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THE 
 
 CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
THE 
 
 CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN; 
 
 ITS LORDS 
 S»ptritual anb 'STemporal; 
 
 ITS i:nha:bitants 
 
 lEartfjlt} anb ^^neartftlp. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. r. E, JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 ACTHOR OF 
 
 " HEIDELBERG ;" " THE STEP-MOTHER ;" " THE SMUGGLER ;" 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 liV THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 60, CORNHILL. 
 
 1847. 
 
 ^ 
 
Lowdok: • 
 
 Printed by Stewart & Murrat, 
 Old Bailey. 
 

 EHRENSTEIN/ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was an awfully dark and tempestuous 
 
 night; the wind howled in fury through the 
 
 trees, and round the towers ; the large drops 
 
 of rain dashed against the casements, the 
 
 small lozenges of glass rattled and clattered 
 
 in their leaden frames, and the thick boards 
 
 of the oaken floor heaved and shivered under 
 
 7 the force of the tempest. From time to time 
 
 .la keen blue streak of lightning crossed the 
 
 ^"^ descending deluge, and for an instant the great 
 
 black masses of the forest, and the high and 
 
 7 broken rocks around, appeared like spectres 
 
 "^ VOL. I. B 
 
2 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 of a gone-by world, and sank into Egyptian 
 darkness again, almost as soon as seen ; and 
 then the roar of the thunder was added to the 
 scream of the blast, seeming to shake the 
 whole building to its foundation. 
 
 In the midst of this storm, and towards one 
 o'clock in the morning, a young man, of about 
 one-and-twenty years of age, took his way 
 silently, and with a stealthy step, through the 
 large old halls and long passages of the castle 
 of Ehrenstein. His dress was that of one 
 moving in the higher ranks of society, but 
 poor for his class ; and though the times were 
 unusually peaceful, he wore a heavy sword by 
 his side, and a poniard hanging by a ring from 
 his girdle. Gracefully yet powerfully formed, 
 his frame afforded the promise of great future 
 strength, and his face, frank and handsome 
 without being strictly beautiful, owed perhaps 
 more to the expression than to the features. 
 He carried a small brazen lamp in his hand, 
 and seemed bound upon some grave and 
 important errand, for his countenance was 
 serious and thoughtful, his eyes generally bent 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 3 
 
 down, and his step quick, although, as we 
 have said, light and cautious. 
 
 The room that he quitted was high up in 
 the building, and, descending by a narrow and 
 steep staircase, formed of large square blocks 
 of oak, with nothing but a rope to steady the 
 steps, he entered a long wide corridor below, 
 flanked on one side by tall windows like those of 
 a church, and on the other by numerous small 
 doors. The darkness was so profound that, at 
 first, the rays of the lamp only served to dissi- 
 pate the obscurity immediately around it, while 
 the rest of the corridor beyond looked like the 
 mouth of a yawning interminable vault, filled 
 with gloom and shadows. The next moment, 
 however, as he advanced, a blazing sheet of 
 electric flame glanced over the windows, dis- 
 playing their long line upon the right, and 
 the whole interior of the corridor. Here and 
 there an old suit of armour caught the light, 
 and the grotesque figures on two large antique 
 stone benches seemed to grin and gibber in 
 the flame. Still the young man walked on, 
 pausing only for one moment at a door on 
 
 B 2 
 
4 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the left, and looking up at it with a smile 
 somewhat melancholy. 
 
 At the end of the corridor, on the left, he 
 came to a larger staircase than that which 
 he had before descended, and going cautiously 
 down, and through some other passages, he 
 found himself in a small vestibule, with two 
 doors on either hand. They were of various 
 dimensions, but all studded with large nails, 
 and secured by thick bands of iron; and 
 turning to the largest of the four, he quietly 
 lifted the latch, and pushed it open. The 
 wind, as he did so, had nearly blown out 
 the lamp, and in suddenly shading it with his 
 hand, he let slip the ponderous mass of wood- 
 work, which was blown back against its lintels 
 with a dull clang, which echoed far away 
 through the vaulted passages of the castle. 
 
 The young man paused and listened, ap- 
 parently fearful that his proceedings might 
 be noticed ; but then, as all was silent till a 
 loud peal of thunder again shook the ear of 
 night, he opened the door once more, care- 
 fully shading the lamp with his cloak. Then, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 5 
 
 closing the door gently behind him, he turned 
 a large key that was in the lock, seemingly 
 to ensure that he should not be followed. He 
 was now in a vast old hall, which seemed to 
 have been long unused, for there were mani- 
 fold green stains upon the stone pavement, no 
 customary rushes strewed the floor, no benches 
 stood at the sides, and the table, at which 
 many a merry meal had passed, was no longer 
 to be seen, A number of torn and dusty 
 banners and pennons, on the lances which 
 had borne them to the field, waved overhead, 
 as the wind, which found its way through 
 many a broken lozenge in the casements, 
 played amongst these shreds of departed 
 glories. A whispering sound came from 
 them likewise, and to an imaginative mind 
 like that of the youth who walked on 
 beneath them, some of the rustling banners 
 seemed to ask, "Whither, whither?" and 
 others to answer, " To dust, to dust." 
 
 In the middle of the hall he paused and 
 thought. A degree of hesitation appeared 
 to come over him; and then, murmuring 
 
6" EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " It must be all nonsense ; but, true or 
 not, I have promised, and I will go," be 
 walked forward to another door at the far end 
 of the hall, much smaller than that by which 
 he had entered. Apparently, it had not 
 been opened for a long time, as a pile of 
 dust lay thick against it. There was no 
 key in the lock, and it seemed fastened 
 from the other side. After pushing it, 
 however, to see if it would give way, the 
 young man drew forth a key, saying to 
 himself, " Perhaps this opens all," and ap- 
 plying it, after some examination of the 
 key-hole, he turned it, and threw back the 
 door. Then holding up the lamp ere 
 he entered, he gazed into the space before 
 him. It was a low narrow passage in 
 the stone-work, with no windows, or even 
 loopholes, perceptible; but yet the damp 
 found its way in, for the walls were glis- 
 tening all over with unwholesome slime. 
 The pavement, too, if pavement indeed there 
 was at all, was covered thickly with a coat- 
 ing of black mould, from which, every here 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 and there, sprang up a crop of pale sickly- 
 fungi covered with noxious dew, spreading a 
 sort of faint, unpleasant, odour around. 
 
 So foul, and damp, and gloomy looked the 
 place, that it evidently required an effort of 
 resolution on the young man's part to enter ; 
 but after pausing for a moment he did so, 
 and closed and locked the door behind him ; 
 then turning round, he looked on, still holding 
 up the lamp, as if he expected to see some 
 fearful object in the way : all was vacant, 
 however, and as the faint rays of light dis- 
 persed tlie darkness, he could perceive another 
 door at the end of the passage, some twenty 
 yards in advance. It, when he reached it, 
 was found unfastened, and on drawing it back 
 — for it opened inwards — the top of a flight 
 of stone steps was before him, descending, 
 apparently, into a well. 
 
 It was no faint heart that beat within his 
 bosom, but those were days in which existed 
 a belief almost universal in things which our 
 more material times reject as visionary ; or 
 which, at least, are only credited by a few, who 
 
8 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 can see no reason why, in the scheme of crea- 
 tion, there should not be means of communica- 
 tion between the spiritual and the corporeal, 
 or why the bond of mortal life once dissolved, 
 the immortal tenant of the fleshly body should 
 not still feel some interest in the things 
 of earth, amongst which it moved so long, 
 and have the power and the permission to 
 make its presence felt for warning and for 
 guidance. It is very different to feel an awe 
 and a dread in any undertaking, and to shrink 
 from executing it. The young man did feel 
 awe, for he was going in solitude and the 
 midst of night into places where mortal foot 
 rarely trod, where every association and every 
 object was connected with dark and dreary 
 memories, and with still more gloomy anti- 
 cipations — the memorials of the dead, the 
 mouldering ruins of fellow-men, the records 
 of the tomb, the picture of all that warm 
 existence comes to in the end. He stopped 
 for a moment there, and gazed down into the 
 dark void below, but the next instant, with 
 a slow and careful foot upon the wet and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 9 
 
 slippery steps, he began the descent. The 
 air, which was sultry above, felt cold and 
 chilling as he descended, and the lamp burned 
 dim, with a diminished flame, from the impure 
 vapours that seemed congregated in the place. 
 Each step, too, produced a hollow echo, 
 ringing round, and decreasing gradually in 
 sound, both above and below, till it seemed 
 as if voices were whispering behind him 
 and before him. Twice he paused to listen, 
 scarcely able to persuade himself that he did 
 not hear tongues speaking, but as he stopped 
 the sound ceased, and again he proceeded on 
 his way. The square cut stones forming the 
 shaft in which the staircase turned, with the 
 jointing only more clearly discernible from 
 the mortar having dropped out, soon gave way 
 to the more solid masonry of nature, and 
 the rude rock, roughly hewn, was all that 
 was left around him, with the stairs still 
 descending in the midst. A hundred and 
 seventeen steps, some of them perilous from 
 decay, brought him, at length, to the termi- 
 nation, with a door ajar at the foot. All was 
 
iO EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 darkness beyond, and though there seemed 
 a freer air as he pulled the door back, and the 
 lamp burned up somewhat more clearly, yet 
 the vast gloomy expanse before hhn lost 
 scarcely a particle of its gloom, as he ad- 
 vaneed with a beating heart, bearing the 
 light in his hand. He was unconscious of 
 touching the door as he passed, but the 
 moment he had entered it swung slowly to, 
 and a solemn clang echoed through the vault. 
 
 Laying his left hand on his dagger, he 
 turned suddenly, and looked behind him, but 
 there was no one there, and he saw nothing 
 but the heavy stone walls and low groined 
 arches, which seemed spreading out intermin- 
 ably on either side. The next moment a 
 bat fluttered across, and swept his face with 
 its cold dewy wing, nearly extinguishing the 
 lamp as it passed ; and then, as he took a few 
 steps forward, a low voice asked, " Who 
 is he?" 
 
 "Who? who? "several other voices seemed 
 to say ; and then another cried, " Hush ! " 
 
 The young man caught the lamp in his left 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 11 
 
 hand, and half drew his sword with his right, 
 demanding aloud, "Who spoke?" There 
 was no reply but the echo of his own voice 
 amidst the arches; and holding the lamp 
 before him, he turned to the side from which 
 the first question seemed to proceed, and 
 thought he saw a figure standing in the dim 
 obscurity, at a few paces distance. "Who 
 are you?" he cried, stepping forward, but 
 there the figure stood, grew more defined as 
 the rays fell upon it, and the eyeless grinning 
 head, and long mouldy bones of a skeleton 
 appeared, bound with a rusty chain to a thick 
 column. Instinctively he started back, when 
 he first discovered what the object was, and 
 as he did so, a low, wild, echoing laugh rang 
 round through the arches on every side, as 
 if mocking the horror which his countenance 
 expressed. Nothing showed itself, however, 
 and, ashamed of his own sensations, he drew 
 his sword out of the sheath, and walked 
 quickly on. His path soon became encum- 
 bered, and first he stumbled over a slimy 
 skull, then trod upon some bones that 
 
12 EHRENSTEIN. ^ 
 
 cranched under his feet, while strange whis- 
 perings seemed to spread around him, till, 
 with no light joy, he saw the farther wall of 
 the vault, with an open arch leading out into 
 some place beyond. When he had passed 
 it, however, the scene was no less sad and 
 gloomy, for he seemed now in a vast building 
 like a chapel, where, ranged on either hand, 
 were sepulchral monuments covered with dust, 
 and between them long piles of mouldering 
 coffins, with overhead a banner here and 
 there, gauntlets, and swords, and tattered 
 surcoats, the hues of which could scarcely 
 be distinguished through the deep stains and 
 mildew that covered them. Here frowned 
 the figure of a warrior in black marble, there 
 lay another hewn in plain stone; here stood 
 a pile of coffins, wdth the velvet which once 
 covered them, and the gold with which they 
 were fringed, all mouldering in shreds, and 
 offering a stern comment on the grossest of 
 human vanities, that tries to deck the grave 
 with splendour, and serves up the banquet 
 of the worm in tinsel. When he had half 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 13 
 
 passed along the solemn avenue, he thought 
 he heard a sound behind, and turned to look, 
 but there was nothing near except three small 
 coffins and the marble effigy of a lady kneeling 
 in the attitude of prayer. When he turned 
 round again, a sudden light, blue and pale, 
 like that of the unconfirmed dawn, shone 
 through the long arcades, wavered and 
 flickered round, as if moving from place to 
 place, though whence it proceeded he could 
 not see ; but as he strode on, it served to 
 show him a large snake, that darted from 
 under the crumbling base of one of the 
 monuments, and glided on along the path 
 before him, as if guiding him on his way. 
 
 *' By Heaven ! this is all very strange and 
 horrible," he exclaimed, and instantly there 
 was a wild *' whoop," coming from several 
 parts of the chapel. The pale light that 
 shone around was extinguished, and nought 
 remained but the dim lamp in his own hand. 
 
 He would not be turned back, however, 
 but hurried only the more quickly forward 
 
14 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 till he reached a door at the opposite side. 
 It was bolted within, but not locked ; and 
 pulling back the iron bar from the staple, 
 he rushed out, the strong gust of the night 
 air and the pattering drops of rain instantly 
 extinguishing the lamp. A shrill scream met 
 his ear as the door swung to behind him ; 
 but nevertheless he paused, and put his hand 
 to his brow, with sensations in his bosom 
 which he had never felt before, and which 
 he was ashamed to feel. 
 
 While he thus stood a fierce flash of lightning 
 blazed around, dazzling bis eyes for a mo>- 
 ment, but serving to show him the exact point 
 of the rocky hill which he had now reached, 
 and a path winding on down the woody descent, 
 narrow, rough, and stony, looking more as if 
 it had been traced by some torrent pouring 
 down the side of the slope, than by the foot 
 of man. Along it he turned his steps, guided 
 by the trees and bushes, which rendered it 
 impossible that he should miss his way, till, 
 nearly at the bottom of the hill, a faint light 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 16 
 
 shone before him from the window of what 
 appeared a little chapel. 
 
 " The good priest is watching for me," the 
 young man said to himself; and hurrying on 
 he gained a small projecting point of the rock 
 which stood out clear from amongst the trees. 
 Like many another jagged fragment of crag 
 in that wild country, it towered up above the 
 surrounding objects like a ruined outwork 
 of the castle above, and when he had climbed 
 to the summit, the young wanderer turned 
 to gaze up at the building he had just left. 
 All was dark and gloomy; not a ray broke 
 from window or loophole, except at one spot 
 where a blaze shone forth upon the night 
 high up in the sky, shining red and hazy 
 through the tempestuous air, like some star 
 of evil omen. But the youth heeded not 
 that light ; he knew well that it was the 
 beacon on the highest pinnacle of the donjon, 
 beside which, under shelter of the watch- 
 tower's roof, the weary sentinel was striving 
 to keep himself awake, perhaps in vain. 
 
16 EHRBNSTEIN. 
 
 The rest was all as obscure as the world 
 beyond the tomb, and satisfied that his going 
 had not been marked, he hurried on to 
 the little chapel or hermitage, and lifted 
 the latch. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The interior of the building into which the 
 young man now entered, afforded a strange 
 contrast to the wild and fearful scenes through 
 which he had just passed. It was like life and 
 death side by side — the world and the grave ; 
 and the change struck him as much, or per- 
 haps more, than if the particulars had been 
 reversed. It was a little cell, dependent upon 
 the neighbouring monastery, with a chapel 
 attached to it, dedicated to Our Lady; but 
 the room into which the door immediately led 
 was one of the two dwelling -chambers of the 
 priests, who came up there in weekly turn to 
 officiate at the chapel. It was low-roofed and 
 small ; but, nevertheless, it had an air of com- 
 fort and cheerfulness about it; and the large 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 •well-trimmed lamp showed the whole extent, 
 and left not one corner in obscurity. A little 
 table stood in the midst, with the good priest 
 seated at it: a book open before him, and 
 another closed at his side ; but besides these 
 objects of study or devotion, the table bore 
 several things connected with our corporeal 
 comfort, which showed that at all events the 
 chapel was not a hermitage. There was a 
 well-roasted capon, and two or three rolls or 
 small loaves of white bread — a rarity in that 
 part of the country, and at that time ; and 
 besides these, there appeared two or three 
 neat glasses with twisted stalks, and a capa- 
 cious green bottle, large in the bulb, flattened 
 at the sides, and with a neck towering like a 
 minaret. It was a very promising vessel in- 
 deed, for its peculiar shape, form, and thick- 
 ness, w^ere too expensive to be in general 
 bestowed upon bad wine ; and the monks were 
 supposed in those days, as at present, to be 
 very accurate judges of what was really good. 
 
 Amongst the most cheerful things in the 
 place, however, was the countenance of the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 19 
 
 priest himself. He was a man of somewhat 
 more than sixty years of age, but fresh, firm, 
 and unbroken, with a complexion which, origi- 
 nally fair and smooth, seemed only to have 
 grown fairer and more smooth with years ; and 
 though the untonsurcd part of his hair was 
 as white as driven snow, his blue eye was as 
 clear and bright as in youth. His features 
 were high and somewhat aquiline, his eye- 
 brows long and white ; but that which denoted 
 age more than aught else, was the falling in of 
 the lips by the sad ravages of time upon those 
 incessant plagues of life — the teeth. His 
 countenance was a cheerful and contented 
 one ; not without lines of thought, and perhaps 
 of care ; but to the eye of one accustomed ta 
 read the character upon the face, the expres- 
 sion would have indicated a temperament and 
 disposition naturally easy and good-humoured, 
 without any want of mental energy and ac- 
 tivity. 
 
 "Ah! Ferdinand," he said, as soon as he 
 beheld his visitor, "you have kept me long, 
 my son, but that matters not — it is a terrible 
 
 c 2 
 
20 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 night, and the way somewhat troublesome to 
 find. But, all good angels ! what makes you 
 look so pale, boy ? Yours is not a cheek to 
 turn white at a flash of lightning. Sit down, 
 sit down, my son, and refresh yourself. See, 
 I have provided for your entertainment." 
 
 " The way is a terrible one, good father," 
 replied the young man, seating himself, and 
 resting his arm upon the table, " and it is one 
 I will never tread willingly again, unless it be 
 to return home this night, though that I would 
 not do, if there were any way of avoiding it." 
 
 "Why, how now, how now?" asked the 
 priest. "Never let it be said that you have 
 been frightened by a score of old monuments, 
 and a few dry bones." 
 
 " That 's not all, good Father, that 's not all," 
 answered the young man ; and he proceeded 
 to relate, in a low voice, all that he had heard 
 and seen as he came thither. 
 
 "Phantasms of the imagination!" exclaimed 
 the priest. "Voices in the serfs' burying- 
 place ! lights in the chapel vaults ! No, no, 
 good youth, such things are quite impossible ; 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 21 
 
 these are but tales of the castle hall, told in the 
 ■winter's evening round the fire, which have so 
 filled your imagination that you realize them 
 to yourself in a dark, stormy night, and a 
 gloomy place. I have gone up there a 
 hundred times, by night and day, and never 
 yet saw aught but old crumbling stones and 
 mouldy arches, and fleshless bones here and 
 there ; things fitted, surely, to produce solemn 
 thoughts of the mortality of man*s frame, of 
 the vanity of all his works, and the emptiness 
 of his glory, but not to fill your head with 
 fancies such as these." 
 
 " But, Father, I tell you I heard the voices as 
 distinctly as I hear you speak," the youth re- 
 joined, in a half angry tone ; " that I saw the 
 light as plainly as I see this before me." 
 " A flash of lightning," replied the priest. 
 "No, no," answered his companion, "I 
 never saw a flash of lightning that lasted un- 
 interrupted, calm, and quiet, for five minutes, 
 nor you either, father ; nor did I ever hear the 
 thunder ask, «Who is he?' nor laugh and hoot 
 like a devil. I would not have believed it 
 
22 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 myself, had I not had eyes and ears to witness ; 
 and so I cannot blame you for doubting it. I 
 never was a believer in ghosts or phantoms, 
 or spirits visiting the earth, till now. I thought 
 them but old women's tales, as you do." 
 
 " Nay, nay," exclaimed the priest, eagerly, 
 " I did not say that ;" and he fell into a deep 
 fit of thought before he proceeded farther. At 
 length he continued, in a grave tone, saying, 
 *^You must not suppose, Ferdinand, that I 
 doubt, in any degree, that spirits are at times 
 permitted to visit or revisit this world. We 
 have the warrant of Scripture for it, and many 
 facts of the kind are testified by fathers of the 
 church, and holy men, whom it would be a 
 sin to suspect of falsehood, and a presumption 
 to accuse of foolishness. But I do think that 
 in thousands of instances where such appa- 
 ritions are supposed to have taken place, 
 especially in the present day, there is much 
 more either of folly or deception than of 
 truth. In this case, although I have heard the 
 women, and some of the boors, declare that 
 they have seen strange sights about the castle. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 23 
 
 I have always fancied the report mere non- 
 sense, as I never beheld anything of the kind 
 myself; but there certainly was something 
 odd and unaccountable in the Graff sud- 
 denly shutting up the great hall where his 
 brother used always to feast with his retainers ; 
 and people did say that he had seen a sight 
 there which had made him dread to enter it 
 again ; yet I have passed through the vaults 
 and the hall, many a time since, without ever 
 beholding aught to scare me." 
 
 *^But take some food, my son, aye, and 
 some wine too, — it will refresh and revive 
 
 you." 
 
 The young man did not object, for, to say 
 truth, he much needed refreshment, the agi- 
 tation of the mind being always much more 
 exhausting than mere corporeal fatigue. The 
 good priest joined in his supper with mode- 
 ration, but with evident satisfaction; for, alas 
 that it should be so ! yet, nevertheless, it is a 
 fact, that as we advance in life, losing pleasure 
 after pleasure, discovering the delusions of the 
 imagination, which are mixed up with so many 
 
24 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 of our joys, and the deceitful character of not a 
 few even of our intellectual delights, there is a 
 strong tendency to repose upon the scanty 
 remnant of mere material gratifications that are 
 left to us by the infirmities of the body. He 
 helped himself and his guest to a glass of the 
 good wine, took another without hesitation, 
 and then insisted upon Ferdinand replenishing 
 his glass, and, encouraging him to do so, bore 
 him company. The young man's spirits rose ; 
 the scenes he had just passed through were 
 partially forgotten, and the feelings and im- 
 pressions which he had felt before he set out, 
 and which, indeed, had brought him thither, 
 once more became predominant. Finishing his 
 meal, he wiped his dagger, and thrust it back 
 into the sheath; and then turning to the 
 monk, he said, " Well, good Father George, I 
 have come at your bidding, and would come 
 further to please you, though I know not well 
 what you want, even if I suspect a little. 
 There was nothing very wrong, though I saw 
 you gave me a frown." 
 
 " I never thought there was anything wrong. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 2S 
 
 my son," replied the priest, gravely. " I saw 
 the lady's hand in yours, it is true. I saw her 
 eyes turned up to yours, with a very beaming 
 look. I saw yours bent down on her, as if 
 your knee would have soon bent also, but I 
 never thought there was anything wrong — of 
 course not." 
 
 His tone was perfectly serious ; but whether 
 it was conscience, or a knowledge that Father 
 George did not altogether dislike a jest, even 
 upon grave matters, Ferdinand could not help 
 suspecting that his companion spoke ironically. 
 He did not feel quite sure of it, however, and 
 after considering for a moment, he replied, 
 *^ Well, whatever you may think. Father, it was 
 all very simple. Her horse had fallen with 
 her in the morning ; I had not seen her since I 
 had aided to raise her, and I was only asking 
 how she had fared after the accident." 
 
 "Nothing more, I doubt not," replied the 
 priest, in the same tone. 
 
 '* On my life, on my honour!" exclaimed the 
 young man. 
 
26 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ** And yet you love her, and she loves you, 
 Ferdinand," rejoined Father George, with a 
 quiet smile. " Deny it not, my boy, for it is a 
 fact." 
 
 *^ Well," answered the youth, with a glowing 
 cheek, " it may be true that I love her, but I 
 love without hope, and I do trust — though per- 
 haps you may not believe me when I say so — 
 I do trust that she does not love me, for I would 
 not, for my right hand, that she should ever 
 know the bitterness of such hopeless passion." 
 
 " But why hopeless? " demanded the priest, 
 and paused for an answer. 
 
 The young man gazed upon him in sur- 
 prise, almost amounting to irritation ; for deep 
 feeling, except when it is so intense as to lose 
 all sense of external things, will not bear to be 
 trifled with, and he thought the old man was 
 jesting with his passion. 
 
 "Why hopeless!" he exclaimed at length. 
 " By difference of station, by difference of 
 wealth, by all the cold respects and icy man- 
 dates of the world. Who am I, Father, that I 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 27 
 
 should dare to lift my eyes to the daughter of a 
 high and mighty lord like this ! Noble I may 
 be — you have told me so — but " 
 
 " As noble as herself," replied the priest. 
 '* Nay, if blood be all, higher in station. True, 
 fortune has not befriended you, but that same 
 goddess was ever a fickle and capricious dame, 
 and those she raises high one day she sinks low 
 the next, to lift up others in their stead. How 
 many a mighty lord has been pulled from his 
 chair of state, to end his days in dungeons. We 
 have heard of emperors confined to a poor cell, 
 and of princes and heroes begging their bread. 
 The time may come, boy, when upon your arm 
 may hang the fortunes of that lady's house, 
 when to you she may cling for protection and 
 support ; and the sun that now shines for her 
 father, may shine for you." 
 
 Ferdinand shook his head with a desponding 
 smile, as if it were nigh a mockery to talk of 
 such things. " Whence should those golden 
 days come, Father?" he asked. " Even oppor- 
 tunity, the great touchstone of the heart and 
 mind, the gate of all success, the pathway of 
 
28 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ambition, love, and hope, is closed and barred 
 to me. But yesterday — it seems but yesterday 
 — I was her father's page ; and a day earlier, a 
 boy running through the abbey grounds, under 
 your kind care and good instruction — the ob- 
 ject of your bounty, of your charity, I do 
 believe ^" 
 
 '* Nay, not so," exclaimed the priest, quickly; 
 *' you had your little store of wealth when you 
 fell to my charge, Ferdinand. I have doled it 
 out as I thought best in your nurture and 
 education, but I have still some remaining-, 
 which I have invested for you in land near the 
 abbey, and am ready to account for all. But 
 still, even if all were as you say, I see not why 
 you should be in so hopeless a mood ; all ladies 
 may be won, all difficulties overcome. There 
 is a chance given to every man in life, his be 
 the fault if he do not seize it." 
 
 '' The distance is too far. Father," answered 
 the young man. *' I have often, when I was a 
 boy, stood and looked at the sun rising through 
 the clouds, and when a bright, broad ray has 
 travelled forth like a pall laid for some em- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 29 
 
 peror's tread, stretching from the golden canopy- 
 hung over the ascending monarch of the day, 
 and reaching well nigh to my feet, I have 
 almost thought that I could tread upon it, 
 and wend my way to heaven. But such 
 fancies have passed now, Father ; such suns no 
 longer shine for me ; and in the broad, harsh 
 noonday of manhood, I dream such dreams no 
 more." 
 
 " But you dream others no less bright, Fer- 
 dinand," replied the priest. " Visions of 
 triumph in the field, and mighty deeds, and 
 great renown, and service to the State, and 
 beauty's smile ; fame, happiness, and joy, float 
 even now before your eyes, and those visions 
 may prove true. Did I want proof that such 
 things still are busy in your heart, your very 
 gay and flowery words would show them to 
 me. I am the last to bid you banish them, my 
 son; when well directed and kept within reason- 
 able bounds, they are often the harbingers of 
 great success." 
 
 "But who shall direct them for me?" asked 
 his young companion, who had heard encourage- 
 
30 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ment so little expected with evident marks 
 of surprise ; " who shall fix the bounds to be 
 called reasonable ? To me most of those dreams 
 seem foolish, especially that which is sweetest." 
 
 " I will direct, if you will let me," answered 
 the priest. " I will fix the bounds ; and to be- 
 gin, I tell you that the hope you fancy the most 
 visionary is the least so. But leave the matter 
 to me, my dear Ferdinand ; follow my counsel, 
 and Adelaide shall be yours, and that speedily." 
 
 *' Oh, Father!" exclaimed the young man, 
 stretching forth his hand, and grasping that of 
 the priest, " do not — do not, I beseech you, 
 raise in me such hopes, if there be a probability 
 of their failure." 
 
 '' There is none," replied Father George. 
 " Pursue the course before you boldly ; seek 
 her resolutely, though calmly and secretly ; tell 
 her of your love ; win her confidence, gain 
 whatever ascendency you can over her mind, 
 and leave all the rest to me." 
 
 " But, Father, what will be said of my 
 honour, when all is discovered, as it must be?" 
 rejoined the young man. " What torrents of 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 31 
 
 reproach will fall upon me, — what disgrace, what 
 indignity, will not be heaped upon me ! Dan- 
 ger I do not fear, death itself I would en- 
 counter, but for the chance of possessing her ; 
 but shame — I cannot bear shame, Father." 
 
 " Think you, my son," asked the priest, 
 somewhat sternly, " that I would counsel you 
 to anything that is disgraceful ? I only advise 
 you to caution and secrecy, because you would 
 meet with opposition in the outset. Have no 
 fear, however, as to the result. I will justify 
 you fully. I have told you that you are her 
 equal in birth, if not at present in wealth ; that 
 you have a right to seek her hand ; nay, more, 
 that if your heart goes with it, it is expedient 
 both for you and her that you should do so." 
 
 " This is all a mystery to me," replied the 
 young man, thoughtfully. 
 
 *' Ay," answered the priest ; " but there are 
 many mysteries in this life, which it is well 
 not to scan. However, if there be blame, your 
 blame be upon me. Still, it is right that you 
 should be able to show that you have not 
 yielded to mere passion ; and before you go, I 
 
32 ESRENSTEIN. 
 
 will give you, under my hand, authority for 
 vihat you do, for you must neither doubt nor 
 hesitate." 
 
 " I do not hesitate, Father," said Ferdinand, 
 with a smile. '' Heaven knows that my heart 
 prompts me only too eagerly to follow such 
 pleasant counsel. I will go on, then ; but you 
 must be ever ready to advise and assist me ; for, 
 remember, I am working in the dark, and may 
 need aid and direction in a thousand difficult 
 circumstances, which neither I nor you foresee." 
 
 "Advice shall be ever at your command," 
 answered Father George, "and aid, stronger 
 and better than perhaps you expect ; only pur- 
 sue implicitly the course I point out, and I 
 will be answerable for the end. Now let us 
 talk of other things. How goes the party at 
 the castle — well and cheerfully ?" 
 
 " Nay," replied the young man, " never very 
 cheerful, good Father. The Count,* you know, 
 is not of a merry disposition." 
 
 * I shall adopt the word Count instead of Graff, as the 
 English translation of the title ; and shall also follow through- 
 out the same course with regard to other honorary designa- 
 tions, as more convenient. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 33 
 
 *'No, indeed," said the priest, "he never 
 was so, even from a youth ; a dark, stern heart 
 throws its shadow far around, as a bright and 
 benevolent one casts light on everything. He's 
 a very different man from his brother, the last 
 Count, who was cheerfulness itself, full of gay 
 jest and merry happiness, looking lightly and 
 mirthfully upon all indifferent things, yet not 
 without due reverence and feeling for the 
 essential duties of a Catholic Christian and a 
 man. Ah, those were merry days at the 
 old castle, then. The board was always well 
 filled in the great hall ; good meat, good wine, 
 gay guests, and pleasant talk — in which the 
 noble lord himself still led others on to enjoy, 
 and seemed to find a pleasure in their pleasure 
 — those were things always to be found where 
 there is now nothing but gloom, and state, and 
 cold service. There were no ghosts then, Fer- 
 dinand ; no spirits but cheerful ones haunted 
 hall or bower;" — and the old man fell into a fit 
 of thought, seeming to ponder pleasantly upon 
 the times past, though they might contrast 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 themselves in his mind with the darker aspect 
 of the present. 
 
 Ferdinand also remained thoughtful for 
 several minutes, but then rose, saying, " I must 
 be wending my way homeward, Father, though 
 I doubt I shall hardly find it, as I have now no 
 lamp, and those vaults are intricate.'' 
 
 '' Stay a while, stay a while," answered Father 
 George, "the storm will not last long, and I 
 will go with you. No spirits will show them- 
 selves in my presence, I am sure." 
 
 '^ Oh, I fear them not now," replied Fer- 
 dinand; "such hopes as you have given me 
 to-night. Father, will be a spell to lay them." 
 
 The old man smiled, well knowing that, not- 
 withstanding the boast, his young companion 
 would not at all object to his company ; but he 
 merely replied, " I will take my lantern, youth ; 
 for without a light you might lose yourself in 
 the caves, as some have done before you. 
 Look out, and see how the sky appears. The 
 thunder has ceased, I think," 
 
 The young man opened the door, and took 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 35 
 
 a step forth, and then returning, said, " It 
 lightens still, but faintly ; and it rains a little. 
 It will soon be over though, I think;" and 
 seating himself again, he spent about half an 
 hour more in conversation with the priest. At 
 the end of that time, the rain having ceased, 
 they set out together for the castle, while the 
 faint flashes of the electric fluid, with which the 
 air was still loaded, gleamed over the sky from 
 time to time, and a distant roar to the west- 
 ward told that the storm was visiting other 
 lands. It was a toilsome journey up the steep 
 ascent, rendered slippery by the wet, for a 
 man of Father George's years, but he bore up 
 stoutly, and at length they reached the en- 
 trance of the crypt below the chapel. Pushing 
 the door open boldly, the old man went in, 
 and advancing some twenty or thirty steps, 
 held up the lantern and looked round. Nothing 
 was to be seen, however, and no sound but the 
 fall of their own footsteps reached the ear of 
 either of the two wanderers, as they pursued 
 their way through the chapel-vaults and the 
 excavations in the rock against which the 
 
 d2 
 
36 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 building was raised. In the midst of what was 
 called the Serfs' Burying-place, however, close 
 by the spot where the skeleton was chained to 
 the column, Father George paused, and gazed 
 for an instant at the sad sight which it pre- 
 sented. " Ah, poor fellow ! " he said, " they 
 bound him there, and strangled him against 
 the pillar, for murdering his master, the last 
 Count, when fighting far away ; but to the last 
 he declared, that whatever hand had done it, 
 it was not his act — and I believed him, for he 
 loved the Count well, and the Count loved 
 him. 'T is twenty years ago, and yet see how 
 the bones hold together. Come on, my son ; I 
 will see you to the hall door, and then leave 
 you." 
 
 Ferdinand, who was not at all partial to a 
 prolonged stay in the vaults, readily followed, 
 and when they reached the little door that 
 led into the hall, the good priest remarked, 
 with a quiet smile, '' We have seen no ghosts, 
 my son, nor heard them either." 
 
 " True, Father, true," rephed the young 
 man ; " but those who have heard and seen 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 37 
 
 must believe. I trust that you may pass back 
 as unmolested as we came." 
 
 " I fear not, Ferdinand," answered Father 
 George ; " and what is more, you must also 
 shake off all apprehensions; for in order to win 
 her you love, you may have often to tread 
 these same paths." 
 
 " If there were a devil in every niche, Fa- 
 ther," replied Ferdinand, '^ I would face them 
 all for her sake." 
 
 ** Well, well, good-night," said the priest, 
 shaking his head : " love is the religion of a 
 young man, and if it lead him not to wrong, it 
 may lead him to things higher than itself. 
 Keep the key as a treasure, good youth, for it 
 may prove one to you in case of need." 
 
