“My sword as knight and kinsman—” began Ebbo.
“No, no; ’tis no matter of errant knight or distressed damsel. That is King Max’s own line!” said Wildschloss, with a little of the irony that used to nettle Ebbo. “There is only one way in which you can save her, and that is as her husband.”
Ebbo started, as well he might, but Sir Kasimir laid his hand on him with a gesture that bade him listen ere he spoke. “My first wish for my child,” he said, “was to see her brought up by that peerless lady below stairs. The saints—in pity to one so like themselves—spared her the distress our union would have brought her. Now, it would be vain to place my little Thekla in her care, for Trautbach would easily feign my death, and claim his niece, nor are you of age to be made her guardian as head of our house. But, if this marriage rite were solemnized, then would her person and lands alike be yours, and I could leave her with an easy heart.”
“But,” said the confused, surprised Ebbo, “what can I do? They say I shall not walk for many weeks to come. And, even if I could, I am so young—I have so blundered in my dealings with my own mountaineers, and with this fatal bridge—how should I manage such estates as yours? Some better—”
“Look you, Ebbo,” said Wildschloss; “you have erred—you have been hasty; but tell me where to find another youth, whose strongest purpose was as wise as your errors, or who cared for others’ good more than for his own violence and vainglory? Brief as your time has been, one knows when one is on your bounds by the aspect of your serfs, the soundness of their dwellings, the prosperity of their crops and cattle above all, by their face and tone if one asks for their lord.”
“Ah! it was Friedel they loved. They scarce knew me from Friedel.”
“Such as you are, with all the blunders you have made and will make, you are the only youth I know to whom I could intrust my child or my lands. The old Wildschloss castle is a male fief, and would return to you, but there are domains since granted that will cause intolerable trouble and strife, unless you and my poor little heiress are united. As for age, you are—?”
“Eighteen next Easter.”
“Then there are scarce eleven years between you. You will find the little one a blooming bride when your first deeds in arms have been fought out.”
“And, if my mother trains her up,” said Ebbo, thoughtfully, “she will be all the better daughter to her. But, Sir Cousin, you know I too must be going. So soon as I can brook the saddle, I must seek out and ransom my father.”