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it, his heart must break; and did he not destroy it,
the thought that his work was of no benefit to his
fellows would drive him insane.
Once more he took up his scrip and staff, and
set out in quest of the Wood Nymph. ’T is said that
when he came to a forest he would enter and call:
“Wood Nymph, Wood Nymph, come, come!
It is I, Kevenhüller, calling.” But she came not.
He came to Ekeby in the course of his wanderings,
and being well received, he decided to remain.
So the company in the cavaliers’ wing was
augmented by a tall, strong, knightly figure, a man
who could hold his own at the drinking-table and
at the hunts. Memories of his boyhood returned,
and he allowed his companions to call him Count.
With his hawk nose, his bushy eyebrows, his
pointed beard and uptwisted moustache, he grew to
look more and more like an old German robber
baron.
He became an Ekeby cavalier—no more, no less
than others in that company of men whom people
believed the Major’s wife had sworn away to the
Evil One. His hair turned grey, and his brain slept.
He was now so old that he could no longer believe
in the feats of his youth. Surely he was not the man
who had made the automatic carriage and the flying
machine! That was only a tale!
It was at that time the Major’s wife was driven
out from Ekeby and the cavaliers became the mas-
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