with us would call, a wicked girl, a----"

"Landlady!" cried Albert.

"Don't speak so loud, worthy sir; the people will notice it. Do you
suppose I would venture to say what I do not know to be certain truth?
Only think, every night as the clock strikes eleven, she lets her lover
into the castle. Is not that wicked enough for a well-bred young lady?"

"Mind what you say! Her lover?"

"Yes, alas! at eleven o'clock in the night, her lover. Is it not a
shame, a disgrace! He is a tall man, and comes to the gate enveloped in
a grey cloak. She has so well arranged it, that all the servants are
out of the way at that hour except the old porter of the gate, who has
assisted her in all her wicked tricks from her childhood. When the
clock strikes eleven in the village, she always comes herself down into
the court, cold as it may be, and brings the keys of the drawbridge,
which she beforehand steals from her father's bed; the old sinner, the
porter, then opens the lock, lets down the bridge, when the man in the
grey cloak hastens to the presence of the young lady."

"And then?" asked Albert, who scarcely had any more breath in his
breast, scarcely any more blood in his cheeks,--"and then?"

"Then she brings food, bread and wine: so much is certain, that the
nightly lover must have an uncommon appetite, for many nights running
he has demolished half a haunch of roebuck, and drank three or four
pints of wine; what else they do, I know not; I guess nothing, I say
nothing; but I suppose," she added, with an upward look to heaven,
"they don't pray."

Albert was angry with himself, after a moment's reflection, for having
doubted for an instant the falsehood of this narration, spun from some
gossipping head; or, should there be any truth in it, it was impossible
that Bertha could act with dishonour to herself. We are told that,
though the passion of love in the young men of the good old times was
not less ardent than in our days, it bore more the character of
idolized respect. It was the custom, in those days, for the lady wooed
to think herself not only not upon an equality, but far superior to her
suitor.

If we look to the romantic tales and love stories in old chronicles, we
shall find many descriptions of enamoured knights allowing themselves
to be cut to pieces on the spot, rather than doubt the faith and purity
of their mistresses. Judging therefore from this fact, it is not
surprising that Albert von Sturmfeder could not