The return of the pilgrims was a happy moment
to all who dwelt in Deurckheim. Many prayers had
been offered in their behalf, during the long absence,
and divers vague reports of their progress and success,
had been eagerly swallowed by their friends
and townsmen. When, however, the Burgomaster
and his companions were actually seen entering
their gates, the good citizens ran to and fro, in
troubled delight, and the greetings, especially among
the gentler sex, were mingled with many tears.
Emich and his followers did not appear, having
taken a private path to the castle of Hartenburg.

The simple and still Catholic (though wavering)
burghers had felt many doubts, concerning the fruits
of their bold policy, while the expiatory penance

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was pending. Their town was in the midst of a region
that is perhaps more pregnant with wild legends,
even at this hour, than any other of equal
extent in Europe; and it can be easily conceived
that, under such circumstances, the imaginations of
a people who had been, as it were, nurtured in superstition,
would not be likely to slumber. In effect,
numberless startling rumors were rife, in the
town, the valley, and on the plain. Some spoke of
fiery crosses gleaming at night above the walls of
the fallen Abbey; others whispered of midnight
chants, and spectre-like processions, that had been
heard or seen among the ruined towers; while one
peasant, in particular, asseverated that he had held
discourse with the spirit of Father Johan. These
tales found credulous auditors or not, according to
the capacity of the listener; and to these may be
added another, that was accompanied by such circumstances
of confirmation, as are apt momentarily
to affect the minds of those, even, who are little
wont to lend attention to any incidents of miraculous
nature.

A peasant, in crossing the chase by a retired path,
was said to have encountered Berchthold, clad in
his dress of green, wearing the hunting-horn and
cap, and girded with the usual couteau-de-chasse, or,
in fine, much as he was first presented to the reader
in our early pages. The youth was described to
have been hot on the chase of a roebuck, and flushed
with exercise. From time to time, he was said
to wind his horn. The hounds were near, obedient
as usual to his call, and indeed the vision was described
as partaking of most of the usual accompaniments
of the daily exercise of the forester.

Had the tale ended here, it might have passed off
among the thousand other similar wonderful sights,
that were then related in that wonder-loving country,
and been forgotten. But it was accompanied

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with positive circumstances, that addressed themselves,
in a manner not to be disputed, to the senses.
The two favorite hounds of the forester had been
missing for some weeks, and, from time to time,
cries resembling theirs were unequivocally heard,
ringing among the arches of the forest, and filling
the echoes of the mountains.

This extraordinary confirmation of the tale of the
boor, occurred the week preceding the return of the
pilgrims. The latter found their townsmen under a
strong excitement from this cause, for that very day,
nearly half the population of Deurckheim had been
into the pass of the Haart which was described in
the opening chapter of this work, and with their
own ears had heard the deep baying of the hounds.
It was only after the first felicitations of the return
were over, and during the night which followed,
that the pilgrims learned this unusual circumstance.
It reached Emich himself, however, ere his foot
crossed the threshold of his castle.

On the following day, Deurckheim presented a
picture of pleased but troubled excitement. Its population
was happy in the return of their chosen and
best, but troubled with the marvellous incident of
the dogs, and by the wild rumors that accompanied
it; rumors which thickened every hour by corroborating
details from different sources. Early that
very morning a new occurrence helped to increase
the excitement.

From the moment that the Abbey was destroyed,
not an individual had dared to enter its tottering
walls. Two peasants of the Jaegerthal, incited by
cupidity, had indeed secretly made the attempt, but
they returned with the report of strange sights, and
of fearful groans existing within the consecrated
pile. The rumor of this failure, together with a lingering
respect for altars that had been so long reverenced,
effectually secured the spot against all

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similar expeditions. The alarm spread to the Heidenmauer,
for, by a confusion of incidents, that is far
from unusual in popular rumors, an account of Ilse,
concerning the passage of the armed band through
the cedars, on the night of the assault, coupled with
the general distrust that was attached to the place,
had been so perverted and embellished, as effectually
to leave the ancient camp to its solitude. Some said
that even the spirits of the Pagans had been aroused
by the sacrilege, from the sleep of centuries, and
others argued that, as the hermit was known to have
perished in the conflagration, it was a spot accursed.
The secret of the true name, and of the history of
the Anchorite, was now generally known, and men
so blended the late events with former offences, as
to create a theory to satisfy their own longings for
the marvellous; though, as is usual in most of these
cases of supernatural agency, it might not have
stood the test of a severe logical and philosophical
investigation.

During the night which succeeded the return of
the pilgrims, there had been a grave consultation
among the civic authorities, on the subject of all
these extraordinary tales and spectacles. The alarm
had reached an inconvenient point, and the best
manner of quieting it was now gravely debated.
There was not a burgher present at the discussion,
who felt himself free from the general uneasiness;
but men, and especially men in authority, ordinarily
choose to affect a confidence they are frequently far
from feeling. In this spirit, then, was the matter discussed
and decided. We shall refer to the succeeding
events for the explanation.

