he stranger, a
thing swung itself down from one of the nearest trees, covered with
hoar-frost,--no one could say if it were a snake or a lizard,--it curled
and twisted itself, and appeared about to slide down upon the knight
or his companion. Sintram levelled his spear, and pierced the creature
through. But, with the most hideous contortions, it fixed itself firmly
on the spear-head; and in vain did the knight endeavour to rub it off
against the rocks or the trees. Then he let his spear rest upon his
right shoulder, with the point behind him, so that the horrible beast no
longer met his sight; and he said, with good courage, to the stranger,
"It does seem, indeed, that I could help you, and I am not forbidden to
have an unknown stranger in my company; so let us push on bravely into
the valley!"

"Help!" so resounded the solemn answer; "not help. I perhaps may help
thee. But God have mercy upon thee if the time should ever come when
I could no longer help thee. Then thou wouldst be lost, and I should
become very frightful to thee. But we will go through the valley--I have
thy knightly word for it. Come!"

They rode forward; Sintram's horse still showing signs of fear, the
faithful dog still whining; but both obedient to their master's will.
The knight was calm and steadfast. The snow had slipped down from the
smooth rocks, and by the light of the rising moon could be seen various
strange twisted shapes on their sides, some looking like snakes, and
some like human faces; but they were only formed by the veins in the
rock and the half-bare roots of trees, which had planted themselves in
that desert place with capricious firmness. High above, and at a great
distance, the castle of Drontheim, as if to take leave, appeared again
through an opening in the rocks. The knight then looked keenly at his
companion, and he almost felt as if Weigand the Slender were riding
beside him.

"In God's name," cried he, "art thou not the shade of that departed
knight who suffered and died for Verena?"

"I have not suffered, I have not died; but ye suffer, and ye die, poor
mortals!" murmured the stranger. "I am not Weigand. I am that other, who
was so like him, and whom thou hast also met before now in the wood."

Sintram strove to free himself from the terror which came over him
at these words. He looked at his horse; it appeared to him entirely
altered. The dry, many-coloured oak-leaves on its head were waving like
the flames around a