 Thus saying, the old man suiFered him to 
 light his lamp at the lantern, which was not 
 done without difficulty, as the drops of rain had 
 somewhat wetted the wick ; and ere Ferdinand 
 had reached the opposite end of the hall, after 
 leaving the priest, his light was extinguished 
 again, and he had to feel his way to his own 
 chamber, along the dark corridors and stair- 
 
38 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 cases of the building. He was wet and tired, 
 but he felt no inclination to sleep, even though 
 darkness continued for more than one hour 
 after he had returned to the castle. There was 
 a brighter light in his heart than that of morning, 
 and in it the new-born hopes sported hke gay- 
 children at their play. The hour passed away; 
 and having cast off his wet garments, the youth 
 lay down for a few minutes on the bed, but half 
 dressed, thinking — " I will sleep if I can ; for it 
 is better they should accuse me of late rising 
 than see from my pillow that it has not been 
 pressed all night. But sleep, like all the 
 pleasant things of life, will not come for much 
 seeking. In vain he shut his eyes; the grey 
 light of dawn found its way between the lashes, 
 sounds were heard in the castle, showing that 
 some of the inferior attendants had risen ; and 
 the night watch was relieved under the window 
 of the tower in which he slept. A moment 
 after, however, came another noise; a distant 
 horn sounded, there was a cry of dogs borne 
 from a distance on the air ; and with all the 
 quick temerity of aristocratic blood in regard to 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 39 
 
 the sports of the field, the youth started up on 
 his couch and listened. Again the deep melo- 
 dious music of hound and horn was heard, and 
 bounding from his bed, he threw open the case- 
 ment and called to the guard, asking — " Is the 
 Count abroad ?" 
 
 The answer was in the negative, and throw- 
 ing on hastily the rest of his dry clothes, the 
 youth rushed out as if to combat an enemy. 
 
40 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 The morning rose bright and beautiful after 
 the storm, shining down the valley ,5 glittering 
 on the stream, and illuminating the castle. 
 High on its rock, from the base of which, 
 steep and rugged as it was, stretched forth 
 about a mile of more gradual descent, broken 
 and undulating, thickly covered with trees, 
 and here and there presenting a large mass of 
 fallen stone, looking like the wall of some 
 outwork, decayed by time, and garmented 
 with moss. The whole surface on the summit 
 of the hill was crowned with walls and towers, 
 and such was the commanding situation which 
 they occupied, that in days when the science 
 of warfare, though often practised, was but 
 little known, it might well seem a hopeless 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 41 
 
 task to attempt to take that castle by any 
 means but famine. On a lower point, or what 
 may be called a step in the rock, appeared a 
 very beautiful and graceful building, the lower 
 part of which displayed strong masonry, and 
 manifold round arches filled up with stone ; 
 while in the upper, the lighter architecture of a 
 later period was seen, in thin buttresses and 
 tall pointed windows, pinnacles, and mouldings, 
 and fretwork. Built against the steep side of 
 the cliff below the castle, there seemed at first 
 sight no path to this chapel but from the 
 fortress above, with which it was connected by 
 a few steps, flanked by a low square tower ; 
 but to the eye of a traveller, riding or walk- 
 ing along the ridge of hills on the opposite 
 side of the valley, glimpses of a path dis- 
 played themselves, winding in and out amongst 
 the wood ; and somewhat more than lialf-way 
 down the hill appeared a small edifice, in the 
 same style of architecture as the upper story 
 of the castle chapel. 
 
 On that opposite ridge of hills was another 
 stronghold, or rather what had been so, for 
 
42 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 at the time I speak of, it was already in ruins ; 
 — and down below, on either hand, swept an 
 ocean of green boughs, covering the declivi- 
 ties of the hills, and leaving a narrow track of 
 little more than half a mile in breadth for 
 verdant meadows, hamlets, and a small but 
 beautiful stream. Following the course of the 
 little river, the eye rested, at about two miles 
 distance, upon the towers and pinnacles of a 
 large building, half concealed in wood ; and 
 from the walls thereof, at the hours appointed 
 for the various services of the Roman Catholic 
 Church, might be heard the great bell of the 
 abbey, swinging slow upon the breeze the call 
 to prayer. 
 
 Beyond the abbey and the woods that sur- 
 rounded it, a world of hill and valley was 
 descried, with rocks tossed in wild confusion 
 here and there, taking every different variety 
 of form — now like a giant sitting on the side 
 of a hill, now like the ruined wall of some old 
 fortress, now like a column raised to com- 
 memorate some great event, now like the 
 crest of a warrior's helmet, plumed with 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 43 
 
 feathery trees ; they offered to imagination 
 infinite materials for the sport of fancy. 
 All the hollows, too, except those directly 
 facing the east, were filled with mists and 
 shadows, while the tops of the mountains, the 
 higher crags, the old ruins, and the steeple of 
 a distant church, rose as if from the bosom of 
 a dim and gloomy ocean. 
 
 Such was the aspect of the scene about an 
 hour after daybreak, and all was yet in the 
 stillness of the early morning ; not a sound 
 was heard save the whistle of some one of the 
 peasantry going to his work in the fields, or 
 the lowing of the cattle driven down to the 
 stream to drink, when suddenly the whole 
 valley rang with a wild and peculiar clang. 
 The sound of horns winded loud and clear, 
 the trampling of horses' feet in full career, the 
 loud tongues of dogs, the shouts and calls of 
 huntsmen, echoed along the steep opposite to 
 Ehrenstein, sweeping on fiercely through the 
 woods, apparently from the dilapidated walls 
 of the old stronghold towards the abbey below. 
 On, on went the sounds increasingly, as if 
 
44 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 some beast had made its burst from the wood, 
 and was hotly pursued by the hounds ; but 
 nothing appeared beyond the green branches. 
 Neither dogs, nor huntsmen, nor horses, were 
 visible to the watcher on the walls of the 
 castle, though many a break in the forest, and 
 an open piece of road, ought to have given 
 him glimpses of the chase, if it took the course 
 which the sounds seemed to indicate. 
 
 There were two peasants, however, wending 
 their way from the hamlet near the abbey, 
 towards a vineyard which lay on the other side 
 of the hills, and as their road lay through the 
 wood, they soon heard the noise come rushing 
 on towards them. Both stopped at once, and 
 drew a little out of the direct path, the one 
 saying, " The Count is hunting early in the 
 year ;" the other exclaiming, " Come away 
 man — come away. This is not the Count." 
 
 The next instant the whole hunt swept by, 
 and the two men drew back in terror; for, 
 instead of the forest green or the gay phili- 
 mot, the dresses of the hunters were all as 
 black as night, and at their head ro • 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 45 
 
 man, magnified by tlieir fancy to gigantic 
 stature, clothed from head to heel in arms of 
 the same sombre hue. The men fell down 
 upon their knees, and scarcely dared to raise 
 their eyes; and when one of them did so, 
 he saw the strange leader of that dark array 
 shaking his gauntlet at him with a menacing 
 gesture. 
 
 In a few seconds all were gone, and the two 
 peasants stood trembling, while the sounds died 
 away in the distance. 
 
 " We shall have war within a twelvemonth," 
 said the one. 
 
 "Ay, that we shall," answered the other. 
 " I never thought to see the black huntsman 
 with my own eyes. Let us go and tell the 
 Count; for he will need to prepare. The castle 
 is getting ruinous ; and there is neither much 
 wine nor much corn in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " No, no ; to the abbey — to the abbey, man," 
 rejoined his companion. " It 's there we owe 
 our duty ; we are not the Count's men." 
 
 " Ay, but the Count may give us a crown 
 for the news," answered the other ; " from the 
 
46 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 monks we shall have nothing but a bene" 
 diciteJ* 
 
 ** Well, wait a little, wait a little," was the 
 reply. " You know it is dangerous to follow 
 him too close." 
 
 " Ay, that 's true," replied the first speaker ; 
 " and he shook his fist at me as he passed, for 
 just daring to look up at him. Let us sit down 
 here for a while." 
 
 The other agreed, and the two men, seating 
 themselves, continued to converse for about 
 a quarter of an hour. The one, to make him- 
 self agreeable, prophesying that his friend, to 
 whom the Black Huntsman had given so 
 menacing a sign of notice, would be forced 
 to go to the wars, and never return alive ; the 
 other, though in no little dread, endeavouring 
 to persuade himself and his comrade that no 
 such result would or should ensue. 
 
 " I will never be killed in the wars," he said ; 
 
 " for I won't go. I would sooner shave my 
 
 head, sell all I 've got, and become a serving 
 
 brother in the abbey." 
 
 " Then they 11 pillage the abbey, and you '11 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 47 
 
 be killed/' rejoined his companion, who was 
 determined, it would seem, that the other should 
 not take any false hope to his bosom. ^' Hark, 
 here they are coming again ! " 
 
 Both started up, and were about to plunge 
 into the wood, when, spurring on at fiery speed, 
 and followed by two or three soldiers half- 
 armed, appeared a young cavalier, with his 
 eyes so eagerly bent forward that he did not 
 seem to perceive the two peasants, till one of 
 them exclaimed, " It 's no use following. Master 
 Ferdinand ; he's gone far enough now !" 
 
 " He !" exclaimed the young man ; " who is 
 he, boor — do you know him ? Who is it dares 
 to hunt in our lord's lands? If I caught him, 
 he should pay dearly." 
 
 " Ah, Master Ferdinand of Altenburg, he is 
 one who would make you pay more likely ; but, 
 luckily for you, you can neither cross nor catch 
 him — it was the Black Huntsman and his train. 
 We saw him with our own eyes, and you 
 may go back and tell the Count to prepare for 
 war. Twelve months will not pass from this 
 day before there are armies warring here. Tell 
 
48 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 him that old Werner says so ; and I have lived 
 years enough to know what I am talking about.'* 
 
 " The Black Huntsman ! " exclaimed Ferdi- 
 nand, holding in his horse, which was strug- 
 gling forward. " And did you see him, say 
 you — both of you 1 " 
 
 " Ay, both of us," answered the old man. 
 " And he shook his fist at Wettstein here, just 
 because he looked at him a little too sharply." 
 
 "The Black Huntsman!" cried Ferdinand, 
 again. " I never before knew any one who 
 saw him. What was he like, Werner ?" 
 
 " He seemed to me ten foot high ! " exclaimed 
 Wettstein, joining in ; " and his horse big 
 enough to bear him." 
 
 *' Nay, nay, not ten foot," cried Werner ; 
 " eight he might be, or eight and a half — and 
 all in black from head to heel. I did not see a 
 white spot about him, or his horse either. 
 Did you, Wettstein?" 
 
 " Not a freckle as big as a pea," replied his 
 comrade. 
 
 " Here 's a mighty great horse's footmark, 
 to be sure," said one of the soldiers, who had 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 49 
 
 dismounted, and was examining the ground. 
 *' I think, sir, you had better go back and tell 
 our lord, for he '11 be glad to know of this." 
 
 The young man mused without reply for a 
 moment or two, and then turning his horse, 
 rode back towards the castle, halting from time 
 to time to listen for the sounds of the hunt. 
 All had now ceased, however ; the valley had 
 returned to its stillness, and nothing but the 
 breeze sighing through the trees was heard, as 
 Ferdinand and his followers rode up the oppo- 
 site hill. 
 
 A number of men were collected under the 
 arched gateway of the castle, and several horses 
 stood ready saddled near, but before them 
 all appeared a tall, dark-looking personage, 
 somewhat past the middle age, but still in full 
 vigour, with a stern and somewhat forbidding- 
 countenance. The expression was sharp, but 
 not lofty, morose rather than firm, and as 
 Ferdinand rode up and sprang to the ground, 
 he exclaimed, " Ha, who are they, boy ? Or 
 have you turned back from laziness or fear, 
 without having found them ?" 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
60 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Ferdinand's cheek grew red, and he re- 
 plied, " If I had been fearful or lazy, my lord, 
 I should have waited for orders ere I went to 
 seek them ; but when we reached the road 
 leading to Lindenau, the sounds were scarcely 
 to be heard, and we met Werner and Wett- 
 stein in the wood, who told us that it was the 
 Black Huntsman." 
 
 "Ay, ay," exclaimed . the Count, moodily; 
 "doubtless the Black Huntsman. There is 
 never a cry of hounds across the land, but, if 
 you believe the peasants, it is the Black 
 Huntsman. They are in league with the 
 robbers of my deer and boars. The swine- 
 fed rascals have their share, no doubt." 
 
 " But, my lord Count," replied one of the 
 soldiers who had accompanied Ferdinand, 
 " this time the men saw him, and he shook 
 his fist at Wettstein for daring to look at him 
 too close. Besides, old Werner is not a man 
 to lie about it." 
 
 " Werner and Wettstein !" said the Count, 
 *' who are they 1 We have a hundred of 
 such hogs in the valley." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 51 
 
 " They are men of the abbey, my good 
 lord," replied Ferdinand ; " and at all events, 
 they were both in the same story, and told it 
 at once. One of our men, too, — it was you, 
 Karl, was it not ? — saw the hoof-marks much 
 larger than the common size." 
 
 " Ay, that I did," replied the man ; " as 
 big as any two in the stable. My lord can 
 see them too, if he doubts it." 
 
 ** I will," replied the Count, sternly ; and 
 without more ado he turned into the castle, 
 leaving the rest to follow to the morning meal. 
 
 Contrary to a very common practice of the 
 day, when most of those who were qualified 
 to bear arms were considered fit to sit at the 
 table of their lords, the Count of Ehrenstein 
 usually admitted none but two or three of his 
 chosen followers to take part in the meal at 
 the same board with himself and his daughter. 
 The large hall, of which we have already 
 spoken, had been long disused, and a smaller 
 one, fully large enough, indeed, for the dimi- 
 nished number of retainers which the castle 
 now contained, was divided into two unequal 
 E 2 
 
 0- OF ILL LIB. 
 
62 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 parts by a step, which raised the table of the 
 lord above that of his vassals. It was to this 
 hall he now took his way, moving slowly on- 
 ward with a heavy step and eyes fixed upon the 
 ground, till, opening the door, he gazed round 
 it for a moment, and his face lighted up with 
 the first look of pleasure it had displayed that 
 day, as his eyes rested on a group at the 
 farther end of the chamber. From the midst 
 of that group, with a light bounding step, 
 was even then coming forward to meet him, 
 as beautiful a form as was ever beheld, even 
 by a father's eyes ; and what father in his 
 heart has never said, when gazing on his 
 child — 
 
 '* Du nun als ein Engel schon ? " 
 
 Young she was, very young — in the first early 
 bloom of youth, and wonderfully fair — for no 
 marble that was ever hewn by the most fas- 
 tidious sculptor's hands, was whiter, clearer, 
 softer, than her skin ; and yet there was a 
 glow of health therein, not seeming in the 
 skin itself, but shining through it, like the 
 rosy light of morning pouring into the pale 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 53 
 
 sky. Her eyes could hardly be called blue, 
 for there was a shade of some other colour in 
 them ; but the long black lashes, together 
 with the strong contrast afforded by the fair- 
 ness of her face, made them look dark, though 
 soft, till one approached her very near. Her 
 dark brown hair, too, full to profusion, looked 
 almost black where it fell upon her neck, 
 notwithstanding the bright golden gleams 
 that shone upon the wavy clusters. Round, 
 yet tapering, every limb was moulded in the 
 most beautiful symmetry, which even the long 
 line of floating garments from the hip to the 
 heel shadowed withoutc oncealing; and, as 
 almost always happens, perfection of form 
 produced grace of movement, though that 
 grace is in some degree dependent also upon 
 the spirit within, where it is natural and not 
 acquired. Even in the light, quick, bounding 
 step with w^hich she sprang to meet her father, 
 there was a world of beauty, though it was 
 simply the unstudied impulse of filial affec- 
 tion ; and for an instant, as I have said, the 
 very sight of her bright countenance dispelled 
 
54 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the gloom upon her father's face, and brought 
 a momentary gleam of sunshine over it; but 
 the grave, hard look soon returned, and taking 
 her hand in his, he led her on to the upper 
 table, calling to him two of his old ritters or 
 knights, and seated them beside himself and 
 his child. 
 
 Ferdinand of Altenburg was about to take 
 his place as usual at the other board, not 
 judging that he stood at all high in the 
 graces of his lord ; but after a moment's 
 consideration, the Count beckoned him up, 
 saying, "Sit there, Ferdinand," and then 
 commenced the meal in silence. Adelaide 
 of Ehrenstein looked down, but yet a mo- 
 mentary light shone in her eyes, and a 
 well-pleased smile, before she could check 
 it, played round her lip ; and then, as if afraid 
 that the pleasure she felt should be marked by 
 too watchful eyes, the colour glowed warm in 
 her cheek, and even tinged her fair brow. 
 Oh, those traitrous blushes, how often they 
 hang out the flag of surrender, when the gar- 
 rison would fain hold firm. The young lover 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 55 
 
 saw the look, and judged it rightly; but no 
 one else seemed to remark it; and while he 
 was thinking what could be the Count's motive 
 in thus honouring him, his lord raised his eyes 
 heavily, saying, " And do you really believe 
 this story of the Wild Huntsman, Ferdinand?'* 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I know not what to think," 
 replied the youth. " The men seemed so 
 frightened themselves, and spoke so naturally, 
 that I could not doubt that they believed it. 
 Nevertheless, if I could have heard the sounds 
 any more, I should have followed to see this 
 Black Huntsman with my own eyes, but the 
 noise was by that time done." 
 
 " Would you not have feared to meet him?" 
 asked the Count, with a smile. 
 
 " Not I, sir," answered Ferdinand. " If I 
 find any one hunting on my lord's lands, I will 
 stop him and ask his right, be he black or 
 white. But we could never catch the noise 
 again — and there was another reason, too, that 
 made me think it best to return ; the old man, 
 Werner, bade me tell you there would be war 
 within a year." 
 
56 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " And so there will," replied the Count, " if 
 it be truly the Black Huntsman." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Ferdinand ; 
 " there will be some chance of honour and 
 distinction then." 
 
 The Count's brow grew dark. " Ay, foolish 
 youth," he answered, " and what sums of 
 gold will have to be spent, what fair fields 
 ruined, what crops swept away ! " 
 
 " And what bloodshed ! " said Adelaide, in 
 a low tone. " Oh, my father, I hope it will 
 not be ! " 
 
 " Bloodshed, that's but a small matter," 
 replied her father, with a grim smile. " It 
 does good to these hot youths to bleed them. 
 Is it not so, Sickendorf ?" 
 
 " Ay, my lord," answered the old knight to 
 whom he spoke ; " and as to the gold and the 
 crops, that 's no great matter either. Money 
 must be spent, soldiers must live; and it's a 
 pleasant sight to see a troop of bold fellows 
 in a vineyard swilling the fat boor's grapes. 
 ^■1 don't let them burn the houses, unless there 's 
 resistance; for there's no good in that, if 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 67 
 
 the knaves give up their money and their 
 food." 
 
 Adelaide was silent, but as she gazed down, 
 with her beautiful eyes full of deep thought, 
 many a dark image of spoliation and cruelty 
 presented itself to fancy as approaching in 
 the train of war. Her father was silent too ; 
 for he knew that his somewhat unknightly 
 love of gold was not likely to raise him in the 
 opinion of his followers ; but at length he said, 
 " Well, then, we must prepare, at all events, 
 Sickendorf, if this be the Black Huntsman." 
 
 *' Ay, that we must, my good lord," replied 
 the old man. " He never comes out without 
 being sure of what he 's about. I remember 
 when I was in the Odenwalde, with the lord of 
 Erlach, looking at the book in which is written 
 down each time he has gone forth for these 
 two hundred years — " 
 
 " And you couldn't read it if you did look," 
 said the other knight, who was at the same 
 table. 
 
 " Ay, I know that," replied Sickendorf; 
 " no one better; so I made the sacristan read to 
 
58 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 me, and it never failed once, when that Black 
 Horseman went forth, or when the cry of his 
 dogs was heard, that there was war within a 
 twelvemonth. But it is right to be sure that 
 this was he ; for it would not do to sit here with 
 the place cooped full of men, fretting ourselves 
 for a year, with the thought of a brave war 
 coming, and then for none to come after all. 
 We should be obliged to have a feud with 
 some friend, just to give the men something to 
 do.'* 
 
 "True, true," answered the Count, with a 
 quick assent ; " that would not do at all, 
 Sickendorf. I will go after meat, and inquire 
 more into the affair." 
 
 " You had better see the two men, my Lord 
 Count," said Ferdinand. " I will fetch them 
 up from the abbey in an hour, and you can 
 question them yourself." 
 
 " No, you will stay where you are, sir," 
 replied his lord, sharply ; "I can question 
 them myself without your help. I will see 
 these hoof-marks too. But tell me more; from 
 the sounds I heard as I hurried from my bed. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 59 
 
 there must have been a whole host of followers 
 with this Black Huntsman. What said the 
 man?" 
 
 In return, Ferdinand gave as good an ac- 
 count as he could of all that had occurred, 
 though he had little to add to what he had told 
 before. He neither exaggerated nor coloured 
 his narrative, but with the vice of youth he 
 indulged in many a figure to express his 
 meaning, as was indeed somewhat customary 
 with him ; drawing freely upon imagination for 
 the language, though not for the facts. This 
 mode, however, of telling his tale, did not 
 altogether please his lord, upon whose brow an 
 impatient frown gathered fast. But Adelaide 
 paid his flights of fancy with a smile, and her 
 father's anger was averted by a man coming in 
 hastily from the walls to announce that some 
 one who seemed a messenger was riding up at 
 full speed towards the castle. 
 
 *' Let him be brought in," replied the Count ; 
 and he added, with a laugh, " perhaps this may 
 be news of the Black Huntsman." 
 
 Expectation is ever a silent mood; and the 
 
60 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 meal continued ; even the wine circulated with 
 out anything more being said, till at length a 
 man dirty with hard riding through a country 
 still wet with the storm of the preceding night, 
 was brought in, with formal ceremony, by two 
 of the Count's attendants, and led to the table 
 at which he sat. The stranger seemed a 
 simple messenger in the garb of peace, and in 
 his hand he bore one of the large folded letters 
 of the day, inscribed with innumerable titles 
 then and still given to every German noble- 
 man of rank, and sealed with a broad seal of 
 yellow wax, 
 
 "Who come you from?" demanded the 
 Count, before he opened the letter which the 
 messenger presented. 
 
 " From the high and mighty prince. Count 
 Frederick of Leiningen," replied the man; 
 " who bade me bear this letter to the noble 
 and excellent lord, the Count of Ehrenstein, 
 his old and valued friend, and bring him back 
 an answer speedily.'* 
 
 " Ah ! where is the Count ? " exclaimed the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 61 
 
 lord of Ehrenstein ; " when came he back ? 
 'Tis many a year since we have met." 
 
 " He stopped last night, noble sir, at an 
 abbey some ten miles beyond Zweibrucken, 
 and he will reach that place this day," replied 
 the messenger, answering only one of the 
 Count's questions. " I pray you read the letter 
 and let me have my answer." 
 
 The Count cut the silk, and, unfolding the 
 paper, read, while Sickendorf commented in a 
 low tone, with words of admiration, but with 
 something like a sneer upon his lip, at his 
 lord's learning, which enabled him to gather 
 easily the contents of what seemed a some- 
 what lengthy epistle. 
 
 "Ah, this is good news indeed !" exclaimed 
 the Count, at length, " First, that I should see 
 again and embrace my old friend and comrade. 
 Count Frederick ;" and he bowed his head, 
 not ungracefully, to the messenger. " Next, 
 that your lord has,"after so many years, collect- 
 ed together some of mypoor brother's wealth, 
 which he went to cast away with his life upon 
 a foreign shore. It will come well, Sickendorf, 
 
62 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 if the Black Huntsman make his promise of 
 war good. — You, sir, take some refreshment, 
 while I go to write the safe-conduct which 
 your lord requires. Then you shall spur on, as 
 hastily as may be ; for, if not, I shall overtake 
 you on the road. Tell the mighty Count, that 
 I will not answer his letter till I 've held my 
 old friend in my arms, and that he shall see 
 me at once at Zweibrucken ere two hours past 
 noon." Thus saying, he rose and left the hall, 
 and while Sickendorf and the other knight 
 made the messenger sit down at the lower 
 table, furnished him with food and wine, and 
 questioned him eagerly as to Count Frederick's 
 journey, and when he had returned from east- 
 ern lands, Ferdinand of Altenburg leaned 
 across the table, and spoke a few low words to 
 Adelaide of Ehrenstein, which made the colour 
 come and go in her cheek, as if some strong 
 emotions were busy in her heart. Whatever 
 he said, indeed, was very brief, for he feared to 
 draw the notice of those around upon them 
 both ; and in a moment after he had ceased, the 
 Count returned, with a paper in his hand. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 63 
 
 The messenger would not wait to finish his 
 meal, but retired from the hall, remounted 
 his horse, and spurred on his way back. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, the tables were 
 cleared, and orders given for instant prepara- 
 tion, that the Count might set out to meet his 
 friend, with all the state and display that 
 befitted his station. Before he went, he 
 whispered to Sickendorf to bring up during 
 his absence, all the vassals from the neighbour- 
 ing estates, to swell the number of retainers in 
 the castle, against the following day; to sweep 
 the country round of its poultry, eggs, and 
 fruit — a pleasant mark of paternal affection 
 which the peasantry of that day not unfre- 
 quently received from their lords ; and to pre- 
 pare everything for one of those scenes of 
 festivity which occasionally chequered the 
 monotony of feudal life in peaceful times. 
 
 Perdinand of Altenburg stood ready to 
 accompany his lord, with his horse saddled, 
 and his gayest garment displayed, never 
 doubting for a moment that he was to form 
 one of the train. No sooner, however, had 
 
64 EHHENSTEIN. 
 
 the Count done speaking to the old knight, than 
 he turned towards the youth, saying, sharply, 
 " Did I not tell you that you were not to 
 go ? You will stay and guard the castle while 
 Sickendorf is absent, and go no farther from 
 it, till I return, than the stream on one side, 
 or the hamlet on the other." 
 
 The tone was haughty and imperious ; and 
 Ferdinand felt his heart burn, but he merely 
 bowed, and took a step back ; the Count, fancy- 
 ing that he had mortified him by leaving him 
 behind, and feeling that sort of bitter pleasure 
 which harsh men find in giving pain, though, 
 in truth, if he had sought to consult the youth's 
 most anxious wishes, he would have acted just 
 as he did act. What was to Ferdinand, Count 
 Frederick of Leiningen ? What cared he for 
 the meeting of two haughty lords ? In the 
 castle of Ehrenstein remained Adelaide ; and 
 where she was, even though he might not see 
 her, there was festival for him. 
 1^ Adelaide had left the hall while the pre- 
 parations for her father's journey were being 
 made, and was not present when he departed. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 65 
 
 Old Sickendorf bustled about for nearly half 
 an hour after the Count was gone, choosing 
 out men, from those left in the castle, to accom- 
 pany him upon what was neither more nor 
 less than a marauding expedition ; and he then 
 set out with right good will to perform a part 
 of his duty which he loved the best. Ferdi- 
 nand of Altenburg watched from the battle- 
 ments of one of the towers the train of his 
 lord, as it crossed the valley and mounted the 
 opposite hill, and then fixing his eyes on the 
 spot where the road, emerging from the wood 
 again, wound on through the distant country, 
 continued to gaze till the last horseman dis- 
 appeared on the road to Zweibrucken. He 
 then paced up and down till Sickendorf and 
 his people also were gone, and then paused, 
 leaning thoughtfully against the wall, as if 
 considering what was next to be done. 
 
 The world is full of thin partitions, moral 
 and physical, so slight, so feeble in appearance, 
 that one would think they would fall with a 
 touch, but often more strong than doors of 
 brass or iron ; and like the airy limits of two 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 hostile countries, they are full of dangers to 
 those who pass them. There, in the same 
 dwelling, with nought between him and her 
 but a door that would at once yield to his 
 hand, was she whom he loved. His heart beat 
 to go and join her ; hers he fondly hoped 
 would flutter gladly to have him near ; but yet 
 he dared not go. Surrounded by her women, 
 as he believed she was, he knew that the risk 
 of such a step would be great to all his future 
 hopes ; and yet he asked himself again and 
 again, if he must lose so bright an oppor- 
 tunity. It might never return ; all the mani- 
 fold chances of human fate presented them- 
 selves to his mind, and he would have been 
 less than a lover, if he had not resolved to 
 find some means of drawing sweet advantage 
 from the golden present. How ? was the only 
 question ; and after long thought, he descended 
 slowly by the steps that led to the battlements 
 beneath the lady's window, and there seating 
 himself, with his eyes turned over the distant 
 country, as if simply whiling away an idle 
 hour, he sat and sang : — 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 67 
 
 SOXG. 
 "Wander with me, loved one, loved one, 
 Wander with me where none can see ; 
 Through the wood, 
 By the flood, 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 Wander with me, loved one, loved one. 
 Wander with me where none can hear ; 
 Where none is nigh, 
 But the birds that fly, 
 And the timid and silent deer. 
 
 Wander with me, loved one, loved one, 
 "Wander with me where none can mark ; 
 Where the leaves green. 
 Our love shall screen, 
 In their bower 'twixt light and dark. 
 
 Wander with me, loved one, loved one, 
 And a tale to thee I '11 tell, 
 Which, if thy heart 
 With mine takes part. 
 Shall please thine ear right well. 
 
 As he ended, the casement, which was partly 
 open, was drawn fully back, and the head of 
 a gay, light-hearted girl, one of Adelaide's 
 
 F 2 
 
68 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 attendants, was thrust forth with a laughing 
 countenance, exclaiming, *' Get ye gone, you 
 vile singer ! no one can rest in peace for your 
 harsh voice. Methought it was a raven or a 
 daw cawing on the battlements, and our lady 
 cannot read her missal for hearing thee talk 
 of thy 'loved one, loved one.'" 
 
 " jNTay, let him alone," said Adelaide, ad- 
 vancing to the window ; " I love music. Bertha ; 
 'tis that thou canst not sing a note thyself 
 that makes thee jealous. Sing on, if thou 
 wilt, Ferdinand ; I would listen to you with 
 right good will, but that I promised Father 
 George to come down to the shrine to-day; 
 and I must read before I go." 
 
 She said no more, and did not even look 
 at him while she spoke, but the gay girl 
 Bertha's eyes twinkled with an arch smile 
 upon her lips, as if she guessed more than 
 either the lady or her lover suspected. Fer- 
 dinand replied little, but slowly moved away : 
 and in about ten minutes after he might be 
 seen going forth from the castle gates, and 
 taking the road which led away in a different 
 direction from the chapel in the wood. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 69 
 
 The reader need not be told that in every 
 portion of life, in all life's doings, in everything 
 moral and physical, there are circuitous paths ; 
 nor that nine times out of ten, vrhen a man 
 seems to be doing one thing, he is doing 
 another. It is a sad truth, a bitter dark 
 reality ; so much so, indeed, that those vrho 
 have watched man's ways most closely, will 
 best understand the force and beauty of the 
 words which the inspired writer uses, — " a man 
 without a shadow of turning" — to express all 
 that we should be, and are not. However, in 
 that deep wood that cloaked the side of the 
 hills, there were nearly as many crooked paths 
 and tortuous roads as in human life. Fer- 
 dinand took his path to the north, the chapel 
 lay to the south. The watchman saw him go, 
 and thought no more of it ; but the keen eye 
 of the gay girl Bertha marked him also, and 
 she smiled. Some half hour after, when her 
 young mistress went out alone, and bent her 
 steps towards the chapel, Bertha laughed. 
 
70 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 About an hour and a half after Ferdinand's 
 song had ceased, the door of the chapel, which 
 had been closed, opened, and two figures came 
 forth under the green shadow of the forest 
 leaves. The first was that of Adelaide of 
 Ehrenstein, and her face bore tokens of recent 
 agitation. By her side appeared good Father 
 George, with his head uncovered, and no staff 
 in his hand. He was speaking with the lady, 
 earnestly but gently, and he still continued to 
 walk on with her for some yards up the hill. 
 More than once, as they went, Adelaide's eyes 
 were turned to either side of the path, as if 
 she feared or expected some interruption, and 
 though she said not a word to indicate what 
 was passing in her heart, the good Father 
 
£HRENSTEIN. 71 
 
 marked the sart of anxiety she seemed to feel, 
 and at length paused, saying, " Well, my 
 childj I will go with you no farther. You will 
 be quite safe on your way back ; and if you 
 attend to my voice, and follow my counsel, 
 you might be happy yourself, and save others 
 worlds of pain." 
 
 He did not pause for a reply, but turned, 
 and re-entered the chapel, leaving Adelaide to 
 pursue her way through the wood, with almost 
 every path of which she had been familiar 
 from infancy. Nevertheless, as she went, she 
 still continued to look timidly round. She 
 did not go far alone, however, for just as she 
 passed the first turning, which hid the chapel 
 from the eye, there was a step near, and Fer- 
 dinand was by her side. 
 
 " Oh, Ferdinand ! " she said, " I am terrified. 
 What is it you want to say ? If any one were 
 to find me here with you alone, what would 
 they think? — and my father, if he heard it, it 
 would bring destruction on your head too." 
 
 " Fear not, fear not," replied her lover; 
 " turn into this path with me, dear Adelaide, it 
 
72 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 will bring you as quickly to tlie castle as the 
 other, and we can speak there more freely." 
 
 His fair companion hesitated ; but taking 
 her hand in his, he led her gently forward, 
 though not without a glowing cheek and eyes 
 cast down. It was a small footway, which 
 horses could not travel, and wound with many 
 a turn up to the top of the high hill on which 
 the castle stood. The short green mountain 
 turf, the broken masses of rock here and 
 there, the straggling boughs reaching across, 
 and the wild flowers springing uncrushed, 
 even in the midst of the path, showed that 
 it was trodden by no very frequent feet. 
 The green branches crossing on high shaded 
 it from the sun ; except when, about the 
 hour of noon, his searching rays poured down, 
 ;slept on a mossy bank here and there, or 
 chequered the grass with dancing light and 
 shade. The dove and the wood-pigeon mur- 
 mured overhead, the breeze sighed faintly 
 through the leaves, and the nightingale — still 
 in song — trilled his rich notes upon many a 
 bough above. There was a tenderness and yet 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 73 
 
 a freshness in the air ; there was a calming and 
 softening' hght upon the way ; there was a 
 loveUness and a promise, and a wooing gentle- 
 ness in the whole scene, that fitted it well for 
 lovers and for love. The voice of nature 
 seemed counselling affection ; the asjoect of all 
 things harmonized with the passion in each of 
 those two young hearts ; and though Ferdinand 
 was not skilled enough in the mystery of asso- 
 ciation to have chosen that scene as one likely 
 to melt and touch the heart he sought to make 
 his own, yet he could not have found one on 
 the whole earth better adapted for the tale he 
 had to tell. He lost no time ere he told it ; 
 and though his words were ardent — ay, and 
 even impassioned — yet there was a gentleness 
 in his whole tone, a soft and deprecating look 
 upon his countenance, a tenderness as well as 
 a warmth in all he said, which prevented the 
 young and timid woman's heart from feeling 
 much of that sort of apprehension with which 
 it often shrinks from the first touch of love. 
 Brought up with him almost from her child- 
 hood, unlearned in the ways of the world, 
 
74 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 left nearly to solitude since her mother's 
 death, with no other companion in her girl- 
 hood but him who walked beside her, and 
 loving him with a love that had still increased, 
 Adelaide felt it less strange to listen to such 
 words from him, than she would have done 
 with any other human being. She felt it less 
 difficult, too, to reply to him, timidly, yet 
 frankly, not concealing what she felt, even 
 when she did not speak it. 
 
