"Permit me a question, noble lady," said Drost Peter, appearing at length to wake from his sweet dream; his eyes, meanwhile, resting with kindly interest on the maiden's open countenance and noble form; "and pardon me if it is amiss. Is your Christian name Ingé? and are you the daughter of the governor of this castle, Sir Lavé Little, and his noble wife, deceased, the Lady Margarethé, Absalom Andersen's youngest daughter?"
"You knew my mother, noble sir," exclaimed Lady Ingé, joyfully, and, in her joy, forgetting his question and his singular solemnity of manner: "but, nay, you could scarcely have known her, else you would have known me also; for I am said to resemble my blessed mother exceedingly."
"I have seen your mother in my childhood," said the young drost; "but she was then no longer young: she was, however, about your height. You have inherited her eyes, noble lady, and, as I can hear, her deep, sweet voice, and her fondness for our old heroic ballads. The one you have just sung, I seem to have heard in my cradle: it recalls a time when I had happy dreams about the days of our Waldemars, and of him who ruled the castle, and so many warriors bold."
"That was no mere dream, noble knight," replied Ingé, with lively interest. "That you and these good gentlemen are knights, I must permit myself at once to believe, though I am not at liberty to put the question. That the king, God be praised! still rules over every Danish land and castle, and over many bold and doughty heroes, is no dream, I know: this, at least, you and these good gentlemen will admit. If, then, you have heard heroic ballads in your cradle, noble sir," she added, with a look of confidence, "they have certainly not been sung in vain."
Drost Peter blushed, but raised his eyes boldly, and with a look of frankness. "If it please God and Our Lady," he said, "there is no dream so marvellous that it cannot be fulfilled, and the good old times may yet return."
A page now opened the door of the dining-hall.
"You have probably travelled far, and need refreshment," said Lady Ingé, remembering her duty as housekeeper, and pointing to the opened door.
Drost Peter, who was accustomed to courtly manners, involuntarily offered his arm to the knight's daughter. She led him to the end of the table, in the round turret apartment, and gave the maidens a signal for their attendance. Sir Thorstenson and Sir Rimaardson followed the young hostess, and Thorstenson took his place on her right hand. Two stately pages set forth, on the fringed table-cloth, roast game and baked barley-bread, while an active cupbearer took care to fill the wine-cups from a large silver flagon. The two handmaidens stood respectfully behind Lady Ingé's chair, with modest, downcast eyes, but ever and anon contrived to cast a look of curiosity towards the strangers; the handsome young drost, in particular, appearing much to attract them.
The conversation soon became general. Lady Ingé carefully guarded herself against any expression that would appear to betray curiosity; but still she would not have been displeased if her guests had chosen voluntarily to discover who they were.
"The Dane-court is over, it is said," she remarked, when a fitting pause ensued. "I regret that I have never been present at a Dane-court, for one does not hear or see much in this lonely fortress. You must have seen the king, noble sirs: I should like to know if he looks as I picture him to myself."