our young king must be

instantly closed and well guarded. To-morrow, I shall arrive myself,

with Sir John, when I have properly cared for the dead king's body.

Away! God be with thee!"

Skirmen was mounted in an instant, and flew off, with the speed of an

arrow, on his little norback.

"Thou, trusty old Henner!" continued Drost Peter, turning to the

grave old man, who had remained by his side immoveable, on his tall

horse, and gazing upon the royal corpse with a strong expression of

sorrow--"thou, and the royal huntsmen, pursue the murderers

immediately. Take Rané with thee, and compel him to lead thee in their

track."

Henner Friser nodded, and turned his horse. A minute afterwards, the

giant-like old man, with Rané by his side, bound, rode at full gallop

past the blazing barn, followed by the huntsmen.

"Ye good Danish men," continued Drost Peter, turning to some of the

more respectable peasants who stood nearest to him, and who appeared to

regard the royal corpse with most sympathy, "ye shall bear the body of

our murdered king with me to Viborg. Bleeding, as it now lies, shall it

be exposed to the gaze of the people. Lay four planks over that

harvest-waggon, and yoke to it six of your best horses. Spread my

mantle over the planks, and lay the corpse carefully upon it. You,

children, follow me," he said to the two weeping pages, who, in the

meantime, had caught the king's steed, and one of the falcons. "Tie the

king's horse to the waggon, Aagé: he shall follow his master. Give me

the falcon, Bent. Light two fir-torches, and place yourselves at the

king's feet. You shall bear the lights for him to-night, for the last

time."

The boys wept and obeyed; and the peasants soon executed the orders of

the drost. His scarlet cloak had now become the king's pall; and he

himself sat quietly on his steed, with the king's favourite falcon on

his arm, and saw that everything was done becomingly.

Many people still crowded around, but there was no noisy commotion.

From the women only was heard a solitary sigh, or a subdued expression

of pity; but among the men, astonishment at the unheard-of deed

appeared more general than sorrow or commiseration.

Drost Peter perceived this with deep emotion. "King Erik's last journey

is dark. Take brands from the barn, and light us," he said, in a

sorrowful tone.

Some men from Harrestrup instantly obeyed.

"Honour the dead; for the crown he bore, and for the sake of the royal

race from which he was descended. Follow him, as many as can, yet as a

freewill token of affection: none else is wanted. Withdraw which way

you will; but depart with quietness, and repeat at least a prayer for

his soul. When the sun last set, he was a powerful king, and our lawful

lord and master. Let that den of murder burn," he added, with horror:

"its foundation shall be razed, and every trace of it rooted from the

earth. Where it stood, shall no man rest any more; but, for centuries

to come, shall prayers be said, night and day, for the soul of the

murdered king. May the merciful God be gracious to him and all of us!"

With emotion he raised his hand to his eyes and gave a signal, when the

procession slowly moved forwards. The crowd dispersed quietly and in

silence; twelve peasants only attending, who walked, with blazing

fir-torches, on both sides of the waggon. Near to the king's head rode

Drost Peter, with the falcon on his arm; whilst the steed followed his

dead master. As the procession moved past the flaming barn, a strong

light fell on the drost's earnest countenance, and the royal corpse lay

aloft on the waggon, visible to all. At its feet sat the two pages,

with torches in their hands. Silently and slowly the gloomy funeral

train disappeared in the deep night; and here and there, on the

highways and byways, along the road to Viborg, stood astonished

peasants, gazing in wonder.

* * *

At Scanderborg, the queen and the young princes were still in deep

slumber, at the early hour when Claus Skirmen reached the palace on his

panting norback, which had carried his light rider more than forty

English miles in six hours.

The landsknechts who held watch at the castle-gate and by the

palace-stairs recognised the drost's squire, and instantly admitted

him. They were surprised at his haste.

"Pull up the drawbridge, and lock the gates!" he cried: "the foe is at

my heels!"

The grave landsknechts were amazed: no enemy was perceptible in the

misty dawn, and they were not accustomed to receive orders from a

squire. Whilst they hesitated and delayed, Skirmen leaped from his

saddle, and hurried up to the queen's large ante-chamber, where Sir

Thorstenson himself kept night-watch with the royal body-guards.

"The king is murdered!" cried Skirmen, almost breathless.

The whole of the knight's men in the hall sprang up, and stood as if

thunderstruck or petrified.

"Murdered!" exclaimed Sir Thorstenson: "art thou in thy right senses,

Skirmen?"

"Murdered!" repeated Skirmen; "and the murderers are not half a mile

distant: they are approaching, with a numerous band of horsemen. If you

would not have the palace surprised, sir, let it be barricaded

instantly!"

"Wilt thou drive us mad, Skirmen? Bar the palace, trabants! and every

man to his arms! Righteous God! murdered!"

The alarmed trabants hastily quitted the hall, with scarcely sense

enough left to execute the orders of their captain.

"Now, by Satan, speak, Skirmen!" exclaimed the enraged Thorstenson,

stamping. "Who has ventured on this atrocious deed? Ha! was it the

algrev--the accursed algrev?"

"Nay, stern sir: if it were not the devil and his imps, it was Marsk

Stig and his kinsmen. At the barn of Finnerup the deed was done." And

Skirmen then related all he had himself heard and seen, and what the

drost had charged him to say. "And my master was right," he added: "had

he not dispatched me instantly, the murderers themselves had perhaps

first brought you the intelligence. An hour ago they held a council on

Tulstrup Heath. They sat on horseback, and clothed in mail: in the fog

I had nearly ridden into the midst of them; but the moon broke forth

over their heads, and revealed to me their bloody swords. I hurried

past them, and they pursued me up to the forest. There were certainly

more than seventy men, and some amongst them were disguised as

grayfriars. They must be here instantly."

"Let them come!" cried Thorstenson: "they shall find us awake. You are

right: none has dared this deed but Marsk Stig. He has now fulfilled

his oath, and slain King Erik. He may next aim at the prince's life;

but his vengeance shall not reach it. Is everything in order,

trabants?" he inquired of some of them who had returned to the

ante-chamber. They informed him of what had been done for the defence

of the place, and were again dispatched with fresh orders; and the

utmost activity prevailed in the palace.

The sudden noise awoke the queen, who rang for her maids, and inquired

what the disturbance meant. They were all frightened, but none of them

yet knew what had happened. The queen arose and dressed hastily, to

proceed to the guard-chamber. The noise in the palace increased. People

ran about bewildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen among them; but

where, no one could tell. Every one knew that a great misfortune had

happened; but what it was, no tongue ventured to ask. In the guard-room

the knights stood in complete armour, awaiting the orders of their

chief. The hall looked out on the palace-yard, and was provided with a

balcony, commanding a view of the high road. Here stood Sir Thorstenson

and Skirmen, watching, on the road to the palace, a great cloud of

dust, which they were now first able plainly to distinguish from the

gray mist of the morning.

"You are right, Skirmen," said Thorstenson, with a nod: "it is a large

band of horsemen; they will actually treat us here on fasting stomachs.

No matter--they shall have their morning meal before us. Are the

archers on the tower?" he inquired of one of the trabants.

"Yes, sir knight," was the reply: "they have occupied all the

loopholes, and are ready, with arrows on their bowstrings, as you

commanded."

"Good: but let no one draw a shaft until I wave this banner over the

balcony," he commanded, as he seized the large royal banner which stood

at the end of the saloon. "The more time we can gain the better," he

added: "if it comes to a storming, we must use our shot-waggons; for

the fellows deserve a warm breakfast. Let the fire rage under the

stones, and they will soon he hot enough. We must melt these mailed

flinty hearts."

The trabant departed.

At the same moment the queen entered, attended by her ladies and

maidens. "What mean these preparations?" she inquired, looking

anxiously around her, and at the same time, with her customary dignity,

acknowledging the military salute given her by the trabants.

