She often wondered, however, who might be living in the castle on the heights across the valley. She could just see the outlines of the walls and towers on clear days from the balcony outside her bedroom window.
“Father,” she said one day, “could we not ride over to that castle some time? I’m forever dreaming stories about those who live within it.”
A heavy cloud settled over her father’s countenance.
“Never let me hear you make mention of it again, my daughter!” he thundered.
And of course she said no more, but she spoke about it to one of her aunts that evening.
“Dear aunt, why was my father vexed when I mentioned that castle this morning?” she asked, pointing out of her window.
“Hush, my child,” replied her aunt. “There is a feud between the two families.”
“A feud?” questioned the maiden. “A feud? Why, we do not even know them! How can there be a feud?”
“It dates back to the time of our great-great-grandfathers,” her aunt told her, “and no loyal member of this family would ever have anything to do with a member of that family. Never mention the matter again!” Then suddenly changing the subject, “Did you finish your embroidery stint for to-day? How far have you worked? Let me see.”
The maiden blushed, arose, and brought a large sheet of unfinished tapestry to her aunt, which she unfolded before her.