his retainers, and
leaping into the saddle, he hastened, followed by the grateful smiles of
Gabrielle, along the valley towards the stone fortress.

Sintram was seated near the drawbridge, touching the strings of
the lute, and shedding some tears on the golden chords, almost as
Montfaucon's esquire had described him. Suddenly a cloudy shadow passed
over him, and he looked up, expecting to see a flight of cranes in the
air; but the sky was clear and blue. While the young knight was still
wondering, a long bright spear fell at his feet from a battlement of the
armoury turret.

"Take it up,--make good use of it! thy foe is near at hand! Near also
is the downfall of thy dearest happiness." Thus he heard it distinctly
whispered in his ear; and it seemed to him that he saw the shadow of the
little Master glide close by him to a neighbouring cleft in the rock.
But at the same time also, a tall, gigantic, haggard figure passed along
the valley, in some measure like the departed pilgrim, only much, very
much, larger, and he raised his long bony arm fearfully threatening,
then disappeared in an ancient tomb.

At the very same instant Sir Folko of Montfaucon came swiftly as the
wind up the Rocks of the Moon, and he must have seen something of those
strange apparitions, for as he stopped close behind Sintram, he looked
rather pale, and asked low and earnestly: "Sir knight, who are those two
with whom you were just now holding converse here?"

"The good God knows," answered Sintram; "I know them not."

"If the good God does but know!" cried Montfaucon: "but I fear me that
He knows very little more of you or your deeds."

"You speak strangely harsh words," said Sintram. "Yet ever since that
evening of misery,--alas! and even long before,--I must bear with all
that comes from you. Dear sir, you may believe me, I know not those
fearful companions; I call them not, and I know not what terrible
curse binds them to my footsteps. The merciful God, as I would hope, is
mindful of me the while,--as a faithful shepherd does not forget even
the worst and most widely-straying of his flock, but calls after it with
an anxious voice in the gloomy wilderness."

Then the anger of the baron was quite melted. Two bright tears stood in
his eyes, and he said: "No, assuredly, God has not forgotten thee; only
do thou not forget thy gracious God. I did not come to rebuke thee--I
came to bless thee in Gabrielle's name and in my own. The Lord preserve