"When day is breaking,The gypsy, waking,His way is takingThrough thicket and thorn.No bird upward sailingOn glad wing prevailing,More jocund is hailingThe gay, laughing morn."No walls may cage him,No cares engage him,No wars enrage him,No castles can hold;He roams with the breezes,He loves where he pleases,Ambition ne'er teasesHis heart free and bold."The gypsy loverFrom dreams that hoverAwakes to discoverHis loved one nigh;Oh, the joy of the hourWhen hid in some bowerHis passion's full powerNo word can deny!"Then lip to lip meeting,Gives love's fullest greeting,And hearts hotly beatingRespond each to each.Then breast to breast strainingFresh raptures is gaining,And past all restrainingLove's ecstasies reach!"
"When day is breaking,The gypsy, waking,His way is takingThrough thicket and thorn.No bird upward sailingOn glad wing prevailing,More jocund is hailingThe gay, laughing morn.
"No walls may cage him,No cares engage him,No wars enrage him,No castles can hold;He roams with the breezes,He loves where he pleases,Ambition ne'er teasesHis heart free and bold.
"The gypsy loverFrom dreams that hoverAwakes to discoverHis loved one nigh;Oh, the joy of the hourWhen hid in some bowerHis passion's full powerNo word can deny!
"Then lip to lip meeting,Gives love's fullest greeting,And hearts hotly beatingRespond each to each.Then breast to breast strainingFresh raptures is gaining,And past all restrainingLove's ecstasies reach!"
Despite herself, Erna felt the hot blushes chasing one another over her face. She leaned backward to be in the shadow, while Albrecht bent over to touch under the chin the damsel Elsa, who stood close by behind the chair of the Lady Adelaide.
"By my sword!" he cried gayly; "but the gypsy maid's song is of warmer stuff than thine."
Herr Frederich chuckled, and Erna flushed more deeply still.
"Come," she said, rising, "we have had enough. The night air is becoming chill."
"And besides," Herr Frederich said softly, "it is time that the bride were conducted to her chamber."
She turned away from him, giving no sign if she heard; and the little party returned to the great hall, where indeed the maidens of the castle soon assembled to lead Erna to the bridal chamber, to the white and perfumed bride-bed which Father Christopher had blessed with prayer in his soul no less than upon his lips.
All white and blessed, like a blossom of the hawthorne over whose snow the flush of early morn casts a rosy tint, Erna lay to await the quick coming of the bridegroom, while the unknown world of married love stretched out before her, mystic, enticing, yet not without dread. One by one the steps of her maidens died down the corridor, and ringing upon its stone floor she heard the footsteps of Albrecht, swift with eagerness. And as if with an instinct half prophetic she almost comprehended that this marriage meant the saving or the wrecking of souls; so that when her husband came into the chamber and bent over to kiss her, warm and flushed, and glowing with love and with laughter, she threw her arms about his neck with sudden and inexplicable tears.
The dawn was only just beginning to glow when Erna awakened next morning; but Albrecht had already arisen, and was standing, fully dressed, by the bedside. She started up from her pillow and regarded him with surprise.
"Where art thou going?" she asked. "Surely thou wert not trying to steal away without my knowing?"
Albrecht bent over and kissed her fondly.
"I am going," he answered, in a tone of strange tenderness and solemnity, "to the chamber of Father Christopher. I was interrupted yesterday when I should have made confession."
"Come again quickly!" Erna cried, putting up her white arms to clasp them about her husband's neck.
He returned the embrace with passionate eagerness.
"How can I ever repay thee," he murmured, "for what thou givest me! But at least, sweetheart," he added, as he freed himself from her clinging arms, "I have at last learned what thou didst mean when thou didst reprove me for kissing the damsel in the hall; and henceforth I cannot care for the kisses of any save of thee only."
There was in Albrecht's mien something which was new to Erna, and which affected her profoundly. After he was gone she lay thinking of the grave, half-wondering expression of his handsome face. She felt some subtile change in him so strongly that it seemed as if the real alteration must be in herself. The jocund, sportive air with which he had always treated her, even since their betrothal, seemed to have given place to a tender and almost adoring manner which touched her deeply while it made her flush with pleasure.
Father Christopher was at his orisons when Albrecht presented himself at the door of his little chamber, high up in the western tower, from whose narrow windows the kindly and pious old man could see the first gleams of the morning sun, and the last fading glimmer of the dying day, and from which he could look far over the wild and haunted forest which stretched like a sea about the hill on which the castle stood. The priest rose from his knees and opened the door, the surprise he felt at the sight of the baron appearing undisguisedly in his face.
"Good morrow, Father," the knight said, advancing somewhat hesitatingly into the chamber.
"Good morrow, my son," the priest responded, regarding his visitor curiously. "Is it well with the countess?"
"All is well with her," answered Albrecht, gravely, and with something not unlike timidity appearing in his manner; "unless," he added with sudden vehemence, "it be not well that she hath wed with me."
The face of Father Christopher became instantly grave.
"Why dost thou say that?" he demanded almost fiercely, coming closer to the knight.
"Nay, Father," Albrecht said, meeting the eyes of the other with a deep and grave regard that did not falter, "I know not that it be not well, and I have not knowingly done her harm. Only," he continued, his tone changing suddenly into one of entreaty and profound emotion, "I cannot tell what I may have done. Bless me, Father, and I will tell thee all. I have sore need of thy guidance."
He fell on his knees as he spoke, and half mechanically the bewildered priest extended his hands in benediction. The baron remained kneeling for a moment in the attitude of prayer, though his lips did not move. Then he rose, and began to pace up and down the little chamber with long strides.
"Father," he said, "it is an awful thing to possess a soul. Had I known—"
The priest seated himself and watched his visitor with concern and curiosity. As Albrecht broke off and walked with eyes fixed upon the floor and brows knit, Father Christopher said aloud, although he was really speaking only to himself:
"How ill was it that that madman broke in upon us yesterday! I should not be in this painful uncertainty but for that unhappy chance which prevented thy confession."
"Father," the other replied, turning toward him, "it was not a chance. The man did but act a part that Herr von Zimmern taught him. It was done that I need not confess."
"What!" exclaimed the priest, springing to his feet. "Thou hast mocked at the holy sacrament! Thou wentest to the altar with a lie on thy lips; thou—"
"Wait!" Albrecht interrupted, with an air of noble authority which arrested his companion's words and even somewhat reassured him. "I have come to tell thee everything, and thou wilt see that I was innocent because I knew not what I did."
"How can that be?" Father Christopher responded. "Surely, that it is impiety to trifle with the sacraments is known to every man."
Albrecht paused in his agitated walk, and for a moment stood regarding the priest with a strange look.
"To every man, yes," at length he responded, "but not to me. I am a kobold."
The priest sprang to his feet with a cry of astonishment and horror. Like a flash came the remembrance of all the strange circumstances which attended the coming of the baron and his stay at Rittenberg. He grew pale with anger and dread.
"A kobold!" he cried. "One of the accursed, soulless race!"
"Soulless no longer," Albrecht murmured, bending his head as if against a storm.
