CHAPTER XIII
THE BLACK VALLEY
The Black Valley was a gloomy place. Fir-trees grew tall and dark on the banks of the stream, casting strange shadows on the sunny waters.
As the knight entered the valley, evening had fallen and the stream rushed, dark and sullen, between the rocks.
Huldbrand glanced anxiously from side to side, but no trace could be found of the maiden whom he sought. He began to fear lest already she were in peril, and thinking thus he urged his horse yet further into the valley.
Peering through the bushes as he rode, he at length caught sight of something white lying on the ground. Had he found Bertalda at last?
He spurred his horse onward toward the white gleam which had caught his eye, but the animal no sooner saw the object which had gladdened his master's eye than it started violently and refused to move. Then the knight dismounted, and tying his now rearing steed to an elm, he pushed his way on foot through the brushwood.
Thunder began to rumble around the mountains, and the evening dew fell cold and damp on the anxious knight.
He could still see the white figure lying on the ground, but as he drew nearer to it a strange dread struck at Huldbrand's heart.