knight, without permitting a single servant to accompany her.

The Black Valley lies secluded far among the mountains. What its
present name may be I am unable to say. At the time of which I am
speaking, the country-people gave it this appellation from the deep
obscurity produced by the shadows of lofty trees, more especially by
a crowded growth of firs that covered this region of moorland. Even
the brook, which bubbled between the rocks, assumed the same dark
hue, and showed nothing of that cheerful aspect which streams are
wont to wear that have the blue sky immediately over them.

It was now the dusk of evening; and between the heights it had become
extremely wild and gloomy. The knight, in great anxiety, skirted the
border of the brook. He was at one time fearful that, by delay, he
should allow the fugitive to advance too far before him; and then
again, in his too eager rapidity, he was afraid he might somewhere
overlook and pass by her, should she be desirous of concealing
herself from his search. He had in the meantime penetrated pretty
far into the valley, and might hope soon to overtake the maiden,
provided he were pursuing the right track. The fear, indeed, that he
might not as yet have gained it, made his heart beat with more and
more of anxiety. In the stormy night which was now approaching, and
which always fell more fearfully over this valley, where would the
delicate Bertalda shelter herself, should he fail to find her? At
last, while these thoughts were darting across his mind, he saw
something white glimmer through the branches on the ascent of the
mountain. He thought he recognized Bertalda's robe; and he directed
his course towards it. But his horse refused to go forward; he
reared with a fury so uncontrollable, and his master was so unwilling
to lose a moment, that (especially as he saw the thickets were