spite of bridle and spur, struck to the side, and
swept along the skirts of the forest, without touching so much as with
a hoof the gloomy-looking heath. Accustomed to the surrounding
darkness, the eye of Bolko was at length able to discern--not without
a creeping of horror--the ruddy and unsteady reed-grass. The moor and
the Gold Spring were on one side of him. Pale stripes of fog, like
ribbed vaults, were spread above him, giving a sacredness to the air,
with which all other things strangely contrasted. The mind of Bolko,
against his will, reverted to Auriola; his heart beat, as though he
were conscious of a heavy fault--of some inhuman crime. He turned his
gaze from the moor, and, with an effort, directed it towards the dark
forest, to which the horse galloped at full speed.

"The words, 'BE CONSTANT!' fell loudly and articulately upon the ears
of Bolko--uttered in a tone rather of supplication than of demand or
threatening. He turned his horse's head in terror, and--oh amazement!
sitting at the edge of the fountain, covered with a bright veil,
hemmed with diamonds, was--Auriola! Her fair and loosened hair,
encompassed, as at their first meeting, her entire body, and
glittering, curled along the ground. Her right hand was stretched high
above her lovely head, holding between forefinger and thumb the ring
with which the already inconstant Bolko had espoused her.

"'BE CONSTANT!' The words re-echoed from the moor: the streaks of fog
descended. Over the maiden's head beamed forth a shining spot--gaining
in size, and forming itself into a picture. Bolko, shuddering, beheld
the second vision of Auriola's enchantment, and looked upon himself as
he had burst a few minutes before upon the moor.

"Auriola beckoned to the youth, and pointed to the picture. Then once
again, more melancholy, more mournfully, more entreatingly upon the
distracted ears of Bolko came--the repeated cry of admonition--'BE
CONSTANT!'

"The youth galloped for his life. He reached his home paler than
death, and refused to be comforted even by the wisdom of his
preceptor.

"From this time, Bolko ceased to visit the moor in search of Auriola.
The daughter of earth had inspired him with a love that admitted of no
commingling of affection. Memory however, refused to lose sight of
her. It obtruded her form upon him, the more determinedly he
endeavoured to thrust it from his mind by dwelling upon the charms of
his Emma. He repeated his visit at the cast