The morning had now dawned; the Knight of Trautwangen had left his faithful steed in charge of his comrades, and mounted up to the top of a steep hill, that he might discern from thence in what direction the pursuit could best be continued;--whether they should proceed farther through the valleys, or now retreat by the way they had come. On the hill-top the rock was cleft into two great masses, as by a giant’s sword. On the brink of the precipice stood Sir Otto, and rejoiced to perceive that he had advanced far beyond the Finland frontier, and that his troops could now assume a station which would be greatly more commanding and advantageous than any that they had hitherto possessed. When he was lost in these reflections, lo! there appeared, through the morning fogs, a tall figure of an armed knight on the opposite half of the cleft rock. With his visor thrown back, he gazed around him, just as Sir Otto had before done, till suddenly their eyes met together, and both trembled with affright,--for it was indeed Ottur and Otto who had thus encountered each other. At length, “This cannot and shall not longer be endured,” cried Ottur. “At the sight of thee my senses are again confused, and I am driven to madness. In this world one champion only must live with that form and those features. Besides, thou hast, in this last night, beaten us from the battle-field; but, if I could make an end of thee, the faithful servants of Odin and Valhalla might hope ere long to redeem their lost honours, and inflict just vengeance on their foes. Therefore raise thy spear, and defend thyself, for the cleft of the rocks forbids us to use our swords; but ere the sun has fully risen in the heavens, our lances must determine who is to have the right of wearing such features,--thou or I.”--With these words he brandished his massive javelin high over his head. “Yet halt a moment,” said Sir Otto; “methinks by the combat which thou hast now proposed neither of us will arrive at peace of mind. How might that man live for the future who had put to death his own double?--were not that to say that he had killed himself?” “Truly it would be so,” answered Ottur; “but, remember, we shall fight with closed visors. One cannot mark then how his own features are stained with blood, or grinning in death’s agony.”--Thereupon he closed his iron beaver with a great crash, and again poised his javelin. “Yet, methinks, we might become friends and brethren in arms,” answered Sir Otto, “and this on terms more intimate than those which bound any two heroes that the world has yet ever known.”