otary-public
present," slowly gasped the knight, the film of dissolution glazing
over his eyes, "I would ask--you--two--gentlemen to witness it. I would
gladly--sign the deposition--that is, if I could wr-wr-wr-wr-ite!" A
faint shuddering smile--a quiver, a gasp, a gurgle--the blood gushed
from his mouth in black volumes . . . .

"He will never sin more," said the hermit, solemnly.

"May heaven assoilzie him!" said Sir Ludwig. "Hermit, he was a gallant
knight. He died with harness on his back and with truth on his lips:
Ludwig of Hombourg would ask no other death. . . . ."

An hour afterwards the principal servants at the Castle of Godesberg
were rather surprised to see the noble Lord Louis trot into the
court-yard of the castle, with a companion on the crupper of his saddle.
'Twas the venerable hermit of Rolandseck, who, for the sake of greater
celerity, had adopted this undignified conveyance, and whose appearance
and little dumpy legs might well create hilarity among the "pampered
menials" who are always found lounging about the houses of the great.
He skipped off the saddle with considerable lightness however; and Sir
Ludwig, taking the reverend man by the arm and frowning the jeering
servitors into awe, bade one of them lead him to the presence of his
Highness the Margrave.

"What has chanced?" said the inquisitive servitor. "The riderless
horse of Sir Gottfried was seen to gallop by the outer wall anon. The
Margrave's Grace has never quitted your lordship's chamber, and sits as
one distraught."

"Hold thy prate, knave, and lead us on!" And so saying, the Knight and
his Reverence moved into the well-known apartment, where, according to
the servitor's description, the wretched Margrave sat like a stone.

Ludwig took one of the kind broken-hearted man's hands, the hermit
seized the other, and began (but on account of his great age, with a
prolixity which we shall not endeavor to imitate) to narrate the events
which we have already described. Let the dear reader fancy, while his
Reverence speaks, the glazed eyes of the Margrave gradually lighting up
with attention; the flush of joy which mantles in his countenance--the
start--the throb--the almost delirious outburst of hysteric exultation
with which, when the whole truth was made known, he clasped the two
messengers of glad tidings to his breast, with an energy that almost
choked the aged recluse! "Ride, ride this instant to the Margravine--say
I have wronged h