Otho watched his advance with uncontrollable terror. None the less, whoever was his enemy, he did not dream of not defending himself and fighting. But seeing what an extraordinary foe he had to deal with, he recognised that neither spiritual nor temporal weapons were superfluous for his defence, and before drawing his sword, he made the sign of the Cross.

  In an instant the lights went out, the table disappeared, and the old Knight and his wife vanished like visions.

  Otho stood dazed; then seeing and hearing nothing further, he entered the room a moment ago so full of life, now so dark; and by the light of his resinous torch he saw that the weird guests had resumed their places in their frames; only the eyes of the old Knight seemed still alive and followed Otho with a menacing look.

  Otho passed on. According to what he had heard, he decided that imminent danger threatened Hermann, and seeing an open door, he followed the indication thus given and entered the corridor. Arrived at the end of the passage, he found himself at the head of the staircase, went down the first steps, and soon discovered he was level with the Abbey cemetery, on the other side of which he saw the Church all lighted up. A door going down to the vaults stood open, and seemed likewise to lead to the Church; but Otho preferred going across the cemetery rather than under it.

  So he entered the cloister and advanced towards the Church. The door was shut, but he had only to push it, and the lock broke away from the oak, the door was so completely decayed and rotten. Now he stood within the Church; he saw everything, the monks, the betrothed pair, the parents, the marble Bishop who had risen from the grave, and who was just about to place the nuptial ring on Hermann’s finger, as he stood before the altar white and trembling.

  This no doubt was the marriage the old Knight and his dame had spoken of.

  Otho stretched out his hand to the holy water basin, then raising his wet fingers to his forehead, he made the sign of the Cross.

  Instantaneously, as if by magic, the whole scene vanished, — bishop, bride, father and mother, nuns; the tapers were extinguished, the Church rocked as if on returning to their graves the dead had shaken the very foundations; a peal of thunder was heard, lightning flashed across the chancel, and as if he were struck by the bolt of heaven, Hermann fell unconscious on the stones of the sanctuary.

  By the light of his torch that was almost burning out, Otho went to him, and taking him on his shoulder, he tried to carry him away. Just then the torch went quite out. Otho flung it away and tried to regain the door; but the darkness was so intense that he failed to find it. So he went on for an interminable half hour, knocking against pillar after pillar, his brow streaming with sweat and his hair bristling at the remembrance of the demoniacal things he had witnessed. At last he found the door he had searched for so long.

  As he set foot in the cloister, he heard his name and that of Hermann repeated by many voices; another moment and torches flashed in the Castle windows, men appeared at the foot of the staircase and crowded under the cloister arcades. Otho answered by a single cry in which he spent all his strength, and then fell exhausted beside the still unconscious Hermann.

  The Archers carried the two young men into the guard-room, where they soon opened their eyes. Hermann and Otho related in turn what had happened to them. The old Archer hearing that thunder-peal unaccompanied by a storm, had at once awakened all the sleepers, and they had set out in search of the adventurous youths, whom they found, as we have just seen, in a condition that left little to choose between them.

  No one slept again, and at the first beam of day the company marched silently out of the ruined Castle of Windeck, and resumed its journey to Cleves, where they arrived at nine o’clock in the morning.

  CHAPTER V.

  THE lists prepared for the Archery consisted of a plain stretching from the Castle of Cleves to the banks of the Rhine. On the Castle side a dais was erected, prepared for the Prince and his courtiers. On the other side and on the bank the people from all the surrounding villages were already waiting in rows for the spectacle they were about to enjoy, and of which they were all the more proud since the victor of the day would come from their own rank. A group of Archers, arrived from other parts of Germany, were already in position at one end of the meadow, while at the other, the butt to be aimed at by arrows showed a black point surrounded by two rings, — one red, the other blue, — placed on a white ground, a hundred and fifty paces off.

  At ten o’clock the trumpets sounded; the Castle gate opened, and there issued forth a noble cavalcade, composed of Prince Adolf of Cleves, the Princess Helena and the Sovereign Count of Ravenstein. A numerous retinue of pages and grooms, — on horseback like their masters, though the distance which separated the Castle from the meadow was barely half a mile, — followed their lords, and as it wound along the narrow path descending from hill to plain, it looked like a long speckled serpent going down to quench its thirst in the river below.

  Long shouts of applause welcomed the King and Queen of the festival, as they ascended the dais that had been prepared for them. As for Otho, the great folks had already taken their places before a sound issued from his lips, so absorbed was he in a deep, silent meditation at sight of the young Princess Helena.

  She was indeed one of the most graceful creatures Northern Germany — so fertile in fair and graceful types — could produce. Like plants growing in the shade with roots steeped in a humid soil, Helena lacked perhaps those vivid colours of youth blossoming under a warmer sun; but on the other hand, she had all the suppleness and grace of those lovely lake- flowers which may be seen rising out of the water in the day-time to look around them a while and take their share in the festival of life, but close up at twilight, and rest at night under the large round leaves with unseen stems that nature has given them for a cradle. She followed her’ father, and was herself followed by the Count of Ravenstein, who would, everyone said, soon become her betrothed. Behind them walked pages bearing on a red velvet cushion the cap intended to be the prize for the conqueror. The officers of Prince Adolf had finished filling up the places of honour reserved on the dais, and after Princess Helena had responded by a gracious bow to the murmur of admiration which greeted her, her father motioned that the contest might begin.

