Now, when they were half-way through the forest, a terrible storm came on of hail, rain, thunder, and lightning; and though the Prince and his bride were safe enough in the carriage, yet their escort were drenched to the skin, and dripped like rivulets. The princely pair therefore entreated them to return to Falkenwald, and dry their clothes, for there was no danger to be apprehended now, since they were more than half through the wood, and close to the village of Mutzelburg.
So Dinnies and his companions took their leave, and rode off. Shortly after the galloping of a horse was heard, and this was Marcus Bork; for he was on his way to purchase the lands of Crienke, previous to his marriage with Clara von Dewitz, and had a heavy sack of gold upon his shoulder, and a servant along with him. Having heard at Stettin that the Prince and his young bride were on the road, he had followed them, as fast as he could, to keep them company.
By this time they had reached Barnim's Cross, and the Prince halted to point it out to his bride, and tell her the legend concerning it; for the sun now shone forth from the clouds, and the storm was over. But he first addressed his faithful Marcus, and asked, had he heard tidings lately of his cousin Sidonia? But he had heard nothing. He would hear soon enough, I'm thinking.
Then seeing that his good vassal Marcus was thoroughly wet, his
Grace advised him to put on dry clothes; but he had none with him.
Whereupon his Grace handed him his own portmanteau out of the
coach window, and bid him take what he wanted.
Marcus then lifted the money-bag from his shoulder, which his Grace drew into the coach through the window—and sprang into the wood with the portmanteau, to change his clothes. While the Prince tarried for him, he related the story of Barnim's Cross to his young wife, thus:—
"You must know, dearest, that my ancestor, Barnim, the second of the name, was murdered, out of revenge, in this very spot by one of his vassals, named Vidante von Muckerwitze. For this aforesaid ancestor had sent him into Poland under some pretence, in order the better to accomplish his designs upon the beautiful Mirostava of Warborg, Vidante's young wife. But the warder of Vogelsang, a village about two miles from here, pleasantly situated on the river Haff, and close to which lay the said Vidante's castle, discovered the amour, and informed the knight how he was dishonoured. His wrath was terrible when the news was brought to him, but he spoke no word of the matter until St. John's day in the year——"
But here his Grace paused in his story, for he had forgotten the year; so he drove on the carriage close up to the cross, where he could read the date—"St John's day, A.D. MCCXCII."—and there stopped, with the blessed cross of our Lord covering and filling up the whole of the coach window.
Ah, well it is said—Prov. xx. 24—"Each man's going is of the
Lord, what man is there who understandeth his way?"
Now when the Princess had read the date for herself, she asked, what had happened to the Duke, his ancestor? To which the Prince replied—
"Here, in these very bushes, the jealous knight lay concealed, while the Duke was hunting. And here, in this spot, the Duke threw himself down upon the grass to rest, for he was weary. And he whistled for his retinue, who had been separated from him, when the knight sprang from his hiding-place and murdered him where he lay. His false wife he reserved for a still more cruel death.