After an unusually severe winter, during which the Baltic had been frozen over, spring once more, with rapid steps, extended her lovely and flowery reign over the favoured plains of Denmark. In the middle of May, the beech-woods were in leaf; and, notwithstanding the miserable condition of the people, and the private discords that divided so many hearts, to those who were unacquainted with its disjointed internal condition, the country seemed a peaceful and happy paradise. On one of the finest days of spring, a company of travellers on horseback, consisting of two distinguished knights and two ladies, together with an ecclesiastic of eminence, and accompanied by a young squire, two grooms, and two waiting-maids, rode in through the gate of Flynderborg Castle, near Orekrog. On the castle-stairs stood the commandant, Sir Lavé Little, uncovered, to receive his honoured guests with due respect. The tall Lady Ingé stood by her father's side. Whilst the knights assisted their ladies to dismount, and conducted them up the stairs, the corpulent ecclesiastic remained quietly seated on his palfrey, reading a Latin inscription over the doorway: he was the chancellor of the kingdom, the learned Master Martinus de Dacia. The short, gray-haired, but still hale and nimble knight, who first ascended the castle-stairs, with a tall, middle-aged lady upon his arm, was Counsellor Sir John Little, with his wife, Fru Ingefried. His daughter Cecilia was accompanied by a young, knightly gentleman, in whose tall form Jomfru[23] Ingé, with blushing cheeks, immediately recognised Drost Peter Hessel. Not without a certain degree of embarrassment and secret uneasiness did Sir Lavé receive his guests. Despite his extreme politeness, he appeared to scan, with much anxiety, his old kinsman's looks. Having saluted Drost Peter with repulsive coldness, Sir Lavé seemed to regard the learned chancellor, who had at length reached the top of the stairs with a shy, suspicious glance; but when the learned gentleman at once commenced his inquiries respecting the age of the castle and its antiquities, Sir Lavé appeared somewhat more at ease, and referred him to his daughter, who, as he said, knew better about such odd kind of things than any one else in the castle. "You must live here like a little king, my good Lavé," observed Sir John, looking round the large arched hall, which occupied the whole breadth of the wing, and from which two large doors opened into the castle-garden, commanding a most beautiful view over the Sound. "Yes, indeed, sir counsellor: the castle is royal enough, and your presence gives it its proper lustre," replied Sir Lavé, in a submissive tone, which showed at once the dependent relation in which he stood to his renowned kinsman, whose preponderance, both in rank and intellect, he only too oppressively felt.