"You don't stand on much ceremony with your kinsfolk," muttered Francis, going to the table and filling up a bumper, while Christopher went up to the widow.
"I hope you will not make me suffer for my brother's rashness, but will give me a favourable answer."
"I have already told you the reason why I must decline the invitation."
"And you really, then, will put off my father with this poor excuse?"
"Agree to go," whispered the uncle: "It is a family festival, and all the Schindels of the neighbourhood are invited. It is better not to be singular and offend any one."
"I will come," said Althea, after a moment's hesitation.
"I have to thank you, Schindel, for this yes," returned Christopher, mortified: "The former no was intended for me alone; which cannot but grieve me, however handsome the lips that pronounced it."
He went; and Francis, filling the goblet for the third time, cried out after him, "The wine is good; I shall stop a little longer."
There was now a clattering on the stairs, as if a whole troop were coming up, and in rushed Althea's brother-in-law, Anselm of Netz, with his Pylades, Frederick of Reichenbach, surnamed Bieler.
"God be with you, fair sister-in-law," exclaimed the wild Netz, shaking Althea's white hand with no very gentle cordiality.