 He told her how long he had loved, — for a 
 few short years, or even months, were long in 
 their short lives. He told her how the affection 
 of the boy had grown into the passion of the 
 man; how the fraternal tenderness of early 
 life had warmed into the ardent affection of 
 maturity. He told her, too, how hope had 
 been first illumined in his heart by light that 
 seemed to shine forth from hers ; how words 
 that she had spoken without feeling their full 
 import, had bid him not despair ; how smiles 
 from her lips, and rays from her eyes, had 
 nourished and expanded the flower of love in 
 his bosom. He went on to relate how he had 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 75 
 
 trembled, and feared, and doubted, and hesi- 
 tated, when he first became conscious of the 
 full strength of all his sensations ; how he had 
 put a guard upon himself; how he had 
 refrained from seeing her alone ; how he had 
 resisted many a temptation ; but how the 
 power of the passion within had overcome all 
 prudent care, and had made him more than 
 once speak words of tenderness, in spite of 
 every effort to restrain them. With the rich, 
 wild imagery of a warm and glowing imagi- 
 nation, and of a heart full of eager affection, 
 he depicted the pangs he had endured, the 
 struggles he had undergone, the cares and 
 anxieties which had been his companions dur- 
 ing the day, the bitter and desj^airing thoughts 
 which had haunted him through the night. 
 But at length he explained how hope had 
 dawned upon him ; how assurance and com- 
 fort had been given him the night before; 
 and how one, upon whom they could both 
 depend, had encouraged him to persevere, and 
 held out mysterious hopes of fortune and 
 success. 
 
76 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 He did not, indeed, pursue his tale evenly 
 to the close ; for more than once his fair com- 
 panion murmured a few words of compassion 
 for what he had suffered, of anxiety for his 
 safety, of doubt regarding the future ; all of 
 which were very sweet, for all showed him too 
 happily, too brightly, that he was loved in 
 return ; and when at length he referred to his 
 conversation with the priest, and to the expec- 
 tations which had been held out, she looked 
 eagerly up in his face, replying without dis- 
 guise, "So he said to me, Ferdinand. He spoke 
 of strange and mysterious things ; of my fate 
 and that of my house being linked to yours 
 by an unseen tie; which, if it were broken, 
 would bring ruin on us all, I could not under- 
 stand him. I doubted, for I could scarcely 
 believe such happy tidings true." 
 
 She paused and coloured, as soon as the 
 words were spoken ; and blushed more deeply 
 still when he asked, " Then they were happy, 
 dear Adelaide?" 
 
 " You do not doubt it," she murmured, after 
 a moment's silence. " But at all events," she 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 77 
 
 continued — suddenly turning from the question. 
 — " my mother told me, the very last time she 
 held me in her arms, to trust to what he might 
 say ; and now he bids me give myself to you, 
 without fear or doubt. I know not what to 
 think." 
 
 " Think that he directs you right, dear 
 Adelaide," replied her lover eagerly ; " and 
 oh ! follow his guidance, and the guidance of 
 your own heart." 
 
 She was silent for some minutes, walking on 
 by his side, till at length he asked, " AVill you 
 not promise, Adelaide, will you not promise to 
 be mine?" 
 
 "How can I — how dare I?" she answered. 
 " Without my father's will, what good were 
 my promise, Ferdinand?" 
 
 " All, everything to me," answered her 
 lover ; " for that promise once given you would 
 not break it, dear one. Who can tell what 
 your father may design ? Who can tell that he 
 may not some day seek to drive you to a 
 marriage with one you hate; or, at best, can 
 never love ? But that promise once given to 
 
78 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 me, would be strength to you, my beloved, as 
 well as comfort and assurance to myself. It 
 would be the rainbow of my life ; a pledge 
 that there would be no more destruction of all 
 hopes. Oh ! dear girl, do not refuse me; give 
 me back comfort and joy; give me back light 
 and sunshine; give me that security against 
 all I dread ; give me that support in danger, 
 that consolation in affliction, that object of 
 endeavour and of hope. Were it but the voice 
 of a lover, Adelaide, you might well hesitate, 
 you might well doubt; but one who has no 
 passion to serve, who is calmer, alas! than 
 I can be; who knows more than we know, 
 and judges more wisely than we can judge — 
 one for whom your dear mother bespoke your 
 confidence; one whom you promised her to 
 trust and to rely on — he urges you as strongly 
 even as I do, and bids you follow the course in 
 which love would lead, not for my sake alone, 
 but for your own also." 
 
 They had reached a spot, by this time, where 
 the wood fell back a little from the path on 
 one side, and a low, rocky bank appeared on 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 79 
 
 the other, crowned with old beeches. A sprino- 
 of bright, clear water welled from the stone, 
 filling a basin that some careful hand had 
 carved below; while above, in a little niche, 
 was placed a figure of the Virgin, with the in- 
 fant Saviour in her arms; and Ferdinand, ex- 
 tending his hand towards the well, added 
 earnestly, "Here I, at least, Adelaide, saw 
 that dear lady for the last time ; here she 
 taught us to kneel down and pray together, 
 not many days before she laid that injunction 
 upon you. And now, dear Adelaide, now you 
 will not refuse me — now you will follow the 
 counsel to which she pointed — and promise to 
 be mine." 
 
 There was love in her heart, there was a 
 voice in her own bosom spoke more eloquently 
 than his ; she wavered — she yielded. He saw 
 the colour come and go; he saw the bright 
 eyes full of tears ; he saw the lip quiver, and 
 he cried, " Oh ! promise, promise, Adelaide ! " 
 
 " Well, I do," she murmured ; and at the 
 same instant a voice near seemed to say, " Pro- 
 mised, promised !" 
 
80 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Both started and looked round, but nothing 
 was to be seen. The clear light streamed 
 through the trees on the top of the bank, 
 suffering the eye to see for some way between 
 their trunks ; the open space behind was con- 
 siderable, and no place of concealment ap- 
 peared to be near. 
 
 " It was but the echo, dearest," said Ferdi- 
 nand ; and pronouncing a word or two sharply, 
 there was a slight return of the sound. Ade- 
 laide was not satisfied, however, and lay- 
 ing her hand upon his arm, she said in a 
 low tone, " Come away, come away. Oh, 
 Heaven ! if any one should have discovered 
 us!" 
 
 " No fear, no fear, dearest," replied her 
 lover, walking on by her side. " But to guard 
 against discovery for the future, Adelaide, we 
 must devise some means of communication. 
 Is there any one near you, whom you can 
 trust, my beloved?" 
 
 " No one but Bertha," answered the lady: "I 
 can trust her, I am sure, for she is good and 
 true ; but yet I do not think I could ever make 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 81 
 
 up my mind to speak to her on the subject 
 first." 
 
 Ferdinand mused for a moment or two, with 
 a smile upon his lips ; and then replied, " I 
 almost suspect, Adelaide, that Bertha will not 
 require much information. If I might judge 
 by her look to-day, she's already aware of 
 more than you suspect." 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" exclaimed Adelaide, " do not 
 say so. If she is, my conduct must have been 
 very imprudent." 
 
 " Her eye may have been very keen," re- 
 plied her companion ; " but if you think you 
 can trust her, I will speak to her upon the 
 subject myself — cautiously and carefully, you 
 know, dear one, so as not to tell her more than 
 is necessary at once ; but, indeed, I can foresee 
 many circumstances in which we shall have 
 absolute need of some one to aid us — of some 
 one who can give tidings of each to the other, 
 when all opportunity of private intercourse 
 may be denied us." 
 
 " You must judge, Ferdinand, you must 
 judge," answered Adelaide ; " but, indeed, I 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 fear I have done wrong already, and tremble 
 to look forward to the coming time. And 
 now, leave me, dear Ferdinand. We are near 
 the castle, and you ought not to go with me 
 further. Every step agitates and terrifies 
 me, and I would fain seek my own chamber, 
 and think." 
 
 Still Ferdinand lingered, however, for some 
 time longer ; still he detained his fair com- 
 panion ; nor would he part with her till love's 
 first caress was given, and the bond between 
 them sealed upon her lips. But at length 
 Adelaide withdrew her hand, half smiling-, 
 half chiding, and hurried away, leaving him to 
 follow some time after. When she reached 
 the castle, she passed the room where she had 
 before been sitting, catching with a glowing 
 cheek a gay, arch look that Bertha directed 
 towards her ; and entering her bed-room, cast 
 herself upon her knees and prayed, while 
 tears of agitation and alarm, both at her own 
 sensations, and at what she had promised, 
 rolled over the dark lashes of her eyes, and 
 trickled down her cheek. Young love is ever 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 8^ 
 
 timid ; but in lier case there were other 
 feelings which moved her strongly and pain- 
 fully. She was not satisfied with her own 
 conduct; she feared she had done wrong; and 
 for that one day she acted the part of a severe 
 censor on lierself. True, her father's de- 
 meanour little invited confidence ; true, he 
 was often harsh and severe, even to her ; true, 
 from him she could expect no consideration 
 for her wishes or for her feelings ; but yet he 
 was her father, the one whom she was bound 
 to love and to obey ; and her own heart 
 would not altogether acquit her, even though 
 love pleaded eloquently on her behalf. I have 
 said that she thus felt and suffered for that 
 one day; for, as will be seen hereafter, a 
 strange and sudden change came over her, and 
 with no apparent reason, she soon gave herself 
 up unboundedly to the full influence of her 
 attachment. The human heart is a strange 
 thing ; but very often, for visible effects which 
 seem unaccountable, there are secret causes 
 sufficient for all. In our dealings with the 
 world, and with each of our fellow-men, we are 
 
 g2 
 
84 
 
 EHilENST.MX. 
 
 too often unjust, not so much from Judging 
 wrongly, as from judging at all. " Man can 
 but judge from what he knows," is the 
 common cry of those who find thenxselves 
 fearfully wrong when all is explained ; but the 
 question which each should ask himself is, 
 " Am I called upon to judge at all?" and too 
 often the reply would be, " Judge not, and 
 thou shalt not be judged ; condemn not, and 
 thou shalt not be condemned." SujQficient, 
 surely, is the awful responsibility of judging, 
 when duty or self-defence forces it upon us ; 
 how terrible, then, the weight when we under- 
 take to decide unnecessarily upon the conduct 
 of others, without seeing the circumstances, 
 without hearing the evidence, without knowing 
 the motives, — and yet we do it every day, and 
 every hour, in our deeds, in our words, and in 
 our thoughts, lacking that true charity of the 
 heart that thinketh no evil. But man has 
 become a beast of prey : the laws prevent him 
 from tearing his fellows with his teeth, and 
 the human tiger preys upon them in his 
 thoughts. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 85 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 There are men who rise from a low station to 
 a throne ; and it certainly must he a grand 
 and triumphant sensation which they expe- 
 rience when first they sit in the seat of sove- 
 reignty, and feel their brows pressed by the 
 golden circlet of command, with the great 
 objects of ambition all attained, the struggle 
 up the steep ascent to power accomplished, 
 and the end reached for which they have 
 fought, and laboured, and watched through 
 maiiy a weary day and night. But the exul- 
 tation of that moment, great as it may be, is 
 nothing to that which fills the heart of youth 
 in the first moment of successful love. The 
 new-throned usurper must be well-nigh weary 
 of repeated triumphs ; for the step to the throne 
 
86 EHRENSTEIN, 
 
 is but the last of many a fatiguing footfall in 
 the path of ambition. He, too, must foresee 
 innumerable dangers and difficulties round ; for 
 the experience of the past must teach him that 
 in his race there is no goal, that the prize is 
 never really won, that he may have distanced 
 all others, but that he must still run on. Not 
 so with the lover in the early hours of his 
 success ; his is the first step in the course of 
 joy, and the brightest, because the first. 
 Fresh from all the dreams of youth, it is to 
 him the sweetest of realities ; unwearied with 
 the bitter task of experience, he has the capa- 
 bility of enjoyment as well as the expectation 
 of repose. The brightness of the present 
 spreads a veil of misty light over all that is 
 threatening in the future ; and the well of 
 sweet waters in the heart seems inexhaustible. 
 
 "With what a different step Ferdinand of 
 Altenburg trod the halls of the castle on his 
 return ; with what a different view he looked 
 on all things round him ! The gloomy towers, 
 the shadowy chambers, the long, cheerless 
 corridors, seemed full of light ; and there was 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 87 
 
 a gay and laughing spirit in his heart which 
 had not been there since love first became its 
 tenant. He could have jested, he could have 
 sported like a child ; but, alas ! there was no 
 one to jest or sport with, for not more than 
 five or six men were left in the castle after the 
 train of the Count and the little band of 
 Sickendorf had departed. Adelaide, too, re- 
 mained in her own apartments, whither he 
 dared not venture ; and none of the two or 
 three girls who attended upon her, and who, 
 with an elderly dame, whose principal function 
 appeared to be to quarrel with the chief butler, 
 formed all the female inmates of lEhrenstein, 
 ventured forth for nearly two hours after his 
 return. Bertha, indeed, looked at him once, as 
 he paced the battlements below the windows 
 of the room in which she sat, but maliciously 
 kept the casement closed, suspecting, perhaps, 
 that he had had enough enjoyment for one 
 day. Anxious to speak with her, and to carry 
 out his plan for making her the means of com- 
 municating with her mistress, Ferdinand, as 
 he turned back again, ventured to make her a 
 
88 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 sign to join him ; but Bertha took no notice, 
 and plied her busy hands on the embroidery 
 frame where she sat, without seeming even to 
 see him. 
 
 The poor lover's first happy day promised 
 but a dull passing. Those were not days of 
 many books ; and perhaps, in the whole extent 
 of the castle, not more than four or five were 
 to be found. But Ferdinand could not have 
 read, even had they been to be procured, for 
 his whole thoughts were in that busy and 
 excited state, in which it was impossible to fix 
 his mind with attention upon anything but his 
 own fate and projects. He went the whole 
 round of the castle ; then he saw that every- 
 thing was in order ; he spoke to the men who 
 were in the execution of their daily duties ; 
 and often as he went, he fell into a fit of 
 thought, where fancy rapt him far away, wan- 
 dering in bright sunny lands, side by side 
 with her he loved. At leng-th, returning to 
 the corridor above, through which he knew 
 that both Adelaide and Bertha must pass, if 
 either came forth from the ladies' apartments. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 89" 
 
 he stationed himself at one of the windows, 
 and continued to gaze out over the wide extent 
 of forest, and hill, and dale, which the pros- 
 pect presented. All was silent and quiet, A 
 dreamy stillness hung over the whole place; 
 the sunshine itself seemed to sleep quietly- 
 over the motionless masses of the trees, and 
 never was there an hour or a scene in which 
 a young lover might indulge the glittering 
 visions of imagination, with less to distract 
 or interrupt his thoughts. 
 
 The last four-and-twenty hours had been 
 busy ones in Ferdinand's life — busy in emo- 
 tions, if not in action; and they had been 
 varied too by many a change of sensation, 
 by much despondency, by awe and by fear, 
 and by hope and joy. But if the truth must 
 be told, it was only on the hope and joy that 
 his mind dwelt. The strange and fearful 
 scenes through which he had passed the night 
 before were forgotten, or at least not thought 
 of; the sorrows that were past gave but a 
 sort of shadowy relief to the bright aspect of 
 the present ; difficulties, impediments, dangers, 
 were unheeded or unseen. 
 
90 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 For not more than half an hour, however, 
 was he suffered thus to dream ; for, at the end 
 of that time, the door at which he had looked 
 up as he passed on the preceding night was 
 opened and closed ; and turning quickly round 
 Ix? saw Bertha gliding down the corridor 
 towards the top of the staircase. She laid 
 her finger on her lips as she passed him ; 
 and, without speaking, he followed where 
 she led. 
 
 The gay girl took her way to the battle- 
 ments on the shady side of the castle, to 
 which few of the rooms of the building were 
 turned ; there she paused, and looked gaily 
 at Ferdinand, with her dark eyes sparkling, 
 and her pretty little lip curling with fun and 
 malice. " Impudent young man," she said, 
 as he joined her, "how can you do such 
 things? first singing a love song under my 
 window, and then making me a sign to come 
 and join you. I am a great deal too good- 
 natured, and too tender thus to indulge 
 you. If our lady were to find out that 
 w^e w^ere lovers, she would tell her father 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 91 
 
 and then we should soon both be sent out of 
 the castle." 
 
 She spoke as gravely as she could ; and 
 though her gay look might give some indica- 
 tion of what was passing within, yet Bertha's 
 eyes were always such merry ones, that Fer- 
 dinand felt not a little embarrassed how to 
 answer what perhaps might be a jest, but 
 which might yet be serious also. She enjoyed 
 his perplexity for a moment or two, and then 
 asked in a sharp tone, " Well, sir, why don't 
 you speak if you have anything to say? 
 If you don't, I must give you something 
 to talk about. Tell me, sir, what is it has 
 made my mistress so sad since she went 
 out and met you in the wood?" 
 
 "Sad is she?" exclaimed Ferdinand, alarm- 
 ed; "I know nought that should make her 
 sad." 
 
 " Well, she is," rephed Bertha ; " for she 's 
 shut up in her own room, and Theresa com- 
 passionately looked through the keyhole, and 
 told us she was weeping." 
 
 " Good Heaven ! " exclaimed Ferdinand, 
 
92 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 still hesitating whether he should acknow- 
 ledge that he had met Adelaide or not. 
 " Nothino- I have ever done could o-ive her 
 pain." 
 
 "Well, don't look so terrified, sir lover," 
 answered Bertha ; " there are a thousand other 
 things beside pain that make women weep ; 
 sometimes joy, sometimes fright ; and perhaps 
 it is the last in this case." 
 
 "But why should she fear?" asked Fer- 
 dinand. 
 
 " Nay, that you know best," replied Bertha. 
 "You've neither of you thought fit to tell 
 me anything about it; but you had a great 
 deal better ; for, if you don't, depend upon it 
 you'll get yourselves into all manner of 
 difficulties and dangers. You are both of 
 you as imprudent and as ignorant of such 
 matters as if you were twelve years old ; 
 and I should not wonder if you were to have 
 yourself strangled for making love to your 
 lord's daughter, and to get her either shut 
 up in a convent, or married in haste to some 
 fierce old baron, who may maltreat her, as 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 93 
 
 my good and noble lord, the Count, used 
 his poor wife." 
 
 " Nay, now you are trying* to tease me, 
 pretty Bertha," replied Ferdinand of Alten- 
 burg. "As I see you know a great deal, 
 I may as well tell you all ; and I will, if you 
 can be serious ; but if you go on in jest with 
 me, I will jest with you, and may find means 
 to tease you too." 
 
 " Nay, I am not jesting at all," answered 
 Bertha, more gravely; '^all I have said is 
 true enough : and I can tell you 1 have been 
 in a great fright for you both for some time. 
 For during the last month I have been 
 terrified every day lest others should see 
 what was plain enough to my eyes. Do 
 you consider what it is you are doing, and 
 what sort of a man our lord is — that he 
 would no more hesitate to put you to death 
 in the castle-ditch than to eat his breakfast ?" 
 
 " He dare not," answered Ferdinand, boldly. 
 " He may do that with a serf or a vassal, 
 perhaps ; but I am neither the one nor the 
 other, and as noble as he is." 
 
94 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 All women love daring, and the youth's 
 answer pleased his companion well ; yet she 
 could not help jesting him a little upon what she 
 called his pride. "Oh, yes, you 're a gentleman 
 born !" she said ; " you have made us all know 
 that. But now, Ferdinand, talk a little reason, 
 and don't pretend to say what our lord dare do, 
 or dare not do. He dare do many a thing, and 
 has before now, which perhaps neither I nor 
 you dream of. But in a word, young gentle- 
 man — for I must not stop long — I have seen 
 for some time all that is going on here, and 
 would have given a great deal to stop it, but I 
 did not know how ; and now it is too late. 
 The only thing to be thought of at present is, 
 what is to come of all this ? On my life ! my 
 knees shake when I think of it; and I am 
 not apt to be afraid of a little adventure either. 
 "What is it that you two propose to do?" 
 
 To say the truth, this was a question for 
 which Ferdinand was not at all prepared 
 v/ith an answer. He had laid out, indeed, 
 no distinct plan of action. Youth and love 
 are strange relieis upon circumstances, and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 95 
 
 lie replied simply, " To go on loving, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Oh, that plan will never do," answered 
 Bertha, laughing. " You can 't stop there. 
 In the first place, you would neither of you be 
 content to go on loving like a couple of turtles 
 in two separate cages all your lives ; and be- 
 sides, things would soon happen to drive you 
 out of such idleness of love. Any day of the 
 week, my lord may think fit to marry his 
 daughter; and what would she and you do 
 then? I must think of some plan for you, 
 poor things ; for I see you are not fit to devise 
 any for yourselves." 
 
 " The only plan, my pretty Bertha, to be 
 followed at present," answered Ferdinand, 
 after a moment's thought, " is for you to be- 
 friend us, and give us help as far as you can, 
 in whatever circumstances may occur ; to let 
 me know everything that happens to your 
 lady that I do not see ; and I will take care 
 that you shall know everything that occurs to 
 me, in order that it may be communicated 
 to her. I am sure it is your wish to serve 
 
yO EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 her, Bertha; she loves you dearly, and has 
 such confidence in you that she told me I 
 might confide in you implicitly." 
 
 " I woul3 serve her with my heart's blood," 
 replied the girl, warmly ; " tliough Heaven for- 
 bid that I should have to do so," she added, 
 laughing ; " for I would a great deal rather 
 have that heart's blood where it is, and see her 
 happy too, poor girl. But, heigho ! I don't 
 know how that 's to be done, and if I am to be 
 the messenger between you, Master Ferdinand, 
 there will be nothing for it but for you to make 
 love to me; or, at least, to get the people of the 
 castle to think you are so doing." 
 
 " Oil, that won't be a very difficult task, 
 Bertha," replied the young man, with a gal- 
 lant look. "And all we can do is to watch 
 events, and to take advantage of them as they 
 arise— at least till we have further counsel 
 from Father George as to how we ought to 
 act." 
 
 "Oh, is Father George in the secret?" cried 
 Bertha, clapping her hands joyfully ; " then 
 there is hope. The lord of the abbey against 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 97 
 
 the lord of the castle will always beat in the 
 end. But what says the good Father?" 
 
 " He says everything to encourage us," 
 answered Ferdinand, " and, unlike you, fair 
 Bertha, nothing to discourage." 
 
 " He knows more than I do," replied Ber- 
 tha, " more than any of us ; and he has some 
 reason, I '11 warrant. I wish to Heaven I 
 could see him ; but I dare not go down so 
 far, for fear I should be missed. He was with 
 our poor lady in her last hours, and doubtless 
 could tell a tale if he would — well, well, men 
 are strange creatures; I wonder women are 
 such fools as to make themselves their slaves 
 — I '11 never marry — not I ; for I never yet 
 saw the man that was not as soft as a dor- 
 mouse while he was courting, and as hard as 
 a hyena when he was married. But there 
 comes old Sickendorf riding up through the 
 wood — I must away, for he 's the greatest old 
 tell-tale in the world, with the gossiping 
 tongue of a grandmother, the spite of a 
 monkey, and the heart of a wolf." 
 
 " Stay, stay, Bertha," cried the young gen- 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 tleman. " If we are to seem lovers, you 
 know, it is as well that the old man should 
 see us ; and if he catches sight of you walking 
 here with me, without perceiving who it is 
 distinctly, he may fancy it is Adelaide, and 
 make mischief there." 
 
 " Ah, you treacherous boy !" cried the gay 
 girl, "that is a true specimen of all men. 
 To shield yourself and your love of the hour 
 you would have all the risk and the blame 
 fall upon me, though Heaven knows I am 
 hazarding enough to serve you. The more 
 faith and truth we poor things have, the more 
 ready are you to sacrifice us. It seems quite 
 natural and right, does it not, that I should, just 
 as an honour and a pleasure, fall into blame 
 with my lord, and seem your light of love to 
 blind him to your mad passion for his daughter." 
 
 "But you yourself proposed, I should 
 make the people think that you. Bertha, are 
 the object I am seeking," replied Ferdinand, 
 " and now when I propose to follow that very 
 plan you accuse me of ingratitude, wavering 
 to and fro like an aspen leaf," 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 99 
 
 "Am I not a woman?" cried Bertha, 
 laughing ; " have I not a right to waver ? If 
 you are to make love to me, I tell you, I will 
 change fifty times a day ; when I pout, you 
 shall call my lips budding roses; when I 
 smile, you shall call my brow, heaven ; when 
 I cry, you shall say my eyes are like the 
 April sky. Now, I am not in the humour for 
 being made love to, so I have more than 
 a mind to run away and leave you as a 
 morsel for old Sickendorf 's grinders — at 
 least, those he has left." 
 
 " Nay, nay, dear Bertha," cried Ferdinand, 
 pressing to her side as he saw the horsemen 
 coming near ; " if not for mine, for your sweet 
 mistress's sake, play out the part you have 
 undertaken." 
 
 " The mystery must not be a long one, then, 
 Master Ferdinand," answered Bertha ; " and, 
 for modesty, keep a little farther off, for 
 although I do not very much mind that people 
 should say I listened to a love story — there 
 being no great harm in that — I would rather 
 they did not think it too warm a one, for 
 H 2 
 
100 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 women have a character to lose, though men 
 have none worth keeping." 
 
 " But then, dear Bertha, it is understood 
 that you will befriend us," said her companion, 
 " and will keep our secret, and give us all 
 sorts of information and advice." 
 
 " Aye, aye," answered Bertha, " I must 
 risk putting my hand into the bee-hive and 
 being stung to death, to get yoa to the honey. 
 I am older than either of you, and ought to 
 know better, but you are two such poor 
 imprudent things, that if I did not help you, 
 one would die of a broken heart, and the 
 other of a broken neck, very soon, so I must 
 even run the risk. But I will have some 
 talk with Father George, very soon, for if he 
 does not give me some assurance and comfort, 
 I shall dream of nothing but being strangled 
 every night. Here they come, here they 
 come ; Sickendorf and his gang. Heaven and 
 earth ! what have they got all those horses 
 loaded with i they must have been plundering 
 IN'eustadt. Now, cannot you make me a fine 
 speech, Master Ferdinand, swearing love and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 101 
 
 eternal constancy, such as you men tickle poor 
 girls' ears with, just to let old Sickendorf see 
 you in the act of ^protestation ? " 
 
 " I would give you a kiss, pretty Bertha," 
 replied Ferdinand, gaily, " and that would 
 do better, only you told me not to come 
 near." 
 
 " Oh, that would be too close, a great deal,'* 
 answered Bertha, laughing. " There, he sees 
 us — hark ! he is calhng out to us — I will run 
 away as if in a fright, and let him see my face 
 as I go." 
 
 She did as she proposed, and in a moment 
 after the old knight came riding along under 
 the battlements calling up to Ferdinand with 
 a loud laugh, " Ha, ha, you young dog, that 's 
 what you staid at home for, to chat with 
 pretty Bertha on the walls ! " 
 
 " No great harm in that, Sickendorf," re- 
 plied Ferdinand, leaning over to speak to him. 
 " I dare say you have done such a thing 
 before now, yourself; and will do it again 
 many a time. Both she and I like a walk in 
 the free air, better than being stifled in the 
 
102 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 castle all day long. And why shouldn't we 
 take it together 1 " 
 
 " If that were all, why didn't you go on 
 the side, where folks could see you ?" replied 
 the old man, still merry. '^No, no, youngster, 
 I am too old a campaigner for that. How- 
 ever, it 's no business of mine. We 've made 
 a glorious forage. The rogues did not expect 
 to be called upon in such a hurry, so that all 
 tlie capons were strutting before the door; 
 aye, and geese too. How many geese have 
 we got, Martin?" 
 
 " Nineteen, sir," answered the man ; and 
 the old knight was riding on, when Ferdinand 
 called after him, laughing, " Why, that 's the 
 number of your troop, Sickendorf !" 
 
 The other shook his fist at him good- 
 humouredly enough ; for his heart was ex- 
 panded by the success of his expedition, and to 
 say the truth, Bertha had done him but scanty 
 justice. He was a thorough old German 
 knight of the times — a character which had 
 generally more or less _of the reiter in it — as 
 ignorant as a boor of everything but war, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 103 
 
 brave as a lion, superstitious in a high degree, 
 bloody when enraged or opposed, rapacious as 
 any beast of prey, and holding fast by the old 
 maxim, that anything is justifiable in love or 
 war. Far from thinking the worse, therefore, 
 of Ferdinand, if he had made love to all 
 Adelaide's maids together, he would only have 
 considered it a very laudable method of em- 
 ploying his idle hours, and would never have 
 thought of reporting it to the Count as a 
 matter of blame. He looked upon deceiving 
 a poor girl with tales of love, or beating a 
 boor nearly to death who resisted any unjust 
 demand, as one of the privileges of a soldier and 
 a gentleman, which it was not only just but 
 expedient to exercise from time to time, to keep 
 such rights from falling into desuetude ; and 
 after he entered the castle, turning his thoughts 
 to other affairs, he gave no more attention to 
 the proceedings of Bertha and Ferdinand, 
 only jesting the young man for a moment 
 upon his love-making ; and declaring that he 
 had shown bad taste, for that Theresa was by 
 far the prettier girl of the two. 
 
104 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " That 's because you are as black yourself 
 as one of the andirons," answered Ferdinand, 
 " and therefore you think every fair-faced girl 
 with flaxen hair a perfect beauty. I dare say 
 you 've said sweet things enough to Theresa, 
 and, therefore, I wouldn't for the world try to 
 spoil your game, if you won't spoil mine." 
 
 " Pooh, nonsense ; I 've given up love these 
 twenty years," said Sickendorf, " but I won't 
 meddle with your affairs. I wouldn't mar a 
 nice little plot of love for half the lands of 
 Ehrenstein — so go on your own way, I '11 not 
 interfere." 
 
 " Upon your honour ?" asked Ferdinand. 
 
 " Upon my knighthood," replied the old 
 man. " So long as you do your duty as a 
 soldier, I '11 not meddle with your love affairs. 
 But on my life, I 'm mighty hungry, for I 've 
 had nothing but a flagon of wine since I went, 
 and I can never wait till supper-time." 
 
 ^' Do not be afraid," answered Ferdinand, 
 " I made the cook put by for you at dinner, 
 the whole of a roast chine of roebuck, though 
 Metzler and Herman looked at it as if their 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 105 
 
 very eyes would have eaten it. I knew you 
 would come home like a wolf." 
 
 " That 's a good boy, that 's a good boy," 
 answered the old knight, " I won't forget you 
 for that. You shall have the skinning of a 
 fat village some day all to yourself ; but I '11 
 go and get the reh-braten, for I could eat my 
 fingers." And away he went, to satisfy his 
 appetite, which was at all times one of the 
 best. 
 
106 BHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 An hour or two went by, and it was drawing 
 towards night, when Sickendorf, after having 
 appeased the cravings of hunger, was walking 
 up and down the ordinary hall, for want of 
 anything else to do. Indeed, the piping time of 
 peace to a soldier of his stamp was a very dull 
 period, especially at that season of the year, 
 when many of the sports of the field are for- 
 bidden ; and any little incident that broke the 
 monotony of the castle life was a great relief. 
 There was nobody in the hall but himself; 
 and he was cursing the slow flight of time, 
 and thinking the Count very long ^ upon the 
 road home, when the lifting of the door latch 
 made him turn his head, and he instantly 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 107 
 
 exclaimed, with a hoarse laugh, " Ha ! who 
 are you looking for, Mrs. Bertha? Ferdinand 
 is not here." 
 
 " I was looking for you, sir," answered 
 Bertha, with perfect composure, at the same 
 time walking up to him. "I do not think 
 my lady is at all well," she continued, 
 "she has been moping by herself all day, 
 and says her head aches." 
 
 " Ah ! that 's bad, that 's bad," answered 
 Sickendorf: "no one should have a headach 
 but a boy of sixteen who has been drunk 
 overnight. But what can I do, pretty Bertha ; 
 I 'm no leech, and am more accustomed to 
 bleeding men than bleeding women ?" 
 
 "Ay, but Sir Knight, you can send down 
 to the chapel, where one of the monks will 
 be found. They all know something of 
 leechcraft ; and if Father George is there, 
 he knows a great deal." 
 
 " But it 's growing dark," said Sickendorf. 
 " The gates must be shut in ten minutes, 
 and we want all the men we have about 
 
108 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the place. Better wait till the Count comes 
 back, and if she should be very bad, I '11 
 tell you what you must do ; mull half a 
 pint of Zeller wine; put plenty of spice in, 
 and a spoonful or two of honey. Let her 
 drink that down at one draught, — that will 
 cure her. It is just what cured me the only 
 time I ever had a headach." 
 
 " Ay, but what would cure you might 
 kill our lady," replied Bertha, who did not 
 at all approve of the prescription. " I pray 
 you, Herr Von Sickendorf, send down one 
 of the men to the good father. What would 
 you say if this were to turn out a fever after 
 you refused to send for help ? " 
 
 " A fever ! " cried Sickendorf, " what has 
 she done to get a fever? She has neither 
 ridden fifty or sixty miles in a hot sun, nor 
 lain out all night in a damp marsh ; nor drunk 
 three or four quarts of wine to heat her blood — 
 Well, if I must send, I must ; but mind, I do it 
 with no good will, for I don't like to send 
 any of the men out after gates closing." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 109 
 
 Thus saying, he put his head out of the door, 
 calhng till the whole building echoed again: 
 " Martin, Martin — Martin, I say ;" and then re- 
 turning to Bertha's side, he continued, " I don't 
 think much of the monks. They can't be such 
 holy men as people say, else they'd keep the 
 wood clear of spirits and devils, and things of 
 that kind. Why one of the men, who was 
 looking out from the turret during the storm 
 last night, vows he saw some kind of apparition 
 just down below the chapel, fencing with the 
 lightning, and playing at pitch and toss with 
 balls of fire. Then all in a minute he vanished 
 away. — Ah ! Martin, you must go down to the 
 chapel in the wood, and tell the priest to come 
 up and see the lady Adelaide, who is ill ; so let 
 him bring his lancet with him." 
 
 " Nonsense," cried Bertha, " she will need no 
 bleeding; you soldiers think of nothing but 
 blood." 
 
 The man Martin dropped his head, and did 
 not at all seem to like the task ; but then gave 
 a look through the window to the sky and 
 
110 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 walked away, grumbling something which was 
 neither heard by the old knight nor the young 
 damseL Bertha having performed her errand, 
 was then tripping away; but Sickendorf caught 
 her hand, saying, in a honied tone, " Stay a 
 bit, my pretty maid, and chat with me, as you 
 did with young Ferdinand this morning." 
 , " No, indeed," cried Bertha, trying to with- 
 draw her hand ; " that was in the free air and 
 sunshine, not in a dark hall — let me go, sir." 
 But the next moment her eyes fixed upon 
 something at the further end of the long room, 
 and giving a loud scream she started back. 
 
 Sickendorf let go her hand, and turned 
 round to look in the same direction, where two 
 doors opened into the opposite sides of the hall. 
 Both apparently were closed, but yet, from 
 the one to the other he distinctly perceived a 
 tall shadowy form, clothed in long garments, 
 stalk slowly across, and disappear. The old 
 man who would willingly have confronted a 
 whole host of mortal enemies, and plunged his 
 horse into a forest of spikes, now stood rooted 
 
EHRENSTEIN. Ill 
 
 to the ground, with his teeth chattering- and 
 his knees shaking, a thousand-fold more terri- 
 fied than the young girl beside him. Bertha 
 seized the opportunity to hasten away to her 
 mistress's apartments ; and Sickendorf, who 
 called after her in vain, thought the line of her 
 retreat by the door behind them so excellent, 
 that he followed as soon as he could regain 
 strength to go. 
 
 Never in Sickendorf 's life had he so eagerly 
 desired companionship as when he quitted the 
 hall ; but companionship he could not find, of 
 the kind and quality that befitted his rank and 
 station. The old ritter would have felt him- 
 self degraded by associating with the common 
 soldiers, or anybody who had not Von before 
 his name; but Ferdinand he could not find; 
 his companion, old Karl Von Mosbach, had ac- 
 companied the Count, with all the other persons 
 of gentle birth who filled the various anomalous 
 ofiices which then existed in the household of 
 a high nobleman; and not even a crossbow- 
 man, who, as was generally admitted, had a 
 
112 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 right to sit down to table with a knight, could 
 be discovered by our worthy friend as he went 
 grumbling through the castle. 
 
