nd good
taste, he quitted her bower, assuring her as he went that she should
become the bride of Kurt on the morrow.

Gerda spent a miserable night sitting by the dying fire in her chamber,
planning how she might escape from the detested Kurt, until at last her
wearied brain refused to work and she fell into a troubled slumber. In
the morning she was awakened by her handmaiden, who, greatly concerned
for her mistress, had spent the night in prayer. But Gerda's tears had
fled with the morning, and she resolved, come what might, to refuse
to the last to wed with the hateful Kurt. She learned that Kuno had
attempted to assault the castle during the night with the object of
carrying her off, but that he had been repulsed with some loss to his
small force. This made her only the more determined to persist in her
resistance to his uncle.

Meantime the vassals and retainers of the house of Rheinstein had been
summoned to the castle to attend the approaching ceremony, and their
gay apparel now shone and glittered in the sunshine. The sound of pipe,
tabour, and psaltery in melodious combination arose from the valley, and
all hearts, save one, were happy. The gates were thrown open, and the
bridal procession formed up to proceed to the ancient church where the
unhappy Gerda was to be sacrificed to Kurt. First came a crowd of serfs,
men, women, and children, all shouting in joyful anticipation of the
wedding feast. Then followed the vassals and retainers of the Lord of
Rheinstein, according to their several degrees, and, last, the principal
actors in the shameful ceremony, Kurt, surrounded by his retainers, and
the Lord of Rheinstein with the luckless Gerda. The mellow tones of the
bell of St. Clement mingled sweetly with the sound of the flute and the
pipe and the merry voices of the wedding throng. Gerda, mounted upon her
spirited Limousin steed, the gift of Kuno, shuddered as she felt Kurt's
eyes resting upon her, and she cast a despairing glance at the tower of
Kuno's castle, where, disconsolate and heavy of heart, he watched the
bridal procession from the highest turret.

The procession halted at the portal of the church, and all dismounted
save Gerda. She was approached by the bridegroom, who with an air of
leering gallantry offered her his assistance in alighting. At this
moment swarms of gadflies rested on the flanks of the Limousin steed,
and the spirited beast, stung to madness by the flies, reared, plunged,
and broke