eyes did not flinch from the regard of Lady Adelaide.
"Give us thy blessing," she pleaded; "the castle of Rittenberg is to
have at last the lord which thou hast so long wished for it."
The old dame laughed and came forward.
"The time has gone by," she said, "when elders were asked to advise in
the love affairs of young folk, but mayhap all goes not wrong for that.
Thou wilt have thy own way in this matter, so why should I cumber myself
to frown and chide at what cannot be helped by me?"
"Now, nay, Aunt Adelaide," Erna responded, smiling at the manner in
which the other accepted the situation, "that is but a curt and unkind
way in which to give greeting to me on my betrothal; and thou alone of
all my house left to wish me joy!"
The great-aunt put up her shrivelled lips and kissed the girl, patting
her hand kindly.
"Nay, nay," she said, the tears coming into her aged eyes, "I wish thee
well, and thou shalt not lack for my blessing, though the Von
Rittenberg name vanish from the earth when I am laid away. I wish thee
joy; and, Sir Baron, I give thee my greeting. It is much that thou
askest, when thou wouldst claim the last of our house, but there is that
about thee that speaks the brave man, and one who will defend her in
these troublous times."
The sight of a pair of lovers in their first joy will move even hearts
which are encased in triple coats of worldliness and pride; and the Lady
Adelaide, who of all folk was least likely to be touched by sentiment,
when she had clasped the hands of Erna and Albrecht, had wet eyes as she
went slowly down the hall again as she had come, leaving them alone.
And thus were the Countess von Rittenberg and the stranger knight
betrothed.
VII
HOW THE TIME WORE TO THE WEDDING DAY.
Much had matters altered at Rittenberg since Baron Albrecht came
thither, and yet still more did they change after his betrothal to the
castle's chatelaine. The whole household took on a festive air, until
even the humblest retainer seemed to be affected by the joyous spirit
which Albrecht had brought. The change in Erna herself doubtless had not
a little to do with this, since it hath ever been found that the mood of
the mistress is likely to give the key-note to her dependants. The
countess had laid aside all her old air of pensive contemplation, the
pious mien which had so wearied her cousin Count Stephen; and had so
taken on an air of gayety that all in the castle felt it, and each in
one way or another, according to the nature of each, responded to it.
Now and then over this gayety seemed to steal the faint shadow of some
unknown dread from the forest. The retainers whispered among themselves
that there had been strange portents and signs that the wood-folk were
astir and full of excitement. Now and then one of Erna's damsels would
hint that wild rumors were afloat. The churls that drove the swine and
the geese afield had seen vague forms flitting among the shadows of the
glades; they had heard what they could not tell, yet what had filled
them with terror; and while no one could say why the unhuman beings who
peopled the dim recesses of the forest should be thus aroused, there was
much dread of them in the timorous bosoms of the serfs and
serving-wenches at Rittenberg.
But however greatly these things perturbed the simple-minded
serving-folk, they did not trouble the happiness of Albrecht and Erna.
Between the knight and his betrothed there were now many sweet
confidences, in which, indeed, nothing especial was imparted by one to
the other, but which nevertheless gave them great satisfaction. They had
met little opposition to their wishes, and indeed, when one considered
the rank of the countess, and how completely a stranger was the baron,
it might be wondered much that there was not more difficulty in his
obtaining his bride. But the times were uncertain, the castle had no
male head, Charlemagne was far away, and who knew what might happen if
they waited to ask the imperial consent to the alliance; while the baron
had won everybody to his side by his winsomeness. He pressed for a
speedy marriage, and no one said him nay. They had in the war-full years
learned to do quickly whatever was to be done at all, and there seemed
no need to hinder the joy of the young people, which might at any moment
be broken, should a summons come from the Great Emperor calling all the
knights to his standard.
Toward her lover Erna was by turns arch and tender, as if she had not
yet mastered the art to conceal her feelings, even in sport. She said to
him once, as they stood together by the window in the great hall of the
castle, looking down into the valley where the solemn pine-forests
stretched far and far to the very horizon:
"Hast thou learned yet why one does not kiss any maid save the one whom
alone he loves?"
"I have at least learned that there is no kiss in the whole world so
sweet as thine," he answered.
