now help himself, even if he had the will to do so. Day after day the same scene of desolation presented itself to his eyes, night after night did the same cheerless chamber present itself to his view. It was his own doing. That he could not deny, and bitterly he rued it. To crown his helplessness and misery, his vassals and domestic servants abandoned him by degrees, one after another, and at last he was left entirely alone in the house of his fathers--a hermit in that most dismal of all solitudes, the desolate scene of one's childish, one's happiest recollections. One evening about twilight, as he sat at the outer gate, looking sadly on the broad, bright river which flowed calmly beneath, he became aware of the presence of a stranger, who seemed to toil wearily up the steep acclivity on the summit of which the castle is situated. The stranger--an unusual sight within those walls then--soon reached the spot where Ulric sat, and, greeting the youth in the fashion of the times, prayed him for shelter during the night, and refreshment after his most painful journey. "I am," quoth the stranger, "a poor pilgrim on my way to Cologne, where, by the merits of the three wise kings--to whose shrine I am bound--I hope to succeed in the object of my journey." Graf Ulric von Rheineck at once accorded him the hospitality he required, for though he had but scant cheer for himself, and nought of comfort to bestow, he had still some of the feeling of a gentleman left in him. "I am alone here now," said he to the pilgrim, with a deep sigh. "I am myself as poor as Job. Would it were not so! My menials have left me to provide for themselves, as I can no longer provide for them. 'Twas ever the way of the world, and I blame them not for it. The last departed yesterday. He was an old favourite of my father's, and he once thought that he would not leave my service but with his life. We must now look to ourselves, however,--at least so he said. But that has nothing to do with the matter, so enter, my friend." They entered. By their joint exertions a simple evening meal was soon made ready, and speedily spread forth on a half-rotten plank, their only table. "I have no better to offer you," observed the young Count, "but I offer you what I have with right goodwill. Eat, if you can, and be merry." They ate in silence, neither speaking during the meal. "Surely," said the pilgrim, when it was over,--"surely it may not be that the extensive cellars of this great castle contain not a single cup of wine for the weary wayfarer." The Count was at once struck by the idea. It seemed to him as if he had never thought of it before, though in reality he had ransacked every corner of the cellars more than once. "Come, let us go together and try," continued the pilgrim; "it will go hard with us if we find nought to wash down our homely fare."