Part 25 (2/2)
G. SCHWAB.
Good Friday and Easter Sunday pa.s.sed away, and Albert von Sturmfeder still remained at Lichtenstein. The knight of the castle had invited him to continue his visit until the war should take some decided turn, which would afford him an opportunity to render the Duke important service. We may well suppose how willingly the young man accepted the invitation.
To be under the same roof with his beloved, always near her, occasionally to pa.s.s a few moments with her alone, and to be loved of her father, were privileges his fondest dreams had never antic.i.p.ated.
One circ.u.mstance only clouded these delights, and that was, a certain gloomy anxiety of expression which at times hung about the brow of Bertha's father. It appeared that he was not satisfied with the news which he received from the Duke and the theatre of war. Messengers came to the castle at different times of day, but they arrived and departed without the knight imparting to his guest the contents of their despatches. Sometimes Albert thought he even saw the fifer of Hardt in the dusk of the evening gliding across the bridge. Hoping to get some information from him, he once hurried down to meet him; but by the time he reached the bridge, no trace of him was to be found.
Feeling somewhat hurt by being left in total ignorance of the state of affairs, which he conceived he had a right to be informed of, after the decided part he had taken, he could not help saying to Bertha, ”I have tendered my services unreservedly to the Duke's friends, in spite of their cause not being very prosperous. The man in the cavern and the knight of Lichtenstein have both shewn me much friends.h.i.+p and confidence, but only up to a certain point. Why should I not know what is going on at Tubingen? Why should I not be made acquainted with the Duke's operations? Am I only kept here as a forlorn hope? Why do they disdain my advice?”
Bertha endeavoured to console him, and succeeded at times by mild persuasion to drive such thoughts from his mind; but there were moments when they returned with double force, and particularly when he saw her father absorbed in the consideration of the state of affairs.
At length, on the evening of Easter day, he could contain himself no longer, and put a direct question to the old knight, asking him if their affairs were in danger, what was the state of the Duke's plans, and whether his services would not be called into action soon? But his patron, taking him kindly by the hand, answered, ”I have long remarked, that your heart is ready to burst with impatience in consequence of your being denied a share in our labours and cares; but only have a little more patience; perhaps one day longer may decide many important subjects. What is the use of tormenting you with the uncertain intelligence which our messengers have lately brought? Your ardent young mind is not fitted to unmask intrigue, or to counteract artifice.
When the crisis approaches upon which we can base our plans with safety, believe me you shall be a welcome member in council and action.
All you need know at present is, that our circ.u.mstances are neither good nor bad, but that we shall soon be obliged to act with increased decision.”
Albert gave the old man due credit for his reserve, but still he was anything but satisfied with his answer. He could not even learn the name of the exile, of whom Bertha had inquired the night preceding, when he came to the castle as usual, if he would allow her to make him known to their guest, but the only answer he gave was, ”The proper moment is not yet arrived.”
There was still another circ.u.mstance which offended Albert's _amour propre_. He had often made known to the knight of Lichtenstein the intense interest he took in the welfare of the exile, and what heartfelt pleasure it would give him to cultivate his further acquaintance; nevertheless, he had never once been invited to join the nocturnal visit of the mysterious guest. He was too proud to press the subject; he waited night after night in the expectation of being called in to speak to the man, but he waited in vain. He resolved therefore to see the stranger some night without an invitation, and for this purpose he sought a fitting opportunity. His room, which he was obliged to enter every night regularly at eight o'clock, overlooked the valley below, and was situated immediately opposite to the side on which the bridge was placed. It was therefore out of the question to see him coming from this position. The large room on the second floor, which was not far from his own, was locked every night, and consequently debarred him from satisfying his curiosity from thence. On the landing place, to which the doors of the different rooms led, there were indeed two windows looking towards the bridge, but as they were grated and stood high, the view from them was confined to the distant country, and there was no possibility of obtaining a sight of the desired spot.
