“The light-brown colour of my steed,” replied Sir Otto, “is my especial favourite. You will think it a strange fantasy, Sir Arinbiorn, but, because one whom I dearly loved had light-brown eyes, that tint ever appears to me a presentiment of happiness and good fortune.” When all was ready, Sir Otto buckled on his glittering sword-scabbard, took the broken fragment of his blade, and let it drop into the sheath, adding thereto the other half, to which the golden hilt was yet affixed. “Nay,” said the sea-monarch, “you must not travel thus unarmed. Rather take my battle-axe, and bind it fast to your saddle-bow.” “Unarmed!” repeated Sir Otto, “I pray you let not this be said. My sword, though broken, will do better in the hour of need, than many a one might prove which is yet uninjured.” “Yet, I pray you, take the halbert,” said the sea-monarch. “As for your sword, it is true, though you were to strike with it against the rocks until it was wholly notched and blunted, yet there is an armourer in Norway, by whose arts and magic spells, it may yet be rendered far better than ever.” “That alters the case,” said Sir Otto, “and I shall therefore accept the loan of your battle-axe till, by means of this wise armourer, I can regain the use of my own falchion.” So the two young heroes both mounted their horses, and began to wind their way from the mountains of Ardennes, across the blooming plains, towards the north-east. CHAPTER V. How the old Knight of Trautwangen heard news of Sir Otto. Courteous reader, hast thou never longed to cast one look on the lonely and neglected old knight, Sir Hugh von Trautwangen? The grey-headed warrior now sits joyless in his castle! All the gay colours that once brightened his life have faded away, so that he is more like one of the dead than a living man; for of his only son he has heard no tidings, or of Bertha, nor of Heerdegen. Were it not that the old minstrel, Walter, sometimes visits him, the once active warrior would become a mere hermit, and his ancient fortress a silent cell for penance and mortification. Sometimes, when he is sitting all alone in his great hall, he seems to forget the changes around him, and calls aloud for Otto and for Bertha. Then he is answered only by the melancholy echo of his own voice, through the long vaulted rooms and corridors, so that the old knight recollects himself again, shakes his head, and smiles mournfully at his own forgetfulness.