The Dove in the Eagle's Nest [43]
course of the sparks that darted from it, one rising and gleaming high in air till it shone like a star, another pursuing a fitful and irregular, but still bright course amid the dry grass on the hillside, just as she had indeed watched some of the sparks on that night, minding her of the words of the Allhallow-tide legend: "Fulgebunt justi et tanquam scintillae in arundinete discurrent"--a sentence which remained with her when awake, and led her to seek it out in her Latin Bible in the morning.
Reluctantly had she gone down to the noontide meal, feeling, though her husband and father were far less of guardians than they should have been, yet that there was absolute rest, peace, and protection in their presence compared with what it was to be alone with Freiherrinn Kunigunde and her rude women without them. A few sneers on her daintiness and uselessness had led her to make an offer of assisting in the grand chopping of sausage meat and preparation of winter stores, and she had been answered with contempt that my young lord would not have her soil her delicate hands, when one of the maids who had been sent to fetch beer from the cellar came back with startled looks, and the exclamation, "There is the Schneiderlein riding up the Eagle's Ladder upon Freiherr Ebbo's white mare!"
All the women sprang up together, and rushed to the window, whence they could indeed recognize both man and horse; and presently it became plain that both were stained with blood, weary, and spent; indeed, nothing but extreme exhaustion would have induced the man-at- arms to trust the tired, stumbling horse up such a perilous path.
Loud were the exclamations, "Ah! no good could come of not leading that mare through the Johannisfeuer."
"This shameful expedition! Only harm could befall. This is thy doing, thou mincing city-girl."
"All was certain to go wrong when a pale mist widow came into the place."
The angry and dismayed cries all blended themselves in confusion in the ears of the only silent woman present; the only one that sounded distinctly on her brain was that of the last speaker, "A pale, mist widow," as, holding herself a little in the rear of the struggling, jostling little mob of women, who hardly made way even for their acknowledged lady, she followed with failing limbs the universal rush to the entrance as soon as man and horse had mounted the slope and were lost sight of.
A few moments more, and the throng of expectants was at the foot of the hall steps, just as the lanzknecht reached the arched entrance. His comrade Hans took his bridle, and almost lifted him from his horse; he reeled and stumbled as, pale, battered, and bleeding, he tried to advance to Freiherinn Kunigunde, and, in answer to her hasty interrogation, faltered out, "Ill news, gracious lady. We have been set upon by the accursed Schlangenwaldern, and I am the only living man left."
Christina scarce heard even these last words; senses and powers alike failed her, and she sank back on the stone steps in a deathlike swoon.
When she came to herself she was lying on her bed, Ursel and Else, another of the women, busy over her, and Ursel's voice was saying, "Ah, she is coming round. Look up, sweet lady, and fear not. You are our gracious Lady Baroness."
"Is he here? O, has he said so? O, let me see him--Sir Eberhard," faintly cried Christina with sobbing breath.
"Ah, no, no," said the old woman; "but see here," and she lifted up Christina's powerless, bloodless hand, and showed her the ring on the finger. Her bosom had been evidently searched when her dress was loosened in her swoon, and her ring found and put in its place. "There, you can hold up your head with the best of them; he took care of that--my dear young Freiherr, the boy that I nursed," and the old woman's burst of tears brought back the truth to Christina's s reviving senses.
"Oh, tell me," she said, trying to raise herself, "was it indeed so? O say it was not as he said!"
"Ah, woe's me, woe's me, that it was even so," lamented Ursel; "but oh, be still, look not so wild,
Reluctantly had she gone down to the noontide meal, feeling, though her husband and father were far less of guardians than they should have been, yet that there was absolute rest, peace, and protection in their presence compared with what it was to be alone with Freiherrinn Kunigunde and her rude women without them. A few sneers on her daintiness and uselessness had led her to make an offer of assisting in the grand chopping of sausage meat and preparation of winter stores, and she had been answered with contempt that my young lord would not have her soil her delicate hands, when one of the maids who had been sent to fetch beer from the cellar came back with startled looks, and the exclamation, "There is the Schneiderlein riding up the Eagle's Ladder upon Freiherr Ebbo's white mare!"
All the women sprang up together, and rushed to the window, whence they could indeed recognize both man and horse; and presently it became plain that both were stained with blood, weary, and spent; indeed, nothing but extreme exhaustion would have induced the man-at- arms to trust the tired, stumbling horse up such a perilous path.
Loud were the exclamations, "Ah! no good could come of not leading that mare through the Johannisfeuer."
"This shameful expedition! Only harm could befall. This is thy doing, thou mincing city-girl."
"All was certain to go wrong when a pale mist widow came into the place."
The angry and dismayed cries all blended themselves in confusion in the ears of the only silent woman present; the only one that sounded distinctly on her brain was that of the last speaker, "A pale, mist widow," as, holding herself a little in the rear of the struggling, jostling little mob of women, who hardly made way even for their acknowledged lady, she followed with failing limbs the universal rush to the entrance as soon as man and horse had mounted the slope and were lost sight of.
A few moments more, and the throng of expectants was at the foot of the hall steps, just as the lanzknecht reached the arched entrance. His comrade Hans took his bridle, and almost lifted him from his horse; he reeled and stumbled as, pale, battered, and bleeding, he tried to advance to Freiherinn Kunigunde, and, in answer to her hasty interrogation, faltered out, "Ill news, gracious lady. We have been set upon by the accursed Schlangenwaldern, and I am the only living man left."
Christina scarce heard even these last words; senses and powers alike failed her, and she sank back on the stone steps in a deathlike swoon.
When she came to herself she was lying on her bed, Ursel and Else, another of the women, busy over her, and Ursel's voice was saying, "Ah, she is coming round. Look up, sweet lady, and fear not. You are our gracious Lady Baroness."
"Is he here? O, has he said so? O, let me see him--Sir Eberhard," faintly cried Christina with sobbing breath.
"Ah, no, no," said the old woman; "but see here," and she lifted up Christina's powerless, bloodless hand, and showed her the ring on the finger. Her bosom had been evidently searched when her dress was loosened in her swoon, and her ring found and put in its place. "There, you can hold up your head with the best of them; he took care of that--my dear young Freiherr, the boy that I nursed," and the old woman's burst of tears brought back the truth to Christina's s reviving senses.
"Oh, tell me," she said, trying to raise herself, "was it indeed so? O say it was not as he said!"
"Ah, woe's me, woe's me, that it was even so," lamented Ursel; "but oh, be still, look not so wild,