ay to the tomb.
All present were struck with the direful probability; for events of the
kind are extremely common in Germany, as many well-authenticated
histories bear witness.

What a lamentable situation was that of the poor baron! What a
heart-rending dilemma for a fond father, and a member of the great
family of Katzenellenbogen! His only daughter had either been rapt away
to the grave, or he was to have some wood-demon for a son-in-law, and,
perchance, a troop of goblin grandchildren. As usual, he was completely
bewildered and all the castle in an uproar. The men were ordered to take
horse, and scour every road and path and glen of the Odenwald. The baron
himself had just drawn on his jack-boots, girded on his sword, and was
about to mount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful quest, when he
was brought to a pause by a new apparition. A lady was seen approaching
the castle, mounted on a palfrey, attended by a cavalier on horseback.
She galloped up to the gate, sprang from her horse, and falling at the
baron's feet, embraced his knees. It was his lost daughter, and her
companion--the Specter Bridegroom! The baron was astounded. He looked at
his daughter, then at the specter, and almost doubted the evidence of
his senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully improved in his appearance
since his visit to the world of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set
off a noble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale and
melancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the glow of youth, and
joy rioted in his large dark eye.

The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier (for in truth, as you must
have known all the while, he was no goblin) announced himself as Sir
Herman Von Starkenfaust. He related his adventure with the young count.
He told how he had hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome
tidings, but that the eloquence of the baron had interrupted him in
every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the bride had
completely captivated him, and that to pass a few hours near her, he had
tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How he had been sorely
perplexed in what way to make a decent retreat, until the baron's goblin
stories had suggested his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal
hostility of the family, he had repeated his visits by stealth--had
haunted the garden beneath the young lady's window--had wooed--had
won--had borne away in triumph--and, in a word, had wedded the fair.

Under any oth