"I die," murmured Ida, heeding not the words of her companion.
"Gerbert--we shall meet again!"

Gerbert, her lover, heard the sad news in his dwelling-place on the
shores of Lake Constance, and returned to Oberwoerth with all speed. A
week had elapsed ere he arrived, and Ida's body was already interred in
the vaults of the convent.

It was a night of storm and darkness. No boatman would venture on the
Rhine, but Gerbert, anxious to pay the last respects to the body of his
beloved, was not to be deterred. With his own hands he unmoored a vessel
and sailed across to Oberwoerth. Having landed at that part of the island
furthest from the convent, he was obliged to pass the haunted spot on
his way thither. The circular patch of barren earth was said to be a
spot accursed, by reason of sacrilege and suicide committed there. But
such things were far from the thoughts of the distraught knight.

Suddenly he heard a strange sound, like the whisper of a familiar
voice--a sound which, despite its quietness, seemed to make itself heard
above the fury of the storm. Looking up, he beheld a band of white-robed
maidens dancing in the charmed circle. One of them, a little apart from
the others, seemed to him to be his lost Ida. The familiar figure, the
grace of mien, the very gesture with which she beckoned him, were hers,
and he rushed forward to clasp her to his heart. Adroitly she eluded his
grasp and mingled with the throng. Gerbert followed with bursting heart,
seized her in his arms, and found that the other phantoms had surrounded
them. Something in the unearthly music fascinated him; he felt impelled
to dance round and round, till his head reeled. And still he danced
with his phantom bride, and still the maidens whirled about them. On the
stroke of one the dancers vanished and the knight sank to the ground,
all but dead with fatigue. In the morning he was found by the kindly
nuns, who tended him carefully. But all their skill and attention were
in vain; for Gerbert lived only long enough to tell of his adventure
to the sisterhood. This done, he expired with the name of his beloved
spirit-bride upon his lips.

Stolzenfels: The Alchemist

Alchemy was a common pursuit in the Middle Ages. The poor followed it
eagerly in the vain desire for gold; the rich spent their wealth in
useless experiments, or showered it on worthless charlatans.

Thus it came about that Archbishop Werner of Falkenstein, owner of the
grim fortress of St