  There were a hundred and twenty competitors, or thereabouts, and the conditions imposed were as follows:

  All who at the first attempt missed the white altogether, should there and then retire from the competition.

  All who at the second attempt landed their arrows outside the red circle should likewise retire.

  Then there would only remain for the final contest those who after the third attempt had kept within the blue ring.

  In this way they avoided confusion amongst the competitors, as well as all possibility that chance instead of skill might give the victory to an indifferent bowman.

  The signal given, the Archers one and all strung their bows and prepared their arrows. Each had been enrolled, and the list had been drawn up in alphabetical order. A herald called the names, and as they were called, the marksmen advanced and loosed their arrows.

  Some twenty Archers fell out at the first test, and shamefaced and accompanied by the laughter of the spectators, retired into a reserved enclosure, where they would soon be joined by fresh companions in misfortune.

  After the second round the number was still further augmented, for the more difficult the task became, the more failures there were bound to be. At last, after the third trial, there only remained eleven Archers to contest the prize, among whom were Franz, Hermann and Otho. These were the pick of all the Bowmen of the Rhine between Strasburg and Nimwegen. Attention became keener, and even the Archers who had no further place in the contest, forgetting their defeat, shared in the general excitement, each praying that the luck which had forsaken himself, might protect friend, countryman or brother.

  A new rule was next made amongst the Archers themselves, — that a fourth test should be applied. This time every arrow that did not hit the black spot itself was to exclude the shooter, and further reduce the number of competitors. Seven failed; Franz and Hermann had accomplished the shot called magpie, that is to say they had landed their arrows partly on the black. Mildar and Otho had hit the bull’s eye fair and full.

  This Mildar whom we now mention for the first time was one of the Count of Ravenstein’s Archers, whose fame had spread up the Rhine from where the river is lost amid the sands of Dortrecht to where it springs a mere rivulet from the ridges of the Saint-Gothard. For long Franz and Hermann, who had their reputation to maintain, had desired to meet this redoubtable adversary, whom everyone was for pitting against them. The final test was now decided without their being disqualified, but still the advantage remained with Mildar, whom Otho alone had equalled throughout these preliminary trials.

  As the number of competitors diminished, the stronger grew the interest of the spectators. The four Archers who remained in the lists were the object of all eyes. Three were already famous for having contested and carried away prizes. But the fourth and the youngest was absolutely unknown to everyone; his name was asked on all sides, and no one could give any other than that he had chosen for himself, — Otho the Archer.

  According to alphabetical order, Franz was to shoot first. He went forward to the limit marked by a line of turf, chose his best arrow, slowly raised and adjusted his bow, aimed some seconds with all possible care, then let go the string, and the arrow buried itself in the centre of the black. Applause burst forth from every side, and Franz drew aside to give place to his comrades.

  Hermann advanced the second, took the same precautions as his predecessor and with the same result.

  It was Mildar’s turn. He took his place in the midst of the most profound silence, chose with extreme care an arrow from his quiver, balanced it on his finger so as to make sure the point did not weigh heavier than the notched ivory; then, satisfied with the examination, he placed it on the string. At the same moment his patron the Count of Raven- stein rose, and drawing a purse from his pocket, “Mildar,” he said to him, “if you go nearer the peg than your two rivals, this purse is yours.”

  Then he threw the purse, which rolled to the Archer’s feet. But he was so preoccupied that he seemed hardly to pay any attention to what his master said. The purse fell ringing near him without his turning his head; many an eye momentarily sought in the grass the gold gleaming in the silken meshes which enclosed it, then instantly returned to Mildar’s figure.

  The Count of Ravenstein was not mistaken in his expectation. Mildar’s arrow broke the peg itself and buried itself in the centre of the butt. A cry broke out on all sides; the Count of Ravenstein clapped his hands.

  Helena, on the contrary, paled so distinctly that her father anxiously leant towards her, asking her if she was in pain; but she only shook her fair head smilingly for answer, and Prince Adolf, reassured, turned his eyes towards the marksmen. Mildar picked up the purse.

  There still remained Otho, whose name had set him last, and to whom Mildar’s skill seemed to have left no chance. He too had smiled like the Princess, and by this smile it might be seen he did not deem himself beaten yet.

  But those who appeared to take the liveliest interest in this struggle were Franz and Hermann. Franz and Hermann once vanquished, transferred all their hope to their young friend. They had no purse of gold to cast at his feet, as the Count of Ravenstein had done for his champion, but they went up to Otho and grasped his hand.

  “Think of the honour of the Archers of Cologne,” they said to him, “though in all conscience we do not see how you can uphold it further.”

  “If someone will take out Mildar’s arrow,” answered Otho, “I can bury mine in the hole that his has made.”

