“‘Mother,’ said young Robert one day, on returning to the Castle, ‘tell me my father’s name.’

  “‘Why so? ‘replied his mother trembling.

  “‘Because the Baron of Asperen’s son asked me to tell him.’

  “‘Your father is called the Knight of the Swan,’ said Beatrix, ‘and has no other name.’

  “The child was satisfied with this answer and returned to play with his young friends. Yet another year passed, no longer in the ardent happiness which had accompanied the first, but in that tender restfulness which proves an intimacy of souls.

  “‘Mother,’ said young Godfrey one day, ‘when he came to this country in a boat drawn by a swan, from where did our father come?’

  “‘Why do you want to know? ‘replied his mother sighing.

  “‘Because the Count of Megen’s son asked me.’

  “‘He came from a distant and unknown country,’ said the mother. ‘That is all I know.’

  “This answer was enough for the child, who passed it on to his young friends, and continued to play with the heedlessness of his age on the river’s banks.

  “Yet another year passed, but during it the Knight on more than one occasion found Beatrix musing and anxious. But he did not appear to notice, and redoubled his attentions and endearments. One day young Rudolph said, “‘Mother, when father saved you from the wicked Gerard, who had told him that you wanted help?’

  “‘Why do you ask? ‘answered his mother, weeping.

  “‘Because the Margrave of Gorkum asked me.’

  “‘God,’ answered his mother, — ’ God who sees those who suffer and sends them angels to help them.’

  “The child asked no further question. He had been taught to look upon God as a father, and it did not surprise him that a father should do for a child what God had done for his mother.

  “But it was otherwise with the Princess Beatrix. She had remembered a son’s first treasure is his father’s name; but her three sons were without a name. Often the question they had each asked of her would be repeated by men, and they could not answer men as they had answered children. Thus she became prone to deep and constant sadness; because come what might, she was resolved to wrest from her husband the secret she had promised never to ask him.

  “The Knight observed her growing unhappiness and guessed the reason. More than once, at sight of Beatrix’s melancholy, he was on the verge of telling her everything; but each time he was restrained by the fearful thought that this confidence would be followed by a severance for ever.

  “At last Beatrix could resist no more; she came to the Knight, and falling on her knees, she besought him in her children’s name to tell her who he was, from whence he came, and who had sent him.

  “The Knight turned pale, as if he would die; then putting his lips to Beatrix’s brow, he kissed her, and whispered with a sad sigh:

  “‘Alas! the doom is come; this evening I will tell you all!’

  CHAPTER IX

  IT was nearly six o’clock in the evening when the Knight and his wife seated themselves on the balcony. Beatrice was constrained and embarrassed; the Knight sad.

  “Both were silent for a while, and instinctively they looked towards the spot where the Knight had appeared the day he fought with Gerard. The same speck could be seen at the same place. Beatrix trembled, the Knight sighed. This same feeling that touched both their hearts at the same time, brought them once more together; their eyes met. The Knight’s were moist and expressed such deep grief that Beatrix could not bear it and fell on her knees.

  “‘No! dearest, no,’ she said to him. ‘Not a word of that secret which must cost us so heavily. Forget what I asked you, and though you leave no name to my sons, they will be brave like their father and make one for themselves.’

  “‘Listen, Beatrix,’ answered the Knight, ‘everything is foreseen by the Lord, and since He has permitted you to make the request you have, it is because my day is come. I have passed nine years beside you, — nine years of a happiness not intended for this world; ‘tis more than any man has ever received. Thank God, as I do, and listen to what I have to tell you.’

  “‘Not a word! Not a word! ‘cried Beatrix; ‘not a word, I implore you.’

  “The Knight held out his hand towards the speck which for some little time had been growing more and more distinct, and Beatrix recognised the boat drawn by the swan.

  “‘You see the time is come,’ he said; ‘so listen to what you have long had the secret wish to know, ‘and what I am bound to tell you, directly you ask me.’

  “Beatrix sobbing, let her head fall on the knight’s knees. He gazed at her with an ineffable look of sadness and love, and letting his hands fall on her shoulders, ‘I am,’ he said to her, ‘the comrade in arms of your father Robert of Cleves, and the friend of your uncle, Godfrey de Bouillon; I am Count Rudolph of Alost, who was killed at the siege of Jerusalem.’

