Kitobni o'qish: «The Dove in the Eagle's Nest», sahifa 14
It was even so. If the sense that he was the last veritable free lord of Adlerstein rushed over Ebbo, he was, on the other hand, overmastered by the kingliness of Friedrich and Maximilian, and was aware that this submission, while depriving him of little or no actual power, brought him into relations with the civilized world, and opened to him paths of true honour. So the ceremonies were gone through, his oath of allegiance was made, investiture was granted to him by the delivery of a sword, and both he and Friedel were dubbed knights. Then they shared another banquet, where, as away from the Junkern and among elder men, Ebbo was happier than the day before. Some of the knights seemed to him as rude and ignorant as the Schneiderlein, but no one talked to him nor observed his manners, and he could listen to conversation on war and policy such as interested him far more than the subjects affected by youths a little older than himself. Their lonely life and training had rendered the minds of the brothers as much in advance of their fellows as they were behind them in knowledge of the world.
The crass obtuseness of most of the nobility made it a relief to return to the usual habits of the Sorel household when the court had left Ulm. Friedmund, anxious to prove that his new honours were not to alter his home demeanour, was drawing on a block of wood from a tinted pen-and-ink sketch; Ebbo was deeply engaged with a newly-acquired copy of Virgil; and their mother was embroidering some draperies for the long-neglected castle chapel,—all sitting, as Master Gottfried loved to have them, in his studio, whence he had a few moments before been called away, when, as the door slowly opened, a voice was heard that made both lads start and rise.
“Yea, truly, Herr Guildmaster, I would see these masterpieces. Ha! What have you here for masterpieces? Our two new double-ganger knights?” And Maximilian entered in a simple riding-dress, attended by Master Gottfried, and by Sir Kasimir of Adlerstein Wildschloss.
Christina would fain have slipped out unperceived, but the king was already removing his cap from his fair curling locks, and bending his head as he said, “The Frau Freiherrinn von Adlerstein? Fair lady, I greet you well, and thank you in the Kaisar’s name and mine for having bred up for us two true and loyal subjects.”
“May they so prove themselves, my liege!” said Christina, bending low.
“And not only loyal-hearted,” added Maximilian, smiling, “but ready-brained, which is less frequent among our youth. What is thy book, young knight? Virgilius Maro? Dost thou read the Latin?” he added, in that tongue.
“Not as well as we wish, your kingly highness,” readily answered Ebbo, in Latin, “having learnt solely of our mother till we came hither.”
“Never fear for that, my young blade,” laughed the king. “Knowst not that the wiseacres thought me too dull for teaching till I was past ten years? And what is thy double about? Drawing on wood? How now! An able draughtsman, my young knight?”
“My nephew Sir Friedmund is good to the old man,” said Gottfried, himself almost regretting the lad’s avocation. “My eyes are failing me, and he is aiding me with the graving of this border. He has the knack that no teaching will impart to any of my present journeymen.”
“Born, not made,” quoth Maximilian. “Nay,” as Friedel coloured deeper at the sense that Ebbo was ashamed of him, “no blushes, my boy; it is a rare gift. I can make a hundred knights any day, but the Almighty alone can make a genius. It was this very matter of graving that led me hither.”
For Maximilian had a passion for composition, and chiefly for autobiography, and his head was full of that curious performance, Der Weisse König, which occupied many of the leisure moments of his life, being dictated to his former writing-master, Marcus Sauerwein. He had already designed the portrayal of his father as the old white king, and himself as the young white king, in a series of woodcuts illustrating the narrative which culminated in the one romance of his life, his brief happy marriage with Mary of Burgundy; and he continued eagerly to talk to Master Gottfried about the mystery of graving, and the various scenes in which he wished to depict himself learning languages from native speakers—Czech from a peasant with a basket of eggs, English from the exiles at the Burgundian court, who had also taught him the use of the longbow, building from architects and masons, painting from artists, and, more imaginatively, astrology from a wonderful flaming sphere in the sky, and the black art from a witch inspired by a long-tailed demon perched on her shoulder. No doubt “the young white king” made an exceedingly prominent figure in the discourse, but it was so quaint and so brilliant that it did not need the charm of royal condescension to entrance the young knights, who stood silent auditors. Ebbo at least was convinced that no species of knowledge or skill was viewed by his kaisarly kingship as beneath his dignity; but still he feared Friedel’s being seized upon to be as prime illustrator to the royal autobiography—a lot to which, with all his devotion to Maximilian, he could hardly have consigned his brother, in the certainty that the jeers of the ruder nobles would pursue the craftsman baron.
However, for the present, Maximilian was keen enough to see that the boy’s mechanical skill was not as yet equal to his genius; so he only encouraged him to practise, adding that he heard there was a rare lad, one Dürer, at Nuremburg, whose productions were already wonderful. “And what is this?” he asked; “what is the daintily-carved group I see yonder?”
“Your highness means, ‘The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest,’” said Kasimir. “It is the work of my young kinsmen, and their appropriate device.”
“As well chosen as carved,” said Maximilian, examining it. “Well is it that a city dove should now and then find her way to the eyrie. Some of my nobles would cut my throat for the heresy, but I am safe here, eh, Sir Kasimir? Fare ye well, ye dove-trained eaglets. We will know one another better when we bear the cross against the infidel.”
The brothers kissed his hand, and he descended the steps from the hall door. Ere he had gone far, he turned round upon Sir Kasimir with a merry smile: “A very white and tender dove indeed, and one who might easily nestle in another eyrie, methinks.”
“Deems your kingly highness that consent could be won?” asked Wildschloss.
“From the Kaisar? Pfui, man, thou knowst as well as I do the golden key to his consent. So thou wouldst risk thy luck again! Thou hast no male heir.”
“And I would fain give my child a mother who would deal well with her. Nay, to say sooth, that gentle, innocent face has dwelt with me for many years. But for my pre-contract, I had striven long ago to win her, and had been a happier man, mayhap. And, now I have seen what she has made of her sons, I feel I could scarce find her match among our nobility.”
“Nor elsewhere,” said the king; “and I honour thee for not being so besotted in our German haughtiness as not to see that it is our free cities that make refined and discreet dames. I give you good speed, Adlerstein; but, if I read aright the brow of one at least of these young fellows, thou wilt scarce have a willing or obedient stepson.”
CHAPTER XV
THE RIVAL EYRIE
Ebbo trusted that his kinsman of Wildschloss was safe gone with the Court, and his temper smoothed and his spirits rose in proportion while preparations for a return to Adlerstein were being completed—preparations by which the burgher lady might hope to render the castle far more habitable, not to say baronial, than it had ever been.
The lady herself felt thankful that her stay at Ulm had turned out well beyond all anticipations in the excellent understanding between her uncle and her sons, and still more in Ebbo’s full submission and personal loyalty towards the imperial family. The die was cast, and the first step had been taken towards rendering the Adlerstein family the peaceful, honourable nobles she had always longed to see them.
She was one afternoon assisting her aunt in some of the duties of her wirthschaft, when Master Gottfried entered the apartment with an air of such extreme complacency that both turned round amazed; the one exclaiming, “Surely funds have come in for finishing the spire!” the other, “Have they appointed thee Provost for next year, house-father?”
“Neither the one nor the other,” was the reply. “But heard you not the horse’s feet? Here has the Lord of Adlerstein Wildschloss been with me in full state, to make formal proposals for the hand of our child, Christina.”
“For Christina!” cried Hausfrau Johanna with delight; “truly that is well. Truly our maiden has done honour to her breeding. A second nobleman demanding her—and one who should be able richly to endow her!”
“And who will do so,” said Master Gottfried. “For morning gift he promises the farms and lands of Grünau—rich both in forest and corn glebe. Likewise, her dower shall be upon Wildschloss—where the soil is of the richest pasture, and there are no less than three mills, whence the lord obtains large rights of multure. Moreover, the Castle was added to and furnished on his marriage with the late baroness, and might serve a Kurfürst; and though the jewels of Freiherrinn Valeska must be inherited by her daughter, yet there are many of higher price which have descended from his own ancestresses, and which will all be hers.”
“And what a wedding we will have!” exclaimed Johanna; “it shall be truly baronial. I will take my hood and go at once to neighbour Sophie Lemsberg, who was wife to the Markgraf’s Under Keller-Meister. She will tell me point device the ceremonies befitting the espousals of a baron’s widow.”
Poor Christina had sat all this time with drooping head and clasped hands, a tear stealing down as the formal terms of the treaty sent her spirit back to the urgent, pleading, imperious voice that had said, “Now, little one, thou wilt not shut me out;” and as she glanced at the ring that had lain on that broad palm, she felt as if her sixteen cheerful years had been an injury to her husband in his nameless bloody grave. But protection was so needful in those rude ages, and second marriages so frequent, that reluctance was counted as weakness. She knew her uncle and aunt would never believe that aught but compulsion had bound her to the rude outlaw, and her habit of submission was so strong that, only when her aunt was actually rising to go and consult her gossip, she found breath to falter,—
“Hold, dear aunt—my sons—”
“Nay, child, it is the best thing thou couldst do for them. Wonders hast thou wrought, yet are they too old to be without fatherly authority. I speak not of Friedel; the lad is gentle and pious, though spirited, but for the baron. The very eye and temper of my poor brother Hugh—thy father, Stine—are alive again in him. Yea, I love the lad the better for it, while I fear. He minds me precisely of Hugh ere he was ’prenticed to the weapon-smith, and all became bitterness.”
“Ah, truly,” said Christina, raising her eyes “all would become bitterness with my Ebbo were I to give a father’s power to one whom he would not love.”
“Then were he sullen and unruly, indeed!” said the old burgomaster with displeasure; “none have shown him more kindness, none could better aid him in court and empire. The lad has never had restraint enough. I blame thee not, child, but he needs it sorely, by thine own showing.”
“Alas, uncle! mine be the blame, but it is over late. My boy will rule himself for the love of God and of his mother, but he will brook no hand over him—least of all now he is a knight and thinks himself a man. Uncle, I should be deprived of both my sons, for Friedel’s very soul is bound up with his brother’s. I pray thee enjoin not this thing on me,” she implored.
“Child!” exclaimed Master Gottfried, “thou thinkst not that such a contract as this can be declined for the sake of a wayward Junker!”
“Stay, house-father, the little one will doubtless hear reason and submit,” put in the aunt. “Her sons were goodly and delightsome to her in their upgrowth, but they are well-nigh men. They will be away to court and camp, to love and marriage; and how will it be with her then, young and fair as she still is? Well will it be for her to have a stately lord of her own, and a new home of love and honour springing round her.”
“True,” continued Sorel; “and though she be too pious and wise to reck greatly of such trifles, yet it may please her dreamy brain to hear that Sir Kasimir loves her even like a paladin, and the love of a tried man of six-and-forty is better worth than a mere kindling of youthful fancy.”
“Mine Eberhard loved me!” murmured Christina, almost to herself, but her aunt caught the word.
“And what was such love worth? To force thee into a stolen match, and leave thee alone and unowned to the consequences!”
“Peace!” exclaimed Christina, with crimson cheek and uplifted head. “Peace! My own dear lord loved me with true and generous love! None but myself knows how much. Not a word will I hear against that tender heart.”
“Yes, peace,” returned Gottfried in a conciliatory tone,—“peace to the brave Sir Eberhard. Thine aunt meant no ill of him. He truly would rejoice that the wisdom of his choice should receive such testimony, and that his sons should be thus well handled. Nay, little as I heed such toys, it will doubtless please the lads that the baron will obtain of the Emperor letters of nobility for this house, which verily sprang of a good Walloon family, and so their shield will have no blank. The Romish king promises to give thee rank with any baroness, and hath fully owned what a pearl thou art, mine own sweet dove! Nay, Sir Kasimir is coming to-morrow in the trust to make the first betrothal with Graf von Kaulwitz as a witness, and I thought of asking the Provost on the other hand.”
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Johanna; “and how is she to be meetly clad? Look at this widow-garb; and how is time to be found for procuring other raiment? House-father, a substantial man like you should better understand! The meal too! I must to gossip Sophie!”
“Verily, dear mother and father,” said Christina, who had rallied a little, “have patience with me. I may not lightly or suddenly betroth myself; I know not that I can do so at all, assuredly not unless my sons were heartily willing. Have I your leave to retire?”
“Granted, my child, for meditation will show thee that this is too fair a lot for any but thee. Much had I longed to see thee wedded ere thy sons outgrew thy care, but I shunned proposing even one of our worthy guildmasters, lest my young Freiherr should take offence; but this knight, of his own blood, true and wise as a burgher, and faithful and God-fearing withal, is a better match than I durst hope, and is no doubt a special reward from thy patron saint.”
“Let me entreat one favour more,” implored Christina. “Speak of this to no one ere I have seen my sons.”
