I!  As she was a living woman, there she saw the two dead princes, the Prince Palatine of Bohemia and the Elector of Bavaria, standing front to front at the foot of the bed, all in white armour, with drawn swords, and attendants holding pine-torches.  Neither of them spoke.  Their vizors were down; but she knew them by their arms and bearing:  both tall, stately presences, good knights in their day, and had fought against the Infidel!  So one of them pointed to the bed, and then a torch was lowered, and the fight commenced.  Isentrude saw the sparks fly, and the steel struck till it was shattered; but they fought on, not caring for wounds, and snorting with fury as they grew hotter.  They fought a whole hour.  The poor girl was so eaten up with looking on, that she let go the curtain and stood quite exposed among them.  So, to steady herself, she rested her hand on the bed-side; and—­think what she felt—­a hand as cold as ice locked hers, and get from it she could not!  That instant one of the princes fell.  It was Bohmen.  Bayern sheathed his sword, and waved his hand, and the attendants took up the slaughtered ghost, feet and shoulders, and bore him to the door of the secret passage, while Bayern strode after—­’

‘Shameful!’ exclaimed Margarita.  ’I will speak to Berthold as he descends.  I hear him coming.  He shall do what I wish.’

’Call it dreadful, Grete!  Dreadful it was.  If Berthold would like to sit and hear—­Ah! she is gone.  A good girl! and of a levity only on the surface.’

Aunt Lisbeth heard Margarita’s voice rapidly addressing Berthold.  His reply was low and brief.  ‘Refuses to listen to anything of the sort,’ Aunt Lisbeth interpreted it.  Then he seemed to be pleading, and Margarita uttering short answers.  ’I trust ’tis nothing a maiden should not hear,’ the little lady exclaimed with a sigh.

The door opened, and Lieschen stood at the entrance.

‘For Fraulein Margarita,’ she said, holding a letter halfway out.

‘Give it,’ Aunt Lisbeth commanded.

The woman hesitated—­’’Tis for the Fraulein.’

‘Give it, I tell thee!’ and Aunt Lisbeth eagerly seized the missive, and subjected it to the ordeal of touch.  It was heavy, and contained something hard.  Long pensive pressures revealed its shape on the paper.  It was an arrow.  ‘Go!’ said she to the woman, and, once alone, began, bee-like, to buzz all over it, and finally entered.  It contained Margarita’s Silver Arrow.  ‘The art of that girl!’ And the writing said: 

     ’Sweetestmaiden!

’By this arrow of our betrothal, I conjure thee to meet me in all haste without the western gate, where, burning to reveal to thee most urgent tidings that may not be confided to paper, now waits, petitioning the saints, thy

‘Farina.’

Aunt Lisbeth placed letter and arrow in a drawer; locked it; and ’always thought so.’  She ascended the stairs to consult with Gottlieb.  Roars of laughter greeted her just as she lifted the latch, and she retreated abashed.