"Alone?" she repeated. "Nay: I am, it is true, a knight's daughter, but I do not take upon myself to defend a royal fortress alone. If you wish to see the garrison of the castle, you may do so in one moment."

"Let me not frighten you away, fair madden," said the stranger, stepping back; "I have just come off the sea, and am not in train to appear before fine women-folks. I am only an humble groom, sent hither an my master's errand, to inquire whether Sir Lave Little can shelter his friends to-night; and whether a couple of royal hounds have not arrived here this evening."

"My father's friends are welcome," replied the knight's daughter: "he has gone out to meet them, and will be here forthwith. Of the hounds I have heard nothing. If you are the strange gentleman's servant, you shall immediately be provided for in the servants' hall."

She was about to lift the latch of the kitchen-door; but the stranger raised his hand, almost menacingly. "Stay! No light. I go immediately,"

he muttered. "There are no strange guests here, then--no travellers from Nyborg?"

"Not that I am aware of," replied Inge; "but the castle is large, and, although many royal soldiers be here, there is still room enough for guests who are true to their king and country."

"Good. I shall bear my master this answer; and, if he is satisfied with it, you shall soon see us. Farewell fair maiden. Although you do not seem to wish that I should approach near you, I dare, nevertheless, take my oath that you are as handsome as brave. You need not make an alarm on my account, nor call the garrison together. I come here as a good friend: my master's good friends are also thine." With these words, be hastily departed through the door by which he had entered.

To prevent his re-entrance before there were lights and other persons present, Lady Inge first proceeded to lock the door after him. Then calling her handmaids, she caused them to light all the wax-lights, which were placed before bright shields, on the whitened walls of the large hall. In the round side apartment, she ordered a table to be spread for the mysterious guests who had been invited; and went, herself, through the kitchen, to the castle-wards, to see that the men-servants were present. She found them all, twelve in number, seated at the supper-table, and returned to the kitchen without betraying her anxiety. As soon as she had given the cooks and pantry-maids the necessary orders, she retraced her steps, with evident composure, to the lighted-up hall, withdrew the bolts from the front door, according to the hospitable usage of the house, and desired two only of her handmaidens to remain with her. They sat down, as usual, to their sewing-table, and drew forth the various articles of feminine handicraft they were busied upon. One of the maidens was a young, lively girl, always full of news, and having much to tell. She looked surprised at the numerous lights, and the sumptuous preparations, and asked, inquisitively, who were the guests expected so late, and with such unusual state.

"I know not," answered Inge, in an indifferent tone. "But tell us something new, little Elsie," she added, hastily, and seemingly to amuse herself. "Have you heard anything lately concerning your sweetheart? Does he come over to take you away this summer?"

"It will be some time to that yet, lady," replied Elsie, and immediately broke off into her favourite topic. "He cares more about his valiant master, at Mollerup, than about me, or all the girls in the world. Since he has been with the marsk, in the Swedish war, he has become somewhat proud; but I don't blame him for that: he can still say he has helped to pull a king off his throne. You open your eyes, lady; but it is, nevertheless, true and certain. Was not the Swedish king dethroned? and by our valiant Marsk Andersen and his brave people? Mat Jute is the marsk's right hand: he is almost as tall as his master, and a daring fellow, you may trow. Shame fall it! were he not a poor peasant's son, he would one day be a knight. But if he does not soon let me hear from him," she continued, tossing back her head, "I shall be no leaning-stick, indeed. If he no longer cares for little Elsie, I shall bid him good-day, and look out for another. There are as brave and handsome fellows in Zealand, and I am not exactly going to fall sick for a Juttish landsknecht."

"You do not resemble your faithful namesake in the ballad," said Lady Inge--"she who fretted herself to death for Sir Aage."

"It must certainly have been a long time since that happened, you well may trow, my high-born lady. At present the world is wiser, and girls are not so simple. Were they to fret themselves to death, now-a-days, on account of young men's inconstancy, there would soon not be a living maiden in the country. Nay, nay," she continued, humming over a song:--

"As, who that trusts the rotten bough, So, she who trusts a young man's vow.

"As, who would grasp the eel, must fail, So, she who trusts a young man's tale."

"This song is new," said Lady Inge; "it is not so said in the old one: there the faithful lovers are borne to the grave together."

"Much good might it do them!" exclaimed the maiden. "I cannot yet say that I should be pleased, if Mat Jute were to die: a dead bridegroom would never become a living one, were one to go ten times to the grave with him."

"There must have been more fidelity in the olden times," said Inge, seriously. "It was better also for king and country. They must have been happy people who then lived in Denmark."

"What happiness there was in dying of grief, n.o.ble lady, I cannot well conceive; and what does it signify to the king and country, that there is no constancy in a love-smit soldier?"

"I can tell you, little Elsie, that when there is no constancy in a soldier in this respect, there is little in any other; and so he cannot be depended upon when he is called on to defend the throne and the realm. He who can forget and forsake his sweetheart, can still more easily forget and forsake his master."

"By my troth, so does not Mat Jute," replied Elsie. "He would rather slay every man alive, than permit any one to say a bad word concerning his master. He once lifted his knife against me, on that very score, though he vowed he loved me as the apple of his eye. He would not be afraid to make a thrust at the king himself, if a regular war should break out between him and the marsk."

"Are you mad, girl?" exclaimed Lady Inge, in astonishment. "The marsk is the king's subject. If he should wage war against the king, he would be a traitor and shameless rebel."

"I do not understand that," said Elsie; "but this I know well, that if the marsk could not have his wife secure against our king, when he was waging war for him like a brave man, it is not so unreasonable, that, as a brave man, he should feel angry, and do the best he can to right himself."

"This is certainly a false and shameful rumour. A genuine Skiolding[17]

can never disgrace his high lineage."

