University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
THE SECRET REVEALED.

IT was night. Stillness reigned in
the grand old feudal castle of Klugenstein.
The year 1222 was drawing
to a close. Far away up in the
tallest of the castle's towers a single
light glimmered. A secret council was
being held there. The stern old lord
of Klugenstein sat in a chair of state
meditating. Presently he said, with a
tender accent—“My daughter!”

A young man of noble presence, clad from head to heel in knightly mail,
answered—“Speak, father!”

“My daughter, the time is come for the revealing of the mystery that hath
puzzled all your young life. Know, then, that it had its birth in the matters which
I shall now unfold. My brother Ulrich is the great Duke of Brandenburgh. Our
father, on his deathbed, decreed that if no son were born to Ulrich the succession
should pass to my house, provided a son were born to me. And further, in case no
son were born to either, but only daughters, then the succession should pass to
Ulrich's daughter if she proved stainless; if she did not, my daughter should
succeed if she retained a blameless name. And so I and my old wife here prayed
fervently for the good boon of a son, but the prayer was vain. You were born to
us. I was in despair. I saw the mighty prize slipping from my grasp—the splendid
dream vanishing away! And I had been so hopeful! Five years had Ulrich lived
in wedlock, and yet his wife had borne no heir of either sex.

“`But hold,' I said, `all is not lost.' A saving scheme had shot athwart my
brain. You were born at midnight. Only the leech, the nurse, and six waiting-women
knew your sex. I hanged them every one before an hour sped. Next
morning all the barony went mad with rejoicing over the proclamation that a son
was born to Klugenstein—an heir to mighty Brandenburgh! And well the secret
has been kept. Your mother's own sister nursed your infancy, and from that time
forward we feared nothing.

“When you were ten years old a daughter was born to Ulrich. We grieved, but
hoped for good results from measles, or physicians, or other natural enemies of
infancy, but were always disappointed. She lived, she throve—Heaven's malison
upon her! But it is nothing. We are safe. For, ha! ha! have we not a son?
And is not our son the future Duke? Our well-beloved Conrad, is it not so?—for
woman of eight-and-twenty years as you are, my child, none other name than that
hath ever fallen to you!

“Now it hath come to pass that age hath laid its hand upon my brother, and he
waxes feeble. The cares of state do tax him sore, therefore he wills that you shall
come to him and be already Duke in act, though not yet in name. Your servitors
are ready—you journey forth to-night.

“Now listen well. Remember every word I say. There is a law as old as Germany,
that if any woman sit for a single instant in the great ducal chair before she

hath been absolutely crowned in presence of the people—SHE SHALL DIE! So heed
my words. Pretend humility. Pronounce your judgments from the Premier's
chair, which stands at the foot of the throne. Do this until you are crowned and
safe. It is not likely that your sex will ever be discovered, but still it is the part
of wisdom to make all things as safe as may be in this treacherous earthly life.”

“O my father! is it for this my life hath been a lie? Was it that I might cheat
my unoffending cousin of her rights? Spare me, father, spare your child!”

“What, hussy! Is this my reward for the august fortune my brain has wrought
for thee? By the bones of my father, this puling sentiment of thine but ill accords
with my humor. Betake thee to the Duke instantly, and beware how thou meddlest
with my purpose!”

Let this suffice of the conversation. It is enough for us to know that the prayers,
the entreaties, and the tears of the gentle-natured girl availed nothing. Neither
they nor anything could move the stout old lord of Klugenstein. And so, at last,
with a heavy heart, the daughter saw the castle gates close behind her, and found
herself riding away in the darkness surrounded by a knightly array of armed vassals
and a brave following of servants.

The old baron sat silent for many minutes after his daughter's departure, and
then he turned to his sad wife, and said—

“Dame, our matters seem speeding fairly. It is full three months since I sent
the shrewd and handsome Count Detzin on his devilish mission to my brother's
daughter Constance. If he fail we are not wholly safe, but if he do succeed no
power can bar our girl from being Duchess, e'en though ill fortune should decree
she never should be Duke!”

“My heart is full of bodings; yet all may still be well.”

“Tush, woman! Leave the owls to croak. To bed with ye, and dream of
Brandenburgh and grandeur!”