Just as the sun began to shed his warmth into the
valley, the people of Deurckheim, with few exceptions,
collected without that gate which the Count
of Hartenburg had so unceremoniously forced. Here

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they were marshalled by citizens appointed to that
duty, in the usual order of a religious procession.
In front went the pilgrims, to whom an especial virtue
was attached, in consequence of their recent
journey; then came the parochial clergy, with the
ordinary emblems of Catholic worship; the burghers
succeeded, and last of all followed the women
and children, without much attention to order. When
all were duly arranged, the crowd proceeded, accompanied
by a chant of the choristers, and taking
the direction of Limburg.

“This is a short pilgrimage, brother Dietrich,”
said the Burgomaster, who in his quality of a Christian
of peculiar savor was still associated with the
smith, “and little likely to weary the limbs; still
had the town been as active and true, as we who
have visited the mountains, this little affair of a few
barking hounds, and some midnight moans in the
Abbey ruins, would have been ready settled to our
hands. But a town without its head, is like a man
without his reason.”

“You count on an easy deliverance then, honorable
Heinrich, from this outcry of devils and unbidden
guests! For mine own particular exercises, I
will declare that, though sufficiently foot-sore with
what hath already been done, I could wish the
journey were longer, and the enemy more human.”

“Go to, smith; thou art not to believe above half
of what thou hast heard. The readiness to give
faith to idle rumors forms a chief distinction between
the vagrant and the householder—the man of
weakness, and the man of wisdom. Were it decent,
between a magistrate and an artisan, I would hold
thee some hazard of coin, now, that this affair turns
out very different from what thou expectest; and I
do not account thee, Dietrich, an every-day swallower
of lies.”

[figure description] Page 214.[end figure description]

“If your worship would but hint what a fair-dealing
man ought in truth to believe—?”

“Why look you, smith, here is all that I expect
from the inquiry, though we hunt and exercise for a
month. It will be found that there is no pack of
hounds at all, loose or in leash, but at most a dog or
two, that may be beset or not, as the case shall
prove; next, thou wilt see that this tale of Father
Johan chasing young Berchthold, while the boy
hunts a roe-buck, is altogether an invention, since
the monk was the last man to give loose to such a
scampering, noisy device; as for the Forester, my
life on it, his appearance too will end in footmarks,
or perhaps some other modest sign that he desires
the masses refused by the Benedictines; for I know
not the youth that would be less likely needlessly to
disturb a neighborhood, with his own particular
concerns, than Berchthold Hintermayer, living or
dead.”

A general start, and a common murmur among
his companions, caused Heinrich to terminate his
explanations. The head of the procession had reached
the gorge, and, as it was about to turn into the
valley, the trampling of many hoofs became audible.
Feelings so highly wrought were easily excited
to a painful degree, and the common expectation,
for the moment, seemed to be some supernatural
exhibition. A whirlwind of dust swept round the
point of the hill, and Count Emich, with a train of
well-mounted followers, appeared from its cloud. It
was so common to meet religious processions of
this nature, that the Count would not have manifested
surprise, had he been ignorant of the motive
which induced the population of Deurckheim to
quit its walls; but, already apprized of their intentions,
he hastily dismounted and approached the
Burgomaster, cap in hand.

“Thou goest to exercise, worshipful Emich,” he said,

[figure description] Page 215.[end figure description]

“and love for my town hath quickened our steps,
that no honor or attention should be wanting to those
I love,—hast a place among thy pilgrims, for a poor
baron and his friends?”

The offer was gladly accepted, courage being
quickened by every appearance of succor. Emich,
though equipped as a cavalier, was therefore willingly
received among his fellow-travellers. The
delay caused by this interruption ended, the procession,
or rather the throng, for eagerness and anxiety
and curiosity had nearly broken all order, proceeded
towards the ascent of the mountain.

The ruins of Limburg, then recent and still blackened
with smoke, were found in the deep silence
of utter desertion. To judge from appearances, not
a footstep had trodden them, since the moment when
the band of the assailants had last poured through the
gates, after a tumultuous triumph which had been
so chilled by the awful catastrophe of the falling
roofs. If that party had drawn near the Abbey in
expectation of a sudden and furious assault, this
slowly advanced with a troubled apprehension of
witnessing some fearful manifestation of superhuman
power. Both were disappointed. The unresisted
success of the assailants is known, and the procession
now proceeded with the same impunity; though
many a voice faltered in the chant as they entered
the spoiled and desolate church. Nothing however
occurred to justify their alarm.

