CHAPTER XXII
PEACE
Slowly and painfully did Ebbo recover from his swoon, feeling as if the means of revival were rending him away from his brother. He was so completely spent that he was satisfied with a mere assurance that nothing was amiss, and presently dropped into a profound slumber, whence he awoke to find it still broad daylight, and his mother sitting by the side of his bed, all looking so much as it had done for the last six weeks, that his first inquiry was if all that had happened had been but a strange dream. His mother would scarcely answer till she had satisfied herself that his eye was clear, his voice steady, his hand cool, and that, as she said, “That Kaisar had done him no harm.”
“Ah, then it was true! Where is he? Gone?” cried Ebbo, eagerly.
“No, in the hall below, busy with letters they have brought him. Lie still, my boy; he has done thee quite enough damage for one day.”
“But, mother, what are you saying! Something disloyal, was it not?”
“Well, Ebbo, I was very angry that he should have half killed you when he could so easily have spoken one word. Heaven forgive me if I did wrong, but I could not help it.”
“Did he forgive you, mother?” said Ebbo, anxiously.
“He—oh yes. To do him justice he was greatly concerned; devised ways of restoring thee, and now has promised not to come near thee again without my leave,” said the mother, quite as persuaded of her own rightful sway in her son’s sick chamber as ever Kunigunde had been of her dominion over the castle.
“And is he displeased with me? Those cowardly vindictive rascals, to fall on him, and set me at nought! Before him, too!” exclaimed Ebbo, bitterly.
“Nay, Ebbo, he thought thy part most gallant. I heard him say so, not only to me, but below stairs—both wise and true. Thou didst know him then?”