"It is all the same to me," answered the maiden; "but I should be quite as well satisfied if Mat Jute would only keep himself aloof from the great and their quarrels. The small suffer at last, and he may one day meet with some great mishap. I well remember how the ballad goes:--

"The knight, and eke his swain, They rode from the Ting together: The knight they let go free-- The swain they hanged in a tether."

"Let us rather sing one of the good old ballads, little Elsie," said Lady Inge, interrupting the light-minded maiden; "and lay rightly to heart what you are singing, and so perhaps you may one day come to recollect that you are a Danish girl."

"I can well bear that in mind," replied Elsie: "I can never understand a word of German, and have trouble enough with the Jutlandish."

"But a Danish girl is true to her lover, and a Danish man deserts not king or country. Do you remember the ballad of King Didrik? Let us sing that."

Lady Inge began, and her two handmaidens accompanied her:--

"The king he rules the castle, And else he rules the land, And he rules many a warrior bold, With drawn sword in his hand: For the king he rules the castle."

While they were singing, the door was opened; but Lady Inge was thinking only of the old heroic ballad that her mother had sung to her when a child, and which always led her to fancy a king like Waldemar the Great, and a castle like Flynderborg, where she was sitting, the only castle she was acquainted with. The bold notes of the song, and the remembrances of her childhood which it awakened within her, always put her in a gay and happy frame of mind; and she felt herself secure in the castle, which the king ruled with his warriors bold. Upon this occasion, the song had the usual inspiriting effect. She had forgotten all that so recently disturbed her: her eyes sparkled with lively animation; and the maidens could only give ear to her, while she sang alone, in her unusually deep-toned voice, in continuation:--

"Let the peasant rule his house and home, His steed, the warrior bold-- The king of Denmark ruleth The castle, keep, and hold.

For the king he rules the castle."

Lady Inge and her maidens now for the first time noticed the tread of spurred heels on the floor. They rose in astonishment, and Lady Inge with unwonted precipitation. They perceived three strangers in the middle of the hall. One was in the dress of a huntsman, and the two others were clad as citizens on a journey; nevertheless, under their gray cloaks they had long swords, like those worn by knights. It was Sir Rimaardson, with Drost Peter, and Sir Thorstenson. The mien and expression of the fair songstress, on their entrance, astonished them; and they remained standing, unwilling to interrupt her.

They now approached with much politeness, and saluted the knight's fair daughter. Although they were not dressed as knights, their bearing and manners instantly denoted them to be men of high station and dignity; and Lady Inge supposed them the distinguished guests of whom her father had spoken. The first glance at their interesting and friendly countenances gave her confidence.

"You are welcome, n.o.ble sirs," said she, with entire self-possession, and returning their salute. "My father has been expecting you, and has ridden out to meet you. You must have come by another road than he antic.i.p.ated. Your groom or squire has doubtless told you that there are no strangers here?"

"We have only this instant arrived, n.o.ble lady," began Sir Thorstenson; "and our squire could have told us nothing regarding the state of the house, seeing that he has not yet penetrated farther than the stables.

That your father has expected us, we cannot at all suppose: indeed, we thought we should have surprised him."

"To our astonishment, the gates were opened to us without any one inquiring our name or business," said Sir Rimaardson. "This confidence is flattering. Your song, fair maiden, we would not dare to disturb: it was an a.s.surance that, even although unknown, we should be welcome to you, as men true to our king and country."

"For none else stands this castle open," replied Inge. "Your names and errand no one may presume to inquire about, n.o.ble sirs. You are specially welcome to my father, I can a.s.sure you." So saying, she regarded their manly, honest countenances with satisfaction and confidence.

Drost Peter had not yet said a word, but stood perplexed, and almost bashfully, before her, with a singular expression of surprise and melancholy, and with a kind of dreamy pleasure in his calm, earnest look.

"Step nearer, gentlemen," continued Lady Inge, with a light heart, and completely relieved from any doubt of disloyalty in her father's connections, and from every uneasiness regarding the mysterious guests expected: "you find here an open lady's room, where, truth to say, I am glad to see the friends of my father, who can occupy his place in his absence. He left me half an hour since, to return in an hour if he did not meet you. A fellow, who represented himself as your groom, almost frightened me in the dusk of the evening. The castle, at other times, is never so accessible. Under these circ.u.mstances, you are to me the more welcome. If you would please to take refreshment, gentlemen, it is already prepared."

The knights looked at each other with astonishment.

"Some mistake must have occurred here, n.o.ble lady," said Sir Rimaardson; "but, if you will permit us, we shall avail ourselves of it, and defer the explanation until your father arrives."

"Permit me a question, n.o.ble lady," said Drost Peter, appearing at length to wake from his sweet dream; his eyes, meanwhile, resting with kindly interest on the maiden's open countenance and n.o.ble form; "and pardon me if it is amiss. Is your Christian name Inge? and are you the daughter of the governor of this castle, Sir Lave Little, and his n.o.ble wife, deceased, the Lady Margarethe, Absalom Andersen's youngest daughter?"

"You knew my mother, n.o.ble sir," exclaimed Lady Inge, joyfully, and, in her joy, forgetting his question and his singular solemnity of manner: "but, nay, you could scarcely have known her, else you would have known me also; for I am said to resemble my blessed mother exceedingly."

"I have seen your mother in my childhood," said the young drost; "but she was then no longer young: she was, however, about your height. You have inherited her eyes, n.o.ble lady, and, as I can hear, her deep, sweet voice, and her fondness for our old heroic ballads. The one you have just sung, I seem to have heard in my cradle: it recalls a time when I had happy dreams about the days of our Waldemars, and of him who ruled the castle, and so many warriors bold."