his master's eye than it started violently and refused to move. Then
the knight dismounted, and tying his now rearing steed to an elm, he
pushed his way on foot through the brushwood.

Thunder began to rumble around the mountains, and the evening dew fell
cold and damp on the anxious knight.

He could still see the white figure lying on the ground, but as he
drew nearer to it a strange dread struck at Huldbrand's heart.

'Was Bertalda asleep,' he wondered, 'or did she lie there unconscious,
perchance even dead?'

He was close to her now, bending over her. She never stirred. He
rustled the branches, rattled his sword. Still she lay there quiet,
motionless. He called her by her name, 'Bertalda!' but no voice
answered him. He called again, more loud, 'Bertalda!' but only a
sorrowful echo answered his cry.

Then the knight bent nearer yet to the maiden, but darkness hid the
face on which he longed to gaze.

Suddenly the whole valley was bright as at mid-day. A vivid flash of
lightning showed to Huldbrand the face over which he bent.

It was a terrible face. And a voice, awful as the face, rang out harsh
and hollow.

With a cry of terror the knight sprang away from the horrid vision.
But was it a vision? Huldbrand knew that it was creeping after him,