"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: