"Thou thinkest thyself in the land of the kobolds and dwarfs, my
girl! Never mind, thou wilt see worse than honest Jobst before thou
hast done. Now, eat a morsel and be ready--mountain air will make
thee hungry ere thou art at the castle. And, hark thee, Jobst, thou
must give stable-room to yon sumpter-mule for the present, and let
some of my daughter's gear lie in the shed."

"O father!" exclaimed Christina, in dismay.

"We'll bring it up, child, by piecemeal," he said in a low voice, "as
we can; but if such a freight came to the castle at once, my lady
would have her claws on it, and little more wouldst thou ever see
thereof. Moreover, I shall have enough to do to look after thee up
the ascent, without another of these city-bred beasts."

"I hope the poor mule will be well cared for. I can pay for--" began
Christina; but her father squeezed her arm, and drowned her soft
voice in his loud tones.

"Jobst will take care of the beast, as belonging to me. Woe betide
him, if I find it the worse!"--and his added imprecations seemed
unnecessary, so earnest were the asseverations of both the man and
his wife that the animal should be well cared for.

"Look you, Christina," said Hugh Sorel, as soon as he had placed her
on her mule, and led her out of hearing, "if thou hast any gold about
thee, let it be the last thing thou ownest to any living creature up
there." Then, as she was about to speak--"Do not even tell me. I
WILL not know." The caution did not add much to Christina's comfort;
but she presently asked, "Where is thy steed, father?"