filled him with misgiving.  He had not much leisure for a detailed examination of this person, however, for the witch—­for such she was—­came to the door of his room, entered, and bade him come and be introduced to a stranger from the East who could tell him the secret of forging Damascus blades.  Wilhelm followed the old woman into the other room and beheld there a swarthy man seated, wrapped in a flame-coloured mantle.  For a long time the stranger regarded him steadily, then demanded what he wanted from him.  Wilhelm told him the circumstances of his quest, and when he had finished the story the man laughed and, drawing from his pocket a document, requested the youth to sign it.  Wilhelm perceived that it was of the nature of a pact with Satan, by which he was to surrender his soul in return for the coveted secret.  Nevertheless, he set his signature to the manuscript and returned to his couch—­but not to sleep.  The consequences of his terrible act haunted him, and when morning came he set off on his homeward journey with a fearful heart, carefully guarding a well-sealed letter which the mysterious stranger had put into his hand.

Without further adventure he reached Solingen, and having acquainted Ruthard with what had transpired, he handed him the letter.  But the good old man refused to unseal it.

“You must keep this until your own son and my grandson can open it,” he said to Wilhelm, “for over his infant soul the enemy can have no power.”

And so it happened.  Wilhelm married Martha, and in the course of a few years a little son was born to them, who in due time found the letter, opened it, and mastered the Satanic secret, and from that time the blades of Solingen have had a world-wide renown.

The Architect of Cologne Cathedral

Travellers on the Rhine usually make a halt at Cologne to see the cathedral, and many inquire the name of its creator.  Was the plan the work of a single architect? they ask; or did the cathedral, like many another in Europe, acquire its present form by slow degrees, being augmented and duly embellished in divers successive ages?  These questions are perfectly reasonable and natural, yet, strange to relate, are invariably answered in evasive fashion, the truth being that the name of the artist in stone who planned Cologne Cathedral is unknown.  The legend concerning him, however, is of world-wide celebrity, for the tale associated with the founding of the famous edifice is replete with that grisly element which has always delighted the Germans, and figures largely in their medieval literature, and more especially in the works of their early painters—­for example, Duerer, Lucas Cranach, and Albrecht Altdoerfer.