the reins fall and clutching her hands about his mane, for it was dangerous riding now. The ground was rough and uneven, broken by sandy-edged warrens, and strewn with ragged furze-bushes and bracken, that stood up here and there in dark clumps against the wan-faced sky; the cold twilight air rushed by them as they fled, full of the chill dews of the on-coming night. One of those scenes that awaken suddenly an indefinable sense of melancholy, touching either past or future with a hidden spiritual meaning, to which some subtle knowledge within us responds. The terror clutched Sieglinde's heart; crouching half dead, she seemed to have no life but Kaiser's, and her whole being was absorbed in the effort to hold on in the desperate race. She had before this managed to clasp the circlet round her head, and the crystal gleamed-a crimson spot, 'the colour of pain,' above the deathly paleness of her face. And then, with a sudden spur from his rider, the other horse, covered with blood and foam, drew alongside Kaiser, and they were racing neck and neck with the wind.

No need to glance at the mantled figure at her side, no need to meet the terrible gleam of those malignant eyes; as by a lightning stroke within her soul, in that supreme moment of dread she did not need to see, she knew-as drowning men know and understand-the Physician, the Merchant, Kuno-the deadly enemy of her lord and of her eternal life.

No sound on either side broke the dread silence except the panting of the horses' breath, and the striking of their fiery hoofs along the ground. Around them, the landscape stretched wide and shadowy, becoming, as it seemed, more desolate as each half-mile was passed. The character, too, of the country began to change; long reaches of marsh land began to appear, and the vapours rising up from them seemed to clutch with chilly hands the two flying horses and their riders, now hidden for a moment by a dip of the ground, and now rising again, black and strangely magnified against the pale horizon. Now and again a marsh bird rose startled from the fen, and flew away with a harsh cry and a beat of dark wings into the fog; beyond that, there seemed no living creature near them; it seemed as though they must ride for ever through the grey night. Through her extremity of terror a new fear took hold of Sieglinde-that his strength might fail Kaiser, and then it struck her that her terrible enemy's horse did not appear to be running his full speed as Kaiser was, and that although Kaiser's pace was very great, his companion seemed nevertheless to keep it with ease, and even to be holding, under his rider's hand, a certain cool reserve of strength. What would happen if her poor horse failed, keeping that terrible speed, before reaching home? And were they indeed nearing home? Those long stretches of oozy bog land into which they might flounder at any moment, those low, dark hills against the horizon, which seemed to be closing round them as they drew nearer, those patches of reeds

with their strange shuddering motion as the dank wind passed through them, the marsh birds that were the sole sign of life, and that looked like some dark creatures of evil as they hurried away into the night-the gloom, the desolation, the horror of this country deepened upon Sieglinde, and brought sudden courage out of her dread. Anger and scorn came to her aid; she turned her face towards the physician, and with a great effort broke the weird silence at last. 'This is not my way home-you have bewitched my horse with your diabolical magic. I command you to set me right.'

'Do not be alarmed, fair Lady Sieglinde,' the physician answered in a sneering voice; 'you are perfectly safe under my guidance, and in the right way, I assure you, if you will but trust me.'

'Trust you-you! do you think that I do not know you? Yes, at last, under all your cunning disguises-physician, merchant, wizard, Kuno, traitor, enemy of my lord!'

Her eyes turned upon him, and met the deep malignant gleam of his, which seemed to burn her through the darkness; she flashed back a hatred which would have been as intense as his own, could that have been possible; she felt that the crisis of her fate had come, and lifted her soul to God; in her extremity He could yet send her deliverance.

On the one hand there lay a reach of fen land, with a thick growth of osiers and tall, coarse rushes, over which the white mists wreathed and hung; on the other, a great stretch of the same open boggy country through which they had come, and the low dark hills drawing ever nearer.

Oh! would not God have pity upon her, and deliver her soul from the lion's jaws? With a sick intensity of longing, which all her errors and her wanderings made more intense, she longed for the right way, for the shelter of the home which her disobedience had led her to forsake, for some help, some sign of remembrance and succour from Agathos, her disobeyed lord.

'It is a good country, and a fair night for riding, though somewhat chill, is it not, Lady Sieglinde?' said the mocking voice beside her; 'but a welcome change from the gardens and all their flowers, which were becoming a little stifling, at least, I think so. And so you found your wonderful crystal again, after all, I see. I know something of that handsome marble creature whose brow you saw it adorning. What did he look like when you pilfered him of his fine possessionha, ha! and, by the way, what will the young count say to this hasty flight of yours? Ha, ha!' The mocking laugh sounded more terrible still than words as it rang out.

Oh, help me, help me!' broke from Sieglinde's white lips; the drops stood on her forehead like the dews of death itself.

Help you! Yes, certainly; what help do you require? But you must not be alarmed, and so belie your fine name, Sieglinde; and it is of no use, for you cannot escape me now. You have gone too far, you have done everything you ought not to have done, you know-for

saken your lord and master's home in the most craven way, which it was your duty to have guarded with your very life, and crowned all your disobedience by the basest infidelity; it is I who am the traitor, is it? Look at home, Sieglinde !'

Sieglinde sprang upright in the saddle and uttered a piercing cry: 'Agathos, Agathos! save me!'

The physician had drawn his horse beside hers while he spoke; his eyes close to hers, burned into her soul like accusing flames; his hand, strong and terrible, seemed laid upon hers. Were they the clinging mists at that awful moment that came and wrapt her round? or an unseen Hand, but one that she knew was pierced, that came and held her with an almighty strength, and drew her-where she could not tell, for there was nothing but darkness, blindness, and the chill mists.

