give him time, amongst the lofty beauties he will gaze upon in a
far country, to forget, Otho, that he once loved her who is the beloved
of thee."

The old chief applauded this delicacy; and even Otho, in the first
flush of his feelings towards his brother, did not venture to oppose
it. They settled, then, that the marriage should take place at the end
of a year.

Months rolled away, and an absent and moody gloom settled upon Otho's
brow. In his excursions with his gay companions among the neighbouring
towns he heard of nothing but the glory of the Crusaders, of the homage
paid to the heroes of the Cross at the courts they visited, of the
adventures of their life, and the exciting spirit that animated their
war. In fact, neither minstrel nor priest suffered the theme to grow
cold; and the fame of those who had gone forth to the holy strife gave
at once emulation and discontent to the youths who remained behind.

"And my brother enjoys this ardent and glorious life," said the
impatient Otho; "while I, whose arm is as strong, and whose heart is as
bold, languish here listening to the dull tales of a hoary sire and the
silly songs of an orphan girl." His heart smote him at the last
sentence, but he had already begun to weary of the gentle love of
Leoline. Perhaps when he had no longer to gain a triumph over a rival
the excitement palled; or perhaps his proud spirit secretly chafed at
being conquered by his brother in generosity, even when outshining him
in the success of love.

But poor Leoline, once taught that she was to consider Otho her
betrothed, surrendered her heart entirely to his control. His wild
spirit, his dark beauty, his daring valour, won while they awed her;
and in the fitfulness of his nature were those perpetual springs of
hope and fear that are the fountains of ever-agitated love. She saw
with increasing grief the change that was growing over Otho's mind; nor
did she divine the cause. "Surely I have not offended him?" thought
she.

Among the companions of Otho was one who possessed a singular sway over
him. He was a knight of that mysterious order of the Temple, which
exercised at one time so great a command over the minds of men.

A severe and dangerous wound in a brawl with an English knight had
confined the Templar at Frankfort, and prevented his joining the
Crusade. During his slow recovery he had formed an intimacy with Otho,
and, taking up his residence at the castle of Liebenstei