nun listened and in the end, overcome by his
fervour, consented to his wishes.

So one night, under cover of the darkness, she stole from the sheltering
convent, forgetting her vows in the arms of her lover. Then for a while
she knew a guilty happiness, but even this was of short duration, for
the knight soon tired and grew cold toward her. At length she was left
alone, scorned and sorrowful, a prey to misery, while her betrayer rode
off in search of other loves and gaieties, spreading abroad as he went
the story of his conquest and his desertion.

When the injured woman learned the true character of her lover her love
changed to a frenzied hate. Her whole being became absorbed in a
desire for revenge, her thoughts by day being occupied by schemes for
compassing his death, her dreams by night being reddened by his blood.
At last she plotted with a band of ruffians, promising them great
rewards if they would assassinate her enemy. They agreed and, waylaying
the noble, stabbed him fatally in the name of the woman he had wronged
and slighted, then, carrying the hacked body into the village church,
they flung it at the foot of the altar.

That night the nun, in a passion of insensate fury, stole into the holy
place. Down the length of the church she dragged her lover's corpse,
and out into the graveyard, tearing open his body and plucking his heart
therefrom with a fell purpose that never wavered. With a shriek she
flung it on the ground and trampled upon it in a ruthlessness of hate
terrible to contemplate.

And the legend goes on to tell that after her death she still pursued
her lover with unquenchable hatred. It is said that when the midnight
bell is tolling she may yet be seen seeking his tomb, from which she
lifts a bloody heart. She gazes on it with eyes aflame, then, laughing
with hellish glee, flings it three times toward the skies, only to let
it fall to earth, where she treads it beneath her feet, while from
her thick white veil runnels of blood pour down and all around dreary
death-lights burn and shed a ghastly glow upon the awful spectre.

Ingelheim: Charlemagne the Robber

Among the multitude of legends which surround the name of Charlemagne
there can hardly be found a quainter or more interesting one than that
which has for a background the old town of Ingelheim (Angel's Home),
where at one time the Emperor held his court.

It is said that one night when Charlemagne had retired to rest he was
distur