"What bridal, fool?" cried the Count of Ehrenstein, fiercely, remembering only the hated union between his daughter and Ferdinand of Altenburg.
"Why, the bridal between the worm and the corpse," answered the jester; "there are few more merry weddings; but what is that on the chair of state? It looks marvellous like a pillow after a man's nose has bled in the night."
Count Frederick advanced with a quick step, and his host followed with a pale cheek. The object which had attracted the jester's notice proved to be a blood-stained coat of arms, cut and torn in many places, and on it lay a strip of parchment inscribed with the words, "Wilhelm, Count of Ehrenstein--summoned--judged--condemned.--Death."
"What is all this, my friend?" asked Count Frederick; "you seem to decorate your hall somewhat strangely."
But as he spoke, there was a hurried step upon the pavement behind; and the man who had been sent to bring Ferdinand before his lord, approached, exclaiming, "He is not there, my lord. The door was fast locked--not a bolt drawn; but he is gone. Food and wine are there, as if he had fared well before he went, but not a trace of him can I find."
"Wise young man," cried the jester, "he walks after supper. 'Tis a wholesome practice, and in his case peculiarly preservative of health. He must have a good physician."
The Count of Ehrenstein folded his arms upon his chest; and gazing on the bystanders, murmured, "I am betrayed." Then turning to the chair again, he fixed his eyes upon the soiled coat of arms, raised the slip of parchment, read it, and threw it down again, turning to his guest and saying, "Who can have done all this? I know nought of it. I deck not my hall with shrouds, nor set free my own prisoners. Who can have done this?"
"Nay, it is very strange!" answered Count Frederick. "It would take a man hours to spread these out. Good faith! I love not the neighbourhood of such dark mysteries,--and the youth gone, too! I wonder if our friend of Eppenfeld is safe; for in truth, my noble friend, your doors seem not the most secure."
"We will send and see," replied the Count of Ehrenstein; but the reader is already aware of what must have been the result of the search. The Baron of Eppenfeld was not to be found; and with a somewhat heavy brow Count Frederick exclaimed, "He must be taken! Alone, on foot, and without money, he cannot go far--he must be taken, Ehrenstein."
"Good faith! my noble friend, I would willingly help you," answered his host; "but I have, as you well know, matters on hand that touch me nearer far; and all the men I can spare must be absent, seeking for this undutiful girl and her perfidious paramour. Doubtless these monks are the movers in all this; and I will burn their abbey about their ears, unless I find her speedily."