 " Hundert Schwerin!" he exclaimed; "to 
 think of my seeing the ghost ! Santa Maria ! 
 who 'd have ever fancied it would have come 
 into the hall 1 It looked to me, mighty like 
 our poor dear lady that 's gone, only it had a 
 ong beard, and was six foot high. I wonder 
 if our good lord did put her out of the way, as 
 some people think ! — What could it want in 
 the hall? Very saucy of an apparition to 
 show itself there, unless it were at meal times, 
 when, poor thing ! it might want something to 
 eat and drink. It must be cold and hungry 
 work to go shivering about all night in vaults 
 and passages, and to sneak back to its hiding- 
 hole at daylight. I 'd rather stand sentry on 
 the northern'st tower in the middle of January. 
 I wonder if I shall ever be a ghost ! I should 
 not like it at all. I'll have this one laid, 
 however, if it costs me five crowns out of my 
 own pocket ; for we shan 't be safe in our 
 
EHRENSTEIN. Il3 
 
 rooms, if it goes on in this way, unless we 
 huddle up five or six together, like young pigs 
 in a sty. Donner ! where can that young dog, 
 Ferdinand, be ? I won't tell him what I Vo 
 seen, for he '11 only laugh ; but I '11 call him to 
 talk about the Lady Adelaide ; he 's very fond 
 of her, and will like to hear about Jier being 
 ill ;" and, raising his voice, with these friendly 
 intentions, he called up the stairs which led to 
 the young gentleman's room, — " Ferdinand 1 
 Ferdinand ! — I want you, scapegrace ! " 
 
 " What is it, ritter ?" answered the voice of 
 Ferdinand from above ; " I 'm busy, just now ; 
 I '11 come in a minute." 
 
 " But I want you now," answered Sicken- 
 dorf, who was determined not to be left longer 
 without society than was necessary; — "Come 
 hither and speak to me, or I will come to you." 
 
 Ferdinand said a word or two to some one 
 above, and then came unwillingly down the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Ah, wild one !" said the old knight, " what 
 would you have given to be in my place just 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 EHRENSTEIN» 
 
 now? I've had a chat with pretty mistress 
 Bertha, just between light and dark, in the 
 hall." 
 
 " Indeed !" answered Ferdinand. " I dare 
 say it was very innocent, Sickendorf ; and sa 
 was my chat with her on the battlements. 
 !But what might she want with you?" 
 
 " Why, the Lady Adelaide is very ill,'' 
 replied Sickendorf. 
 
 " 111 ! " exclaimed Ferdinand, in a tone of 
 much alarm. " What, the Lady Adelaide ! 
 She seemed quite well this morning." 
 
 " Ay, but women change like the wind,"' 
 said Sickendorf; " and she 's ill now, however ; 
 so I Ve sent down to the chapel for the priest 
 to come up and say what's to be done for 
 her." 
 
 " Why, Father George is in my room now," 
 replied Ferdinand, " giving me good counsel 
 and advice." 
 
 "Send him down, then, — send him do-vvn, 
 quick," said Sickendorf ; "and then come and 
 talk with me : I Ve a good deal to say." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 115 
 
 Ferdinand sped away with a much more rapid 
 step than that which had brought him thither, 
 and returned in a few seconds with the good 
 priest, whose face, as far as Sickendorf could 
 see it, in the increasing darkness, expressed 
 much less alarm than that which the lover's 
 countenance had displayed. 
 
 " 'Tis nothing, — 'tis nothing," he said, after 
 speaking with the old knight for a moment, on 
 the lady's illness ; " some trifle that will soon 
 pass. But I will go and see ;" and, accom- 
 panied by Ferdinand and the old soldier as far 
 as the door of Adelaide's apartments, he went 
 in without ceremony. 
 
 While he remained, — and he staid for more 
 than an hour, Ferdinand and Sickendorf con- 
 tinued walking up and down the corridor, and 
 only went beyond it to order the hall and the 
 passages to be lighted. Their conversation 
 was entirely of the Lady Adelaide and her 
 illness ; for though, with the invariable garru- 
 lity of one who had seen a marvel, Sickendorf 
 more than a dozen times approached the sub- 
 
 I 2 
 
116 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ject of tlie apparition, ready to pour the whole 
 tale into Ferdinand's ear, notwithstanding all 
 his resolutions to the contrary, the young man 
 was still more occupied with the thoughts of 
 his fair lady's state, than the old knight with the 
 memory of the ghost, and he ever turned back 
 to that topic just when the whole history was 
 about to be related. Then Sickendorf would 
 discourse learnedly upon calentures and fevers, 
 hot and cold, describe the humours that ferment 
 in man's blood, and tell what are the vapours 
 that rise from their fermentation; shake his 
 head and declare that it was a wondrous pity 
 young girls should be so given phthisick, which 
 often carried them off in the flower of their 
 age, and the lustre of their beauty ; and, 
 shaking his head when he pronounced Ade- 
 laide's name, would declare that she looked 
 sadly frail of late, doubting whether she would 
 last another winter. But as all this — ^though 
 it served to torment in a terrible manner the 
 heart of the young lover — would probably not 
 prove very entertaining to the reader, we will 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 117 
 
 pass over the further particulars till the good 
 father's return. By this time, to Sickendorf's 
 great comfort and consolation, there was as 
 much light shed through the corridor, from a 
 great crescet at one end and a lantern at the 
 other, as the passages of the castle ever dis- 
 played. It was not very brilliant, indeed, but 
 sufficiently so to show that Father George's 
 countenance was perfectly cheerful and calm ; 
 and in answer to the eager questions of Fer- 
 dinand, and the less anxious inquiries of 
 the old knight, he said, — " Oh, the lady is 
 better ; 't is but a little passing cloud, and she 
 will be as well as ever ere the morning." 
 
 "Have you let her blood?" asked Sicken- 
 dorf. 
 
 " Nay, no need of that," answered Father 
 George. " Her illness came but from some 
 melancholy fumes, rising from the heart to the 
 head. That I have remedied, and she is better 
 already, — but I must hasten back, for I may be 
 needed at the chapel." 
 
 " Stay, stay, good father," cried the old 
 
118 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 knight; "I have something to ask of you. 
 I will go with you to the gate ;" and walking 
 on with Father George, he entertained him 
 with an account of the apparition he had seen 
 in the hall, and besought him to take the 
 most canonical means of laying the unwelcome 
 visitant, by the heels, in the Red Sea ; or if that 
 could not be done for a matter of five or 
 ten crowns, at least to put up such prayers 
 on his behalf, as would secure him against any 
 farther personal acquaintance with it. 
 
 Father George smiled quietly at the old 
 knight's tale, and assured him he would do 
 his best in the case, after due consideration. 
 Then, hastening away, he passed down the hill, 
 and just reached the door of his temporary 
 dwelling, when the sound of many horses' 
 feet, coming up from below, announced the re- 
 turn of the Count to Ehrenstein. Father 
 George, however, did not wait to salute the 
 nobleman as he passed, or to communicate 
 to him the fact of his daughter's illness, but 
 entered his little cell, and closing the door 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 119 
 
 listened for a moment or two as the long train 
 passed by, and then lighted his lamp. 
 
 In the mean thne the Count rode on, with 
 somewhat jaded horses, and at a slow pace, 
 looking to the right and left, through the 
 dim obscurity of the night, as if he, too, were 
 not altogether without apprehensions of some 
 terrible sight presenting itself. More than 
 once he struck his horse suddenly with the 
 spur, and not one word did he interchange 
 with any of his followers, from the time he 
 crossed the bridge till he arrived at the Castle 
 gates. He was met under the archway by 
 Sickendorf and Ferdinand, the schloss voght, or 
 castle bailiff, and two or three of the guard. 
 But he noticed no one except the old knight, 
 whom he took by the arm, and walked on with 
 him into the hall. 
 
 " What news, Sickendorf ?" he said. " Has 
 anything happened since I went?" 
 
 " Ay, two or three things, my lord," replied 
 Sickendorf. " In the first place, the lady 
 
120 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Adelaide has been ill, headachy, and drooping, 
 like a sick falcon." 
 
 " Pooh ! some woman's ailment, that will be 
 gone to-morrow," replied the Count. 
 
 "Ay, so says Father George, whom I sent 
 for, to see her," answered Sickendorf. And 
 finding that his lord paid very little attention 
 to the state of his daughter's health, he went 
 on to give him an account of his foraging 
 expedition in the morning, dwelling long and 
 minutely upon the number of ducks, capons, 
 geese, sheep, and lambs, which he had obtained, 
 and dilating somewhat at large upon his con- 
 versation with sundry retainers and vassals of 
 the Count whom he had summoned in the 
 course of his ride to present themselves at the 
 castle on the following day. 
 
 Such details of all that was said by the 
 peasantry were usually very much desired by 
 the Count, whose jealous and suspicious dispo- 
 sition made him eager to glean every little 
 indication of the feelings and sentiments of the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 121 
 
 people towards him, but on the present occasion 
 Sickendorf's long-winded narrative seemed to 
 weary and irritate him, and after many not 
 very comj)limentary interjections, he stopped 
 him, saying, " There, there, that will do ; there 
 will be enough, doubtless, both of geese and 
 asses, capons and boors;" and he remained 
 standing with his eyes fixed upon the ground, 
 in thought. 
 
 " I fear, my good lord," said the bluff old 
 soldier, who generally took the liberty of 
 saying what he liked, " that you have not been 
 very successful in your expedition ; for you 
 seem to have come home in a mighty ill 
 humour — I suppose the money isn't so much 
 as you expected." 
 
 " No, no ; it is not that," answered the 
 Count, " I never expected any till this morn- 
 ing, so it is all pure gain, and a good large 
 sum too, when it arrives. Heaven send it come 
 safe! for Count Frederick has not brought it 
 with him, but trusted it to some of the lazy 
 merchants of Pisa. — No, no, it isn't that. 
 
122 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Sickendorf. But there are things I love not 
 about this place. By Heaven ! I have a great 
 mind to take a torch, set fire to yon old rafters, 
 and burn the whole of it to the ground." 
 
 " Better do that to your enemy's man- 
 sion than your own,'' answered Sickendorf, 
 drily, and a good deal surprised at his lord's 
 vehemence. 
 
 " Ay, but my enemy has a house that 
 won't burn," answered the Count. " You 
 can't burn the grave, Sickendorf — that's a 
 vain effort. What I mean is, that these 
 stories of spirits and unearthly beings wan- 
 dering here and there around us, oppress me, 
 Sickendorf. Why should I call them stories l 
 Have I not seen? Do 1 not know ?" 
 
 " Ay, and I have seen, too," answered 
 Sickendorf; "but I never knew you had, my 
 good lord." 
 
 " Why, this very night," continued the 
 Count, grasping his arm tight, and speaking 
 in a low tone, " as I came through the woods, 
 wherever I turned my eyes, I saw nought but 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 123 
 
 dim figures, flitting about amongst the trees ; 
 none distinct enough to trace either form or 
 feature, but still sufficiently clear to show that 
 the tale of the peasants and the women is but 
 too true — ." 
 
 " Peasants and women, sir ! " cried Sicken- 
 dorf. **' Knights and soldiers, too, if you please. 
 Why, within the last two months, ghosts have 
 been as plenty in the castle as holly berries 
 on the hills. 'Tis but this very night, that, as 
 I stood talking to Bertha about her lady's 
 illness, here where we now stand — just in the 
 twilight, between day and night — a tall, lank 
 figure, in long, thin, flowing robes, — it might 
 be in a shroud, for ought I know — crossed 
 from that door to that, and disappeared. We 
 both of us saw it, for her scream made me 
 turn round. So you see the very hall itself 
 is not safe. There should always be a tankard 
 of red wine standing here — for I've heard that 
 spirits will not come near red wine." 
 
 " Methinks we should soon find j)lenty of 
 ghosts to drink it," answered the Count, with 
 
124 
 
 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 a bitter laugh. " But it is very strange. I have 
 done nought to merit this visitation." 
 
 " Something must be done to remedy it, my 
 good lord," replied Sickendorf, " that is clear, 
 or they will drive us out of this hall as they 
 drove us out of the old one — That's to say, 
 I suppose it was the ghosts drove us out of that ; 
 for though you did not say why you left it, 
 all men suspected you had seen something." 
 
 The Count took a step or two backwards 
 and forwards in the room, and then pausing 
 opposite to Sickendorf, he replied, "No, my 
 good friend, I saw nought there but in fancy. 
 Yet was the fancy very strong ! Each time 
 I stood in that hall alone, it seemed as if my 
 brother came and stood beside me ; walked 
 as I walked ; and when I sat, placed himself 
 opposite, glaring at me with the cold glassy 
 eyes of death. It was fancy — I know it was 
 fancy ; for once I chased the phantom back 
 against the bare cold wall, and there it dis- 
 appeared ; but yet the next night it was there 
 again. — Why should it thus torment me," he 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 125 
 
 continued vehemently. " I slew him not ; I 
 ordered no one to slay him ; I have done him 
 no wrong." And he walked quickly up and 
 down the room again, while Sickendorf followed 
 more slowly, repeating, 
 
 " Well, my good lord, it's clear some- 
 thing must be tried to stop this, or we 
 shan't get soldiers to stay in the castle. 
 The rascals don't mind fighting anything of 
 flesh and blood, but they are not fond of 
 meeting with a thing when they don't know 
 what it is. So I thought it the best way to 
 speak with Father George about it, and ask 
 him to lay my ghost — I've had enough of it, 
 and don't wish to see such a thing any more." 
 
 " You did wrong — you did wrong, Sicken- 
 dorf," answered his lord. " I do not wish 
 these monks to meddle, they will soon be 
 fancying that some great crime has been com- 
 mitted, and putting us all to penance, if not 
 worse. We must find means to lay the ghost 
 ourselves — spirit or devil, or whatever it may 
 be." 
 
126 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " Well, then, my good lord, the only way 
 is to laugh at it," answered Sickendorf. " I 
 dare say one may become familiar with it in 
 time, though it 's ugly enough at first. One 
 gets accustomed to everything, and why not to 
 a ghost ? We '11 jest at him ; and if he comes 
 near me, I '11 throw the stool at his head, and 
 see if that will lay him — I am very sorry I 
 spoke to Father George, if it displeases you ; 
 but, however, there's not much harm done, 
 for the grey gowns of the abbey know every- 
 thing that goes on ; and the devil himself can't 
 conceal his game from them." 
 
 " Too much, too much," answered the Count ; 
 " they 're the pests of the land, prying and 
 spying, and holding their betters in subjection. 
 We are but the vassals of these monks, Sick- 
 endorf; and if I had my will, I 'd burn their 
 rookery about their ears." 
 
 " Ah, here comes Karl Von Mosbach," cried 
 Sickendorf, glad to escape giving an answer 
 .to his lord's diatribe against the monks, for 
 whom he retained all the superstitious venera- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 127 
 
 tion of an earlier period. " Ay, and the 
 Lady Adelaide, too ! Why, bless your beauti- 
 ful eyes, yon girl there told me you were ill, 
 fair lady!" 
 
 " I have been somewhat indisposed, but I 
 am well again now," answered Adelaide, ad- 
 vancing to her father. The Count, however, 
 took little notice of her, calling Bertha to him, 
 and making her give him an account of what 
 she and Sickendorf had seen. 
 
 " Fancy, fancy, my dear father," cried Ade- 
 laide, when the girl had done, laughing much 
 more joyously than was her wont. "These 
 tales are told and listened to, till the eyes 
 become accomplices of the imagination, and 
 both combine to cheat us. Bertha came down 
 in the grey twilight, to say that I was ill ; and 
 I will warrant, went trembling along the dark 
 passages, and taking every suit of armour, and 
 every shadow through the window, of soldier 
 or of warder passing without, for a grim spirit 
 in a shroud." 
 
 " Nay, nay, dear lady," cried Bertha, and 
 
128 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 was about to defend herself, but the Count cut 
 her short, turning to his daughter with a smile, 
 and saying, " So these tales have not infected 
 your fancy, Adelaide. You have no fears of 
 ghosts or spirits?" 
 
 " Not I, indeed," answered the lady. " First, 
 because I have never seen them, and next, 
 because I know they would not hurt me, if I 
 did. If they be unsubstantial they cannot 
 harm me ; and if I be innocent, they would 
 not seek to do so, if they could. I fear them 
 not, my father, and I only pray, if any are 
 seen more, I may be called to behold them 
 too." 
 
 The fair girl spoke more boldly and more 
 lightly than she usually did, and through the 
 rest of the evening the same cheerful spirit 
 did not leave her. Seated with her father at 
 the last meal of the day, she cheered him with 
 conversation, and asked many a question re- 
 garding Count Frederick of Leiningen, and 
 those he brought in his train. 
 
 " There is none that will fit thee for a 
 
EHRENSTEIX. 129 
 
 husband, I fear, my cliild," replied tlie Count 
 wlio for the time had caught a portion of his 
 daughter's gaiety. " They are all bluff old 
 soldiers, like Sickendorf or Mosbach there. 
 Even his very jester is white-headed, and his 
 dwarf like a withered pippin." 
 
 " Methinks it would not be easy to jest if 
 one were old," said Adelaide. " Gravity and 
 age, I have always thought twin sisters." 
 
 " No, no," replied the Count, " that is be- 
 cause you know nought of the world, dear 
 girl. Why Count Frederick himself is just 
 the same gay, joyous soul as ever, and is as 
 old as I am, or a year older. Now, I dare say, 
 to your young eyes, I seem to have reached a 
 vast antiquity, for it is only in looking back 
 that space seems short. It appears but yester- 
 day that I was a boy." 
 
 " Nay, I do not think you so very old," 
 replied his daughter, smiling, "when I set 
 you against Sickendorf, you seem but a youth." 
 
 " But when you compare me with Ferdi- 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 nand," replied her father, laughmg, " I am 
 quite an old man. Is it not so, child ? " 
 
 Adelaide neither answered nor coloured, as 
 might have been perhaps expected, but smiled 
 faintly and fell into thought ; for it is wonder- 
 ful what a vast chain of associations is very 
 often spread out before the mind, by a few 
 very simple words ; and those associations are 
 nine times out of ten totally different from any 
 that the speaker intended to awaken. 
 
 It was so in this case. The comparison of 
 her lover's light and active youth, with the 
 gay rose upon the cheek, the glossy unchanged 
 hair, the movements full of elastic life, the eye 
 lighted up with that heart's fire, which, like the 
 watcher's lamp, grows slowly dimmer with 
 each passing hour, and her j)ale, thoughtful 
 father, with his stern look, his rigid air, his hair 
 thickly scattered with the snow of time, went 
 on to take in the two elder men where the 
 progress of decay had passed its first stage ; 
 and at each step her fancy halted to ask, " And 
 will he whom I love soon be like this — and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 131 
 
 this 1 " Her father had said, it seemed but 
 yesterday that he was a boy ; and Adelaide 
 thought, " It may be but to-morrow ere I look 
 back upon these days and feel the same. 
 From time to time a sudden consciousness of 
 the great truth, that mortal life is but a point 
 amidst eternity, seems to burst upon us and 
 is then lost again — the whisper of an angel 
 drowned in the tumult of earthly hopes and 
 fears. 
 
 Before she had roused herself from her 
 reverie, Sickendorf had taken up the con- 
 versation, saying, " And so, my good lord. 
 Count Frederick is as gay and jovial as ever? 
 I remember you and him, and the late Count, 
 your brother, all curly headed boys together — 
 two merry ones and one grave one ; for you 
 were always more serious than the rest." 
 
 " Because I had less cause for merriment," 
 replied the Count, with a cloud coming over 
 his brow. " They wanted to make a priest of 
 me at that time, Sickendorf; and it was not to 
 my taste — But do not let us talk of those days. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 EHRENSTEIN, 
 
 The past is always a sad subject. You will 
 see our friend to-morrow ; for he will be here 
 ere nightfall, and may stop a week or more, so 
 that we must have all things prepared. The 
 great hall, too, must be made ready ; for we 
 shall not have room here. The casements 
 must be mended early to-morrow ; and the 
 dust cleaned off the walls and banners." 
 
 Sickendorf did not answer, but looked at 
 the Count stedfastly, with an inquiring air, in 
 reply to which his lord nodded, saying, "It 
 must be done." 
 
 " By my faith ! my good lord," cried Karl 
 Von Mosbach, "you won't get many people 
 willing to do it ; for every one says that the 
 hall is haunted ; and we love not even passing 
 by the door." 
 
 " We will have it sprinkled with holy vf ater," 
 replied the Count, somewhat bitterly ; " but do 
 not tell me that any of my men will refuse to 
 obey my orders, or I will shame you all by a 
 girl." 
 
 There was no reply ; and the Count de- 
 
EHREXSTEIN. 133 
 
 manded angrily, addressing himself to none in 
 particular, " Are you afraid 1 " — Here, Ade- 
 laide, will you undertake to deck the hall with 
 flowers, and strew the floor with rushes ? " 
 
 "Willingly, willingly, my dear father," 
 answered the fair girl ; " and you shall see 
 how gaily I will trick it out." 
 
 " I beseech you, my lord, to pardon me," 
 said Ferdinand, " but I am not afraid at all to 
 obey anything that you command ; and I can 
 very well spare the Lady Adelaide the trouble 
 in the hall ; if she will but wreathe the gar- 
 lands for me." 
 
 " You have a heart of steel, good youth," 
 replied the Count ; " what if I tell you now to 
 go and bring me the banner which hangs 
 between the shields at the farther end of the 
 hall?" 
 
 " I will do it at once, my lord," rej^lied Fer- 
 dinand, rising. 
 
 The Count fixed his eyes upon him, and 
 Adelaide also gazed at him earnestly. Th 
 young man's cheek might lose a shade of 
 
134 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 colour ; but still lie seemed perfectly willing ; 
 and his lord nodded, saying, " Go ! " 
 
 " I must take a light, or I may not be able 
 to get down the banner," replied Ferdinand. 
 
 " The moon shines clear through the case- 
 ments," answered the Count. " You will need 
 no other light." 
 
 The young man made no reply, but drew 
 his sword-belt a little forward and walked 
 calmly to the door. One or two of the men 
 followed him out of the room ; not with the 
 intention of accompanying him ; for none of 
 them very much liked the task, but merely 
 with the idle curiosity of seeing him cross the 
 passages and enter the hall. In a minute or 
 two they returned ; and one of them said, 
 " He has got in, my lord, but whether he will 
 come out again, I can't tell." 
 
 " Got in !" repeated the Count, " What do 
 you mean, Ernst?" 
 
 " Why, we watched him from the stone 
 steps," replied the soldier, " and he lifted the 
 latch and shook the door, but at first it would 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 135 
 
 not open. After a while, however, it was 
 suddenly flung back, and in he went." 
 
 " Did he close it behind him 1 " asked the 
 Count, and Adelaide gazed anxiously on the 
 man's face, in expectation of his answer. 
 
 " Some one did," replied the soldier, " but I 
 can't tell whether it was he or not." 
 
 Thus saying he took his seat again at the 
 table, and all remained silent for several minutes, 
 waiting with different degrees of anxiety for 
 the result. 
 
 " The boy is mad," murmured Sickendorf, to 
 himself, after two or three more minutes had 
 elapsed ; and then he added aloud, " Hundred 
 thousand! we must not leave this lad to be 
 strangled by the ghosts, or devils, or whatever 
 they are, my lord." 
 
 " I will go myself," replied the Count, rising 
 from the table ; " let those who will, follow 
 me." 
 
 " Stay, let us get some torches," cried Karl 
 Von Mosbach. 
 
 But just at that moment there w^as a clang 
 
136 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 which shook the whole castle ; and while the 
 party assembled gazed on each other's faces in 
 doubt and consternation, the door of the hall in 
 which they were was thrown quickly open, 
 and Perdinand entered bearing a banner in his 
 hand. His face was very pale ; but his brow 
 was stern and contracted, and advancing direct 
 towards the Count, who had come down from 
 the step on which his table was raised, he laid 
 the banner before him. 
 
 " His lord gazed from the banner to his face, 
 and from his face back to the banner, which 
 was torn and soiled, and stained in many places 
 with blood. " How is this ?" he exclaimed, at 
 length. " This is not what I sent you for !" 
 
 " This is the banner, my lord," replied Ferdi- 
 nand ; " which was hanging between the two 
 shields at the farther end of the hall, over your 
 chair of state." 
 
 Old Sickendorf bent down over the tattered 
 silk, on which was embroidered a lion with its 
 paw upon a crescent ; and as he did so, he mur- 
 mured, with a shake of the head, " Your bro- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 137 
 
 ther's banner, sir, wliicli lie carried with him to 
 the East." 
 
 "What have you seen?" demanded the 
 Count, sinking his voice, and fixing his eyes 
 upon the young man's countenance. 
 
 " Not now, my lord," replied Ferdinand, 
 in the same low tone ; " another time, when 
 you are alone, and have leisure." 
 
 The Count made no reply, but seated himself 
 at the table, and leaned his head thoughtfully 
 upon his hand for a moment or two, while the 
 rest of the party remained in groups around, 
 some gazing from a distance at the banner, 
 some looking at it more closely, but none 
 speaking in a louder tone than a low whisper. 
 It was not, indeed, that they were kept silent 
 by any ceremonious respect for their lord ; for 
 those were days of much homely freedom 
 of demeanor ; and that distance and reserve 
 did not exist between a chief and his followers 
 which a higher and more fastidious state of 
 civilization has introduced. But there was 
 a feeling of awe approaching to terror, in 
 
138 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the bosoms of all, which oppressed them in 
 their speech. Each asked himself, what could 
 this mysterious event mean ? how had the ban- 
 ner come where it was found 1 what did it 
 all portend ? for none, in those days of supersti- 
 tion, doubted that the event which had just 
 taken place was an omen of others yet to come. 
 The pale cheek with which Ferdinand of Alten- 
 burg had returned, too, and his grave stern 
 look, as he stood by the table where he had 
 lately been sitting, attracted observation, and 
 led every one to believe that there was more 
 to be told, though they had not heard his reply 
 to their lord's question. 
 
 At length, however, to the surprise of all, 
 the Count suddenly shook off his gloomy and 
 abstracted look, and pushed across the flagon 
 of choice wine, which stood at his right, to his 
 young follower, saying, with a laugh, " Come, 
 drink a cup of wine to me, Ferdinand the 
 ghost-queller. By the Lord! there is not a 
 braver man amongst us than thou art, boy. 
 Would to Heaven ! that all here would follow 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 139 
 
 thine examj)le. I, for one, will do so, and 
 think no more of these strange things than 
 if they were but the whisperings of the wind 
 through the trees. Drink, good youth ! drink." 
 Ferdinand filled a cup and drank to his lord ; 
 and the next moment the Count rose again, 
 exclaiming, " Now, to bed, to bed, we must 
 all be up by cock-crow for our preparations. I 
 will sup in the old hall to-morrow, if all the 
 devils on the earth or under it should be 
 its tenants ;" and thus saying he left the room, 
 followed quickly by Ferdinand, who did not 
 choose to undergo the questionings of his 
 comrades. The others remained for a few 
 minutes, shaking the wise head and comment- 
 ing gravely ; and then by threes and fours 
 quitted the hall, and retired to rest ; but there 
 was much oil burned in the Castle of Ehren- 
 stein that night. 
 
140 
 
 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Count of Ehrenstein tossed uneasily on 
 his bed, in that state between sleeping and 
 waking, when the mind neither enjoys quiet 
 repose, nor yet lives as an active being dis- 
 severed from the body, in continuous and 
 regular dreams — when scattered and disjointed 
 fragments of visions cross the imagination — 
 when voices call and suddenly sink away from 
 the ear — when figures appear for an instant, 
 and are lost before we can accurately see what 
 they are. Often his bosom heaved and panted, 
 as if oppressed with some terrible load. Often 
 murmured words and smothered cries broke 
 low and indistinctly from his lips. Often the 
 eyeballs would roll under their filmy curtain^ 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 141 
 
 as if some sight of horror presented itself to 
 fancy. 
 
 At length the grey light of day streamed 
 through the narrow window, and fell upon the 
 sleeping man's countenance ; and then having 
 turned for a moment from side to side, he 
 started up and gazed towards the casement, 
 with a bewildered look, as if he knew not 
 where he was. After leaning his head upon 
 his hand, and apparently thinking deeply for 
 several minutes, he rose and dressed himself 
 without aid. Then walking to the little dark 
 anteroom, in which two of his attendants, or 
 knechts, were sleej)ing, he drew back the bolt 
 of the door — for his was not a heart without 
 suspicion — and stirred one of the men with 
 his foot, as he lay upon the ground, bidding 
 him go and tell Ferdinand of Altenburg to 
 come down upon the eastern rampart imme- 
 diately. Having given these orders, he himself 
 issued forth, and walked slowly up and down, 
 now casting his eyes upon the stones beneath 
 his feet, now gazing at the rising sun. But 
 
142 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 few minutes had elajosed, however, ere Fer- 
 dinand was at his side, and the Count turned 
 towards him, saying, "What ! up so early ? You 
 should have no dreams, young man, to break 
 your rest." 
 
 " Nay, my lord," replied Ferdinand, " every 
 one dreams, I suppose. Have you been dis- 
 turbed?" 
 
 " That have I," answered the Count. " I 
 have seldom passed a more troublous night, 
 and yet I was weary, too, when I went to rest.'" 
 
 " Were they good or evil visions, my lord," 
 asked the young man. " Mine were all 
 bright." 
 
 " Would that mine had been so ! " answered 
 the Count. " But they were wild and whirling 
 things, and 't is no matter — and yet these 
 undigested thoughts," he continued, after a 
 short pause, "these fanciful nothings of the 
 dreaming brain, trouble us as much at the 
 time as fierce realities — nay, perhaps more. 
 I have suffered more bitterly, at times, in some 
 dark vision of the night — yes, even in my 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 143 
 
 corporeal frame, — than even choking death 
 itself could inflict. I cannot but think that 
 there is a land to which the spirits of the 
 sleeping travel for a time, and undergo a 
 strange and wayward fate, till they are called 
 back again. I've often fancied there must be 
 such a place : a kingdom of dreams, as it 
 were, to which all the strange actions and 
 thoughts of the world are sent as soon as 
 done, as a sort of commodity or merchandize, 
 and there are mingled up by some fantastic 
 power with the productions of the land itself. 
 There go the images of the dead, the voices 
 that are lost upon the earth, the passionate 
 loves and follies of our youth, the thirsty 
 ambition of our manhood, the crimes and the 
 temptations of all years, even the very thoughts 
 of infancy, and there we find them all, when 
 the spirit is summoned from the slumbering 
 body to visit that strange country. Else, how 
 is it, that when we lie with darkness all around us, 
 no sight, no sound, no scent, to wake up memory, 
 things long forgotten, faces that no effort of the 
 
144 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 waking mind could call before the eye of fancy, 
 voices that have long ceased to ring in the 
 deafened ear of forgetfulness, come upon us, 
 all strong and vivid as reality ; ay, even the 
 feelings also no longer suited to our state of 
 being, totally dissonant to the condition of our 
 corporeal frame or to our mental age : — such 
 as the joys and pastimes of our early boyhood, 
 and the prattled pleasures of our baby days ? — 
 Yet there they all are — bright as if in life, though 
 strangely mixed with other wilder things, and 
 cast into mad impossible array. Last night 
 it seemed as if every action of my life, charmed 
 by some frantic Orpheus, danced around me 
 in wild and grotesque forms — never pausing 
 till I had leisure to taste one joy, or power to 
 resist one pang. Would to Heaven! I could 
 be a boy again, and, with the knowledge of 
 each act's results, live over life anew — It would 
 be a very different one ! " 
 
 Ferdinand had let him proceed without 
 observation or question ; indeed he was too 
 much surprised to answer, for he had never 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 145 
 
 before heard the Count sj^eak thus to any one. 
 It seemed, in truth, more as if he were talking 
 to himself than to his companion ; as if the 
 weight of thought overpowered him, and he 
 cast down the burden where he could. But 
 the young man's surprise was not less excited 
 by the matter of the confidence, than by the 
 confidence itself. He knew the Count was 
 learned far beyond most of the nobles of his 
 day. He knew that he w^as thoughtful ; but 
 he had ever seemed in disposition, worldly, 
 grasping, avaricious; evil qualities, as he 
 thought, perfectly incompatible with fancy. 
 In his inexperience of the world, he was not 
 aware how frequently habits of thought and of 
 desire — often produced in us by the operation 
 of a long train of ruling circumstances — over- 
 bear the natural bent of the mind, and lead us 
 to a course of life, and to innumerable actions, 
 utterly inharmonious with the original tone of 
 the character. It is so ; and there is scarcely 
 any man who is not thus walled in by circum- 
 stances in his com*se; scarcely any tree that, 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 however uprlglit its original shoot, is not bent 
 by the prevaiHng wind. Nevertheless, when 
 the mind is left free for a moment from the 
 habitual influences, — when the passions that 
 have been indulged are not called into play, — 
 when the desires that have usurped a sway 
 over us, are for a time without either object or 
 opposition, the original character of the mind 
 is suffered to indulge itself for a brief space, 
 like a prisoner allowed a few moments of free 
 air. So was it with the Count of Ehrenstein. 
 Busy with the thoughts which had succeeded 
 to his dreams, he forgot not oi9y his motives 
 for sending for the young man at his side, but 
 also his habitual reserve; and led from one 
 feeling to another, as he discoursed imagina- 
 tively of the visions of the night, he was 
 hurried on to admit those sensations of regret 
 which, sooner or later, visit every one of 
 Adam's race, but which the pride that entered 
 in us at the Fail forbids us to acknowledge. 
 
 Ferdinand had walked on by his side, 
 thoughtful and interested, with his eyes, too, 
 
EHRENSTEIN, 147 
 
 bent down upon the pavement of tlie rampart, 
 and eager to hear more. But soon after the 
 Count paused, the young man brought the 
 confession, if it may be so called, to a conclu- 
 sion, by asking a question which would na- 
 turally rise in any simple and straightforward 
 heart, saying, — " Is it not very easy to repair, 
 my lord, that which has been done amiss ?" 
 
 " No, no, youth," answered the Count, 
 turning upon him, and speaking almost bit- 
 terly, " that is a foolish error. It is never 
 possible to repair aught that has been done 
 amiss. Each act, once performed, is irrevo- 
 cable. It is more, — it is a foundation-stone 
 upon which, under the lash of the stern task- 
 master, Fate, we must, whether we will or not, 
 build up a part of the fabric of our life. Now 
 do not go, silly boy ! and from what I have 
 said raise up in your fanciful brain a belief that 
 I have committed great crimes, and bitterly 
 repent them. It is with me as with all men 
 who have power to think, and who try from 
 the past to extract guidance for the future. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 I see small errors producing greater evils ; I 
 see pitiful mistakes, which were thought 
 nothing at first, swelling with bitter conse- 
 quences, — but nothing more. Every man, 
 Ferdinand," and he laid his hand upon his 
 shoulder with a sort of monitory gesture, 
 " every man who has passed through a great 
 part of life, is like one who has climbed a 
 mountain and is destined to descend on the 
 other side. If he turns round to look at the 
 country he has travelled, he sees it spread forth 
 beneath him, with all its roads and passes, 
 rivers and valleys, laid out as in a map, and he 
 will ever find he has often lost his way ; that 
 there were paths which would have led him to 
 his object shorter than those he has taken ; 
 that the objects on which he has fixed his 
 eyes to guide him on, were often wide of the 
 right course ; and, in a word, that he has not 
 accomplished, in the summer day of life, one- 
 half he might have done, wath less labour, and 
 by easier means. And now let us speak of 
 other things. You would not say last night 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 149 
 
 what you liad seen in the old hall ; now tell 
 me what l3efell you there. We were then in 
 the hour of fanciful conceits, when the imagi- 
 nation wanders and easily receives false impres- 
 sions. We are now in the broad light of the 
 real day, and you can better tell, and I can 
 better understand whatever you may have wit- 
 nessed there." 
 
