She could see the waggons in mid-stream, the warriors on the bank; she heard the triumphant outcries of the mother and daughter in the outer room. She saw the overthrow, the struggle, the flight of a few scattered dark figures on the farther side, the drawing out of the goods on the nearer. Oh! were those leaping waves bearing down any good men’s corpses to the Danube, slain, foully slain by her own father and this gang of robbers?
She was glad that Ermentrude went down with her mother to watch the return of the victors. She crouched on the floor, sobbing, shuddering with grief and indignation, and telling her beads alike for murdered and murderers, till, after the sounds of welcome and exultation, she heard Sir Eberhard’s heavy tread, as he carried his sister up stairs. Ermentrude went up at once to Christina.
“After all there was little for us!” she said. “It was only a wain of wine barrels; and now will the drunkards down stairs make good cheer. But Ebbo could only win for me this gold chain and medal which was round the old merchant’s neck.”
“Was he slain?” Christina asked with pale lips.
“I only know I did not kill him,” returned the baron; “I had him down and got the prize, and that was enough for me. What the rest of the fellows may have done, I cannot say.”
“But he has brought thee something, Stina,” continued Ermentrude. “Show it to her, brother.”
“My father sends you this for your care of my sister,” said Eberhard, holding out a brooch that had doubtless fastened the band of the unfortunate wine-merchant’s bonnet.
“Thanks, sir; but, indeed, I may not take it,” said Christina, turning crimson, and drawing back.
“So!” he exclaimed, in amaze; then bethinking himself,—“They are no townsfolk of yours, but Constance cowards.”
“Take it, take it, Stina, or you will anger my father,” added Ermentrude.