"What hast thou done!" the priest continued. "How hast thou dared to wed the countess with such a secret between you?"
"Father," the baron returned, laying his hand upon the other's arm, and speaking with more coolness than could have been expected, "it is only to-day when I awake with a soul, that I realize what I have done. How could I know before? I was like the beasts in the forest, and I have understood good and evil only as they. Now that the higher light has burst upon me, it dazzles and blinds me. I see only that I have wronged her whom now I would give my life to save from harm. She has given me a soul, and by it I realize how unfit I am to be her mate. Help me, Father, for with all the strength of my new soul I love her, love her, love her!"
The most profound feeling thrilled in Albrecht's voice as he pronounced these words. He sank down at the feet of his companion, and on his knees he clasped the other's hand.
"I am confused, blinded," he went on. "The prospect that opens before me is so vast that it overwhelms me. I have never feared anything in my life, Father; but of this thing which thou callest a soul that has come to me I am afraid, I am afraid, Father Christopher."
The priest was not unnaturally overcome by a situation so far aside from any previous experience of his life. His first thought was that he had to deal with a madman, but there was in the tones and manner of the baron that which compelled his belief. He could not understand, but he was too kindly not to be deeply moved by the emotion of his companion, and he wisely determined to learn as quickly and as clearly as possible the real facts of the strange situation, in order that he might determine what was his own duty in the case. He raised Albrecht from the floor, and motioned him to a seat.
"My son," he said gravely but not unkindly, "thou must be calm, and thou must tell me everything, that I may know how to advise thee and how to act myself. Relate all, from the very beginning."
Albrecht sank into the chair toward which the priest waved his hand, and for a moment he sat with his chin in his hand, his full chestnut beard pushed up so that it half covered his cheeks.
"I know not where to begin, Father," he said, "unless it be at my birth. My father was king of the kobolds in the Neiderwasser valley, and a brave and merry tribe they are. My mother died at my birth; and as this is a thing which seldom happens with our race, I was always looked upon as destined for some great or strange destiny. When I was four or five years old, my father caught Herr von Zimmern in the forest where he was hunting, and brought him home to the mountain caves where we dwelt, that he might teach me all knightly skill, for we kobolds are always jealous of the arts of knighthood."
"But did Herr von Zimmern desire to stay in such strange company?" asked Father Christopher, whose countenance expressed the greatest astonishment at this tale.
"He had no choice," rejoined Albrecht. "Once he tried to escape, and my father houghed him, that he should never again be able to travel through the forests fast enough to give trouble in bringing him back."
The priest shuddered, and the other for the first time in his life seemed to perceive the cruelty of this deed.
"My father," he said humbly, "had no soul."
Father Christopher's expression of horror changed to one of pity; and with a sigh Albrecht went on with his narrative.
"I was bred up at home," he said, "but now and then Herr von Zimmern has taken me to the cities, and to the fairs of the country, and now and then to a tourney that I might prove my knightly prowess. My father was killed in an avalanche some ten years since. He had offended the mountain sprites, and they lay in wait for him. I have lived with Herr von Zimmern since, and he has been my servant because I am ruler as my father was. It was he who told me of the delights of possessing a soul, and that a kobold might win one if a mortal maiden should love him with her whole heart and wed him. It was for this that he brought me to Rittenberg, and it was for this that I wooed its mistress."
There was a deep silence in the chamber as Albrecht ceased speaking. Strongly moved as he was by the confession, Father Christopher felt his heart so strongly yearn toward the baron, and so touched was he by the other's evident contrition, that he could not find it in his heart to speak the condemnation which the knight's course might merit. It was now too late, moreover, to prevent the mischief, and there seemed more wisdom in considering whether it were not possible to comply with Albrecht's agonized request, and to aid him to become worthy of his wife rather than to make any endeavor to separate them. If this might be done, it would be the saving of a soul; and however it had been come by, if Albrecht had indeed gained a spirit, it demanded the priest's best efforts to bring it to salvation.
"My son," the priest said after some moments' reflection, "what thou hast done would indeed be a grievous sin if thou hadst been a mortal, and I know not whether it is to be called a sin as it is or no. But now at least thou hast a soul, and it is mortal sin to live unbaptized."
"I was afraid," Albrecht said with simple candor and with an air of relief, "that thou wouldst command me to leave my wife; and that I could not do."
"No," the priest answered, "whom God through the Church hath joined are not lightly to be put asunder; but the rite of baptism is not to be neglected for a single hour."
"I know so little of these things," Albrecht murmured doubtfully.
"The priests of the Great Emperor," answered the old man, "administer baptism to the barbarians in token that they desire Christian light, and I can do no less for thee, who art in a devout mind."
Albrecht leaned forward in his chair and put out his hand half timidly to touch that of the other.
"I feel that I am ignorant of everything," he said. "Father, it is like suddenly coming into a strange land where I know not even the tongue that I should speak. I am afraid to go forward, lest I stumble into pitfalls I do not see."
Father Christopher laid his wrinkled hand kindly upon that of his penitent.
"But the way will become clear," he said, smiling. "Only follow the light that is given thee, and pray to God and his saints."
"But I know not how to pray."
"My son," the priest responded with a smile which comforted Albrecht more than words could have done, "our Great Emperor has said in his Capitularies: 'Let none suppose that prayer cannot be made to God save in three tongues, for God is adored in all tongues, and man is heard if he do but ask for the things that be right.' Be of good cheer, my son; God would not give a soul and not add enough knowledge for its salvation."
There was in the mien of Albrecht, as he knelt to receive the rite of baptism, the showing forth of great feeling. He had the air of one who comes into the fruit of a quest with joy, yet who regards that which he has won with something of doubt and secret awe; while withal it was evident that to his mind did this christening seem a thing which should serve in a sort as a talisman to defend him from this strange and awful guest that had come to dwell within him, but which even yet scarce seemed a part of himself. He was as one who knew not himself, but who was rather confused than enlightened by the new vision which had been imparted by the miracle that had been wrought.
"Father," he asked hesitatingly, "my wife, must I tell her?"
The priest considered a moment.
"Dost thou wish to tell her?" he inquired.
"Would to God that she had known!" was Albrecht's answer, "but how can I tell her now? What if she should turn against me?"
The strength of his newly found soul seemed to go out in his love for Erna, and he was white and trembling at the thought of losing her affection. Father Christopher regarded him keenly, with sympathy and complexity struggling in his mind.
"Now thou needst not tell her," he said. "The time may come; but now strive to become worthy of her whiteness, her innocence, her piety. If thou wouldst be sure of her love, my son, look upon this as a respite that thou mayest be one soul with hers when the day comes that she must be told. And of this be sure," the priest continued, his eye kindling as if some higher power were speaking through him, "since thou hast won thy soul through her, it is with hers that thine must stand or fall. If thou shalt drag hers down, there can be no salvation for thine."
Albrecht walked slowly back to his chamber after he had left the priest, all his mind in a confused whirl of strange and new emotions. He could not find the old self in this man whom he had become. He was still within the shadow of the awe which had fallen upon him when he awakened in the early dawn a human being, and he still thrilled with the reverential dread which had pierced him as the waters of baptism were laid upon his head.
