“Well, what can I do more than turn back? I’ll get absolution on Sunday, and tell Father Norbert that I will do any penance he pleases; and warn Jobst that, if he sets any more traps in the river, I will drown him there next! Only get this priestly fancy away, Friedel, once and for ever!”
“Never, never could I think of what would sever us,” cried Friedel, “save—when—” he added, hesitating, unwilling to harp on the former string. Ebbo broke in imperiously,
“Friedmund von Adlerstein, give me thy solemn word that I never again hear of this freak of turning priest or hermit. What! art slow to speak? Thinkest me too bad for thee?”
“No, Ebbo. Heaven knows thou art stronger, more resolute than I. I am more likely to be too bad for thee. But so long as we can be true, faithful God-fearing Junkern together, Heaven forbid that we should part!”
“It is our bond!” said Ebbo; “nought shall part us.”
“Nought but death,” said Friedmund, solemnly.
“For my part,” said Ebbo, with perfect seriousness, “I do not believe that one of us can live or die without the other. But, hark! there’s an outcry at the castle! They have found out that they are locked in! Ha! ho! hilloa, Hatto, how like you playing prisoner?”
Ebbo would have amused himself with the dismay of his garrison a little longer, had not Friedel reminded him that their mother might be suffering for their delay, and this suggestion made him march in hastily. He found her standing drooping under the pitiless storm which Frau Kunigunde was pouring out at the highest pitch of her cracked, trembling voice, one hand uplifted and clenched, the other grasping the back of a chair, while her whole frame shook with rage too mighty for her strength.
“Grandame,” said Ebbo, striding up to the scene of action, “cease. Remember my words yestereve.”
“She has stolen the keys! She has tampered with the servants! She has released the prisoner—thy prisoner, Ebbo! She has cheated us as she did with Wildschloss! False burgherinn! I trow she wanted another suitor! Bane—pest of Adlerstein!”