hat bubbled from the bottom. The
spot, visited by few, was rendered almost sacred by a cluster of
broad-armed beech-trees that overshadowed it. Herbert encountered
his Auriola in this retreat. Who shall tell their joy? Herbert
urged his suit--Auriola followed him through bush and thicket,
and was powerless before his ardent supplications. Wittehold
surprised the pair. His fury and indignation were ungovernable.
Herbert, in self-defence, had recourse to his good sword, but
this was as a lath against the ire of his assailant. Wittehold
slew his lord. Not yet satisfied, the madman pursued his
fugitive child, whose screams for aid only brought her to a
speedier end. He met her at the spring--there seized the
trembling creature, and mercilessly cast her in. The maiden
struggled for an instant; but, the short conflict over, she
uttered a piteous wail, and sank for ever beneath the
softly-rippling water. Even whilst she struggled, the inhuman
father raised his clenched fist, and pointed with it towards
Gottmar's castle. 'God of heaven!' he exclaimed, 'hear my curse;
and may it fall like the unerring bolt upon this execrated race.
May no male offspring take to his arms a bride, or brighten his
hearth with her presence, until a Gottmar restore my daughter's
virgin honour. Until this happen, let the poor victim be
accursed, and evil work with the posterity of her betrayer!' The
miserable murderer invoked the infernal powers to assist in the
fulfilment of his curse, and then, as if beside himself, ran to
the turf-pits. Here he procured a shovel and an axe. With their
help he choked up the crystal grave of his daughter, and diverted
the strong current into the pit, which it soon flooded. This
done, he fled into the woods, and has not since been heard of.
But his curse has been fulfilled with frightful regularity in the
family of Gottmar. Not one has married with impunity. Bridegroom
and bride have fallen. Auriola, crying for vengeance, hovers
above the turf-pit, which since that hour has become a wide
unfathomable moor.

Heinrich Wendelin, _Chaplain_.'

"The hand of Bolko dropped as he finished the narrative. The evening
twilight thickened before his eyes. He sank into a solemn musing. When
he awoke from it, Hubert was again at his side.

"'Hast thou read