Else why was it that, even while principle and better sense
summoned her back to Ulm, she experienced a deadly weariness of the
city-pent air, of the grave, heavy roll of the river, nay, even of
the quiet, well-regulated household? Why did such a marriage as she
had thought her natural destiny, with some worthy, kind-hearted
brother of the guild, become so hateful to her that she could only
aspire to a convent life? This same burgomaster would be an
estimable man, no doubt, and those around her were ruffians, but she
felt utterly contemptuous and impatient of him. And why was the
interchange of greetings, the few words at meals, worth all the rest
of the day besides to her? Her own heart was the traitor, and to her
own sensations the poor little thing had, in spirit at least,
transgressed all Aunt Johanna's precepts against young Barons. She
wept apart, and resolved, and prayed, cruelly ashamed of every start
of joy or pain that the sight of Eberhard cost her. From almost the
first he had sat next her at the single table that accommodated the
whole household at meals, and the custom continued, though on some
days he treated her with sullen silence, which she blamed herself for
not rejoicing in, sometimes he spoke a few friendly words; but he
observed, better than she could have dared to expect, her test of his
true knighthood, and never again forced himself into her apartment,
though now and then he came to the door with flowers, with mountain
strawberries, and once with two young doves.
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