cle. He likewise rose, and
Ursula followed him. Forthwith, from without came a strange noise of
footsteps to and fro and many voices. A serving man came to hail forth
Master Ebner and Uncle Tucher, and the muttering and stir without waxed
louder and louder. The guests sat in silence, gazing and enquiring of
each other. Somewhat strange, and for certain somewhat evil, had
befallen.

My heart beat in my temples like the clapper of an alarm-bell. That which
was going forward, and to which one after another was called forth, was
my concern; it must be, and mine alone. I felt I could not longer keep my
place, and I had pushed back my seat when I saw Uncle Tucher standing by
Cousin Maud, and his kind and worthy face, still ruddy from the wine he
had drunk, was a very harbinger of horror and woe. He bent over my cousin
to speak in her ear.

My eyes were fixed on his lips, and lo! she, my second mother, started up
hastily as any young thing and, clasping her hand to her breast she
well-nigh screamed: "Jesu-Maria! And Margery!"

All grew dark before my eyes. A purple mist shrouded the table, the
company, and all I beheld. I shut my eyes, and when presently I opened
them once more, close before me, as it were within reach, behold the
yellow headstone with black letters thereon, as in my dream; and albeit I
closed my eyes again the name "Hans Haller" was yet there and the letters
faded not, nay, but waxed greater and came nigher, and meseemed were as a
row of gaping werewolves.

I held fast by the tall back of my heavy chair to save me from falling,
on my knees; but a firm hand thrust it aside, and I was clasped in a pair
of old yet strong arms to a faithful heart, and when I heard Cousin
Maud's voice in mine ear, though half-choked with tears, crying: "My
poor, poor, dear good Margery!" meseemed that somewhat melted in my heart
and gushed up to my eyes; and albeit none had told me, yet knew I of a
certainty that I was a widow or ever I was a wife, and that Cousin Maud's
tears and my own were shed, not for Herdegen, but for him, for him. . . .

And behold, face to face with me, who was this? Ursula stood before me,
her blue eyes drowned in tears--tears for me, telling me that my woe was
deep enough and bitter enough to grieve even the ruthless heart of my
enemy.

CHAPTER IV.

The storm had cleared the air once more. How fair smiled the blue sky,
how bright shone the sun, day after day and from morning till night; but