CHAPTER VIII.
The torches were burning clear in the vaulted halls of the castle, Hildegardis had just left the arm of her lover to begin a stately dance of ceremony with the aged duke, when Edwald beckoned to his companion, and they went forth together into the moonlit gardens of the castle.
"Ah, Froda, my noble, lofty hero," exclaimed Edwald, after a silence, "were you as happy as I am! But your eyes rest gravely and thoughtfully on the ground, or kindle almost impatiently heavenwards.

It would be dreadful, indeed, had the secret wish of your heart been to win Hildegardis--and I, foolish boy, so strangely favoured, had stood in your way." "Be at rest, Edchen," answered, the Danish hero, with a smile.

"On the word of a knight, my thoughts and yearnings concern not your fair Hildegardis.

Far brighter than ever does Aslauga's radiant image shine into my heart: but now hear what I am going to relate to you.
"At the very moment when we met together in the course--oh, had I words to express it to you!--I was enwrapped, encircled, dazzled, by Aslauga's golden tresses, which were waving all around me.

Even my noble steed must have beheld the apparition, for I felt him start and rear under me.