Father Christopher was of all the house most deeply moved by the
betrothal of his mistress, and although he had become much attached to
the baron, he was not without forebodings for the result of this
marriage.
"It is in thy hands, my daughter," he said solemnly to Erna, "to shape
the life of this man. He is noble and generous and true, and I believe
that his heart is all that one might wish. But he knows little of
spiritual things, and I consent to unite thee to him that thou, who hast
been richly blessed by Heaven, mayst teach him the high things of life.
His soul will be required at thine hands in the Day of Judgment; for
while the souls of all husbands are in the keeping of their wives, his
will be doubly so in thine, for that thou hast been taught the heavenly
way, and I gather that his childhood has been but an heathenish one, and
his youth without godly instruction. On thy head be it, daughter, if he
be not led to the light; and great will be thy blessing if thou doest
but win him to paths of spiritual life."
If Erna received these words with less pious enthusiasm than would have
been the case a few short weeks before, she was yet much moved by them,
and most solemnly did she promise the old priest that she would spare no
effort to draw her lover toward those higher things for which he did
indeed as yet show small concern.
"Father," she answered humbly, "I know not what I may do, but as much as
is in me I will not spare to work and to pray for the salvation of him
whom I love."
"With love and faith," the priest replied, "and the blessing of the holy
ones, there is nothing that a woman may not do in the heart of her
husband."
It was on the same morning that these words passed between Father
Christopher and Erna, that the betrothed pair rode out of the castle
into the forest, followed by a groom who carried on the pommel of his
saddle a covered basket.
"I feel so safe in the forest when thou art with me," Erna said, as
after descending the hill they turned from the broad way into a narrow
track overgrown with ferns and wild shrubs, and heavily shaded above by
the interlaced branches of the murmuring pine-trees.
"There is naught to fear in the forest," he answered, smiling, "save
only when--Nay, we will not talk of that. Whither do we go?"
Erna looked at him with a doubt, born of his broken speech, in her eyes;
but the brightness of his smile reassured her.
"The little daughter of the charcoal-burner is ill," she answered, "and
I am carrying her food and a healing draught from the leech."
"But why shouldst thou trouble about the daughter of the
charcoal-burner?"
"Why should I not? Is she not human, and has she not a soul like ours?"
"Like thine, perchance," the knight responded. "Thou hast a soul like a
child's, all white and fair."
And for all the rest of their way through the forest he was so deeply
sunk in thought that he said scarcely a single word, so that Erna could
not but wonder what had come over the spirit of her merry betrothed.
From time to time he looked at her and sighed, as if he were reasoning
with himself whether he did well to be still with her; and at last, as
they rode homeward, she questioned him of what was in his mind.
"It is the doubt," he told her, "whether I had the right to make thee
love me. It did not come to me to consider that until now; and now--"
"And now," she said in a ringing voice, as he broke off and left his
sentence unfinished, "now it is too late."
The knight shook himself, as if to shake off a gloomy doubt, and struck
his spurs into his splendid chestnut stallion.
"Yes," he cried in a voice of exultation; "now it is too late!"
And away they went, galloping madly down the shaded woodland way,
bursting soon into laughter and singing as they dashed along.
These moods of Albrecht became more and more noticeable as by the
intimacy of their betrothal the lovers were brought more closely
together. Erna pondered sometimes when alone whether it were possible
that her lover had upon his conscience some dark deed which made him in
truth unworthy to claim her love; but no sooner did such a suggestion
present itself to her mind than it was rejected with indignation. She
was as sure of his innocence as of her own, and perhaps no proof could
have persuaded her to the contrary. Yet she did secretly feel that there
might be some mystery hidden behind the outward frankness of Albrecht;
though even if there were she loved him with a passion that was now too
strong to be restrained by any vague suspicions or dim forebodings.
When the baron was asked if he wished to send for any of his people to
be present at his nuptials, he had answered:
"My mother died when I was an infant, and I have neither brothers nor
sisters. My father lost his life in a snow-slide three years since, so
that I am the last of my race. I will send my squire home for a certain
fardel that shall be my _Morgengabe_; and if I may have leave, he shall
bring back with him my old foster-father, who has taught me knightly
customs and the fashion of Christian folk."
"He shall be right welcome for thy sake," the countess had answered.