  “Beatrix screamed and lifted up her pale face, and fastened on the knight her wild and haggard eyes. She tried to speak; but her voice could only frame inarticulate sounds, such break from one in a dream.

  “‘Yes, I know,’ continued the knight, ‘what I tell you is unheard of. But remember, Beatrix, that I died in the land of miracles. The Lord did for me what He did for the daughter of Jailrus, and the brother of the Magdalen. That is all!’

  “‘Ah! My God! My God!’ cried Beatrix, rising from her knees, ‘what you tell me is impossible!”

  “‘I thought you had more faith, Beatrix,’ answered the knight.

  “‘You are Rudolph of Alost? ‘murmured the Princess.

  “Himself and no other. You know how Godfrey left me, in conjunction with his two brothers, the command of the army, while he went home for your father. When he rejoined us, so impressed was he with your beauty that during the whole way he spoke only of you. If Godfrey loved you as a daughter, I can only say he loved me as a son; and so from the moment he had seen you again, one single thought possessed him — that of our marriage. I was then twenty, my soul as virgin as a girl’s. The picture he drew of you fired my heart, and soon I loved you as passionately as if I had known you from childhood.

  “So completely in agreement were we about everything, that he now always called me his nephew.

  “Your father was killed; I mourned for him as if he had veritably been my father. Dying he gave me his blessing, and again gave his consent. From that time I thought of you as my own; the remembrance of you, unknown but always present, was fresh amidst all my thoughts; your name was intermingled with all my prayers.

  “We reached Jerusalem; we were repulsed in three assaults; the last continued sixteen hours. We had to give up our hopes of the Holy City or take it then and there. Godfrey ordered a last attack. Together we led forward a column; we marched at its head; we set up two scaling ladders and mounted them side by side. At last we were on the top of the ramparts; I was lifting up my arm to clutch a battlement when I saw the flash of a lance: a sharp pain followed the flash, and a shudder ran through my body. I cried out your name, then I fell backwards, and felt and saw nothing more. I was a dead man!

  “I do not know how long I slept the dreamless sleep they call death. But one day I thought I felt a hand laid on my shoulder. I had a vague idea that the day of Jehoshaphat had come. A finger touched my eyelids, I opened my eyes, I was lying in a tomb, the lid of which stood open of itself, while standing before me was a man whom I recognised as Godfrey, though he had a purple mantle on his shoulders, a crown on his head, and a halo round his brow. He leant towards me, breathed on my mouth, and I felt new life and consciousness enter my breast. Still it seemed to me that I was held to the sepulchre by fetters of iron. I tried to speak; but my lips moved without producing any sound.

  “‘Wake, Rudolph, the Lord grants the boon,’ cried Godfrey, ‘and listen to what I have to say to you.’

  “Then I made a superhuman effort in which all the gathering strength of my new life was united, and I uttered your name.

  “‘It is of her I come to speak to you,’ said Godfrey.

  “‘But,’ interrupted Beatrix, ‘Godfrey was dead too.’

  “‘Yes,’ answered Rudolph; ‘and this is what had happened:

  “‘Godfrey had died poisoned, and had asked before his death that his body might rest near mine; his wishes had been obeyed, he had been buried in his royal robes; but God added an aureole to his diadem and purple mantle. Godfrey related to me all that had happened since my own death, — facts therefore which I could not know.’

  “‘And what of Beatrix? ‘I asked.

  “‘We have now come to what concerns her,’ he answered me, ‘I slept like you in my grave, awaiting the Judgment hour, when gradually it seemed to me as if I were waking from a deep sleep and returning to life and consciousness. Hearing was the first sense which woke in me; I thought I heard the noise of a little bell and as life returned to me the sound became more and more distinct. Soon I recognised it as that of the little bell I had given Beatrix. Beatrix was in danger, and the Lord had granted that the sound of the sacred bell should penetrate my tomb and wake me even in the arms of death.

  “‘I opened my eyes and found myself in utter darkness. Then a dreadful fear took hold upon me. Unconscious as I was of the time that had passed, I believed I had been buried alive. But just at that moment the vault became fragrant with an odour of incense; I heard celestial songs, two angels raised the stone of my tomb, and, I saw on a throne of clouds, Christ seated beside His Holy Mother. I wanted to prostrate myself, but I could not stir.