  Franz and Hermann gazed at each other with stupefied wonder. Otho had proposed this in such a quiet tone and with such coolness, they did not doubt after the proof of skill he had once before given them that he was capable of doing what he proposed. Then amid the noisy clamour that rose from the assembled crowds, they signalled that they wished to speak, and silence reigned once more. Then Hermann, turning towards the dais where the Prince of Cleves was seated, raised his voice and repeated Otho’s request. It was so fair and so unusual that it was at once granted; and this time it was Mildar who smiled, but with an expression of incredulity that plainly showed he considered the thing impossible.

  Then Otho laid down his cap, his bow and arrows on the ground, and went himself with a slow and measured step to examine the shot; it was just as the marker had said. Mildar who had followed him, now reached the butt and drew out his arrow with his own hand.

  Franz and Hermann were about to do the same, but Otho stopped them with a look; they understood that their young friend wished to use their two arrows as two guides, and responded with an intelligent glance. Otho then picked up a small field daisy, thrust it into the hollow formed by Mildar’s arrow, in order to be guided by a white point in the middle of the round black spot. Then having taken this precaution he returned to his place, without humility as without pride, convinced that though he should lose the prize, he had contested it for a sufficiently long time not to be ashamed at seeing it go into other hands.

  Arrived once more at the firing line, he waited a moment till each had resumed his proper station. Then order once more established, he lifted up his bow, apparently took the first arrow that chanced, — although a practised eye would have observed that he had felt under the others for the one he took, — shook his head to throw out of the way his long fair hair which his movements had tossed over his eyes; then calm and smiling like the Pythian Apollo, he set his arrow to the bow, raised it slowly to the level of the butt and of his eye, drew back his right hand till the bow-string almost touched his shoulder; then suddenly the arrow was seen like a lightning-flash and at the same moment the daisy vanished. Otho had kept his promise, and his arrow had replaced Mildar’s in the centre of the butt.

  A cry of astonishment escaped every mouth, the feat was well nigh miraculous.

  Otho turned towards the Prince and bowed to him. Helena blushed with pleasure, and Ravenstein with mortification.

  The Prince Adolf of Cleves rose and announced that from this point he considered there were two victors, and so there should be two prizes: one would be the cap embroidered by his daughter, the other, the gold chain which he wore on his neck. However, as this contest of skill interested him as deeply as it did all present, he wished that each of the rivals should propose a last proof, choosing what test he pleased, and that the other should be bound to accept it. Otho and Mildar agreed like men who would have asked this very boon, if it had not been proposed to them, and the crowd, delighted at seeing an exhibition so interesting, clapped hands with one accord, thanking the Prince for his generosity.

  The alphabetical order gave Mildar the choice of the first test. He went to the bank of the river, cut two willow-branches, came back and planted one at half distance from the original butt; then returning to the limit he clove it with his arrow.

  Otho prepared the other and did the same. Now it was his turn: he took two arrows; one he passed into his belt, placed the other on the bow, shot it so as to make it describe a circle, and while the first was falling almost vertically, he split it with the second.

  This appeared so miraculous to Mildar, that he declared, never having performed a similar feat, he considered success impossible. Consequently he owned himself beaten, and left the choice to his rival between the cap embroidered by Princess Helena and the gold chain given by Prince Adolf of Cleves.

  Otho chose the cap, and went and knelt before the Princess amid the loud acclamations of the multitude.

  CHAPTER VI.

  WHEN Otho rose to his feet, his forehead adorned with the cap he had won, his face was radiant with joy and happiness. Helena’s hair had almost touched his, their breaths had mingled, it was the first time that he had breathed the atmosphere of a woman.

  His green close coat fitted so well his supple and slender figure, his eyes were so brilliant with the first pride a man experiences in his first triumph, he was so handsome and so proud of his good fortune that Prince Adolf of Cleves at once thought how advantageous it would be to attach such a follower to himself. So turning towards the young man, who was about to descend from the platform, he said, “A moment, my young master, I hope we shall not part like this.”

  “I am at your Lordship’s orders,” answered the young man.

  “What is your name?”

  “My name is Otho, my Lord.”

  “Well, Otho,” continued the Prince, “you know me since you have come to the festival I give. You know that my retainers and my gentlemen think me a good master. Are you unattached?”

  “I am free, my Lord,” answered Otho.

  “Very well, then, will you enter my service?”

  “In what capacity?” answered the young man.

  “In what seems to me suitable to your condition and your skill — to wit, as an Archer.”

  Otho smiled with an expression unintelligible to those who could see in him only a clever marksman, and would without doubt have answered in accordance with his rank and not his appearance, when he saw Helena’s eye fasten on him with such an expression of anxiety that his words died on his lips. At the same time the young girl drew her hands together as if in entreaty. Otho felt his pride melting away at the first ray of love, and turning towards the Prince, he said, “I accept.”

  A flash of joy overspread Helena’s face.

  “Very well, that is arranged,” continued the Prince; “from to-day you are in my service. Take this purse, ‘tis the earnest money of our bargain.”

  “No, thank you, my Lord,” replied Otho smiling. “I have still some money my mother gave me. When I have no more, I will claim from your Lordship the pay due to me for my services. Only since your Lordship is so well disposed towards me, I will ask for another favour instead.”