There once came a frost, on a bright summer-morning, and grass and leaves and blossoms became black and seared, before the sun rose over them....
Shyly as in former times, he took Dame Hadwig's hand. "How shall I thank my mistress?" said he in broken accents.
She cast a searching look at him. The soft expression had vanished, and the old sternness had returned to her brow, as if she meant to say: "if you don't know how, I am not going to tell you," but she said nothing. Still Ekkehard held her hand in his. She drew it back.
"Be pious and brave," said she, turning to leave the chamber. It sounded like mockery....
Scarcely longer than a person needs to say the Lord's prayer, had the Duchess been with him, but far more had happened in that time, than he knew of.
He resumed his walk up and down his small abode. "Thou shalt deny thyself and follow the Lord," thus St. Benedict's rules began, and Ekkehard felt almost proud of the victory he had won; but Dame Hadwig had gone away with wounded feelings; and if a haughty mind believes itself to be disdained, evil days must follow.
It was the seventh hour of the morning, and in the court-yard on the Hohentwiel they were all attending divine service, before setting out. The altar had been erected under the old linden-tree, and on it were placed the sacred relics, to comfort the hearts of all believers. The court-yard was entirely filled with armed men, standing in close, orderly groups, just as Simon Bardo had arranged them. Like the roll of distant thunder arose the introductory chaunts of the monks. The Abbot of Reichenau, wearing the black pall with the white cross, celebrated high-mass.
After him, Ekkehard mounted the altar-steps. With deep emotion his eye glided over the crowded assembly; once more the remembrance of how he had but a short while ago, stood face to face with the Duchess in the solitary chamber, passed through his mind,--and then he read the gospel of the suffering and death of our Saviour. As he read on, his voice became always clearer and more distinct, and when he had finished, he first kissed the book and then handed it to the deacon, for him to put it back on its silk cushion. For a moment he looked up heavenwards, and then began his sermon.
The assembly listened to his words with breathless attention.
"Almost a thousand years have come and gone," cried he, "since the Son of God, bent his head on the cross, saying: 'it is finished!' but we have not yet prepared our souls to receive the redemption, for we have lived in sin, and the offences which we have committed through the hardness of our hearts, cry out against us, towards Heaven. Therefore a time of affliction has come upon us; glittering swords are raised against us; heathenish monsters have invaded the christian territories.