She made her way to her own chamber, there to weep and flutter. Marriage was a matter of such high contract between families that the parties themselves had usually no voice in the matter, and only the widowed had any chance of a personal choice; nor was this always accorded in the case of females, who remained at the disposal of their relatives. Good substantial wedded affection was not lacking, but romantic love was thought an unnecessary preliminary, and found a vent in extravagant adoration, not always in reputable quarters. Obedience first to the father, then to the husband, was the first requisite; love might shift for itself; and the fair widow of Adlerstein, telling her beads in sheer perplexity, knew not whether her strong repugnance to this marriage and warm sympathy with her son Ebbo were not an act of rebellion. Yet each moment did her husband rise before her mind more vividly, with his rugged looks, his warm, tender heart, his dawnings of comprehension, his generous forbearance and reverential love—the love of her youth—to be equalled by no other. The accomplished courtier and polished man of the world might be his superior, but she loathed the superiority, since it was to her husband. Might not his one chosen dove keep heart-whole for him to the last? She recollected that coarsest, cruellest reproach of all that her mother-in-law had been wont to fling at her,—that she, the recent widow, the new-made mother of Eberhard’s babes, in her grief, her terror, and her weakness had sought to captivate this suitor by her blandishments. The taunt seemed justified, and her cheeks burned with absolute shame “My husband! my loving Eberhard! left with none but me to love thee, unknown to thine own sons! I cannot, I will not give my heart away from thee! Thy little bride shall be faithful to thee, whatever betide. When we meet beyond the grave I will have been thine only, nor have set any before thy sons. Heaven forgive me if I be undutiful to my uncle; but thou must be preferred before even him! Hark!” and she started as if at Eberhard’s foot-step; then smiled, recollecting that Ebbo had his father’s tread. But her husband had been too much in awe of her to enter with that hasty agitated step and exclamation, “Mother, mother, what insolence is this!”
“Hush, Ebbo! I prayed mine uncle to let me speak to thee.”
“It is true, then,” said Ebbo, dashing his cap on the ground; “I had soundly beaten that grinning ’prentice for telling Heinz.”
“Truly the house rings with the rumour, mother,” said Friedel, “but we had not believed it.”
“I believed Wildschloss assured enough for aught,” said Ebbo, “but I thought he knew where to begin. Does he not know who is head of the house of Adlerstein, since he must tamper with a mechanical craftsman, cap in hand to any sprig of nobility! I would have soon silenced his overtures!”
“Is it in sooth as we heard?” asked Friedel, blushing to the ears, for the boy was shy as a maiden. “Mother, we know what you would say,” he added, throwing himself on his knees beside her, his arm round her waist, his cheek on her lap, and his eyes raised to hers.
She bent down to kiss him. “Thou knewst it, Friedel, and now must thou aid me to remain thy father’s true widow, and to keep Ebbo from being violent.”
Ebbo checked his hasty march to put his hand on her chair and kiss her brow. “Motherling, I will restrain myself, so you will give me your word not to desert us.”
“Nay, Ebbo,” said Friedel, “the motherling is too true and loving for us to bind her.”
“Children,” she answered, “hear me patiently. I have been communing with myself, and deeply do I feel that none other can I love save him who is to you a mere name, but to me a living presence. Nor would I put any between you and me. Fear me not, Ebbo. I think the mothers and sons of this wider, fuller world do not prize one another as we do. But, my son, this is no matter for rage or ingratitude. Remember it is no small condescension in a noble to stoop to thy citizen mother.”
“He knew what painted puppets noble ladies are,” growled Ebbo.
“Moreover,” continued Christina, “thine uncle is highly gratified, and cannot believe that I can refuse. He understands not my love for thy father, and sees many advantages for us all. I doubt me if he believes I have power to resist his will, and for thee, he would not count thine opposition valid. And the more angry and vehement thou art, the more will he deem himself doing thee a service by overruling thee.”
“Come home, mother. Let Heinz lead our horses to the door in the dawn, and when we are back in free Adlerstein it will be plain who is master.”
“Such a flitting would scarce prove our wisdom,” said Christina, “to run away with thy mother like a lover in a ballad. Nay, let me first deal gently with thine uncle, and speak myself with Sir Kasimir, so that I may show him the vanity of his suit. Then will we back to Adlerstein without leaving wounds to requite kindness.”
Ebbo was wrought on to promise not to attack the burgomaster on the subject, but he was moody and silent, and Master Gottfried let him alone, considering his gloom as another proof of his need of fatherly authority, and as a peace-lover forbearing to provoke his fiery spirit.
