which enveloped it was never dispersed. The lady Agatha,
however, seemed oppressed with a ceaseless gloom; in a short time she
devoted herself entirely to seclusion, and in a year after her marriage,
expired in giving birth to a son. The demeanour of Rudolf was most
strange on this occasion. He had apparently a weight on his mind, which
seemed to increase with dissipation, when he devoted his time to hunting
and nightly revels, with a band of choice friends and dependents. Time,
however, which blunts the edge of the keenest misfortunes, seemed to
restore him to his former self.

Years passed away. Some time before the commencement of this legend, the
Baron lost his path whilst hunting, and was benighted in the forest.
After much fatigue, he was attracted by a light amongst trees which he
found to proceed from a low building. It was in a state of extreme
dilapidation, though a sort of wing appeared to have been recently
tenanted. His knocks for admittance not having been answered, he lifted
up the latch and boldly entered. Nothing greeted his sight save the
almost extinguished remains of a fire. The apartment was lone and
destitute of furniture. Having bestowed Hans as well as he could,
he laid himself on the floor; while he felt an extreme chillness of
spirits, which he endeavoured in vain to shake off; he was soon buried
in sleep.

He was awakened by a noise resembling the strokes of many hammers.
He conceived his senses must be wandering, for he found that he was
at the entrance of the amphitheatre of rocks near the dwelling of the
_solitaire_. The same group of figures appeared, and it was not long
before a voice, which he knew to be that of Heidelberger, slowly
repeated the following chant:--

Woe to him who dares intrude
Upon our midnight solitude!
Woe to him whose faith is broken--
Better he had never spoken.
'Ere twelve moons shall pass away,
Thou wilt he beneath our sway.
Drear the doom, and dark the fate
Of him who rashly dares our hate!

Deceive me once, I tell thee never
Shall thy soul and body sever!
Under the greenwood wilt thou lie,
Nor shall thou there unheeded die.
Mortal, thou my vengeance brave,
Thou had'st better seen thy grave.
Drear the doom, and dark the fate
Of him who rashly dares our hate!

Meanwhile the Baron had sunk into a state of insensibility. When he
awoke from his trance it was broad daylight, and the birds were singing
merrily around the rui