“What news bring’st thou, Zulma?” said the lady. To which the old Moor answered, “Nothing, forsooth, but an earnest entreaty which I must especially address to the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried. On the plain here, not far from the castle, there is a strange man, a Moorish soldier, who lies mortally wounded. I know not if he has been attacked by banditti, or overthrown in single combat. He wishes to obtain a blessing ere he dies, according to the forms of the Catholic church; but this he will not receive from any one but you; for the Lady Bertha of Lichtenried has been renowned and praised, far and near, ever since that evening, when, by clinging to the cross, and waving her hand, she was able to repulse and drive away a bold-hearted and wicked comrade of the Prince Mutza. It is not far from that old cross that I found the wounded Moor, as I returned home from the sheepfold.” “Call the chaplain then, that he may go with me,” said Bertha, hastily searching for her veil and mantle; “order some squires also to attend on us, and to render assistance to the poor man.” “The chaplain,” answered Zulma, “is already gone to bed, and the squires are snoring in the stables. Before we could rouse them, and they were ready to go with us, the unfortunate Moor would have breathed his last. What if he should thus depart without consolation, and without the blessings of our holy religion, after which he so earnestly longs?--But you, noble lady, must know the consequences far better than I can describe them.” “How comes it, Zulma,” said the Lady of Lichtenried, “that you know so well how to bestow just reproaches on my slowness and over-caution?--Doubtless what you have said is just and true. When we are called on to fulfil our duties to God, we must not tarry nor look round for assistance and protection. Let us then go forth straightway to the wounded man. Good Heaven!--how much have the monks and nuns achieved, of whose lives I was just now reading the pleasant history! and should I then doubt whether I might go forth alone to the cross on the sea-shore?--Let us hasten, good Zulma; for the poor dying man must long grievously for our coming.” Having thrown about her a large mantle, as a defence against the rain, she stepped hastily with the Moorish servant down stairs to a private portal, and taking a lamp from the wall to guide them on their way, they walked boldly forth amid the tempest.