— Affairs that walk
(As they say spirits do) at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature than the business
That seeks despatch by day.
Henry VIII. Act 5.
The approach of the steward was now boldly expected by the little party. Arthur, flattered at once and elevated by the firmness which Anne had shown when this person’s arrival was announced, hastily considered the part which he was to act in the approaching scene, and prudently determined to avoid all active and personal interference, till he should observe, from the demeanor of Anne, that such was likely to be useful or agreeable to her. He resumed his place, therefore, at a distant part of the board, on which their meal had been lately spread, and remained there, determined to act in the manner Anne’s behavior should suggest as most prudent and fitting, — veiling, at the same time, the most active internal anxiety by an appearance of that deferential composure, which one of inferior rank adopts when admitted to the presence of a superior. Anne, on her part, seemed to prepare herself for an interview of interest. An air of conscious dignity succeeded the extreme agitation which she had so lately displayed, and, busying herself with some articles of female work, she also seemed to expect with tranquillity the visit, to which her attendant was disposed to attach so much alarm.
A step was heard upon the stair, hurried and unequal, as that of some one in confusion as well as haste; the door flew open, and Ital Schreckenwald entered.
This person, with whom the details given to the elder Philipson by the Landamman Biederman have made the reader in some degree acquainted, was a tall, well-made, soldierly-looking man. His dress, like that of persons of rank at the period in Germany, was more varied in color, more cut and ornamented, slashed and jagged, the habit worn in France and England. The never-failing hawk’s feather decked his cap, secured with a medal of gold, which served as a clasp. His doublet was of buff, for defence, but laid down, as it was called in the tailor’s craft, with rich lace on each seam, and displaying on the breast a golden chain, the emblem of his rank in the Baron’s household. He entered with rather a hasty step, and busy and offended look, and said somewhat rudely, — “Why, how now, young lady — wherefore this? Strangers in the castle at this period of night!”
Anne of Geierstein, though she had been long absent from her native country, was not ignorant of its habits and customs, and knew the haughty manner in which all who were noble exerted their authority over their dependants.
“Are you a vassal of Arnheim, Ital Schreckenwald, and do you speak to the Lady of Arnheim in her own castle with an elevated voice, a saucy look, and bonneted withal? Know your place; and, when you have demanded pardon for your insolence, and told your errand in such terms as befit your condition and mine, I may listen to what you have to say.”
Schreckenwald’s hand, in spite of him, stole to his bonnet, and uncovered his haughty brow.
“Noble lady,” he said, in a somewhat milder tone, “excuse me if my haste be unmannerly, but the alarm is instant. The soldiery of the Rhinegrave have mutinied, plucked down the banners of their master, and set up an independent ensign, which they call the pennon of St. Nicholas, under which they declare that they will maintain peace with God, and war with all the world. This castle cannot escape them, when they consider that the first course to maintain themselves, must be to take possession of some place of strength. You must up then, and ride with the very peep of dawn. For the present, they are busy with the wine-skins of the peasants; but when they wake in the morning, they will unquestionably march hither; and you may chance to fall into the hands of those who will think of the terrors of the castle of Arnheim as the figments of a fairy tale, and laugh at its mistress’s pretensions to honor and respect.”
“Is it impossible to make resistance? The castle is strong,” said the young lady, “and I am unwilling to leave the house of my fathers without attempting somewhat in our defence.”
“Five hundred men,” said Schreckenwald, “might garrison Arnheim, battlement and tower. With a less number it were madness to attempt to keep such an extent of walls; and bow to get twenty soldiers together, I am sure! now not — So, having now the truth of the story, let me beseech you to dismiss this guest,-too young, I think, to be the inmate of a lady’s bower, — and I will point to him the highest way out of the castle; for this is a strait in which we must all be contented with looking to our own safety.”
“And whither is it til at you propose to go?” said the Baroness, continuing to maintain, in respect to Ital Schreckenwald, the complete and calm assertion of absolute superiority, to which the seneschal gave way with such marks of impatience, as a fiery steed exhibits under the management of a complete cavalier.
“To Strassburg I propose to go, — that is, if it so please you, — with such slight escort as I can get hastily together by day-break. I trust we may escape being observed by the mutineers; or, if we fall in with a party of stragglers, I apprehend but little difficulty in forcing my way.”
“And wherefore do you prefer Strassburg as a place of asylum?”
“Because I trust we shall there meet your excellency’s father, the noble Count Albert of Geierstein.”
“It is well,” said the young lady. — “You also, I think, Seignor Philipson, spoke of directing your course to Strassburg. If it consist with your convenience, you may avail yourself of the protection of my escort as far as that city, where you expect to meet your father.”
It will readily be believed that Arthur cheerfully bowed assent to a proposal which was to prolong their remaining in society together; and might possibly, as his romantic imagination suggested, afford him an opportunity, on a road beset with dangers, to render some service of importance.
Ital Schreckenwald attempted to remonstrate.
“Lady! — lady” — he said, with some marks of impatience.
“Take breath and leisure, Schreckenwald,” said Anne, and you will be more able to express yourself with distinctness, and with respectful propriety.”
