d light upon the prison breaks,
The captive, starting at a footstep's sound,
Springs from his lonely couch, to gaze around.
WIELAND.

The troop, surrounding their prisoner, moved on in silence towards the
town hall. A single torch was their only light on the way, and Albert
thanked Heaven that it gave but a feeble glare; for he fancied that
every one who met him must suppose he was being led to prison. But this
was not the only thought which engrossed his mind. This was the first
time in his life he had been in any dilemma, and it was not without
dread that he figured to himself all the horrors of a damp dreary
dungeon, remembering to have visited the one in his old castle. He was
on the point of speaking to his leader on the subject, when it struck
him he might be accused of a childish fear, and therefore he proceeded
in silence.

He was, however, not a little surprised when he was led into a large
handsome room, not very habitable indeed, as its furniture consisted
only of a bedstead, and an uncommon large fire-place, but it was a
palace compared to what his imagination had conjured up. The old
soldier wished his prisoner a good night, and retired with the rest of
his party. A little thin old man then made his appearance; a large
bunch of keys, which hung by his side, rattling like a chain when he
moved, announced him as the gaoler or servant of the town hall. He laid
some large logs of wood in the fire-place, and made a blazing fire; a
cheering companion on a cold night in March. He then spread an ample
woollen covering on the bedstead, and the first word that Albert heard
from him was a friendly invitation to make himself comfortable. He
thanked the old man for his kind attention, though his place of rest
for the night did not offer much to tempt him to repose.

"This apartment is set aside for knights in your situation," said the
old gaoler; "the common people are confined under ground, and are not
so well off."

"Is it long since any one lodged here?" asked Albert, looking around
the room.

"A Herr von Berger was the last; he died on that very bed seven years
ago: God be merciful to his soul! He appeared to be fond of this place,
for he often rises from his coffin at midnight to visit his old
quarters."

"How?" said Albert, smiling, "has he been seen since his death?"

The old man looked fearfully around the room, now faintly li