In a neighbouring fortress there lived a beautiful maiden, Maria by name, who received a great deal of attention from Sir Conrad.  So frequent were his visits to her home that rumour had it that the fair lady had won his heart.  This indeed was the case, and she in return had given her love unreservedly into his keeping.  But as her passion grew stronger his seemed to cool, and at length he began to make preparations to join the wars in Palestine, leaving the lady to lament his changed demeanour.  In vain she pleaded, in vain she sent letters to him.  At last he intimated plainly that he loved her no longer.  He did not intend to marry, he said, adding cruelly that if he did she should not be the bride of his choice.  The lady was completely crushed by the blow.  Her affection for Sir Conrad perished, and in its place arose a desire to be revenged on the unfaithful knight.  The fickle lover had completed his arrangements for his journey to the Holy Land, and all was ready for his departure.  As he rode gaily down from his castle to where his men-at-arms waited on the shores of the Rhine, he was suddenly confronted by an armed knight, who reined in his steed and bade Sir Conrad halt.

“Hold, Sir Conrad Bayer,” he cried.  “Thou goest not hence till thou hast answered for thy misdeeds—­thou false knight—­thou traitor!”

Sir Conrad listened in astonishment.  A moment later his attendants had surrounded the bold youth, and would have slain him had not Sir Conrad interfered.

“Back!” he said.  “Let me face this braggart myself.  Who art thou?” he added, addressing the young knight who had thus boldly challenged him.

“One who would have thy life!” was the fierce reply.

“Why should I slay thee, bold youth?” said Conrad, amused.

“I am the brother of Maria, whom thou hast betrayed,” was the response.  “I have come hither from Palestine to seek thy life.  Have at thee, traitor!”

Conrad, somewhat sobered, and unwilling to do battle with such a boy, asked for further proof of his identity.  The young knight thereupon displayed, blazoned on his shield, the arms of his house—­a golden lion on an azure field.

Sir Conrad had no longer excuse for refusing to do battle with the youth, so with a muttered “Thy blood be upon thy head!” he laid his lance in rest and drew back a few paces.  The stranger did likewise; then they rushed toward each other, and such was the force of their impact that both were unhorsed.  Drawing their swords—­for neither was injured—­the knights resumed the conflict on foot.  Conrad felt disgraced at having been unhorsed by a mere youth, and he was now further incensed by receiving a deep wound in his arm.  Henceforth he fought in good earnest, showering blows on his antagonist, who fell at last, mortally wounded.

In obedience to the rules of chivalry, Sir Conrad hastened to assist his vanquished foe.  What was his surprise, his horror, when, on raising the head and unlacing the helm of the knight, he found that his adversary was none other than Maria!