e more pungent
fragrance of dewy grass and leafage. Directly in front of the building
extended a lawn, with beds of flowers, on which the moonlight poured a
sort of filmy glimmering mist, which gave the green grass and the
bright hues of the flower-beds a light, silvery veil. Beyond the lawn,
on all sides, towered the trees of the park, intersected by broad
paths, through which the moonbeams flowed like a gleaming white stream
between steep black banks. At the end of the central avenue appeared
the Main, flowing in a broad, calm stream, with here and there a noisy,
troubled spot in the midst of its peacefully-gliding waves, where a
rock or a sand-bar interrupted the mirror-like expanse, and caused a
rushing, foam-sprinkled whirlpool. Beyond the river, amid the light,
floating night-mists, were dimly seen the houses of a little village,
on whose window-panes a moonbeam often flashed, and at the left of the
park rose the indistinct mass of the city of Marktbreit, whose steep,
narrow streets were filled with shadows, while above the steeples and
higher roofs the moon-rays rippled, bringing them out in bright relief
against the dark picture.

PART II.

The spell of this moonlight night mounted to the heads of the two
silent watchers on the balcony like an intoxicating draught, and sent
cold chills down their spines. Almost without being aware what he was
doing, Bergmann offered Ada his arm, which she accepted, leaning
against him with a gentle, clinging movement of her whole figure.
There they stood, letting their dreamy eyes wander over the woods, the
river, and the city. They would have forgotten the castle and the
entertainment had not the subdued notes of the dance music reached them
from the ball-room, whose windows opened upon the balcony on the
opposite side of the facade, filling the night with low harmonies which
were continued in the vibrations of their own nerves.

At this moment the clock in the Marktbreit steeple struck twelve,
directly after the sound of a night watchman's horn was heard, and a
wailing voice, rising in the sleeping streets of the city, called a few
unintelligible words.

"What was that?" Ada whispered.

"The night watchman, according to the custom of the country, called the
hour with a verse," replied Bergmann. A few minutes later the call was
repeated, this time nearer, and so distinctly that it could be
understood. The night watchman, with mournful emphasis, sung:

"Twelv