Then suddenly the stern angry voice of Sir Heerdegen broke upon his ears; “Sister,” cried the knight, “wherefore should’st thou stay longer beside that servant of Satan? What if he should awake, and once more attack thee? Come then; the horses are waiting; all the other guests are long since departed, even Sir Folko de Montfaucon and the Lady Blanchefleur; so that the old fortress is now lonely and desolate.” Then, as Bertha began softly to utter complaints and entreaties for delay, he added, “Drive me not mad, I pray you! How many noble knights would gladly encounter death, if thy heart and hand were at stake! But this wretch, who lies here, could wound thy heart and hand too without remorse. I beg that you will not provoke me, or I might act in a manner unbecoming a true knight, and even wreak my vengeance on him who is now insensible.” Thereafter Sir Otto felt that his burning brows were again touched and cooled for the last time, and was aware that his cousin, Bertha, sobbing with irresistible grief, left the room with her brother. In a short time he heard the trampling of their horses at the gate as they left the castle. Now, indeed, he was alone; and once more, as if in mercy, his senses were taken from him; so that he knew not where he was; and during many hours remained thus lost in delirium and forgetfulness. Late in the evening he awoke for the second time. His limbs had now recovered their power; and, not without groaning heavily, he raised himself in bed, and beheld the last gleams of the setting sun falling through the painted window, and revealing his armour, which, in many pieces, lay strewed about the room. Painfully, and depressed in spirits, he turned from these remembrances of his short-lived good fortune, rose from his bed, and tottered towards the window. Thence he gazed over the rampart into the deep valley, and when, to enjoy the cool evening air, he opened the lattice, voices rose from the forest beneath; for a troop of warriors were just then passing on horseback, and they were singing the self-same ballads which he had before heard from Master Blondell, the royal minstrel. The same stanzas were chaunted in praise of the crusaders, and the knight could not refrain from exclaiming, “Good Heaven! if these men were but the soldiers of King Richard, and I could ride with them into the Holy Land!” Scarcely had he pronounced these words, when the warlike minstrels came into view from the forest. They were mounted on fine tall horses, and their armour was exactly like that worn formerly by the train of the royal favourite, Blondell. Otto wished to call to them, that they should wait, and he would ride with them on their pilgrimage; but they halted of their own accord, and began to speak with some squires and cavalrymen, who, as Sir Otto now perceived, were stationed along the ramparts of the castle. The travellers related how they belonged to the army of King Richard Cœur de Lion, and were of his train, though