 " I did not wish to sjDeak last night, my 
 lord," rej)lied Ferdinand, in a calm and easy 
 tone, " because all the people about us have 
 filled themselves with fears which Avould be 
 quite as well away; and all I had to say 
 would only have made them more afraid. 
 I went straight to the hall as you directed- — 
 I do not mean to say thai I would not rather 
 have had a light — but neither flesh nor spirit 
 shall turn me from doing what I have under- 
 taken to perform. I found the door fastened, 
 however, and after having lifted the latch, I 
 shook it hard, but it did not give way. For 
 a minute, I thought of coming back to tell 
 you ; but then I fancied that you and the rest 
 
150 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 might doubt me, and I tried again. Just tlien 
 I think I heard a heavy grating sound, but, 
 however, the door opened, and I went in. At 
 first I could hardly see — " 
 
 "Why, the moon shone, and must have 
 given plenty of light through the windows," 
 replied the Count. 
 
 " There was too much light, my good lord," 
 answered Ferdinand. " I came out of the 
 dark vestibule, and when I entered the hall, 
 it was all in a blaze of light. The suits of 
 old armour that stand against the wall had, 
 each one, a gauntleted hand extended, and in 
 it was a torch. It seemed, indeed, that there 
 were more suits than usual, but I did not stay 
 to count them, for as soon as I could see, 
 I hurried on, passing the table where they 
 were seated — " 
 
 " Who ? " exclaimed the Count, " who were 
 seated?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I cannot tell you," answered 
 Ferdinand. " Some six or eight tall figures, 
 each wrapped in a strange garment like a 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 151 
 
 sliroucl, dusty and soiled, as if they had Iain 
 long in the earth, covering the head, and 
 falling down to the eyes. My heart felt very 
 heavy, and beat fast, and I dared not look 
 narrowly at them. But I drew my sword, 
 and hurried on, mounting into the great chair 
 to reach the banner ; when, just as I laid my 
 hand uj^on it, the voices of those round the 
 table said, ' Health to the Count of Ehren- 
 stein ! health to the living dead ! ' and looking 
 round, I saw that they had cups raised high, 
 as if they were pursuing their unearthly was- 
 sail without seeing or noticing my presence. 
 I felt somewhat faint and sick, but I tore down 
 the banner, breaking, I fear, the rest that held 
 it, and hurried out as fast as I could go. As 
 I paused to take breath, I heard a loud clang- 
 behind, but what it was I do not know." 
 
 " We will see, we will see," said the Count, 
 sternly; "six or eight, did you say?" 
 
 "Ay, my good lord, at the least," replied 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 " Can there be some trick in this?" rejoined 
 
152 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the Count, and fell into a fit of deep thought, 
 which occupied him for several minutes. 
 "And yet all the men were in the hall," 
 he continued, evidently showing which way 
 his suspicions turned. " I marked the absence 
 of none, except the horse boys." 
 
 "They would not dare, my lord," replied 
 Ferdinand. "There is scarce a man in the 
 whole castle would venture thither in the 
 broad day, and surely none at night." 
 
 "True, true," rejoined the Count, "but yet 
 they shall venture thither if I live till supper 
 time. What could this clang be that followed 
 your coming out? We all heard it, even at 
 that distance." 
 
 "I shall soon see, my lord, if it have left 
 any trace behind it, for should you hold your 
 intention of feasting in the hall to-night, they 
 shall not stop me from decking it forth as 
 I have promised." 
 
 "You seem right willing to venture with 
 these ghosts," said the Count, with his habitual 
 sharp suspicion. 
 
EHRENSTEIX. 153 
 
 "They have done me no harm as yet, my 
 lord," answered Ferdinand boldly, well under- 
 standing what was j^assing in the Count's 
 mind. "When you have seen some such 
 sight yourself, you will believe, but, doubt- 
 less, not till then. I would not myself unless 
 I had seen." 
 
 "Well, I will try," replied the Count. 
 " Come with me now, and perhaps we may dis- 
 cover what was the cause of this clatter, which 
 shook the whole castle as you were returning." 
 
 He spoke somewhat scornfully, and Ferdi- 
 nand made no reply, but followed as his lord 
 led on, with hasty strides, as if either impatient 
 to see the state of the hall with his own eyes, or 
 fearful that his resolution would fail before his 
 intention was fulfilled. 
 
 On then" way they passed through the lesser 
 hall, where their meals were now usually taken, 
 and thence through a long stone passage, which 
 crossed the entrance from the great gates, 
 down a broad flight of steps, and into the vesti- 
 bule by one of the smaller doors opposite to 
 
154 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 tliat of the great liall. There the Count paused 
 for a moment, as if he hesitated, then putting* 
 his hand upon the latch, he lifted it, and flung 
 back the ponderous mass of wood-work, which 
 yielded at once to his hand. With an eager 
 and straining gaze, his eye ran round the wide 
 vaulted chamber, which was vacant of every 
 living thing ; but still the sight that it presented 
 offered strange confirmation of the tale which 
 Ferdinand had told. The twelve suits of old 
 armour, no longer in the mode and fashion 
 of the time, which had been for many years 
 ranged along the wall opposite to the windows, 
 upon wooden standards that kept them in an 
 erect position, were now cast prone upon the 
 pavement, and the lances, swords, and axes, 
 which had been arranged in fanciful devices, 
 between them, were likewise strewed upon the 
 ground as if they had been flung down at once 
 by an earthquake. The old banners remained 
 waving over head, but that which had formerly 
 hung over the chair of state, and which the 
 Count had sent Ferdinand to fetch on the pre- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 155 
 
 ceding niglit, was no longer to be seen. The 
 chair which had been the only j^iece of furniture 
 left in the hall, stood there still, with its cushion 
 of crimson velvet, affording a strange contrast 
 to the air of desolation presented by the whole 
 of the rest of the scene ; the broken casements, 
 the mouldering banners, the rusty suits of 
 armour cast down, and the disjointed pavement, 
 with the green grass growing up between the 
 crevices of the stone. 
 
 The Count took a step across the threshold, 
 and then stopped short, repeating several times, 
 "This is very strange!" To have supposed 
 that Ferdinand himself had cast the armour 
 down, was out of the question, for it would 
 have taken him half an hour to do it, and 
 the first impression upon the Count's mind was 
 evidently one of awe, if not of terror. But still 
 there seemed to be doubts, or else he thought 
 fit to assume them to cover the emotions which 
 he really felt ; for after remaining for several 
 minutes in the same position, he turned sud- 
 denly round to his young companion, inquiring. 
 
156 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " Where sat these things you saw ? Here is 
 neither board nor bench, for them to hold their 
 revels." 
 
 Ferdinand's face was very grave, and even 
 sad, but he replied at once, walking some 
 ten paces forward, to a spot on the left-hand 
 side of the hall ; " Here they were seated, my 
 lord, or appeared to be so." 
 
 The Count followed him, and gazed upon 
 the ground. " They have left no traces of their 
 presence," he said, at length, and then looking 
 up to the vacant space where his banner 
 had formerly hung, he asked, " And did you 
 really take that thing you brought me from 
 that place. The rest does not seem broken." 
 
 "I thought I heard it break, my lord/* 
 replied the young man, walking on towards the 
 chair ; but then, stopping as he came up to it, 
 he said, " Here are the marks of my feet, my 
 lord, in the dust upon the cushion." 
 
 " Well, well, I do not doubt you," said 
 the Count, who had followed ; and then cross- 
 ing his arms upon his chest, he fell into 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 157 
 
 tliouglit again, from which he did not rouse 
 himself for a long time. In the end he ex- 
 claimed, with a start, " He shall not drive 
 me hence— I have done him no wrong," and 
 with a slow pace he trod his way back towards 
 the door. " There, that will do," he continued, 
 as Ferdinand followed him out ; " I do not 
 want you more ; say nothing of what has hap- 
 pened to any one; and go fly your hawk, 
 or wheel your horse till breakfast time ; I will 
 speak to you further afterwards." 
 
 When the hour of breakfast came, and the 
 household were assembled in the hall, the 
 Count again called Ferdinand up to his own 
 table, and seemed to regard him with much 
 more favour than he had ever done before ; but 
 the young man remarked that his lord's eye 
 wandered round the chamber in which they 
 sat, and then rested on the groups of his 
 followers and attendants, as if calculating whe- 
 ther, with the numbers which were to be added 
 that day to the party there assembled, the hall 
 where they then were would contain them all. 
 
158 EHEENSTEIN. 
 
 A fairer object of contemplation, indeed, was 
 before the young man's eyes, for he was seated 
 opposite to the Lady Adelaide, on Sickendorf's 
 left hand. She was a httle paler, perhaps, than 
 on the preceding morning, but that was the 
 only trace which her temporary sickness seemed 
 to have left. She was more than commonly 
 gay; indeed, though there was a thoughtful 
 and a feeling tone mingled with her cheerful- 
 ness, making it like the song of a lark, in 
 which, though blithe and happy on the whole, 
 may be heard sad minor tones by any ear that 
 listens for them. 
 
 When the meal was over, the Count rose, 
 saying, " Come with me, Ferdinand. Come 
 hither, Adelaide ; " and walking forth, he 
 led the way to the corridor above, into which 
 the different apartments occupied by himself, 
 his daughter, and the maids, opened either 
 directly, or through their several ante-rooms. 
 There, after taking a turn backwards and 
 forwards, he turned to his tv/o young com- 
 panions, who had followed, speaking with their 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 159 
 
 looks, and said, " To you two I must trust 
 tlie arrangement of tlie great hall for our 
 guests tliis evening. It is vain to ask these 
 dastardly men below, who are frightened at 
 mere shadows ; and the other hall will not 
 hold one-half — that is clear enough." 
 
 " Oh, ask them not, my dear father," answered 
 Adelaide. " I and Ferdinand can do it all, and 
 we have no fears." 
 
 " Good faith ! dear lady," rejoined Ferdinand, 
 " though I fear not, yet I somevrhat doubt 
 whether unaided we can accomplish all, at least 
 in time. The armour has somehow fallen down, 
 many of the lozenges of glass require to be 
 replaced, and, in truth, I hardly know how 
 I am to manage that. All the rest we might 
 accomplish easily enough." 
 
 " That shall be done for you," said the 
 Count, " if you and Adelaide can do the rest. 
 I would not have my jesting friend and his 
 gay followers come hither, and say, that they 
 found the Castle of Ehrenstein in ruins, and 
 its banquet hall as if it never saw a feagt. 
 
160 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Do tlie best you can to give it some air of 
 cheerfulness, wreathe the crescets and corbels 
 with flowers — there are many in the woods 
 just now — and with green branches ; strew 
 the pavement over thickly with rushes, so that 
 no flaws be seen. As I go, I will send one to 
 repair the casements who would beard the 
 devil himself." 
 
 " He must come from far, my lord," answered 
 Ferdinand, " for all the people near have got 
 this tale. I first heard it down at the Abbey ; 
 and not one of the people of the village, I 
 believe, would come up to save his soul." 
 
 " Not very far either," replied the Count ; 
 "within a mile of the Abbey, on the other 
 side. You know Franz Creussen, the great 
 blacksmith? He'll not fear, I warrant. Why 
 look you so surprised, youth?" 
 
 " Because, my lord, I one day heard you 
 threaten to split his skull," said Ferdinand, 
 " when he refused to shoe your horses ; and 
 certainly he never showed you any great 
 reverence." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 161 
 
 " It would take a sharp sword to split his 
 skull," rejoined the Count. " A thick-headed 
 blockhead, as rude and as hard as the iron 
 that he hammers, but if he answers my purpose 
 that is all I heed. He that doesn't fear me 
 within ten miles around, is not likely to be 
 easily frightened — I must set forth in half an 
 hour, to meet my noble guest by the way ; 
 and as I go, I'll speak to the man, so that he 
 shall be up before mid-day. ]N"ow, Adelaide, 
 my child, go with your girls and gather the 
 flowers and tender branches, so that you may 
 make tlie dull old hall look light and cheerful 
 as yourself, for there will we all sup to-night, 
 even if the fiend says, Nay." 
 
 Thus saying, he left her standing with Fer- 
 dinand. It is strange — it is very strange, that 
 blindness which in some circumstances comes 
 over the most clear-sighted upon the questions 
 in which they feel the deepest interest. But yet 
 it is so common — I might say, so invariable — 
 that let no one think it unnatural the Count of 
 Ehrenst^in should actually throw his daughter 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 into tlie way of one to whom lie would never 
 have consented to give her. It was perhaps 
 because he thought it impossible that such 
 presumptuous love could enter into the young 
 man's thoughts. It was the blindest of all 
 passions — pride — that dimmed even his keen 
 eyes ; and there he left them to the brief 
 caress, the low spoken words of love, the 
 looks far more eloquent. They both said they 
 must jjart at once, yet they both lingered ; 
 they both thought it was no use to risk aught 
 by staying there when they were to meet again 
 so soon in the old hall, yet the near future 
 could not win them from the sweet present. 
 They both knew it was dangerous to be seen 
 in close companionship, and yet the hands 
 met and the thrilling fingers clasped upon 
 each other. Adelaide would fain hear what 
 had befallen Ferdinand in the old hall; and 
 he answered by telling how he loved htr. 
 She urged him to go, and to let her go, and he 
 tried — oh, vain endeavour ! — to explain to her 
 the burning thirst of a young lover's heart to 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 163 
 
 be near her he loves. He told her that one 
 might as well expect the parched traveller 
 over the Syrian sands to forbear the well as to 
 ask him to quit her while she would stay ; and 
 Adelaide believed it without difficulty. They 
 said much one way or another, and yet their 
 conference was not long ; for some noise upon 
 the staircase scared them, and with a fresh 
 spring of joy in their hearts from their brief 
 interview, they parted for the time and 
 hurried to their several tasks with the glad 
 hope of meeting soon again. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Perdinand was busy at his work about a 
 quarter of an hour after the Count of Ehren- 
 stein had ridden forth with his train. The 
 castle was left even more empty than the 
 day before, for Sickendorf and his party had 
 gone with their lord, and none of the feudal 
 retainers of the house had yet arrived. Some 
 grooms and horse-boys in the stables, and 
 eight or ten men on the walls, or in the 
 courts, were all that remained behind, besides 
 the young gentleman himself; and they were 
 not at all disposed to aid or interrupt him by 
 their presence in a place which they all viewed 
 with dread, even when they passed it at a 
 distance. Many were their comments, indeed. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 165 
 
 upon his daring ; and several of those comments 
 were by no means favourable to their young 
 lady's lover, for while some of the men won- 
 dered how Master Ferdinand was getting on, 
 without venturing to go and see, others went 
 the length of supposing that he must have 
 either some amulet from the Holy Land, 
 which was a charm against spirits, or a plain 
 compact with the evil one, which gave him the 
 command over them for a time. 
 
 In the mean while, Ferdinand worked away 
 at his unaccustomed occupation, perhaps not 
 quite so dexterously as if he had been an 
 armourer's man, or a groom of the chambers 
 to some great lord; but he did it cheerfully, 
 and without aj^prehension ; for the gay sun- 
 beams shone through the dim casements and 
 chequered the old mouldy pavement with a 
 brio:ht fretwork of lio-ht and shade. His 
 heart, too, felt very summery, for there was 
 hope within, and the expectation of love. 
 Everything was done quickly, too, for he 
 fancied that he might not be long without the 
 
166 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 presence of one lie loved, and thought that 
 every moment thus busily employed might 
 well purchase one of sweeter occupation. 
 
 His first task was to raise the different suits 
 of armour from the ground, and fix them in 
 their places again. Nor was this an easy 
 undertaking, for, in many cases, the thongs 
 and buckles had given way in the fall, and the 
 several pieces were scattered about, and had to 
 be re-united. Nevertheless, he worked on 
 zealously, stooping over the quaint old gar- 
 ments of steel, lifting their ponderous masses, 
 and ever and anon casting back from his face 
 the thick, glossy curls of his hair, as they fell 
 over his brow and eyes. He showed no signs 
 of fear, notwithstanding the strange sights 
 which he had seen on the two preceding nights ; 
 he never started at the sound of the wind ; he 
 never turned to give the timid glance over his 
 shoulder towards the door leading to the vaults ; 
 but more than once he looked towards the 
 other entrance of the hall, and listened for any 
 sound from the vestibule. At length, as he 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 167 
 
 was raising one of the suits of harness, where 
 the rusty gauntlet and vantbrace were still 
 stretched out, as he had seen them on his 
 previous visit, some white spots upon the steel, 
 seemed to catch his eye, and to awaken a 
 train of new and interesting ideas, for he 
 paused in his work, and with his hand to his 
 brow, remained in deep thought for several 
 minutes, with a smile upon his lips. 
 
 As he thus stood, the sound of voices speak- 
 ing near the door was heard, and it was 
 gently pushed open, while the well-known 
 tones of Bertha exclaimed, — "I would not 
 go in for Neustadt, and you do not want 
 me, either, dear lady, — you know you do 
 not ; but I '11 stay here and watch against 
 any ghosts on this side. I '11 open that other 
 door, however, and have more light ; for sj)irits 
 don't like the daylight, and I don't like the 
 dark." 
 
 "Well, stay there, — stay there, then," 
 answered Adelaide ; " I can carry in the 
 wreaths myself." 
 
168 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Ere she concluded, Ferdinand was by her 
 side, and, raising up the flowers and young 
 "branches which Bertha and her mistress had 
 brought thither, he carried them in and laid 
 them down upon the pavement of the hall. 
 Bertha's merry eye was iirst turned, with a 
 somewhat timid and apprehensive glance, 
 towards the interior of the chamber, and then, 
 with a meaning smile, to Ferdinand's coun- 
 tenance. As soon, however, as the lady had 
 followed her lover in, the discreet damsel 
 closed the door, murmuring to herself — " Well, 
 love 's the best charm against evil spirits, after 
 all! Heighol — I wish I had somebody to 
 love!" 
 
 By this time, Ferdinand's hand clasped that 
 of Adelaide ; but I have noticed before that a 
 strange change had come over the fair girl 
 since their meeting on the preceding da}^ ; and 
 that change was more apparent now than ever. 
 All doubt, all timidity seemed to be banished. 
 There was no boldness, it is true, for modest 
 gentleness seemed an inherent part of her 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 169 
 
 nature ; but the fear, the anxiety, the hesitation 
 of unconfirmed and j^erilous love, no longer 
 had any influence over her. When Ferdi- 
 nand's hand clasped hers, she laid the other 
 upon it, gazing in his eyes with a warm and 
 affectionate light beaming in her own, and 
 saying with a thoughtful, if not absent air, as 
 if the question she put was as much to her own 
 heart as to him, — " You love me, dear Ferdi- 
 nand, — is it not so ? And you will ever love 
 me, and never do aught to grieve me, nor let 
 others grieve me, if you can help it ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it, beloved ? " cried Fer- 
 dinand, drawing her to him ; " is not my 
 whole heart and being only love for you ?" 
 
 " 'Na.j, I do not doubt it," answered Ade- 
 laide ; " I will not doubt it. — Yet I have heard 
 tales of men vowing deep vows, and breaking 
 them; of their looking upon woman, and 
 woman's love, but as a flower to be gathered 
 and cast away : but I will not believe it. No, 
 no ! — we have known and loved in childhood, 
 and we will love still. I will trust you, dear 
 
170 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Ferdinand, — I will trust you ; only promise 
 me that if tlie time should ever come 
 when deep grief and pain menaces your 
 Adelaide, and it is in your power, by any act, 
 to avert it, you will do so, whatever be the 
 consequences." 
 
 "Can you suppose I would hesitate?" ex- 
 claimed Ferdinand, eagerly ; " but I do pro- 
 mise, dear one ! — I vow by all I hold sacred, — 
 by all that is dearest to me, that you shall 
 never ask me aught that can remove a grief 
 from you, without my doing it at once." 
 
 "Thank you, — thank you," answered Ade- 
 laide, resting her face upon his shoulder, while 
 he kissed her soft cheek ; " then I am happy ! " 
 — then I am all yours ! I have longed for 
 this moment to come, Ferdinand, for I wished 
 to say all that might be said ; and to tell the 
 truth, it was for this opportunity I undertook 
 so readily the task we have here to perform." 
 
 " And are you really not afraid, dear Ade- 
 laide 1 " asked her lover. " For, certainly, 
 here I have seen fearful sights, though I think 
 
EHKEN STEIN. 171 
 
 it must be a demon, indeed, that could harm 
 you. Have you no fears ?" 
 
 " None, none, in the world," she answered, 
 gaily ; " I set all spirits at defiance, Ferdinand, 
 but the spirit of love ; and it would have 
 needed somewhat more than imaginary terrors 
 to keep me away from you to-day, when we 
 have so fair an opportunity of saying all that 
 we could wish to each other." 
 
 " Nay, not all," answered Ferdinand ; " there 
 is no day, no hour, when I shall not have some- 
 thing more to say to you ; if it be but to tell 
 you, again and again, how I love you, how 
 I thank you. — But there may be more, much 
 more, to be said, dear Adelaide ; there may be 
 difiiculties, dangers, unforeseen circumstances ; 
 and even with Bertha's aid, it may be impossi- 
 ble to communicate them to you fully and 
 freely, without seeing you and speaking to you 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, then, I will come to you," replied 
 Adelaide, with a beaming smile, as if to banish 
 all his apprehensions, like mist before the 
 
172 ^ EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 sun ; " or if not, you shall come to me. I have no 
 hesitation, I have no doubt now. All yesterday, 
 after we parted, I was full of gloomy thoughts 
 and dark apprehensions. I was like one wan- 
 dering by night in a wood, and losing his way, to 
 whichever side he turns. I was doubtful of 
 myself, doubtful of you, doubtful of the past, 
 doubtful of the future ; but that has vanished 
 away, and I am all your own." 
 
 " And what dispelled it?" asked Ferdinand. 
 
 " One word," answered Adelaide ; " but you 
 must not question me farther. I say I will 
 come to you, or you shall come to me, at 
 any hour, at any season that it may be needful. 
 — I know I can trust you," she continued, 
 gazing at him with a look grave and yet tender, 
 and then raising her eyes towards the sky, " I do 
 believe, Ferdinand, that for the best gift under 
 Heaven's sun, you would not wrong your Ade- 
 laide in word, or thought, or deed, and it is that 
 trust, as well as some necessity, that makes me 
 promise you thus boldly to find means of seeing 
 you whenever you desire it. Should there be 
 
EHRENSTEIX. ] 73 
 
 danger to either of us, but especially to you, let 
 me know it at once. Even if it be in the dead of 
 the night, I should not be frightened, Ferdinand, 
 if I saw you standing beside me, — ay, in the 
 very spu'it-walking time, when all mortal eyes 
 are closed in sleep. I am very sure — quite 
 sure, that you would not come without some real 
 need, that no light motive would bring you, to 
 my risk and to yours, and therefore I am thus 
 bold, for love and confidence makes me so." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, Adelaide. From 
 my very heart I thank you," replied her lover, 
 " not alone for the dear privilege you grant 
 me ; but from the trust that gives birth to the 
 grant. You but judge me rightly, dear one. 
 Your fair form, beyond all mortal beauty, may 
 well charm my eyes ; the touch of that dear 
 hand, of that dear lip, may well be prized 
 before all that earth can give ; but not for the 
 joy of heaven, my love, would I do aught 
 that could tarnish the bright gem within that 
 lovely casket. Your very confidence is a 
 bond upon me, far stronger than your own 
 
174 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 reserve could be ; and in your happiness, if 
 I could sow one regret, I should curse myself 
 for ever." 
 
 " But why should regret mingle with hap- 
 piness ? " asked Adelaide, half gaily, half 
 thoughtfully ; " there must be some very 
 wicked and some very discontented people in 
 the world, to make it so. It seems to me, 
 Ferdinand, that God has provided us with so 
 many pleasures that can produce no regret, 
 that we should show ourselves unworthy of 
 his bounty did we seek others. Fields, gar- 
 dens, mountains, forests, streams, these flowers, 
 the singing of the birds, the sunshine and the 
 sky, the very dream-like clouds and their soft 
 showers, the changes of the seasons, music, 
 thought, — calm, tranquil thought, the music 
 of the mind — and every form of meditation, 
 whether it be upon our own strange nature and 
 mysterious destiny, or on God's mercy to his 
 creatures, or his great power and infinite 
 wisdom — all these, ay Ferdinand, and innocent 
 love, too, are surely full of joy, unsoiled and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 175 
 
 imperishable. They are like the notes of some 
 tuneful instrument, each sweet in itself, but 
 doubly sweet by those that go before, and 
 follow and mingle with it in the harmony; 
 and infinite, too, in change and in variety. 
 What needs man more, that he should sully 
 with his evil what God made pure and beau- 
 tiful? " 
 
 " Ay, dear girl, and from one joy you have 
 named, all others receive a tenfold brightness," 
 answered Ferdinand ; " innocent love has its 
 own light to add to all the rest." 
 
 " I know it, Ferdinand ; I feel it," answered 
 Adelaide, " and I scruj^le not to tell you that I 
 do ; for once having said ' I love,' I have said 
 all — though I one time thought I could never 
 bring my lips to utter those two words." 
 
 " And I must ask no questions," said Ferdi- 
 nand, " for your thoughts are changed, indeed, 
 dear one." 
 
 " None, none ;" answered Adelaide, with a 
 gay laugh. " And now we must to our task, 
 Ferdinand ; for if they come and find it un- 
 
176 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 performed, tliey may inquire in tlieir own 
 thoughts, how we have loitered so. Aid me 
 to hang up these garlands, and to fix the 
 green branches on the walls, and then I will 
 go and seek the wreaths that Theresa is still 
 weaving." 
 
 He did as she desired him, moving the great 
 chair of state for her tiny feet to climb and 
 hang the flowers on every prominent place 
 that would hold them ; and often he mounted 
 thither too, and supported her, lest she should 
 fall, with the arm cast lightly round her waist, 
 and the hands, as they came in contact, 
 when stretched out to reach the projecting 
 beam, or cast the garland over the wood- 
 work, often clasped together with the gentle 
 pressure of warm love ; and if, from time to 
 time, they paused for a moment or two to 
 speak of the things of their own hearts, their 
 pleasant toil was resumed the instant after, 
 and proceeded the more quickly, from the 
 happy spirit that was in both. 
 
 It was a dream of love and joy, and the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 177 
 
 flowers which Adelaide had brought were 
 nearly all expended, when a rough voice was 
 heard talking to Bertha, Avithout, and Ferdi- 
 nand sprang down lightly from the chair, and 
 looked towards the door. It opened as he did 
 so, and a man entered, on whose appearance I 
 must pause for a moment, as we may see more 
 of him hereafter. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
178 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The personage who broke in upon tlie con- 
 versation of Ferdinand and Adelaide must 
 have been at least six or eight inches above 
 the ordinary height of the human race. 
 ISTevertheless, though he undoubtedly looked 
 a very tall man, and those who stood beside 
 him felt themselves like pigmies, yet at first 
 sight he did not seem so tall as he really was. 
 Unlike most of those persons who deviate 
 from the common standard, either above or 
 below, there was no disproportion in his limbs, 
 nor want of symmetry — the neck was not long, 
 like that of a crane, the form was not spare 
 and meagre, the joints were not large and 
 heavy, the knees did not knock together as he 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 179 
 
 walked. If there was anything out of pro- 
 portion, it was that the chest and upper part of 
 the frame were even too broad and bulk}^ ; and 
 the head was comparatively small ; but it was 
 round and well-shaped, with a capacious fore- 
 head, and the short brown hair curling round 
 it like that of the Farnesian Hercules. The 
 features of the face were good, but somewhat 
 short, and the expression stern and bold. 
 There were no wrinkles on that countenance, 
 except a deep furrow between the eyes ; and 
 yet, by those indescribable indications which 
 convinces us of a fact without our well know- 
 ing why, one judged in a moment that the 
 man who entered was between forty-five and 
 fifty years of age, though everything in his 
 whole aspect and carriage denoted undimi- 
 nished vigour and activity. Here and there, 
 indeed, in his beard and hair, might be traced 
 a single white line, but that was all that spoke 
 the passing of years. 
 
 The dress of this worthy personage was that 
 of a handicraftsman of moderate wealth. His 
 
 N 2 
 
180 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 coat Avas of untanned leather, slashed here and 
 there upon the arms — as was the custom of 
 the times — and he vv^ore before hhn a great 
 leathern apron blackened and soiled, appa- 
 rently with the labours of the forge. A little 
 vanity, of the kind which the French call 
 coquetry, was observable in the covering of his 
 head, which was a cap or bonnet of black felt, 
 bordered with a lace of gold ; the brim was 
 somewhat broad, slashed in the forms of one 
 of the Greek mouldings, and turned back 
 towards the crown, while a bunch of green 
 feathers, taken, not from the wing of the 
 ostrich, but rather from that of some more 
 homely bird, stretched across the front, and 
 leaned towards his left shoulder. His shoes, or 
 rather half boots, for they came up to his ankle, 
 were long, and pointed at the toe ; and under one 
 arm he carried a number of pieces of lead and 
 iron, while his right hand was armed with a 
 sledge hammer, which, wielded by him, might 
 have brained an elephant. 
 
 Behind the blacksmith came a lad (bearing 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 181 
 
 a basket, full of various utensils of his trade), 
 who, in any other situation, would have ap- 
 peared a good-sized, comely youth, but who, 
 by his side, looked a mere dwarf; and such 
 was the effect of the man's appearance, that 
 Adelaide, who had never beheld Franz Creus- 
 sen before, turned somewhat pale at the sight, 
 though Ferdinand welcomed him with a good- 
 humoured smile of recognition, perhaps a little 
 vexed that he had come so soon, but not 
 attributing any blame to him on that account. 
 
 " Ha, ha. Master Ferdinand !" cried the 
 giant, as soon as he saw him, " good-morning 
 to you, sir, I thought how it would be — Why 
 don't you help the lady ? She can never get 
 that bunch of flowers up there ;" and at the 
 same time striding forward, and towering 
 above Adelaide even as she stood raised upon 
 the chair, he stretched out his long, powerful 
 arm, and fixed the wreath upon the spot she 
 could not reach. 
 
 " You thought how what would be, Franz 1 " 
 asked Ferdinand, who had remarked a pecu- 
 
182 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 liar tone as the blacksmitli spoke, and a glance 
 of tlie eye from himself to Adelaide. 
 
 But Franz Creussen did not answer his 
 question, going on in a rambling manner. 
 " So there are ghosts here, the Count tells me ; 
 and all the men and women but you two are 
 afraid. Let the ghosts come hither, and see if 
 I will not split their skulls with my hammer." 
 
 " Why, Franz, I hardly thought you would 
 come," answered Ferdinand ; " I heard you 
 once tell the Count you would neither shoe his 
 horses, nor do work of any kind for him. I 
 am glad to see you in a better humour." 
 
 " I would not have come," answered the 
 blacksmith, " only he told me that all the 
 people were afraid ; and as I never yet saw 
 a thing to be afraid of, I came to look if I 
 could find it here. But I must set to work, 
 Master Ferdinand. — God help us, how thou 
 art grown! When I first saw thee, thou 
 wert scarce half an ell high, and now thou 
 art above my shoulder." 
 
 Ferdinand smiled, for though he was cer- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 183 
 
 tainly above the blacksmith's shoulder, he was 
 not much higher, and had no reason to believe 
 he would ever rise above the height he had 
 attained. Franz Creussen, however, turned 
 abruptly to his work, and with the aid of 
 his boy, soon unhinged the latticed part of 
 the casement nearest the door, in which the 
 largest fractures were perceptible. He then 
 proceeded to another and another, while 
 Ferdinand continued to aid the fair girl in 
 ornamenting the other side of the hall, with 
 somewhat less familiarity of demeanor; but 
 nevertheless many a dear whispered word 
 passed between them, as they hung the gar- 
 lands, or shook the banners, or crowned the 
 war crests of the old helmets with bunches 
 of flowers. 
 
 At length, as the blacksmith reached the 
 fourth window, Adelaide's store was exhausted, 
 and she said, " I must go and bring more, 
 Ferdinand; Theresa, I dare say, has twined 
 plenty of wreaths by this time ; and in the 
 mean while, if you could drive some nails 
 
184 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 between the stone-work of the arches, we 
 could span over the vault with green branches, 
 and make the old hall look like a forest 
 bower." 
 
 " I will get Franz to help me," answered 
 her lover; "his arm, I should think, would 
 drive a nail into the heart of the stone, if 
 it were needful." 
 
 As soon as she was gone, however, Franz 
 handed down the lattice of the fourth window 
 to his apprentice, saying, "There, carry that 
 to the little court by the stables — I will work 
 there. Then come for the others, boy ;" and 
 as the youth departed, the stout man leaned 
 upon his hammer, and gazed after him till 
 the door was closed. 
 
 " Come, Franz, help me to drive some nails 
 in here, to hold some boughs," said Ferdinand. 
 But Franz Creussen strode up to him, and 
 grasping him tightly by the shoulder with 
 his heavy hand, he said, in a low voice, 
 bending down his head, " Be careful, be 
 careful, young man." 
 
EHRENSTEfN. 185 
 
 " Be careful of what V asked Ferdinand. 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense," cried Franz Creussen, 
 " do you think others will not see what I see ? 
 and if they do, you may chance to go to bed 
 one night, shorter by the head." 
 
 Ferdinand was somewhat puzzled how to 
 answer. It was a case, perhaps, in which 
 insincerity is tolerated by all the lailes of 
 social polity; but he knew the man who 
 spoke to him to be honest and true-hearted, 
 and one who had always displayed towards 
 him a peculiar and remarkable degree of 
 kindness and regard when he was almost at 
 open enmity with all the rest of the Count of 
 Ehrenstein's household. After a moment's 
 hesitation, however, he answered, " I know 
 not what you have seen, Franz, to make ycai 
 use such words ; but I wish you would speak 
 more plainly. I do believe you love me, and 
 woukl do all you can to serve me." 
 
 " Ay, more than you know. Master Ferdi- 
 nand," replied the blacksmith. " Speak more 
 plainly ! Why I have spoken plainly enough. 
 
186 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Who is it makes love to his lord's daughter, 
 and thinks that all other men are buzzards, 
 and can only see by candle-light? I knew it 
 would be so long ago, and told Father George 
 so, too, when he first put you here." 
 
 " But if Father George wishes it," rejoined 
 Ferdinand, looking up in his face. 
 
 " Why I suppose he knows best, then," 
 answered the man, turning on his heel, "but 
 it 's a dangerous game. A neck 's but a neck, 
 and that's soon cut through. — But he knows 
 more than I do, and I suppose he is right ;" 
 and thus saying, he searched his basket for a 
 number of large nails that it contained, and 
 was soon busily driving them in between the 
 joints of the stone-work, without adding a 
 word more. 
 
 In a minute after, his boy returned to take 
 away another of the frames, and as soon as 
 he was gone, Franz Creussen turned to Fer- 
 dinand again, and said, " I '11 tell you what, 
 young gentleman ; Father George knows best, 
 and so you must follow his counsel ; but these 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 187 
 
 monks, though they manage all the world, do 
 not always manage it as they like best ; and 
 if this matter should go wrong, and you 
 should need help, you will always know 
 where to find it, as long as Franz Creussen 
 lives. In any time of need, come down to 
 me if you can ; and if you can't get out, 
 which is not an unlikely case, get me down 
 word, and the door will be strong indeed that 
 Franz Creussen's arm cannot open." 
 
 " Thank you, Franz, thank you," answered 
 Ferdinand, grasping his hand. " But I would 
 not have you peril yourself for me. I must 
 take my fate as I find it, and no fears for 
 myself will stop me." 
 
 "That's right, that's right," answered Franz 
 Creussen. " Life would not be worth keeping 
 if it always wanted watching. But I don't fear 
 peril either, good youth ; and I can do more 
 than you think, for there's many a man round 
 about would follow my leathern apron as soon 
 as a knight's banner ; I can ride with as good 
 a train, if I like it, as any baron in the land. 
 
