around his feet, but manfully he hurried on with his precious charge.  The gate was reached; he paused but an instant to hail the groom and take breath, then slid into the moat, and in a short space stood safe upon the other side.  Here he staid but to envelop the maiden in his own heavy cloak, which he had snatched up when the rain began.  As her consciousness was but imperfectly restored, the palmer mounted one of the horses and placed her before him.  The groom, at his direction, sprang to the saddle and led the third animal.

When they were a little within the wood, the palmer exclaimed

“Can you find the road to Count Montfort’s?”

The groom replied in the affirmative.

“Then take the lead, and strike it at the nearest point.”

After groping for some minutes, they succeeded in hitting it, and, aided by the lightning, pursued their course as swiftly as the stormy night permitted.

The Lady Margaret was awakened to her situation only to pour forth torrents of tears.  In vain the palmer tried to moderate her grief—­she could scarcely be persuaded from returning.

The rain had now ceased, and as the clouds rolled away, they obtained light enough to continue their flight more rapidly and securely.

“Look!” cried the groom, as they stood on the top of a lofty hill.  The palmer could scarcely repress an inclination to throttle his imprudent friend; for as the Lady Margaret turned her head, she saw a column of smoke and flame curling up, as if it warred against the skies.

“It is my father’s castle!” she said.  “Oh, what has become of those we left?” she added shuddering.  “Let us trust in God!” murmured the palmer.  Brighter and brighter grew the flame—­higher and higher rose the lurid column.  Still the Lady Margaret continued to gaze on the fiery pillar.  At last the light suddenly expanded and burned awhile with intense brilliancy.  It was but for a moment.  Dimmer and dimmer grew the flame, and darkness soon settled over the ashes of Stramen Castle.

The palmer now placed the maiden upon the third horse, and led the way with his hand upon her bridle.  Two hours more brought them to the fortress of Tuebingen, where the brave Count Montfort, though refusing to join Rodolph, had designed to hold out to the last against his perjured and sacrilegious rival.  The palmer demanded admittance in the name of Albert of Hers, and instantly obtained it.

The generous countess received the daughter of Stramen with open arms, and the count swore first to protect and then to avenge her.  Nor was the palmer forgotten.  Despite his ridiculous costume, now soiled and torn and stained with blood, he exhibited no embarrassment when ushered into the presence of the noble group.

“The Lady Margaret would know her deliverer,” said the countess.

The palmer removed his head-piece and threw back his hood.

“Do you remember me, my lady?” he asked, with a smile.