“Those who see him for the first time, see him for the last time also.” “Hush!” said old Olly; “they say there are but three persons who ever exchanged human speech with him,--that reprobate of a Spiagudry, Widow Stadt, and--but he had a sad life and a sad death--that poor Gill, who lies yonder. Hush!” “Hush!” was repeated on all sides. “Now,” suddenly exclaimed the soldier, “I am sure that this is indeed Captain Dispolsen. I recognize the steel chain which our prisoner, old Schumacker, gave him when he went away.” The young man with the black plume broke the silence abruptly: “Are you sure it is Captain Dispolsen?” “Sure, by the merits of Saint Beelzebub!” said the soldier. The young man left the room hurriedly. “Get me a boat for Munkholm,” he said to his servant. “But, the general, sir?” “Take the horses to him. I will follow to-morrow. Am I my own master, or not? Come, night is falling, and I am in haste. A boat!” The servant obeyed, and for some time stood watching his young master as he moved away from the shore. II. I will sit by you while you tell me some pleasant tale to pass away the time.--MATURIN: _Bertram._ The reader is already aware that we are at Throndhjem, one of the four chief cities in Norway, although not the residence of the viceroy. At the date of this story (1699) the kingdom of Norway was still united to Denmark, and governed by a viceroy whose seat was in Bergen, a larger, handsomer, and more southerly town than Throndhjem, in spite of the disagreeable nickname attached to it by the famous Admiral Tromp. Throndhjem offers a pleasant prospect as you approach it by the fjord to which the city gives its name. The harbor is quite large, although it cannot be entered easily in all weathers. At this time it resembled nothing so much as a long canal, lined on the right by Danish and Norwegian ships, and on the left by foreign vessels, as prescribed by law. In the background lay the town, situated on a well-cultivated plain, and crowned by the lofty spires of the cathedral. This church--one of the finest pieces of Gothic architecture, as we may judge from Professor Shoenning’s book, so learnedly quoted by Spiagudry, which describes it as it was before repeated fires had laid it waste--bore upon its highest pinnacle the episcopal cross, the distinctive sign that it was the cathedral of the Lutheran bishop of Throndhjem. Beyond the town, in the blue distance, were the slender white peaks of the Kiölen Mountains, like the sharp-pointed ornaments on an antique crown. In the middle of the harbor, within cannon-shot of the shore, upon a mass of rocks lashed by the waves, rose the lonely fortress of Munkholm, a gloomy prison which then held a prisoner celebrated for the splendor of his long prosperity and for his sudden disgrace.