Erna had not yet risen, but had fallen into a light sleep; and as he came to the bedside she softly murmured his name, as if she were even in her morning dream conscious that he had returned. Her white throat was bare, and from her lovely bosom the draperies were half displaced, so that its rounded swell melted into a foam of lace as if she were Aphrodite just emerging from the waves. All his newly found earnestness fell from Albrecht like a garment, and he was only conscious of his wife and his passion for her; albeit his love was not to-day the selfish desire of the kobold alone, as it had been last night. Fired by her beauty, he bent over and kissed her. She awoke with a smile that melted into a blush as she saw the ardent eyes of Albrecht bent upon her and felt his embrace steal about her. She let him lift her to kiss her again, and then she hid her shining face in his breast.
"Now thou must go," she said, as she returned his embrace. "They will stay for us in the hall. Send me my damsel, and I will be ready very quickly."
"Yes," he cried, springing up with all his old joyousness; "be thou as swift as may be, that we may bestow upon thee theMorgengabe."
The Lady Adelaide, after the manner of her kind, had been most curious in regard to theMorgengabe. Her maid Elsa had plied the retainers of Baron von Waldstein with questions, and the Lady Adelaide herself had not been above some cunning attempts to extract from Herr von Zimmern somewhat touching the nature and extent of the bridegroom's ability and probable liberality in this direction, but neither had obtained any definite information. Herr Frederich had replied that his master certainly had the means and the disposition to do things upon a grand scale, but he professed complete ignorance as to Baron Albrecht's actual intentions, a statement which Lady Adelaide took the liberty of doubting, as it seemed probable that the orders which her newly made nephew had sent home had been executed through Herr von Zimmern. As nothing further was to be got out of this functionary, however, and as Elsa found the men of the baron equally uncommunicative, there was no help for it, but curiosity must wait unsatisfied until the bridegroom's gift should be bestowed.
The Lady Adelaide, her black eyes shining with excitement, was already in the great hall when Albrecht and his bride entered, and Father Christopher was not far behind. All the household gathered, for the bestowing of theMorgengabewas an important ceremony which hardly ranked below that of the bridal. The damsel Elsa, who could no more help coquetting than she could help breathing, took advantage of a chance which for a moment brought her face to face with Baron Albrecht to cast upon him one of her most languishing glances, but to her surprise and mayhap vexation he only smiled good-humoredly like one who comprehended thoroughly her wiles, and passed on to the side of Erna, who had already taken her place in readiness for the entrance of the bearers of her husband's gift.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" muttered Elsa to herself, unconsciously using her mistress's favorite expletive, "but the wind has changed, methinks, since he touched me under the chin last night. Marriage has tamed you quickly, my Lord Baron! But we may see wonders yet."
And now with a peal of music, a wild strain which the retainers of the baron had learned from no human master, the great doors were thrown open and the little train of Von Waldstein's followers entered. Behind the musicians walked Herr von Zimmern, and after him followed six servitors, each pair bearing between them a casket of goodly size and apparently of some weight.
"The baron'sMorgengabedoes not take up too much room," murmured Elsa in the ear of Lady Adelaide, behind whom she stood, with the familiarity of long and close service.
"Hush, simpleton!" her mistress responded. "If those caskets hold jewels, he is giving her a king's ransom."
The bringers of theMorgengabemarched up the long hall, and saluting the company, the musicians fell back and ended their weird refrain. Herr von Zimmern stopped before Erna, and made a sign to the first pair of his followers to set down their burden at her feet.
"Gracious lady," Albrecht said, indicating it with his hand, "deign to accept this casket as a part of the unworthyMorgengabethat I offer."
At a sign from Herr von Zimmern, the thralls threw back the lid and lifted out the trays of the casket, while a murmur of astonishment and delight ran through the hall. Within, in a glowing heap, in strings and clusters and singly, lay the most glorious carbuncles and topazes and sapphires that had ever been seen at Rittenberg, where, too, there had been some notable jewels in times gone by.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried the old great-aunt. "Oh, that I were young and had married thee, Baron!"
A sunbeam shone through a high window and fell upon the gems, making them glow with all the hues of the rainbow. Erna knelt down beside the glittering heap, an exclamation of surprise and pleasure on her lips. She took up in her hands now one and then another of the splendid bawbles, her woman's love of finery and her sense of beauty alike appealed to by the wonderful stones. From the treasures she selected a string of magnificent sapphires, blue as the sky in springtime, and clasped it about her throat. She said not a word, but her look satisfied her husband. At a sign from him, Herr von Zimmern moved the casket aside, and had the second set in its place. This in its turn was opened, and within were gems more splendid and more precious than in the first; emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. The wealth of the coffer was confusing, so great was it.
"God's blood!" cried out the Lady Adelaide, falling back upon the oath which she kept for the very last extremity; "it is the ransom of a kingdom rather than of a king. Should the Huns hear of thisMorgengabethey might well come from the North for no other purpose than to capture it. By my soul! Herr Baron, one would think that thou wert in league with the gnomes to be possessed of jewels like these."
"I am on friendly terms with them," he answered, his truthfulness passing as a jest.
Father Christopher said not a word, but he observed how a sudden look of malice darted through the eyes of Herr von Zimmern at the words of Lady Adelaide, and how he smiled at the reply of his master. The good priest was troubled in his mind at the sight of all this wealth of gems. He saw how Erna's eyes shone, and with what fondness she gazed upon the gleaming, glancing stones; and he saw, too, how the expression of the face of Albrecht, as he regarded the treasures and the delight of his bride, lost the look of reverence and earnestness which it had worn when he left the priest's chamber, and took on an expression of greed and passion. The old man sighed, and looked away as still another casket, the third and last, was brought forward and opened at the feet of Erna.
If the third casket when it was opened did not shine with so great a splendor as did the others, its contents were none the less wonderful and beautiful. It was filled with pearls of the most clear and exquisite sheen, and with opals of fires as varied as the changing hues of the sunset, or of the foam-bubbles on a mountain-stream rocking in the sunlight with the swiftness of the current.
Words failed them all as they looked at the three caskets, and even Lady Adelaide was reduced to inarticulate ejaculations of amazement and admiration. Erna still said nothing, save now and then to cry out in wonder at the glory of some jewel more magnificent than its fellows, but she paused now and then in her gloating over the treasure to take her husband's hand and press it in a sort of ecstasy of fond delight.
"That is all theMorgengabeI have to offer thee," Albrecht said with a smile, as the last casket was opened. "I cannot pretend that it is worthy of thy beauty, but it will make me happy that thou shouldst accept it."
"That is, forsooth, but false modesty," Father Christopher broke in with a brusqueness quite unusual in him. "The gift is one which Charlemagne himself need not be ashamed of; and indeed it is of too great splendor for simple folk like those who are not sovereigns but subjects."
Albrecht turned toward him with a fleeting expression of disquiet which was instantly chased away by a jovial smile.
"But the countess is a sovereign, at least of me and mine," he retorted.
"Doubtless the baron thinks the price small to pay for the joys of his wedding night," broke in Herr Frederich with a laugh.
