“Yes, yes, do!” exclaimed Ulrich, turning away from the grated window through which he had been gazing while the others were whispering to each other. “Sing that wild ballad called the ‘Scream of the Eagle.’” Moida sang. Never before had Conrad Seinsheim heard anything half so thrilling, and the words were accompanied by such graceful motions as proved the girl to be no mean actress.
“Yes, it is a grand song,” she said when it was finished; “and I like to be in the country, where I may give it with my whole heart. In Munich our lodging is too small and the air out-doors too heavy with beer for such rousing, inspiring words.”
“Your grandfather composed it, did he not?” said Ulrich.
“Oh! no. But he and his riflemen used to chant it when they went into battle. ’Tis as old as the hills; perhaps it rang in the ears of the Roman legions.”
“Well, truly, you are a rare bird,” thought Conrad Seinsheim as he looked at Moida’s bright-blue eyes and cheeks glowing with health; “and if I had not already found my ideal I’d wish to marry you.”
Then, praying her to sit down in one of the old family chairs: “Now please,” he said, “tell me a little of your history; for”—here Conrad dropped his voice—“I hope ere long that you and Ulrich, and Walburga and myself, as well as Caro and the nightingale, will all form one happy family together. Therefore I am curious to know more about you.”
This was spoken in such a kindly way that Moida could not refuse. Accordingly, she began and told him how she was descended from a race of mountaineers who had never been serfs, like the peasants in other parts of Europe.
“We did not dwell in castles,” said Moida, darting a sportive glance at Ulrich, who was patting her hand. “Still, for all that we were nobles.”
“Yes, yes, you were indeed,” cried the youth.
“But after grandfather was put to death our family quitted their native place in South Tyrol—’twas too full of painful memories—and came north to Innspruck; and finally we drifted to Munich, where I now live. My parents are dead, but Walburga is like a sister to me; and as for this boy—”