should be the happiest of all mortals, and were I never more to behold her, I should grieve myself to death! Then, wishing also to kneel before her, I advanced; but, in so doing, struck against a mirror, and found that the form which I beheld only lived on its enchanted surface! Moreover, I had no sooner touched the glass, than all the fair scene changed into the most frightful confusion; and methought even a tumult arose, like the roaring of a stormy sea! Overcome, too, with a strange and unaccountable terror, I immediately tottered down stairs, and rushed forth over hill and dale through the darkness of the night, not again recovering my usual composure, until I found myself, at the dawn of day, among my faithful warriors. A hundred times since then I have gone through those mountains, both alone and attended, but never have been able to find the slightest trace of that enchanted watch-tower.” “Perchance it was all but a dream!” said Sir Otto. “You might have spoken, methinks, more wisely, comrade,” answered the sea-monarch, somewhat discontentedly. “Am I then so inexperienced, that I should no longer know even whether I am asleep or awake? But you will think otherwise when you know in what mood of mind I have been since that hour. I could never cease to reflect on the form that I had beheld in the magic mirror. On this account I broke off my intended marriage with Gerda, and looked indeed at every female form that came in my way only to try whether I could discover the beautiful mistress of my affections; but, alas! she was nowhere to be found; and all others, in my estimation, were unworthy of notice. Yet as one would willingly have some name or another, by which he may distinguish that which is nearest and dearest to his heart, so, thinking of the white rose that grew beside her, I named her Roselinde, and thereafter Roselinde was my victorious battle-cry in many a hard-fought and glorious encounter. Now, when I thought of the white rose-tree, in my choice of a name, was I not in the right? For know, Sir Otto, that when, at that fatal banquet, I beheld, for the first time, the sister of Sir Folko de Montfaucon, I found in her the lady of the mirror. Her name is Blanchefleur, which is, as one should say, a white rose, or, otherwise, Roselinde.” “You are now, then, perchance, a happy bridegroom?” said Sir Otto.