back a few paces. The stranger did likewise; then
they rushed toward each other, and such was the force of their
impact that both were unhorsed. Drawing their swords--for neither was
injured--the knights resumed the conflict on foot. Conrad felt disgraced
at having been unhorsed by a mere youth, and he was now further incensed
by receiving a deep wound in his arm. Henceforth he fought in good
earnest, showering blows on his antagonist, who fell at last, mortally
wounded.

In obedience to the rules of chivalry, Sir Conrad hastened to assist his
vanquished foe. What was his surprise, his horror, when, on raising the
head and unlacing the helm of the knight, he found that his adversary
was none other than Maria!

"Conrad," she said in failing tones, "I also am to blame. Without thy
love life was nothing to me, and I resolved to die by thy hand. Forget
my folly, remember only that I loved thee. Farewell!" And with these
words she expired. Conrad flung himself down by her side, convulsed with
grief and remorse. From that hour a change came over him. Ere he set
out to the Holy Land he caused the body of Maria to be interred on the
summit of the Kreuzberg, and bestowed the greater part of his estates
on a pious brotherhood, enjoining them to raise a nunnery over the tomb.
Thus was the convent of Marienberg founded, and in time it came to be
one of the richest and most celebrated on the Rhine.

Arrived in Palestine, Conrad became a Knight-Templar, fighting bravely
and utterly oblivious to all danger. It was not until Acre had been
won, however, that death met him. An arrow dispatched by an unknown hand
found its quarry as he was walking the ramparts at night meditating on
the lady he had slain and whose death had restored her to a place in his
affections.

Liebenstein and Sterrenberg

Near the famous monastery of Bornhofen, and not far from the town of
Camp, supposed to be an ancient Roman site, are the celebrated castles
of Liebenstein and Sterrenberg, called 'the Brothers,' perhaps because
of their contiguity to each other rather than through the legend
connected with the name. History is practically silent concerning these
towers, which occupy two steep crags united by a small isthmus which
has partially been cut through. Sterrenberg lies nearest the north,
Liebenstein to the south. A wooden bridge leads from one to the other,
but a high wall called the Schildmauer was in the old days reared
between them, obviously wi