le, than he cried out, "Oh, no, no,
noble wounded knight, stay yet awhile; I will serve thee in everything
that thy heart can desire; but herein I cannot serve thee. Brave
warriors, you must and shall know so much as this; I am no longer worthy
to live under the same roof with the noble Baron of Montfaucon and his
angelic wife Gabrielle. And you, my aged father, good-night; long not
for me. I intend to live in the stone fortress on the Rocks of the Moon,
till a change of some kind come over me."

There was that in his way of speaking against which no one dared to set
himself, not even Folko.

The wild Biorn bowed his head humbly, and said, "Do according to thy
pleasure, my poor son; for I fear that thou art right."

Then Sintram walked solemnly and silently through the castle-gate,
followed by the good Rolf. Gabrielle led her exhausted lord up to their
apartments.

CHAPTER 19

That was a mournful journey on which the youth and his aged
foster-father went towards the Rocks of the Moon, through the wild
tangled paths of the snow-clad valleys. Rolf from time to time sang
some verses of hymns, in which comfort and peace were promised to the
penitent sinner, and Sintram thanked him for them with looks of grateful
sadness. Neither of them spoke a word else.

At length, when the dawn of day was approaching, Sintram broke silence
by saying, "Who are those two sitting yonder by the frozen stream--a
tall man and a little one? Their own wild hearts must have driven them
also forth into the wilderness. Rolf, dost thou know them? The sight of
them makes me shudder."

"Sir," answered the old man, "your disturbed mind deceives you. There
stands a lofty fir-tree, and the old weather-beaten stump of an oak,
half-covered with snow, which gives them a somewhat strange appearance.
There are no men sitting yonder."

"But, Rolf, look there! look again carefully! Now they move, they
whisper together."

"Sir, the morning breeze moves the branches, and whistles in the sharp
pine-leaves and in the yellow oak-leaves, and rustles the crisp snow."

"Rolf, now they are both coming towards us. Now they are standing before
us, quite close."

"Sir, it is we who get nearer to them as we walk on, and the setting
moon throws such long giant-like shadows over the plain."

"Good-evening!" said a hollow voice; and Sintram knew it was the crazy
pilgrim, near to whom stood the malignant little Master, looking more
hideous than ever.