Parish registers were not, even had this been a parish church, but Brother Peter asked, when he had concluded, “Well, my son, which of his flock am I to report to your Pfarrer as linked together?”
“The less your tongue wags on that matter till I call on you, the better,” was the stern reply. “Look you, no ill shall befall you if you are wise, but remember, against the day I call you to bear witness, that you have this day wedded Baron Eberhard von Adlerstein the younger, to Christina, the daughter of Hugh Sorel, the Esquire of Ulm.”
“Thou hast played me a trick, Sir Baron!” said the friar, somewhat dismayed, but more amused, looking up at Eberhard, who, as Christina now saw, had divested himself of his gilt spurs, gold chain, silvered belt and horn, and eagle’s plume, so as to have passed for a simple lanzknecht. “I would have had no such gear as this!”
“So I supposed,” said Eberhard coolly.
“Young folks! young folks!” laughed the friar, changing his tone, and holding up his finger slyly; “the little bird so cunningly nestled in the church to fly out my Lady Baroness! Well, so thou hast a pretty, timid lambkin there, Sir Baron. Take care you use her mildly.”
Eberhard looked into Christina’s face with a smile, that to her, at least, was answer enough; and he held out half a dozen links of his gold chain to the friar, and tossed a coin to each of the lay brethren.
“Not for the poor friar himself,” explained Brother Peter, on receiving this marriage fee; “it all goes to the weal of the brotherhood.”
“As you please,” said Eberhard. “Silence, that is all! And thy friary—?”
“The poor house of St. Francis at Offingen for the present, noble sir,” said the priest. “There will you hear of me, if you find me not. And now, fare thee well, my gracious lady. I hope one day thou wilt have more words to thank the poor brother who has made thee a noble Baroness.”
“Ah, good father, pardon my fright and confusion,” Christina tried to murmur, but at that moment a sudden glow and glare of light broke out on the eastern rock, illuminating the fast darkening little church with a flickering glare, that made her start in terror as if the fires of heaven were threatening this stolen marriage; but the friar and Eberhard both exclaimed, “The Needfire alight already!” And she recollected how often she had seen these bonfires on Midsummer night shining red on every hill around Ulm. Loud shouts were greeting the uprising flame, and the people gathering thicker and thicker on the slope. The friar undid the door to hasten out into the throng, and Eberhard said he had left his spurs and belt in the hermit’s cell, and must return thither, after which he would walk home with his bride, moving at the same time towards the stair, and thereby causing a sudden scuffle and fall. “So, master hermit,” quoth Eberhard, as the old man picked himself up, looking horribly frightened; “that’s your hermit’s abstraction, is it? No whining, old man, I am not going to hurt thee, so thou canst hold thy tongue. Otherwise I will smoke thee out of thy hole like a wild cat! What, thou aiding me with my belt, my lovely one? Thanks; the snap goes too hard for thy little hands. Now, then, the fire will light us gaily down the mountain side.”