With the same success as his brother George, but with courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, that he could recognise, in the presiding figure, the attributes of the Harz demon. A cold shuddering assailed him for the first time in his life; but the recollection that he had at a distance dared and even courted the intercourse which was now about to take place, confirmed his staggering courage; and pride supplying what he wanted in resolution, he advanced with tolerable firmness towards the fire, the figures which surrounded it appearing still more wild, fantastical, and supernatural, the more near he approached to the assembly. He was received with a loud shout of discordant and unnatural laughter, which, to his stunned ears, seemed more alarming than a combination of the most dismal and melancholy sounds that could be imagined. “Who art thou?” said the giant, compressing his savage and exaggerated features into a sort of forced gravity, while they were occasionally agitated by the convulsion of the laughter which he seemed to suppress. “Martin Waldeck, the forester,” answered the hardy youth;--“and who are you?” “The King of the Waste and of the Mine,” answered the spectre;--“and why hast thou dared to encroach on my mysteries?” “I came in search of light to rekindle my fire,” answered Martin, hardily, and then resolutely asked in his turn, “What mysteries are those that you celebrate here?” “We celebrate,” answered the complaisant demon, “the wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon--But take thy fire that thou camest to seek, and begone! no mortal may look upon us and live.”