"God and Our Lady support you, my noble queen!" exclaimed Sir

Thorstenson, advancing, and lowering the banner respectfully before

her: "I did not think your grace was up, and I would not suffer you to

be awoke with evil tidings. Prepare to hear them with resolution, my

noble-hearted queen. Drost Hessel has sent us this messenger; and in

the colours of night ought he and we to be standing here, for the news

he brings is dark and gloomy as the grave."

"That, then, has happened which I have so long dreaded," said the

queen, becoming pale: "my lord and king is dead? Speak, young man!" she

continued, turning to Skirmen, "what unhappy tidings dost thou bring of

my unfortunate husband? Speak! The Queen of Denmark shall not be

crushed by a word, though the dread of it may chase the blood from her

cheeks! My lord and king is dead?"

"You have spoken it, noble queen," replied Skirmen, approaching her

respectfully, whilst Thorstenson retired to the balcony, over which he

looked with strained attention. "Traitors surprised him last night,"

continued Skirmen: "it happened in an evil hour, when he had lost

himself in the forest, near Finnerup, and his trusty men were not by

his side."

"Murdered, then--miserably murdered!--as is now every king of Denmark!"

exclaimed the queen, leaning for support on one of her maidens.

"It is unfortunately so, my noble queen," replied Skirmen, with strong

sympathy, although the expression of the queen's countenance seemed

rather to indicate bitter anger than deep, heartfelt sorrow. "Drost

Hessel was the first to find your unhappy husband, after the fearful

deed was done, and the murderers had fled. He immediately examined his

wounds, and found them numerous, and all mortal. He would not quit the

royal body before it was placed beyond the reach of farther

indignities; but, for the security of yourself and the princes, he bade

me hasten hither; and, with God's help, I have made such speed, that I

am here before the traitors. God preserve you, my queen, and the young

prince, who shall now rule Denmark's kingdom."

"Where is he?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously looking around her;

"where is the prince? where is my little Erik? Come the murderers this

way? Are they near?"

"Be calm, my noble queen," replied Thorstenson. "A band of armed

horsemen ride, indeed, towards the palace, with some disguised traitors

at their head; but, so long as I and a single Dane remain alive, no

enemy to the royal house shall set foot within these walls. I have sent

for the princes, and they will be here immediately."

"Can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the

traitors all beyond its walls? Are there none amongst us? And was it

not a Dane who murdered Denmark's king?"

Overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and

looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she

saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king.

"The castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon

another," replied Thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "The traitors are

near us, but you have true men around you. Affront not every Dane by

such dishonouring suspicions, illustrious queen. In this bloody treason

the true Danish people had no part. Your royal husband was not beloved;

nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of

no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or

perjurers. Marsk Stig Andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and

even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he

promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest Dane. We

will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with

security the crown of Denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and

loyal people."

"We will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and

trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!"

"Where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more

composure: "can we see them?" She went hastily to the balcony, and

perceived the dark troop of horsemen approaching, with the disguised,

hooded men at their head. "They are numerous," she continued; "but not

sufficient to intimidate my protectors. They approach the castle

apparently with peaceful intentions."

"Let them come close up to the walls, noble queen. They must not

imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. They have neither

archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to

say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. The

moment they commence an attack, I send them a salute of a shower of

arrows from the tower."

"'Tis well, Sir Thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with

proud indignation. "They shall behold the Queen of Denmark--they shall

behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not

slumber, and that the sceptre of Denmark, even in the hand of a minor,

has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!"

The princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. The

young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just

heard; but his brother, Junker Christopherson, was burning with wrath

and indignation. The queen turned from the balcony and approached them.

"My sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! Bear this sorrow as

beseems his sons and avengers! Those who caused his death, thirst after

your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with

bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm

you."

Junker Christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the

balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. But that which so

frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little

King Erik.

"My sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "I am

now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the

kingdom. It shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall

of my father's godless murderer. Is the castle in a state of defence,

Sir Thorstenson?"

The bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the

first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. He

bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done

for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to

lose sight of the movements of the hostile horsemen.

"Good, good!" said Erik, nodding.

A trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt

handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. Erik

hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with

his mother, stepped on to the balcony.

The troop of horsemen had halted at some distance from the palace, and

the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council.

At length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood,

accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise,

rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty

balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the

young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their

chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. The sun

had just arisen, and shone upon the noble form and fair, pale face of

the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right.

This spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile

giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. At length he

reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood

and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet

and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his

charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the

prince through the grating of his visor.

"Queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy

braggart who denounced King Erik at the Thing of Viborg. You imagined

that the man was not in Denmark who dared put so bold a speech in

practice. Behold, then, in me, the Dane who has kept his promise to the

king. The fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the

hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your

craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable."

With these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a

step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty

features of the warrior. But speedily recovering herself, she again

stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by

her side grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Come you yourself, Marsk Stig Andersen, self-made king!" said the

queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? Know,

then, it was pronounced in that bloody midnight hour, and that here

stands now your king and master, who will, if God spare him life, by a

wave of his youthful hand, accomplish Heaven's judgment upon you."

"A self made king I am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice:

"such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be

Denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall

determine. The time for that has not yet arrived; and I have not sped

hither to contend with women and children. I came here to see what I

now behold. You yourself best know who was a self-made king in Denmark.

My deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought

you sorrow and heart-pangs, Queen Agnes. I bear you, instead, a welcome

message."

As the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would

have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life

to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse

in her dreams. She blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and

immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she

collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour,

exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"For these words, Stig Andersen, I

shall answer you, when we meet before God's judgment-seat! Here, you

stand deeply under the Queen of Denmark's wrath."

"Let me speak, mother!" interrupted little Erik: "I am his judge and

master. Thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular

strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior

to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my

mother, and shalt surely die! From this hour thou art an outlaw, as

certainly as I shall wear the crown of Denmark!"

Junker Christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "The rack

and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and

angrily, clenching his hand with excess of passion.

The impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little

king was effaced by his passionate brother.

"The threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight.

"But know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant

crown!--If I must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in

the land more widows than thy mother--if Marsk Stig must lie, an

outlaw, in wood and den, Denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and

his followers! Away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right

arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear

our hands! The kingdom and country can yet be saved!"

Sir Thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "Down with

the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony.

At the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide

from the loopholes of the castle-tower. The marsk turned his horse and

laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a

distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging

in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. As if in derision of this

fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with

scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater

effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone,

discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails

of the noble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him.

At the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers

rushed towards him with bows drawn. The marsk hastily leaped on another

horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which

contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower

of hissing arrows and glowing balls from the castle of the infant king.

* * *

Twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread

over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in

relating the manner of his death.

At Kiel Castle, Count Gerhard received as guests the illustrious Duke

Waldemar and his drost, Sir Tuko Abildgaard. They had arrived, late in

the evening, from a journey through Brandenburg, and were accompanied

by both the brothers of Queen Agnes--the Margraves Otto and Conrad of

Brandenburg.

In these brave noblemen Duke Waldemar had, in the course of his

journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and

had invited them to accompany him to Sleswick. The margraves were the

intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent Count Gerhard, and they

had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable

Kiel Castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence,

without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he

journeyed homewards.

The duke had not met Count Gerhard since the evening he had seen him in

company with Sir John, at the Dane-court of Nyborg, shortly before his

own imprisonment. The interest with which the count had afterwards

laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king,

had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many

previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made

himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well

as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to

shine in presence of the ladies. That the brave, honest count,

notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that

evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more

polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious

duke had never been able to forgive him.

Count Gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good

humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in

Denmark had not yet reached Kiel. His guests and himself were seated at

the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs.

