with bursting heart, seized her in his arms, and found that the other phantoms had surrounded them.  Something in the unearthly music fascinated him; he felt impelled to dance round and round, till his head reeled.  And still he danced with his phantom bride, and still the maidens whirled about them.  On the stroke of one the dancers vanished and the knight sank to the ground, all but dead with fatigue.  In the morning he was found by the kindly nuns, who tended him carefully.  But all their skill and attention were in vain; for Gerbert lived only long enough to tell of his adventure to the sisterhood.  This done, he expired with the name of his beloved spirit-bride upon his lips.

Stolzenfels:  The Alchemist

Alchemy was a common pursuit in the Middle Ages.  The poor followed it eagerly in the vain desire for gold; the rich spent their wealth in useless experiments, or showered it on worthless charlatans.

Thus it came about that Archbishop Werner of Falkenstein, owner of the grim fortress of Stolzenfels and a wealthy and powerful Churchman, was an amateur of the hermetic art, while his Treasurer, who was by no means rich, was also by way of being an alchemist.  To indulge his passion for the bizarre science the latter had extracted many a golden piece from the coffers of his reverend master, always meaning, of course, to pay them back when the weary experiments should have crystallized into the coveted philosopher’s stone.  He had in his daughter Elizabeth a treasure which might well have outweighed the whole of the Archbishop’s coffers, but the lust for gold had blinded the covetous Treasurer to all else.

One night—­a wild, stormy night, when the wind tore shrieking round the battlements of Stolzenfels—­there came to the gate a pilgrim, sombre of feature as of garb, with wicked, glinting eyes.  The Archbishop was not at that time resident in the castle, but his Treasurer, hearing that the new-comer was learned in alchemical mysteries, bade him enter without delay.  A room was made ready in one of the highest towers, and there the Treasurer and his pilgrim friend spent many days and nights.  Elizabeth saw with dismay that a change was coming over her father.  He was no longer gentle and kind, but morose and reserved, and he passed less time in her company than he was wont.

At length a courier arrived with tidings of the approach of the Archbishop, who was bringing some noble guests to the castle.  To the dismay of his daughter, the Treasurer suddenly turned pale and, brushing aside her solicitous inquiries, fled to the mysterious chamber.  Elizabeth followed, convinced that something had occurred to upset her father seriously.  She was too late—­the door was locked ere she reached it; but she could hear angry voices within, the voices of her father and the pilgrim.  The Treasurer seemed to be uttering bitter reproaches, while ever and anon the deep, level voice of his companion could be heard.