"How is he called, and who is he? Is he of thy kin?"
"Nay; he is only a friend of my father," the baron replied with a
strange smile, "but he hath dealt well by me. He is called Herr von
Zimmern, and he hath an infirmity in his walk, concerning which I would
that thy people vex him not."
"He shall be courteously dealt with by them all," was Erna's response,
"even as if he were thyself."
So the squire and one of the men-at-arms rode off into the forest to
take the road to Castle Waldstein in the Neiderwasser valley, to fetch
the _Morgengabe_, the gift of gold or of gems which the bridegroom gives
to the bride on the morning after their marriage; and the knight abode
at Rittenberg, being always by the side of Erna, so that it was not
strange that the two became more and more like to each other in their
thoughts with every day that the sun brought on its rising to the
Ober-Schwarzwald.
And so the time wore until the day before that set for the wedding morn,
and on that day arrived the squire who had been sent to the castle of
Waldstein.
VIII
OF THE EVE BEFORE THE WEDDING.
With the squire came the foster-father of Baron Albrecht, and a
singular-looking mortal did he prove to be. He had apparently been a
tall man and a strong, but that one of his ankles was lame, as if it had
been houghed, either by some accident of warfare or by the cruelty of
some enemy, so that he must needs forever thenceforth go halting through
life. His eyes were keen and piercing, and there was in them a sinister
gleam, a smouldering evil fierceness, from which Erna shrank in dread,
although for the sake of Albrecht she strove to conceal her feelings and
to treat the newly come guest not only with kindness but with warmth.
The sight of his burning eyes, his shaggy hair which hung in tumbled
black masses about his shoulders, his knotted powerful hands, which he
had an uncanny fashion of clenching as he talked or as he thought
deeply, together with his sunburned face, seamed and marred by deep
lines which might tell of both sins and sufferings to the eye that was
wise enough to read them, made her shudder; and when she thought how
this strange man had been the companion of Albrecht, she no longer
wondered that her lover should show so little knowledge or sympathy with
spiritual things, since in the keeping of Herr von Zimmern had his youth
been passed.
The dependants of the household were one and all afraid of the
new-comer, and indeed some among them were ready to swear on the book of
the Gospels that this was the same man that in the guise of a beggar had
been in the castle just before the going of Count Stephen von
Rittenberg. They muttered among themselves that there was evil in the
cripple, and Elsa even whispered in the ear of her mistress, crossing
herself not a little meanwhile, that it was believed among the folk of
the castle that Von Zimmern was really some demon of the forest who was
striving to win power over the soul of Baron Albrecht, that he might
lure it to destruction.
"Fy upon thee for a fool!" Lady Adelaide said testily. "There be demons
enough in the wood, it is true, but it is not to be believed that they
would venture into the houses of Christian folk where mass is said by a
consecrated priest. Leave thy silly gossiping, or it may hap that the
countess shall get some hint of it, and then if it go not ill with those
who dare to chatter about them that belong to the train of her future
lord, I ken little of the Von Rittenberg blood."
It was evident that Herr von Zimmern had the happiness of Baron Albrecht
much at heart, so greatly was he delighted at his approaching marriage.
He was wellnigh oppressive in the warmth of his manner. He spoke with
the greatest feeling to Erna, while to the Lady Adelaide he was so
complimentary that her old heart, already perchance somewhat fluttered
by the unusual doings at Rittenberg, was all in a tremble of delight,
and had she been but the better part of a century younger there would
have been no telling what might have come of her liking for the
flattering guest.
It was in the evening of the day on which the squire returned, and it
was on the morrow that the bridal rites were to be celebrated, when
after supper the household and their guests sat together by torchlight
in the castle hall. The Baron Albrecht was in the wildest spirits, and
played innumerable harmless little tricks upon the priest and upon his
betrothed. He was so full of glee that one could not but smile to behold
his joyousness, and to be touched by the sight of a happiness so genuine
and so keen.
