stalwart young fellow who was heir to all the Greifenstein property.

In the month of July Greif was to come home from the University, and
immediately afterwards Hilda and her mother were to come over for
their half-yearly visit. The ancient place where this family meeting
was convened was so unlike most castles as to deserve a word of
description.

The Swabian Black Forest is literally black, save when the winter snow
is heavy on the branches of the huge trees and lies in drifts beneath
them, covering the soft carpet of fir needles to the depth of many
feet. The landscape is extremely melancholy and in many parts is
absolutely monotonous. At intervals of several miles the rock juts
suddenly out of the forest, generally at places where the Nagold, more
a torrent than a river, makes a sharp bend. Many of these steep and
stony promontories are crowned by ancient strongholds, chiefly in
ruins, though a very few are still in repair and are inhabited by their
owners. The name of Greifenstein will not be found on any map of the
district, but those who know that wild and unfrequented country will
recognise the spot. The tumbling stream turns upon itself at a sharp
angle, swirling round the base of a precipitous and wedge-like cliff.
So steep are the sides that they who chose the summit for a fortress
saw no need of building any protection, save one gigantic wall which
bestrides the wedge of rock, thus cutting off a triangular platform,
between the massive bulwark and the two precipices that meet at the
apex of the figure. This single fortification is a solid piece of
masonry, enormously thick and of great height; its two extremities
being surmounted by pointed towers, connected by a covered walk along
the top of the wall, which, even at that height, is fully six feet wide
and nearly a hundred in length. This was the rampart behind which the