  “‘But I felt the bonds that fastened my tongue loosen and I cried:

  “‘Lord, Lord! Thy holy Name be blessed!’

  “‘Christ then spoke in answer, and His words were sweet as a song to my ears.

  “‘Godfrey, my brave and faithful servant, hearest thou nothing? ‘He said to me.

  “‘Alas! Lord Jesus,’ I answered, ‘I hear the sound of the holy bell which tells me that she whose father died for Thee, whose betrothed died for Thee, and whose uncle died for Thee, is now in peril and has no one but Thou to help her.’

  “‘And what shall I do for thee? ‘said Christ. ‘I am God who requites; ask, and what thou askest shall be granted thee.’

  “‘O Lord Jesus! ‘I replied, ‘I have nothing to ask for myself; for Thou hast given me more than my fellow-men. Thou hast chosen me to lead the crusade and to deliver the Holy City; Thou hast given me a golden crown in the city where Thou didst wear a crown of thorns, and Thou hast granted me that I should die in Thy grace. I have nothing therefore to ask of Thee for myself, O Lord Jesus! now above all that I have seen with my mortal eyes Thy Godhead. But if I may dare to pray for another...’

  “‘Have I not told thee that whatsoever thou askest shall be granted thee? In thy life thou didst believe in My word; wilt thou doubt it after thou art dead?’

  “‘Lord Jesus! ‘I answered Him, ‘Thou who readest the hearts of men, Thou knowest the sorrow wherewith I died. Four long years I cherished a tender hope: to unite him whom I loved as a brother with her whom I loved as a daughter; but death has divided them.

  “‘Rudolph of Alost died for Thy holy cause. Lord Jesus, restore to him the days that he was to live, and grant that he may go to the help of his betrothed, whom sore peril presses at this moment, if I may believe the sound of the bell which never ceases ringing — a proof she never ceases praying.’

  “‘Let it be done as thou dost desire,’ said Christ; ‘let Rudolph of Alost rise and go and succour his betrothed. I grant him that he may quit his tomb till the day when his wife shall ask him who he is, whence he comes, and who sent him. These three questions shall be the token whereby he shall know I call him back to Myself.’

  “‘Lord! Lord! ‘I cried a second time, ‘Thy holy Name be blessed.’

  “‘Scarcely had I said the words when He passed like a cloud between me and the sky and all vanished.

  “‘Then I rose from my tomb and came to yours. I leant my hand upon your shoulder to rouse you from death. I touched your eyelids with my finger to open your eyes; I breathed my breath on your lips to restore you life and speech. And now, Rudolph of Alost, arise! for it is Christ’s will that you should go to the help of Beatrix, and that you stay by her till the day when she shall ask you who you are, whence you come, and who sent you.’

  “Godfrey had scarce ceased speaking when I felt the bonds that bound me to the sepulchre burst asunder. I stood erect in my tomb as full of life as before I had received my death-blow, and as they had buried me in my cuirasse, I found myself fully armed, excepting for my sword which I dropped as I fell, and which they had probably not recovered.

  “Then Godfrey girt me with his own sword which was of gold, hung on my shoulder the horn which he was wont to use in the press of battle, and put the ring which had been given him by the Emperor Alexis on my finger. Then he embraced me and said: ‘Brother, I feel that God is calling me back to Himself. Set my tombstone over me again, and this done heedfully, go without loss of time to the help of Beatrix.’

  “With these words he lay down again in his sepulchre, closed his eyes and. murmured a second time: ‘Lord, Lord! Thy holy Name be blessed.’

  “I leant over him to embrace him yet once more; but he was without breath and already asleep in the Lord.: “I let the stone which a divine finger had raised fall back on him; I went to kneel at the altar, I prayed, and without losing a moment, I resolved to come to your help. Under the porch of the church I found a horse ready caparisoned, a lance stood against the wall; I never doubted that both were for me. I took the lance, I mounted the horse, and thinking that the Lord had entrusted it to his instinct to lead me aright, I threw his bridle on his neck and left him to take the path he chose.”