188 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 But all I tell you is, don't you wait too long. 
 If you find yourself in danger come to Franz 
 Creussen in time — the good Count is quick 
 in his despatch ; didn't he strangle the poor 
 fellow who he thought — or said, whether he 
 thought it or not — had stahbed his brother, 
 within twelve hours after he brought home 
 the news of the last Count's death ?" 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Ferdinand, " I was 
 not aware he had done so." 
 
 " Ay, ay," answered the blacksmith, " he 
 did it sure enough ; you may see his bones, 
 poor fellow, chained to the pillar against 
 which they strangled him, down in the serfs 
 burial vault — but that was before you came 
 here, of course, so you can't know much 
 of it." 
 
 " I was aware he had put him to death," 
 replied Ferdinand, " but did not know he 
 had been so prompt in his execution." 
 
 " He was, though," rejoined the blacksmith, 
 " and for that reason, be you prompt too. 
 If you see signs of danger, come to Franz 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 189 
 
 Creussen at once — better to him than to the 
 Abbey, for though the monks hold then- own 
 well enough against the Count, they do not 
 like to meddle in other people's quarrels ; and 
 it is likely there would be long consultations, 
 before the end of which, the Abbey might be 
 stormed, or at the end of which you might be 
 given up." 
 
 " As he spoke, the Lady Adelaide returned 
 with a fresh supply of garlands, and Franz 
 Creussen turned away to drive in more nails on 
 which to hang the branches ; and, at the end 
 of about a quarter of an hour, he quitted the 
 hall, saying with a laugh, — " I '11 go work at 
 the casements, in the court ; I am better there 
 than here; and you shall have timely notice 
 when the Count is coming up the hill." 
 
 " That man looked very strange," said Ade- 
 laide, "and spoke strangely too. Can he 
 suspect anything, Ferdinand ? He frightened 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, do not fear him, dearest girl ! " replied 
 her lover ; " he is honest and true, if ever one 
 
190 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 was SO, and has a great love for me. I must 
 not conceal from you, my beloved, that he 
 does suspect, and has been warning me, if any 
 danger should arise, to fly to him speedily, or 
 to send to him at once, if I should be im- 
 prisoned. He is much loved, and much feared 
 in the country round, and might give good and 
 serviceable aid in case of need." 
 
 " Heaven forbid that it should ever be 
 required ! " cried Adelaide, clasping her two 
 hands together, and gazing sadly down ; but 
 the moment after, the light rose in her eyes 
 again, and she looked up with a bright smile, 
 exclaiming, — " I am doing what is right, and 
 I will not fear ; but we must be careful, dear 
 Ferdinand ; we must not, for the mere hap- 
 piness of the moment, call suspicions upon us 
 that might endanger the happiness of our 
 lives. Let us to our task — let us to our task, 
 and show them, when they return, that we 
 have been right busy in that we undertook." 
 
 For the next three or four hours, with a 
 brief interruption for the mid-day meal, the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 191 
 
 lady and lier lover continued to employ them- 
 selves in decorating the old hall; and, aided 
 by Franz Creussen and his lad, contrived 
 completely to change the appearance of the 
 place. Bertha, too, by seeing the other four 
 continually go in and come out, by hearing the 
 cheerful sounds of their voices from within, 
 and by the presence of so many persons who 
 seemed to have no fear, was at length encou- 
 raged to look in, and then to speak from the 
 door to her mistress at the other end of the 
 hall ; and lastly, to enter herself, and assist with 
 her own hands. 
 
 Everything was nearly completed ; but a 
 few more boughs were required to be added to 
 form a sort of canopy over the chair of state, 
 and to bring in the tables from the other halls, 
 when the distant sound of a trumpet was 
 heard, and Franz Creussen's boy learned from 
 the feudal retainers, who had by this time 
 assembled in considerable numbers, that a 
 large body of horsemen was coming over the 
 opposite hill. Adelaide hastened away to 
 
192 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 prepare herself for tlie reception of lier father's 
 guests ; but Ferdinand remained for a few 
 minutes longer, to finish, with hurried hands, 
 all that remained to be done, and then left the 
 hall with Franz Creussen, who declared that 
 he would now hasten home, adding, in a 
 surly tone, — " I will not stay to see them revel 
 who have no right to be here." 
 
 At the door, however, Ferdinand turned to 
 look back, and mark the general effect which had 
 been produced by the labours of the day. A 
 pleasant, though a somewhat strangely mingled 
 sight it was, and certainly the change which 
 had been produced was very great. The old 
 arches, with their fretted roofs above, the grey 
 stone-work, from which the hue of age and 
 disuse could not be removed, contrasted curi- 
 ously with the gay garlands of bright summer 
 flowers that crowned the chapters of the pil- 
 lars, and hung in wavy lines along the walls. 
 The green boughs, too, with their regular 
 irregularity, forming a vault as it were within 
 the vault, crossed in different directions by the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 193 
 
 banners, now shaken clear of the dust which 
 had long covered them, and the rushes with 
 which the floor was thickly strewn, gave the 
 old hall, as Adelaide had said, the appearance 
 of a forest glade, dressed out with flags for 
 some chivalrous holiday; and as he stood and 
 looked around, strange dreamy visions crossed 
 his mind, such as could present themselves 
 only to fancy in a chivalrous age. Thoughts 
 of wild and strange adventure, of renown in 
 arms, of generous deeds and noble daring, of 
 befriending the poor and needy, of suj^porting 
 the weak and oppressed, of overthrowing the 
 wrong-doer and delivering the wronged, mixed 
 in strange confusion with sylvan sports and 
 forest glades, and calm hours sj^ent by castle 
 hearths between. But in every scene, with 
 every picture, came one fair, dear form ; 
 wherever fancy placed him, the bright soft 
 eyes looked at him, the sweet lips smiled his 
 reward. She whom he loved was the soul of 
 all his imaginings, and he felt how truly it was 
 that innocent love gave its own sunshine to 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 everything around. Even the hall he had just 
 teen decorating lost its light when she was 
 gone, the old walls grew cold and damp, the 
 flowers seemed not half so fair, the boughs 
 appeared to droop more languidly. It all 
 looked but half as gay as when Adelaide was 
 there, and yet he saw not what could have 
 been done better. Nevertheless, a great change 
 had been effected ; and when he compared the 
 hall with what it had been, before he and 
 Adelaide had undertaken its arrangement, he 
 felt sure that his lord would think that they 
 had laboured well during his absence, and 
 though but half-contented with his work, 
 hastened to his chamber to remove the dust 
 from his face and hands, and don his festival 
 attire. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 195 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A BODY of about some sixty armed vassals 
 of the house of Ehrenstein, was drawn up in 
 the outer court of the castle. They were under 
 different subordinate leaders, for by the sub- 
 division of land, in descending from one gene- 
 ration to another, the exact number which 
 had been originally assigned by tenure to 
 different portions of the signory, had become 
 somewhat confused, and also difficult to com- 
 pute; for many small properties were now 
 only bound to send half a man, and others one, 
 two, or three and a half. As it was not so 
 easy to divide a man as it had been found to 
 divide the ground that nourished him, each lit- 
 tle community was usually called upon to send 
 
 o 2 
 
196 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 its aggregate number of soldiers, with whom 
 was a chief appointed to command them under 
 the lord of Ehrenstein, or one of his officers. 
 
 As Ferdinand of Altenburg was the only- 
 person of note in the household of the Count, 
 who now remained in the castle, the villagers 
 were, of course, under his guidance, and he 
 endeavoured to array them in such a sort as 
 to make the greatest possible display of force 
 on the entrance of the lord of the castle with 
 his guests. The outer gates, however, were 
 closed by his orders, although some of the 
 retainers thought it not a little strange that 
 the young gentleman should shut the doors 
 upon the Count himself. But Ferdinand 
 knew well his task, and after directing a 
 banner to be displayed upon the walls, he 
 approached the gates, and waited with some 
 impatience, listening for the sounds from 
 without. 
 
 At length the shrill blast of a trumpet upon 
 the bridge, within a few yards of the spot 
 where he stood, showed him that the Count 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 197 
 
 was near ; and opening the wicket, he de- 
 manded — " Who seeks to enter here ?" 
 
 The trumpeter replied in the same tone — 
 "The Count of Ehrenstein. Open the gaties 
 to your lord!" And the young gentleman 
 instantly commanded them to be flung back, 
 that the cavalcade might enter. 
 
 It consisted of some sixty or seventy men, 
 with a number of baggage horses following in 
 the rear. At the head of the first and principal 
 group, appeared the Count himself, in the gar- 
 ments of peace, while on his left rode a fine- 
 looking man, somewhat past the middle age, 
 partially armed. His head was only covered 
 with an ordinary velvet cap and plume, how- 
 ever, so that Ferdinand had a full opportunity 
 of gazing at his features, and he did so with 
 a degree of interest for which he knew no 
 cause. He had heard of Count Frederick of 
 Leiningen, indeed, as a gallant and skilful 
 soldier, and a frank-hearted and amiable 
 man. But he had seen many such without 
 feeling the same sort of curiosity which he now 
 
198 * EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 experienced. The Count's face was one 
 that well expressed his character; blithe and 
 good humoured, though with a high, thought- 
 ful brow, while two or three scars upon his 
 lip and cheek, showed that he had not 
 acquired the glory of arms without tasting the 
 perils and the pangs of y^ar. His hair, nearly 
 white, falling from beneath his cap, would 
 have seemed to show a more advanced period 
 of life than the Count of Ehrenstein had 
 attained ; but on the other hand, the guest 
 was more upright and stately in person than 
 his host, and rode his horse with a more 
 martial air. Behind those two appeared old 
 Sickendorf and Karl of Mosbach, with several 
 knights of Count Frederick's train ; and the 
 first group was closed by a party which would 
 have appeared very strange, and in most 
 unnatural companionship to our eyes, though 
 in those times it was of every day occurrence. 
 On the right was a priest, in his ordinary 
 riding apparel, bearing a dry branch of the 
 Oriental palm in his hand ; and on the left 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 199 
 
 rode a tall, powerful personage, whose motley 
 garb, and sort of Phrygian bonnet, surmounted 
 by a bell instead of a tassel, spoke him the 
 jester of the high nobleman whom he followed. 
 He, also, was past the middle age, and his 
 beard, which seemed to have been once of a 
 rich dark brown, was now thickly mingled 
 with white ; his eyebrows were quite blanched, 
 but his eye was keen and quick, and his teeth 
 white and perfect. The powerful horse that 
 he bestrode, he managed with ease, and even 
 grace ; and as he came forward, he sent a 
 rapid and marking glance over every tower 
 and battlement of the castle, and round all 
 the retainers of the house of Ehrenstein, 
 scrutinizing each face, and then passing on. 
 Behind these two, and mounted upon a horse as 
 tall as those that went before, was a dwarf, 
 excessively diminutive in size, and hideous in 
 feature, form, and complexion ; he v/as decked 
 out in all the gayest colours that could be 
 found, which seemed to render his deformity 
 but the more apparent, and his small black 
 
?00 EHREN STEIN. 
 
 eyes twinkled from beneath his bent brows, 
 with a dark, malicious expression, as if in that 
 small frame there were a vast store of hatred 
 for all human things more favoured by nature 
 than himself. Some pages in attendance, of 
 good birth, followed, and then the men at 
 arms. 
 
 Just beyond the arch of the gateway stood 
 the Lady Adelaide, with her women, looking 
 more lovely — at least in the eyes of Ferdinand 
 of Altenburg — than she had ever done before; 
 the colour of her cheek heightened, and the 
 light in her eye which can only be given by 
 love. As soon as Count Frederick saw her, 
 he spoke a few words to her father in a low 
 voice; the Lord of Ehrenstein bowed his 
 head, and his guest instantly sprang to the 
 ground, and advancing gracefully to the lady, 
 took her hand, and pressed his lips upon it. 
 The rest of the party also dismounted, and 
 Count Frederick, still holding Adelaide by 
 the hand, and gazing upon her with a look 
 of admiration and interest, was led to the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 201 
 
 lesser hall, where her father, apologizing for 
 being absent a moment, left him to the enter- 
 tainment of the fair lady for a time, and 
 hurrying back into the court, called Ferdinand 
 to him. 
 
 "Is all prepared in the hall?" he asked, 
 with a low voice. 
 
 " Yes, my good lord," replied the young 
 man. " But I pray you do not go to see it 
 yet, till it be lighted up. The evening is 
 beginning to fall, and at supper-time it will 
 show as you could wish it. So sweetly has 
 Lady Adelaide decked it all, it seems as if 
 she were born a queen of flowers, and that 
 they do her bidding willingly." 
 
 The Count smiled, but went on to say, 
 " Then you had nothing to interrupt you — 
 none of these strange sights again?" 
 
 " None, none, my lord," answered Ferdi- 
 nand. " The only strange sight that visited 
 us during the day, was that giant Franz 
 Creussen ; but he did us good service, helped 
 to reach up where we could not stretch our 
 
202 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 arms, and in the labouring part did more 
 than any one. He was only just gone when 
 you arrived." 
 
 " He passed us on the road, without a 
 word," replied the Count ; "neither doffed his 
 bonnet, nor made any sign of reverence. The 
 time may come for a reckoning between me 
 and good Franz Creussen, when we shall 
 know whether the noble is to be bearded by 
 a serf." 
 
 " I believe he means no harm, my lord 
 Count," replied Ferdinand, warmly, but re- 
 spectfully : " he has borne arms, I have heard, 
 and is somewhat rough in manners; but all 
 the country people speak well of him, and 
 men say he is no serf, but of good blood." 
 
 " His trade is a churl's, at all events," 
 replied the Count, frowning, "and the trade 
 makes the man, youth. — I know right well 
 he has borne arms — 'tis that renders him 
 insolent. The day will come, however — the 
 day will come. — All men speak well of him, 
 eh? Did you ever know any one of whom 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 203 
 
 all men spoke well, who was not a cunning 
 knave, skilful in taking advantage of tlie 
 follies of others for their own purposes ? The 
 man whom the rabble curse, is often their best 
 friend; the fawning sycophant who panders 
 to their caprices, uses them but as means, to 
 cast them off when he has done with them." 
 
 Ferdinand could have well replied, that 
 Franz Creussen was not one to fawn on any 
 man; but he saw that his lord was in no 
 mood to hear truth, and after giving a mo- 
 ment to gloomy thought, the Count repeated 
 his question. " So all passed quietly V 
 
 " So peacefully and lightly, my good lord," 
 answered Ferdinand, " that standing there in 
 the broad sunshine of the day, I could hardly 
 believe that my eyes had not played me the 
 knave last night, and cheated me with idle 
 visions." 
 
 " Perhaps it was so," said the Count, " and 
 yet that banner — that was no vision, Ferdi- 
 nand. However, we must forget such things, 
 and you must choose out twenty of the men 
 
204 
 
 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 to be with us in the hall to-night. Lay my 
 commands strictly on them to show no signs 
 of fear, and forbid all the rest even to whisper 
 one word of these vain tales to any of the 
 guests. I have spoken with Sickendorf and 
 Mosbach, already ; but I trust more to you, 
 Ferdinand, for they have doubts and fears 
 that you are without. Neither, to say the 
 truth, are they very courteous. Here, Sicken- 
 dorf has been brawling already with one of 
 Count Frederick's chief followers. You must 
 try and keep peace and quietness, and see 
 that hospitable courtesy be shown to all.*' 
 
 " I cannot meddle with Sickendorf and 
 Mosbach, my lord," answered Ferdinand, 
 " for they are knights, and I am none, and 
 moreover, are my elders ; but all the rest I 
 can easily command, partly by love, and partly 
 by authority, if you will delegate some power 
 to me to rule them as I think best, when you 
 are not present." 
 
 " I will, I will, good youth," replied the 
 Count ; " at supper-time I will do it publicly, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 205 
 
 with thanks for what you have ah-eady done. 
 You shall be my Master of the Household 
 for the time, and in that character you must 
 show every kind attention not only to Count 
 Frederick himself, but to his favorite fol- 
 lowers." 
 
 " There is sufficient good accommodation 
 provided for his knights, my lord," answered 
 Ferdinand. " I saw to that before I went 
 to the hall. Everything is ready for seven, 
 and I see but five." 
 
 " Good faith ! there are others whom he 
 cares for more than his knights/' answered 
 the Count. " There is the priest, ay, and 
 the jester too. My old friend seems full of 
 strange fantasies, and we must humour them. 
 This fool whom he has with him saved his 
 life in the Holy Land, it seems ; and though 
 he is at times somewhat insolent, even to his 
 lord — as all such knavish fools are — not only 
 does he bear with him patiently, but ever 
 keeping in mind this one service, sets him 
 at table with his knights, and listens to him 
 
206 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 like an oracle. He and the priest must sit 
 ■vyith us ; and we may draw diversion from 
 tlie one if not from the other. Be sure that 
 you are civil to him, my good youth, for 
 Count Frederick's friendship may stand me 
 in good stead. Then there's a youth — there he 
 stands, talking to Mosbach — a down-looking 
 quick-eyed lad, who seems a favorite too." 
 
 "What is his name, my lord?" asked 
 Perdinand, turning his eyes in the direction 
 of the group of which the Count spoke. 
 
 " Martin of Dillberg," said his lord. " He 
 is a gentleman by birth, it seems, but of no 
 very high nobility. Not like the Altenburgs," 
 he continued, with a smile and a flattering 
 tone, "whose very blood is wealth. So now 
 go, Ferdinand, and see that all be arranged 
 as I have said, for I must hie me back again, 
 and lead this good lord to his apartments. 
 You do the same for the others ; and let the 
 trumpet sound some minutes before supper, 
 that we may all be gathered in the other 
 hall." 
 
 I 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 207 
 
 Thus saying, he left him ; but in the mean 
 while some words of interest had passed 
 between Adelaide and Count Frederick, who 
 had remained with her near one of the 
 windows, while the few attendants who had 
 followed them were grouped together talking 
 at the other end of the chamber. 
 
 He had gazed at her earnestly, but not 
 offensively, wlien they first met, just within 
 the castle gates. It was a look of kind 
 almost paternal tenderness with which he 
 appeared to interrogate her fair face. It 
 seemed to say, Are you as good as you are 
 beautiful, as happy as you are bright, sweet 
 child ? and twice, as he led her to the hall, 
 he turned his head to look at her with the 
 same expression ; but as soon as they had 
 entered, he said, turning towards the case- 
 ment, " I feel as if we were old acquaint- 
 ances, my dear young lady ; so you must 
 not think it strange that I treat you as one. 
 I have known your father long and well — 
 since we were boys together; and I knew 
 
208 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 your uncle better still — a noble and high- 
 minded man he was, as sportful as a child. 
 and yet with the courage of a warrior, and 
 the conduct of a sage — and I cannot help 
 looking upon you almost as a daughter. 
 Thus, if I do so sometimes, and seem more 
 familiar, and more concerned about your hap- 
 piness than our young acquaintance might 
 warrant, you will forgive me." 
 
 *' Kindness needs no forgiveness, my noble 
 lord," replied Adelaide, thinking she remark- 
 ed something peculiar in the Prince's tone, 
 she knew not well what. 
 
 " Yes, for it may sometimes seem imper- 
 tinent," answered Count Frederick. " But 
 methinks, my child, if I can read the clear 
 book of your eyes aright, you are one who 
 can see very speedily what are the motives of 
 words or actions, which to some might seem 
 strange. I am preparing you for the demeanor 
 of an odd old man — but I think I have said 
 enough." 
 
 "I do not know, my lord," said Adelaide, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 209 
 
 casting down lier eyes, in some doubt and 
 confusion, " enough to awaken curiosity, but 
 not to satisfy it." 
 
 " Perhaps not enough to win confidence," 
 replied Count Frederick, "yet, as I never 
 knew that it could be gained by words, I 
 must leave deeds to speak for me, and will 
 only tell you more, that I have seen and 
 conversed with a dear friend of yours, and 
 that if you should need, at any time, aid and 
 protection, you will have it from Frederick of 
 Leiningen." 
 
 "A friend of mine?" said Adelaide, in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied her companion, "and 
 a good friend too, who told me that a time 
 was coming when you might need support; 
 and I promised to give it. But I must hear 
 more myself before I can speak farther. In 
 the mean time, keep what I have said to 
 your own bosom, but trust me as far as you 
 will, when you have need. — What is it now, 
 Herr von Narren 1 " he continued, as his jester 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
^10 EHEENSTEIN. 
 
 approached him. "What is it that you 
 want?" 
 
 "What do I want?" said the man in 
 motley, " Good faith ! uncle Frederick, my 
 answer, to be pertinent, must be as long as 
 a dictionary. First, I want lands and lord- 
 ships, and a purse well stored ; then, I want 
 wit — at least, so men tell me; and I myself 
 judge that I want a pretty wife. Sure, I 
 ought to have one or the other, though both 
 cannot go together, for a pretty wife takes 
 away a man's wit, and a man who has wit 
 has not a pretty wife ; then I want boots of 
 untanned leather broidered with gold, and a 
 well-darned doublet, which the air of heaven 
 knoweth right well I have not got. Give 
 you good luck, fair lady ; are you the daughter 
 of this castle?" 
 
 " I am the daughter of its lord," replied 
 Adelaide, with a smile. 
 
 " Then you are the daughter of the castle," 
 answered the jester, " and its only begotten 
 child!" 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 211 
 
 " How do you prove that, Herr von 
 Narren?" asked Count Frederick, seeming 
 to enjoy very much the man's dull jokes. 
 
 " Now cogitate," replied the jester. " Is 
 not the castle made of stone ? — all lord's hearts 
 are made of stone, too. He is the lord of the 
 castle, and if she is the daughter of his heart, 
 she is the daughter of a stone ; the castle is 
 made of stone, ergo, she is the daughter of the 
 castle." 
 
 "It halts!— it halts!" cried Count Fre- 
 derick ; " your argument is lame of one foot ! " 
 
 " My father's heart has never been of stone 
 to me," replied Adelaide, gently. 
 
 " Perhaps you never cut it, or you would 
 have found it so, pretty blossom," said the 
 jester, more gravely than was his wont ; and 
 then turning to Count Frederick, he was 
 about to continue in his usual strain, when 
 their host entered, and in courteous terms, and 
 with the ceremonious manners of the day, 
 besought his noble guest to follow him to 
 
 p 2 
 
212 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the apartments which had been prepared for 
 him. 
 
 Adelaide remained some minutes behind. 
 I will not attempt to explain why ; for ladies' 
 thoughts and motives form a difficult book to 
 read. It was certainly likely that Ferdinand 
 of Altenburg would speedily return to the 
 hall; and perhaps she might not be unwilling 
 to see him again for a few minutes ; or perhaps 
 she might feel time hang heavy on her hands, 
 as it often did in those old castles, and she be 
 well disposed to while away a brief space in 
 talking even with a jester. Let those who are 
 wise in such things, judge. At all events, her 
 conversation went on with Herr von Narren, 
 as Count Frederick called him ; and she it 
 was who renewed it, saying, — 
 
 " You accompanied Count Frederick from 
 the Holy Land, I think?" 
 
 " No, lady, he accompanied me," answered 
 the jester ; " fools always lead the way, you 
 know, and wise men follow." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 213 
 
 " But there was nothing foolish in coming 
 back to your native country," said Adelaide.- 
 
 "If it was wise to go, as all men said," 
 replied the jester, " it was foolish to come 
 back. But rats will put their heads into a 
 trap, and then strive to pull them out, too 
 late. Is your ladyship fond of strawberries 
 and cream?" 
 
 ''Not extravagantly," answered Adelaide, 
 
 " Then God give you such wise economy in 
 all things !" cried the jester. " Even love 
 may surfeit, if we take too much of it." 
 
 From some internal emotion, the blood rose 
 in the lady's cheek, whether she would or 
 not, but she forced herself to reply, — " Nay, I 
 doubt that, sir; 'tis when we love unv/isely 
 that there is danger. We cannot love too well 
 when we love wisely." 
 
 " Well cannot be ill, indeed," said the fool, 
 with a sage look, " so says Aristotle, or I 
 mistake; yet I have heard my grandmother 
 declare, and she was as wise as the old Greek, 
 that all sweet things will surfeit. Now love 
 
214 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 is a sweet thing to all young hearts ; and were 
 I a boy in the castle, I would avoid that 
 pantry, for it may contain dangerous dainties." 
 
 Adelaide mused for a moment, asking her- 
 self whether the man, indeed, spoke at ran- 
 dom ; hut when he saw that she replied not, 
 he went on, — " Beauty, wisdom, wit, policy, a 
 soft voice, and a delicate step — even chalked 
 soles and a flat heel — never yet kept a man 
 from stumbling, if he ran too fast; and so, 
 fair lady, as you are the daughter of the 
 castle, and I am Count Frederick's fool, we 
 will go gently, and not fall in love with each 
 other, lest our fortunes should be made a 
 ballad of." 
 
 " I should think there was no great chance 
 of your falling in love with me, good sir," 
 answered Adelaide ; " 't is a danger easily 
 eschewed." 
 
 " Faith, I know not that, if you look out of 
 the upper windows so sweetly," replied the 
 jester, pointing towards Adelaide's eyes ; " I 
 am more in love already than I ever thought 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 215 
 
 to be with one of your house. If young hearts 
 are like dry wood, why should not old ones 
 be tinder?" 
 
 The lady was saved the necessity of re- 
 plying, by her father's entrance ; and she was 
 not disinclined to break off a conversation 
 which had become embarrassing. Retiring 
 then quickly, she sought her own chamber, 
 traversing the passages and corridors now 
 crowded with men carrying up the baggage 
 which had been brought with Count Fre- 
 derick's train. 
 
216 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The crescets and sconces were lighted in the 
 great hall, and all those who were to be hon- 
 oured with a seat at the banquet of the evening 
 were beginning to assemble in the lesser hall. 
 On this occasion, none were admitted to the table 
 of their lords but such as could either show some 
 claim to noble blood, or were distinguished by- 
 particular favour. Nevertheless, the guests 
 were very numerous, for the changes which 
 time had produced in the strict feudal system, 
 and in the severity of the ancient chivalry, 
 admitted many to distinction who would 
 formerly have been excluded ; and every man, 
 not absolutely a serf, was looked upon as 
 noble, and entitled to bear arms. Priests and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 217 
 
 friars, whether they could prove their ancestry 
 or not, found ready admission to the tables 
 even of monarchs ; and in times of need and 
 danger, when it was necessary to court popular 
 support, the leaders of the free communes were 
 treated with every sort of honour. The feu- 
 dal system, indeed, at this time, may be said 
 to have been completely disorganised ; and 
 amongst many symptoms of the total over- 
 throw which was approaching, was that mix- 
 ture of classes, and the reverence for a great 
 many qualities, some of them much superior 
 to mere ancestry, and some of them perhaps 
 inferior. However that may be, the number of 
 those who, notwithstanding all customary limit- 
 ations, were entitled to dine with the Count 
 of Ehrenstein and his princely guest, did not 
 amount to less than seventy ; and Adelaide, 
 when she entered the lesser hall with her father, 
 felt her heart beat somewhat timidly at the sight 
 of so many who were perfect strangers to her. 
 
 It was to be remarked that amongst the 
 various groups which the room contained, the 
 
218 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 attendants of the lord of Ehrenstein looked 
 grave, moody, and anxious, while those of 
 Count Frederick of Leiningen, not aware of 
 any cause for apprehension, were cheerful, if 
 not merry. Numbers, however, have a very 
 encouraging effect; and with so many com- 
 panions around them, old Sickendorf and 
 Mosbach, with their fellow-soldiers of the 
 castle, had screwed their courage to the sticking 
 point, and were prepared to face the ghosts of 
 the old hall without any external signs of fear. 
 It had cost some trouble, indeed, to get the 
 cooks and sewers of the household to place 
 the viands for the supper on the tables, but the 
 example of Ferdinand and Adelaide, and the 
 knowledge that they, with Franz Creussen and 
 his boy, had passed the whole morning in the 
 hall without disturbance, induced them rather 
 to risk a meeting with the ghosts than to 
 encounter their lord's anger ; and in parties of 
 five and six, they had at length ventured in, 
 heavily laden with provisions. 
 
 Their terrors had caused some delay, how- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 219 
 
 ever ; and it was not till the Count had waited 
 impatiently for near a quarter of an hour, that 
 the trumpets were heard sounding clear and 
 shrill from below. After a few moments wasted, 
 as was customary, to show that no one was 
 in haste, Count Frederick offered his hand 
 to Adelaide, and led her to the door, and the 
 whole party moved forward towards the ban- ' 
 quet room. 
 
 " Let the others go first, Mosbach," said 
 Sickendorf, in a low tone ; " the devil may 
 take them all, if he likes, so that he leave me 
 enough for supper : I am as ravenous as a 
 wolf!" 
 
 " So am I," answered Mosbach ; " but I 
 would rather go hungry to bed than sup in 
 that dreary old hall, with the ghastly company 
 we are likely to have." 
 
 The sight that met their eye, however, when 
 they approached the great door, was one that 
 they little expected. The whole hall was in a 
 blaze of light; tapers were hung thickly on 
 the walls and in the arches, showing forth, in 
 
220 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 fine relief, the garlands of flowers with which 
 Adelaide had decked them, and the branches 
 of evergreen which both tapestried and cano- 
 pied the hall. The banners, freed from the 
 dust of many years, waved gaily over head ; 
 the tables groaned with well-cooked viands, 
 and long ranges of cups, goblets, and tankards, 
 in gold and silver — for the Count had brought 
 forth all his stores of splendour — flashed back 
 the rays of the lights around, and added to the 
 rich and cheerful aspect of the whole. 
 
 Count Frederick paused for an instant, ex- 
 claiming, — " Why, this is a scene of fairy 
 land ! " and the Count of Ehrenstein himself 
 gazed round with wonder and pleasure on a 
 sight which far surpassed his previous expecta- 
 tions. He made no observation, however, but 
 moved on to take his seat in the great chair, in 
 the centre of the cross table, and several 
 minutes were spent in arranging the guests 
 according to their rank and station. Adelaide 
 was placed upon her father's left, Count Frede- 
 rick on his right ; the priest sat next the lady, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 221 
 
 and tlien tlie kniglits around, while Ferdinand, 
 in a courteous tone, assigned tlie jester a seat at 
 the angle of the two tables, so that he could 
 converse with his lord during their meal, accord- 
 ing to custom, w^ithout being actually placed at 
 the same table. This arrangement created 
 much surprise amongst the followers of the 
 house of Ehrenstein, and some displeasure, but 
 the attendants of Count Frederick seemed to 
 look upon it as a matter of course. 
 
 Ferdinand himself was about to take a seat 
 much farther down, but, as he moved towards it, 
 the Count called him up, saying, " Here is room 
 for you, Ferdinand. Well and faithfully have 
 you done all that was entrusted to you, and 
 neither a braver heart nor a better head have 
 we amongst us. I name you the Master of my 
 Household from this hour, and leave my good 
 guests to your care and courtesy whenever I am 
 not present." 
 
 "Well may he make him master of his 
 household," said Sickendorf, in a whisper, 
 to Mosbach, " for he seems master of the 
 
222 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 spirits as well as the bodies. I am sure with- 
 out their help he never could have done all 
 this." 
 
 " He had Franz Creussen with him," mum- 
 bled Karl of Mosbach ; " and I don't see why 
 a boy like that, not knighted yet, should be put 
 over our heads." 
 
 " He 's a good youth, he 's a good youth," 
 answered Sickendorf ; " and may well have an 
 office that neither you nor I could manage. 
 We are over his head in arms, and that is 
 all we have to care about." 
 
 In the mean while Count Frederick had put 
 some question to his entertainer, who bowed 
 his head, replying, " Yes, the same, Ferdinand 
 of Altenburg," and the old nobleman instantly 
 rose up, as Ferdinand advanced with some 
 degree of diffidence, and took him in his arms, 
 saying, " Ah ! good youth, I am right glad to 
 see you. I knew your father well, a gallant 
 gentleman as ever drew a sword. He died in 
 foreign lands, many long years ago. We must 
 know each other better, my son. Here, Philip 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 223 
 
 of Wernheim, I pray you for this night make 
 room for him beside me." 
 
 " Nay, my good lord," said Ferdinand ; " I 
 beseech you excuse me — I must not displace a 
 noble gentleman so much older and better than 
 myself." 
 
 " There, sit you down, boy," cried the bluff 
 old soldier, to whom the Count had spoken, 
 taking him by the shoulder and thrusting him 
 into the seat, with a laugh, " It matters not 
 where a man sits. If he have honour, he will 
 carry his honour about with him ; if he have 
 none, he may well sit low. I will go place me 
 by my old friend, the Herr Von Narren, and 
 see whether his sharp wit will crack my hard 
 skull." 
 
 Thus saying he moved round, and took 
 a seat at the other side of the cross table, saying 
 to the jester, in a low tone, as he sat down, 
 " Why, how now, you seem dull, mein Herr, 
 cheer up." 
 
 The jester suddenly raised his face, and 
 answered, " What makes a cat mew and a lion 
 
224 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 roar — a young man fierce and an old man 
 dull? — Hunger, hunger, Sir Philip ! Heaven 
 send the good priest a weak breath and a 
 strong appetite, for he is rising to bless the 
 meat, I see, and if he be long about it, like the 
 grace of many another man, it will be a curse 
 instead of a blessing." 
 
 The priest, however, was as hungry as the 
 rest, and his words quick and few. The meal 
 began, and for well nigh half an hour it passed 
 nearly in silence, but then, as the appetite 
 was assuaged, and wine began to flow, the 
 tongue was allowed time to act as well as the 
 teeth ; and Count Frederick began to urge the 
 jester to speak, though the latter, either from 
 not having yet satisfied his hunger, or perhaps 
 from weariness with long travel, seemed little 
 disposed to indulge his lord. 
 
 " Come, come, my friend," cried Count 
 Frederick, at length ; " thou art playing the 
 silent counsellor to night, — what dost thou 
 cogitate?" 
 
 " Bitter sweet," answered the jester. " Call 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 225 
 
 you me counsellor, uncle 1 I would give you all 
 right good advice and sliarp, if you would but 
 take it — man, woman, and child." 
 
 "Let us hear, let us hear," cried Count 
 Frederick; " then will we judge whether it be 
 worth the taking. Begin with the lady, cousin, 
 as in duty bound." 
 
 " Well, then, here 's for her counsel," said 
 the jester, laying his finger on his brow: — 
 
 THE JESTER'S ADVICE TO LADIES. 
 
 " Flaunt not your beauty in the common eye, 
 
 Lest, like hedge flowers, it be not thought worth plucking. 
 Trust to no young man's tender word or sigh. 
 
 For even pigs are gentle when they 're sucking. 
 
 Judge of your lover by his deeds to others, 
 
 For to yourself he 's ever a deceiver. 
 Mark, girls, your fathers' conduct to your mothers, 
 
 And each be, if she can be, a believer." 
 
 " Good counsel, cousin ! good counsel ! " 
 cried Count Frederick, " but now for another. 
 What say you to the young men ? " 
 
 " Good faith ! uncle, I know not that I have 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 anything to say," answered the jester ; " for 
 whatever age says, youth will not believe, and 
 whatever wisdom advises, folly will not follow ; 
 grace has gone out of season with garden rue ; 
 and wit, as well as wisdom, has become the 
 property of fools. Argue me now wisely, with 
 a sleek young crimson-spotted trout, upon the 
 eminent perdition which befalls him if he 
 snaps at a gay-looking fly with a hook in its 
 belly ; yet will your trout leap at the bait, and 
 soon be flapping his broad tail on the bank. 
 If the hook break in his jaws, indeed, he will 
 gain wit from his wound, and look before he 
 leaps another time — experience is the scourge 
 that drives us all, admonition but a fool's 
 blown bladder, that makes a sound where it 
 strikes, but no impression. Boys will after 
 their own game, as a goshawk after a par- 
 tridge — and a pretty pair of heels, or a small 
 delicate hand, most kissable and sugary, rosy 
 lips set in a white skin, like strawberries in 
 cream, and eyes that say ' Come, love me,' 
 will any day, about feeding time, make a lad 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 227 
 
 like that jump at a hook that will draw him 
 into the frying-j^an. Heaven help and mend 
 us all ! 
 
