what were the particular virtues they possessed; swearing most manfully (for Sir Thimo’s wine had inflamed their valour) to get them back for their good host, even from under the Grand Turk’s beard. “Whither they are gone,” replied Sir Thimo, “is more than I can tell you, since the loss was before my father’s time. The last person who wore them was the Lady Urilda, the sole child and heiress of the then Baron von der Aarburg, and hers is a fearful history. She loved a knight, who was as poor, though not so honest, as Baldwin there; and upon her father’s refusal to permit the match, she, on the suggestion of her admirer, murdered the poor old man, and, dressing herself in the bridal ornaments, waited at midnight for her lover to carry her off. He came, as the legend goes—but what he said or did, or whither they went, has never been known to this day; only during that dreary night frightful shrieks and loud wailings were heard, as of one in mortal agony beseeching for mercy; and in the morning it was known that the Lady Urilda and the bridal ornaments had strangely disappeared together. It is an ugly history, and the less is said upon the subject the better; but as to the ‘how they came into the family,’ the story being of a more pleasing character, I shall not hesitate to repeat it as it has been often related to me by our old confessor.
“The Countess Ursula von der Aarburg, who lived many centuries ago, and was a perfect pattern both as a wife and a mother, was sleeping quietly one night among her seven children (it was the Eve of St. John), when she
