One of the nuns here whispered a few words to the Abbess, and the Abbess replied with an impatient gesture; but in the mean time, at a signal from above, a number of men, armed in haste, with cross bows in their hands, began to hurry up, their heads and shoulders appearing at various parts of the wall, and over the battlements of the portal. At the same time, the great bell, which had ceased while the Abbess and the Count were speaking, commenced again its loud peal, and a crowd of people were seen hurrying down from the hills beyond, while several parties appeared running with whatever arms they could collect, from the farther end of the village to a postern behind the convent. Every thing, in short, seemed to promise, that there would speedily take place one of the scenes so common in those days, when nunnery or abbey was attacked by any of its unruly neighbours, and defended successfully or unsuccessfully, not alone by the vassals, who were bound by their tenure to serve in arms, but also by the peasantry, who had generally many motives for gratitude and kindly feeling towards the ecclesiastics and recluses who dwelt among them.
The enterprise, however, seemed now somewhat more serious in the eyes of the Count of Ehrenstein than he had previously expected. The words of the Abbess were bold and resolute; her declaration that she had not seen his daughter since she was an infant, had been spoken in a frank and straightforward tone; the number of men who already crowded the walls was considerable, and more were likely soon to arrive. Besides this, the reputation of attacking a nunnery was not altogether that which the Count of Ehrenstein could have desired; and he felt that he could be by no means certain of what acts his soldiers might commit, to bring down discredit on his name, even if he should be successful.
These considerations made him hesitate; and spurring his horse somewhat nearer to the gate, he said, "Lady Abbess, it is quite possible my disobedient child may be here without your knowledge or consent. I wish to do nothing rashly, wrongly, or unjustly; and to show you that I am not using a false pretence to violate your rights, although I have certain information that she is now here, I will give you half an hour to seek for her, and bring her forth, provided you stop the ringing of that bell. If you do not bring her forth within that time, I must use my own right, and take her."
The Abbess made no reply, but waved her hand, with an angry and somewhat scornful expression; and, accompanied by the nuns, withdrew from the walls, leaving them guarded by the armed men who had been admitted.
The first care of the Count of Ehrenstein was to prevent the entrance of any more; and he accordingly detached a small party to guard the postern at the back of the convent. He then held a conversation with Seckendorf and old Karl von Mosbach, and, although the bell still continued to ring, he delayed the threatened attack, withdrawing his men out of the reach of the crossbows, and watching, with somewhat anxious eyes, the progress of the peasantry who were coming down the hills, and who, when they saw the postern guarded by his horsemen, gathered in one body of considerable strength upon the nearest slope. When about twenty minutes had elapsed, some movements towards the attack might be observed amongst his soldiery; several small trees were cut down, and shaped into various implements with the axe. Twelve stout men dismounted, and were formed in two lines before the rest; and, judging by these signs, that more active operations were about to commence, the cross-bowmen on the walls might be seen fitting their quarrels to the string; and some of them seemed marking out the principal figures amongst the assailants for the first shot.
Before they proceeded further, however, the Count once more rode forward to the gate, whispering a word before he went to old Karl von Mosbach, who immediately led five or six men round to the cottage garden, and disappeared amongst the vines.
The Count, as soon as he was within hearing, called to a burly yeoman, who seemed in command above the gate, and bade him send for the Abbess, as he wanted to speak with her again. A few minutes elapsed before she appeared; but as soon as she came forward, the Count addressed her, saying, "You have now, Lady Abbess, had full time to inquire and learn whether my child be within your gates or not. You know well that she is. I see it on your face; and I, as her father, summon you to bring her forth, and yield her to my lawful authority. If not, the evil consequences, whatever they may be, rest upon your head, not mine; for you dare not and cannot deny that she is at this moment in the convent."
The countenance of the Abbess--it was a venerable and amiable one, though somewhat touched with pride--was certainly troubled; but still she replied boldly, and at once, "Your daughter, my lord the Count, is at the altar of Our Lady of good help, and that is sanctuary. I knew not, when I spoke to you before, that she was within these walls; but even had I known it, I must have refused to give her up. I no more dare to take her from sanctuary than you do; and therefore I tell you to withdraw your men from these gates,--to return home to your own dwelling, and to leave this holy place in peace."
"Away with such idle words!" cried the Count, furiously; "what sanctuary shall shield a child from her father, whom she has offended? Will you bring her forth at once, or I will fire your convent and your sanctuary together? Advance, Seckendorf!"
"Take but one step towards these gates, and the deepest curses of the church shall fall upon you all," cried the Abbess. "What, shall not the sanctuary, which gives safety even to the homicide, with his fellow's blood red upon his hand, shield an innocent child from the fury of her rash and violent father? Bend your bows, my children, and defend these holy walls to the last, if they be attacked."