in upon her revery as if it were a summons from some of the mysterious powers whose home was in the forest. Often as she had heard a bugle hailing the warder of Rittenberg, it had never happened that there had come with the sound such a thrill as this call brought. Far stretched and weird the great Schwarzwald lay, the warm summer sun seeming to glance from its impenetrable surface, unable to pierce to the depths wherein lurked the wild woodland creatures as the nixies lurked in the lakes; and something that was half a shudder crossed her frame, as the note of that horn called up the thought of all the strange secrets which therein lay hidden. Then, with an effort, she shook off the momentary oppression, and threw her clear glance down into the valley to see whence came the call.
II
HOW ONE CAME.
Erna leaned forward over the wide stone window-ledge, and turned her gaze downward to where the road, little more than a bridle-path, emerged from the obscurity of the pine wood to begin its winding ascent to the castle gate. A second blast of the bugle-horn, blown with full lungs and with a good will that seemed to promise a jocund disposition in the visitor who came thus heralded, and there rode out of the wood a knight, followed by his squire and a couple of men-at-arms.
The countess strained her eyes in a natural curiosity to discover what manner of man the forest was sending her as a guest. He was too far below for her to be able to distinguish his features, although he rode with beaver up; but she could appreciate the fact that he sat his horse, a superb chestnut stallion, with the ease and grace of one thoroughly bred to knightly customs. He was a man of commanding stature, overtopping the squire who rode close behind him, and dwarfing the men-at-arms by contrast. His armor, she was able to perceive as he rode up the hill and thus came somewhat nearer, was of the richest, and the flash of jewels on his bridle-rein caught her eye as he rode into the sunlight.
So striking was the mien of the stranger knight that Erna suddenly found herself affected with a strange kindness for him, and unconsciously sighed as the thought flitted through her mind that whoever he might be, he was probably merely a traveller who sought rest and refreshment in the castle to-day, to vanish to-morrow into the unknown world from which he had come. Then she smiled at her own folly in thus grieving at the departure of a perfect stranger before she had even met him to welcome his arrival; and as he drew near the castle gate, and the squire for the third time blew a merry blast on the horn, she drew back from the window. As she did so, she fancied that the unknown cast a sudden glance up to her casement; and far away as he was, she seemed to catch a glimpse of eyes dark and full of fire.
Full of curiosity, Erna waited to be summoned as chatelaine of the castle, to go through the formality of according the hospitalities of the house to the guest. It was the generous custom of the Von Rittenbergs to receive all who came, although the Lady Adelaide was continually predicting evil results from a hospitality so unguarded and so unusual in a fortress where the head of the family was an unmarried woman. The countess took pride in keeping up the family traditions, but she was even more moved to this course by a genuine religious charity. It seemed to her tender heart monstrous to deny food and shelter to any when it was possible to give them; and if her course had been shaped rather by the sentiments of her confessor, Father Christopher, than by ordinary considerations of prudence, there had at least no harm befallen from her custom thus far.
When Erna descended to the great hall to meet the new-comer, she found him conversing with Father Christopher, whom he overtopped by nearly a head. She was astonished by the stranger's wonderful beauty. His face was of a mould as powerful as his figure. A heavy chestnut beard, curling and glossy, but barely descending to his collar, covered the lower part of his countenance. His head was firmly poised, and carried with the air of one accustomed to absolute mastery. His brow, displayed by the removal of his helmet, was wide and high.
But what most impressed Erna in the appearance of the stranger knight were his magnificent eyes, which were like no others she had ever seen. They were brown and liquid, with that glance at once appealing and defiant, pathetic and fierce, which one sees in the eyes of a stag that proudly leads the herd. One perceived that they could upon occasion kindle into splendid rage, although they were capable of looks of such wistful tenderness, such longing, such melting desire. As Erna advanced down the rush-strewn hall to meet the guest, it almost seemed to her that his glance drew her on, so strongly was she impressed; and yet when he spoke, his voice to her was more strangely sweet than even his wonderful eyes.
Father Christopher announced the new-comer as Baron Albrecht von Waldstein; and he added, with a touch of the gossip, that the knight's home lay in the Neiderwasser valley, to the northward.
The baron himself explained his presence at the castle.
"One of my retainers," he said, "was this morning, as we were riding toward the south, smitten with a strange illness. I feared that we should leave his bones to bleach in the forest for lack of a leech; and he himself had either small courage or strength to ride on. Fortunately his fellow knew that we were near Rittenberg, and I have ventured to bring him here, in the hope that we might for a little find shelter and the aid of a leech."
"He shall be looked to," Erna answered with a gentle gravity which became her well. "Our leech is not unskilful, and his best is at thy service."
"I thank thee," the baron responded, bowing profoundly. "It were a matter of much inconvenience to be left with but one man-at-arms thus far from home."
"Thou must, too, be concerned at the suffering of the poor man," the countess returned. "I am always unhappy if one of my people is ill. They seem so much like animals in their pain, and as if they could not understand what had happened to them. It is very pitiful."
The baron regarded her with a look of inquiry on his handsome face.
"Of course one cares for his servants," he assented, "since he can so ill get on without them."
Had her cousin, Count Stephen, the beat of whose horse's hoofs had so lately died upon the air, said these words, Erna would doubtless have regarded them as shockingly heartless; but now so strongly had the appearance of this stranger won upon her, that she only smiled and shook her head.
"Of a truth they have not our feelings," she said; "but after all, they are yet human beings. Wert thou in the forest through the night?" she added. "Thou canst not have come far this morning, especially riding with one who was ill."
"We were in the forest all night," the baron responded. "We made shift to shelter us in a cave that we chanced upon. It was the sickness of the man which prevented that we rode further yester-e'en, till we had found lodgings."
"But hadst thou no fear of the wood-sprites?" Erna asked.
"Nay," replied Baron Albrecht, "they troubled us not; though we were aware of them as they passed us by," he added, smiling.
"Thou art a bold knight," she murmured beneath her breath.
"Truly thou art favored of heaven," Father Christopher said, "if the wood-sprites can do thee no harm."
The countess looked at the stranger with admiration and astonishment. Bold as were the knights who had made the name of her family respected far and near, they had not been free from the fear of the wild folk of the wood, and it was with a thrill that she looked at the stranger knight as he avowed his fearlessness.
