day. But the escape
of the fallen knight's horse is the cream of this chapter. "Away, ay,
away!--away amid the green vineyards and golden cornfields; away up the
steep mountains, where he frightened the eagles in their eyries; away
down the clattering ravines, where the flashing cataracts tumble; away
through the dark pine-forests, where the hungry wolves are howling; away
over the dreary wolds, where the wild wind walks alone; away through the
splashing quagmires, where the will-o'-the wisp slunk frightened among
the reeds; away through light and darkness, storm and sunshine; away by
tower and town, highroad and hamlet.... Brave horse! gallant steed!
snorting child of Araby! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers,
turnpikes, applewomen; and never stopped until he reached a
livery-stable in Cologne, where his master was accustomed to put him
up!"

The conquered knight, Sir Gottfried, of course reveals the truth. This
Hildebrandt is no more than the lady's brother,--as it happened a
brother in disguise,--and hence the likeness. Wicked knights when they
die always divulge their wicked secrets, and this knight Gottfried does
so now. Sir Ludwig carries the news home to the afflicted husband and
father; who of course instantly sends off messengers for his wife and
son. The wife won't come. All she wants is to have her dresses and
jewels sent to her. Of so cruel a husband she has had enough. As for the
son, he has jumped out of a boat on the Rhine, as he was being carried
to his monastery, and was drowned!

But he was not drowned, but had only dived. "The gallant boy swam on
beneath the water, never lifting his head for a single moment between
Godesberg and Cologne; the distance being twenty-five or thirty miles."

Then he becomes an archer, dressed in green from head to foot. How it
was is all told in the story; and he goes to shoot for a prize at the
Castle of Adolf the Duke of Cleeves. On his way he shoots a raven
marvellously,--almost as marvellously as did Robin Hood the twig in
Ivanhoe. Then one of his companions is married, or nearly married, to
the mysterious "Lady of Windeck,"--would have been married but for Otto,
and that the bishop and dean, who were dragged up from their long-ago
graves to perform the ghostly ceremony, were prevented by the ill-timed
mirth of a certain old canon of the church named Schidnischmidt. The
reader has to read the name out long before he recognises an old friend.
But this of the L