At last the carriage appeared. The villagers and hangers on of the
establishment hurrahed in the court yard as it drew up, the old butler
applied the match to the priming of the swivel and was prostrated by
the discharge, while the baron came near tumbling over his sword in
his eagerness to welcome his old friend and his old friend's daughter.

The Baron Von Steinberg alighted and bowed his thanks; while Captain
Rudolph handed out the lovely Julia. As her light foot touched the
pavement, Adelaide advanced to offer a bouquet; at one glance she
appreciated the exquisite beauty of her rival, and dropping the
flowers, retired to an obscure corner of the court yard to conceal her
anguish and despair.

The festive train swept into the castle. All was gayety and uproar
within doors. The baron could scarce contain the transports of his
joy; and Von Steinberg was equally excited. The excitement, however,
seemed to be too much for the fair Julia, whose cheek was paler than
the satin robe she wore, while Rudolph, perhaps from sympathy, was
uneasy and agitated.

At last the bell of the castle was rung for dinner, and the party
proceeded to the great hall. But Adelaide did not make her appearance.
Search was made for her; she was not in her apartment. An angry flush
overspread the brow of old Rosenburg at this announcement, and after
some minutes passed in waiting for her appearance, he ordered dinner
to be served without her. The repast was not a very gay one,
notwithstanding the efforts of the master of the house to make it so.
Night had long fallen, and Adelaide did not reappear. The family, from
being vexed, now became alarmed, and it was determined to go in search
of her. Rudolph and the baron went forth with two servants and torches