Erna had astonished them all that night by appearing in the hall clad in
a robe of saffron-hued silken stuff, while on her neck she wore a triple
string of pearls. So simple was her attire in general that they stared
at her in surprise as she came in dressed in this sumptuous guise. She
flushed a little as she felt their glances, but she only held her head
somewhat higher, smiling on them all, but most upon her betrothed, and
so took her place in the tall carved chair where she always sat at
supper. Now that the meal was over, she had moved to a lower seat, and
there she leaned back in a corner, as if she were half timid in her new
robes; but the Lady Adelaide muttered to herself in satisfaction that
this marriage was like to make a woman out of her niece after all; for
the shrewd old dame knew that when a damsel begins to give her heart to
the frivolities of attire she cannot long remain an iceberg.
Not far from the young countess sat Herr von Zimmern, a dark figure, the
more sombre by contrast with her golden brightness. He seemed to watch
the company with the deepest interest, and if there were in his
intentness something too eager to be wholly pleasing, no one regarded
this, since the little company were all absorbed in observing the jocund
merriment of Albrecht and the blushing fairness, half timid and half
sportive, of Erna.
Suddenly Albrecht sprang up as they sat together chatting gayly, and
seized a boar-spear which chanced to be standing in the corner where
Erna sat.
"See!" he cried, aiming at the head of a deer which was fixed high
against the wall over the great hollow fireplace.
Like a shaft of light the spear flew gleaming down the long hall,
straight as a sun-ray and swift as the wind. It transfixed the brown
head exactly between the eyes, although in the dim and flickering light
of the torches such a shot might well have seemed impossible, and there
stood quivering.
A cry of applause greeted this feat.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Herr von Zimmern. "That is a pupil to be proud of."
"It is, indeed," responded Father Christopher. "If thou hast taught him
to throw the spear, thou hast truly no reason to look upon thy pains as
wasted."
"All that I know of knighthood he has taught me," Albrecht said
heartily. "He found me an unlicked whelp of the forest, and whatever I
am he has made me."
"Then," Erna rejoined with tender archness, turning toward Von Zimmern,
"I have to thank thee that thou hast trained a husband for me."
"Only," burst in Albrecht, with a rich laugh, "if in anything I do not
suit, remember it is he and not I who is to bear the blame."
"Nay," she said, giving the black-browed guest her white hand with a
gesture of infinite grace, "I thank thee for thy work, even though he
should contrive to spoil it himself."
"Come!" cried Albrecht, playfully threatening her with his hand, "that
is rank insubordination, and as such--"
"As such, Sir Baron," interrupted his foster-father, with a smile that
hardly made him less ugly than before, "you must bear it still a while.
There has been no promise to obey or to honor as yet."
The Lady Adelaide simpered, and laid her hand upon the arm of her niece.
"Think of it, Erna," she whispered, "how wilt thou like to obey?"
"Oh, of that I have small notion!" the countess retorted aloud. "When it
comes to that, we shall see!"
The gay spirits of her lover had infected her, and she answered with a
manner quite unlike her own. Herr von Zimmern chuckled, and drew from
his otter-skin pouch a tiny roll of soft leather.
"So well doth this sentiment approve itself to me," he said, "that
humbly and with my Lord Baron's permission I make bold to offer you a
token in honor of a marriage to be conducted on principles so
reasonable."
There was a mocking note in his voice, albeit his face was too perfectly
controlled to betray any undesirable emotion. As he spoke he unrolled
the leather, and brought to light a ring of red gold in which was set a
large carbuncle engraved with strange characters. Erna could not
restrain a cry of admiration at sight of so splendid a jewel, and Lady
Adelaide broke out into voluble expressions of delight.
"It is not so much," Herr von Zimmern said coolly, as he cast a side
glance at Albrecht, "but it is cunningly fashioned, and--"
"But on the wedding eve," interrupted Albrecht, somewhat abruptly, "no
one gives a ring to the bride save only her betrothed. All in good
season, Herr Frederich, she will doubtless be glad to wear thy ring, but
to-night it is mine that must fetter her."
As he spoke, he leaned forward, and took the carbuncle ring from the
hand of Erna, who was about to slip it on her slender finger, and before
any one could object or protest he had thrust it into the embroidered
pouch by his side, and had in its place produced a second ring in which
blazed a ruby so splendid that it seemed to emit sparks of fire.
