"She is free; but from me, she shall not hear a syllable on the matter. What I think of him, she well knows."
"Then she never becomes Drost Abildgaard's wife. God strengthen her!"
"Drost Peter takes his time," interrupted Sir John, hastily.
"His childhood's bride no longer hates him," replied Fru Ingefried; "he does not delay thus merely on account of the wind."
Sir John cast a look at the vane on the turret. "You are right," he observed: "we must away. If our good Drost Peter means to jest with us, he shall have the worst of it."
"Drost Peter!" shouted Sir John, "the wind is fair, and we are ready to set sail. If you will with us, come quickly." Whereupon, the old gentleman hastily returned to the garden-hall, and the whole company followed him.
When Sir John entered the great hall, he found the learned chancellor alone, deeply engrossed in a small, neat manuscript.
"Up to the ears in study again?" said Sir John. "Is that your Logica?"
"Nay, nay, noble sir," exclaimed the learned chancellor, as his eyes sparkled with almost youthful liveliness. "See, here I have found some of the glorious old Danish ballads I heard in my childhood, besides many excellent national ones I never knew of. Your cousin, the commandant, must be a brave, patriotic-souled man, and well versed in our old legends and histories. There are some capital notes in the margin of the songs; and here, of a truth, pour living fountains from the people themselves.
"That is brave!" exclaimed Sir John, with singular interest: "that is more than I could have imagined of my good sir cousin, and I like him all the better. The ballads themselves may be pretty enough. I do not understand much of these wares; but, when they are sung, I listen to them willingly. One half of these ballads are fictions and fables, I doubt not; but their intention is good, and they must have been a brave Danish people who made them."
Jomfru Ingé, with the other ladies and Drost Peter, now entered.
"Ingelil, child," called Sir John to her, "when did thy father become so learned, and take such pleasure in old songs and ballads? Formerly, he could never endure them."
"It is not my father's--it is my own little song-book," replied Lady Ingé. "My blessed mother wrote many of them."