his voice and deportment, as if he had been less entirely devoid of
training. A tall darkly-robed woman stood beside him--it was her
harsh tone of reproof and command that had so startled Christina as
she entered--and her huge towering cap made her look gigantic in the
dim light of the smoky hall. Her features had been handsome, but had
become hardened into a grim wooden aspect; and with sinking spirits
Christina paused at the step of the dais, and made her reverence,
wishing she could sink beneath the stones of the pavement out of
sight of these terrible personages.

"So that's the wench you have taken all this trouble for," was
Freiherrinn Kunigunde's greeting. "She looks like another sick baby
to nurse; but I'll have no trouble about her;--that is all. Take her
up to Ermentrude; and thou, girl, have a care thou dost her will, and
puttest none of thy city fancies into her head."

"And hark thee, girl," added the old Freiherr, sitting up. "So thou
canst nurse her well, thou shalt have a new gown and a stout
husband."

"That way," pointed the lady towards one of the four corner towers;
and Christina moved doubtfully towards it, reluctant to quit her
father, her only protector, and afraid to introduce herself. The
younger Freiherr, however, stepped before her, went striding two or
three steps at a time up the turret stair, and, before Christina had
wound her way up, she heard a thin, impatient voice say, "Thou saidst
she was come, Ebbo."

"Yes, even so," she heard Freiherr Eberhard return; "but she is slow
and town-bred. She was afraid of crossing the moat." And then both