 Beauty's a butterfly, and youth 's a boy, 
 
 Let him catch it if he can. 
 When he casts away his toy, 
 
 He may learn to be a man." 
 
 " Pretty Mistress Bertha would n't thank 
 him if she could hear that," said Sickendorf, 
 apart to his fellow-knight. 
 
 " Mistress Bertha !" answered old Mosbach. 
 " I 've a notion the young cockerel carries his 
 eyes higher than that, and all this notice of 
 him will spoil him. The other day I saw him 
 looking into the Lady Adelaide's eyes, and 
 she into his, as if they were drinking love 
 pledges to one another." 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense," answered Sickendorf. 
 " You are always finding out a nest of cock's 
 eggs, Karl. Have you nothing to say to us. 
 Sir Jester?" he continued aloud, speaking 
 across the table. 
 
 " Good faith ! but little," answered the other ; 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " your old man is worse to deal with than your 
 young one, for he is as weak in the wit as in 
 the hams, and his brain, like a worn horse- 
 trough, is ever leaking with watery talk. 
 
 Graybeards and wisdom were married one day ; — 
 
 'T is a very long time since then — 
 But they parted by chance upon the highway 
 
 And ne'er came together again. 
 
 Leave wine, and leave women, graybeard, and leave oaths, 
 
 Leave dicing, and jesting, and scoffing ; 
 And thou'It find thine old wife, dressed in her best clothes, 
 
 At thy long journey's end — in the coffin." 
 
 "There Sickendorf," cried the Count of 
 Ehrenstein, "you have enough, methinks. 
 For my part, I will not tempt our friend." 
 
 " Then you shall have counsel without ask- 
 ing," answered the jester, and he went on in 
 his usual rude verse as follows : — 
 
 "The noble lord, the just, the true — 
 Methinks I see him now — 
 Claims from no vassal more than due— 
 But gives him more, I trow. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 229 
 
 IVo stolen swine grunts in his sty, 
 
 'No plundered goose complains, 
 No cackling hens against him cry, 
 
 His barn no spoil contains. 
 
 Quick he restores what 's wrongly got, 
 
 Without a suit at law, 
 His sword has never cut a knot, 
 
 His fingers could not draw. 
 
 If such thou art, no danger dread, 
 
 In camp, in court, in town, 
 But if thou'rt not, beware thy head, 
 
 For sure thou 'It tumble down." 
 
 At the first stanza tlie Lord of Ehrenstein 
 smiled pleasantly, but as the jester went on 
 to paint a character, which by no stretch of 
 human vanity he could attribute to himself, 
 his laugh grew somewhat grim, and although 
 all the customs of the day required that he 
 should seem amused with the jester's observa- 
 tions, even when they hit him the hardest, 
 yet he might have made a somewhat tart 
 reply in the shape of a joke, which he was 
 very well qualified to do, if he had not been 
 
230 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 interrupted before lie could speak. Just as the 
 jester concluded, however, a loud, wild, ex- 
 traordinary burst of martial music drowned 
 every other sound at the table : clarions and 
 trumpets, drums and atabals, sounded all 
 round the hall, in a strain so peculiar, that 
 ears which had once heard it, could never 
 forget it again. Count Frederick started, and 
 turned towards the Count, exclaiming, " Odds 
 life! we are in Africa again. Whence got 
 you this Moorish music, my lord ? I have 
 not heard the like since I was at Damietta. 
 You must have a whole troop of Moslema." 
 
 The Count's cheek had turned very pale, 
 and Ferdinand's eye was seen wandering 
 round the hall, as if expecting some strange 
 sight suddenly to present itself. 
 
 " In truth, I know not whence these sounds 
 come," answered the Count, after a moment's 
 pause for consideration; and he then added, 
 seeing that any further attempt at concealment 
 would be vain, "It is no ordinary place, this 
 castle of Ehrenstein, my noble friend. We 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 231 
 
 have strange sights, and strange sounds here. 
 But what matters it? We are not men 
 to be frightened by unsubstantial sounds or 
 appearances either. I drink to your health," 
 and fining his cup high with wine, he said 
 aloud — the music having by this time ceased, 
 " To Count Frederick of Leiningen !" 
 
 His guest immediately answered the pledge, 
 saying, " Health to the Count of Ehrenstein !" 
 but instantly a loud voice echoed through the 
 hall, pronouncing in a solemn tone, " Health 
 to the Dead!" 
 
 "This is mighty strange!" exclaimed Count 
 Frederick, setting down his cup scarcely 
 tasted. " Methought I had seen or heard all 
 of wonderful that this earth can produce, but 
 now I come back to my own land to witness 
 things stranger still. — This must be Satan's 
 work. We must get you, good father, to lay 
 this devil." 
 
 " Please you, my noble lord," replied the 
 priest, whose face had turned as white as 
 paper, " I would rather have nothing to do 
 
232 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 with him. There is the Abbey hard by, 
 surely the good fathers there could keep the 
 place free from spirits if they liked it. — -It 
 is their business, not mine, and as I see the lady 
 is rising, by my troth, I will go to bed too, for I 
 am somewhat weary with our long marches." 
 
 " It may be better for us all to do so, too," 
 said Count Frederick; but his host pressed 
 him to stay longer so earnestly, that he sat 
 down for a few minutes, while Adelaide and 
 the priest retired from the hall. The retainers 
 of the two noblemen did not venture to follow 
 their own inclinations and the priest's example, 
 but, though the lord of Ehrenstein pressed the 
 wine hard upon them, all mirth was at an end, 
 and whispered conversations alone went on, 
 except between the two counts, who spoke 
 a few words from time to time, in a louder tone, 
 but evidently with a great effort, and at the end 
 of about a quarter of an hour, during which 
 there was no further interruption. Count Frede- 
 rick rose, — begging his entertainer to excuse 
 him, for retiring to rest. 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 233 
 
 All were eager to rise, and to get out of 
 a place where none of them felt themselves in 
 security; but Ferdinand touched his lord's 
 arm, as, with a gloomy brow, he was following 
 his guest from the hall, saying, in a low voice, 
 "What is to be done with all this gold and 
 silver, my lord? we shall never persuade the 
 sewers to clear it away to-night." 
 
 " I know not," answered the Count, moodily, 
 but aloud. " You must lock the door, or stay 
 and watch." 
 
 Ferdinand fell back, and suffered the stream 
 to pass by him, meditating thoughtfully upon 
 how he should act. As was not uncommon in 
 those days, there was a good deal of confusion 
 in his mind in regard to matters of superstitious 
 belief. Persons of strong intellect, however 
 rude the education which they had received, 
 were not easily induced to suppose that beings 
 merely spiritual could have the powers and 
 faculties of corporeal creatures, and although 
 few doubted the fact of apparitions being fre- 
 quently seen, and even heard to speak, yet they 
 
534 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 did not believe in general that they had any 
 power of dealing with substantial bodies. Thus, 
 when Ferdinand thought of the events of the 
 preceding night, although he could not doubt 
 the evidence of his own senses, yet the fact of 
 the banner having been changed puzzled him a 
 good deal, and in his straightforward simplicity 
 he asked himself, " If ghosts can carry away so 
 heavy a thing as a banner and a banner pole, 
 why should they not take silver tankards and 
 golden cups?" He looked at the different 
 articles that strewed the tables with a doubtful 
 eye, at first proposing to move them to a safer 
 place himself, but upon the cross table were 
 many large silver plates and dishes loaded with 
 fragments of the meal, and he felt a repugnance 
 to undertake for any one an office unsuited to 
 his birth. To lock the door and leave the 
 things to their fate, he could not help thinking 
 might be merely consigning the valuable stores 
 that were there displayed to a place from 
 which they were never likely to return — 
 whether above the earth or under the earth, he 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 235 
 
 did not stop to inquire — and at length, after 
 a little hesitation, he said, " I will stay and 
 watch. They did me no harm last night, why 
 should they harm me to-night? I can rest 
 here as well as in my bed, and I should like to 
 see more of these strange things. — They are 
 awful, it is true; but yet, what has one to 
 fear with God and a good conscience, — I will 
 stay." 
 
 Just as he came to this resolution, he heard a 
 returning step in the vestibule, the door leading 
 to which had been left open behind the retreat- 
 ing crowd, and the next minute the face of the 
 jester appeared looking in. " Ha, ha ! good 
 youth," he said ; " are you going to stay here, 
 like a bait in a rat-trap, till our friends the 
 ghosts come and nibble you? I heard what 
 your excellent, good lord said, — a wise man! 
 an admirably wise man ! who understands the 
 craft of princes, and leaves his followers a 
 pleasant choice, in which they are sure to 
 get blame or danger, in whatever way they act. 
 What do you intend to do ? lock up the door 
 
236 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 and leave the cups and tankards for devils 
 to drink withal? or to wait and hear them 
 company, if they choose to come and have 
 a merry bout with you 1 
 
 " I shall stay and watch," answered Ferdi- 
 nand ; " I am not a steward or a scullion, to 
 move plates and dishes, and if I leave them here 
 Heaven only knows where they will be to- 
 morrow!" 
 
 " Then, good faith ! I '11 stay and watch with 
 you. Sir Ferdinand," answered the jester ; 
 " two fools are better than one, at any time, 
 and one by profession and one by taste ought 
 to be a match for a score or two of spirits, 
 whether they be black, white, or grey." 
 
 " I 've a notion, Herr Von Narren," answered 
 Ferdinand; "that you have less of a fool in 
 you than many who would be more ashamed of 
 the name." 
 
 "Good lack!" answered the jester, "you 
 do my wit but little justice, youth. Who 
 would not be a fool, when wise men do such 
 things every day. Better to profess folly at 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 237 
 
 once, of your own good will, than to have 
 other men j^ut the cap upon your head. A 
 fool has one great advantage over a wise man 
 which no one will deny him — a fool can be 
 wise when he pleases, a wise man cannot be 
 foolish when he likes. Oh ! the bauble for 
 ever ; I would not change my motley just 
 yet for a robe of minever. But we '11 watch, 
 we '11 watch, and we '11 make ourselves com- 
 fortable too. By my faith ! it gets cold of 
 nights, or else the chilly wing of another 
 world is flapping through this old hall. Go, 
 get some logs, good youth, and we '11 have 
 a fire then ; with our toes upon the andirons, 
 and our chins in our palms. By the beard of 
 St. Barnabas, we '11 tell old stories of strange 
 things gone by, till the cock shall crow before we 
 know it. You are not afraid to leave me 
 with the tankards, I suppose, for, on my life, 
 I drink fair with every man, and have no 
 itch for silver." 
 
 " Oh no, I do not fear,'* answered Ferdi- 
 nand, " and I '11 soon bring logs enough for 
 
238 EHRENSTEIN. , 
 
 the niglit. A clieerful blaze will do us no 
 harm, and I shall he glad of your company." 
 
 Thus saying, he left the place, and from 
 the great coffer at the entrance of the lesser 
 hall, he soon loaded himself with sufficient 
 wood, as he thought, to last the night. When 
 he re-entered the great hall, he found the jester 
 walking back from the other end towards the 
 centre, where the fireplace stood; and as he 
 came near, the young man inquired, " Were you 
 talking to yourself just now, Herr Von Narren? " 
 
 " Nay, good sooth, that were waste of 
 words," answered the jester. " I was peeping 
 through yonder keyhole, and as it is a mighty 
 ghostly looking door, I thought I might as 
 well tell the spirits not to disturb us, as we 
 had much to talk about. They took it all 
 in good part, poor things, and said nothing ; 
 though after all it would be but charity to 
 let them come and have a warm at our good 
 ftre, for it must be cold down stairs, I fancy, 
 and your ghost is thinly clad. Where does 
 yon door lead to, good youth?" 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 239 
 
 "To the serf's burying vault," answered 
 Ferdinand, " and then to the old chapel under 
 the new one." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! all convenient for the ghosts," 
 said the jester, " but there must be a number 
 of sad Turks amongst them to make such a 
 noise with their atabals as they did to-night. 
 There, you reach me down a lamp, while I 
 lay the sticks. Trust a fool for making a fire, 
 if he do not make it too large : then he may 
 bum his own fingers, and the house too. We 
 will put out half the sconces, and so we shall 
 have candlelight till the morning, when the 
 sun and the tapers may wink at each other, 
 like merry maids upon a May-day." 
 
 The fire was soon lighted, and the sugges- 
 tion regarding the sconces carried into exe- 
 cution; after which, Ferdinand and the jester 
 drew two stools into the wide chimney, and 
 the latter bringing the large flagon of wine 
 and two cups from the cross table, set the 
 beaker down upon the hearth, saying, " We 
 will drink and keep our spirits up." 
 
240 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 "Nay," answered Ferdinand, "I want no 
 wine for tliat purpose. I will take one cup, 
 for I have liad none to-night, and I have 
 worked hard during the day, but if I took 
 more, I should sleep and not watch." 
 
 " Ay, young brains are soon addled, like a 
 pigeon's egg," answered the jester. " And so 
 you are Ferdinand of Altenburg?" 
 
 Ferdinand nodded his head, answering, with 
 a smile, " No other." 
 
 " You are a bold man," said his companion, 
 " to give me such an answer." 
 
 " How so ?" demanded Ferdinand, " I must 
 surely know who I am myself." 
 
 "If you know yourself, you are the first 
 man that ever did," replied the jester. " Your 
 father was a proper man." 
 
 "Indeed! did you know him?" exclaimed 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 " Oh, dear no, not at all," said the Herr Von 
 Narren, "but my uncle Frederick told us so 
 at supper. I knew your grandfather and your 
 great-grandfather, and I was distantly related 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 241 
 
 to his great-grandfather ; for as Adam was the 
 first of my ancestors, and all his race sprang 
 from Eve, there was some connection between 
 us, either by blood or matrimony — Do yon 
 remember your father ?" 
 
 " No," answered Ferdinand, " I was but a 
 mere boy when he died." 
 
 " Ay, then you were not long acquainted," 
 said the jester. " I remember mine quite well, 
 and how he used to tickle me with his beard — 
 that's longer ago than you recollect, or than 
 you could if you would, for to ask you for 
 a long memory in your short life, would be 
 like putting a gallon of wine into a pint 
 stoup — But I'll tell you a story, cousin." 
 
 "What is it about?" asked Ferdinand, 
 drinking some of the wine out of the cup 
 he held in his hand. " Is it a story of faerie, 
 or about the Saracens, or of knightly deeds 
 here in our own land ?" 
 
 "A little of all, a little of all, cousin," 
 answered the jester. "It's a Saturday's stew, 
 containing fragments of all things rich and 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 rare, with a sauce of mine pwn composing. 
 'Now listen and you shall hear. Once upon 
 a time there was a prince — we'll call him 
 prince for want of a better name ; without 
 offence too, for a prince may be a gentleman 
 sometimes — well, this prince lived at ease in 
 his own land — for you see he had neither 
 wife nor child to vex him — and a very merry 
 prince he was. Well might he be so, too, 
 for everybody did just what he liked, and he 
 drank the best wine and ate the best meat, 
 and slept upon good goose-feathers which he 
 had not the trouble of plucking ; and then, 
 moreover, he had a jester who was fit to 
 make any heart gay. Besides this jester, he 
 had a brother, a wise man and a thoughtful, 
 full of all sorts of learning ; for they wished to 
 make a bishop of him, but he loved the sword 
 better than the coif, and all he learned in the 
 convent was Latin and Greek, and reading 
 and writing, and Aristotle, and Duns Scotus, 
 and to love nobody better than himself." 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed Ferdinand, beginning to 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 243 
 
 think that he perceived some drift in the 
 man's tale, but he made no observation, and 
 the jester continued. 
 
 " Well, the prince loved his brother very 
 much, and they lived together in the same 
 castle, and passed their time pleasantly ; 
 they hunted together, and they made a 
 little war, and then they made a little peace ; 
 and while the men at arms played at 
 mutton-bones in the court-yard, the two 
 lords played at chess in the hall — and I can 
 tell you, that though the brother won the 
 first game, the prince won the second, and 
 the jester stood by and laughed. Merrily 
 passed the time, and if men would but be 
 contented in this world, life would be like a 
 summer day, but the brother was always 
 urging the prince to this war or that, for 
 the glory of their house, as he called it ; and 
 sometimes he went himself, and sometimes 
 he stayed at home to take care of the castle, 
 while the prince followed his advice ; and 
 then the brother one day thought it would 
 
 R 2 
 
244 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 be a good tiling for the prince to go and visit 
 Jerusalem, and that it would be honourable, 
 as he knew something of hard blows and of 
 leading armies, to help the knights hospitallers 
 and other sagacious men who were fighting 
 for the pure pleasure of the thing, to get 
 lands which they could not keep when they 
 had got them. And the prince thought it 
 a very good plan ; and as he had got a 
 great number of chests full of money, he 
 went away to sow it in the fields of Syria, 
 and to see if it would grow there. As he 
 had a multitude of stout young men, too, who 
 always required bleeding in the summer time, 
 he took them with him, but as his brother 
 was of a cold constitution, he left him at home 
 to keep house. Now the prince having 
 neither wife nor child, his dear brother was 
 his heir." 
 
 " I see," said Ferdinand. " Go on, Herr!" 
 " Before they went," continued the jester, 
 "the brother had a good deal of talk with 
 some of the prince's followers, and told them 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 245 
 
 how much he loved their dear lord. He 
 did not say that he wished him dead ; oh 
 dear, no, that was not the way at all ; but 
 he told them all that he would do if he were 
 prince, and how he would promote them, 
 and left Sir Satan, the king of all evil imagina- 
 tions, to deal with their consciences as he 
 might find expedient. Well, the prince went 
 away, and took with him his jester as his 
 chief counsellor, though he never took his 
 counsel either, for if he had he would have 
 staid at home. But so they went on up by 
 the Boden Sea, and then by the Vorarlberg 
 and through the Tyrol, kissing the Emperor's 
 hand at Inspruck, and then came to Venice, 
 and there they had an audience of the Duke ; 
 and at Venice they staid a long time, for 
 there was a fair Venetian lady that the prince 
 loved passing well — " and the jester paused, 
 and gazed thoughtfully into the fire for several 
 moments. 
 
 " That has nothing to do with my talc, how- 
 ever," he continued, at length. " The prince 
 
246 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 went on, and after long journeying, he came 
 to the place whither he was going ; and though 
 it was once a land flowing with milk and 
 honey, very little honey and no milk was to 
 be found there then. So, to keep down their 
 appetites, he and his followers took to fighting 
 in real earnest ; one day, however, a certain 
 officer of the prince, and a great friend of his 
 brother's, brought him word that there were a 
 number of Moslem in a valley not far from 
 the castle where they were, and that if he 
 would go out with his men, while the knights 
 of the hospital guarded the castle, he might 
 have them all as cheap as gudgeons. The 
 prince had some doubts of his friend, and 
 sent out for better intelligence, but finding that 
 all that he said seemed very true, he got upon 
 horseback, and sallied forth with his people. 
 About three or four miles from the castle, 
 however, ' he was suddenly surrounded and 
 attacked on all sides by a number of the 
 Moslem, of whom his officer had quite for- 
 gotten to tell him, though they had been 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 247 
 
 watching there since daybreak. Nevertheless 
 he fought tolerably well, considering he was 
 a prince, and he and his men might perhaps 
 have got out of the trap, by the force of imj^u- 
 dence and a strong arm, if his friend the 
 officer had not come behind him just then and 
 struck him a gentle stroke, with something- 
 sharp, in the neck, about the place where the 
 gorget joins the cuirass. Upon that the prince 
 incontinent tumbled headlong off his horse ; 
 the Moslem closed in on all sides, and with 
 their sharp scimeters sent the heads flying 
 about like pippins shaken off a tree. All were 
 killed or taken except one, who got through 
 and galloped away, first carrying the news 
 of the defeat to the knights of St. John in the 
 castle, and then to the prince's brother at 
 home." 
 
 " This was of course the traitor who mur- 
 dered his lord," exclaimed Ferdinand, who 
 had listened with ever-growing interest. 
 
 "Oh dear, no," replied the jester; '* his 
 friends the Moslem kept him, but thought he 
 
248 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 would be safer in two pieces, and so they 
 separated liis head from his shoulders." 
 
 " A very wise precaution/ answered Ferdi- 
 nand, " the true way of recompensing traitors. 
 And what became of the j ester ? He was taken 
 prisoner, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, he was," answered his companion. 
 " But now listen ; I am coming to the most 
 curious part of my story, and that is the 
 history of the prince's followers after they were 
 dead. One clear, moonlight night, I have 
 heard say, just as they were all lying in the 
 rocky valley, where they had fallen, and their 
 bones, well picked by the wild beasts of that 
 country, were shining white amongst the 
 bushes and large stones, there came suddenly 
 amongst them a tall thin figure, like a shadow 
 on the wall, through which you could see the 
 rocks, and the branches, and the round-faced 
 moon, just as if it had been the horn-plate of 
 a lantern ; and it stooped over the bones, and 
 looked at them, and counted them one by one, 
 and then it said to each fleshless head, sepa- 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 249 
 
 rately, — '' The man whose insinuations brought 
 about your death, has strangled me in the 
 vaults of his castle, though he knew that I was 
 innocent. Rise up, then, all that were true to 
 their prince, and come, let us to his brother's 
 house, and plague him night and day, — at his 
 board, and in his bed. Let us give him no 
 rest so long as he remains upon the earth ! ' 
 
 " The moment he had spoken, slowly rising 
 out of the ground, came a number of thin, 
 shadowy figures, like himself, and they 
 mounted calmly into the air, and floated away 
 towards this land, just as you see a cloud rise 
 out of the west, and soar slowly along, casting 
 a shadow as it flies. AVhere they went to, and 
 what they did, let the wise say ; I know not. 
 Only this I know, and that I heard from one 
 who saw it, that the prince's followers, a great 
 many years after they were killed and lying 
 on the dry Syrian ground, rose up, man by 
 man, each just like his own living self, and 
 came away to their own land to torment their 
 good lord's bad brother. One, indeed, remained 
 
250 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 behind, but he was the man who smote his 
 prince in the neck when he was contending 
 with the infidels; but doubtless the Moslem 
 pickled him, for he was worth preserving, and 
 salt meat keeps better than fresh, you know, 
 Sir Ferdinand." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Ferdinand's teeth were set hard, and his 
 hands clasped tight together as the jester's 
 story ended, and for a moment or two he 
 did not speak; but at length he inquired, 
 " And how long was it ago that the good lord 
 fell ?" 
 
 " Oh, a long while," answered his com- 
 panion, " long enough for young men to 
 grow old, and for old men to wither and rot. 
 Some twenty years ago or more. Lackaday 
 how few twenties there are in life. Twenty 
 and twenty are forty, and twenty are sixty: 
 how few see the fourth twenty ! Who sees 
 the fifth ? The first begins in the infant, 
 with a passion for milk; all mouth and no 
 wit ; and ends in the youth with a love for 
 
252 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 sweet ankles and for cherry lips ; all heart 
 and no brains. The second starts on his 
 course like a swallow catching insects, and 
 ends like a slough-hound upon the track of 
 a deer: ambition flies before and distances 
 him still. Then begins another twenty, with 
 the hard brain and the hard heart ; your man 
 of manifold experiences, who finds no pleasure 
 in pippins, and is mailed against the darts 
 of a dark eye. He must have solid goods, 
 forsooth ! and so chooses gold, which will not 
 decay ; but, good faith ! it matters little whether 
 it be the possession which decays, or the pos- 
 sessor, whether the gilded coin rots, or the 
 fingers that clutch it : the two part company all 
 the same. Then comes the fourth twenty, often 
 begun and seldom ended ; and we go creeping 
 backward, as if we would fain run away from 
 the other end of life ; toys please us, straws 
 offend us ; we stumble at the same mole-hills 
 that tripped up our infancy. Time rubs off 
 from the score of memory w^hat experience had 
 written ; and when the sorrowful soft gums 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 253 
 
 have eaten their second pap, death takes us 
 sleepy up and puts us quietly to bed. It was 
 twenty years ago, good youth, — ay, that it 
 was, — and twenty years is one of those strange 
 jumps that are more wisely taken backwards 
 than forwards." 
 
 " Methinks," said Ferdinand, " that though 
 the time is so long, I know something of this 
 story, too, — " But before he could add more, 
 a slight sort of creaking noise was heard 
 proceeding from the end of the hall, near the 
 chair of state. Ferdinand, whose face was 
 already in that direction, and the jester who 
 suddenly turned round, saw the small door 
 which has been so often mentioned open 
 slowly, exposing the mouth of the passage 
 beyond. 
 
 "Ah, who have we here?" cried the jester. 
 " Some of our friends from over the sea, I 
 suppose;" but no One appeared, and all w^as 
 silent. Both the watchers rose, and gazed 
 for a minute or two towards the door; Ferdi- 
 nand grasping the cross of his sword, but 
 
254 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 the jester showing no sign either of alarm or 
 surprise. 
 
 "By my faith!" he exclaimed, at length, "I 
 will see what is beyond, there. Will you come 
 with me youth, or shall I go alone ?" 
 
 "I should think from the tale you have 
 told," answered Ferdinand, "that you know 
 your way right well without guidance. But I 
 will go with you, whatever is there — I have 
 been once, and will not be stopped from going 
 again." 
 
 " Come along, then," answered the jester. 
 " Let us each take a lamp, cousin, for the 
 dead must lack lights, as they always choose 
 to w^alk in darkness. Why is a ghost like 
 a flagon of wine ? " 
 
 ** Nay, I know not," answered Ferdinand, 
 " and to say truth, I am in no jesting mood 
 just now." 
 
 " Because it comes out of the vault at 
 midnight," answered the jester, " and where 
 it enters there it scatters men's wits about. 
 Happy he who has none to scatter. But 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 255 
 
 come along, cousin, we'll soon see whether 
 our spirits are equal to theirs — I feel rather 
 queer, but a mole wouldn't mind it, for he's 
 accustomed to holes in the earth." 
 
 Thus saying, he led the way to the door, and 
 entered the long narrow passage, Ferdinand fol- 
 lowing, and each carrying a lamp. The jester's 
 young companion, though busied with many 
 other thoughts, watched his movements closely, 
 in order to obtain a confirmation or refutation 
 of the suspicions which his tale had excited. 
 
 Those suspicions, however, were strengthened 
 by all that the young man remarked, " Damp, 
 damp and chilly, as a rich man's heart," mur- 
 mured the jester, as he advanced ; and then, as 
 if his knowledge of the passages which they 
 were following was not of a few hours' growth, 
 he laid his hand upon the door, at the farther 
 end, and without hesitation drew it towards him, 
 choosing at once the way which it really 
 opened. He next passed on down the stone 
 steps, without a moment's pause to consider, 
 merely turning round and saying, " Take 
 
256 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 care of your lamp, cousin, for a light ex- 
 tinguished in this world is not easily lighted 
 again, whether it be love's lamp or life's. A 
 puff puts them out, but a puff won't bring 
 them in again. By the mass! the stones are 
 somewhat slippery, and as much out of repair as 
 a fool's head or a spendthrift's purse. I must 
 mind my way ; for here, as on ambition's ladder, 
 a small slip would make a great tumble." 
 
 ^' By my faith ! you seem to know your way 
 right well, Herr Von Narren," said Ferdinand, 
 '' better than I do, methinks." 
 
 " Ay, ay, folly finds the straight road, while 
 wisdom is looking for the short cut," answered 
 the jester. " One can't well miss their way 
 when there is but one. But there seem no 
 ghosts here, except the spirit of Mistress 
 Mildew, and she is very prevalent. We shall 
 lose our time, and get no payment for chill- 
 ing our bones, if we get no better apparition 
 than this green slime. I would give a great 
 deal to see a ghost. I never met with one in 
 all my travels." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 257 
 
 "Perhaps you may be gmtined to-night," 
 rejoined Ferdinand, "for here they wander, if 
 anywhere." 
 
 *•' If anywhere !" exchiimcd the jester, "did 
 any one ever hear such heretical unbehef? 
 We knovv' that the church supports them, 
 because, I suppose, the poor things are too 
 thin and unsubstantial to stand of themselves. 
 However, here we are at the bottom ; praised 
 be Heaven's mercy in not bringing us there 
 sooner ! And here is a door. Now, marry, 
 you and other men of shrewd wits would 
 doubtless be looking for another, but I take 
 the one that stands before me, the sunshine 
 of my darkness teaching me that that which is 
 at hand is always nearer than that which is far 
 off. Now let us see, it should be pulled this 
 way, by the look of the lock and the hinges, 
 but if it be locked, what then?" — and he 
 paused for a minute or two, seeming to consider 
 curiously the question before he proceeded to 
 ascertain the fact. 
 
 *^ Come, come, Herr von Narren," said Fcrdi- 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 nand, "you know it opens this way well 
 enough, and doubtless it is not locked, and 
 if it be, I have a key that will open it." 
 
 " What ! then you come hither often," said 
 the jester, " no wonder you are less afraid of 
 haunted places than the rest." 
 
 "1 do not come here often, '^ said Ferdinand, 
 somewhat vexed at the incautious admission 
 he had made, " 1 have been here but once 
 in my life before, and even that I do not 
 wish mentioned," and stretching forth his arm, 
 he pulled back the door, before which his 
 companion was apparently inclined to hold a 
 long parley. 
 
 "Bless the lad's heart!" cried the jester, 
 *Mie seems to think that his light words will 
 stay in a fool's head for an hour. My brain 
 is not bird-lime, boy, to catch your fluttering 
 things, and put them in the trap. But now, 
 what place is this?" and he took a step forward 
 and looked round, holding up the lamp^n his 
 hand. 
 . " This is the Serf's Burial- Vault," answered 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 259 
 
 Ferdinand, in a low voice, remembering, with 
 a sensation of awe that he could not overcome, 
 the strange and fearful sights which he had 
 there beheld. 
 
 "Hold up your lamp," said the jester, in 
 a grave tone, " I wish to see around me." 
 
 But the darkness, as before, was too thick 
 to be pierced for any distance by the feeble 
 rays of the two lamps, and the next moment, 
 to his surprise, the young man heard his 
 companion demand aloud, " Where art thou, 
 Walter?'' 
 
 "Here!" answered a deep tone instantly; 
 and following the sound, the jester advanced 
 direct towards the column, to which the 
 skeleton was bound by the chain. There he 
 paused, and gazed upon it, as if that had been 
 the object he sought; and the emotions which 
 he experienced, whatever they were, seemed 
 to overpower him, and make him forget for 
 the time the presence of his companion. His 
 eyes filled with tears, '• Honest, and faithful, 
 and true," he cried, " and was this the fate 
 
 s 2 
 
260 EHRE>:STEIN. 
 
 reserved for thee ? All could be forgiven 
 but this — This cannot, if there be jnstice on 
 earth or in heaven/' and bending down his 
 head, he slightly raised the bony fingers in his 
 own, and pressed his lips upon the mouldering 
 joints. 
 
 There v^^as a faint sound, as of sobbing loud, 
 but Ferdinand's strange companion took no 
 notice of it, and continued gazing upon the 
 skeleton for several minutes, with a look of deep 
 and intense thought in his eye, as it wandered 
 up and down the fleshless limbs. Then sud- 
 denly turning away, he said, ^' Come on," and 
 striding forward to the further side of the vault, 
 he passed through the archway into the crypt 
 or lower chapel. Taking no notice of several of 
 the monuments on either side, and only giving 
 a glance to the coffins, he went straight to the 
 tomb of gray marble, on which was sculptured a 
 lady in the attitude of prayer, and there kneeling 
 for a few moments by the side, he seemed 
 to busy himself in silent devotions. After 
 which, risin^^ he turned to Ferdinand, and 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 261 
 
 said, in a mild but no sportive tone, "It is 
 done. Go back to the hall, good youth, 
 and wait for me there. I will not be long, and 
 nothing will annoy you by the way." 
 
 Ferdinand might think it all strange, but yet 
 the words of his companion seemed to have a 
 power over him which he could not resist, and 
 turning back he retrod his steps to the hall, 
 where, after having closed the door, he seated 
 himself before the fire to wait for the jester's 
 return. 
 
 Light-hearted youth, that season of great 
 powers and small experiences, may feel strong 
 and deep emotions, but their influence, on 
 the corporeal frame at least, is not very perma- 
 nent. Weary with a long day's exertion, and 
 having had little rest for the three or four 
 nights preceding, Ferdinand's eyes felt heavy ; 
 and that pleasant languor which precedes sleep 
 stole over his limbs. He wished to remain 
 awake ; but 3'et he leaned back for support 
 against the stone-work of the Avide chimney ; 
 and in a few minutes he nodded, woke up again. 
 
262 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 and then fell into sound slumber. He was 
 awakened by a heavy hand grasping his shoul- 
 der; and looking round he saw the jester 
 standing beside him, with the fire in its last 
 embers, on the hearth, and the lamps burning 
 dim. 
 
 '^I must wake you, cousin," said his com- 
 panion. "For we shall soon have Madam 
 Morning winking at us with her old grey eye. 
 Sleep is better than w^aking for some good 
 reasons, but it must come to an end, coz ! " 
 
 " Is it so late ? " asked Ferdinand. '' I thought 
 that I had just closed my eyes !*' 
 
 " Yes, that is the blessing of youth," said the 
 jester; " he thinks not, either sleeping or waking. 
 He dreams while he is waking, and forgets 
 while he is sleeping, and therein has he the two 
 best gifts that man can covet — to dream and to 
 forget." 
 
 " I doubt not, from all I see," answered the 
 young man, ^"'that there are many things you 
 would wish to forget, were it possible." 
 
 ''Hark ye, cousin," said the jester; "one 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 263 
 
 thing we had both better try to forget, to-wit, 
 that we have been in those vauks together. 
 I have a secret of yours, you have one of mine. 
 We will each keep what w^e have got, and give 
 it away to nobody, for that would be thrift- 
 less." 
 
 ^^ Nay, I have nought to tell," answered Fer- 
 dinand ; " though perhaps something to in- 
 quire, Herr Von Narren. I may suspect, and I 
 do ; but I can do no more than suspect. But 
 one thing I must ask ; what you came here for? 
 as I can know of no evil to my lord without 
 preventing it, otherwise I am a traitor !" 
 
 "Why, what evil can I do?" asked the 
 jester, with a smile; " what povv'er have I? Is 
 the fool's bauble equal to a baron's sword ? 
 Good faith ! I will go to the wars, and turn out a 
 great conqueror. — I intend your lord no harm, 
 cousin." 
 
 " But you said there was something not to be 
 forgiven," replied Ferdinand. 
 
 " Nor will it," said his companion, somewhat 
 sternly ; " if there be justice in Heaven ; but to 
 
264 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Heaven I leave it; and in its own good time I 
 doubt not to see vengeance fall where it ouglit. 
 What is it that you suspect ?^' 
 
 ^'That you were the follower of the late 
 Count of Ehrenstein," answered Ferdinand, 
 frankly ; " the jester 3^ou mentioned in the tale 
 you told ; and that even now you seek to revenge 
 the Count's death." 
 
 His companion laughed aloud. " How thy 
 wits jump ! " he said ; '' but in one way, like an 
 ill-broken colt, they jump too far. I seek not 
 to avenge that Count's death ; and by all that I 
 hold sacred, I myself w^ill never attempt it ; so 
 let that satisfy thee, good youth." 
 
 *' And yet, perhaps, I ought to inform the 
 Count of who you are ;" replied the young man, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " That 3^ou cannot do," answered the jester; 
 '^and if you believe that the tale I told ap- 
 plies to your lord and his brother, you neither 
 ■will nor ought. Vipers have viper's eggs — 
 rogues serve rogues ; and the blood in your 
 veins w^ould cry out against you, if you were to 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 265 
 
 make your mind the bondsman of a felon. If 
 you think my tale is true, quit this household 
 in silence, for your own honour; if you do not 
 believe the tale to be applicable here, remain in 
 silence. But if you would needs speak, I will 
 seal your lips with one word." 
 
