Lonely and forsaken, Otto and Bertha remained standing on the fatal place. It was as if they had dreamed; only the half-burned torches and the broken turf of the battle-field bore witness silently that all had been real. Neither of them knew what to say; so that in silence they pursued their route through the darkness of the night homewards, wonderfully changed in mood from what they had been, when, but a few hours before, they had come from the castle to that pleasant meadow. All that passed betwixt them on the way was only now and then a question from Otto. “Weep’st thou, dearest Bertha;” to which she always answered, “No,” in as firm a voice as she could assume; so that he was obliged to think himself mistaken, and that, because he could not help sighing deeply, he had supposed that Bertha answered him with her tears. CHAPTER IV. How the young Squire Otto received the honours of Knighthood. While all these events had been passing on the banks of the river, Sir Hugh von Trautwangen was sitting in his proud ancestral hall, with its vaulted roof, where were deposited his own coats of mail and weapons, along with those of his warlike predecessors. In this apartment he spent most of his time, since he had now become too old and infirm for the sports of the chase or tournament; and was still less able to pursue the warlike career to which he had been accustomed in youth. During this night he was sitting at a great round table, whereon, in massy silver candlesticks, there were two wax-lights now almost burned down, while his son and his niece, contrary to all custom, kept him waiting, and vainly expecting their arrival. As often as he heard steps on the long-winding staircase, the old man thought that must surely be the two young people, and looked kindly and anxiously towards the door; but when it was opened, no one had appeared but a serving squire, who wished to know whether the knight still had light enough, or if the wine in his richly-embossed and carved silver goblet were drank out. So then Sir Hugh’s countenance changed; he pretended to be quite unconcerned, and if the squire expressed some anxiety, answered briefly and peevishly, “Well! well! young people must have their pastime. What business is that of ours? They will be here soon enough.” But the castle clock struck nine; then at length ten o’clock; the night was fearfully dark, and Sir Hugh had no tidings of his son nor of his niece. So the old man took his green velvet cap from his head, held it in his clasped hands, and prayed fervently to Heaven that the manifold sins of his youth might not be reckoned against these poor children, but that Providence, in his infinite mercy, would bring them back safe to their home in the castle.