In the castle-yard, before the knights' hall, stood a crowd of curious grooms and kitchen maids, to hear the singing, and gaze at the king and the stranger-guests. Amid this gossiping and jesting throng, wandered a fat, silent personage, closely muffled in a cloak. The maidens crowded together, and giggled whenever he came near them, and the one joked the other about him as a well-known wooer of the whole fair sex. It was the generally self-satisfied and obsequious Sir PallÉ, who now however looked most solemn and thoughtful. He had here for some time listened to the jests of the maidens and their talkative admiration of the king's handsome presence and his splendour, and of all the pomp they beheld. This seemed however but little to amuse him to-night; he yawned with a sigh, and went with undecided steps towards the maidens' tower; he now heard the sound of a lute in that part of the square, where fell a partial shadow, and the cold wind whistled in eddies around the pillars of the tower. He paused, and listened attentively; the sounds continued, and he thought he discerned a dark form standing under the tower window. He drew nearer with curiosity, and distinctly beheld a man with a knight's helmet, around whose person fluttered an ample mantle; while he gazed up at the grated window, and occasionally struck the cords of a lute with wild earnestness. PallÉ leaned back in alarm against the wall, and thought he had recognised the mysterious guest of the forest monastery. The cold perspiration broke out on his forehead; but his curiosity overcame his fright, and he remained standing. He heard a whisper, which was answered from above, and a deep but low voice, now sung beneath:

The deep voice ceased; the little window rattled behind the grating, and a sweet female voice sang from above--

"Ha! Gundelille's voice, Ulrica Stig!" muttered PallÉ; "ay, indeed, a love adventure then! and yonder outlawed hound on my preserve. This shall soon be put a stop to!" In his jealous eagerness he plucked up courage, and first stole a good way back from the tower; he then went briskly forward again, and growled forth a song, while he tramped hard, letting his long sword clatter after him on the stone pavement; but he had hardly swaggered ten paces from the tower ere the disguised figure rushed past him like lightning and threw him on the ground; he felt at the same time a stab in his right side. "Murder! help!" gasped PallÉ, in a low voice. He dared not cry aloud and give the alarm lest the terrible fugitive should return and despatch him at once. "Alas! poor unoffending fellow I that am!" he moaned, "when I carry my head highest I even get run through the body. Those accursed women! they are only created to be my ruin--" He hasted to get upon his legs, and ran as hard as he could over the dusky part of the court-yard to his chamber in the knights' story, where in all secresy he had his wound examined and bound up. His ample mantle had parried the thrust, and the wound seemed trifling; but it pained him exceedingly, and the fright had so overpowered him that he was compelled to retire to his couch. To the many inquisitive questions put to him as to who it was that had wounded him, he dared not answer a word; and the more he thought of his mysterious rival the more alarmed he became. "The Drost!--send for the Drost!" he at last exclaimed in a low tone. "It is a state secret; no other may know it." Nobody attended much to this expression, which was regarded merely as one of his customary boasts of a knowledge of state affairs and secrets which it was known would never be entrusted to him. At last, however, his attendants were forced to humour him, and sent a messenger to summon the Drost.

Meanwhile the Lady Ulrica stood alone, and listened at the little grated window in in the maidens' tower. On a work-table in the chamber stood a lamp, and a handsome fisher-maiden's costume, trimmed with pearls and silk ribbon, lay upon it. A sweet female voice was heard singing in the adjoining apartment; here sat her sister, the meek Margaretha, before the lamp, occupied in embroidering a large piece of tapestry for an altar-cloth. The edge or border consisted of skilfully worked foliage, with figures and scenes taken from life. There sprang hart and hind--here danced ladies and knights in miniature; but within the border hung the Saviour on the cross, and the Virgin Mary stood with St. John and St. Magdalen at the foot of the cross as Mater Dolorosa, represented as usual with a sword through the bosom. In the foreground knelt a knight in black armour, with his consort and two little maidens in mourning attire. In these figures she had pourtrayed her father, the mighty Marsk Stig, and her proud and unhappy mother Ingeborg, together with herself and her sister, as children. While Margaretha sat diligently occupied in this employment, and sang the ballad of Hagbarth and SignÉ, she noticed not what her capricious sister was about.^[6]

