the Queen was to be found.  The Christmas approached.  One Sunday evening, Gustavus was disconsolate; the Knight was long sleepless, and at daybreak he went into the church, to the tomb of his ancestress, St. Bridget.  There he saw, at a few paces from him, a female kneeling before Philippa’s tomb.  It was the Queen he saw; their eyes met, and Gustavus hastened away.  She then mentioned his name, begged him to stay, and commanded him to do so.

“I command it, Gustavus!” said she; “the Queen commands it.”

And she spoke to him; they conversed together, and it became clear to them both what had been done against them and with them; and she showed him a withered rose which she kept in her bosom, and she bent towards him and gave him a kiss, the last—­their eternal leave-taking—­and then they separated.  He died shortly afterwards, but Catherine was stronger, yet not strong enough for her heart’s deep sorrow.  Here, in the bed-chamber, in uneasy dreams, says the story, she betrayed in sleep the constant thought of her heart, her youth’s love, to the King, saying:  “Gustavus I love dearly; but the rose—­I shall never forget.”

From a secret door we walk out on to the open rampart, where the sheep now graze; the cattle are driven into one of the ruined towers.  We see the palace-yard, and look from it up to a window.  Come, thou birch-wood’s thrush, and warble thy lays; sing, whilst we recal the bitterness of love in the rude—­the chivalrous ages.

Under that window there stood, one cold winter’s night, wrapped in his white cloak, the young Count John of East Friesland.  His brother had married Gustavus Vasa’s eldest daughter, and departed with her to his home:  wherever they came on their journey, there was mirth and feasting, but the most splendid was at Vadstene Palace.  Cecilia, the King’s younger daughter, had accompanied her sister hither, and was here, as everywhere, the first, the most beautiful in the chase as well as at the tournament.  The winter began directly on their arrival at Vadstene; the cold was severe, and the Vettern frozen over.  One day, Cecilia rode out on the ice and it broke; her brother, Prince Erik, came galloping to her aid.  John, of East Friesland, was already there, and begged Erik to dismount, as he would, being on horseback, break the ice still more.  Erik would not listen to him, and as John saw that there was no time for dispute, he dragged Erik from the horse, sprang into the water himself, and saved Cecilia.  Prince Erik was furious with wrath, and no one could appease him.  Cecilia lay long in a fever, and during its continuance, her love for him who had saved her life increased.  She recovered, and they understood each other, but the day of separation approached.  It was on the night previous that John, in his white cloak, ascended from stone to stone, holding by his silk ladder, until he at length entered the window; here they would converse for hours in all modesty and honour, speak about his