Upon a lofty crag, overhanging the river Weistritz, in Eastern Germany, stand the ruins of the Kynsburg. Once it was a splendid castle, and many an assemblage of noble knights and ladies, and many a gay revel, were held within its walls. It had its guardian spirit, too; for the tale went that an apparition, called by the castle-folk “the white lady,” often wandered by night through hall and garden, and most of all when some maiden of the house of Kynsburg needed help. So it had been, they said, when a daring and cruel knight once waylaid a daughter of Kynsburg as she passed alone at even along the corridor. For this knight had cast his eyes upon the maiden, who was beautiful, and had urged her to give him her love, but she denied it him; and so he would fain have won by foul means what he could not get by fair ones. But this maiden had, from her childhood, loved to hear of the “white lady,” and to fancy she was under her protection, and many a prayer had she said in the castle chapel for the repose of her soul. And now, in the hour of need, she called upon her, and at once the mysterious white figure appeared; and while the reckless knight fell upon his knees in terror, the closed doors of the corridor silently opened, and the girl fled through them to a place of safety. But next morning the knight was found lying dead upon the floor.

This was the story that was handed down from generation to generation among the folk of Kynsburg, and Adelheid, the beautiful daughter of the house, had often listened to it with eager ears, and had longed in her turn to see the “white lady,” and invoke her help.

For Adelheid, too, had her trouble, though it was hard to see how any, save one person, could mend it. And that person was not the “white lady,” but the knight, Bernhard von Haugwitz, whom Adelheid had secretly loved ever since she first saw him ride by to the hunt, in all the splendour of his youth and noble bearing. But she had no certainty, nor much hope even, of her love being returned, though sometimes, to be sure, she caught his eyes fixed upon her as earnestly as though he would have read her very soul, so that it needed all the pride that her blood and her upbringing had taught her, to help her to hide her agitation. And just at the time I tell of, the knight was at the castle, for the lord of Kynsburg was giving a great feast to celebrate the beginning of the autumn hunt; and all the nobles of the country, far and near, were gathered together for it. Many of their wives and daughters had come with them, too, so that the castle was overflowing with guests and merriment, and little time left for Adelheid to brood over her own thoughts. Yet even now she would sometimes draw aside from her young companions, as they paced the gardens or the terrace together, for she hoped that the knight would come and seek her out for a few moments alone, as he had done once or twice before. But he came seldom, and her heart grew heavier each day.

If only she could have known! If only she could have read that proud and secret heart, and seen how it was filled with love for her, which gloomy fears and doubts alone kept silent! For Bernhard von Haugwitz was not the cheery, hopeful being that his years and his fortune should have made him. Bitter experience and sorrow had already overshadowed him, and shaken his trust in his fellow-creatures, and his belief in the happiness of life. He would not, so he told himself, again stake everything upon the love of a woman; he hesitated to pluck the fruit, for fear it should leave a bitter taste behind. And this though his heart was wrung for longing after Adelheid’s love, and pity, too, for her; for he knew that she loved him, and that her life was consuming away for his sake; nor had he any good reason to fancy that her love was not pure and faithful.

He thought upon it as he sat with his companions round the great oaken table in the castle hall; the gold and silver flagons passed from hand to hand, but he let them go by untasted; songs and jesting sounded merrily on every side, but he did not heed them; the present scene faded from his sight, and he saw only the tall figure in the white, gold-embroidered garments, and the wistful eyes gazing into his, as he had seen them that evening, when he stood for a moment beside Adelheid in the dusky hall. As he mused he felt his resolution weakening, and swore that he would flee from the temptation to which he would not give way. Why not now, at once, without seeing her again? for a meeting might give rise to words and looks that could only increase his pain and remorse in the future. What had he to do with these carousing knights, whose thoughts were far from his own? He would slip out and look for his page; then the horses should be saddled forthwith, and they would be up and away. He rose and went out through the ante-rooms to the terrace of the castle, glad to let the night-wind lift his hair and cool his throbbing brow.

The stars shone bright above the opposite hills and sparkled in the river below. A little breeze whispered in the branches of the poplars; it was as though the trees talked together. A strange feeling of expectation was in the air; could it be only that he was looking upon this spot for the last time? Something moved beside him in the shadow—he turned, and saw that a tall white figure stood beneath the poplar-trees. He strained his eyes through the dark—surely he could not be mistaken, it was the maiden he loved and was leaving for ever.

“Adelheid,” he called almost in spite of himself, “is it thou? Then bid me farewell.”

Yet even now she would sometimes draw apart from her young companions, as they paced the gardens or terrace together.