The car rolled past a troop of richly attired burghers on their way to church, who greeted the ladies with courtesy. Ulrica recovered herself, and nodded to them with a consequential air. They whispered together, and she conjectured that their talk was, doubtless, of her beauty and supposed high birth. CHAP. XII. It was past midnight when Drost Aage, with his troop of horsemen, drew near the Issefiord near Holbek. The weather was calm and frosty, the snow sparkled in the starlight winter night, the marshes and all the pools by the road side were frozen, but the ford was still open and passable. Holbek rather resembled a ruin than a town; instead of houses, there were now chiefly to be seen single walls and solitary hearths. Five years before the town had been plundered and nearly burnt down by the Norwegian fleet, in the feud with Marsk Stig and the outlaws. Some small houses, however, had been rebuilt. The church and the monastery of the Gray Friars stood unscathed, as well as the castle, which had been lately put in good repair by Junker Christopher, and which, it appeared, he now intended, despite the king's prohibition, to make as strong a fortress as Kallundborg. By Aage's side rode an elderly captain of horse, Sir Ribolt's brother, a silent, serious personage, whom the Drost informed by the way of what was here to be attempted. When they approached the town they halted, and had their horses rubbed down, while each horseman received his separate directions. They then rode slowly, and as quietly as possible, through the snow-covered streets of the town, and past the monastery, where all lay in profound slumber. At the castle also the inmates seemed to be reposing in the greatest calmness and security; even the warders on the battlements were asleep. They examined the castle narrowly on every side. There was not a light to be seen in the whole of the upper story; it was only from the knights' hall, opposite the ford, that a faint light gleamed from a window; and at the quay behind the castle lay a boat with a red sail, from which glimmered the light of a horn lantern. On the quay a fat knight, wrapped in a fox-skin pelisse, paced up and down, apparently waiting for some one; he often yawned, and rubbed his hands, while he looked up impatiently at the window from whence gleamed the solitary light. A rough-looking, one-eyed fellow, with a hideous and bloated visage, lay half asleep on the rampart. "If thou fallest asleep, and drop'st into the ford, Kyste! thou wilt cheat the rope-maker of an hempen cord," said the fat knight, and laughed at his own wit. "Ha, indeed! think ye the halter is so sure of me. Sir Palle?" muttered the fellow; "_you_ may well crack your jests, you are neither made to be drowned nor hanged; with your round carcass, you would swim like an ale barrel, and he who would hang you must risk his own neck."