the
floor.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG.

It must be clear to the dullest intellect (if amongst our readers we
dare venture to presume that a dull intellect should be found) that the
cause of the Margrave's fainting-fit, described in the last chapter,
was a groundless apprehension on the part of that too solicitous and
credulous nobleman regarding the fate of his beloved child. No, young
Otto was NOT drowned. Was ever hero of romantic story done to death so
early in the tale? Young Otto was NOT drowned. Had such been the case,
the Lord Margrave would infallibly have died at the close of the last
chapter; and a few gloomy sentences at its close would have denoted
how the lovely Lady Theodora became insane in the convent, and how Sir
Ludwig determined, upon the demise of the old hermit (consequent upon
the shock of hearing the news), to retire to the vacant hermitage, and
assume the robe, the beard, the mortifications of the late venerable and
solitary ecclesiastic. Otto was NOT drowned, and all those personages of
our history are consequently alive and well.

The boat containing the amazed young Count--for he knew not the cause of
his father's anger, and hence rebelled against the unjust sentence which
the Margrave had uttered--had not rowed many miles, when the gallant boy
rallied from his temporary surprise and despondency, and determined
not to be a slave in any convent of any order: determined to make a
desperate effort for escape. At a moment when the men were pulling hard
against the tide, and Kuno, the coxswain, was looking carefully to
steer the barge between some dangerous rocks and quicksands which are
frequently met with in the majestic though dangerous river, Otto gave
a sudden spring from the boat, and with one single flounce was in the
boiling, frothing, swirling eddy of the stream.

Fancy the agony of the crew at the disappearance of their young lord!
All loved him; all would have given their lives for him; but as they
did not know how to swim, of course they declined to make any useless
plunges in search of him, and stood on their oars in mute wonder and
grief. ONCE, his fair head and golden ringlets were seen to arise from
the water; TWICE, puffing and panting, it appeared for an instant again;
THRICE, it rose but for one single moment: it was the last chance, and
it sunk, sunk, sunk. Knowing the reception they would meet with from
their liege lord, the men naturally did not go home