“Not so,” returned Hatto, “our gracious Frau Freiherrinn, the younger, was wedded to him at the last Friedmund Wake, by the special blessing of our good patron, who would not see our house extinct.”
“I must see thy lady, old man,” said Sir Kasimir, impatiently, not in the least crediting the story, and believing his cousin Kunigunde quite capable of any measure that could preserve to her the rule in Schloss Adlerstein, even to erecting some passing love affair of her son’s into a marriage. And he hardly did her injustice, for she had never made any inquiry beyond the castle into the validity of Christina’s espousals, nor sought after the friar who had performed the ceremony. She consented to an interview with the claimant of the inheritance, and descended to the gateway for the purpose. The court was at its cleanest, the thawing snow having newly washed away its impurities, and her proud figure, under her black hood and veil, made an imposing appearance as she stood tall and defiant in the archway.
Sir Kasimir was a handsome man of about thirty, of partly Polish descent, and endowed with Slavonic grace and courtesy, and he had likewise been employed in negotiations with Burgundy, and had acquired much polish and knowledge of the world.
“Lady,” he said, “I regret to disturb and intrude on a mourning family, but I am much amazed at the tidings I have heard; and I must pray of you to confirm them.”
“I thought they would confound you,” composedly replied Kunigunde.
“And pardon me, lady, but the Diet is very nice in requiring full proofs. I would be glad to learn what lady was chosen by my deceased cousin Eberhard.”
“The lady is Christina, daughter of his esquire, Hugh Sorel, of an honourable family at Ulm.”
“Ha! I know who and what Sorel was!” exclaimed Wildschloss. “Lady cousin, thou wouldst not stain the shield of Adlerstein with owning aught that cannot bear the examination of the Diet!”
“Sir Kasimir,” said Kunigunde proudly, “had I known the truth ere my son’s death, I had strangled the girl with mine own hands! But I learnt it only by his dying confession; and, had she been a beggar’s child, she was his wedded wife, and her babes are his lawful heirs.”
“Knowest thou time—place—witnesses?” inquired Sir Kasimir.