the forest had looked towards the towers of Siginundskroa as
they sat in the shade to eat their noon-tide meal, and they had
seen a great standard rising slowly to the peak of a lofty stafp,
and catching the breeze and floating out bravely, displaying three
golden crowns upon its azure breadth.
" What is it ? '" asked one, a young fellow of twenty years.
" It is the flag of the Sigraundskrons," answered a grey-haired,
beetle-browed man, pausing with a mouthful of cheese stuck on
the end of his murderous knife. " I have not seen that these
twenty years, since the poor baron was killed in the war. There
must be a new lord in Sigmundskron. We will ask to-night in
the village."

And as they talked, the banner, hoisted by Wastei's wiry
arms, reached the veiy top of the staff, and remained there, wav-
ing majestically, where many a one like it had waved during
eight hundred years and more. At that moment Greif, in his
carriage, was coming up the last ascent. He saw the lordly
standard, changed colour a little and then rose in the light vehi-
cle and uncovered his head. He felt as though all the dead
Sigmundskrons who lay side by side in the castle chapel had
risen from their tombs to greet the new possessor of their name.
