Albert de Hers turned pale as death, and drawing the ring from his finger, advanced a step, saying hoarsely, “Are you the Bertha to whom I gave this ring?”

She took the trinket in her hand, and after examining it over and over, replied: 

“I am that Bertha.  But how did you get this?”

“From the Duke Rodolph, to whom you gave it.”

The woman knit her brows, as if struggling to recall some confused impression, and at length said:  “Yes, I did give it to him; I remember now.  Where is he?”

“In heaven, I trust,” replied the Lord of Hers.

At the word heaven, the tears started in the eyes of the poor creature, and she hung her head.  The silence was profound and painful.  She was the first to break it.

“Interrupt me no more,” she said, suppressing her emotion.  “Hear me through.  Robert of Stramen and Albert of Hers were rivals for my love, and they began to hate each other bitterly on my account.  I loved neither, for I had promised to marry Albert of the Thorn, and I loved him as much as my vain heart was able to love anything.  But I was weak enough to receive the presents they gave me for the sake of wearing the finery, and my lover was pleased, because we were poor.  My Lord of Stramen, do you remember the day we brought you your brother’s corpse?”

The baron shuddered.

“On that very morning—­oh! how distinctly do I see it—­I was sitting in the ravine, not far from my mother’s house, when a wild boar pursued by hounds rushed madly by me.  As I stood trembling, a horseman followed, dashing along at full speed.  He reined up when he saw me.  It was the Lord of Hers.  He began to smile, and asked me to forgive him the fright he had given me, and, untying a scarf which he wore around his waist, threw it over my shoulders.  Then he put this ring on my finger and galloped off, crying he must not miss the stand.  This much you know, Albert of Hers, but you do not know what followed.  Was it not as I have said?”

The noble nodded.

“O God, strengthen me to reveal all!” continued the now agitated woman.  “I began to walk down the ravine, when I met Albert of the Thorn.  I showed him my presents, and we sat down at the foot of a pile of steep rocks, beside a little spring.  Albert was arranging the scarf about my neck, when Sir Robert of Stramen suddenly stood before us.  His face was pale with rage, and his lips were all foaming.  I screamed at his awful appearance.  I knew well that he hated my betrothed, and had threatened his life if he married me.  He snatched the scarf from my neck, and shaking it at me, said:  ‘I know very well from whom this came!’ Then, turning upon Albert, he cried:  ’And for you, who pretend to love her, to connive at his guilt!  You shall pay for your baseness with your life!’ He stopped here, as if rage had choked him, and drew his sword.  Albert sprang quickly up the ledge of rocks, and Sir Robert followed.  I saw Albert