Erna flushed and bent lower over the pearls she was examining, while Albrecht turned haughtily upon Herr von Zimmern with a look of rebuke under which the other dropped his head. Bowing profoundly to the company, Herr Frederich made a sign to the musicians, and as they again took up their wild strain and led the way down the hall, he followed with the bearers who had accompanied him to bring in the caskets.
For the first time in his life Albrecht found himself penetrated with a sense of disgust and of distrust of his teacher as he looked after him. He felt for the first time that the relations of himself and his wife were too sacred to be jested upon, and it seemed, moreover, as if his new powers gave him an insight into the true nature of Herr von Zimmern which he had never possessed before; so that one of the earliest results of his winning the quest to which he had been incited by his instructor was the springing of an instinctive repulsion from the latter as from an evil thing.
All this, however, was but the feeling of an instant as he stood in the hall and watched the delight of Erna over the jewels. He laughed at her childlike surprise and delight, and jested with the Lady Adelaide in his accustomed fashion. He even had a smile for Elsa when that forward maiden, behind the backs of the ladies, held a great carbuncle, as large as a pigeon's egg, up to her ear, and pretended to find the weight unbearable. But at last a chance word of Erna's changed again his mood.
"Look!" she said, holding up a rope of pearls, "they are as large again as those the emperor gave to the Madonna at Mayence."
And at the name of the Madonna Albrecht remembered his baptism, and the burden of his soul once more fell upon him.
In the life of the late Count von Rittenberg it had fallen to the lot of Father Christopher to see not a few strange things. He had accompanied that warrior in several of his campaigns, and he had seen the fierce Huns and the gigantic Saxons, with their barbaric ornaments of beaten gold, their dress of skins, and their strange weapons. He had more than once pondered in his mind whether these hordes of the dark North had human souls, at least before the Church had set upon them the seal of baptism and thus forever marked them as separated from the beasts of the field or the forest which to the eye of the priest they so much resembled.
All that he had hitherto seen, however, faded into insignificance in his mind when compared with that which was now daily before his eyes. He seemed to himself sometimes involved in some strange dream from which he might at any moment awake with only a more or less confused remembrance of what it had been. His old vague questionings concerning the souls of the Huns recurred to his mind; but the perplexing thing was that they who really had souls should have so completely seemed to lack them, while Baron Albrecht, with his magnificent beauty, his manly bearing, his knightly skill and courtesy, should have in truth been without an immortal spirit. The secret of which the priest had been made the repository so absorbed his attention that he could scarcely give either thought or interest to anything else, and not infrequently did Erna laughingly assure him that his one occupation in life seemed to have become watching her husband.
It was noticeable how much Erna had changed since she had known Albrecht. Even Father Christopher, who so deeply loved her that he had secretly regarded her as perfection and therefore could conceive of no possible alteration in her, was not so blind that he failed to appreciate that she was a different creature from the white, calm maiden, with unstirred soul, who had welcomed the baron on the morning when he had ridden with call of bugle and gleam of jewelled armor out of the gloom of the pine forest below the castle. Whether this change was one for which to be glad Father Christopher could not determine. His love for Erna and his loyalty to the Von Rittenbergs rendered it impossible for him to feel that it was not an improvement that now Erna should be gay where she had hitherto been calm, that she should be jocund where she had before been only happy, that she should apparently have discovered the delights of the eye, of the body, and of the world, and exchanged her former innocence for a more worldly wisdom; and yet all this confused him. He could not think it wrong that now the countess adorned herself with the splendid gems of which her caskets were so well filled; especially as she had bestowed upon the Madonna in the castle chapel jewels that would have bought the entire holding as it had been before Baron von Waldstein's coming. He did not find it in his heart to reprove or indeed even to blame her newly developed fondness for hawking, a sport for which her husband had a strong inclination and in which he had also unusual skill. He could not condemn her gay raiment, her frequent laughter, her increased attention to the comforts and luxuries of the castle. There was nothing in all this which was sinful, there was not even anything which was not eminently fitting to the youth of the countess, her estate, and her condition.
And yet the mind of the priest was somehow strangely troubled. Perhaps his inner consciousness apprehended a change in Erna that was so subtile as not to be tangible to the outward sense. Certain it is that a doubt so vague that he could not have defined it even to himself, but so real that it filled him with a shadowy fear of coming evil, weighed upon the soul of Father Christopher whenever he thought of his mistress and of the effect which this marriage had wrought upon her character.
When it came, however, to attaching any blame to Baron Albrecht, the mind of Father Christopher drew back at once. Here he had no doubt in one way. He could not but feel that if any harm came to Erna through this marriage it would be from the fact that her husband had been born in the accursed, soulless race of kobolds; but his sentiment of love, of respect, almost of reverence for Albrecht was developing so rapidly that he could not even then attach any blame to the baron personally.
The possibilities of spiritual life, of high aspirations, which had been opened to Albrecht when upon the kobold had dawned the glorious light of a soul seemed at first to dazzle him. He walked as a man in a dream, or as a prophet who hears voices and sees visions. His joyous, sensuous, wild nature did not, it is true, at once lose its strength. He was the inciter of the countess to the sports of which under his guidance she began to be fond, her former dread of giving pain to the defenceless animals yielding to the delights of the excitement of the chase; he infused into her a new gayety, an animal zest in life, a sensuous eagerness to seize upon the joy of the moment and to forget past and future; he inoculated her, in a word, with the spirit of his being as he had existed hitherto, of the kobold not yet fully transformed into a man, although the process of this transformation had begun at the moment when he had been gifted with a human soul.
As for the Lady Adelaide, she was thoroughly delighted with the change which had come to Rittenberg. This, she declared, was like the gay times when Erna's father was still alive, and the castle was the rendezvous of many bold and merry knights and dames. She began to bring from the recesses of her memory numberless tales of the old time, and now she was pleased to find that her grand-niece would listen to histories and scandals which hitherto she had refused to hear. Lady Adelaide assured Elsa, in those confidential moments during which that damsel was engaged in assisting her at her toilet, that the baron had quite made the countess over, and that the transformation was little short of a miracle.
"Heaven knows what a prude she was," Lady Adelaide would say, long years of habitual freedom of intercourse with her damsel having brought her to a degree of intimacy in her speech with Elsa which was unusual with one of the latter's station; "she used to blush, God's blood! at the mere mention of a man; and as for having any witty talk with her, I might as well have gone to the chapel for a cosey chat with the Virgin on the altar, Heaven save the mark! Now it is all quite different, and I can have some real comfort in gossiping with her."
"Yes, doubtless marriage is a wonderful thing," demurely responded Elsa, who was betrothed to the steward of the castle, and was only waiting to assure herself that she could not possibly do better before she took the irrevocable step of marrying him. "It has changed the countess much; and her husband, too, meseems."
"That is to say, he does not chuck thee under the chin any more, or kiss thee in the corridors. Well, beshrew me, but 'tis quite as well. Little does it increase the peace of the family to have the lord of it too fond of the damsels. Baron Albrecht has improved quite as much as she, to my thinking. He is not so bold and reckless. I used continually to dread lest perchance he should do some outlandish thing. He seemed like a mad creature when the mood was on him, and his tricks frightened me wellnigh out of my five wits."
