“Those were wild and lawless times when the feudal spirit and power had not yet lost all its sway, and when each man’s house was often made to be his castle, and himself called upon to defend it with his life.  Might made right; the strong hand often carried it against the law, and justice often, slept.  It sounds like romance indeed to depict those times.”

“It does, indeed,” said Florinda; “but go on, Carlton, do not interrupt the story.”

“On the left bank of the noble river, in whose valley this story is laid,” said Carlton, “rose the turrets and towers of Botztetz castle, the remains only of one of the fine old strongholds of the middle ages, which had by degrees descended through generations, until it was now the home of a rich, retired merchant from Coblentz, who was repairing it and removing the rubbish that age had collected about it.  Himself a man of distinguished family, Karl Etzwell had retired from the bustle of his heavy business, purchased this place, and proposed here to make himself home, and here to die.  The old merchant had an only child whom he idolized, and for whom alone he seemed to live since his wife and other children had died.

“Bettina was one of those delicate, lovely-featured children of grace and beauty that would have been chosen in “Merrie England” to preside over a tournament, as queen of beauty, in Ivanhoe’s time.  Born to bloom in a peculiar period of history, her character partook in some measure of the characteristics of the times.  To our age, Florinda, and our appreciation, this lovely woman would have seemed rather Amazonian.  She rode her fine and dashing horse with a free rein, and in the vigor of her robust health she could walk for miles, if need be.  Yet still Bettina lacked not for tenderness and gentleness of spirit.  She loved her father, was fond of music, and sung most sweetly to her own accompaniment upon the guitar.

“Egbert Hosfeldt was the descendant of a proud line of ancestors, and was himself now left alone of all his family.  His castle was on the opposite side of the Rhine, and ere Karl Etzwell’s daughter had been a twelvemonth at her father’s new home among the now half-restored towers of Botztetz Castle, Egbert Hosfeldt and Bettina were the most tender friends.  His boat was ever on the left shore at nightfall, though his castle was on the right.  No carpet knight was he, Florinda; he pulled his own oar.  He was as stout of limb as of heart, and yet was as gentle when by Bettina’s side as the tame doves she fondled.  His was indeed a knightly figure to look upon.  He had often distinguished himself upon the tented field, and in the forest sports.  He lived in an age when personal prowess was highly esteemed, and when those high in birth failed not to mature the strong muscles and stout limbs which Providence had vouchsafed to them.