Well, we sat down under the tree to smoke, and the captain delivered himself of his legend: 

THE LEGEND OF DILSBERG CASTLE

It was to this effect.  In the old times there was once a great company assembled at the castle, and festivity ran high.  Of course there was a haunted chamber in the castle, and one day the talk fell upon that.  It was said that whoever slept in it would not wake again for fifty years.  Now when a young knight named Conrad von Geisberg heard this, he said that if the castle were his he would destroy that chamber, so that no foolish person might have the chance to bring so dreadful a misfortune upon himself and afflict such as loved him with the memory of it.  Straightway, the company privately laid their heads together to contrive some way to get this superstitious young man to sleep in that chamber.

And they succeeded—­in this way.  They persuaded his betrothed, a lovely mischievous young creature, niece of the lord of the castle, to help them in their plot.  She presently took him aside and had speech with him.  She used all her persuasions, but could not shake him; he said his belief was firm, that if he should sleep there he would wake no more for fifty years, and it made him shudder to think of it.  Catharina began to weep.  This was a better argument; Conrad could not out against it.  He yielded and said she should have her wish if she would only smile and be happy again.  She flung her arms about his neck, and the kisses she gave him showed that her thankfulness and her pleasure were very real.  Then she flew to tell the company her success, and the applause she received made her glad and proud she had undertaken her mission, since all alone she had accomplished what the multitude had failed in.

At midnight, that night, after the usual feasting, Conrad was taken to the haunted chamber and left there.  He fell asleep, by and by.

When he awoke again and looked about him, his heart stood still with horror!  The whole aspect of the chamber was changed.  The walls were moldy and hung with ancient cobwebs; the curtains and beddings were rotten; the furniture was rickety and ready to fall to pieces.  He sprang out of bed, but his quaking knees sunk under him and he fell to the floor.

“This is the weakness of age,” he said.

He rose and sought his clothing.  It was clothing no longer.  The colors were gone, the garments gave way in many places while he was putting them on.  He fled, shuddering, into the corridor, and along it to the great hall.  Here he was met by a middle-aged stranger of a kind countenance, who stopped and gazed at him with surprise.  Conrad said: 

“Good sir, will you send hither the lord Ulrich?”

The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said: 

“The lord Ulrich?”

“Yes—­if you will be so good.”

The stranger called—­“Wilhelm!” A young serving-man came, and the stranger said to him: