For a long time the Count walked up and down the spacious room,
stopping now and then at the window to peer through the iron grille at
the rapid current of the river far below, the noble stream as typical
of freedom as were the bars that crossed his vision, of captivity. It
seemed that the authorities of the castle had abandoned all thought of
further communication with their truculent prisoner. Finally he entered
the inner room and flung himself down, booted and spurred as he was,
upon the couch, and, his sword for a bedmate, slept. The day was far
spent when he awoke, and his first sensation was that of gnawing
hunger, for he was a healthy man. His next, that he had heard in his
sleep the cautious drawing of bolts, as if his enemies purposed to
project themselves surreptitiously in upon him, taking him at a
disadvantage. He sat upright, his sword ready for action, and listened
intently. The silence was profound, and as the Count sat breathless,
the stillness seemed to be emphasised rather than disturbed by a long-
drawn sigh which sent a thrill of superstitious fear through the
stalwart frame of the young man, for he well knew that the Rhine was
infested with spirits animated by evil intentions toward human beings,
and against such spirits his sword was but as a willow wand. He
remembered with renewed awe that this castle stood only a few leagues
above the Lurlei rocks where a nymph of unearthly beauty lured men to
their destruction, and the knight crossed himself as a protection
against all such. Gathering courage from this devout act, and
abandoning his useless weapon, he tiptoed to the door that led to the
larger apartment, and there found his worst anticipations realised.
With her back against the closed outer door stood a Siren of the Rhine,
and, as if to show how futile is the support of the Evil One in a
crisis, her very lips were pallid with fear and her blue eyes were wide
with apprehension, as they met those of the Count von Schonburg. Her