Twenty years have passed since a boy and girl walked sadly side by side on the banks of the Thames one sweet spring evening. It is autumn now, and the slanting rays of a setting sun are gilding the vine-clad hills of the Rhine. The castles which in these days delight the traveller by their picturesque ruins, were, at the time of which we are speaking, in their glory, and frowned down on the peaceful water from many a lofty summit. The peasants are gathering in the vintage, and yonder, slowly climbing the hill toward a great building, whose turrets, catching the latest beams, seem burnished with gold, is a heavy cart laden with the rich purple clusters, and surrounded by a group of women and children, who are urging on the patient oxen with shouts and songs. This has been a wonderfully abundant year. The great granaries of the owner of the valley are bursting with corn, and the vines are bending with their luscious load. Nor is there one who does not rejoice in their master’s prosperity; for far and near, high and low, all love and honor the baron of Arnstein--Geoffrey the Good. It is true that some say he is only an adventurer, who had landed a penniless exile on their shores, and who owed all his present fortune to his sword and his sovereign’s favor; but none dare say that his wealth and power have not been fairly and nobly won, and generously and justly used. He had not gone far in the path of military glory and ambition; but soon quitting the court and the field, he he had settled down on his estate, and contented himself with governing his people, and attending to their welfare. The vintage-cart has mounted higher and higher, and now it has turned into a court, and is depositing its load. Farther on, in an inner court, where a porch opens into the great castle-hall, stands the lord and master; and the peasants pay him their respects with many an awkward but sincere reverence. He is a fine, hale, sunburnt man. A few silver hairs are to be seen in his dark curls and heavy beard; but his martial air and stalwart form proclaim him in the prime of life. He is leaning with one shoulder against the doorway, and the other arm is thrown round a rosy little lady, very matronly in her cap and plaited kerchief, but showing, in her twinkling eyes and dimpled mouth, much of the roguish spirit which characterized the Lady Katharine Hyde of yore. She looks rather too stout and portly to flit about by night as a convent ghost; but it will be very wonderful if that small image of her, now engaged in teasing an old wolf-hound, should arrive at the age of discretion without some mischievous adventure.