The Dove in the Eagle's Nest [136]
word so low that Ebbo was not sure that he caught it, and the next moment the old warrior exclaimed exultingly, "And you have had vengeance on them! When--how--where?"
"Last harvest-tide--at the Debateable Strand," said Ebbo, never able to speak of the encounter without a weight at his heart, but drawn on by the earnestness of the old foe of Schlangenwald. "It was a meeting in full career--lances broken, sword-stroke on either hand. I was sore wounded, but my sword went through his collar-bone."
"Well struck! good stroke!" cried the pilgrim, in rapture. "And with that sword?"
"With this sword. Didst know it?" said Ebbo, drawing the weapon, and giving it to the old man, who held it for a few moments, weighed it affectionately, and with a long low sigh restored it, saying, "It is well. You and that blade have paid off the score. I should be content. Let me dismount. I know my way to the hermitage."
"Nay, what is this?" said Ebbo; "thou must have rest and food. The hermitage is empty, scarce habitable. My mother will not be balked of the care of thy bleeding feet."
"But let me go, ere I bring evil on you all. I can pray up there, and save my soul, but I cannot see it all."
"See what?" said Ebbo, again trying to see his guest's face. "There may be changes, but an old faithful follower of my father's must ever be welcome."
"Not when his wife has taken a new lord," growled the stranger, bitterly, "and he a Wildschloss! Young man, I could have pardoned aught else!"
"I know not who you may be who talk of pardoning my lady-mother," said Ebbo, "but new lord she has neither taken nor will take. She has refused every offer; and, now that Schlangenwald with his last breath confessed that he slew not my father, but sold him to the Turks, I have been only awaiting recovery from my wound to go in search of him."
"Who then is yonder child, who told me she was Wildschloss?"
"That child," said Ebbo, with half a smile and half a blush, "is my wife, the daughter of Wildschloss, who prayed me to espouse her thus early, that so my mother might bring her up."
By this time they had reached the castle court, now a well-kept, lordly-looking enclosure, where the pilgrim looked about him as one bewildered. He was so infirm that Ebbo carefully helped him up the stone stairs to the hall, where he already saw his mother prepared for the hospitable reception of the palmer. Leaving him at the entrance, Ebbo crossed the hall to say to her in a low voice, "This pilgrim is one of the old lanzknechts of my grandfather's time. I wonder whether you or Heinz will know him. One of the old sort-- supremely discontented at change."
"And thou hast walked up, and wearied thyself!" exclaimed Christina, grieved to see her son's halting step.
"A rest will soon cure that," said Ebbo, seating himself as he spoke on a settle near the hall fire; but the next moment a strange wild low shriek from his mother made him start up and spring to her side. She stood with hands clasped, and wondering eyes. The pilgrim--his hat on the ground, his white head and rugged face displayed--was gazing as though devouring her with his eyes, murmuring, "Unchanged! unchanged!"
"What is this!" thundered the young Baron. "What are you doing to the lady?"
"Hush! hush, Ebbo!" exclaimed Christina. "It is thy father! On thy knees! Thy father is come! It is our son, my own lord. Oh, embrace him! Kneel to him, Ebbo!" she wildly cried.
"Hold, mother," said Ebbo, keeping his arm round her, though she struggled against him, for he felt some doubts as he looked back at his walk with the stranger, and remembered Heinz's want of recognition. "Is it certain that this is indeed my father?"
"Oh, Ebbo," was the cry of poor Christina, almost beside herself, "how could I not be sure? I know him! I feel it! Oh, my lord, bear with him. It is his wont to be so loving! Ebbo, cannot you see it is himself?"
"The young fellow is right," said the stranger, slowly. "I will answer all he may demand."
"Forgive me," said Ebbo, abashed,
"Last harvest-tide--at the Debateable Strand," said Ebbo, never able to speak of the encounter without a weight at his heart, but drawn on by the earnestness of the old foe of Schlangenwald. "It was a meeting in full career--lances broken, sword-stroke on either hand. I was sore wounded, but my sword went through his collar-bone."
"Well struck! good stroke!" cried the pilgrim, in rapture. "And with that sword?"
"With this sword. Didst know it?" said Ebbo, drawing the weapon, and giving it to the old man, who held it for a few moments, weighed it affectionately, and with a long low sigh restored it, saying, "It is well. You and that blade have paid off the score. I should be content. Let me dismount. I know my way to the hermitage."
"Nay, what is this?" said Ebbo; "thou must have rest and food. The hermitage is empty, scarce habitable. My mother will not be balked of the care of thy bleeding feet."
"But let me go, ere I bring evil on you all. I can pray up there, and save my soul, but I cannot see it all."
"See what?" said Ebbo, again trying to see his guest's face. "There may be changes, but an old faithful follower of my father's must ever be welcome."
"Not when his wife has taken a new lord," growled the stranger, bitterly, "and he a Wildschloss! Young man, I could have pardoned aught else!"
"I know not who you may be who talk of pardoning my lady-mother," said Ebbo, "but new lord she has neither taken nor will take. She has refused every offer; and, now that Schlangenwald with his last breath confessed that he slew not my father, but sold him to the Turks, I have been only awaiting recovery from my wound to go in search of him."
"Who then is yonder child, who told me she was Wildschloss?"
"That child," said Ebbo, with half a smile and half a blush, "is my wife, the daughter of Wildschloss, who prayed me to espouse her thus early, that so my mother might bring her up."
By this time they had reached the castle court, now a well-kept, lordly-looking enclosure, where the pilgrim looked about him as one bewildered. He was so infirm that Ebbo carefully helped him up the stone stairs to the hall, where he already saw his mother prepared for the hospitable reception of the palmer. Leaving him at the entrance, Ebbo crossed the hall to say to her in a low voice, "This pilgrim is one of the old lanzknechts of my grandfather's time. I wonder whether you or Heinz will know him. One of the old sort-- supremely discontented at change."
"And thou hast walked up, and wearied thyself!" exclaimed Christina, grieved to see her son's halting step.
"A rest will soon cure that," said Ebbo, seating himself as he spoke on a settle near the hall fire; but the next moment a strange wild low shriek from his mother made him start up and spring to her side. She stood with hands clasped, and wondering eyes. The pilgrim--his hat on the ground, his white head and rugged face displayed--was gazing as though devouring her with his eyes, murmuring, "Unchanged! unchanged!"
"What is this!" thundered the young Baron. "What are you doing to the lady?"
"Hush! hush, Ebbo!" exclaimed Christina. "It is thy father! On thy knees! Thy father is come! It is our son, my own lord. Oh, embrace him! Kneel to him, Ebbo!" she wildly cried.
"Hold, mother," said Ebbo, keeping his arm round her, though she struggled against him, for he felt some doubts as he looked back at his walk with the stranger, and remembered Heinz's want of recognition. "Is it certain that this is indeed my father?"
"Oh, Ebbo," was the cry of poor Christina, almost beside herself, "how could I not be sure? I know him! I feel it! Oh, my lord, bear with him. It is his wont to be so loving! Ebbo, cannot you see it is himself?"
"The young fellow is right," said the stranger, slowly. "I will answer all he may demand."
"Forgive me," said Ebbo, abashed,