CHAPTER VIII.

The dancing-wench was locked into the cell with the rest of the wanderers, and as I looked in through the window at the fine young creature, squatting in a corner, I had pity on her, and for my part I would fain have sent her forth and away never to see her more.

I could nowhere find Herdegen; I had no mind for Uncle Christian’s jests; and when, at last, I betook me to my own chamber, meseemed that some horrible doom was in the air, from which there was no escape.  And matters were no better when Ann, who of late had been free from her bad headache, came up to bed, to hide her increasing pain among the pillows.  So I sat dumb and thoughtful by her side, till Aunt Jacoba sent for me to lay cold water on the arm of the little kidnapped maid.  The child had been well washed, and lay clean and fresh between the sheets, and the swarthy dirty little changeling was now a sweet, fair-haired darling.  I tended it gladly; all the more when I thought of the joy it would bring to its father and mother; notwithstanding the evil nightmare would not be cast off, not even when the clatter of wine cups and Uncle Christian’s big laugh fell on my ear.

Seldom had I so keenly missed Herdegen’s mirthful voice.  The housekeeper told me that he had gone on horseback into the town at about the hour of Ave Maria.  My grand-uncle had bidden him to go to him.  The vagabond knaves had already been put to the torture in my brother’s presence, but they had confessed nothing of their guilt; inasmuch, indeed, as in our dungeon there were none other instruments of torture than the rack, the thumbscrew, and scourges needful for the Bamberg torture, and a Pomeranian cap, made to crush the head somewhat; but in Nuremberg there was a store, less mild and of more active effect.

The air was hot and heavy, the sun had set behind black clouds, yellow and dim, like a blind eye.  A strange languor came over me, though I was wont to be so brisk, and with it a long train of dismal and hideous images.  First I saw the Junker and Sir Franz, who had fallen out about me, a foolish maid; then it was my Ann, pining with grief, paler than ever with a nun’s veil on her; or standing by the Pegnitz, on the very spot where, erewhile, in the sweet Springtide, a forsaken maid had cast herself in.

The first lightning rent the sky and the storm came up in haste, bursting above our heads, and as the thunder roared closer and closer after the flash I was more and more frightened.  Moreover the sick child wept piteously and waxed restless with fever and pain.  By this time all was still in the dining-hall; but when my aunt bid me let the housekeeper take my place by the little one’s bed and go to my rest, I would not; for indeed I could in no wise have slept.