'Forgive me, Sir Knight, that I have forgotten that I am only a poor fisher-girl. I will go to my father's miserable cottage, where I cannot well commit the same fault again. Fare you well, you and your beautiful wife.' 'You must go without delay to seek her and bring her back,' said Undine. And Huldbrand did not need to be urged. Already he had ordered his horse to be saddled that he might ride after the maiden. In vain he asked the servants in what direction Bertalda had gone. No one had seen her. It was only as the knight impatiently mounted his steed, that a page ran up to him crying, 'The lady Bertalda rode toward the Black Valley.' Without a pause the knight darted off in the direction of the valley. He did not hear his wife's voice crying after him, 'Huldbrand, Huldbrand, go not there, not to the valley, Huldbrand, or, if go you must, take me, I entreat of you.' Then when Undine saw that her cry was unheard, she ordered her palfrey to be saddled instantly, and mounting it, she rode forth alone to follow the knight into the Black Valley. CHAPTER XIII THE BLACK VALLEY The Black Valley was a gloomy place. Fir-trees grew tall and dark on the banks of the stream, casting strange shadows on the sunny waters. As the knight entered the valley, evening had fallen and the stream rushed, dark and sullen, between the rocks. Huldbrand glanced anxiously from side to side, but no trace could be found of the maiden whom he sought. He began to fear lest already she were in peril, and thinking thus he urged his horse yet further into the valley. Peering through the bushes as he rode, he at length caught sight of something white lying on the ground. Had he found Bertalda at last? He spurred his horse onward toward the white gleam which had caught his eye, but the animal no sooner saw the object which had gladdened his master's eye than it started violently and refused to move. Then the knight dismounted, and tying his now rearing steed to an elm, he pushed his way on foot through the brushwood. Thunder began to rumble around the mountains, and the evening dew fell cold and damp on the anxious knight. He could still see the white figure lying on the ground, but as he drew nearer to it a strange dread struck at Huldbrand's heart. 'Was Bertalda asleep,' he wondered, 'or did she lie there unconscious, perchance even dead?' He was close to her now, bending over her. She never stirred. He rustled the branches, rattled his sword. Still she lay there quiet, motionless. He called her by her name, 'Bertalda!' but no voice answered him. He called again, more loud, 'Bertalda!' but only a sorrowful echo answered his cry. Then the knight bent nearer yet to the maiden, but darkness hid the face on which he longed to gaze. Suddenly the whole valley was bright as at mid-day. A vivid flash of lightning showed to Huldbrand the face over which he bent. It was a terrible face. And a voice, awful as the face, rang out harsh and hollow.