The wounded condition of Folko did not hinder the evening delights of songs and music and poetry--but rather a new charm was added to them when the tall, handsome knight leant on the arm of his delicate lady, and they thus, changing as it were their deportment and duties, walked slowly through the torch-lit halls, scattering their kindly greetings like flowers among the crowds of men and women.
All this time little or nothing was heard of poor Sintram.

The last wild outbreak of his father had increased the terror with which Gabrielle remembered the self-accusations of the youth; and the more resolutely Folko kept silence, the more did she bode some dreadful mystery.

Indeed, a secret shudder came over the knight when he thought on the pale, dark-haired youth.

Sintram's repentance had bordered on settled despair; no one knew even what he was doing in the fortress of evil report on the Rocks of the Moon.

Strange rumours were brought by the retainers who had fled from it, that the evil spirit had obtained complete power over Sintram, that no man could stay with him, and that the fidelity of the dark mysterious castellan had cost him his life.
Folko could hardly drive away the fearful suspicion that the lonely young knight was become a wicked magician.
And perhaps, indeed, evil spirits did flit about the banished Sintram, but it was without his calling them up.