Loud were the exclamations, “Ah! no good could come of not leading that mare through the Johannisfeuer.”
“This shameful expedition! Only harm could befall. This is thy doing, thou mincing city-girl.”
“All was certain to go wrong when a pale mist widow came into the place.”
The angry and dismayed cries all blended themselves in confusion in the ears of the only silent woman present; the only one that sounded distinctly on her brain was that of the last speaker, “A pale, mist widow,” as, holding herself a little in the rear of the struggling, jostling little mob of women, who hardly made way even for their acknowledged lady, she followed with failing limbs the universal rush to the entrance as soon as man and horse had mounted the slope and were lost sight of.
A few moments more, and the throng of expectants was at the foot of the hall steps, just as the lanzknecht reached the arched entrance. His comrade Hans took his bridle, and almost lifted him from his horse; he reeled and stumbled as, pale, battered, and bleeding, he tried to advance to Freiherinn Kunigunde, and, in answer to her hasty interrogation, faltered out, “Ill news, gracious lady. We have been set upon by the accursed Schlangenwaldern, and I am the only living man left.”
Christina scarce heard even these last words; senses and powers alike failed her, and she sank back on the stone steps in a deathlike swoon.
When she came to herself she was lying on her bed, Ursel and Else, another of the women, busy over her, and Ursel’s voice was saying, “Ah, she is coming round. Look up, sweet lady, and fear not. You are our gracious Lady Baroness.”
“Is he here? O, has he said so? O, let me see him—Sir Eberhard,” faintly cried Christina with sobbing breath.
“Ah, no, no,” said the old woman; “but see here,” and she lifted up Christina’s powerless, bloodless hand, and showed her the ring on the finger. Her bosom had been evidently searched when her dress was loosened in her swoon, and her ring found and put in its place. “There, you can hold up your head with the best of them; he took care of that—my dear young Freiherr, the boy that I nursed,” and the old woman’s burst of tears brought back the truth to Christina’s reviving senses.
“Oh, tell me,” she said, trying to raise herself, “was it indeed so? O say it was not as he said!”