The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-07-12

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riders plunged headlong over the
wall Hew bower naideils shrunl
from her. They told strange tales
of voices being heard in her room,
unearthly laughter. and shrieks at
midnight, and one morning there
was mark on her wrist as If hot
iron band had encircled it.
But little Cunigunde needed them
or their surmises, and the knights
rode and fell to her hearts content.
But one day, a strange knight
craved admittance to the castle, on
the plea Of illness, which had arrested
his journey to the East. In those
early ages the Chateleines combined
leechcraft with their other duties,
and Cunigunde, in spite of diaboli-
cal tendencies, was gentle and
skillful nurse.
The knight, who was as handsome
as On Antinous, was also the possess
or of remarkable accomplishments
for those rude times. He read as
none of the monks of the neighbor-
ing convent could do, and the lays
of the Minnesingers he chose to
delight the ears of the Countess and
her attendants, were full of an ener-
waiting softness they owed less to
the sentiments of the Swabian poets
than to the eloquent tones that ut
tered them. He was poet himself,
too, and with his dreaming eyes
fixed on the beautiful face of the
Countess, he would improvise stanza
after stanza, full of the passionate
love that women like to awaken.
Under his gaze her bright, violet
eyes grew soft, and world of meaning
met his glance, that made her maid
ems whisper and nod their heads in
q significant manner.
Then, too, Baron Ernst, as he
called himself, as soon as his con-
valescence admitted, showed himself
an adept in all the rude sports of
that period. None of the veterans
could cast lance as far as he did,
and whose steed caricoled with more
grace and was more under the con-
troll Of the rider, than the singular
Arab mare whose feats seemed super
human to the superstitious spccta-
tors.
Cunigunde, for the first time in
her life, fell headlong into the pas
sionate fervor of feeling that had
hitherto awakened her contempt.
In proportion to her naughty in
difference to others was the utter
abasement of her hearts homage to
this stranger; nor with her impatient
nature was she slow to let him per-
ceive it. It struck her, however, MS
singular, that although eloquent on
the subject Of his passion for her,
and casting Mt her glances that
thrilled her very soul, he stunned
all the endearments that naturally
belonged to their mutual relations.
ut is a cruel VOW, fairest," he
said one day, 'that L have taken,
never to press to my bosom or kiss
the lips of n woman, save she who
becomes my wife!'
"But, Ernst" she whispered, evil
I not be that to thee? / have sent
to the Holy Father for dispensation
from my cruel VOW, and then, nv
beloved, will Cunigunde proudly
avow her love before mcn!'
e'Nay, not so," he replied: "the
ordeal thou hast imposed on thy
lover l must not shrink from. Sure
ly, fair Countess, thou can'st not
wish that the proud Barons should
taunt thy lord and husband with
winning thee ut less risk than the
mouldering bones that bleach at the
bottom of yonder precipice? All that
mortal man may dare, Ernst of
Erlau may venture! And sooth, fair
Cunigunde, thou art worthy of the
most perilous ride that mortal man
can take" The Countess shrunk
back in the widest agony. She had
never dreamed that Ernst, sure, of
her love, would risk life SO precious
to her, and on her knees, with tears
pouring like rain from her proud
eyes, she pleaded with him, but in
vain.
"May my spurs be backed from
my heels" he cried, ''may knight
and troubadour cry shame on Ite
recreant name of Ernst of Erlau,
when he dares enjoy what he has not
had the courage to win. Rise Count
ess, and fear not, for / will return
unharmed. Summon thy tire-wo-
men, lay the bridal wreath on those
bright locks of thine, for when L
kneel in the chapel to give thanks
for my safety, thou must kneel be-
side me as my bride"
Cunigunde gazed at the stately
form towering far above the usual
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