Before entering the rocky pass, the knight, with a prayer and thanksgiving, looked back once more at the castle of Drontheim.

There it was, so vast and quiet and peaceful; the bright windows of the chaplain's high chamber yet lighted up by the last gleam of the sun, which had already disappeared.

In front of Sintram was the gloomy valley, as if his grave.

Then there came towards him some one riding on a small horse; and Skovmark, who had gone up to the stranger as if to find out who he was, now ran back with his tail between his legs and his ears put back, howling and whining, and crept, terrified, under his master's war-horse.

But even the noble steed appeared to have forgotten his once so fearless and warlike ardour.