But when Sir Kasimir’s visit was imminent, and Christina had refused to make the change in her dress by which a young widow was considered to lay herself open to another courtship, Master Gottfried called the twins apart.
“My young lords,” he said, “I fear me ye are vexing your gentle mother by needless strife at what must take place.”
“Pardon me, good uncle,” said Ebbo, “I utterly decline the honour of Sir Kasimir’s suit to my mother.”
Master Gottfried smiled. “Sons are not wont to be the judges in such cases, Sir Eberhard.”
“Perhaps not,” he answered; “but my mother’s will is to the nayward, nor shall she be coerced.”
“It is merely because of you and your pride,” said Master Gottfried.
“I think not so,” rejoined the calmer Friedel; “my mother’s love for my father is still fresh.”
“Young knights,” said Master Gottfried, “it would scarce become me to say, nor you to hear, how much matter of fancy such love must have been towards one whom she knew but for a few short months, though her pure sweet dreams, through these long years, have moulded him into a hero. Boys, I verily believe ye love her truly. Would it be well for her still to mourn and cherish a dream while yet in her fresh age, capable of new happiness, fuller than she has ever enjoyed?”
“She is happy with us,” rejoined Ebbo.
“And ye are good lads and loving sons, though less duteous in manner than I could wish. But look you, you may not ever be with her, and when ye are absent in camp or court, or contracting a wedlock of your own, would you leave her to her lonesome life in your solitary castle?”
Friedel’s unselfishness might have been startled, but Ebbo boldly answered, “All mine is hers. No joy to me but shall be a joy to her. We can make her happier than could any stranger. Is it not so, Friedel?”
“It is,” said Friedel, thoughtfully.
“Ah, rash bloods, promising beyond what ye can keep. Nature will be too strong for you. Love your mother as ye may, what will she be to you when a bride comes in your way? Fling not away in wrath, Sir Baron; it was so with your parents both before you; and what said the law of the good God at the first marriage? How can you withstand the nature He has given?”
“Belike I may wed,” said Ebbo, bluntly; “but if it be not for my mother’s happiness, call me man-sworn knight.”
“Not so,” good-humouredly answered Gottfried, “but boy-sworn paladin, who talks of he knows not what. Speak knightly truth, Sir Baron, and own that this opposition is in verity from distaste to a stepfather’s rule.”
“I own that I will not brook such rule,” said Ebbo; “nor do I know what we have done to deserve that it should be thrust on us. You have never blamed Friedel, at least; and verily, uncle, my mother’s eye will lead me where a stranger’s hand shall never drive me. Did I even think she had for this man a quarter of the love she bears to my dead father, I would strive for endurance; but in good sooth we found her in tears, praying us to guard her from him. I may be a boy, but I am man enough to prevent her from being coerced.”
“Was this so, Friedel?” asked Master Gottfried, moved more than by all that had gone before. “Ach, I thought ye all wiser. And spake she not of Sir Kasimir’s offers?—Interest with the Romish king?—Yea, and a grant of nobility and arms to this house, so as to fill the blank in your scutcheon?”
“My father never asked if she were noble,” said Ebbo. “Nor will I barter her for a cantle of a shield.”
“There spake a manly spirit,” said his uncle, delighted. “Her worth hath taught thee how little to prize these gewgaws! Yet, if you look to mingling with your own proud kind, ye may fall among greater slights than ye can brook. It may matter less to you, Sir Baron, but Friedel here, ay, and your sons, will be ineligible to the choicest orders of knighthood, and the canonries and chapters that are honourable endowments.”
Friedel looked as if he could bear it, and Eberhard said, “The order of the Dove of Adlerstein is enough for us.”
“Headstrong all, headstrong all,” sighed Master Gottfried. “One romantic marriage has turned all your heads.”
The Baron of Adlerstein Wildschloss, unprepared for the opposition that awaited him, was riding down the street equipped point device, and with a goodly train of followers, in brilliant suits. Private wooing did not enter into the honest ideas of the burghers, and the suitor was ushered into the full family assembly, where Christina rose and came forward a few steps to meet him, curtseying as low as he bowed, as he said, “Lady, I have preferred my suit to you through your honour-worthy uncle, who is good enough to stand my friend.”
“You are over good, sir. I feel the honour, but a second wedlock may not be mine.”
“Now,” murmured Ebbo to his brother, as the knight and lady seated themselves in full view, “now will the smooth-tongued fellow talk her out of her senses. Alack! that gipsy prophecy!”
