It was, as Ermentrude once said, laughing, almost as if he feared
that she might do something to him.
Christina had expected to see a ruffian, and had found a boor; but
she was to be convinced that the ruffian existed in him. Notice came
up to the castle of a convoy of waggons, and all was excitement.
Men-at-arms were mustered, horses led down the Eagle's Ladder, and an
ambush prepared in the woods. The autumn rains were already swelling
the floods, and the passage of the ford would be difficult enough to
afford the assailants an easy prey.
The Freiherrinn Kunigunde herself, and all the women of the castle,
hurried into Ermentrude's room to enjoy the view from her window.
The young lady herself was full of eager expectation, but she knew
enough of her maiden to expect no sympathy from her, and loved her
well enough not to bring down on her her mother's attention; so
Christina crept into her turret, unable to withdraw her eyes from the
sight, trembling, weeping, praying, longing for power to give a
warning signal. Could they be her own townsmen stopped on the way to
dear Ulm?
She could see the waggons in mid-stream, the warriors on the bank;
she heard the triumphant outcries of the mother and daughter in the
outer room.
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