Nothing was left for him, therefore, than to conceal himself somewhere in order to gratify his curiosity. On the first floor the plan was impossible, because the many people living there would subject him to discovery. But when he examined the gateway and the stables, which were hewn out of the solid rock, he discovered a niche near the drawbridge, concealed behind the wings of the gate, which were only shut when an enemy was before the castle. This was the spot which appeared best suited to secure him from discovery, and which afforded room enough to enable him to observe what was going on. On the left of the niche the drawbridge joined on to the gate, the stairs which led up to the dwelling rooms were on the right, in front was the entrance pa.s.sage, which every one must pa.s.s who came into the castle. Albert determined to slip into this position on the coming night.
At eight o'clock a page brought him his night lamp, and led him, as usual, to his apartment. The lord of the castle and his daughter kindly wished him good night. He entered his room, and dismissing his servant, who generally a.s.sisted him to undress, threw himself on his bed in his clothes. He listened attentively to each hour of the clock as it struck in the village, and whose sounds were wafted towards him by the night-breeze. He often closed his eyes, and at times fell into that state when it requires painful exertion to combat the power of sleep.
His present object was sufficiently important to keep him on the alert, and prevent him losing the opportunity of satisfying his curiosity. Ten o'clock had long struck; all was as still as death in the castle. He jumped up, took off his heavy boots and spurs, threw his cloak over him, and cautiously opened the door of his room. He held his breath, fearing to make the least noise; the hinges of the door creaked--he stopped to listen whether any one had heard the treacherous sound.
Every thing remained quiet; the moon threw a dim light on the landing place, and Albert thought himself fortunate she had not betrayed him a second time. He glided softly towards the winding stairs, and stopped again to listen if all was quiet; he heard nothing but the whistling of the wind, and the rustling of the oak trees on the further side of the bridge. He stepped carefully down the stairs. The least noise sounds louder in the depth and quiet of night than at other times; attention is awakened at the slightest movement, which would not be noticed in the day time. If his foot stepped upon a grain of sand, its grating sound went up the winding stairs, and startled him into the supposition that the whole house was on the alert. Having arrived at the first floor, he listened again, and heard nothing but the faint cracking of the dying embers on the hearth of the kitchen. At last he got to his destination, an expedition upon which he had expended a whole quarter of an hour's time, which otherwise was an affair but of a moment. He placed himself in the niche, and drew the wing of the gate closer to him, so that it fully covered his position. A fissure in the door was large enough to enable him to see distinctly every thing that pa.s.sed.
Nothing appeared to move in the castle, though he thought he heard light footsteps above him, which he supposed might be those of Bertha.
After waiting a tedious long quarter of an hour, the village clock struck eleven. This being the appointed time of the nocturnal visit, Albert directed all his attention to hear the stranger's approach. A few minutes after he heard the dog bark, when at the same time a deep voice from the other side of the ditch hailed, and said, ”Lichtenstein!”
”Who comes there?” was answered from the castle.
”The man is there,” replied the other voice, which sounded familiar to his ear as being the one he had heard in the cavern.
The watchman, an old man, came forth from a casemate hewn out of the rock, and opened the lock of the drawbridge with a large curiously wrought key. Whilst he was thus employed the dog came bounding down the stairs, whining and wagging his tail, and jumped upon the old man, as if to a.s.sist him in letting fall the bridge for his master to enter.
Bertha shortly after descended with a lantern, and a.s.sisted him with her light, for it appeared he had some difficulty in opening the lock.
”Make haste, Balthaser,” she whispered to the old watchman, ”he has been waiting some time, it is cold outside, and the wind blows keen.”
”I have now only to unfasten the chain, worthy lady,” he answered; ”you shall soon see how well my bridge falls. I have oiled the hinges, as you ordered me, so that they do not creek any more, and disturb Mrs.
Rosel out of her slumbers.”
The chains rattled in their ascent, the bridge sunk gradually into its place, and the banished man, enveloped in his coa.r.s.e cloak, came across. Though his bearing was deeply engraven on Albert's mind, yet his strikingly bold features, his commanding eye, his open forehead, and the agile movements of his limbs, filled the young man anew with admiration.
The nocturnal guest a.s.sisted Balthaser, the doorkeeper, to draw up the bridge, with a power which appeared almost superhuman. When the old man had withdrawn to his sleeping place, Albert overheard the following conversation between the visitor and Bertha.
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