stairs, had been constrained by mountain air to look forward with
satisfaction.

Ermentrude, she found, meant to go down, but with no notion of the
personal arrangements that Christina had been wont to think a needful
preliminary. With all her hair streaming, down she went, and was so
gladly welcomed by her father that it was plain that her presence was
regarded as an unusual advance towards recovery, and Christina feared
lest he might already be looking out for the stout husband. She had
much to tell him about the catskin cloak, and then she was seized
with eager curiosity at the sight of Christina's bundles, and
especially at her lute, which she must hear at once.

"Not now," said her mother, "there will be jangling and jingling
enough by and by--meat now."

The whole establishment were taking their places--or rather tumbling
into them. A battered, shapeless metal vessel seemed to represent
the salt-cellar, and next to it Hugh Sorel seated himself, and kept a
place for her beside him. Otherwise she would hardly have had seat
or food.' She was now able to survey the inmates of the castle.
Besides the family themselves, there were about a dozen men, all
ruffianly-looking, and of much lower grade than her father, and three
women. One, old Ursel, the wife of Hatto the forester, was a bent,
worn, but not ill-looking woman, with a motherly face; the younger
ones were hard, bold creatures, from whom Christina felt a shrinking
recoil. The meal was dressed by Ursel and her kitchen boy. From a
great cauldron, goat's flesh and broth together were ladled out into
wooden bowls. That every one provided their own spoon and knife--no
fork--was only what Christina was used to in the most refined