By-and-bye they rode under the crab-tree, but the seat was empty. "What has become of the Blind Man?" the Mayor's son asked of a peasant who was near.
"He died two days ago," said the peasant. "He is buried to-day, and the priest and chanters are now returning from the grave."
"And the Talking Dog?" asked the young man.
"He is at the grave now," said the peasant; "but he has neither spoken nor eaten since his master died."
"We have come in the nick of time," said the young man triumphantly, and he rode to the churchyard.
By the grave was the dog, as the man had said, and up the winding path came the priest and his young chanters, who sang with shrill, clear voices--"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."
"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone," said the young man, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply.
"I think he is dead, sir," said the grave-digger.
"I don't believe it," said the young man fretfully. "He was an Enchanted Dog, and he promised I should have him when I could say what I am ready to say now. He should have kept his promise."
But Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her tears fell fast over it.