“My young lords,” he said, “I fear me ye are vexing your gentle mother by needless strife at what must take place.”
“Pardon me, good uncle,” said Ebbo, “I utterly decline the honour of Sir Kasimir’s suit to my mother.”
Master Gottfried smiled. “Sons are not wont to be the judges in such cases, Sir Eberhard.”
“Perhaps not,” he answered; “but my mother’s will is to the nayward, nor shall she be coerced.”
“It is merely because of you and your pride,” said Master Gottfried.
“I think not so,” rejoined the calmer Friedel; “my mother’s love for my father is still fresh.”
“Young knights,” said Master Gottfried, “it would scarce become me to say, nor you to hear, how much matter of fancy such love must have been towards one whom she knew but for a few short months, though her pure sweet dreams, through these long years, have moulded him into a hero. Boys, I verily believe ye love her truly. Would it be well for her still to mourn and cherish a dream while yet in her fresh age, capable of new happiness, fuller than she has ever enjoyed?”
“She is happy with us,” rejoined Ebbo.
“And ye are good lads and loving sons, though less duteous in manner than I could wish. But look you, you may not ever be with her, and when ye are absent in camp or court, or contracting a wedlock of your own, would you leave her to her lonesome life in your solitary castle?”
Friedel’s unselfishness might have been startled, but Ebbo boldly answered, “All mine is hers. No joy to me but shall be a joy to her. We can make her happier than could any stranger. Is it not so, Friedel?”