The impatient vassal muttered an oath betwixt his teeth, and answered with forced civility, — “Permit me to state, that our case requires we should charge ourselves with the care of no one but you. We shall be few enough for your defence, and I cannot permit any stranger to travel with us.”
If,” said Arthur, “I conceived that I was to be a useless encumbrance on the retreat of this noble young lady, worlds, Sir Squire, would not induce me to accept her offer. But I am neither child nor woman — I am a full-grown man, and ready to slow such good service as manhood may, in defence of your lady.”
If we must not challenge your valor and ability, young said Schreckenwald, “who shall answer for your fidelity?”
“To question that elsewhere,’ said Arthur, “might be dangerous.”
But Anne interfered between them. “We must straight to rest, and remain prompt for alarm, perhaps even before the hour of dawn. Schreckenwald, I trust to your care for due watch and ward. — You have men enough at least for that purpose. — And hear and mark — It is my desire and command that this gentleman be accommodated with lodgings here for the night, and that he travel with us to-morrow. For this I will be responsible to my father, and your part is only to obey my commands. I have long had occasion to know both the young man’s father and himself, who were ancient guests of my uncle the Landamman. On the journey you will keep the youth beside you, and use such courtesy to him as your rugged temper will permit.”
Ital Schreckenwald intimated his acquiescence with a look of bitterness, which it were vain to attempt to describe. It expressed spite, mortincation, humbled pride, and reluctant submission. He did submit, however, and ushered young Philipson into a decent apartment with a bed, which the fatigue and agitation of the preceding day rendered very acceptable.
Notwithstanding the ardor with which Arthur expected the rise of the next dawn, his deep repose, the fruit of fatigue, held him until the reddening of the east, when the voice of Schreckenwald exclaimed, “Up, Sir Englishman, if you mean to accomplish your boast of loyal service. It is time we were in the saddle, and we shall tarry for no sluggards.”
Arthur was on the floor of the apartment, and dressed in almost an instant, not forgetting to put on his shirt of mail and assume whatever weapons seemed most fit to render him an efficient part of the convoy. He next hastened to seek out the stable, to have his horse in readiness; and descending for that purpose into the under story of the lower mass of buildings, he was wandering in search of the way which led to the offices, when the voice of Annette Veilchen softly whispered, “This way, Seignor Philipson; I would speak with you.” The Swiss maiden, at the same time, beckoned him into a small room, where he found her alone.
“Were you not surprised,” she said, “to see my lady queen it so over Ital Schreckenwald, who keeps every other person in awe with his stern looks and cross words? But the air of command seems so natural to her, that, instead of being a baroness, she might have been an empress. It must come of birth, I think, after all, for I tried last night to take state upon me, after the fashion of my mistress, and, would you think it, the brute Schreckenwald threatened to throw me out of the window? But if ever I see Martin Sprenger again, Ill know if there is strength in a Swiss arm, and virtue in a Swiss quarter-staff. — But here I stand prating, and my lady wishes to see you for a minute ere we take to horse.”
“Your lady?” said Arthur, starting, “why did you lose an instant? — why not tell me before?”
“Because I was only to keep you here till she came, and — here she is.”
Anne of Geierstein entered, fully attired for her journey. Annette, always willing to do as she would wish to be done by, was about to leave the apartment, when her mistress, who had apparently made up her mind concerning what she had to do or say, commanded her positively to remain.
“I am sure,” she said, “Seignor Philipson will rightly understand the feelings of hospitality — I will say of friendship — which prevented my suffering him to be expelled from my castle last night, and which have determined me this morning to admit of his company on the somewhat dangerous road to Strassburg. At the gate of that town we part, I to join my father, you to place yourself under the direction of yours. From that moment intercourse between us ends, and our remembrance of each other must be as the thoughts which we pay to friends deceased.”
“Tender recollections,” said Arthur, passionately, “more dear to our bosoms than all we have surviving upon earth.”
“Not a word in that tone,” answered the maiden. “With night delusion should end, and reason awaken with dawning. One word more — Do not address me on the road you may, by doing so, expose me to vexatious and insulting suspicion, and yourself to quarrels and peril. — Farewell, our party is ready to take horse.”
She left the apartment, where Arthur remained for a moment deeply bewildered in grief and disappointment. The patience, nay, even favor, with which Anne of Geierstein had, on the previous night, listened to his passion, had not prepared him for the terms of reserve and distance which she now adopted towards him. He was ignorant that noble maids, if feeling of passion has for a moment swayed them from the strict path of principle and duty, endeavor to atone for it, by instantly returning, and severely adhering, to the line from which they have made a momentary departure. He looked mournfully on Annette, who, as she had been in the room before Anne’s arrival, took the privilege of remaining a minute after her departure; but he read no comfort in the glances of the confidant, who seemed as much disconcerted as himself.
“I cannot imagine what hath happened to her,” said Annette; “to me she is kind as ever, but to every other person about her she plays countess and baroness with a witness; and now she is begun to tyrannize over her own natural feelings and if this be greatness, Annette Veilchen trusts always to remain the penniless Swiss girl; she is mistress of her own freedom, and at liberty t............