"But always was he good-humored," Elsa returned.
"Oh, of a truth; but lawless was he as the wild wind in the pine forest. It made no difference against whose feelings he hurtled. Now he is so much more human. Meseems now that Erna is in sooth happily married, and with Baron Albrecht's wealth there seems to be nothing lacking."
It was certainly true that to all outward appearance the marriage of Erna and Albrecht was a fortunate one. Every day they seemed to be brought more and more closely together. The countess lost that reserve and unworldiness which her aunt had stigmatized as austerity; the baron gained those spiritual qualities the lack of which had been his only deficiency. Each found in the other new experiences, fresh fields, an unexplored region of pleasure. Life at Rittenberg was wellnigh ideal. The accustomed occupations of the wife were full of novelty and of attractiveness to the husband. The pair read together in Erna's few but well-loved books, and when the wildness of the storm-sprites kept them within doors they found in these and the talk to which what they read gave rise the means of passing many a happy hour. Here Erna took the lead, and Albrecht was like her pupil. In the more active, out-of-door sports and in-door revelry it was to Albrecht that the initiative fell. Each had much to teach and much to learn, and in teaching and learning alike were both happy.
All this Father Christopher watched with eagerness born of his love for the young couple and his desire for their spiritual welfare. Could he have been sure that this state of things would continue, he would have been fully contented and happy in regard to them, and he was wholly unable to explain to himself what possible grounds there could be for doubting that Albrecht and Erna would still live together in mutual helpfulness and pleasure. Yet in his mind was the vague form of some doubt which he could not name but which he could not banish. It might be that he was accustomed to being confronted by the fact that all spiritual good is the price of hard struggle, and he unconsciously waited to see in what form would come the contest in which Albrecht must sooner or later fight with the powers of darkness for the soul which he seemed to have won and to enjoy without a battle. He felt, too, that the powers of the forest, the evil spirits of the waste and the night, would not yield up Albrecht without a struggle, and his was the attitude of one who waits for coming conflict.
One summer morning the priest came into the great hall of the castle to find Albrecht and Erna standing together at the window looking out at the weather. It had been raining at intervals ever since daybreak, and great masses of broken cloud were trailing their ragged edges over the far-spreading forests of pine that covered the mountain slopes. Now and then the sky would lighten as if the storm were ended, but again it would lower, and the rain come dashing down, swept by the wind against the castle windows.
"I am sure that the rain is over," Erna said persuasively, as Father Christopher came within hearing. "We can get to horse now, and by the time we are well under way the sun will be shining. Besides, what does it matter if it does not clear off? We shall not mind that if we can but get into the open."
"In the first place," returned Albrecht, smiling upon her and then turning to look out again over hill and valley and up at the stormy sky, "Meseemeth it is soon to rain very heavily; and in the second place, I am not sorry that we should be kept at home to-day that we may go on with those words in the scroll of Saint Cuthbert we were called away from yesterday."
"But the reading can always be done," was Erna's answer, "and who knows when we can ride? Besides," she added, a dazzling smile parting her beautiful lips, "we can read Saint Cuthbert when for very age we cannot ride."
The priest did not stay to hear how the matter was settled, but went on his way down the long hall; yet as he went he thought wonderingly of the strange fact that it should be Erna who urged for pleasure, and Albrecht who desired that the time be given to pious employment.
The days went by, until already the autumn crocuses began to star with their bright colors the glades among the hills. The time of year had come when the blood of the huntsman begins to tingle in his veins because the best sport of the whole twelvemonth is at hand. The sky mellowed like the winter pears which were showing the first shade of the tawny and russet hue that should cover their cheeks when the time came for their gathering.
Now of nights the Wild Huntsman was often heard riding with mad crew of wood-sprites through the forest; and as the days shortened and the dusk of twilight gathered earlier than before, it happened that not a few of the churls and serfs of the castle caught glimpses of vague forms stealing through the gathering darkness, now on earth and anon in the air, as if the wood-folk were watching what was in progress at Rittenberg with the most careful eagerness. Father Christopher, when these tales came to his hearing, sighed and shook his head. He could easily comprehend that all the wild soulless folk of the wood, whether in league with the powers of darkness or not, might well be interested in the fate of one of their band who from a wood-creature had become human, and, whether they were plotting to do him harm or no, would long to watch how he bore his new powers and his gift of immortality. But withal was Father Christopher troubled in his mind lest these strange sprites might be other than creatures who looked upon Albrecht with wonder and longing. He knew how prone are the wood-folk to do mischief; and as the wild herd will set upon a tame animal though he be of their kind, so it might well be that the unbaptized crew were eager to do harm to one who had deserted their ranks.
More than the doings of the creatures of the forest, however, did the ways at Rittenberg concern the priest. There was day by day a more and more jocund stir in the castle. The countess seemed to drink in animation from the air, which was now chill in the morning, and ever did she become more and more eager in the chase and in all merry-making. The hounds and the hawks were well looked to in these days; and old Rupert, the chief huntsman, whose office had become a mere idle name in the days before the coming of the Baron Albrecht, found himself so busy that he lay down at night on his hard pallet with all his aged bones an ache. He was full of pride in the revival of his art, and he began to boast that the sport was as well followed now as in the days of his former master, the late count; but he sighed to himself now and then when he was alone, and shook his head, wondering whether he should be much longer able to keep up to the pace which was now the custom of the castle. He began to say to himself more and more frequently that he was, after all, an old man, and that it was getting to be time for him to make way for the young fellows he had trained. It made him melancholy enough to consider this possibility, but it was a great comfort to him that the revival of venery at Rittenberg gave him a chance to show those who were to take his place how things should be done, and to prove his own cunning in the chase before he resigned forever the boar-spear which was his badge of office.
For there were gay doings at Rittenberg in these autumn days. The doves that of old had sailed so smoothly and sleepily about the castle towers, had now no rest, so greatly were they excited by the sound of hunting-horn by day and of lute by night, the stir of huntsmen in the courtyard, and the laughter of Erna and her maidens ringing out through the windows of the great hall.
"All the castle," quoth the Lady Adelaide to Father Christopher, "seems to have caught the spirit of the baron. Everybody is full of life now, and Heaven knows we were dull enough before he came. Count Stephen told me that he felt as if he were in the tower of the Sleeping Beauty when he was here."
"The sleeper has awakened," the priest responded, with a smile that was not without some secret shadow. "In truth, the countess and her husband have become so truly one that it is not possible to say that either is gayer than the other. They think alike, and they feel in all things the same."
He spoke reflectively, and even as he spoke there came into his mind a doubt whether his words were exactly true. He had watched with the keenest interest and anxiety the growth of the spiritual in Albrecht, and the gradual humanizing that had been wrought in the kobold by his marriage. He felt profoundly his own responsibility in regard to both the baron and Erna, and the beads of his rosary were growing more and more smooth under his fingers in the days and nights that had sped since the wedding.