The Margrave Otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and

reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and

a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. He was a

great admirer of the German minne-singers, and sang several of their

lays in a fine deep bass voice. To satisfy the Danish gentlemen that

his royal brother-in-law, King Erik Christopherson, was more esteemed

in Germany than by his own people, he sang Reinmar von Zweter's

well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the Schwabian dialect, thus

commences:--

"Ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:"

and which may be thus translated:--

"A king so well becrown'd, and true,

And eke a crown beking'd well, too,

Maintains that crown aright:

Should thus the king his crown adorn,

That crown adorns him in return,

And each does each requite."

It was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been

welcomed at Harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he

comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that

his heart and courage were great and bold.

"Pokker i Vold! To the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged

crown, my good friend!" said Count Gerhard, laughing, when Margrave

Otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "Your good Master Reinmar

is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, I

could wish the song were Danish, and that the people might sing it from

the bottom of their hearts. Yet I have no great relish for songs for

the people that have to be brought to them from other lands."

"Now, now, my dear Count Gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a

people's song, but a complimentary ode. How otherwise would you like to

be sung?"

"Plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at

all. Songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily,

"must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should

give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults

and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might

see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. Nay, I prize more

highly the art of my old Daddy Longlegs: he does more with his

countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la.

You must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen."

At his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied

himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the

appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen.

This mightily amused Count Gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes

ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a

learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and

manners he mimicked by turns. In this representation the guests

immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic Master

Martinus de Dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, passionate

Master Grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned

theologian. The dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester

could more especially imitate to the life.

The duke and Sir Abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were

enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition.

"Excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold Master Grand to

perfection. But if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves

with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard

it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire

holy Church."

"He is not pope yet," replied Count Gerhard; "and more than one

infallible clerk we are not bound to believe in. I have great respect

for the abilities of the learned dean; but he is still a fallible man,

and, like a good Christian, he must allow that even his best friends

are not blind to his infirmities. To show you, gentlemen, that we here

do not limit our selection of persons, when, at a merry moment, we have

a mind to see them amongst us, without putting them to the

inconvenience of a journey, Daddy Longlegs shall now give us a copy

from nature, which it will probably cost you no great effort to

recognise."

He whispered a few words to the jester, who nodded, and left the room.

He shortly returned, attired in a princely purple mantle, with a gilded

parchment crown on his head, over a tuft of thin combed-out hair. His

face expressed a singular mixture of majesty and meanness, of wild

strength and effeminate weakness: he seemed both to threaten and smile

at the same time, and blinked constantly. He strode leisurely forward,

stopping at times, as if in doubt, and supporting himself on his long

wooden sword.

When Duke Waldemar saw this, he became pale. Count Gerhard laughed

immoderately; and the knightly margraves seemed perplexed.

"Let this rather daring jest alone, noble Count Gerhard," at length

said Margrave Otto, earnestly: "it is not becoming in us to be

spectators whilst our royal brother-in-law is turned to ridicule."

"What the deuce, my brave sirs, are you afraid of the spectre of your

royal brother-in-law?" cried Count Gerhard, laughing. "As you intend

shortly to visit him in person, you will do well to accustom yourself

to look him boldly in the face, without being embarrassed by his

blinking, or scared by his anger."

The jester had withdrawn to the farther end of the apartment, where he

stood in the shade, observing the effects of his mimicry. At that

moment the door was opened, and two young knights, half intoxicated,

stumbled in.

"News! news!" they shouted in a breath: "there is an insurrection in

Denmark, and the king is slain!"

All sprang up in astonishment, except Duke Waldemar, who swooned, and

sank back in his chair. In the general confusion, this was observed by

Sir Abildgaard only, who hastily came to his assistance, and chafed his

temples with wine, giving no alarm, but placing himself before him, and

concealing him with his mantle.

The others gazed with alarm on the young knights who had brought the

unexpected intelligence. But the terror of the jester was beyond

control. Notwithstanding his talent for drollery, he was subject to a

deep melancholy, which at times bordered on madness. A fearful horror

now overwhelmed him, and he fancied that the ghost of the murdered king

had actually taken possession of him, to revenge the mockery of which

he had made him the subject. Longshanks became so deadly pale, and

remained so motionless, that now he really personified a fearful

spectre of the murdered king, whose mask he had assumed in a playful

mood.

Count Gerhard had suddenly become grave; but the young knights who

brought the message of death did not observe, in their half-inebriated

state, the effects which their intelligence had produced; nor knew

they that the two strangers were Margraves of Brandenburg, and

brothers-in-law of the murdered king. They now related, in a careless

and almost merry tone, what they had heard of the king's murder.

"There is no doubt about it, sir count," said he who stood nearest him:

"he fell, appropriately, in a love adventure in Finnerup Forest; and

could not himself have desired a fairer or pleasanter death. Let us now

drink a happy journey to him, and a better and more faithful mate to

his fair queen. Merrily, sirs! The health of King Erik Christopherson,

wherever he may be."

Count Gerhard stood in agony during this unseemly and inconsiderate

speech in presence of the margraves. He would have reprimanded the

thoughtless knight, but the jester anticipated him. Rushing madly

forward, in the guise of the dead king, he seized the bone of a roebuck

from a silver dish on the table.

"King Erik Christopherson thanks you for the toast!" cried he, assuming

with fearful truthfulness the monarch's voice: "to you, and to all his

merry friends here, he sends a greeting."

So saying, he threw the large bone at the forehead of the young knight,

but it missed its aim, and struck Count Gerhard, who fell to the

ground, with the blood streaming from his left eye, which was laid open

by the blow.

All crowded around him, alarmed. During the commotion the duke regained

his senses: he cast an anxious look towards the end of the hall, where

the jester had stood; and as he no longer saw the threatening form of

royalty, he appeared entirely to recover his self-possession.

At the moment the accident happened to the count, the jester had cast

aside his parchment crown and purple mantle, and thrown himself, with

an exclamation of intense grief, over his wounded master; but Count

Gerhard quickly arose, holding his hand over his bleeding wound.

"Our untimely jest has cost me an eye," he said, with composure; "but

that is a matter of little consequence at present. If what we have

heard be true, the kingdom and our noble queen are in a critical

position. Haste, my lords, and stand by her with aid and counsel! As

soon as possible, I shall place myself at the service of the crown and

country."

Count Gerhard left the drinking-room to commit himself to the care of

his surgeon; and his guests instantly departed from Kiel Castle, and

hastily took the road to Scanderborg.

* * *

On the same evening the inmates of Möllerup were in a state of anxious

expectation, for the lord of the castle had departed eight days before

with a portion of the garrison. The gates were closed, and the

drawbridge was drawn up as usual. The four watchers stood on the tower,

and all was stillness in the strong, gloomy fortress.

In the women's apartment, as midnight approached, sat the tall, veiled

Fru Ingeborg, in her dark mourning dress, engaged in sewing a long

white linen garment. On the work-table before her, stood a lamp. The

little, restless Ulrica she had sent to bed; but the quiet Margarethé

sat by her side, industriously employed on the sacred picture, which

she worked with silk and threads of gold, and which was destined to

adorn a holy altar-cloth in the castle-chapel of Möllerup.

"I shall soon have it finished now, mother!" exclaimed the daughter.

"Look once more. The red shines beautifully in the light: to me it

seems as if the little angels smiled, and as if there really came a

radiance from the faces of the infant Jesus and the dear Mother of

God."

"Good, good, my pious child," replied the mother, patting her pale

cheek, and casting on the work a passing glance through her veil. "I,

too, shall soon be done," she added, with a suppressed sigh.

"But what is this long linen garment for, dear mother? It is neither a

table-cloth nor a sheet."

"When I am dead, my child," answered the mother, "thou shalt thank the

merciful God, and wrap my body and face in this linen cloth: then shall

I have put off the dark dress of mourning, and be clad in white

garments--white is the colour of innocence and purity, my child."

"Alas, mother! cannot we wear that garment, then, when we are living?

