For some days a thick, heavy fog had shrouded {412}the castle and the old tower from top to bottom, so as to make the ascent utterly impossible. The simple laws of hospitality, required, therefore, that the lady should offer her castle to the newly arrived knight. The latter was handsome and of fine figure; his features beamed with bravery and intelligence; his white, delicate hands, exquisitely shaped, proved sufficiently that he was of noble descent; and his large retinue bespoke his high rank and large fortune. During three days he spent almost all his time with the young lady, but as yet he had not dared say a word of his love. She, however, felt herself gradually conquered by a feeling which had, until now, been unknown to her heart. When the dense veil of mist was at length torn aside, and the Kynast shone forth in its full splendor, she was on the point of telling the knight that she would not insist on the trial in his case; but what would her good friends, the noble ladies of the neighborhood, have said? When the moment came, the Lady of Kynast felt her heart fail her. She shut herself in, she wept, she cried, and although little given to prayers generally, she besought God to do a miracle in behalf of her knight. She could, however, hope very little from such a miracle, for in the meantime, loud clamors had been heard below, and as {413}she surely thought the spectators were bewailing the death of her last lover, she fainted away. [Illustration: 433] {415} Cries of joy and of triumph roused her again; the knight had successfully accomplished the task. Quite overcome, she rushes to meet him, and in her intense excitement and the depth of her passion, she forgets that all eyes are upon her, and breathlessly cries out: “My hand is yours.” But he draws himself up to his full height, and, haughtily and harshly he replies with a withering smile:-- “Have I ever asked you for your hand? I only came to avenge my two brothers, whom you have killed, and I have done it, for I do not love you, and you love me! Very well! Now you can die of your love, or of your shame, as you like it! Farewell, I am going back to Margaret, my darling, my wife!” The same evening the wretched lady had herself hoisted up to the top of the tower, from whence she wished, as she said, to watch the setting sun. But before the sun had sunk below the horizon, she had rejoined her victims at the foot of the ruined old tower. Thus the Kynast obtained possession of his betrothed. The story might furnish an admirable plot for a grand opera. But, upon reflection, I think it would {416}suit a circus better, for there are in it three first-class parts for horses.