A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

despised Crusader, who was fighting in the Holy Land.

Finally, she resolved that she would endure the attentions

of the rich lovers no longer; so one stormy night she escaped

and went down the river and hid herself in the cave on

the other side. Her father ransacked the country for her,

but found not a trace of her. As the days went by,

and still no tidings of her came, his conscience began

to torture him, and he caused proclamation to be made

that if she were yet living and would return, he would

oppose her no longer, she might marry whom she would.

The months dragged on, all hope forsook the old man,

he ceased from his customary pursuits and pleasures,

he devoted himself to pious works, and longed for the

deliverance of death.

Now just at midnight, every night, the lost heiress stood

in the mouth of her cave, arrayed in white robes, and sang

a little love ballad which her Crusader had made for her.

She judged that if he came home alive the superstitious

peasants would tell him about the ghost that sang in the cave,

and that as soon as they described the ballad he would know

that none but he and she knew that song, therefore he would

suspect that she was alive, and would come and find her.

As time went on, the people of the region became sorely

distressed about the Specter of the Haunted Cave.

It was said that ill luck of one kind or another always

overtook any one who had the misfortune to hear that song.

Eventually, every calamity that happened thereabouts was

laid at the door of that music. Consequently, no boatmen

would consent to pass the cave at night; the peasants

shunned the place, even in the daytime.

But the faithful girl sang on, night after night,

month after month, and patiently waited; her reward

must come at last. Five years dragged by, and still,

every night at midnight, the plaintive tones floated out

over the silent land, while the distant boatmen and peasants

thrust their fingers into their ears and shuddered out a prayer.

And now came the Crusader home, bronzed and battle-scarred,

but bringing a great and splendid fame to lay at the feet

of his bride. The old lord of Hornberg received him as

his son, and wanted him to stay by him and be the comfort

and blessing of his age; but the tale of that young

girl’s devotion to him and its pathetic consequences

made a changed man of the knight. He could not enjoy

his well-earned rest. He said his heart was broken,

he would give the remnant of his life to high deeds

in the cause of humanity, and so find a worthy death

and a blessed reunion with the brave true heart whose

love had more honored him than all his victories in war.

When the people heard this resolve of his, they came and told

him there was a pitiless dragon in human disguise in the

Haunted Cave, a dread creature which no knight had yet been

bold enough to face, and begged him to rid the land of its

desolating presence. He said he would do it. They told

him about the song, and when he asked what song it was,

they said the memory of it was gone, for nobody had been

hardy enough to listen to it for the past four years and more.

Toward midnight the Crusader came floating down the river

in a boat, with his trusty cross-bow in his hands.

He drifted silently through the dim reflections of the

crags and trees, with his intent eyes fixed upon the low

cliff which he was approaching. As he drew nearer,

he discerned the black mouth of the cave. Now–is that

a white figure? Yes. The plaintive song begins to well

forth and float away over meadow and river–the cross-bow

is slowly raised to position, a steady aim is taken,

the bolt flies straight to the mark–the figure sinks down,

still singing, the knight takes the wool out of his ears,

and recognizes the old ballad–too late! Ah, if he had

only not put the wool in his ears!