Ekkehard all this time, felt quite at his ease; for the idea, that he had given an unsuitable answer to the Duchess, never struck him. He had really been thinking of that parable in Scripture and failed to see, that in reply to the timid expression of a friendly liking, it might not always be quite the right thing, to quote Scripture. He reverenced the Duchess; but far more as the embodied idea of sublimity, than as a woman. That sublime beings demand adoration, had never struck him; and still less that even the sublimest personage, is often perfectly satisfied with simple affection. That Dame Hadwig was out of spirits, he noticed however, but he contented himself by making the general observation, that the intercourse with a Duchess was rather more difficult than that with the brotherhood at St. Gall.
Amongst the books which Vincentius had left behind, were the Epistles of St. Paul, which he now studied. Master Spazzo during those days, put on a still haughtier mien than usual, when he passed him. Dame Hadwig soon found out, that it were better, to return to the old order of things.
"It was really a grand sight, which we had, that evening, from the Hohenkrähen," said she one day to Ekkehard. "But do you know our weather-signs on the Hohentwiel? Whenever the Alps appear very distinct and near, the weather is sure to change. So we have had some bad weather since. And now we will resume our reading of Virgil."
Upon this, Ekkehard, highly pleased, went to fetch his heavy metal-bound book; and so their studies were resumed. He read and translated to them, the second book of the Æneid, about the downfall of Troy, the wooden horse and the fearful end of Laocoon. Further, of the nightly battle; Cassandra's fate, and Priamus' death; and finally Æneas' flight with the aged Anchises.
With evident sympathy, Dame Hadwig listened to the interesting tale. Only, with the disappearance of Æneas' spouse Kreüsa, she was not quite satisfied.
"That, he need not have told so lengthily to Queen Dido," she said, "for I doubt much, whether the living woman was overpleased, that he had run after the lost one so long. Lost is lost."
And now the winter was drawing near. The sky became dreary and leaden, and the distance shrouded with mists. First the mountain peaks round about, put on their snow-caps; and then valley and fields followed their example. Small icicles fastened on the rafters under the roofs; with the intention of quietly remaining there, for some months; and the old linden-tree in the courtyard, had for some time, like a careful and economical man, who disposes of his worn-out garments to the Hebrews,--shaken down its faded leaves to the winds. They made up a good heap; which was soon scattered in all directions, by the merry, gambolling breezes. The bare branches of the tree, were often crowded with cawing rooks, coming from the neighbouring woods, and eagerly watching for a bone or crumb, from the kitchen of the castle. Once, there was one amongst the sable brotherhood, whose flight was heavy, as its wings were damaged; and on beholding Ekkehard, who chanced to go over the courtyard, the raven flew screeching away. It had seen the monk's habit before, and had no reason to like it.
The nights of winter, are long and dark. Now and then, appear the northern lights; but far brighter than these, in the hearts of men, is the remembrance of that night, when angels descended to the shepherds in the fields, greeting them with:
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men."--
On the Hohentwiel they were preparing for Christmas, by getting ready all sorts of presents. The year is long, and numbers many a day, in which people can show each other little kindnesses; but the Germans like having one especial day, set aside for that, in particular. Therefore, before all other nations, they keep up the custom of making Christmas presents. The good heart has its own peculiar rights.