"Oh, my Lady," cried Hilda, horror-stricken. "You have not been near it, I hope."
"How could I keep out of it, or how blame the poor ghosts for wandering through it? The room is filled with the most wonderful webs of cloth, of every dye, some filmy as spider's weaving, some thick as armour. Had one the art to fashion it into women's garments, there is enough within that room to clothe most richly all the ladies of the Court at Frankfort. How came my uncle by this cloth, or what use can he have for it, I cannot imagine, but I am sure the ghosts of all the ladies for whom the webs were intended must haunt the place, sorrowful that they had never an opportunity of wearing the unmade apparel. When I enter the room I wave my hand and bid the ghosts begone, and then, being sorry for my cruelty, I spread out the cloth so that they may see how beautiful it is and of what rare texture, for the poor ghosts cannot do this by themselves. Come with me, Hilda, and I will show you the room."
"Oh no, no, my Lady. I dare not venture in it. I would rather face all the Archbishop's troops than those dead ghosts."
"Nonsense, child. There is really nothing there to fright you, and if I can enter the room often and often alone, surely you will not hang back when I am with you. You shall devise most lovely costumes for us both, so that when our lovers return we shall enslave them anew, and in the making of our robes we shall have something more practical to think of than the glamour of the moonlight. Why did you not teach me to sew, Hilda? I never knew what a useless creature I was until I stood among all that rare assortment, enough to delight any woman's eye, and had no skill in the fashioning of the smallest piece of it. Then did I sit down and selfishly weep because you were not with me. And I have selected one web of quiet hue, but rich in texture, finely spun, which you shall make for my aunt, poor lady, who has never had anything to wear that she might be proud of. Come, Hilda, bring a lamp to ward off the darkness, and I shall keep the ghosts away from you."
Hilda, encouraged by the presence of the Countess, ventured into the silken store-room, containing the unwilling tribute of many a merchant to the potentate of Thuron, and once within the haunted chamber, was soon so much absorbed in the cutting of the material selected, and the fitting of it on the lovely model who posed before her, that all fear of spiritual onlookers fled, and so deft was the fair seamstress in the passion of her occupation that she would have measured and fitted even a ghost if the apparition had presented itself before her with a sepulchral request for a garment. When the attire of the Countess was completed, the lady then began to wonder, not without an admixture of apprehension, what her turbulent uncle would say when this mutilation of his goods came to his knowledge, and so resolved to settle the question once for all before Rodolph returned. Tekla entered the great dining hall, arrayed in all her splendour, her heart fluttering with anxiety regarding her reception, yet she was in a measure sustained by that feeling of confidence which comes to those who know they are handsomely attired. Heinrich's wife was so startled that she gasped in terror and cast an apprehensive glance at her husband, as his niece glided with apparent composure into the room. The Black Count himself looked up, but noticing no difference, merely grumbled that Tekla was late and went on with his scanty meal.
CHAPTER XLIII. THE COUNTESS AND THE EMPEROR.
One morning word came hurriedly to the Count that there was a commotion near Alken, an attack being feared. Heinrich ascended to the battlements without haste and without enthusiasm. If an assault came he would repel it if he could, but he had little heart in the prospect of a fight, and as little hope of ultimate success. He had welcomed the departure of Rodolph and his two companions, largely because their going left three mouths less to feed, but he had such small faith in Rodolph's proffer of rescue that all thought of the young man had already gone from his mind.
Reaching the battlements, he saw on the plain to the south of the village evidence of something unusual in progress. Bugles were blowing, and men from the tents and the lines were hurriedly concentrating at a point where they seemed called upon to oppose some unexpected force. A man on horseback was listening to the protests of an officer of the Archbishop, who gesticulated violently, and apparently all answer the horseman made was to point to the flag which waved above him. What the flag was that lazily floated above its staff, Heinrich could not make out, but presently the horseman gave a signal to one of his buglers, and a trumpet call rang along the valley, and was echoed mockingly from the rocks opposite Alken. In a short space of time there came out from the shelter of the village, along the river street, soldiers marching four abreast, one line following another so closely that they seemed to tread on each other's heels, quartette after quartette, as if the village were some huge reservoir of men, and was belching them forth in such numbers that there was little wonder the Archbishop's officers stood helpless before this display of military power. At last the movement stopped, and the soldiers were halted four deep, standing at ease with their formidable array of lances bristling above them. Again the mounted man seemed to prefer his request or command, and this time heed was given it. The Archbishop's troops parted, leaving an open space, and through this came, not the soldiers who had the moment before exhibited their numbers, but laden animals with attendants, led by the officer on horseback. The procession came up the zig-zag path that ended at the castle gates, and every man of Thuron's garrison, who now clustered on the walls, raised a simultaneous cheer. They recognised the move as a break in the Archbishop's cordon, and vociferously acclaimed that help and food were coming to them.