Shortly afterward they were married, and none supposed the beautiful being to be aught but a very attractive woman; in time there was born to them a little son.  The knight adored both wife and child, and for some years lived a life of ideal domestic happiness.  But there came a time when another interest entered into his life.  Rumours of fighting reached him from France; he saw the knights of neighbouring fortresses leading their troops to the war, and a martial spirit stirred within him.  His wife was not slow to observe that his world was no longer bounded by the castle-walls of Staufenberg, and she wisely resolved not to stand in the way of her lord’s ambitions, but rather, if possible, to help them to an honourable realization.  So with much labour and skill she made him a strangely wrought belt, which she gave him at once as a love-token and a charm to secure success in battle.  She concealed her grief at his departure and bade him farewell bravely.

At the head of his troop the knight rode boldly into France and offered his services to a distinguished French leader, to whom he soon became indispensable—­so much so, in fact, that the nobleman cast about for a means of retaining permanently in his train a knight of such skill and courage.  But he could think of nothing with which to tempt the young man, who was already possessed of gold and lands, till the artless glances of his youngest daughter gave him his cue.  For he saw that she had lately begun to look with some favour on the simple knight of Staufenberg, and it occurred to him that the hand of a lady of rank and beauty would be a very desirable bait.  Nor was he mistaken, for the gaieties of the Frankish court had dazzled the knight, and the offer of the lady’s hand completely turned his head; not that he felt a great affection for her, but because of the honour done to him.  So he accepted the offer and drowned, as best as he could, the remembrance of his wife and child at Staufenberg.  Nevertheless he sometimes felt that he was not acting honourably, and at length the struggle between his love for his wife and his pride and ambition became so severe that he determined to consult a priest.

The good man crossed himself when he heard the story.  “She whom you married is an evil spirit,” said he.  “Beneficent spirits do not wed human beings.  It is your duty to renounce her at once and do penance for your sin.”  Though he hardly found it possible to believe the priest’s assertion, the knight strove to persuade himself that it was true, and that he was really acting virtuously in renouncing the water-nymph and marrying again.  So he performed the penances prescribed by the priest, and allowed the wedding preparations to proceed.

When the day of his wedding arrived, however, he was strangely perturbed and pale.  The rejoicings of the people, the gay processions, even the beautiful bride, seemed to have no interest for him.  When the hand of the lady was placed in his he could not repress an exclamation; it was cold to the touch like the hand of a corpse.