Grim and strong, but small, and blending with the rock on which it is built, the castle had formed part of the dowery of the fair Florentina, Princess of Denmark, who about 1380 was espoused by Sir Henry Sinclair of Roslin (in Lothian), whom the king her father created Duke of Oldenburg, and Lord of Zetland; and I believe that his coat-of-arms, with the cross engrailed, the ships within the tressure, and the motto of the Lairds of Roslin, Commit thy work to God, are yet to be seen above the porch of the old fortress, collared by the orders which he wore—the Thistle, the Golden Fleece, and St. Michael.
While all the incidents which have occupied the last few chapters were passing elsewhere, Gabrielle was a prisoner in Helnœsland, pining for her father, for her sister, and for freedom, exposed to the incessant persecution of Merodé, who, instead of proceeding to extremities, had grown wonderfully tractable, and actually went the length of offering his hand, as well as his amiable heart.
When not attended by the count, Prudentia was ever by her side, to sing his praises. In this affair the dancer acted, apparently, with great self-denial; but, in truth, she and Merodé had grown perfectly tired of each other; and she was only waiting an opportunity for quietly and conveniently marching off with all the gold and jewels she could lay her pretty hands upon.
"Perverse one," said Prudentia, on one occasion, kissing Gabrielle; "have I not said a thousand times, that this handsome and gallant noble will marry you with joy?"
"Why does he not marry you??" asked Gabrielle simply; "I am sure you are much prettier than I."
"I am only a poor girl of Spain (Ay de mi Espana!)—you are the daughter of a great noble."
"The count should remember that, and permit me to join my father——"
"Who is not himself free; rumour says he is marching to Stralsund; but truth adds, as I have said before, that he is imprisoned by the emperor at Vienna."
"My poor father!"
"The Count of Merodé is at present heir-presumptive to the Duke of Pomerania!"