Encouraged by this pacific tranquillity, and desirous
of giving proofs of their personal superiority to
vulgar terrors, the Count and Heinrich commanded
the throng to remain in the great aisle of the church,
while they proceeded together into the choir. They
found the usual evidences of a fierce conflagration
at every step, but nothing to create surprise, until
they arrived at the mouldering altar.

“Himmel!” exclaimed the Burgomaster, hastily

[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]

pulling back his noble friend by the cloak,—“Your
foot was about to do disreverence to the bones of a
Christian, my Lord Count!—For Christian Father
Johan was, beyond all question, though one more
given to damnation than to charity.”

Emich recoiled, for he saw in truth, that with
heedless step, he had been near crushing these revolting
remnants of mortality.

“Here died a wild enthusiast!” he said, moving
the skeleton with the point of his sheathed sword.

“And here he is still, nobly-born Graf!—This settles
the question of the monk chasing young Berchthold
through the forest, and among the cedars of
the Heidenmauer, and it would be well to show these
remains to the people.”

The hint was improved, and the throng was summoned
to bear witness, that the bones of Johan still
lay on the precise spot, in which he had died. While
the curious and the timid were whispering their opinions
of this discovery, the two leaders descended to
the crypt.

This portion of the edifice had suffered least by
the fire. Protected by the superior pavement, and
constructed altogether of stone, it had received no
very material injury, but that which had been inflicted
by the sledges of the invaders. Fragments
of the tombs lay scattered on every side, and here
and there a wreath of smoke had left its mark upon
a wall; but Emich saw with regret, that he owed
the demolition of the altar, and of the other memorials
of his race, entirely to his own precipitation.

“I will cause the bones of my fathers to be interred
elsewhere,” he said, musingly;—“this is no
sepulchre for an honored stock!”

“Umph!—They have long and creditably decayed
where they lie, Herr Emich, and it would have been
well had they been left beneath the cover of their
ancient marbles; but our artisans showed unusual

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agility in this part of their toil, in honor, no doubt,
of an illustrious house.”

“None of my race shall sleep within walls accursed
by Benedictines! Hark!—what movement
is that above, good Heinrich?”

“The townsmen have doubtless fallen upon the
bones of the hermit, and of young Berchthold.
Shall we go up, Lord Count, and see that fitting
reverence be paid their remains? The Forester
has claims upon us all, and as for Odo Von Ritterstein,
his crime would be deemed all the lighter in
these days, moreover he was betrothed to Ulrike in
their youth.”

“Heinrich, thy wife was very fair;—she had
many suitors!”

“I cry your mercy, noble Count; I never heard
but of poor Odo, and myself. The former was put
out of the question by his own madness, and as for the
latter, he is such as Heaven was pleased to make him;
an indifferent lover and husband if you will, but a
man of some credit and substance among his equals.”

The Count did not care to dispute the possession
of these qualities with his friend, and they left the
crypt, with a common desire to pay proper respect
to the remains of poor Berchthold. To their mutual
surprise the church was found deserted. By the
clamor of voices without, however, it was easy to
perceive that some extraordinary incident had drawn
away the members of the procession, in a body.
Curious to have so violent an interruption of the proceedings
explained, the two chiefs, for Heinrich was
still entitled to be so styled, hastened down the great
aisle, picking their way among fallen fragments, towards
the great door. Near the latter, they were
again shocked by the spectacle of the charred skeleton
of Johan, which seemingly had been dropped under
the impulse of some sudden and great confusion.

“Himmel!” muttered the Burgomaster, while he

[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]

hurried after his leader, “they have deserted the
bones of the Benedictine!—can it be, Lord Emich,
that some fiery miracle, after all our unbelief, hath
wrought this fear?”

Emich made no reply, but issued into the court
with the air of an offended master. The first glimpse,
however, that he caught of the group, which now
thronged the ruined walls of the minor buildings,
whence there was a view of the surrounding country,
and particularly of parts of the adjacent hill of
the Heidenmauer, convinced him that the present
was no moment to exhibit displeasure. Climbing up
a piece of fallen stone-work, he found himself on a
fragment of wall, surrounded by fifty silent, wondering
countenances, among whom he recognised several
of his own most trusty followers.

“What meaneth this disrespect of the service, and
so sudden an abandonment of the remains of the
monk?” demanded the baron,—vainly looking about
him, in the hope of finding some quicker explanation
by means of his own eyes.

“Hath not my Lord the Count seen and heard?”
muttered the nearest vassal.

“What—knave? I have seen nought, but pallid
and frightened fools, nor heard more than beating
hearts! Wilt thou explain this, varlet—for, though
something of a rogue, thou, at least, art no coward?”

Emich addressed himself to Gottlob.

