In the mean while, Ferdinand worked away at his unaccustomed occupation, perhaps not quite so dexterously as if he had been an armourer's man, or a groom of the chambers to some great lord; but he did it cheerfully, and without apprehension; for the gay sunbeams shone through the dim casements and chequered the old mouldy pavement with a bright fretwork of light and shade. His heart, too, felt very summery, for there was hope within, and the expectation of love. Everything was done quickly, too, for he fancied that he might not be long without the presence of one he loved, and thought that every moment thus busily employed might well purchase one of sweeter occupation. His first task was to raise the different suits of armour from the ground, and fix them in their places again. Nor was this an easy undertaking, for, in many cases, the thongs and buckles had given way in the fall, and the several pieces were scattered about, and had to be re-united. Nevertheless, he worked on zealously, stooping over the quaint old garments of steel, lifting their ponderous masses, and ever and anon casting back from his face the thick, glossy curls of his hair, as they fell over his brow and eyes. He showed no signs of fear, notwithstanding the strange sights which he had seen on the two preceding nights; he never started at the sound of the wind; he never turned to give the timid glance over his shoulder towards the door leading to the vaults; but more than once he looked towards the other entrance of the hall, and listened for any sound from the vestibule. At length, as he was raising one of the suits of harness, where the rusty gauntlet and vantbrace were still stretched out, as he had seen them on his previous visit, some white spots upon the steel, seemed to catch his eye, and to awaken a train of new and interesting ideas, for he paused in his work, and with his hand to his brow, remained in deep thought for several minutes, with a smile upon his lips. As he thus stood, the sound of voices speaking near the door was heard, and it was gently pushed open, while the well-known tones of Bertha exclaimed,--"I would not go in for Neustadt, and you do not want me, either, dear lady,--you know you do not; but I'll stay here and watch against any ghosts on this side. I'll open that other door, however, and have more light; for spirits don't like the daylight, and I don't like the dark." "Well, stay there,--stay there, then," answered Adelaide; "I can carry in the wreaths myself."