But our Lord and Saviour took all our sins upon himself, when he died

for us on the cross. Angels came to his grave in white raiment; and,

when we become as little children, the kingdom of heaven belongs to us,

as to the angels."

"Put on thy white kirtle to-morrow, my child," replied the mother.

"Ah, mother, mother!" sighed Margarethé, "when shall I see thy face

again, and thy beautiful tender eyes? I well remember seeing them when

I was very little; but that is long, long ago. Poor little Rikké has

never seen thy face, and she is thy child also."

"Soon, soon shall ye both see me face to face, I hope," replied the

mother, with a trembling voice. "Look at the sand-glass, child: is it

near midnight?"

"It is past midnight, mother. Dost thou expect father to-night?"

"He promised to be here, or to send a messenger, before midnight,"

replied the mother, anxiously; "and he is not wont to forget what he

promises. But he has a great pledge to redeem; and before that is done

I shall not hear from him: until then, there is peace for none of us."

"Alas! wherefore not, mother? Rememberest thou not that the holy text

speaks of the peace which is higher than human understanding? That

peace the Lord has given to us all."

"Yes, truly, child: that peace the righteous shall find: they shall

enter into their peace--they shall rest on their beds, it stands. But

everything in its time: first war--then peace."

There was now heard the howling of dogs in the court-yard.

"Listen, mother, listen!" said Margarethé: "the dogs are noisy. They

certainly expect father; but they were never wont to howl so

fearfully."

"It betokens a message of death," said the mother. "Keep silence, my

child; methinks I hear thy father's hunting-horn; and, list! the

watchword rings from the tower.--He comes!"

Footsteps now sounded in the court. In the still night they could hear

the drawbridge lowered and the gate turn on its grating hinges, and

shortly after came the noise of many horses and horsemen in the court.

Margarethé ran to the window.

"It is father and his men!" she cried. "But what is this? There are

grayfriars among them, with torches! Father has now dismounted, and is

coming straight to us."

Fru Ingeborg attempted hastily to rise, but sank back on her chair,

powerless. "Seest thou thy grandfather, too?--Seest thou my hapless old

father?" she inquired.

"Nay, poor old grandfather I do not see, mother. I can see all, but

grandfather is not amongst them."

The door into the women's apartment was now opened, and the tall lord

of the castle stood in his steel armour on the threshold. His visor was

raised, and his stern, serious face was pale. He remained on the

threshold without uttering a word, but made a sign to intimate that the

child should be sent away.

"Go into the nursery, my child," said the mother, rising slowly, and

trembling: "what thy father has to tell me, thou art not to hear."

Margarethé had approached her father, to greet him and kiss his hand;

but she saw clots of blood on his gauntlet, and ran back affrighted.

She folded her hands, and left the apartment, weeping.

The marsk then stepped over the threshold. "It is done!" he said: "take

the veil of shame from thy face, my wife, and embrace, at last, thy

husband and thine avenger! Thy scandal is washed out with the tyrant's

blood: thou shalt no longer blush to be called the wife of Stig

Andersen."

With a violent, almost convulsive action, Fru Ingeborg tore away her

veil, and the rays of the lamp fell on her deadly pale and wasted face,

which still bore the traces of a beauty seldom surpassed; but her dark

blue sparkling eyes were deeply sunk in their large sockets. She

stretched out her meagre hands, and approached the marsk. He drew back

a step, surprised; but in another instant he rushed forward with wild

ardour into her outstretched arms, while two large tears rolled down

his iron cheeks.

"My Ingeborg! my unhappy Ingeborg! is it thus I again embrace thee!" he

exclaimed: "has an age passed over our heads, and have we both grown

old since last I looked upon thy face, and held thee in these arms?

Live, live now, my hapless wife, and become young again! All thy griefs

are over: thy years of sorrow and thy dishonour are avenged--fearfully

avenged! Never was a polluter of woman more severely punished than he

who murdered thy peace. Thy father was the first whose sword pierced

his false heart."

"Ah! my father, my father! where is he?" inquired Fru Ingeborg,

starting, alarmed, from her husband's bloody arms. "And thou art

bleeding--thou art wounded!"

"It is the tyrant's blood--I swore thou shouldst see it. I am myself

unscathed, my wife! but thy father--thy poor crazy father--he followed

us not from the burning barn. I hurried back to drag him from the

flames, but it was too late!"

"Burned! burned alive!" shrieked Fru Ingeborg. "Righteous God! thus

does the Almighty Judge crush us for our vengeance!" And she fell

senseless on the winding-sheet, which lay upon the floor.

When she again opened her eyes, she was on a chair, and her husband, in

his bloody harness, yet stood alone with her. "Comfort thee, my wife!"

said the marsk: "thy unhappy father lay not long in pain; his soul

soared peacefully on the flames to that promised land of freedom for

which he so long vainly sighed. Comfort thee, wife! Hear what I have to

tell thee! It now concerns our own lives. Our great plans respecting

the kingdom and country are not yet to be thought of. A panic has

seized all our friends: every one thinks but of himself and his own

safety. The people will not declare in our favour; but wail, like

madmen, over the slaughter of the king. I myself am an outlaw: the

young king has so proclaimed me, though without trial or judgment. I

laughed thereat--but it struck my followers with dismay. And, truly,

the words of the child appeared to me most marvellous. People may say

what they will; but the child is now a king, however. I cannot rely on

Duke Waldemar; and, therefore, we must away."

"Never, never! I remain here!" exclaimed Fru Ingeborg, with decision,

as he raised her head.

"It is requisite, my wife, thou mayst believe me! I never retreated a

step when it was possible to advance. Wilt thou now follow a poor

outlawed man, my Ingeborg, or tarry behind, with a foul name, among our

powerful foes?"

At these words the powers of life returned to Fru Ingeborg for an

instant, with mighty force. She arose calmly, and regarded her husband

with a look of surprise.

"A foul name I have borne long enough!" she said: "I shall no longer

bear it in this world, even were I to be made Queen of Denmark. Thanks

for having taken away my reproach--for me, no one shall further grieve.

But if I am again the wife of Marsk Stig Andersen, hear now the last

words which, in this world, I have to say to thee. My hours are

numbered. The hour's honour I have won was not worth nine years'

anguish, and that horrible night of fire and murder. Has the panic

which struck our friends, seized also the mighty Marsk Stig? Art thou

the man to be frightened by a child, and to flee the land at the

bidding of a boy? Nay, nay, my bold avenger! It is the mist of the

dusky night of blood that now obscures thy vision and weighs down thy

soul--it is the kingly gore upon thy wambraces that paralyses thine

arm. Stay here till dawn. Cleanse the blood from thy harness, and

bethink thee why it flowed. 'Twas not merely that thou shouldst behold

this pallid countenance. Tonight, I stand before thee as a spectre only

to remind thee why thou hast tarried so long, and then to descend with

honour into my grave. But when thou hast closed these eyes--"

"Live, live, my brave wife!" interrupted the marsk; "and thou shalt see

that I will act in a manner worthy of thee. But, alone and unaided, not

even the strongest can overthrow the throne of Denmark."

"When wert thou left alone? Hast thou not lords and knights of thine

own kindred? Art thou not in league with kings and princes? Live Duke

Waldemar and Count Jacob no longer? And are not Ové Dyré and Jacob

Blaafod yet remaining? Our powerful kinsmen will not desert thee. In

Norway, King Erik is thy steady friend: he is mighty in people and

ships: him thou canst depend upon. Remain here, then. Let not our race

be rooted out, and the land be lost. Build a castle on Hielm, that

shall stand firm against shaft, and shot, and sling. Take not thy

mighty hand from Denmark, my brave, proud Stig Andersen! Set the crown

on a head that can bear it, and suffer not the families of Toké and

Hvide to be banished, so long as thine eyes are open! Give me thy hand

upon this, if my peace and salvation are dear to thee!"

