The young girl, formerly so light-hearted and joyous that no grief could touch her, was now totally changed. The imprisonment at one stroke of all that were dear to her had given a shock to her feelings which caused everything to appear dark before her eyes. For her the heavens were no longer blue, the fields no longer green; her dreams were no longer interwoven with threads of gold and silver. Sorrow and brooding despair had found the way into her heart; nothing could console her under the torturing image of her beloved father confined in prison and in a foreign land.
After she had thus sat for some time motionless, she slowly rose from her seat, and took her hawk upon her hand. With eyes full of tears she looked upon the bird, and thus spoke in a low voice, while from time to time she wiped away a tear from her pale cheeks:
"Mourn not so, my faithful bird; our lord my father will soon come back. This wicked queen shall do him no mischief; for I have prayed so fervently for him, and God is ever just: mourn no more, my darling bird."
Warm tears trickled down the maiden's cheeks: for though her words seemed full of hope and comfort, yet her heart was all the while oppressed with the deepest sorrow. In a mournful voice she continued:
"My poor hawk, now we can no longer follow our sport in the valleys about my father's castle; for the stranger has his abode in the fair Wynandael. They have cast my unhappy father into prison, and bound him with heavy chains. Now he sits and sighs miserably in the dark cell; and who knows whether the fell Joanna may not even take his life, my darling bird? Then we too will die of grief! The thought, the frightful thought alone deprives me of all strength. There now, sit down; for my trembling hand can no longer bear you."
And then, in an agony of despair, the poor child sank back upon her chair; but her cheek grew no paler than before, for long since had its roses faded; and only her eyelids were red with constant weeping. The charm of her features was gone, and her eyes had lost all their life and fire.
Long time she sat, sunk in sorrow, and passing in review the long array of gloomy images which her despair had conjured up before her. She saw her unhappy father chained in a damp unwholesome prison, she heard the clanking of his chains, and the echoes of his sighs of wretchedness in the gloomy vault. The fear of poison too, then so common, or thought to be so, in the mysteries of French statecraft, ever occupied her imagination, and the most frightful scenes followed one another before her eyes. Thus was the poor maiden incessantly tortured, and filled with the most terrible apprehensions.
And now a faint sigh was heard from the bed. Hastily Matilda dried the tears from her cheeks, and hurried to the bedside with frightened anxiety.
She poured some of the contents of the flask into the cup, raised Adolf's head a little with her right hand, and brought the cup to his mouth.
The knight's eyes opened wide, and fixed themselves with a peculiar expression upon the maiden. An intense feeling of gratitude spoke in his languid glance, and an indefinable smile passed over his pale countenance.
Since he had received his wound, the knight had not yet spoken intelligibly, nor did he even seem to hear the words that were addressed to him. The latter, however, was not the case. When, in the first days of his illness, Matilda had whispered over him in her gentlest voice, "Get well, my poor Adolf! my dear brother! I will pray for you, for your death would make me still more unhappy here on earth," and other like words, which, unconscious of being heard, she murmured to herself behind his couch, Adolf had heard and understood all, though totally unable to reply.
Meanwhile, during the bygone night there had taken place a marked change for the better in the wounded knight's condition. Nature, after a long struggle, had thrown him into a deep sleep, from which he awoke refreshed and with new life and vigor; the sigh which broke from him at the moment of awakening was louder and longer than any breath which he had yet drawn since he received his wound.
And now, to Matilda's no little astonishment, as soon as she had taken the cup from his lips, he thus addressed her, in a distinct, though feeble, voice:
"O noble lady! my guardian angel! I thank my merciful God for the comfort which, through you. He has given me! Am I worthy, lady, that your illustrious hand should thus kindly have smoothed my pillow? A thousand blessings on you, for your tender care of a poor knight!"
For a moment the maiden's surprise and pleasure were too much for words; but soon recovering herself, and remarking how much progress he had so suddenly made, in a transport of delight she clasped her hands together, while she gave vent to her feelings in loud cries of joy.
"Ha! now, indeed, you will get well, Sir Adolf!" she exclaimed; "now I need no longer be all sadness! now I shall at all events have a brother to comfort me!"
Then, as if on the instant recalling something which for a moment she had forgotten, she checked herself suddenly, her countenance assumed a grave expression, and she threw herself upon her knees before the crucifix at the head of the bed. There with joined hands she poured forth a long thanksgiving to the
