"Thou, who mockest my forebodings and fancies, to dwell on that gipsy
augury!" argued Friedel. "As thou saidst at the time, Wildschloss's
looks gave shrewd cause for it."
"The answer is in mine own heart," answered Ebbo. "Since our stay at
Ulm, I have ever felt as though the sweet motherling were less my
own! And the same with my house and lands. Rule as I will, a
mocking laugh comes back to me, saying: 'Thou art but a boy, Sir
Baron, thou dost but play at lords and knights.' If I had hung yon
rogue of a reiter, I wonder if I had felt my grasp more real?"
"Nay," said Friedel, glancing from the sparkling white slopes to the
pure blue above, "our whole life is but a play at lords and knights,
with the blessed saints as witnesses of our sport in the tilt-yard."
"Were it merely that," said Ebbo, impatiently, "I were not so galled.
Something hangs over us, Friedel! I long that these snows would
melt, that I might at least know what it is!"
CHAPTER XVII: BRIDGING THE FORD
The snow melted, the torrent became a flood, then contracted itself,
but was still a broad stream, when one spring afternoon Ebbo showed
his brother some wains making for the ford, adding, "It cannot be
rightly passable.
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