  “I crossed Syria, Cappadocia, Turkey, Thrace, Dalmatia, Italy and Germany; at last after a year and a day’s journey, I reached the shores of the Rhine. There I found a boat with a swan harnessed to it by golden chains. I embarked on the boat and it carried me before your Castle. You know the rest, Beatrix.

  “‘Alas! ‘cried Beatrix, ‘alas! yonder are the swan and the boat; they are coming ashore in the same spot as they did of old; but now, unhappy woman that I am, they come to take you back again. Rudolph, Rudolph, forgive me!’

  “‘I have nothing to forgive you, Beatrix,’ said Rudolph, embracing her. ‘The time is come, God calls me back, and that is all. Let us thank him for the nine years of happiness which He has given us, and ask him that He will give us like years of bliss in Paradise.’

  “Then he called his three sons, who were playing in the meadow; and they ran to him at once. Robert, who was the eldest, he kissed first and gave him his shield and sword, naming him his successor. Next he kissed Godfrey, who was the second, and gave him his horn and bequeathed him the county of Lôwen; then he kissed Rudolph, who was the third, and gave him the ring and the county of Metz. Having clasped Beatrix a last time in his arms, he bade her stay where she was, charged his three sons to comfort their mother, whom they saw weeping without knowing the reason of her tears. Then he went down into the Castle court-yard, where he found his horse standing once more ready saddled, and turning round at every step, he crossed the meadow and embarked in the boat, which at once went back by the way it had come and soon was lost to sight in the darkness of approaching night.

  “From that hour till the day of her death, Princess Beatrix went daily to the balcony; but she never again saw boat or swan or Knight appear.”

  “And,” continued Helena, “I came hither to pray Rudolph of Alost to ask God in His mercy to work a miracle for me like that He worked in His goodness for Princess Beatrix.”

  “Amen! and may it be so,” answered Otho with a fond smile.

  CHAPTER X.

  THE Count of Ravenstein kept his word. At sunrise, in the meadow separating the river from the Castle, his banner was seen floating above his tent. At its entrance hung his shield, on the centre of which shone his arms — gules, a lion rampant or on a rock argent; and every hour a trumpeter came out from the tent, and, turning to the four points of the horizon in succession, gave forth a blast of challenge. The day passed without anyone responding to this invitation; for, — as we have shown, — the friends, allies and kinsmen of Prince Adolph had not been told the news till too late, and were occupied either on their own account or in the service of the Emperor. And so no one came. The old warrior was anxiously pacing to and fro on the ramparts, Helena was praying in the Chapel of the Princess Beatrix, and Otho was offering to wager that he would put three consecutive arrows into the Count’s lion rampant. Hermann had vanished without any known reason, and at the morning’s roll-call he had not answered his name, nor had any one done so for him.

  Night came without making any change in the respective positions of besiegers and besieged. Helena did not dare look at her father. Now for the first time she realised all the consequences of her refusal, — a refusal so sudden and unexpected that she feared every moment the old Prince might ask her the reason of it. Day dawned, as gloomy and threatening as the evening before had been; and with daybreak the Count’s trumpet blared out again. The Prince mounted his ramparts every hour, turning — like the trumpeter — to the four points of the compass, and swearing that in the days of his youth such a thing would not have happened without ten champions coming forward at once to defend a sacred cause like his. Helena never left the chapel; Otho still showed himself calm and unperturbed amid the general anxiety; Hermann had not re-appeared.

  The night wore on, full of unrest and perplexity; the day now rising was to be the last. On the morrow assault and escalade would begin, and the lives of hundreds of men would go to pay for a girl’s caprice, and so, when the first rays of daylight showed in the east, Helena who had spent the night in weeping and prayer, had resolved to sacrifice herself that she might end this quarrel. She was crossing the courtyard to find her father, who was, she heard, in the armoury, when she learnt that at the morning’s roll-call Otho in his turn had been missing, and was believed — like Hermann — to have left the Castle. These tidings gave the last blow to Helena’s resistance. Otho deserting her father, Otho running away, when the help of every man — especially of a man so skilled as he — was needed for the defence of the Castle, that was a possibility which had never so much as entered her mind, and it was bound to settle her resolve quickly and definitely.

 

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