Stay, stay, good father," cried the old 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 had just reached the door of his temporary dwelling when the sound of many horses' feet coming up from below announced the return 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 closed the door, listening for a moment or two as the long train passed by, and then lighting his lamp.

In the mean time 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 was 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, with the schlossvogt, or castlebailiff, 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 any thing happened

since I went?"

"Ay, two or three things, my lord," replied Sickendorf.

"In the first place, the Lady 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 ducks, capons, geese, sheep, and lambs, and dilating somewhat at large upon his conversation 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 were usually very much desired by the count, whose jealous and suspicious disposition made him eager to glean every little indication of the feelings and sentiments of the people towards him; but on the present occasion Sickendorf's long-winded narrative seemed to weary and irritate him; and after many not very complimentary 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 is not so much as you expected."

'No, no, it is not that," answered the count. "I never expected any till this morning; so it's 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 Venice. No, no; it isn't that, 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 mansion 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 wandering here and there around us oppress me, Sickendorf. Why should I call them stories? Have I not seen, do I not know?" "Ay, and I have seen too," answered Sickendorf; "but I never knew you had, my good lord."

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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 eye, I saw nought but 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 Sickendorf; "knights and soldiers too, if you please. Why, within the last two months ghosts have been as plenty in the castle as holyberries 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 aught 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 perceive this 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 plenty of ghosts to drink it," answered the count, with a bitter laugh. But it is very strange. I have done nought to merit this visitation."

"Something must be done, my good lord, to get rid of it," replied Sickendorf, "that is clear; or now 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,

if

"No, my good friend; I saw nought but in fancy. Yet was the fancy very strong. Each time I stood in that hall alone, it seemed as 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 then it disappeared, but yet the next night it was there again. Why should it thus torment me?" he continued, vehemently. "I slew him not; I set on none to slay him; I have done him no wrong!"

And he walked quickly up and down the room again; while Sickendorf followed more slowly, saying, "Well, my good lord, it's clear something must be done to stop this, or we shall not get soldiers to stay in the castle. The rascals don't mind fighting any thing 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, at least. I've had enough of it, and don't wish to see such a thing any more.'

"You did wrong, you did wrong, Sickendorf," answered his lord. "I do not wish these monks to meddle. They will soon be fancying that some great crime has been committed, 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."

"Well, then, my good lord, the only way is to laugh at it," replied Sickendorf. "I dare say one may become familiar with it in time, though it's ugly enough at first. One gets accustomed to every thing, and why not to a ghost? We'll jest at him; and if he comes near me, I'll throw the stool at his head, and see if that will lay him. I am 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, they know too much," answered the count: "they are the pests of the land, prying and spying, and holding their betters in subjection. We are but the vassals of these monks, Sickendorf; and if I had my will, I'd burn their rookery about their ears."

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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 veneration of an earlier period. Ay, and the Lady Adelaide too. Why, bless your beautiful eyes, yon girl there told me you were ill, fair lady."

"I have been somewhat indisposed, but am well again now," answered Adelaide, advancing to her father.

The count, however, took little notice of her, calling Bertha to him, and making her give an account of what she and Sickendorf had

seen.

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"Fancy, fancy, my dear father," cried Adelaide, 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, warder passing without for a grim spirit in a shroud."

"Nay, nay, dear lady," cried Bertha, and was about to defend herself, when 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 that 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 regarding Count Frederick of Leiningen, and those he brought in his train.

"There is none that will fit thee for a husband, I fear, my child,” replied the count, who 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.

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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 because you know nought of the world, dear girl. Why, Count Frederick himself is just the same gay, joyous soul as ever, and he's as old as 1 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. To me it appears but yesterday that I was a boy."

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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 Ferdinand," replied her father, laughing, "I am quite an old man: is it not so, child?"

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Adelaide neither answered nor coloured, as might have been perhaps expected, but smiled faintly, and fell into thought; for it is wonderful 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.

Before she had roused herself from her reverie, Sickendorf had taken up the conversation, 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, the past is always a sad subject. You will see our friend to-morrow, for he will be here ere night-fall, 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 water," 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 demanded angrily, addressing himself to none in particular,

"Are you afraid?-Here, Adelaide, 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 any thing that you command; and I can very well spare the Lady Adelaide the trouble in the hall, if she will but wreathe the garlands 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," replied Ferdinand, rising.

The count fixed his eyes upon him, and Adelaide also gazed at him earnestly. The young man's cheek might lose a shade of colour, but still he 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 casements," answered the "You will want no other light."

count.

The young man made no reply, but drew forward his sword-belt a little, 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?"

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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 not open. After a while, however, it was suddenly flung back, and in he went."

"Did he close it behind him?" 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."