Sintram had not returned home, when those of the castle betook
themselves to rest in deep bewilderment. No one thought of him, for
every heart was filled with strange forebodings, and with uncertain
cares. Even the heroic breast of the Knight of Montfaucon heaved in
doubt.
Old Rolf still remained without, weeping in the forest, heedless of the
storm which beat on his unprotected head, while he waited for his young
master. But he had gone a very different way; and when the morning
dawned, he entered the castle from the opposite side.
Gabrielle’s slumbers had been sweet during the whole night. It had
seemed to her that angels with golden wings had blown away the wild
histories of the evening before, and had wafted to her the bright
flowers, the sparkling sea, and the green hills of her own home. She
smiled, and drew her breath calmly and softly, whilst the magical
tempest raged and howled through the forests, and continued to battle
with the troubled sea. But in truth when she awoke in the morning,
and heard still the rattling of the windows, and saw the clouds, as if
dissolved in mist and steam, still hiding the face of the heavens, she
could have wept for anxiety and sadness, especially when she heard from
her maidens that Folko had already left their apartment clad in full
armour as if prepared for a combat. At the same time she heard the sound
of the heavy tread of armed men in the echoing halls, and, on inquiring,
found that the Knight of Montfaucon had assembled all his retainers to
be in readiness to protect their lady.
Wrapped in a cloak of ermine, she stood trembling like a tender flower
just sprung up out of the snow, tottering beneath a winter’s storm. Then
Sir Folko entered the room, in all his shining armour, and peacefully
carrying his golden helmet with the long shadowy plumes in his hand. He
saluted Gabrielle with cheerful serenity, and at a sign from him, her
attendants retired, while the men-at-arms without were heard quietly
dispersing.
“Lady,” said he, as he took his seat beside her, on a couch to which
he led her, already re-assured by his presence: “lady, will you forgive
your knight for having left you to endure some moments of anxiety; but
honour and stern justice called him. Now all is set in order, quietly
and peacefully; dismiss your fears and every thought that has troubled
you, as things which are no more.”
“But you and Biorn?” asked Gabrielle. “On the word of a knight,” replied
he, “all is well there.” And thereupon he began to talk over indifferent
subjects with his usual ease and wit; but Gabrielle, bending towards
him, said with deep emotion:
“O Folko, my knight, the flower of my life, my protector and my dearest
hope on earth, tell me all, if thou mayst. But if a promise binds thee,
it is different. Thou knowest that I am of the race of Portamour, and
I would ask nothing from my knight which could cast even a breath of
suspicion on his spotless shield.”
Folko thought gravely for one instant; then looking at her with a bright
smile, he said: “It is not that, Gabrielle; but canst thou bear what
I have to disclose? Wilt thou not sink down under it, as a slender fir
gives way under a mass of snow?”
She raised herself somewhat proudly, and said: “I have already reminded
thee of the name of my father’s house. Let me now add, that I am the
wedded wife of the Baron of Montfaucon.”
“Then so let it be,” replied Folko solemnly; “and if that must come
forth openly which should ever have remained hidden in the darkness
which belongs to such deeds of wickedness, at least let it come forth
less fearfully with a sudden flash. Know then, Gabrielle, that the
wicked knight who would have slain my friends Gotthard and Rudlieb is
none other than our kinsman and host, Biorn of the Fiery Eyes.”
Gabrielle shuddered and covered her eyes with her fair hands; but at the
end of a moment she looked up with a bewildered air, and said: “I have
heard wrong surely, although it is true that yesterday evening such a
thought struck me. For did not you say awhile ago that all was settled
and at peace between you and Biorn? Between the brave baron and such a
man after such a crime?”
“You heard aright,” answered Folko, looking with fond delight on the
delicate yet high-minded lady. “This morning with the earliest dawn I
went to him and challenged him to a mortal combat in the neighbouring
valley, if he were the man whose castle had well-nigh become an altar of
sacrifice to Gotthard and Rudlieb. He was already completely armed,
and merely saying, ‘I am he,’ he followed me to the forest. But when
he stood alone at the place of combat, he flung away his shield down
a giddy precipice, then his sword was hurled after it, and next with
gigantic strength he tore off his coat of mail, and said, ‘Now fall
on, thou minister of vengeance; for I am a heavy sinner, and I dare
not fight with thee.’ How could I then attack him? A strange truce
was agreed on between us. He is half as my vassal, and yet I solemnly
forgave him in my own name and in that of my friends. He was contrite,
and yet no tear was in his eye, no gentle word on his lips. He is only
kept under by the power with which I am endued by having right on my
side, and it is on that tenure that Biorn is my vassal. I know not,
lady, whether you can bear to see us together on these terms; if not, I
will ask for hospitality in some other castle; there are none in Norway
which would not receive us joyfully and honourably, and this wild
autumnal storm may put off our voyage for many a day. Only this I think,
that if we depart directly and in such a manner, the heart of this
savage man will break.”
“Where my noble lord remains, there I also remain joyfully under his
protection,” replied Gabrielle; and again her heart glowed with rapture
at the greatness of her knight.