When the necessary measures for the defence and security of the fortress had been taken, Drost Peter returned with longing haste to the riddersal, where he had left Lady Ingé, with Skirmen and Sir Thorstenson, in the midst of a gay dance of victory. The meeting with his childhood's bride, and the whole daring exploit, still presented itself to his imagination like a wonderful dream. The artifice by which the castle had been taken, and Rané's traitorous co-operation in it, did not please him; but joy at having once more seen the brave Lady Ingé, and the hope that her return to Denmark was no more a fleeting vision than the whole night's adventure, inspired him with a feeling of happiness that banished every other sentiment.
Doubt and inquietude, however, soon seized him, for nowhere could he find her. He saw only the cheerful knights and disguised burghers, who, with laughter, song, and merriment, whirled around with the nimble Rypen damsels. He saw Sir Thorstenson, and the otherwise melancholy Bent Rimaardson, glide past him in the mazes of the dance, as if intoxicated with the general hilarity; while Count Gerhard clattered away in his heavy boots, and sang lustily from the bottom of his heart. In the song, to which they were now dancing with so much animation, Drost Peter heard not the mellow voice of Lady Ingé, while both knights and ladies repeated the words of their former bold songstress:--
"And thus we danced the castle in,
With drawn sword under scarlet sheen--
The castle it is won!
"With rosy wreath and ridder dance,
A keep so won I ne'er saw chance--
For Erik the king so young!"
The general delight would certainly have again communicated itself to Drost Peter, had he anywhere caught a glimpse of Lady Ingé. But her sudden disappearance was a painful mystery; and his anxiety augmented when he perceived that Rané, too, had vanished. He knew that this crafty knight had been her attendant from Norway; and notwithstanding the apparent change in his sentiments, and his important share in surprising the castle, he still considered him as the most treacherous and dangerous foe of himself and the royal house. Neither could he perceive the brave Norwegian maiden, whom Ingé had called her friend, and who, with Rané, had led the dancers. That she was the daughter of Jarl Mindre-Alf he knew, and Ingé's connection with this family increased his uneasiness. While he was assailed by these doubts and fears, Sir Thorstenson approached him and extended his hand.
"This, by my troth, I call a merry maiden's victory, Drost Peter!" exclaimed the warlike knight, gaily. "The fair damsels are likely to win the honours of war from us. To-night, at all events, the wreath of victory certainly belongs to them. Next time, I hope it will be our's."
They retired to a corner, when Sir Thorstenson informed his anxious and abstracted friend how, on his arrival at Rypen a few hours before, he had been dragged into this singular adventure, whose important and successful issue might excuse him for not having immediately attended to his proper duty.
"Truth to say, my good friend," he added, "your cool mind and knightly sword, no less than your authority as drost, were required to help us to success; but I would rather dispense with your all too conscientious scruples. Therefore it was that I persuaded Jomfru Ingé to take you by surprise. If this deserves punishment, let the offence be visited only on me. You are my superior, and can now, if you choose, place me in arrest for neglecting my duty, and taking counsel against you with your betrothed--for such, in truth, I suppose she is."