He had listened long in trance, when the Water-Lady hushed, and stretched forth a slender forefinger to the moon.  It stood like a dot over the round tower.  Farina rose in haste.  She did not leave him to ask her aid, but took his hand and led him up the steep ascent.  Halfway to the castle, she rested.  There, concealed by bramble-tufts, she disclosed the low portal of a secret passage, and pushed it open without effort.  She paused at the entrance, and he could see her trembling, seeming to wax taller, till she was like a fountain glittering in the cold light.  Then she dropped, as drops a dying bet, and cowered into the passage.

Darkness, thick with earth-dews, oppressed his senses.  He felt the clammy walls scraping close on him.  Not the dimmest lamp, or guiding sound, was near; but the lady went on as one who knew her way.  Passing a low-vaulted dungeon-room, they wound up stairs hewn in the rock, and came to a door, obedient to her touch, which displayed a chamber faintly misted by a solitary bar of moonlight.  Farina perceived they were above the foundation of the castle.  The walls gleamed pale with knightly harness, habergeons gaping for heads, breastplates of blue steel, halbert, and hand-axe, greaves, glaives, boar-spears, and polished spur-fixed heel-pieces.  He seized a falchion hanging apart, but the lady stayed his arm, and led to another flight of stone ending in a kind of corridor.  Noises of laughter and high feasting beset him at this point.  The Lady of the Water sidled her head, as to note a familiar voice; and then drew him to a looped aperture.

Farina beheld a scene that first dazzled, but, as it grew into shape, sank him with dismay.  Below, and level with the chamber he had left, a rude banqueting-hall glowed, under the light of a dozen flambeaux, with smoking boar’s flesh, deer’s flesh, stone-flagons, and horn-beakers.  At the head of this board sat Werner, scarlet with furious feasting, and on his right hand, Margarita, bloodless as a beautiful martyr bound to the fire.  Retainers of Werner occupied the length of the hall, chorusing the Baron’s speeches, and drinking their own healths when there was no call for another.  Farina saw his beloved alone.  She was dressed as when he parted with her last.  The dear cameo lay on her bosom, but not heaving proudly as of old.  Her shoulders were drooped forward, and contracted her bosom in its heaving.  She would have had a humbled look, but for the marble sternness of her eyes.  They were fixed as eyes that see the way of death through all earthly objects.

‘Now, dogs!’ cried the Baron, ’the health of the night! and swell your lungs, for I’ll have no cat’s cry when Werner’s bride is the toast.  Monk or no monk’s leave, she’s mine.  Ay, my pretty one! it shall be made right in the morning, if I lead all the Laach rats here by the nose.  Thunder! no disrespect to Werner’s bride from Pope or abbot.  Now, sing out!—­or wait! these fellows shall drink it first.’