a word to him about
it. Then, in a whisper, he said to me:

"If you intend to go elsewhere, the people needn't know everything."

I let him have his own way.

I looked for the place where I had wandered at that time. There--there
was the rock--and on it a cross, bearing, in golden characters, the
inscription:

Here perished
IRMA, COUNTESS VON WILDENORT,
In the twenty-first year
of her life.
_Traveler, pray for her and honor her memory._

* * *

I know not how long I lay there. When I revived there were several
people busying themselves about me, and, among them, my little
pitchman, who was quite violent in expressing his grief.

I was able to walk to the inn. My little pitchman said to the people:

"My niece isn't used to walking so far. She sits in her room all the
year round. She's a wood-carver, and a mighty clever one, too."

The people were all kind to me. Guests were constantly coming and
going. Some of them told the little pitchman that the beautiful
monument out yonder was a great advantage to the inn; that, during the
summer, it was visited by hundreds of persons; and that, every year, a
nun from the convent came there, attended by another nun, and prayed at
the cross.

"And who put up the monument?" asked the little pitchman.

"The brother of the unfortunate one."

"No, it was the king," said others.

The conversation often dropped off, but always began again anew.

Some said that the place must be haunted, for a beautiful creature
known as Black Esther had drowned herself at the same time. She was a
daughter of Zenza, who was now crazed and lived on the other side of
the lake; and who could tell whether the beautiful lady--for she was
very beautiful--hadn't drowned herself, too. To this the hostess
angrily answered that the countess had had many gold chains and
diamonds about her, and a diamond star on her forehead; that the horse
which had thrown her had been seen; that her brother had wanted to
shoot the horse, but it had been bewitched and, from that day, would
eat nothing and at last dropped down dead. Others said that the
Countess's father had commanded her to drown herself, and that she had
been an obedient child and had done so.

Thus I had a glimpse of a legend in process of formation.

"And why was the father supposed to have co