"Well, my wife, I promise you!" said the marsk, holding forth his

mailed hand to her: "if it please God, it shall so be done!" He became

silent and thoughtful.

They stood thus for a few moments, hand in hand. The fire in the pale

Ingeborg's eyes was quenched, and a cloud overspread her countenance.

"Thanks, thanks! now am I at rest," she said, slowly and solemnly; "now

can I lie still in my grave, and grieve no more over my lacerated life,

and over the blood that has been shed for my womanly honour. I shall

not hear my forsaken daughters weep--I shall not hear my father's

death-shriek in the flames. For the last time my eyes swim in

darkness," she whispered, faintly, tottering. "Good night, my avenger!

Thanks! Thou hast brought me the last message which I shall hear in the

world. It was a message of victory, but of a terrible one. I am again

thy lawful wife--but only beyond purgatory can I be what I was nine

years ago--"

"Ingeborg, dearest Ingeborg! talk not so wildly!" exclaimed the marsk,

anxiously; "retire to rest--thou art unwell."

"I go to rest," she whispered, and staring wildly before her. "Father,

father! burn no longer for thy daughter! Now shall she pass with thee

through the flames! Good night!" She pressed the marsk's hand

fervently, and fell suddenly to the ground, as if struck with apoplexy.

Alarmed, the marsk called for help; but, before the servants arrived,

their unhappy mistress lay, without sign of life, in the blood-stained

arms of her husband.

* * *

Ere Duke Waldemar and the Margraves of Brandenburg reached Scanderborg

Castle, Drost Peter and Sir Bent Rimaardson stood at the head of a

considerable array of soldiers before the palace, where a camp had been

pitched, whilst crowds of people flocked to do homage to the young

king. Old Sir John had been brought to the palace on a litter; and the

strictest regulations had been adopted. No seditious voice dared to

make itself heard. Duke Waldemar and his train had ridden day and

night, without intermission. On the second morning after they left

Kiel, they beheld the camp of Scanderborg in the distance.

"We come too late," said the duke. "Tarry a moment, my lords: if I see

aright, there is an army here."

"An army of seven or eight hundred men," replied Margrave Otto, whose

glance at the encampment indicated the experienced general.

"Drost Hessel and Sir John have lost no time in this matter," continued

the duke: "they receive the homage of the people without waiting for

the chief men of the country, and the nearest kinsmen of the royal

family. In this, you may see the presumption of these gentlemen. But

the power is their's for the moment, and we must be silent. The boy has

been declared King of Denmark; and your wise and illustrious sister,

noble sirs, must, for the present, be content to exercise, along with

me, the functions of guardianship. Even in that position we must remain

quiet. So long as the present commotion agitates every mind, confidence

is nowhere to be expected, and no rational measure to be thought of."

They continued their way in doubt and silence.

"Your conclusion, my noble duke, seems to me somewhat precipitate,"

said Margrave Otto, at length: "your eloquence had for a moment, in the

present unexpected posture of affairs, somewhat dazzled me. The royal

election has long since been legally determined; and any alteration, in

it would be a culpable encroachment on the privileges of the people. My

sister, the queen, would certainly hesitate to exclude her own son from

the crown, for the vanity of being called queen-regnant; the more

especially as, in reality, she will be so, as long as the young king is

a minor."

"I fully concur in my brother's opinion," observed Margrave Conrad, who

appeared to be considerably younger than the other, in whose views,

however, he generally coincided, although he betrayed a certain

independence of mind and character. "We feel grateful for your concern

on behalf of our unhappy sister, noble duke," he continued; "but it has

misled you. Let us not speak to her of a project so dangerous and

seducing, and which has certainly never yet entered her thoughts."

"You are right, noble sirs," said the duke, quickly: "it was too hasty

a conclusion. We must allow matters to take their necessary course. The

thought was prompted by respect for the wisdom and rare qualities of

your illustrious sister, and as a means of salvation for Denmark in the

present conjuncture. What I have said on it must be a secret between

us, in all the trust and honour of knighthood."

"I understand you," replied Margrave Otto, examining the duke with a

scrutinising glance: "during the past week you have been singularly

absorbed in, and have almost distracted us with, your state policy. I

could almost swear you had a presentiment of what was about to happen."

The duke changed colour; and Sir Tuko Abildgaard, who had been silent

during the whole journey, hastily turned his steed, and seemed busied

only in guiding him.

"So much the worse," said the duke, hastily. "Who can have paid

attention to the unhappy state of Denmark, and to the variances that

have long existed between the king and his powerful nobles, without

fearing the worst? There was a time," he continued, "when, as you know,

I took an active part in Danish affairs: with the inconsiderateness of

youth. I hoped, by a daring undertaking, to bring about internal peace

and good government. My attempt miscarried; and now I rejoice, that my

reconciliation with the king, and my renunciatory oath, exempt me from

the most distant suspicion of having participated in this

insurrectionary movement. Even my stay with you, noble sirs, in these

dreadful times, I regard as the most fortunate circumstance of my life.

In conjunction with you and your noble sister, I may now perhaps,

unsuspected, aid in restoring order to my distracted country, and in

chastising those audacious nobles who would lord it over the nation. We

have seen, at least, that they are not afraid of resorting to the most

violent measures to advance their own petty claims, and to gratify a

miserable private rancour."

"There is my hand, noble Duke Waldemar!" exclaimed Margrave Otto,

extending it cordially: "you intend honestly by the people and the

unhappy royal house, and we shall henceforth give you both aid and

counsel in restoring peace and order in the country. Let us no longer

tarry. I long to see my noble sister, and to give her comfort in her

hour of need."

They set spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly towards the camp of

Scanderborg, where they were stopped, and their names demanded by the

sentinels, who, however, respectfully allowed them to pass, on

ascertaining that they were Duke Waldemar and the queen's brothers. On

reaching the palace they found the drawbridge occupied by a strong

guard of landsknechts, and were obliged to dismount, in consequence of

the number of people who blocked up the way. The crowd fell back

respectfully on each side before the three princely personages, whose

handsome dresses and gold-embroidered mantles indicated their elevated

rank. They were, however, often stopped in their progress, and their

squires were obliged to remain behind, with the horses. During these

stoppages many expressions were heard from amongst the people, which

the duke and Sir Abildgaard listened to with special attention.

"Have they caught the murderers?" inquired a burgher.

"By the foul fiend, nay!" replied another: "the carls were well

disguised, and who could know them? They had crept into monks' cloaks.

For aught we know, they may be here, in the midst of us--nobody can

tell a hound by his hairs."

"The wood has ears, and the field has eyes--what has been hidden in the

snow, comes up in the thaw," observed an old woman on a crutch: "if Sir

John or Drost Hessel catch them, they will be hanged, without doubt."

"Hanged?" cried a young fellow--"where now, Dorothy Ketch? The rascals

would dance for joy below the gallows, and hug the halter, if they

could get off so easily. Nay, nay; the dogs must be broken, and be upon

the wheel. The king wasn't just what he should be, it is true, and was

too fond of hunting after wives and wenches; but they had no right, for

all that, to kill him, like a mad bull, in a barn."

"When our young king grows bigger, he will revenge his father, like a

good Christian," observed a sturdy peasant.

"But where is he? Are we never to get a sight of him?" cried another:

"they haven't surely slain him, too?"

"Nay, nay--the Lord put a bar to that," replied the peasant: "they were

here the same morning early, before the devil had his shoes on, and

would fain have laid hands on the young king; but he was up as soon as

they were. When they saw him on the balcony, they grew pale in the

nose, and durst not crook a hair at him. If, as they say, it was really

the valiant marsk, he was frightened enough when he heard himself

outlawed; and the fear of the Evil One seized on all of them before

they could knock at the door."

"Rack and wheel were promised them, and red-hot stones they took with

them on their journey," said the young fellow.

