does it now come to pass, that these very arms, which have so
long been laid aside, should be brought to you for the decisive hour of
your life! To me, as far as my short-sighted human wisdom can tell,--to
me it seems truly a very solemn token, but one full of high and glorious
promise."

Sintram stood now in complete array, composed and stately, and, from his
tall slender figure, might have been taken for a youth, had not the deep
lines of care which furrowed his countenance shown him to be advanced in
years.

"Who has placed boughs on the head of my war-horse?" asked Sintram
of the esquires, with displeasure. "I am not a conqueror, nor a
wedding-guest. And besides, there are no boughs now but those red and
yellow crackling oak-leaves, dull and dead like the season itself."

"Sir Knight, I know not myself," answered an esquire; "but it seemed to
me that it must be so."

"Let it be," said the chaplain. "I feel that this also comes as a token
full of meaning from the right source."

Then the knight threw himself into his saddle; the priest went beside
him; and they both rode slowly and silently towards Drontheim. The
faithful dog followed his master. When the lofty castle of Drontheim
appeared in sight, a gentle smile spread itself over Sintram's
countenance, like sunshine over a wintry valley. "God has done great
things for me," said he. "I once rushed from here, a fearfully wild boy;
I now come back a penitent man. I trust that it will yet go well with my
poor troubled life."

The chaplain assented kindly, and soon afterwards the travellers passed
under the echoing vaulted gateway into the castle-yard. At a sign from
the priest, the retainers approached with respectful haste, and took
charge of the horse; then he and Sintram went through long winding
passages and up many steps to the remote chamber which the chaplain
had chosen for himself; far away from the noise of men, and near to the
clouds and the stars. There the two passed a quiet day in devout prayer,
and earnest reading of Holy Scripture.

When the evening began to close in, the chaplain arose and said: "And
now, my knight, get ready thy horse, and mount and ride back again to
thy father's castle. A toilsome way lies before thee, and I dare not go
with you. But I can and will call upon the Lord for you all through the
long fearful night. O beloved instrument of the Most High, thou wilt yet
not be lost!"

Thrilling with strange forebodings, but nevert