 "Ay! what is that?" asked Ferdinand, in 
 some surprise. 
 
 '^Adelaide !" answered the jester, fixing his 
 keen eyes upon him. " Is there nothing, good 
 youth, that you seek to conceal as well as 
 myself; nay, far more than I do ? for I have 
 nought to fear — j^ou much. I care not ; but that 
 it would sadden merry meetings, and break off 
 gay intercourse, if your good Count should 
 know all that you know, and more. — Indeed, I 
 promise you, that ere I depart from this neigh- 
 bourhood, he shall hear the whole tale. He 
 would less dare to wag a finger against me, 
 protected as I am, than jump from the top 
 of the keep ; but I must choose my own time 
 and my own way to speak, and it must not be 
 now." 
 
266 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Ferdinand had coloured high when the name 
 of Adelaide was pronounced, and now he re- 
 mained silent while his companion went on 
 in a tone so different from that which he 
 generally used in his jester's capacity. An in- 
 stant after, however, the other suddenly resumed 
 his ordinary manner, and exclaimed, " So that 
 is settled between the two fools who sat up all 
 night watching for that which did not come. — 
 Marry, had VvC liked it, cousin, we might have 
 proved ourselves the wise men of the party ; for 
 with plenty of wine and good cheer, we had 
 wherewithal to be merry and wise. Now, 
 however, we are sorry fools ; for we have neither 
 emptied the flagons nor cleared the dishes, and 
 vinegar will be cheap in the market if all that 
 wine stands there much longer." 
 
 '' It may serve as a bribe to bring some 
 of the knaves in by daylight, to clear away the 
 tables," answered Ferdinand. " There is more 
 than one amongst them who would sell his own 
 soul for a flagon of strong drink." 
 
 " Then is his soul dirt cheap, or a very bad 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 267 
 
 one/' answered the jester; "but, on my life, I 
 believe the market price of men's souls is half a 
 florin; for day by day we see them sold for 
 less. The twinkle of a girl's eyes is current coin 
 against such commodities ; the pottle-pot drives 
 a thriving trade in the mart of spirits; and 
 two small pieces of ivory spotted with black, 
 have nearly emptied the world's fold of its true 
 sheep. But there comes the morning. See 
 the panes of glass in the casement are looking 
 gray, we shall soon have the sun up, red and 
 blear-eyed like a drunkard who has sat up 
 all night with the stoup. I '11 hie me to bed, for 
 my wit will want activity, and, good faith ! it is 
 o-ettino; somewhat weak in the knees." 
 
 " It must be a heavy task to be ever ready 
 with a jest, even when the heart is sad." said 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 ''What! a heavy task to find light wit?" 
 exclaimed the jester. " No, good youth ; let a 
 man but look at life as he ought, and the burden 
 is easily borne. All things here are but jests ; 
 some sour, some sweet; some light, some heavy. 
 
268 EHRENSTETN. 
 
 If we cannot laugh with, we can laugh at ; and 
 but get your wit into a cantering habit, and 
 he '11 forget his grave paces and trip lightly 
 along the road. Habit, habit, habit, cousin ! 
 everything is habit in this world. What is that 
 makes the man eat what the child rejects ? 
 Custom. What makes us endure a load of 
 clothes that Heaven never intended us toVear? 
 Custom. Put a pair of tawny leather shoes 
 upon a child's bare feet, and he will stumble 
 over the rushes on the floor ; yet, see how gaily 
 the youth will trip along, as if he had been 
 born into the world booted and spurred. The 
 eye and the ear, the tongue and the nose, 
 all have their habits. Go into a strange land, 
 and you will split your sides at the odd dresses 
 of the people. Stay there a year, and you will 
 think your own countrymen as comical. The 
 blast of the trumpet cracks a lady's ears ; ask the 
 li night and his war horse if ever they heard 
 sweeter music. Good sooth! I do believe, if men 
 ate dirt and ashes for a month, they would think 
 them better than stewed ducks or a brawn's 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 269 
 
 head ; and thus with me, though jesting be a 
 soYvy trade enough when the heart is full or 
 the stomach empty, yet, either from lack of 
 continence, or discretion, I began early, and 
 now the jest always gets the better of the lamen- 
 tation, and finds vent first. But look at the 
 red light on the floor. It is time for night fowls 
 to roost. Give you good morning, cousin Ferdi- 
 nand, I am away to my pallet." 
 
270 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 The morning was dull and heavy, though 
 fully risen, when Ferdinand of Altenburg was 
 summoned to the Count's chamber ; but by that 
 time he could bear the tidings to his lord that 
 all had been cleared away from the hall at the 
 sacrifice of the wine which had been left there. 
 
 " Enough was left, indeed, to render the 
 knaves half drunk," he added; ''but it had the 
 effect of making them swear, by all they held 
 sacred, that they will never shun the hall again, 
 if it were haunted by whole troops of goblins." 
 
 " We shall not need to try them, Ferdinand,'* 
 replied the Count. " We must change our 
 plan, good youth. We must not have our food 
 poisoned by doubts and fears." 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 271 
 
 The Count spoke thoughtfully, pausing when 
 he had done ; and Ferdinand replied, " I am 
 glad you have taken such a resolution, my good 
 lord. It is true, I fear these things not; but 
 still it is high time that something should be 
 done to inquire into this matter, or to remove 
 it. You have yourself now heard, and I have 
 seen strange things, of which, I trust, some holy 
 man, some priest of a good and saintly life, may 
 be able to free us." 
 
 " No, no," replied the Lord of Ehrenstein, 
 " we v/ill have no priests, lad, nor monks either. 
 They can do nought in this or aught else, but 
 in crafty policy, where the hundred- headed and 
 perpetual monster sets all her everlasting wits 
 to work. I know their ways right well, 
 for I was bred to be one of them. — No, no ! 
 We will have no priests to meddle and to babble 
 here, and tell the broad world that I was plagued 
 v/ith spirits at my very hearth. That were an 
 old woman's remedy, and I will not submit my- 
 self to such were there none other in the world. 
 Not so, not so will we set to v;ork ; but for the 
 
272 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 future we will take our meals in separate parties : 
 some in the lesser hall, some in the two rooms 
 on either side— but what makes you look so 
 dull, as if your mind were roaming to other 
 things? — You were not disturbed, you say?" 
 
 '' Oh no, my lord, this last night I saw 
 nothing," answered Ferdinand; "but I am 
 weary and feel heavy eyed, having slept but 
 little for several nights." 
 
 '« Well, hie thee to bed then for a while," re- 
 plied the Count ; but he was not yet satisfied ; 
 for there were signs rather of thought than of 
 slumber in the young man's face ; and with sus- 
 picions, aroused of he knew not well what, he 
 resolved to watch him more carefully. 
 
 The day passed nearly without events. The 
 whole party seemed relieved, when they found 
 that the haunted hall was no more to be visited. 
 The Count and his noble guest walked for a 
 great part of the morning on the battlements, 
 in earnest conversation; the knights and sol- 
 diers amused themselves with the sports and 
 games of the day in the courts and chambers, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 273 
 
 and the hour of nooa brought with it the usual 
 meal. During the whole morning, Adelaide 
 and Ferdinand did not meet ; and even at din- 
 ner, by the Count's arrangement, the young 
 man was sent to superintend another room, 
 where a table was spread for some of the chief 
 officers of both households. One glance as he 
 passed through the hall was all that he obtained, 
 and he thought that Adelaide's eyes looked 
 anxious. Count Frederick was standing on one 
 side of the lady, and his young follower, Martin 
 of Dillberg, on the other, ns the lover crossed 
 the hall ; and on the face of Dillberg there were 
 smiles and sweet looks, which made Ferdinand's 
 breast feel warm with sensations he had never 
 before experienced. Doubt or suspicion, in 
 regard to Adelaide herself, he could not enter- 
 tain ; but yet jealousy has many stages, and 
 Ferdinand hated Count Frederick's follower 
 heartily from that moment. He felt — or 
 fancied that they were rivals, and perhaps, in 
 the whole range of bitter emotions, there is 
 none more painful than that v/hich we endure, 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 
 
 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 when we know that even for a time a rival has 
 the ear of her we love. At the meal, he tried to 
 be cheerful as well as courteous, and though it 
 cost him a great effort to conceal his uneasiness, 
 yet his manner was so pleasing to all, that he 
 rose high in the opinion of Count Frederick's 
 train, and even at the table, almost within his 
 own hearing, comparisons were made between 
 him and Martin of Dillberg not very favourable 
 to the latter. 
 
 " I love him not," said one ; " I never have : 
 and the more I see of him the less T like him. 
 Were he like this young squire, one could 
 understand our lord's favour for him." 
 
 " Ay," answered an elder man to whom he 
 had been speaking, " our lord w^ill rue that 
 favour one of these days. He is cunning and 
 false, ever making his own tale good, and seek- 
 ing to injure others. I never saw one yet, who 
 was so artful and malicious when he was young, 
 that did not commit some treachery before he 
 was old." 
 
 " Ay, the Count is beginning to know him, I 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 275 
 
 believe," rejoined the first, " saw 3^ou not how- 
 he chid him for the falsehood he told of Sigis- 
 mond. He v/ould have done better to send 
 him away at once; but he bears with him 
 because his father was a good soldier and an 
 honest man." 
 
 "Ay, and his mother a devil incarnate," 
 answered the other. "She broke his father's 
 heart, betrayed his honour, and ruined him ; 
 and this youth is her very image." 
 
 In such comments, more than one at the 
 table indulged very freely ; but Ferdinand heard 
 them not, for he was conversing somewhat 
 eagerly with one of Count Frederick's younger 
 knights, though the subject was of no greater 
 interest than the history of the jester. Fer- 
 dinand sought for information to confirm or 
 remove the suspicions he entertained, but he 
 could obtain little, and indeed his companion 
 did not seem disposed to communicate much. 
 " I was with a different band," he said, in answer 
 to one of the young man's questions, " when 
 this man joined the Count." 
 
 t2 
 
276 EHRENSTEIN-. 
 
 " Then he did join him in the Hol}^ Land?" 
 asked Ferdinand. 
 
 " I believe so," was the repl}^^ " but I know 
 nought as certain. He might have known the 
 Count before." 
 
 " I have heard he saved your leader's life," 
 said the young man. 
 
 " Yes, so they say," rejoined the knight. " I 
 was not present, and know nothing of it." 
 
 All further questions were equally fruitless, 
 and Ferdinand turning the conversation to the 
 subject which the others had been discussing, 
 inquired, " Who is Martin of Dillberg, whom 
 your lord seems also to love right well?" 
 
 "Nay, that is a mistake," answered the knight. 
 " He shows him favour, it is true ; but I have 
 twice seen the question hang in the balance 
 whether my lord would not strike his head off, 
 once for taking a jew^el off a dead man's hand, 
 and once for betraying counsel. But he is 
 as cunning as a fox, and raised a doubt, by one 
 means or another, as to whether he did not in- 
 tend to carry the ring to the widow. The 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 2/7 
 
 Other fault was forgiven on the score of youth, 
 but with a w^arning, that if he so offended again, 
 death would be his doom without reprieve." 
 
 " Perchance he is valiant in arms," said Fer- 
 dinand; "I have ever heard that Count Fre- 
 derick will forgive much to gallant men/' 
 
 His companion smiled and shook liis head, 
 saying, " He is no great seeker of renown, 
 this youth. Yet he is brave after a certain 
 fashion too. There are some men, and he is 
 one of them, who would risk ten times the 
 danger of a battle-field, to accomplish a small 
 matter cunningly. He seems to enjoy his own 
 art so much, that if it costs his life he must 
 practise it, especially if it be to the injury of 
 others." 
 
 " A pleasant conn-ade in a band like yours," 
 rejoined Ferdinand; and there the conversation 
 dropped. 
 
 The meal v.-as drawing near its conclusion, 
 when some noise was heard in the adjoining 
 hall, of a different kind from that which had 
 preceded, though in those days, as often at 
 
278 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 present, the hour of dinner was a noisy one. 
 The Count of Ehrenstein's voice could be distin- 
 guished asking questions with angry vehemence, 
 and every now and then another answering, 
 while the tones of Count Frederick joined in 
 from time to time even more sharply. 
 
 " What is the matter in there, Henry ?" asked 
 Ferdinand, as one of the sewers passed through, 
 bearing some dishes. 
 
 *' A party of Venetian traders, sir, have been 
 stopped, and plundered beyond Anweiler," re- 
 plied the man, " and it seems they had gold 
 with them belonging to Count Frederick; so 
 they have sent up to seek redress and help. 
 One of them has been killed, they say." 
 
 " Who has done it ? " asked the young gen- 
 tleman. " I thought such bands had been put 
 down." 
 
 " Oh, it is the Baron of Eppenfeld,'^ said the 
 sewer; " he will never give up that trade; and 
 his place is so strong, it will be difficult to force 
 him." 
 
 Thus saying, he went on, and the thoughts 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 279 
 
 of all present turned to the results that were 
 likely to ensue from the event that had just 
 occurred. " Count Frederick will not be long 
 out of the saddle," observed one of his attend- 
 ants; " it is not well to pull the beard of an old 
 lion." 
 
 " I doubt we shall have enough here to right 
 the affair," rejoined an old soldier ; " it is un- 
 lucky that one-half of the band marched on." 
 
 " But the Count of Ehrenstein will not suffer 
 his friend to go unaided," answered Ferdinand. 
 " He can call out tw^o hundred men at arms." 
 
 " That would indeed be serviceable," said the 
 knight, " and doubtless he will do it ; for I have 
 heard that this gold belonged to the late Count, 
 and was found safely treasured in a castle of the 
 Knight's Hospitallers on the coast." 
 
 Ferdinand was about to answer, when old 
 Sickendorf put in his head, exclaiming, " Here, 
 here, Ferdinand, the Count would speak with 
 you ;" and instantly rising, the young man fol- 
 lowed into the neighbouring hall. He found 
 the two Counts apparently much excited, speak- 
 
280 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ing together eagerly, and a tall grave looking 
 elderl}^ man in foreign garments standing beside 
 them, occasionally joining in their conversation, 
 which went on for some time after Ferdinand 
 of Altenburg had entered. 
 
 At length the Count of Ehrenstein 
 turned towards him, saying, " Here is an 
 occasion for you, Ferdinand. The Baron of 
 Eppenfeld has waylaid these merchants on their 
 way hither,— from good information of their 
 coming it w^ould seem, but how obtained. 
 Heaven knows. He has seized all their bag- 
 gage, and in it treasure belonging to me. It is 
 judged but courteous to suppose that he is 
 ignorant, that I am interested, and therefore, 
 instead of going in arms to demand reparation 
 at once, I send to claim that all be instantly re- 
 stored to these noble merchants, and that com- 
 pensation be given for the death of one of 
 their valets and the w^ounds of another: that 
 compensation to be awarded by myself and 
 Count Frederick here. You shall be my mes- 
 senger ] take with you ten men at your choice, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 281 
 
 and depart at once, so that you be back before 
 morning. If Eppenfeld will restore all and 
 make compensation, well; if not, defy him in 
 my name and in that of Count /Frederick. 
 The task is one of honour, though of some 
 danger; but I know it will not be less pleasant 
 to you on that account." 
 
 "Thank you, my good lord," replied Fer- 
 dinand ; " but let me know my errand fully." 
 If the Baron seeks to delay his reply, how am I 
 to act? It is now one of the clock, ride as hard 
 as I will, I shall not reach his castle gates till 
 five ; and he may say that he will give me an 
 answer in the morning." 
 
 " Stay not an hour," replied the Count. " I 
 would not have you, or any of your troop, either 
 break bread or taste wine within his gates, till 
 the answer is given. If he says Yes, you may 
 refresh yourselves and the horses. If he says 
 No, return at once, and rest at Anweiler. If he 
 seeks delay, give him half an hour, and tell him 
 such are our express commands. Now away, good 
 youth, to make ready. You must all go armed." 
 
282 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 "I will do your will to the best, my lord,'* 
 answered Ferdinand, and with a glance to the 
 pale cheek of Adelaide, he was turning to leave 
 the hall, when Count Frederick called him 
 back, and drawing him to the window, said, 
 in a low voice, '*I would fain have 3^ou, my dear 
 lad, discover, if possible, how this worthy knight 
 obtained intelligence of the merchants' journey. 
 I must leave the means to yourself; but I have 
 my reasons for the inquiry — I fear this may be 
 a dangerous expedition for you," he added. 
 
 " More full of danger than honour, my good 
 lord," answered Ferdinand. " Small chance of 
 fair fighting : much of being caught like a rat 
 in a trap. But I will do my best, and have 
 nought but to obey." 
 
 Thus saying, he left the hall, not daring to 
 turn his eyes to Adelaide again; and the party 
 he left soon broke up. Count Frederick saying 
 he had a vow to perform at the chapel of the 
 Virgin, and that he would ride out to fulfil it 
 between that hour and supper time. 
 
 Choosing his men from those on whom he 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 283 
 
 could best depend, Ferdinand descended for a 
 moment to the court, gave orders for the horses 
 to be saddled, and all prepared without a 
 moment's delay, and then mounted to his own 
 chamber to arm himself in haste. He had 
 nearly done, and heard gay voices speaking on 
 the battlements far below, when some one 
 knocked gently at his door. 
 
 " Come in," cried the young man ; and 
 Bertha appeared, with a face half frightened, 
 half playful. 
 
 ''Your lady wishes to speak with you for a 
 moment before you go, Sir Scapegrace," said 
 the girl in a low tone. " She is in the corridor 
 below, and all the rest are out of the way for a 
 minute or two, so make haste;" and without more 
 words she hastened away, leaving the door ajar. 
 
 Ferdinand lost no time; but, as ever is the 
 case when one attempts to abridge a necessary 
 process, one thing went wrong, and then 
 another, so that he was longer than he would 
 have been had he been less in haste. At 
 length, however, all was complete ; and hurry- 
 
284 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 ing down, he found Adelaide waiting anxiously 
 near the door of her own apartments, with 
 Bertha at a little distance towards the top of 
 the great stairs. As soon as she saw him, the 
 lovely girl sprang towards him. 
 
 " Oh, Ferdinand," she said, " I have longed 
 to speak with you all the morning; but the 
 castle has been so full, that it would have been 
 madness to attempt it ; and now you are going 
 whence you may, perchance, never return. At 
 all events, you cannot be back in^ time to do 
 what is required." 
 
 ''Fear not for me, dear one," answered Fer- 
 dinand, " neither imagine that I will linger for 
 a moment by the way, if Adelaide has aught to 
 command me." 
 
 "Nay, it is not I who command," replied his 
 
 beautiful companion with a faint blush, "it is 
 
 Father George who requires that you and I 
 
 together shall be at the chapel to-night, some 
 
 time between midnight and dawn." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Ferdinand, " does he explain 
 for what object?" 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 285 
 
 " No. Three or four words written in a 
 billet, closely sealed, were all the intimation 
 I have had," answered Adelaide. 
 
 " And would you go if it were possible, dear 
 girl?" inquired her lover. 
 
 *' I will do whatever he directs," replied the 
 lady. 
 
 " Then, if there be a means of any kind, I 
 will be back ;" said Ferdinand. " Do not re- 
 tire to rest till all hope of my coming is over 
 for the night; but, as perchance, I might be 
 detained, it were better to send down Bertha to 
 the good priest to let him know, that if not 
 there to-night, we will come to-morrow night 
 without fail, if I be alive and free." 
 
 As he spoke. Bertha raised her hand suddenly 
 as a warning, and Adelaide was drawing back 
 to her own apartments ; but Ferdinand detained 
 her, saying, "Do not seem alarmed — 'tis our 
 own hearts make us fear. I may well bid you 
 adieu as I should any other lady ;" and bending 
 his head over her hand, he kissed it, saying 
 aloud, "Farewell, lady — God shield you ever!" 
 
286 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 "Farewell, Ferdinand," said Adelaide, in a 
 tone that somewhat wavered ; and, at the same 
 moment, Bertha drew nearer, and Martin of 
 Dillberg entered the corridor from the great 
 stairs. His eyes were turned instantly towards 
 the two lovers, and although Bertha was by this 
 time close to them with waitingmaid-like pro- 
 priety, yet the youth's lip curled with a smile, 
 of not the most benevolent aspect. 
 
 " Farewell, pretty Bertha," said Ferdinand, as 
 soon as he saw Count Frederick's follower; 
 and then, passing him with very slight saluta- 
 tion, he hurried away, while Adelaide retired 
 at once to her own chamber. The men and 
 horses were not yet prepared ; and as Ferdinand 
 •was standing armed in the court waiting for 
 their appearance, the Count, with his guest, the 
 priest, and the jester, passed by. The Count's 
 eye rested on him, but he did not address him ; 
 and as the party walked on, the young man 
 heard the Lord of Ehrenstein reply to some 
 question of Count Frederick's; '^Yes, he is 
 always prompt and ready — brave as a lion, too, 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 287 
 
 fearing nothing, living or dead ; but there has 
 come over him to-daj a sort of dull gloom 
 Avhich I do not understand." 
 
 Ferdinand heard no more ; and in five 
 minutes after he was in the saddle, and at the 
 head of his troop, wending onward on his ex- 
 pedition. Crossing the valley, he followed the 
 course of the opposite hills, as if he were 
 journeying to Durkheim, till he had passed the 
 Abbey about two miles, where a small village, 
 commanding a beautiful view of the basin of 
 the Rhine, presented itself; and turning through 
 it to the right, he was pursuing his way, when a 
 loud voice from a blacksmith's forge called 
 him by name ; and he checked his horse for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Whither aw^ay, sir? whither away?" asked 
 Franz Creussen, coming forth with his enormous 
 arms bare to the shoulders. 
 
 " To Eppenfeld," answered Ferdinand, " the 
 Baron has w^aylaid some merchants bringing 
 gold to the Count; and I am sent to ask him 
 to give it up, — I cannot stay to tell you more, 
 
288 EHREN8TEIN. 
 
 Franz, but doubt I may stay longer where I am 
 going, and perchance need arms as strong as 
 yours to get me out." 
 
 " Likely enough," replied the giant ; " when 
 come you back, if they will let you?" 
 
 " As fast as my horse can carry me," answer- 
 ed the young man, and galloped on, along one of 
 the narrow hill paths that led towards Anweiler, 
 with an unrivalled view of the whole Palatinate 
 below him on the left, and, on the right, the 
 mountains of the Haard, with their innumerable 
 castles, abbeys, and monasteries, crowning every 
 peak, and barring every gorge. When he reached 
 the road from Landau to Zweibracken, near 
 Anweiler, instead of following it far, he turned 
 away again before he had gone on a quarter of 
 a mile, in the direction of Wissenbourg, and 
 entered a dark and gloomy looking valley, 
 where rocks and trees were far more plentiful 
 than churches or human habitations. Closing 
 in on either side, the high hills left but a narrow 
 space for the dell as it wound on, till at length, 
 at a spot where the basin extended a little, a 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 289 
 
 tall roGk rose up in the centre, covered with 
 wood wherever the roots could find earth to 
 bear them, and crowned with walls and towers 
 above. Ferdinand gave his horse the spur, and 
 in a few minutes more stood before the gates of 
 Eppenfeld. 
 
 TOL. I. -Q 
 
290 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Before the small chapel in the wood, below 
 the castle of Ehrenstein, there was, as I 
 have said, an open space of about half an 
 acre. The trees encroached upon it here and 
 there, rendering the boundary-line broken and 
 irregular, detracting nought from the sylvan 
 beauty of the scene. On the contrary, the 
 variety was pleasant to the eye ; and the 
 old oaks and beeches, which, starting out 
 before their fellows, obtruded on the soft dry 
 turf, rendered the sight more agreeable by de- 
 priving it of all formality. It looked like 
 a space for fairy revels ; and in truth, though 
 the fathers, if they had seen any of the little 
 good people present, might have sent them 
 roughly to some other quarters, took no slight 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 291 
 
 pleasure, as was commonly the case with the 
 monks, in the charms of the spot where they 
 had fixed one of their buildings, and would 
 rather have forfeited a great deal than have 
 cut down one of the trees which formed the 
 great ornament of the place. The varied 
 colours of the spring, the summer, and the 
 autumn, afforded much delight to the good old 
 men. The sunshine, streaming through the 
 green leaves, was like the return of the sum- 
 mer of life to the winter of their age ; and 
 it was the boast of the Lord Abbot — though he 
 was not otherwise than fond of venison — that 
 neither stag, nor roe, nor fallow-deer, had ever 
 been slaughtered in those woods by his com- 
 mand. Thus the wild creatures of the forest, 
 who have more sense than we give them credit 
 for, looked upon the wood, within two or three 
 hundred yards of the chapel, as a place of re- 
 fuge, a sort of sanctuary ; and the open space 
 between the trees and the building as a play- 
 ground for their evening hours. The beams 
 of the full day, however, were pouring over the 
 
 u 2 
 
292 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 blades of grass, and tinging with bright yellow 
 the beech leaves above, when Count Frederick 
 of Leiningen, with a small party behind him, 
 drew in his rein at the chapel door. A groom 
 sprang to his stirrup, and, dismounting more 
 lightly than from his age one would have 
 judged possible, he entered the chapel and 
 bent his knee for some moments before the 
 altar, in prayer ; then rising, he advanced to- 
 wards the door of the little wing inhabited 
 by Father George, and, after knocking at 
 it with his knuckles, opened it and entered, 
 beckoning the jester to follow. The good 
 priest was seated at a table reading, but he rose, 
 when, by air and manner, more than even 
 by dress, he perceived the high rank of his 
 visitor. For a moment or two neither of 
 the three spoke, and the eye of the monk 
 ran from the face of Count Frederick to that of 
 the jester, resting upon the latter long and 
 stedfastly, with a sort of inquiring look, as 
 if he recognised features which he had seen in 
 times of old, and yet had some difficulty in 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 293 
 
 assuring' himself tliat they were the same which 
 he had beheld before the scorching blast of 
 time had passed over them. 
 
 Count Frederick was the first who spoke, 
 saying, " You do not remember me, good father, 
 though we have met often in early days, 
 and more than once some ten years ago ; but I 
 can easily forgive your forgetfulness, for, good 
 faith, the suns of Syria and Africa are not the 
 greatest beautifiers of man's person, and the 
 change must be somewhat rueful. You are 
 little altered, since last I saw you ; more silver 
 than sable in your hair now, it is true, but still 
 the features are the same." 
 
 "I remember you well, my good lord," 
 replied the priest ; " though you are greatly 
 changed, I own. Yet here is one I should 
 remember better, methinks ; for, if my eyes 
 deceive me not strangely, we have met more 
 often ; " and as he spoke he laid his hand upon 
 the jester's arm. 
 
 " I know not which is the greatest deceiver," 
 cried the jester, with a laugh ; " a man's eyes or 
 
294 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 his ears; the one cheats him more often, 
 the other more deeply ; but, by my faith ! I 
 know not why my lord called me here. If you 
 be old friends you will have old tales to 
 tell, and I never yet could listen patiently to an 
 ancient story, or to the wit and mirth of 
 sixty years and upwards. My own jests are 
 sufficient for me, so, I pray you, jolly priest, 
 don't flout me." 
 
 Father George bent down his eyes thought- 
 fully on the ground, and then shook his head 
 somewhat mournfully, but looking up suddenly 
 at length, he said, addressing Count Frederick, 
 " Well, my good lord, I am glad at all events 
 to see you safe returned. Have you any com- 
 mands for me ? " 
 
 " None, good father, none," replied Count 
 Frederick. " I come but to ask a question or 
 two. — I have found at the castle a youth named 
 Ferdinand of Altenburg, who is he ? " 
 
 " Methinks, noble lord," replied Father 
 George ; " that the name is enough to show 
 you that he is of a noble race and kin ; not so 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 295 
 
 rich as he miglit be, perhaps, but still with the 
 hope of rising in the world. He was my ward, 
 and is now in the train of the Count of Ehren- 
 stein, serving' him well I trust, for he was 
 always well disposed and honourable." 
 
 " So is a cat," replied the jester, " rather 
 thievishly disposed towards mice, but still an 
 honourable beast, as the world goes, with a 
 mighty soft tread, and a sleek skin well 
 smoothed." 
 
 " But he is thievishly disposed to no one," 
 answered Father George. 
 
 " By my faith! that is saying much for any 
 man under ninety," rejoined the jester; "for 
 there are many kinds of thievishness, which 
 assault us at different stages of this world's 
 journey ; and I have seldom met with the male 
 thing of twenty, or thereabouts, that would 
 not steal a smile from beauty, or a heart if 
 he could get it, in a very roguish manner." 
 
 " That is lawful robbery," said the priest, 
 with a smile, " against which there is no com- 
 mandment." 
 
296 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " Ay, if the church have its dues," cried 
 the jester, "then things are easily managed; 
 but Heaven help me ! I blame not the youth, 
 nor call him a cat either; I but said that 
 Grimalkin is as honest as he." 
 
 " But not so bold, so brave, and so true," 
 answered Father George, " else he belies his 
 teaching." 
 
 "He seems brave enough, in truth," an- 
 swered Count Frederick, " for he is even now 
 gone to put his head into a lion's mouth." 
 
 "Ah! how is that?" exclaimed Father 
 George, in evident surprise and alarm ; " I 
 knew not that he was going anywhere." 
 
 " He has gone to beard the Baron of Ep- 
 penfeld in his hold," answered the Count ; " you 
 can judge better, my good friend, what recep- 
 tion he is likely to meet with than I can." 
 
 " Comfortable lodging and good food," re- 
 plied the jester, " if nothing worse ; but clean 
 straw, and bread and water may serve a man's 
 turn very well, if it be not on compul- 
 sion. Compulsion is the salad of bitter 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 297 
 
 herbs, that makes all a man's meat have a 
 hard flavom-." 
 
 " And when does he propose to come back?'* 
 asked the monk, without noting Herr Von 
 IN'arren's words. 
 
 " As soon as he can ride thither and return^** 
 said Count Frederick in reply ; " he may be 
 back by nine, I should think." 
 
 "He must have help in case of need,'" 
 rejDlied Father George, thoughtfully. 
 
 "That he shall have beyond all doubt,'" 
 answered the nobleman ; " depend upon it, 
 no wrong shall befall him without vengeance 
 from my hand." 
 
 " Ay, that is the way with all these great 
 lords," exclaimed the jester ; " vengeance is 
 a part of their creed. Now a fool or a serf 
 would think it better to stop evil deeds than 
 to punish them : if I were to kill your horse, 
 uncle, the beast would not be a bit better off 
 for knowing that my head would pay the 
 penalty. I say, let those who can, stop the 
 doing of that which is amiss, and then there 
 
298 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 will be no occasion for avenging it after- 
 wards." 
 
 He spoke with a good deal of empliasis, 
 and then turned round to the lattice-window 
 and looked out, while the priest and his 
 noble visitor conversed for some few minutes 
 apart. 
 
 From time to time the eye of Count Frede- 
 rick's strange companion wandered from the 
 space immediately opposite the chapel, and 
 from the group of attendants and men-at-arms 
 it contained, up towards the castle, with a 
 marking and significant glance. Whether by 
 accident or design, I know not, but the chapel 
 had been so built, that the window of that 
 room, although it could not command the 
 whole extent of the road, caught glimpses of 
 it, even after the trees crossed it, at every fifty 
 or sixty yards along the whole extent, and 
 after gazing forth for two or three minutes, 
 something seemed to catch and arrest the 
 man's attention ; for he suddenly smiled, laid 
 his finger on his temple, and then, after having 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 299 
 
 watched for a moment or two more, turned 
 quickly round, exclaiming, " Give you good- 
 day," uncle Frederick ; " I am away for a pot 
 of honey, I see there ;" and out of the door he 
 strode without awaiting an answer. Hurrying 
 up the hill, without mounting his horse, he 
 had just passed the first turning in the wood, 
 when he suddenly came upon the pretty maid 
 Bertha, tripping down with a rapid step, and a 
 cheek somewhat flushed. 
 
 " A fair afternoon to you, sweet lady," said 
 the jester, taking her hand ; " whither away 
 so fast?" 
 
 " I am going to tell my beads at the chapel," 
 said Bertha, evidently discomposed. 
 
 " A pious undertaking," cried the jester, 
 " and easily performed, too, if there were none 
 but pigeons in this world ; but doves will meet 
 with hawks, pretty mistress, when they fly out 
 alone; and if I mistake not, something has 
 ruffled your feathers." 
 
 Bertha laughed, blushing, and replied : 
 " You saw him, then, sir ?" 
 
300 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 " I saw some one lay liold of you roughly,'* 
 answered the jester ; " but, m truth, my eyes 
 are somewhat dun ; for the passing of years will 
 scratch the horn lantern, and though I came 
 out to help you in case of need, I could not 
 distinguish who it was." 
 
 " One of your good lord's followers," an- 
 swered Bertha; "but it is no matter, I trust 
 he will be less saucy henceforth, for I threat- 
 ened to tell of him." 
 
 " If you threatened to tell and don't tell, 
 pretty maid, be you sure that he will read the 
 riddle to his own advantage. Otherwise, he will 
 be as great a fool as I am, and I will leave him 
 my cap and bauble for a legacy." 
 
 Just as the jester was uttering these words, 
 the youth Martin of Dillberg appeared coming 
 down with a stealthy step ; and Bertha's com- 
 panion exclaimed, " Ha ! ha ! Here we have 
 him, and no tale told. For this he shall be 
 punished enough." 
 
 " Nay, I beseech you," cried Bertha, " do 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 301 
 
 him no harm ! He is a saucy boy ; but he 
 will not offend again." 
 
 " He has oJBPendecl often enough already,'* 
 answered the jester, " but fear not, pretty 
 maid; I will not deal roughly. I will but 
 set the dwarf upon him, and for the next 
 three days he will lead the life of a strange 
 fowl in a farm-yard — but see ! as soon as his 
 eye lights upon me, he creeps away amongst 
 the trees. That youth will fall upon some 
 evil thing before he is done. Now hie thee 
 on to the chapel, and tell thy beads in 
 peace ; though, Heaven help us ! if all the 
 love tales vv'ere counted that lie under a rosary, 
 they would drown the paters and aves, I 
 fear." 
 
 " I am going to tell no love tale," answered 
 Bertha, colouring, and walking on. " I wish 
 I had a love tale to tell." 
 
 The jester laughed, and followed towards 
 the cha^^el, saying, " It must be a luckless 
 place this castle of Ehrenstein, not to furnish 
 a pretty maiden with such a bosom-friend. 
 
302 EHRENSTEIN. 
 
 Perhaps your sweet mistress cannot say the 
 same." 
 
 " I never pry into my mistress's affairs/' 
 cried Bertha, " I know nothing of them." 
 
 But the jester's keen eye was upon her as 
 she spoke, and he exclaimed with a provoking 
 smile, " Ha ! ha ! thy warm cheek is as red 
 as thy warm lip, fair maid ; and, on my troth, 
 I can forgive Martin of Dillberg for tasting 
 both. Why, you tell-tale, if you guard your 
 face no better, it is useless putting a bridle on 
 your tongue." 
 
 " It is because you teaze me," answered 
 Bertha, petulantly ; " I declare, Martin of 
 Dillberg was better than you are, so I shall 
 hurry on, and do without your company." 
 
 The jester followed, but not very rapidly; 
 and when Bertha saw the horsemen standing 
 at the chapel gate, she paused, and seemed to 
 hesitate ; but then taking heart of grace, she 
 hastened forward again, and, without looking 
 to the right or left, approached the shrine. 
 
 Her orisons were somewhat long, for the 
 
EHRENSTEIN. 303 
 
 Count, and the jester, who had again entered 
 the good priest's cell, remained there for half 
 an hour, and when they came forth and rode 
 on towards the Abbey, Bertha was still at 
 prayer. 
 
 END OF VOL. 1. 
 
London : 
 Printed by Stewart and Mtjrbat, 
 Old Bailej. 
 
THE 
 
 CATTLE 
 I EHEEiTEINJ 
 
 4 P. E, JAMES 
 
 TN THREE VOLUMES 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 039496739