the door and, to their great joy, found
Grein alive, though wounded and much shaken. They bore him triumphantly
through the town, first crowning his hastily improvised litter with
flowers and laurels.

As for the monks, their priestly garb could not protect their persons
from the wrath of the mob, and they were hanged at the gate of the
monastery, which thereafter became known as the 'Priests' Gate.'

The White Horses

The year 1440 was a memorable one throughout Germany, for the great
plague raged with fearful violence, leaving blanks in many families
hitherto unvisited by death. Among the victims was Richmodis, the
beloved wife of Sir Aducht of Cologne, who deeply mourned her loss.
The lady was buried with a valuable ring--her husband's gift--upon
her finger; this excited the cupidity of the sextons, who, resolved to
obtain possession of it, opened the tomb in the night and wrenched off
the coffin-lid. Their difficulties, however, were not at an end, for
when they tried to possess themselves of the ring it resolutely adhered
to the finger of the corpse.

Suddenly, to their horror, the dead body gently raised itself, with
a deep sigh, as though the soul of Richmodis regarded this symbol of
wifely duty as sacred, and would resist the efforts of the thieves to
take it from her.

The dark and hollow eyes opened and met those of the desecrators, and
a threatening light seemed to come from them. At this ghastly sight the
terrified sextons fled in abject panic.

Richmodis recovered by degrees, and gradually realizing where she was,
she concluded that she must have been buried while alive. In her terror
she cried aloud for help. But nobody could hear her; it was the lone
hour of midnight, when all nature reposes.

Summoning strength, she resolved to make an effort to go to the husband
who had placed the ring upon her finger, and getting out of the coffin,
she made her way shivering toward their home.

The wind moaned dismally through the trees, and their foliage cast dark,
spectral shadows that swayed fitfully to and fro in the weird light of
the waning moon as Richmodis staggered along feebly, absorbed in the
melancholy thoughts which her terrible experience suggested.

Not a sound, save the soughing of the wind, was heard within God's
peaceful acre, for over the wrecks of Time Silence lay motionless in the
arms of Death.

The moon's pale rays illumined the buildings when Richmodis arrived
at her house in the N