"That was brave! He will be a doughty king," cried many voices at once:

"he will be another sort of man to his father."

"There he is! there he is!" was now vociferated by the crowd; and on

the balcony was seen the young king, in his little regal helmet and a

knight's black suit, by the side of his mother, who stood clothed in

black velvet, with a diadem on her dark tresses. Her face was pale and

tranquil, and she surveyed the crowd with great earnestness and

composure. On the left side of the little king was placed Sir John, in

an arm-chair; and behind him were seen Sir Thorstenson, and a body of

royal trabants, with halberds and bucklers.

"Long live King Erik Erikson!" shouted a powerful voice from the

balcony; and old Sir John, with an effort, rose and waved his hat.

A thousand voices repeated the shout of homage. The little king bowed

to the people with the bearing of a knight, and uttered a few words,

which, however, were only heard by those who were nearest, although

they were instantly responded to by the entire voices of the multitude.

"See how the young braggart struts and swells!" whispered Sir

Abildgaard: "he has learnt betimes to play the knight and king."

Duke Waldemar angrily bit his under-lip, and gave a private signal to

Sir Tuko, who left his side, and mingled with the crowd.

Shortly after, a voice from among them shouted--"No more Eriks! We must

have a Waldemar for king!"

This exclamation, although no one knew whence it proceeded, was caught

up by a considerable number, and a discontented murmur commenced in the

assemblage.

But old Sir John again arose, and, notwithstanding the excessive pain

he suffered, read, with a loud and distinct voice, a document which,

ten years previously, had been signed and sealed by the bishops and

estates of the kingdom, and again renewed by the people in 1280,

confirming Erik's legal election to the crown. He then repeated the

shout of homage, and every rebellious and opposing voice was drowned in

the overwhelming cry of "Long live King Erik! long live our lawful

king! Down, down with the traitors!"

Duke Waldemar endeavoured hastily to escape from the clamorous

multitude, justly fearing that they might tear him in pieces as the

instigator of the seditious cry. He therefore joined, with a loud

voice, in the shout for King Erik, and happily succeeded, together with

the Margraves of Brandenburg, in getting within the palace-gates.

The proclamation having been made, the royal party retired from the

balcony, and the people soon afterwards dispersed. In the riddersal,

the queen received her princely brothers with considerable emotion, and

greeted Duke Waldemar with a coldness which was to him altogether

unexpected.

Drost Peter had, in the meanwhile, been receiving from the soldiers the

oath of allegiance to the young king; and, a few hours afterwards, he

conducted the whole royal family, with a numerous escort, on the way to

Viborg. The queen's car, containing the little Princess Mereté and her

governess, accompanied them, the queen herself sometimes riding in it

when tired of horseback.

It was a grand and solemn mourning procession. In a black velvet

mantle, with ravens' feathers in her pearl-bound hat, and mounted on a

snow-white palfrey, the queen, attended by her sons, rode through the

villages on the route. Prince Christopher was also attired in a

magnificent suit of mourning; but the young king chiefly attracted

attention. He rode on a tall coal-black steed. Under his black velvet

mantle, which was lined with sable and figured with golden crowns, he

wore a full suit of knights' armour, the wise precaution of Drost Peter

and Sir John. In his little crowned helmet waved a plume of ravens'

feathers, and on his arm he bore a small shield, on which was

represented a helmet with two golden horns, on the extremities of which

were affixed two peacocks' feathers. The youthful king had not yet been

dubbed a knight; and although, from his second year, he had been

accustomed to hear himself addressed by the title of royalty, he set

much greater store on being accounted a knight, and on displaying his

arms. It was from this childish love of pomp that he had himself caused

to be painted the shield with which he was now for the first time

publicly seen, and which he bore with a mien as grave and manly as if

he confidently felt he was henceforth called upon to protect the

kingdom and country with his puny buckler.

Nearest the royal personages rode the Margraves of Brandenburg, with

Duke Waldemar and his drost. After them followed the chancellor,

the learned Master Martinus, together with the high-marshal, the

under-marshal, and all the counsellors of the kingdom, old John Little

excepted, whose recent accident obliged him to remain at Scanderborg.

After these came the royal trabants, and twelve pages bearing torches.

At the head of the procession rode Sir Thorstenson, with a numerous

band of landsknechts; and Drost Peter Hessel, with Sir Bent Rimaardson,

closed it in, and guarded the royal personages on both sides with their

bold and trusty horsemen.

The procession advanced slowly and quietly towards Viborg, which was

reached, after numerous stoppages, on the evening of the following day,

when the body of the murdered king, which, from St. Cecilia's night,

had been exposed to public view in the great cathedral of that city,

was to be laid in its coffin and interred.

As the procession approached Viborg, Master Martinus first broke the

long and solemn silence that had prevailed during the whole journey.

Notwithstanding the deep sorrow that bowed him down over the

misfortunes of the kingdom, the patriotic old man had so strong a

desire to unbosom himself, that he forgot for a moment the private

suspicions he harboured against Duke Waldemar, as the secret head and

protector of the regicides. They happened to be riding side by side,

when the chancellor turned to the duke, with an antiquarian remark, on

the name and origin of the ancient city of Viborg, which he thought was

derived from a certain Queen _Vebeca_, or from the Gothic people

_Viti_, or, perhaps, with better reason, from its elevated position and

ancient use as a place of sacrifice; or even from the heathen war-god

_Vig_; and hence that the place had been originally called

_Vigbierg_--the hill of Vig.

"Very possibly, sir chancellor," replied the duke, abstractedly: "as a

man of learning, you must understand that best."

But the chancellor continued to allude to several conjectures regarding

Odin's surname, _Vigner_, and concerning the amazon _Vebiorg_, who is

mentioned in the dithyramb on the race of Bravalla.

"It may be all very true, sir chancellor," exclaimed the duke,

peevishly; "but I am not versed in these profoundedly learned matters,

and therefore do not concern myself respecting them."

"If we examine the town-arms," continued the chancellor, zealously,

without noticing the duke's impatience, "they may perhaps confirm the

opinion of these who hold that the town was first called _Vigletsborg_;

the more especially if we suppose the two figures in the shield to be

King Viglet and his queen. Some learned persons, however, have

conjectured these to be Adam and Eve, with the tree of knowledge of

good and evil between them; but, again, if we compare the shield with

the city seal, (_sigillum senatorum Vibergensis civitatis_,) it is

evident that the Adam and Eve of one party, and the King Viglet and his

queen of the other, are in reality male persons, one old and the other

young, who undeniably represent two judges; and I deem it singularly

right and judicious that the young judge should have the older and more

experienced one by his side; as, in like manner, our young king may now

consider it fortunate, in the midst of these disasters, that he has his

father's old, tried, and trusty friends by his side."

"Your learning, worthy sir chancellor, must be especially advantageous

to him," replied the duke, jeeringly; "and if you could help him to

discover the origin of the name of Denmark, it would certainly be a

great assistance to him in governing the kingdom wisely."

"If we do not derive the name of our dear fatherland from _Danais_, as

the antiquarian historian Dudo supposes, but from old King Dan, as

Father Saxo maintains," replied the chancellor, calmly, although he

noticed the sarcasm, "it is a thought well calculated to awake kingly

aspirations in our young master's soul, that he can reckon his birth

and descent from that ancient king, who gave a name to his people and

country. Such knowledge is never to be despised."

He ceased, and fell into deep thought, during which he nodded, as if

approving some idea that had occurred to him.

