Theobaldo led him to his apartment (for he had been obliged to promise that he would pass the night there) he found that this apprehension was groundless. “To-morrow before sunrise,” said the merchant, “Sir Knight of Trautwangen, forget not that I shall be ready to attend you. I have already appointed a trust-worthy curator over my possessions in this town, and made every needful arrangement.” In the morning, before daylight, Sir Otto was in the stable, engaged in saddling and bridling his charger; in which task he was assisted by an active youth in a complete horseman’s armour. As they did not speak, it was not until the latter came out into the morning twilight, and sprung lightly on the back of a chesnut-coloured Polish horse, that the knight recognised Theobaldo. Smiling on each other, they shook hands like old and tried friends, then trotted on merrily to the town-gates, while the sun, bright and jocund, as if to welcome the two happy youths, began to shed his long slanting radiance over the landscape. CHAPTER XI. How Sir Heerdegen returned to the Castle of Trautwangen, and of the wonderful Lady Minnatrost. Thus Otto and his companion continued to pursue their way, crossing ere long the frontiers of the knight’s father-land, and meeting with various adventures in the kingdom of France, among people to whose language they were yet little accustomed. Meanwhile, how different was the life now led by the inhabitants left in the old castle of Trautwangen! A third party had indeed broken on the lonely hours of Sir Hugh and the forsaken Bertha, but his presence only made the scene more gloomy than ever. This was Sir Heerdegen of Lichtenried, who, notwithstanding his wounds, had hastened onwards to visit his sister, and by this untimely exertion, had brought on himself a fearful illness. In a chamber not far from the great hall was placed the couch of the unfortunate Sir Heerdegen, in order that Bertha might attend him, and yet be near to the old knight. It was indeed needful that he and Bertha should console each other; for in the delirium of his fever, the youth had unfortunately betrayed all which he would in health have so gladly concealed; they had learned from whose hands, and on what grounds, he had received his dangerous wounds. Thereafter, Bertha often wept so bitterly, and blushed so deeply, that her tears might be compared to the morning dew, brightened by the red gleams of the east. On the other hand, Sir Hugh fixed his eyes on the ground in gloomy meditation, drawing, from this first unhappy combat of his son, the darkest anticipations of the future. Now and then, however, his confidence in the goodness and mercy of Providence would return, and a smile would steal over his features, though he spoke no words by which the by-standers could have guessed at this change in his feelings; only he repeated sometimes that rhyme of the old minstrel, which Otto had