*

She was sensible, after a while, that she was no longer flying through the night; but lying still upon the ground, that her enemy was gone, and that some one's arms were holding her. Had she died then? and was this the vague shore of death? But the chill fogs were there still, and the osier beds wandered darkly away into the great distance. And was not this Kaiser, quietly browsing close at her side on the short coarse grass? But by the calm at her heart she knew that the conflict was over, her enemy was gone, and she was safe.

Much more she did not care to know at present, only that the arms which held her were strong, and for a while nothing broke the silence of her rest. The gloom of night, the damps of that dismal spot were round her still, but no enchanted gardens, no silken couch could have given her such rest, for her will was no longer her own, but God's.

Then suddenly a voice like a mother's lullaby, so low and sweet that it did not seem to break the silence, but rather mingled with it began to sing, and Sieglinde could hear each word distinctly-

'When the cross is borne,
And the thorns are worn,
And the flesh is torn :-

Then the hill-top gained,
And the height attained,
And the Peace unfeigned.

When the heart's best prize
On the altar lies

For the sacrifice:

Then the answer given
Through the silence riven
By the Voice from Heaven.

When the life is lost,
And the heights are cross'd,
By the tempest-tossed:

Sharp the path untrod,
Where the tired feet plod,
Oh, the smile of God!'

Tears stole down Sieglinde's face from under her closed eyelids; could it be for her the sinful, the disobedient, the unfaithful-this peace of which the voice sang? and had she indeed passed through the tempest, and climbed a little way of the sharp path? She longed to know whose voice it was she heard, and whose the arms which held her.

'Who are you, kind friend?' she said at last.

'One whom you drove from you once in fear and dread,' the voice answered instantly.

I do not remember,' Sieglinde said.

'Think again—that Christmas night of the conflict, when the mummers came to the Castle, and your wicked enemy was there in the disguise of a merchant.'

The whole remembrance flashed upon Sieglinde with the sting of renewed repentance.

'Can it be that you are the strange wandering woman who gave me warning that night, and whom I, wretch that I was, permitted them to turn away from my door?'

If you had not done so then, my child, perhaps you would not have been here to-night, for you know now who I am.' Then it flashed upon Sieglinde.

'You were the special messenger whom my lord promised to send me so long ago, woe to me!' said Sieglinde, clasping her hands. She remembered the chill shrinking that the woman's presence had inspired her with on that fatal night; but now she felt no terror.

May I not see your face?' she whispered lowly, for she felt rather than saw that the figure was veiled still. Then the veil was thrown back, and Sieglinde saw, bending above her, no horrible phantom, but a tender face, with eyes sad indeed, but unutterably sweet.

Sieglinde could only gaze into the depths of those strange eyes, trying to fathom and to learn their patient secret. At last she said— 'May I know your name?'

'My name is Sorrow,' was the low answer, as she hushed Sieglinde to her breast like a wearied child. Sieglinde thought they were like her mother's arms.

CHAPTER XVI.

How many were the days which followed Sieglinde's return to the Castle, one can scarcely tell, for there is no record. And the days that follow each other in peaceful order leave no trace behind them like those which mark and sear our lives with the lines of struggle and pain.

For Sieglinde had regained the shelter of her home, and peace beyond all that she had dared to hope, beyond all the deserts of her disloyalty and disobedience. Her friend-now no longer a stranger

-led her back, and with what a swelling heart she saw once more the grey towers of her forsaken home rise above the plain, and found that all within was safe, thanks to her trusty Werner, and the vigilance of her retainers, more faithful than their mistress.

Many days Sieglinde lived there, too happy in her old duties, in ordering her household, in relieving the wants of the pilgrims, and in loving preparation for Agathos' return, to desire to wander again. Many suns rose and set, but her impatience seemed now to have disappeared; the rest seemed more anxious for their lord's coming than she. Her saintly father Guido sighed sometimes, but Sieglinde only smiled like one who possessed some happy secret. Had she received some message from Lord Agathos? Sometimes Guido could not help watching her anxiously, for some mysterious change seemed growing upon her, some change like that which steals over a landscape when the glow and joy of day fades, and give place to the stiller beauty of the moonlight and shadows of night.

She stole about the Castle, like a shadow herself, and yet with always the same look and smile of peace. Guido saw, with a mixture of gladness and fear, for the chilly autumn winds had come again, and the birds passed overhead southward in thick flocks, darkening the sky as they went, and boding another severe winter.

There was a little song that Sieglinde often sang in these days, when she watched, at sunrise or sunset, from the eastern tower—

'O Land! so very far away,

Whose hills in fadeless light lie hapt,
Across these wastes, by shadows wrapt,
Mine eyes look toward thee all the day.

O Love! so far, and yet so near,
Thy love is round me like a shield,
To thee for aye my heart is seal'd,
And all thy will for me is dear.'

One day that Guido was sitting among his books and manuscripts, there came Sieglinde's low tap at the door, and as he lifted his head she stood before him, looking at him with clasped hands. The daylight was waning, but there was yet enough to see that there was something remarkable in her face which struck him; there was a light shining in her wide eyes, as though some inward fire were burning there. She did not speak until he said

'Well, my child?'

I must leave you, dear Father,' said Sieglinde; I am going to my lord.'

You have had a message then?' Guido said.

"Yes,' she answered, smiling; and I am to go at once. You will go son e way with me upon the road, will you not?'

'As far as I can do so, my daughter; but the end must be travelled alone.'

It was an autumn morning, when the little party rode out from