But thereafter they came opposite to the pale, saintly, and benevolent features of his mother, and how soon were all impressions of the death’s-head, the black armour, and vulture’s wings forgotten! “Is then my mother’s grave in this chapel?” said Otto, in a tone of anxious inquiry. Sir Hugh looked mournfully, and shook his head in silence. “I beg then,” said the youth, “that some one may direct me to the spot, wherever it lies, that I may say my prayers there, as is fitting, before I go forth into the world. Only through ignorance has that duty been so long neglected.” “This is no proper hour to speak of graves, nor of the dead,” answered Sir Hugh, taking his son’s arm, and leading him rapidly from the chapel. Thereafter they came out upon the ramparts of the castle, amid the fresh fragrant breezes, while beneath them the landscape unfolded all its varied splendours; the noble Danube, with its meadows, forests, and distant mountains, brightened by the long slanting radiance and dazzling dewdrops of the morning. “Thou should’st not allow the rein to such womanish fantasies, young Knight of Trautwangen,” said the old man, giving his son a hearty shake; “it will be time enough for tears, and longings after graves, monuments, and such like, when thou art as old as I am now. But even then, such thoughts must be concealed within thine own breast. Wait here for the present, and enjoy the freshness of this May morning. When all is ready for thy departure thou shalt be sent for.” The old hero then strode away from the rampart down to the castle, leaving the youth cheered and revived in spirit by the reprimand which he had just received, while his sanguine hopes of the future always gained more strength as the landscape grew brighter around him, and the air was filled with the music of skylarks, and joyous carolling of shepherds driving out their flocks on the meadows. While he was thus boldly stepping up and down, rejoicing in the martial clang of his weapons and silver armour, which to his ears harmonized so well with the gladness that reigned around him, he happened during his walk to strike on something concealed among the tall grass, which also sounded, but with a sad and mournful tone, as if complaining of unprovoked injury. Looking down, he perceived that it was Bertha’s lute, whose mistress must indeed have been lost in deep reverie, else she never would have left her beloved companion so carelessly among the damp moss and unfriendly dews. So he took up the poor neglected instrument, pulled off his iron glove, and seating himself in the grass, prepared, as well as he could, to console his forsaken cousin with a farewell melody. He began with praises of the spring and the beautiful scenes that were around him; but, alas! he sang no words that were fitted for Bertha’s ears. His fancy was soon kindled by dreams of the knightly career that awaited him, and the favour that he would gain by his exploits from the beautiful Gabrielle.