"When I behold this great and fair city, with its lofty ramparts," he

said, resuming the conversation, "my hope in the Almighty God is

strengthened, that he will henceforth keep his hand over the people and

their lawful king. From this point the great light of Christianity was

spread abroad among the people by means of the holy Bishop Poppo's

wonderful miracles. On yon heathy summit our ancient kings received

homage; and there the holy martyr, King Canute, got the true aid of the

brave Viborgers against traitors and rebels. Here the great Waldemar

was first proclaimed king; and here he found help and refuge with the

trusty burghers, after that treacherous and crying slaughter at

Roskild. Here, also, alas, three and thirty years ago, was homage paid

to this same unhappy king, then an innocent child, whose ensanguined

corse we are now about to see carried to its resting-place. Accursed be

his murderers, and they who have caused this disaster! I would they

were present in the midst of us, that our murdered king and master

might turn upon them his glassy eyes, and discover them to us."

As he uttered these words he examined the duke closely. It was getting

dark, but he could nevertheless plainly perceive an expression of

uneasiness in his countenance.

"Do you not share my wish, highborn sir?" he inquired. "And think you

any one of the regicides, or of their accomplices in the horrid deed,

is so hardened and godless that he would not grow pale and betray his

guilt in presence of the murdered king?"

The duke's horse began to plunge, and as soon as he had brought him

into a steady pace again, he replied to the chancellor's question,

without, however, turning his face towards him. "You would not make a

good inquisitor, sir chancellor," he said, quickly, "if you think you

could detect the criminals in this fashion. You may rest assured,

worthy sir, that I shall cause search to be made for them in every

direction; but I should least of all expect to discover them here. The

audacious murderers will certainly be careful, on such an occasion, not

to come hither, where they might be so easily detected. That Marsk Stig

is the ringleader, we well know; but if we were to regard every one as

a participator in the horrid act who may happen to grow pale or be

affected during this solemnity," he continued, "we must first denounce

ourselves and all the most attached friends of the country and the

royal house; for who can barely think of the dreadful deed without

emotion? When the margraves and I first heard the report of it, in

Count Gerhard's castle at Kiel, we were almost overwhelmed with horror.

The daring marsk has accomplices, most assuredly. I have dispatched

spies throughout the country; and if you can discover the murderers

before I do, sir chancellor, you will be entitled to our thanks. As our

young king's nearest kinsman and natural guardian, I consider myself

bound to pursue them."

The learned chancellor was silent, and again relapsed into thought.

The town soon lay distinctly before them, with its numerous churches

and chapels, from which more than twenty towers and steeples rose

towards the heavens.

"Hark, how the funeral bells are tolling from the steeple of Our Lady's

Church," exclaimed now the grave chancellor: "soon will they be thus

tolled from every steeple in Denmark; and think you not, illustrious

sir, they will ring like the knell of doomsday in the ears of the

murderers, wherever they may be?"

While he was yet speaking the sounds of bells increased, coming louder

and more distinctly from the twenty churches of the city, and from

every village steeple in the neighbourhood. Night closed in, and the

flambeaux of the pages lighted up the mourning procession. Duke

Waldemar's horse plunged about wildly among the flaring torches,

seemingly affrighted at the tolling from the bells.

"Nay, hark again to the small bell on the gable of the grayfriars'

church, behind the cathedral: how clearly it sounds beyond every other,

although it has no belfry!" exclaimed Master Martinus to the duke, who

was warm with curbing his unruly steed. "The poor grayfriars!"

continued the chancellor: "they ring zealously to-night; desirous,

perhaps, to let us know that they had no share in what their cloaks

concealed in the barn of Finnerup."

The duke replied not, but addressed himself to his drost. "Do we not

enter by St. Mogen's Gate?" he inquired, in an indifferent tone.

"Nay, illustrious sir: that is the entrance from the Aaborg road,"

replied Sir Abildgaard: "here we have the sea and the Borrewold on our

right, and must enter by St. Michael's Gate, and along St. Michael's

Street to the cathedral."

"Thou art right, Tuko. This noise has confused me. Is it not respecting

St. Mogen's Gate they relate that stupid fable?"

"Yes, i'faith, sir," replied the knight, laughing--"of a bronze horse,

under ground, that is said to sound whenever we have war in the

country."

"The concealed horse, under the gate of St. Mogen, has been the

palladium of the city from the earliest times, gentlemen," observed

Master Martin, gravely: "it is said that no traitor and enemy of his

country has heard it ring, and survived."

"The deuce!" exclaimed Sir Abildgaard, with forced pleasantry; "it is a

pity the good St. Michael has not such a wonderful horse under his

gate: we should then soon have certain proof whether we are all as good

patriots as our learned chancellor."

"The holy Michael gives no warning," replied the chancellor, "but

brandishes his flaming sword against the doomed. That is his image,

gentlemen, we perceive over the gate there."

The procession was now entering the arch of the gate, and the torches

illumined a knight-like, brazen statue, that stood over it, with one

foot on a dragon, and a long flaming sword in its hand. The sword was

gilded, and shone bright, in the light of the flambeaux, above the

duke's head. He looked up, and fancied the statue moved and bent

towards him; and quickly spurring his horse, he dashed under the gloomy

archway.

"Did I not know it was a brazen statue," he whispered to his drost, "I

could have sworn it was alive, and had Marsk Stig for its shadow."

The mourning train proceeded slowly along St. Michael's Street to the

cathedral. Every window was lighted, and the streets were filled with

people of all ranks, among whom as deep a silence prevailed as if they

had been inanimate forms. The train approached the great illumined

cathedral, whoso immense bells, with their deep, hollow tones, drowned

those of every other.

In the large area surrounding the cathedral the mourners dismounted,

and the procession advanced on foot, in the order in which it had

arrived. Black cloth had been laid along the path leading to the doors

of the church, which stood, grand and majestic, with its two lofty

spires, and its four chapels, as it had been enlarged by King Niels,

and completed by Bishop Nicolaus, in the twelfth century.

The procession entered, proceeding along the principal aisle, and past

the four chapels, wherein candles burned on fourteen altars. The chapel

of St. Kield, the patron saint of the city, on the northern side of the

cathedral, was brilliantly illuminated. In it candles were burnt night

and day, under St. Kield's golden shrine, which was suspended by gilded

links from the vaulted roof; and here was seen, in passing, the tomb of

the murdered Svend Grathé.

The last of the train had not entered the church-porch when the first

halted opposite the high altar. Here the arms of the murdered king,

bearing the two lions and the two crowns, half concealed by a veil of

long black crape, were lighted up with twelve wax-candles; and here

stood the provost, in full canonicals, with two other prelates, an

archdeacon, a chanter, and twelve minor canons, with tapers in their

hands. They sang a solemn requiem over a large oaken coffin, covered

with lead, on which lay the great sword of King Erik Christopherson, by

the side of a silver shrine containing the holy sacrament, which was

now to follow him to the grave; as his sudden and violent death had

prevented his receiving it whilst alive. On the shrine was engraved the

Latin inscription: "_Panis adest veræ domini sponsalia vitæ_."

When mass had been sung, the provost pronounced a short oration. He

then raised the lid of the coffin, and placed the shrine between the

folded hands of the corpse. Every one who desired to see the royal

body, now received permission to advance. A few only approached so near

that they could see it, and among these was the young King Erik. He

bowed in silence over his father's corpse, laid his hand upon its gory

breast, and said a few words which no one heard. He then stepped back,

and hid his weeping face in his mantle.

No other person approaching, the prelate replaced the coffin-lid, and

having again laid the sword over it, the canons raised the coffin, and

bore it, at the head of the mourners, behind the high altar, where they

placed it in a vaulted tomb, raised an ell above the ground; whilst a

deep and solemn dirge sounded from a crypt directly underneath. The

prelate then cast three spadefuls of earth on the coffin, and

pronounced, with a loud voice, the usual burial-service of the Church.

He then announced to the people, that the betrayed and murdered king,

five years before his sudden death, as if impelled by a wonderful

presentiment, had endowed the cathedral with gifts and estates, in

order that masses and vigils should be maintained until the last day

for the repose of his soul.[33]

"The requiem," said he, "which is now sounding, shall never cease.

