"You might teach my Rothtraut to play the harp," cried the proud lord
of the castle, who was in a very lively humour, having partaken freely
of wine. She heard it as in a dream, and the musician bowed, murmuring
that he was not worthy to receive so signal an honour.
He remained however at the castle. Lovely Rothtraut felt afraid in her
heart like a trembling child crossing a bridge leading to flowery
meadows; she had no mother in whom she could confide those fears for
which she could find no words. She therefore yielded to her father's
desire, wishing to amuse him during the long, lonely evenings by
playing and singing. Singing came naturally to her, for a nightingale
seemed to slumber in her bosom, but she found more difficulty with the
harp. Her slender fingers drew many a discordant sound from the
strings, and often her father, comfortably seated in his armchair,
laughed heartily at her, which made the maiden blush with shame. Her
large eyes would wander from the harp to the musician's face; but her
confusion only became worse when her eyes timidly met his. He was very
patient with all her imperfect efforts, never blaming her but on the
contrary praising all her modest attempts beyond their merits. Then he
would sing a song of his own and play some deep chords which seemed to
thrill the air. The knight would listen entranced, and the maiden felt
love's blissful pain in her heart. She did not know what it was, or
how he had long since sung himself into her soul, and her tender heart
trembled at love's first revelation. The passion possessed her more
and more; it spread its power over these two hearts, and soon in the
quiet garden of the castle, Ronald clasped the daughter of the proud
knight to his heart.