Poor Eberhard, with his undaunted
bravery and free reckless good-nature, a ruffian far more by
education than by nature, had been much loved by his followers. His
widow would have reaped the benefit of that affection even if her
exceeding sweetness had not gained it on her own account; and this
giant was completely gained over to her, when, amid all her sorrow
and feebleness, she never failed to minister to his sufferings to the
utmost, while her questions about his original home, and revival of
the name of his childhood, softened him, and awoke in him better
feelings. He would have died to serve her, and she might have headed
an opposition party in the castle, had she not been quite indifferent
to all save her grief; and, except by sitting above the salt at the
empty table, she laid no claim to any honours or authority, and was
more seldom than ever seen beyond what was now called her own room.
At last, when for the second time she was seeing the snow wreaths
dwindle, and the drops shine forth in moisture again, while the
mountain paths were set free by the might of the springtide sun, she
spoke almost for the first time with authority, as she desired Heinz
to saddle her mule, and escort her to join in the Easter mass at the
Blessed Friedmund's Chapel.
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