Wildschloss did not talk like a young wooer; such days were over for both; but he spoke as a grave and honourable man, deeply penetrated with true esteem and affection. He said that at their first meeting he had been struck with her sweetness and discretion, and would soon after have endeavoured to release her from her durance, but that he was bound by the contract already made with the Trautbachs, who were dangerous neighbours to Wildschloss. He had delayed his distasteful marriage as long as possible, and it had caused him nothing but trouble and strife; his children would not live, and Thekla, the only survivor, was, as his sole heiress, a mark for the cupidity of her uncle, the Count of Trautbach, and his almost savage son Lassla; while the right to the Wildschloss barony would become so doubtful between her and Ebbo, as heir of the male line, that strife and bloodshed would be well-nigh inevitable. These causes made it almost imperative that he should re-marry, and his own strong preference and regard for little Thekla directed his wishes towards the Freiherrinn von Adlerstein. He backed his suit with courtly compliments, as well as with representations of his child’s need of a mother’s training, and the twins’ equal want of fatherly guidance, dilating on the benefits he could confer on them.
Christina felt his kindness, and had full trust in his intentions. “No” was a difficult syllable to her, but she had that within her which could not accept him; and she firmly told him that she was too much bound to both her Eberhards. But there was no daunting him, nor preventing her uncle and aunt from encouraging him. He professed that he would wait, and give her time to consider; and though she reiterated that consideration would not change her mind, Master Gottfried came forward to thank him, and express his confidence of bringing her to reason.
“While I, sir,” said Ebbo, with flashing eyes, and low but resentful voice, “beg to decline the honour in the name of the elder house of Adlerstein.”
He held himself upright as a dart, but was infinitely annoyed by the little mocking bow and smile that he received in return, as Sir Kasimir, with his long mantle, swept out of the apartment, attended by Master Gottfried.
“Burgomaster Sorel,” said the boy, standing in the middle of the floor as his uncle returned, “let me hear whether I am a person of any consideration in this family or not?”
“Nephew baron,” quietly replied Master Gottfried, “it is not the use of us Germans to be dictated to by youths not yet arrived at years of discretion.”
“Then, mother,” said Ebbo, “we leave this place to-morrow morn.” And at her nod of assent the house-father looked deeply grieved, the house-mother began to clamour about ingratitude. “Not so,” answered Ebbo, fiercely. “We quit the house as poor as we came, in homespun and with the old mare.”
“Peace, Ebbo!” said his mother, rising; “peace, I entreat, house-mother! pardon, uncle, I pray thee. O, why will not all who love me let me follow that which I believe to be best!”
“Child,” said her uncle, “I cannot see thee domineered over by a youth whose whole conduct shows his need of restraint.”
“Nor am I,” said Christina. “It is I who am utterly averse to this offer. My sons and I are one in that; and, uncle, if I pray of you to consent to let us return to our castle, it is that I would not see the visit that has made us so happy stained with strife and dissension! Sure, sure, you cannot be angered with my son for his love for me.”
“For the self-seeking of his love,” said Master Gottfried. “It is to gratify his own pride that he first would prevent thee from being enriched and ennobled, and now would bear thee away to the scant—Nay, Freiherr, I will not seem to insult you, but resentment would make you cruel to your mother.”
“Not cruel!” said Friedel, hastily. “My mother is willing. And verily, good uncle, methinks that we all were best at home. We have benefited much and greatly by our stay; we have learnt to love and reverence you; but we are wild mountaineers at the best; and, while our hearts are fretted by the fear of losing our sweet mother, we can scarce be as patient or submissive as if we had been bred up by a stern father. We have ever judged and acted for ourselves, and it is hard to us not to do so still, when our minds are chafed.”
“Friedel,” said Ebbo, sternly, “I will have no pardon asked for maintaining my mother’s cause. Do not thou learn to be smooth-tongued.”
“O thou wrong-headed boy!” half groaned Master Gottfried. “Why did not all this fall out ten years sooner, when thou wouldst have been amenable? Yet, after all, I do not know that any noble training has produced a more high-minded loving youth,” he added, half relenting as he looked at the gallant, earnest face, full of defiance indeed, but with a certain wistful appealing glance at “the motherling,” softening the liquid lustrous dark eye. “Get thee gone, boy, I would not quarrel with you; and it may be, as Friedel says, that we are best out of one another’s way. You are used to lord it, and I can scarce make excuses for you.”