Across the face of Von Zimmern shot a glance of baffled rage and anger
so fierce that the priest, who alone caught sight of it, shuddered and
secretly crossed himself under his robe; but it was gone as quickly as
it came, and Herr Frederich smiled as he said:
"My gems must needs be poor beside yours, my master, but the ring had
powers which made it not unworthy the acceptance of the bride."
"Do not I know its power?" responded Albrecht, gayly. "There is time
enough for the proving of its might without troubling the bridal
therewith."
As he spoke, he put the glowing ruby on the white finger of his
betrothed, and raising the hand to his lips, he kissed it fervently.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" exclaimed Lady Adelaide, "what a gem! It is
like a coal of fire. It is worth a king's ransom."
"It is not rich enough to be worthy of the hand that graces it,"
Albrecht cried joyously.
Then, without waiting for further speech, he suddenly caught up a lute
which lay upon the broad ledge of the open window, and after a few notes
by way of prelude burst out into this song:
"My love has eyes like the roe,
And a voice like the wood-dove's call;
While her bosom is white as the snow
Of the foam on the torrent's fall.
Fine her hair as the mist
By the sun golden kissed,
And my heart she holds in its thrall.
"My love has lips like the glow
Of rubies red from the mine;
And her glances thrill me so
For her I'd life resign.
For their fire makes my heart
Wake to tremble and start,
With a passion no words may divine.
"My love has a throat like the swan
That haunts the river reeds;
Not shapelier the dappled fawn
That feeds in the flower-set meads.
When I clasp her, no bliss
Has all earth like her kiss,
No sweetness her sweetness exceeds!"
The effect of these ardent verses upon the company was apparently rather
one of astonishment than of admiration. The Lady Adelaide simpered and
assumed an expression of virtuous disapproval; Herr von Zimmern laughed
significantly and openly; while a look of pain came over the face of
Father Christopher.
"It is a ballad rather for the singing of an effeminate and sensual
Southron," he said, "than for the brave and virtuous lips of a Northern
knight."
"It is a foolish tune which Herr Frederich here taught me," returned
Albrecht, in too good spirits to be cast down by the reproof. "There is
no harm in it that I can see, save that it cannot tell half that a lover
feels!"
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" muttered Lady Adelaide, greatly scandalized.
Erna cast down her eyes and said nothing; but though her glance fell
only upon the rushes with which the stone floor was strewn, she saw
still the form of Albrecht as he stood erect in splendid manly beauty,
with the boar-spear poised above his head, ready to fling it like a dart
of light down the long hall to transfix the head of the deer above the
chimney-place.
IX
OF THE WEDDING MORNING.
Father Christopher lingered long at his prayers on the wedding morning.
There was in his heart so deep concern for the good of his beloved
mistress, and so keenly did he feel the responsibility which rested upon
him as the spiritual head of the castle, that he could not but be most
profoundly anxious that naught of evil should come of this marriage.
The good priest was not without a secret consciousness that his consent
to the union of Erna and Albrecht had been in no small degree due to the
interest which the knight had aroused in him. He could not tell why he
was so strongly attracted toward the stranger, and he endeavored to
convince himself that it was because he recognized in Albrecht the
possibilities of a high and spiritual life, and believed that it lay
within the sphere of Erna's influence to bring these possibilities to
fruition. The fascination of Albrecht's personality was so great,
however, that it followed the man even into his closet, and made him
secretly glad that the knight should have his will, whether it was to be
justified to the mind of the priest or not.
It was still early in the morning, but from below the sounds of the
preparations for the wedding rose to Father Christopher's ear. Somewhere
over in the tower next to that in which was his cell, there sounded the
tinkling of a rebec, as if one of the musicians were practising the
minstrelsy with which the bridal pair were to be attended to church, and
from the court below came the lusty voice of a knave that heeded not who
slept, but sang in a full, lusty voice a rude song of the forest. The
priest repeated his orisons, but it was hard to keep his thoughts fixed.
Sighing, he rose at last from his knees.
"God grant I have not done amiss in consenting to this marriage," he
said to himself. "At least I shall soon know how it lies with the soul
of Sir Albrecht, for he comes to me for confession before the marriage.
When I have shrived him I shall be lighter-hearted, albeit, God knows, I
trust to find no evil in him. Even though, he added in his thought, I
much misdoubt me of Herr von Zimmern, who has been his foster-father."