CHAPTER IX.
THE LADY OF WINDECK.
As the bell with iron tongue called midnight, Wolfgang the Archer, pacing on his watch, beheld before him a pale female figure.

He did not know whence she came: but there suddenly she stood close to him.

Her blue, clear, glassy eyes were fixed upon him.

Her form was of faultless beauty; her face pale as the marble of the fairy statue, ere yet the sculptor's love had given it life.

A smile played upon her features, but it was no warmer than the reflection of a moonbeam on a lake; and yet it was wondrous beautiful.