"But on the wedding eve," interrupted Albrecht, somewhat abruptly, "no one gives a ring to the bride save only her betrothed. All in good season, Herr Frederich, she will doubtless be glad to wear thy ring, but to-night it is mine that must fetter her." As he spoke, he leaned forward, and took the carbuncle ring from the hand of Erna, who was about to slip it on her slender finger, and before any one could object or protest he had thrust it into the embroidered pouch by his side, and had in its place produced a second ring in which blazed a ruby so splendid that it seemed to emit sparks of fire. Across the face of Von Zimmern shot a glance of baffled rage and anger so fierce that the priest, who alone caught sight of it, shuddered and secretly crossed himself under his robe; but it was gone as quickly as it came, and Herr Frederich smiled as he said: "My gems must needs be poor beside yours, my master, but the ring had powers which made it not unworthy the acceptance of the bride." "Do not I know its power?" responded Albrecht, gayly. "There is time enough for the proving of its might without troubling the bridal therewith." As he spoke, he put the glowing ruby on the white finger of his betrothed, and raising the hand to his lips, he kissed it fervently. "Body of Saint Fridolin!" exclaimed Lady Adelaide, "what a gem! It is like a coal of fire. It is worth a king's ransom." "It is not rich enough to be worthy of the hand that graces it," Albrecht cried joyously. Then, without waiting for further speech, he suddenly caught up a lute which lay upon the broad ledge of the open window, and after a few notes by way of prelude burst out into this song: "My love has eyes like the roe, And a voice like the wood-dove's call; While her bosom is white as the snow Of the foam on the torrent's fall. Fine her hair as the mist By the sun golden kissed, And my heart she holds in its thrall. "My love has lips like the glow Of rubies red from the mine; And her glances thrill me so For her I'd life resign. For their fire makes my heart Wake to tremble and start, With a passion no words may divine. "My love has a throat like the swan That haunts the river reeds; Not shapelier the dappled fawn That feeds in the flower-set meads. When I clasp her, no bliss Has all earth like her kiss, No sweetness her sweetness exceeds!" The effect of these ardent verses upon the company was apparently rather one of astonishment than of admiration. The Lady Adelaide simpered and assumed an expression of virtuous disapproval; Herr von Zimmern laughed significantly and openly; while a look of pain came over the face of Father Christopher. "It is a ballad rather for the singing of an effeminate and sensual Southron," he said, "than for the brave and virtuous lips of a Northern knight."