The distant sound of the festive din at the castle occasionally reached the lonely prison of the captive maidens; when this happened, Ulrica always became impatient, and wept at the thought of her exclusion from these festivities, and Margaretha found it a hard task to comfort her. Each time the sprightly little Karen came to supply their wants, Ulrica eagerly and inquisitively questioned her of all that passed, and the maiden was forced to give a description of all the stranger guests and knights. It was only when Margaretha heard Drost AagÉ's name, and Karen's account of what she knew of his dangerous adventure at Kallundborg, that she forgot her work, her hands dropped into her lap, and she listened with attentive interest. What their attendant related of the king, of his condescension towards the lowest, and his just strictness towards the great and mighty, she also heard with a species of interest, although not without a melancholy and sometimes bitter smile when she thought of her own fate; but when Ulrica would be informed of the looks of each of the stranger knights, of the colour of their hair, beard, and clothes--how they sat at table, and with what they were served, Margaretha was near losing patience; she therefore was very glad when Ulrica, as now, took a fancy to shut herself up in the little tiring chamber, there to busy herself with her gay apparel, and gossip with their attendant Karen. Since the maiden had on the morning of this day mentioned the tournament which was in preparation, and the dance and masque which it was hoped would take place the next evening, Ulrica had become joyous again. When she was not whispering and gossiping with Karen, she sang quite gaily in the little tiring chamber to which she had taken a special fancy.

Ulrica had shut herself up this evening in her favourite retreat. She was again busied with her gay attire, and was humming a merry ballad about Carl of RisÉ and Lady Rigmor; but she now heard her sister's sweet melancholy song as she sat at her pious occupation, and the tears suddenly started to the eyes of the easily excited Ulrica; she rose in haste, as if scared by her own thoughts, and threw her decorations on the floor. She opened the door, and flew to embrace her meek sister with eager emotion.

"What is this, Ulrica? What ails thee, dearest sister?" asked Margaretha, with sympathising uneasiness, as she returned her ardent demonstrations of affection.

"Ah! I grew all on a sudden so anxious and sad," said Ulrica. "Thy song was so sweet and sorrowful, just like a lonely forsaken bird's in its cage, and I thought how it would be if thou wert left quite alone in this horrid tower, with no one whatever to care for thee and comfort thee as thou hast comforted me and spoken kindly to me every day."

"Thou art still with me, dear Ulrica, and truly I sit here with a cheerful heart at my precious tapestry. When the Lord wills it our prison doors will assuredly open for us, and ere that time we need not expect it. We will, however, never sorrow as those who have no hope."

"That is true indeed," said Ulrica, half offended, and wiping her eyes. "When thou canst but embroider and tell thy rosary, and the adventures of courteous knights, or sing the Drost's ballads, thou carest but little for the whole fair world without; but I can endure this life no longer: when I hear the sea dashing below at night I often wish that a merman would come and carry me off like AgnetÉ. I would almost rather be at the bottom of the sea than in this wearisome prison-hole."

"Never make such foolish and ungodly wishes, dear sister," answered Margaretha, half alarmed, and involuntarily crossing herself. "It is better, however, to be in prison and innocent than at liberty and guilty, rememberest thou not what stands in holy writ about St. Peter in prison, and what he said?"

"I know all that well enough," interrupted Ulrica, pettishly; "but, nevertheless, there came an angel and took him out."

"If the Lord and our Lady will it so, such an angel might be sent to us also," continued Margaretha. "It needs but an angel's thought in a kindly soul. I, too, should rejoice to see God's fair world again, when that might be with honour and without sin--but thou wert speaking of mermen^[7] and evil spirits, and I heard before how wildly thou sang'st; it sounded to me like AgnetÉ's answer to the merman--as though thou wert an unhappy deluded maiden like her. Ah, sweet sister! I know too well who thou art thinking of; but beware of him! he is assuredly just as false as the ocean foam, and as the hapless AgnetÉ's bridegroom."

"I require not he should be one hair better," answered Ulrica, eagerly. "Truly it was that foolish fickle AgnetÉ, and not her bridegroom, who was false and faithless. She broke her vow, and left her wedded husband and her little children, and would not return to them, however much he besought her--such goodness and piety I cannot understand; no, truly, he was far more good and honourable! I ever pitied him, poor wretch! So very frightful, either, he could not have been," she continued; "he had fair hair and sparkling eyes like Sir KaggÉ. Just listen!" and she sang--

"His hair was as the pure gold bright,
His eyes they sparkled with joyous light."