“And now, farewell,” said Guntram.  “I must hasten.  When I return we two shall wed; see to it that all is in readiness.”

With that he mounted his horse and rode out of the courtyard, turning to wave a gay farewell to Liba.  The maiden watched him disappear round a turn in the winding path, then slowly re-entered the castle.

Meanwhile Guntram went on his way, and was at length invested with his fief.  The Palsgrave, pleased with the manners and appearance of the young knight, appointed him to be his ambassador in Burgundy, which honour Guntram, though with much reluctance, felt it necessary to accept.  He dispatched a messenger to his faithful Liba, informing her of his appointment, which admitted of no delay, and regretting the consequent postponement of their marriage.  She, indeed, was ill-pleased with the tidings and felt instinctively that some calamity was about to befall.  After a time her foreboding affected her health and spirits, her former pursuits and pleasures were neglected, and day after day she sat listlessly at her casement, awaiting the return of her lover.

Guntram, having successfully achieved his mission, set out on the homeward journey.  On the way he had to pass through a forest, and, having taken a wrong path, lost his way.  He wandered on without meeting a living creature, and came at last to an old dilapidated castle, into the courtyard of which he entered, thankful to have reached a human habitation.  He gave his horse to a staring boy, who looked at him as though he were a ghost.

“Where is your master?” queried Guntram.

The boy indicated an ivy-grown tower, to which the knight made his way.  The whole place struck him as strangely sombre and weird, a castle of shadows and vague horror.  He was shown into a gloomy chamber by an aged attendant, and there awaited the coming of the lord.  Opposite him was hung a veiled picture, and half hoping that he might solve the mystery which pervaded the place, he drew aside the curtain.  From the canvas there looked out at him a lady of surpassing beauty, and the young knight started back in awe and admiration.

In a short time the attendant returned with a thin, tall old man, the lord of the castle, who welcomed the guest with grave courtesy, and offered the hospitality of his castle.  Guntram gratefully accepted his host’s invitation, and when he had supped he conversed with the old man, whom he found well-informed and cultured.

“You appear to be fond of music,” said the knight, indicating a harp which lay in a corner of the room.

He had observed, however, that the strings of the harp were broken, and that the instrument seemed to have been long out of use, and thought that it possibly had some connexion with the original of the veiled portrait.  Whatever recollections his remark aroused must have been painful indeed, for the host sighed heavily.

“It has long been silent,” he said.  “My happiness has fled with its music.  Good night, and sleep well.”  And ere the astonished guest could utter a word the old man abruptly withdrew from the room.