He had watched Erna no less carefully than Albrecht, and he was beginning to wonder with some sense of fear how far the influence of her husband was destined to lead her from the condition of innocent and spiritual calm in which the Baron von Waldstein had found her upon that spring day when she had first met him in the great hall. There was nothing in the life of Erna which the priest could look upon with blame, and yet he was vaguely uneasy when he thought of her. He said to himself that he was really only unduly affected by the changes which were natural under the circumstances, and that his charge had only developed; and yet the more he pondered the less was he satisfied. He found Albrecht every day more interested in things which concerned the soul which he had won. Continually he became a deeper student of things spiritual, and less wholly given up to the pursuit of pleasure. Erna, on the other hand, seemed each day more intoxicated with the joy of living, and more absorbed in the delights of the world which belongs to the senses.
"It is natural that husband and wife should become alike," Lady Adelaide answered the last remark of Father Christopher's with an air of the greatest wisdom; "that is, if they are at all in accord. He hath waked her, and she hath toned him down, and it is an improvement on both sides. I must say that taking into account the magnificence of theMorgengabe, I do not see that the countess could possibly have done better. The baron was always delightful, but thou must remember that he was as wild as a hawk when he came to Rittenberg."
"He has certainly changed much, and that for the better," answered her companion.
The priest was thinking of how he had stopped a moment to chat with Rupert, the huntsman, as he crossed the courtyard that morning, and how Rupert had praised the kindness of the baron to the dogs, telling how in the boar-hunt yesterday Baron Albrecht had been as tender with Gelert, the hound that was so badly hurt, as could have been Rupert's own wife, who was used to tending and nursing hurt dogs. Father Christopher remembered how in the early days of his coming to the castle Albrecht had laughed at the bare idea of one's caring for the suffering of an animal, and that even when his man-at-arms had been ill he had shown not the slightest comprehension of any reason why one should be affected by the pain of another.
The priest stood by the window in the hall where he had been talking with Lady Adelaide for a long time after she had gone, thinking of the problems which her words suggested. It was too evident that Erna and Albrecht had greatly influenced each other for even the most careless observer to overlook it, and no one could tell where this change of character would end. Out in the courtyard he could see the workmen who were finishing the preparations for a show of the mummers which was to take place that morning. Directly after the wedding day Herr von Zimmern had announced his intention of going to visit his family, and since then they had had no word from him directly. He had however given them proof that he did not forget his former lord, since from time to time troupes of dancers, jugglers, or of mummers arrived at Rittenberg, sent by the cripple or directed by some hint which had evidently come from him. Father Christopher was secretly troubled by these evidences of the continued remembrance of Herr Frederich. The priest had distrusted him from the first, and since he had been acquainted with Herr von Zimmern's history he had dreaded him, feeling sure that the time would come when he would seek revenge for his long captivity and the cruel maiming inflicted upon him by the kobold king.
Erna welcomed these wandering bands of players with more and more eagerness, while the priest was confident that in Albrecht he perceived signs of a growing weariness of their dances, their tricks, and their clumsy mumming. The present troupe was more numerous than any of its predecessors, and the preparations were of far more than usual elaborateness. As the priest looked down into the courtyard the last touches were being put to the stage; and presently the players, already in their dresses, began to appear from the quarters which had been assigned to them upon the side of the court opposite to that from which the windows of the great hall looked. The household was gathering, and the Lady Adelaide, with Elsa behind her chair, had taken her seat, although those of the lord and lady of the castle were still vacant.
Divided in his mind whether to go down and join the company of spectators or not, the priest was standing irresolutely at the casement when Albrecht and Erna came together into the hall.
"Come, Father," the countess said gayly, "they say these are the best mummers that have ever been seen in all the Schwarzwald. They are to give a wonderful play of the life of Helen of Troy, and after that there are to be dances."
She was as joyous as a child, her cheeks flushed with eagerness and her lips parted with laughter. She was a being as far removed as could well be imagined from the serene, pensive maiden who had watched the Baron von Waldstein ride out of the pine forest below the castle slope so few short weeks ago. Her mouth had shaped itself to a new seductiveness, her eyes had kindled with a new and less heavenly lustre, and her bosom had swelled into a new fulness. She was more beautiful, and yet the priest could not repress a sigh as he looked at her, so far from her old state of innocence and of spirituality did she seem in her rich beauty.
Before the priest had time to answer her invitation to the mummers' show, the countess's woman, Fastrade, appeared and came down the hall toward the group.
"I beg pardon, gracious lady," she said, with a little hesitation, "but the charcoal-burner is below."
"Well?" demanded Erna, a shadow flitting across her bright face.
"He says," Fastrade continued with evident unwillingness, "that his little daughter is dying, and that she prays the gracious countess to come with the priest to see her before she dies."
There was a moment's silence in the hall. Both Albrecht and the priest looked at Erna in evident solicitude in regard to her answer. She herself seemed to feel their looks as a sort of challenge, and she threw back her head with an almost defiant gesture as she replied:
"Father Christopher will go, of course, but I could do no good, and just now I am engaged."
Her husband laid his hand lightly upon her arm, and bent toward her beseechingly.
"But surely," he said, "since the little maid is dying, thou wilt go. The mummers can wait. There is time for that afterward, and for this it would be too late."
The priest did not speak, but he waited with the deepest anxiety for her answer, since it seemed to him that it would be so significant of whatever change might really have taken place in her who once would have let nothing stand between her and a call of mercy. He saw her lips harden, and a cold light come into her eyes.
"What is the charcoal-burner's daughter," she asked slowly, "that I should give up my pleasure for her whim, even if she be dying?"
The waiting-woman stared at the countess in amazement, the priest regarded her with a look of deep sorrow, but in the eyes of Albrecht Father Christopher saw an expression in which were both remorse and terror.
The bright-hued harvest-crocus had faded in the meadows, and over the blackly green pine forests had come a colder hue; the ferns in the beech wood were beginning to look wan and yellow, as if the thought that autumn was at hand had already dismayed them. The heather was tinged with russet, and all the skies upon which Erna looked, as one morning she gazed discontentedly from the casement of her chamber, were filmed with soft hazes whose faint purple was as intangible as the first shadow of coming twilight, which one feels rather than sees.
Erna sighed as she leaned half over the stone ledge upon which the sun lay warmly. The doves were preening themselves almost within reach of her touch, and she waved her hand impatiently to frighten them away, since in her untoward mood their soft reiterated coo vexed her ears. She had learned in these days, during which she had been seeking pleasure as she had never sought it before, the meaning of ennui. She was restless with the awakened stir of a hundred desires which demanded continual gratification. She longed for excitement, for the movement of crowds, for the delights of the eye and the lusts of the flesh which once would not have awakened in her heart a throb of interest. She wanted continually fresh diversions, new sports, strange revels, rich viands, all the alluring joys of the senses to which she had of old in her innocence and ignorance been so indifferent.
This morning she had been urging her husband to take her to court. Charlemagne was at Mayence, and there were echoes of the gay doings there forward which reached even as far as Rittenberg. The countess longed to see the brave shows, the rich pageants, the gorgeous raiment; to sit at the banquets, and to dazzle the eyes of the gallants with her beauty and her jewels, finer than the queen's own. She had urged upon Albrecht the propriety of paying his respects in person to his sovereign; but her entreaties, her arguments, and her protestations had been alike unavailing. Albrecht was kind in the manner of his refusal, but he was still persistent in it, and in the end Erna had found herself utterly powerless to change his determination not to leave Rittenberg.