“It may not be so easy of explanation as is thought,
Lord Count,” returned the cow-herd gravely: “the
people have come hither with this speed, inasmuch
as the cries of the supernatural dogs have been heard,
and some say the person of poor Berchthold hath
been again seen!”

The Count smiled contemptuously, though he knew
the speaker sufficiently well to be surprised at the
concern which was very unequivocally painted in
his face.

[figure description] Page 219.[end figure description]

“Thou wert attached to my Forester?”

“Lord Emich, we were friends, if one of so humble
station may use the word, when speaking of a youth
that served so near the person of our master. Like
his, my own family once knew better days, and we
often met in the chase, which I was wont to cross,
coming or going to the pastures. I loved poor
Berchthold, nobly-born Count, and still love his
memory.”

“I believe thou hast better stuff in thee, than some
idle and silly deeds would give reason to believe. I
have remembered thy good will on various occasions,
and especially thy cleverness in making the signals,
on the night these walls were overturned, and thou
wilt find thyself named to the employment left vacant
by my late Forester's unhappy end.”

Gottlob endeavored to thank his master, but he
was too much troubled by real grief for the loss
of his friend, to find consolation in his own preferment.

“My services are my Lord Count's,” he answered,
“but, though ready to do as commanded, I could
well wish that Berchthold were here to do that for
me, which—”

“Listen!—Hark!”—cried a hundred voices.

Emich started, and bent forward in fixed attention.
The day was clear and cloudless, and the air of the
hills pure as a genial breeze and a bright sun could
bestow. Favored by such circumstances, and amid
a silence that was breathing and eloquent, there were
borne across the valley the well known cries of
hounds on the scent. In that region and age, none
dared hunt, and indeed none possessed the means of
hunting, but the feudal Lord. Since the late events,
his chases had been unentered with this view, and
the death of Berchthold, who had especial privileges
in this respect, had left them without another who
might dare to imitate his habits.

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“This is at least bold!” said Emich, when the
cries had passed away: “hath any other near dogs
of that noble breed?”

“We never heard of other!”

“None would dare use them;” were the answers.

“I know those throats—they are, of a certainty,
the favorite hounds of my poor Forester! Have not
the dogs escaped the leash, to play their gambols at
will among the deer?”

“In that case, Lord Count, would tried hounds remain
abroad for weeks?” answered Gottlob. “It is
now a sennight since these cries have been first
heard, and yet no one has seen the dogs, from that
hour to this, unless as some one of our hinds says,
they have in sooth been seen running madly on the
scent.”

“ 'Tis said, mein Herr Graf,” put in another, “that
Berchthold, himself, hath been viewed in their company,
his garments floating in the wind, while he
flew along, keeping even pace with the dogs, an' he
had been swift of foot as they!”

“With Father Johan at his heels, cowl undone,
and robe streaming like a penon, by way of religious
amusement!” added the Count, laughing. “Dost
not see, dotard, that the crackling bones of thy monk
are still in the ruin?”

The hind was daunted by his master's manner,
but nothing convinced. There then succeeded a
long and expecting silence, for this little by-play near
the Count had not in the least affected the solemn
attention of the mass. At length the throats of these
mysterious dogs again opened, and the cries indeed
appeared like those of hounds rushing from beneath
the cover of woods into the open air. In a few moments
they were repeated, and beyond all dispute,
they were now upon the open heath that surrounded
the Teufelstein. The crisis grew alarming for the
local superstitions of such a place, in the

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commencement of the sixteenth century. Even Emich wavered.
Though he had a vague perception of the inconsistency
of living dogs being hunted by a dead
Forester, still there were so many means of getting
over this immaterial difficulty, when the greater
point of the supernatural chase was admitted, that
he found little relief in the objection. Descending
from the wall, he was in the act of beckoning the
priests and Heinrich to his side, when a general shout
arose among the male spectators, while the women
rushed in a body around Ulrike, who was kneeling,
with Lottchen and Meta, before the great crucifix
of the ancient court of the convent. In the twinkling
of an eye, Emich re-occupied his place on the
wall, which shook with the impetus of his heavy
rush.

“What meaneth this disrespectful tumult?” angrily
demanded the baron.

“The hounds!—mein Herr Graf!—the hounds!”
answered fifty breathless peasants.

“Explain this outcry, Gottlob,”

“My Lord Count, we have seen the dogs leaping
past yonder margin of the hill,—here,—just in a line
with the spot where the Teufelstein lies. I know
the dear animals well, Herr Emich, and believe me,
they are truly the old favourites of Berchthold.”

“And Berchthold!” continued one or two of the
more decided lovers of the marvellous,—“we saw
the late Forester, great Emich, bounding after the
dogs an' he had wings!”

The matter grew serious, and the Count slowly
descended to the court, determined to bring the affair
to some speedy explanation.

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