“No; only I saw that you stayed here all alone,” she said, clasping her hands.
“Must I not be alone, child?” he said, bitterly. “Here lies my brother. My mother has her husband again!”
“But you have me!” cried Thekla; and, as he looked up between amusement and melancholy, he met such a loving eager little face, that he could not help holding out his arms, and letting her cling to him. “Indeed,” she said, “I’ll never be afraid of the helmet again, if only you will not lay down your head there, and say you are alone.”
“Never, Thekla! while you are my little wife,” said he; and, child as she was, there was strange solace to his heart in the eyes that, once vacant and wondering, had now gained a look of love and intelligence.
“What are you going to do?” she said, shuddering a little, as he rose and laid his hand on Friedel’s sword.
“To make thee gird on thine own knight’s sword,” said Ebbo, unbuckling that which he had so long worn. “Friedel,” he added, “thou wouldst give me thine. Let me take up thy temper with it, thine open-hearted love and humility.”
He guided Thekla’s happy little fingers to the fastening of the belt, and then, laying his hand on hers, said gravely, “Thekla, never speak of what I said just now—not even to the mother. Remember, it is thy husband’s first secret.”
And feeling no longer solitary when his hand was in the clasp of hers, he returned to the hall, where his father was installed in the baronial chair, in which Ebbo had been at home from babyhood. His mother’s exclamation showed that her son had been wanting to her; and she looked fuller than ever of bliss when Ebbo gravely stood before his father, and presented him with the good old sword that he had sent to his unborn son.
“You are like to use it more than I,—nay, you have used it to some purpose,” said he. “Yet must I keep mine old comrade at least a little while. Wife, son, sword, should make one feel the same man again, but it is all too wonderful!”