Every night this song shall ascend from the depths of the earth to the

throne of the Almighty. Day and night we shall pray for the soul of our

murdered lord, and implore the King of kings, that King Erik may be the

last monarch of Denmark who shall fall by the hands of traitors and

murderers. The Lord have mercy on the soul of his anointed! Woe! woe to

his murderers!"

This woe-cry was repeated by all the canons, and by many of the

mourners, among whom the voice of the young King Erik sounded with

wonderful distinctness. Three times the woe-cry was repeated by the

invisible chorus in the subterranean chapel beneath the tomb.

During the whole of these solemnities Master Martinus had been closely

scrutinising every countenance around him, although he was inwardly

much affected, and held his folded hands on his breast. In some, he

beheld deep emotion; but many exhibited only coldness and indifference;

and in others he remarked even a degree of bravado that alarmed him.

The duke and his drost stood with their faces turned from him, and

appeared to have their attention fixed on St. Kield's Chapel. But when

the hymn sounded from the crypt under their feet, and the deep woe-cry

echoed among the arches of the church, the duke had to support himself

on his sword, and laid his hand on his forehead; whilst Sir Abildgaard

hastily whispered a few words in his ear. At the same moment a subdued

shriek was heard, and a momentary confusion took place amongst the

people at the church-door, where a man, who had swooned away, was

carried out.

The train of mourners slowly quitted the church. During the funeral

solemnities Drost Peter had stood quietly by a pillar of the choir,

with his hands folded on the hilt of his drawn sword, which he held

point upwards, while the Gospel was read. In this chivalrous and

devotional posture, which signified that the knight was prepared to

defend the holy faith, he had inwardly prayed for the soul of his

murdered king, as well as for the future welfare of the young monarch

and his kingdom.

When the procession had retired from the church, he observed a tall

female form, in a simple black dress, and with a dark veil over her

face, kneeling with folded hands near the high altar, where she seemed

to pray with great devotion, without observing what was taking place

around her. Her noble and beautiful figure reminded him, beyond all the

women of Denmark, of her who was dearest to him; and, notwithstanding

her simple dress, and the improbability of her being the Lady Ingé, he

remained, absorbed in reverie. It was not until the tall form rose to

depart, that he became aware that the procession had already withdrawn,

and that the lights on the altar had been extinguished. He then

sheathed his sword, and advanced slowly towards her. When he stood

before her in the deserted aisle, which was still faintly lighted up by

the candles of St. Kield's Chapel, she started, as if surprised at the

meeting, and appeared anxious to avoid him.

"Ingé--noble Jomfru Ingé! if it be you," said he, "oh, do not avoid me,

but say what weighty reason brings you hither? It is well that our

prayers should unite at the royal tomb, and before God's altar, on this

great day of mourning!"

"Drost Peter Hessel," replied the maiden, pausing, "here then, perhaps,

we meet for the last time in this world. I will no longer attempt to

conceal my face from you; although the cause of my appearance here must

remain a mystery to you."

The veil was thrown aside, and revealed her whom the dear and

well-known voice had already announced: the brave Lady Ingé stood

before him. She regarded him with a countenance on which a deep

although calm grief was imprinted; but its expression was softened by

pious confidence, and by a calm demeanour announcing a firm and

powerful will.

"For heaven's sake, what has happened to you?" exclaimed Drost Peter,

alarmed. "I see you for the last time, say you? What mean you, noble

Jomfru Ingé? Why are you here alone? and where is your father?"

"Inquire not, Drost Peter--I cannot, I dare not answer you. Give me

your word of honour as a knight that you will not follow me from this

holy place, nor seek to learn the road that I shall take."

"How can you think, noble Ingé, that I should follow you?"

"Remember who I am, and you will then understand me. This only can I

tell you: I am fulfilling a heavy but necessary duty in quitting this

unhappy land. God knows when I shall again see it; but here only my

heart and soul are at home. Yet one thing more must I declare to you,"

she continued, with a trembling voice--"for my justification and

your own peace. You must know it--that it is the truth, you have my

word:--my unhappy father was at Flynderborg on St. Cecilia's night."

Drost Peter saw how much it had cost her to utter these word's; and he

heard them with a feeling of joy, which, however, was restrained by a

thrill of horror at the frightful thought they concealed.

"The merciful God be praised!" he exclaimed. "Take my word as a knight,

noble Jomfru Ingé, that although my whole soul follows you wherever you

may journey, mine eye shall not attempt to spy out your way, whoever

accompanies you. We stand here on a divided road," he continued, deeply

affected; "and I see too well that we must be parted for a time; but by

my God and Saviour, in whose presence I stand, I shall not resign the

hope of again seeing you! You were my childhood's bride, Jomfru Ingé!

Our angels before God's throne united our infant souls, before they

knew each other. If you may not or will not hereafter become my bride

in reality, when these turmoils which now part us have ceased, and

Denmark's throne again stands fast--I now vow to God, and by every

saint, that Drost Peter Hessel shall go down unwedded into his grave,

but never shall he forget his childhood's bride! Answer me not,

noble-hearted Ingé! Crush not with a word the fairest hope of my life!

I have an important work to perform in the world, and feel, by the

blessing of God, strength and courage to complete it faithfully, even

with this greatest loss. But with you is torn away the blossom of my

heart's life, the fruit of which I must be condemned never to taste.

Deprive me not, then, of my fair hopes, but rather, with one word, bid

them live. Say but that word, and my courage and strength shall

increase tenfold, to realise with cheerfulness the thoughts which first

brought our souls to know each other. Ingé, dearest Ingé! canst thou

hereafter love me?" With these words he seized her hand, and cast on

her a look beaming with the strongest affection.

She withdrew her hand. "I can, my childhood's bridegroom," she replied,

with inward emotion; "yea, I can love thee deeply, so that, even should

I never more behold thee with these eyes, I can preserve thine image in

my soul, until we meet in that greater fatherland where no strife and

guile can prevail, and where no might can sever us. But I am a

daughter, Drost Peter," she continued, retreating a step--"I am an

unhappy daughter. You are--you must be--the enemy of the man who gave

me life. Do, in God's name, what you must and ought, and let no thought

of me lead your mind from truth and duty. The Almighty shall determine

whether we again meet in this world or not!"

"It shall, it must be, noble, dearest Ingé! the compassionate Creator

will not for ever divide us."

"That no one knows, save He who knows all. Farewell, my childhood's

bridegroom--farewell! God and all his saints be with thee and our

fatherland! He who is merciful be gracious to us all! Farewell!"

So saying, she hid her face in her veil, and disappeared along the dark

aisle.

Drost Peter dared not follow her. He stood as if rivetted to the

pavement; and it seemed to him as if the dark and baleful spirit that

sped over the land had now torn away from him also the delight and joy

of his life; but he felt, at the same time, with a melancholy pleasure,

that this farewell hour had shown him a glimpse of a blessedness of

which no separation, and no power on earth, could rob him.

He had been standing for some time, gazing on a tombstone in the floor

of the church, when he raised his eyes to the image on the cross, above

the door of the choir, and it seemed to him as if the drooping head of

the Redeemer shone with glory in the rays proceeding from the lights of

St. Kield's Chapel. Suddenly he felt a powerful blow on his left

shoulder, as if from a strong, mailed hand. He turned, and a tall man,

clad in armour, with his visor down, stood before him.

"We are met, Drost Peter Hessel--we are met!" uttered a deep and

powerful voice. "If you are the knight who is placed to guard the

infant throne, defend it if you can! You now behold the man who swears

to overturn it, or perish in the attempt."

"Ha! Marsk Stig! regicide!" exclaimed Drost Peter, drawing his sword.

But at that instant all the lights in St. Kield's Chapel, which had

alone illuminated the church, were suddenly extinguished; the powerful,

gigantic form disappeared, and Drost Peter groped alone, with his drawn

sword, among the tombs in the dark cathedral.

THE

CHILDHOOD OF ERIK MENVED.