It had been after a wild ride homeward that Erna met Albrecht and turned away from him. When she dashed away from Count Stephen in the forest the tears had gathered so thickly in her eyes that she was perforce minded to trust to the instincts of her palfrey rather than to her own guidance to bring her home to Rittenberg. Perchance they were tears of remorse, of rage, of indignation, and perhaps not a little of excitement. Her horse made his way bravely along the bridle-path, now brushing the thickly set ferns and brambles, now skirting close to the banks of the frothy river, and anon hurrying through the gathering shadows of the black pine-wood; and still it seemed to Erna as if she were fleeing from a pursuer who might at any moment rush upon her. She felt that her only safety lay in her husband's arms, and with the thought came a bitter pang in the sense of the wrong she had done Albrecht in listening so long to the whispered love-making of her cousin.

And it befell Erna, as she rode home thus swiftly through the forest, to come in mind to a burning sense of the change which had befallen her since she had bidden Count Stephen farewell when he set out for Strasburg. She seemed to look back from the depths to that height of purity and virtue where she then stood, and it was with the pricking of despair most profound that she felt how great was the distance between what she was and what she had been. A sob of passion and of terror rose in her throat as she thought of her husband, and for perhaps the first time since their marriage she appreciated how he had risen from what he had been. She did not realize that although she had been sinking, it was from her that Albrecht had gained his inspiration, and that it was he who had awakened in her those desires and instincts which had been her temptation. She only felt degraded and unworthy to stand before him, but with all the love of her heart she longed to fall at his feet and implore his forgiveness.

And yet how could she confess to him how she had fallen? She could not tell him that she had been kissed in the forest by another than himself, and she feared if she might compass that he should understand that after all she was not to blame. She had but been friendly to her cousin; had listened to him as any lady might listen to a knight who was handsome and debonair, and had responded only as might the dame of a castle to her guest, or at most as might one reply to a gallant warrior of her own blood. It had been but a glance now, and a pressure of the hand then; a whispered word, a sigh with which the count had looked into her eyes; and until to-day there had been nothing more. To-day——

Her cheeks glowed with the remembrance of that fervent kiss! She thrilled again with the ardor of the glances with which Count Stephen had regarded her as they rode to the meadows where the falcons had been thrown off, and when now and then his eyes had encountered hers as they watched the flight of the birds.

"My falcon outsaileth thine," he had murmured, "but his master's heart can never leave thee!"

She lashed her palfrey afresh as she recalled the words; they seemed to be again whispered into her ears, as if the sprites of the wood had heard them and repeated them to her shame and bewilderment. Her thoughts whirled through her head as the band of the Wild Huntsman, tempest-driven, might sweep through the forest. Had she forgotten, then, her love for her husband, she questioned herself, or was it that she had been bewitched and entangled perchance in the meshes of wicked sorcery? Surely, could she once take shelter in the arms of Albrecht and feel his strong clasp about her, she should be safe from these wild and sinful thoughts. She fled ever faster, hearing in the echoes of the hoof-beats of her own palfrey the trampling of Count Stephen's steed behind her.

Yet when she indeed stood face to face with Albrecht, it has been told how his calm and his seeming coldness did so repel and chill her that she was fain to escape from him without delay. He was to her as one withdrawn from the turmoil and the temptation of things earthly; and although she misjudged him gravely, yet none the less did she hasten speedily to her chamber, there to be alone with herself, that she might calm her mind and do away with the signs of agitation which Count Stephen would too surely mark on his coming.

She had scarcely reached the quiet of her chamber when she heard the hunt come clattering into the courtyard below, and the cries of page and groom as the horses were led away, and the damsels and the retainers entered the castle; and presently her woman Fastrade came into the chamber, while close upon her heels followed Elsa, both of them a-quiver with excitement and curiosity over what had happened, and of which they had been able only to guess a part from the little which they had seen. They might not ask their mistress concerning what had befallen, but they endeavored to lead her on to tell, if so be they might.

"The gracious count was like to one distracted," Elsa said volubly, "at that he had lost sight of the countess. He cried out that the Lady Countess was lost in the forest, and we could not persuade him that there could be no fear of that. He would remain to seek in the thickets, despite whatever we could say."

"Sooth, I know the wood-ways too well to miss my road," Erna assented.

"So in truth did I tell the gracious count," Fastrade quoth, with a nod of self-satisfaction; "but none the less was he still troubled lest some mishap should have befallen."

"He was so deeply concerned," continued Elsa, taking up the word, "that we feared lest perchance he might have offended—"

"Or that he might in sooth be to blame," remarked Fastrade, as Elsa judiciously left her sentence unfinished.

"And Count von Rittenberg is so desirous of pleasing—"

The cunning wench once more let the words die on her lips half spoken.

"And such a gallant rider as he is," chorused Fastrade.

"And no one, sure, could in the round world cast a falcon better."

Erna sprang to her feet, her cheeks burning red with fiery shame.

"Get thee gone," she cried to one and then to the other; "and thee also! Leave me!"

It came upon her burningly that it was to this that her dalliance with the count had brought her. That the very damsels of the castle were so well aware of her relations with her cousin that they thought to please her by sounding his praises. Low indeed had she fallen! She cast herself prostrate upon the stone floor, and grovelled there with weeping and with the bitterness of shame. Was it that she who had so long been as proud as the white heron whose plume she wore in state, had come to be gossiped about by her own train, to be the jest of menials, to be spoken of lightly and in very likelihood to be jested of with the tongue in the cheek! The very thralls belike had the tale of her weakness by heart by this, and could say it pat, as Father Christopher had never been able to teach them to say the catechism.

Surely it was since her husband, Albrecht, had come to Rittenberg that she had thus fallen from what she was; and yet he, in sooth, had constantly waxed in faith and in godliness. Erna groaned in spirit, since it appeared to her that it must indeed be that her nature was in itself wicked and prone to fare downward, while that of Albrecht was by some inner sanctity led ever in the way of grace. She fell into a passion of tears and lamentation until her tears had run dry, and she was exhausted with sobbing. Still prone upon the ground, her face hidden in her dishevelled hair, she heard footsteps approach; and presently the Lady Adelaide, her cane tapping sharply as she walked, stepped briskly into the chamber.

"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried the old dame, in a tone of shrill amazement and anger; "what has happened? Elsa declares that thou wert wroth without aught of provocation, and that thou dravest both her and Fastrade out of the chamber, albeit she could not tell wherein they had offended thee. In the name of Heaven's Queen, what hath come to thee?"

The tone in which the old dame spoke showed some traces of compassion as she proceeded, for, to say sooth, she could not unmoved see the grief of her niece, and she ended by bending over to lay her withered and trembling old hand upon the fair prostrate head. Erna raised herself into a sitting posture, and taking the wrinkled fingers in her own, she kissed them warmly.

"Dear heart," she said, "I am in sore trouble, and I know not if there may be comfort for such as I; but wilt thou not go thyself to Father Christopher, so that none may know, and bid him that he come to me in mine oratory? Let him not delay."

And thus Erna resolved to confess to Heaven the sin which had been in her heart, albeit it had been only a vague desire.