"They tell strange tales of the court," he said in reply to her pleading. "There is more license there than it becomes a modest woman to see, and over-much worldliness as well. Surely it were not well to put one's self in a place like this needlessly, beloved."
Erna had answered nothing, but she had left him with a feeling almost like anger in her heart. She knew why he wished to stay at Rittenberg. It was that he might go on with his tiresome studies with Father Christopher, to which Albrecht gave more and more time every day. As for the wickedness of the court, she was a married woman, and with a husband to protect her, and one moreover of a bearing so knightly as that of Von Waldstein, it was not to be supposed that she could come to any harm. She sighed with fresh impatience as she reflected how deeply immersed in the study of spiritual things her husband had become since their marriage. She was not, she assured herself, less fond of him than of old, but it was to the last degree provoking that just as she had learned to appreciate the delight of life, Albrecht should devote so much thought to things which she had laid aside as dull.
As she mused in this fashion, looking out of the window as she had looked when Albrecht rode gallantly out of the pine forest at the foot of the castle hill on that day when Erna first saw him, once more she heard the note of a bugle-horn in the valley, and once more a knight rode out of the covert into sight, followed by his men-at-arms. With eager curiosity Erna peered out at the new-comer, and almost instantly her eye caught sight of the pennon of the Von Rittenbergs of Schaffhausen, and understood that the visitor was her cousin, Count Stephen, who was probably on his return from Strasburg, and who had accepted her invitation to repeat his visit to Rittenberg.
For an instant her cheek flushed with vexation, her old dislike of the count reawakening, but instantly her changed taste asserted itself, and she smiled. She watched the train as it rode up to the gate, and then she turned back into her chamber with joyous haste. It came into her mind that she could make an impression upon her guest, and she began straightway to consider how she should array herself to go to meet him. She chose from her jewel-case a string of rubies, and quickly bound it upon her head like a fillet; and as she did so her woman, Fastrade, came to announce to her the arrival of Count von Rittenberg.
The Lady Adelaide reached the great hall before her, and Count Stephen was speaking with the old dame with his back to the stairway by which Erna descended. The countess was already close to him before he perceived her. Then he wheeled suddenly, almost turning his back upon Lady Adelaide in his astonishment at the beauty of the woman before him. Erna did not lose one shade of the look of amazement and admiration which came into his face as he looked at her.
"God's blood!" he cried. "What has come to thee, Cousin? Indeed, this marriage of which they told me at Mayence has made a new creature of thee. I greet thy ladyship, and that I did not send congratulations on thy marriage is no fault of mine, since it was all over before I knew of it."
"It is no matter," replied Erna, giving him her hand and smiling upon him with a pleased sense of companionship which she had never experienced in his presence before; "since thou hast come in person to bring them, we consent to overlook the fact that thou art somewhat tardy. But hast thou been at Mayence as well as to Strasburg? I did not know that was in thy mind."
"It was not when I left here," he answered, regarding her with so undisguised a look of admiration that she blushed under it and turned aside her eyes; "but being in the way of travelling I pushed on to Mayence, and there I saw the court, and there I heard of thy marriage."
"Fain would we hear of the court," Lady Adelaide said, leading the way to a seat in the broad recess of a window. "Sit thee down here, and tell us what thou canst of the doings and the braveries there, while the page brings thee a cup of wine. I hope too, on my soul, that thou hast more wit in speech of woman's apparel than have most of the knights I have known, for we would know of the raiment of the queen and her damsels, and in good sooth it is seldom that a knight is cunning enough to tell anything of that sort rightly, albeit so simple is it that the most foolish kitchen wench that had but seen the royal train ride past could describe it all."
"And therein is it to be seen that a knight's head is not like that of a foolish kitchen wench," laughed Count Stephen, seating himself comfortably among the cushions beside the two ladies.
"But tell me," Erna said, "from whom didst thou hear of the marriage? It is not likely that it is a topic which is greatly discussed at court."
"The court concerns itself with many a matter that is of less moment," replied he, gallantly; "but it was from a certain Herr von Zimmern that I had the tidings. He was at an inn where I lodged, and when he heard my name he made bold to speak to me. He is an ill-favored knave enough, but a shrewd and a witty."
"I like him not," Erna answered.
A brief silence followed this remark. Erna was confused by the fact that the count, whom she had found so little to her taste before, should now seem to her so agreeable. It was impossible for her not to see from his admiring looks that he was pursuing a somewhat similar train of thought in regard to her, and at the reflection she blushed faintly once more, with a thrill of gratified vanity.
"But where," Count Stephen broke the silence to ask, "is the Baron von Waldstein? I am anxious to meet my new relative, and," he added, with a look into the face of Erna, "my successful rival."
"My husband," she replied, vainly trying to appear as if she had not heard the latter part of his remark, "is with Father Christopher. They study together sometimes."
"God's blood!" cried Von Rittenberg, with a burst of laughter, "hast thou then married a clerk, Cousin? Fain would I see this new master of Rittenberg that studies with a priest. If the Huns come, thou mayst have to call upon the younger branch of the family to defend thee," he added, turning to the Lady Adelaide. "At least we can bear swords if we be only the 'Schaffleute.' We are not to be looked for in the cells of priests."
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried Lady Adelaide, in angry return. "It is not to outsiders that we have been forced to look for defence in the past, and it were well that thou seest the new lord before thou speakest scorn of him so lightly. Belike it were not so well were he to hear thee!"
"My husband is here to speak for himself," Erna interposed, rising with great dignity as Albrecht, summoned by a page, came into the hall.
The count looked at the superb figure which advanced toward him, and for an instant he stood struck dumb with astonishment.
"God's blood!" he cried out so loudly that Albrecht heard him half-way across the wide hall. "That is not a man; it is a god!"
"It is the lord of our poor castle!" returned Lady Adelaide, sweeping him a sarcastic courtesy. "Accept our thanks that thou hast promised to defend it and him from the Huns when they come."
The uncanny wood-folk who hovered about Rittenberg in these days might well have had their fill of minstrelsy and mirth. If life had been jocund before the return of Count Stephen, it may well be understood that it was gayer yet now that he had come. Von Rittenberg had vowed his life to pleasure; and life to him was much what it was to the soulless creatures of the forest, in that it meant to him nothing higher than the delights of the senses. He prolonged his stay at the castle upon the slightest urging, suggesting one amusement after another, and joining with hearty zest in whatever sports were forward.
"It is well that my steed brought me hither," the count said to his cousin one day. "Indeed the beast was wiser than I, for I was minded not to come this way at all, so little did I dream that thou wouldst have been so changed."
"And is it only thy steed, then, that we have to thank for thy visit?" she asked with a smile.
