Pfingsttag, or Pentecost-day, was the occasion of Christina’s first full toilet, and never was bride more solicitously or exultingly arrayed than she, while one boy held the mirror and the other criticized and admired as the aunt adjusted the pearl-bordered coif, and long white veil floating over the long-desired black velvet dress. How the two lads admired and gazed, caring far less for their own new and noble attire! Friedel was indeed somewhat concerned that the sword by his side was so much handsomer than that which Ebbo wore, and which, for all its dinted scabbard and battered hilt, he was resolved never to discard.
It was a festival of brilliant joy. Wreaths of flowers hung from the windows; rich tapestries decked the Dome Kirk, and the relics were displayed in shrines of wonderful costliness of material and beauty of workmanship; little birds, with thin cakes fastened to their feet, were let loose to fly about the church, in strange allusion to the event of the day; the clergy wore their most gorgeous robes; and the exulting music of the mass echoed from the vaults of the long-drawn aisles, and brought a rapt look of deep calm ecstasy over Friedel’s sensitive features. The beggars evidently considered a festival as a harvest-day, and crowded round the doors of the cathedral. As the Lady of Adlerstein came out leaning on Ebbo’s arm, with Friedel on her other side, they evidently attracted the notice of a woman whose thin brown face looked the darker for the striped red and yellow silk kerchief that bound the dark locks round her brow, as, holding out a beringed hand, she fastened her glittering jet black eyes on them, and exclaimed, “Alms! if the fair dame and knightly Junkern would hear what fate has in store for them.”
“We meddle not with the future, I thank thee,” said Christina, seeing that her sons, to whom gipsies were an amazing novelty, were in extreme surprise at the fortune-telling proposal.
“Yet could I tell much, lady,” said the woman, still standing in the way. “What would some here present give to know that the locks that were shrouded by the widow’s veil ere ever they wore the matron’s coif shall yet return to the coif once more?”
Ebbo gave a sudden start of dismay and passion; his mother held him fast. “Push on, Ebbo, mine; heed her not; she is a mere Bohemian.”
“But how knew she your history, mother?” asked Friedel, eagerly.
“That might be easily learnt at our Wake,” began Christina; but her steps were checked by a call from Master Gottfried just behind. “Frau Freiherrinn, Junkern, not so fast. Here is your noble kinsman.”
A tall, fine-looking person, in the long rich robe worn on peaceful occasions, stood forth, doffing his eagle-plumed bonnet, and, as the lady turned and curtsied low, he put his knee to the ground and kissed her hand, saying, “Well met, noble dame; I felt certain that I knew you when I beheld you in the Dome.”
“He was gazing at her all the time,” whispered Ebbo to his brother; while their mother, blushing, replied, “You do me too much honour, Herr Freiherr.”
“Once seen, never to be forgotten,” was the courteous answer: “and truly, but for the stately height of these my godsons I would not believe how long since our meeting was.”