Old Ursela seemed nearer to the boy than anyone else about the
castle, excepting it was his father, and it was a newfound
delight to Otto to sit beside her and listen to her quaint
stories, so different from the monkish tales that he had heard
and read at the monastery.

But one day it was a tale of a different sort that she told him,
and one that opened his eyes to what he had never dreamed of
before.

The mellow sunlight fell through the window upon old Ursela, as
she sat in the warmth with her distaff in her hands while Otto
lay close to her feet upon a bear skin, silently thinking over
the strange story of a brave knight and a fiery dragon that she
had just told him. Suddenly Ursela broke the silence.

"Little one," said she, "thou art wondrously like thy own dear
mother; didst ever hear how she died?"

Nay," said Otto, "but tell me, Ursela, how it was."

"Tis strange," said the old woman, "that no one should have told
thee in all this time." And then, in her own fashion she related
to him the story of how his father had set forth upon that
expedition in spite of all that Otto's mother had said,
beseeching him to abide at home; how he had been foully wounded,
and how the poor lady had died from her fright and grief.

Otto listened with eyes that grew wider and wider, though not
all with wonder; he no longer lay upon the bear skin, but sat up