"Only the steed," he returned; "for when I was come to the place where the ways part, I was minded to turn southward, and to ride on homeward without let or stay; and then it was that my horse would not, and resolutely set his head toward your castle. My squire will have it that an old man with a white beard and eyes like fire did catch at the bridle-rein, but I saw naught, and do not regard his foolish fancy."
Erna laughed and made some jest at the knight's unwillingness to come to Rittenberg; but Albrecht, who had been by, turned pale, and when he was next alone with the priest, he said to him:
"Dost thou think, Father, that the folk of the forest can work harm to one who has won an immortal soul?"
"That thou shouldst know better than I, having lived among them," the other answered; "only of this be sure: however much they might harm the body, it is not given them to reach the immortal part. What dost thou fear?"
"I fear naught," Albrecht answered; "but he who is ruler of the kobolds in the forest round about Rittenberg, as was my father in the Neiderwasser valley, is sore incensed by my marriage. He hath had certain speech with Herr Frederich concerning it, and it is he who turned the Count von Rittenberg in this direction when he was minded to ride past. I like it not."
Neither did it make the priest more easy in his mind to learn that the king of the kobolds was become concerned in the affairs of his mistress; but there seemed naught that he might do concerning the matter save to watch for what should come and to pray fervently to the saints for their gracious protection. He could not divine what it could boot to the kobold that Count Stephen should come again to Rittenberg, but none the less he wished the guest gone.
There was little token, however, that the guest was minded to take his departure. He lingered from day to day, and always he became more and more the leader in the life of the castle and in all its gayety. It was a constant source of amazement to Count Stephen that Erna should have so changed, or, as he phrased it to himself, should so have improved during his absence. She was no longer a cold passionless maiden, moving in a world of ideals and pious dreams remote from his ken; she was a beautiful, passionate woman, who stirred his pulses, and who responded with eager readiness to any suggestion of pleasure or sport which he made. He began to feel that he had made a grievous error in refusing the alliance which had been tacitly offered him, and to nourish a sense of injustice toward the man who had robbed him of the possession of this beautiful woman whom now he found so suited to his taste. He did not reason that to Albrecht must be due in no small measure this transformation, and if such a thought had crossed his mind he would not have doubted his own ability to produce the same result had Erna been his wife instead of the baron's.
It was hardly a proof of the vanity of the count that he believed that his cousin, as he continually called her, making of the relationship a pretext for many little familiarities which, albeit they were harmless enough, caused the eyes of Albrecht to glow with jealous rage, felt the attraction which their natures had for each other. She showed her liking by tokens which though they were slight were unmistakable; and Count Stephen, who had had not a little experience in love affairs, smiled to himself as he reflected upon the faint pressure of the hand, the half averted-glance, the almost unheard sigh which he had from time to time won from Erna.
It was quite in keeping with the count's cleverness that he had not failed to perceive that the sympathy between Erna and her husband was becoming fainter. It was evident that every day they found themselves less wholly one. More and more did the baron give himself up to pious studies, while Erna was thus more and more thrown into the company of Von Rittenberg. Count Stephen had secretly a profound contempt for his host, the idea of piety and that of study being alike ridiculous in his mind. He admired Albrecht's skill in hunting, his strength, and his superb figure, but he was never able to look upon the studies which had become the chief interest of Albrecht's daily life as other than a subject for jest and ridicule. It is true that he had learned that Erna resented his jests upon this theme, but he was acute enough to observe that her anger was turned quite as much toward her husband for giving occasion for them as at her guest for daring to make them. He found in the Lady Adelaide an ally, since that worldly old dame liked the ways of Albrecht no more than did Erna; and the fact that the great-aunt was really very fond of Albrecht only made her the more irritated at his course. She joined with Count Stephen, and often the quip which he left half spoken was taken up and put into words by Lady Adelaide, while Erna frowned and bit her lips with vexation.
"Good sooth," he said one morning, as he sat with Erna, who was working a tapestry in which with cunning skill she was depicting those wars of Charlemagne in which her father had led the Swabian guard of which the emperor had been so proud, "thy husband should to court. The king is marvellously well disposed toward learning. Thou knowest he hath forgiven the offence of Eginhard, the clerk, and wed him to the fair Emma, his own daughter."
"And what," asked Lady Adelaide, whose bright old eyes were also watching her needle over the tapestry, "was the offence of Eginhard?"
"It is a fair tale," responded he, laughing. "It made much scandal. This Eginhard is a man that hath hot blood though he be clerkly, and too hath he good trim limbs and a winning eye. That he should dare to raise his glance so high as the daughter of the king might move one to wonder, but it was not so strange that she should smile upon him when he had done so, for he might well stir a maiden's fancy. They were secret in their loves, but not for the fear of the displeasure of even the king, her father, could they restrain the fury of their passion, and one night did Eginhard steal to the chamber of the princess, there to enjoy the fruits of his wooing without more delay, or the form of a priest's blessing."
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" exclaimed Lady Adelaide; "and she a king's daughter!"
"The night wasted," continued the count, "without that they found it over-long, I trow; and before they were aware, the dawn began to appear. Then Eginhard would fain have gone the way he came, across the court, but the heavens had betrayed them. The snow had fallen and covered the ground so that he could not step without leaving the trace."
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried Lady Adelaide, again; "that was the judgment of Heaven upon her for betraying the honor of the king."
"Even if it were," Count Stephen rejoined, "the Princess Emma is not one to be lightly daunted, even by the judgments of Heaven. She was well aware what would befall her lover if the track of his footsteps were found leading from her window, but she trusted that her royal father, who has not been able to rein in his own blood over well, might be moved to forgive her, if it appeared that the transgression had been hers, and that she had sought her lover's chamber."
"It is ever the woman who sacrifices herself to the man," muttered Lady Adelaide. Erna still listened to the tale in silence, while her cousin watched her with penetrating gaze.
"So the princess took the scribe on her shoulders," the knight went on, making no reply to the dame's interjection, "and carried him across the court to his own window, so that only her tracks would appear in the snow."
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" ejaculated Lady Adelaide, for the third time. "Is it thus that they do at court? And what said her father when he was told that she had been with the scribe Eginhard?"
"As fate would have it," the count answered, pulling at the long silky ears of the hound which lay at his side, "the king himself had been that morn troubled in his sleep, and had risen to stand by the window looking out at the newly fallen snow before that the court was astir to besmirch it with their footsteps; and with his own eyes he saw his daughter carry her lover across the place."
"What did he?" asked Erna, raising her eyes from her embroidery for the first time since the tale began.
"Oh, he doubtless cursed for a little, and then he remembered himself, like the wise man that he is, that it were well not to make a bad matter worse, and that love is free and not to be constrained even by the bidding of a king."
He looked into her eyes as he answered thus, and so significant a glance accompanied his last words that hers fell before it. She flushed and once more fixed her attention upon her embroidery, while Count Stephen went on to relate how Charlemagne had told the tale before the whole court to the shaming of the offenders, and had then forgiven them and had them married out of hand.
Then, when he had replied to the questions of Lady Adelaide, who found this gossip a most savory morsel under her tongue, he suddenly caught up a lute that lay near him upon the cushioned window-ledge, and running his fingers across the strings with a swift rattling of tinkling notes, sang not unmusically this song: