“Ulrich shall get thee another cub, my child.”
“No, no; I never will have another cub! Why did you let me kill it?”
“For shame, Ebbo! Weep for a spiteful brute! That’s no better than thy mother or Friedel.”
“I love my mother! I love Friedel! They would have withheld me. Go, go; I hate you!”
“Peace, peace, Ebbo,” exclaimed his mother; “you know not what you say. Ask your grandmother’s pardon.”
“Peace, thou fool!” screamed the old lady. “The Baron speaks as he will in his own castle. He is not to be checked here, and thwarted there, and taught to mince his words like a cap-in-hand pedlar. Pardon! When did an Adlerstein seek pardon? Come with me, my Baron; I have still some honey-cakes.”
“Not I,” replied Ebbo; “honey-cakes will not cure the wolf whelp. Go: I want my mother and Friedel.”
Alone with them his pride and passion were gone; but alas! what augury for the future of her boys was left with the mother!
CHAPTER X
THE EAGLE’S PREY
“It fell about the Lammas tide,
When moor men win their hay,”