large enough to enable him to see distinctly every thing that passed. Nothing appeared to move in the castle, though he thought he heard light footsteps above him, which he supposed might be those of Bertha. After waiting a tedious long quarter of an hour, the village clock struck eleven. This being the appointed time of the nocturnal visit, Albert directed all his attention to hear the stranger's approach. A few minutes after he heard the dog bark, when at the same time a deep voice from the other side of the ditch hailed, and said, "Lichtenstein!" "Who comes there?" was answered from the castle. "The man is there," replied the other voice, which sounded familiar to his ear as being the one he had heard in the cavern. The watchman, an old man, came forth from a casemate hewn out of the rock, and opened the lock of the drawbridge with a large curiously wrought key. Whilst he was thus employed the dog came bounding down the stairs, whining and wagging his tail, and jumped upon the old man, as if to assist him in letting fall the bridge for his master to enter. Bertha shortly after descended with a lantern, and assisted him with her light, for it appeared he had some difficulty in opening the lock. "Make haste, Balthaser," she whispered to the old watchman, "he has been waiting some time, it is cold outside, and the wind blows keen." "I have now only to unfasten the chain, worthy lady," he answered; "you shall soon see how well my bridge falls. I have oiled the hinges, as you ordered me, so that they do not creek any more, and disturb Mrs. Rosel out of her slumbers." The chains rattled in their ascent, the bridge sunk gradually into its place, and the banished man, enveloped in his coarse cloak, came across. Though his bearing was deeply engraven on Albert's mind, yet his strikingly bold features, his commanding eye, his open forehead, and the agile movements of his limbs, filled the young man anew with admiration. The nocturnal guest assisted Balthaser, the doorkeeper, to draw up the bridge, with a power which appeared almost superhuman. When the old man had withdrawn to his sleeping place, Albert overheard the following conversation between the visitor and Bertha. "Is there any news from Tübingen? Has Maxx Stumpf returned? I read bad news in your countenance." "No, sir, he has not yet returned," she replied; "my father expected him this very night." "Oh, that the devil would give him heels! I must remain here till he comes, if it be for a whole day. Ha! a cold night, lady," said the exile; "the screech owls will be frozen in the cavern, for I left them crying in most pitiable tones." "Yes, it is indeed cold," she answered; "I would not go down there, upon any account; and how dreadful must it be to hear those cries; I shudder to think of it."