'What a man!' sighed the landlady, as she watched the Goshawk lead off
along the banks; 'courtly as a knight, open as a squire, and gentle as a
page!'
WERNER'S ECK
A league behind Andernach, and more in the wintry circle of the sun than
Laach, its convenient monastic neighbour, stood the castle of Werner, the
Robber Baron. Far into the South, hazy with afternoon light, a yellow
succession of sandhills stretched away, spouting fire against the blue
sky of an elder world, but now dead and barren of herbage. Around is a
dusty plain, where the green blades of spring no sooner peep than they
become grimed with sand and take an aged look, in accordance with the
ungenerous harvests they promise. The aridity of the prospect is
relieved on one side by the lofty woods of Laach, through which the sun
setting burns golden-red, and on the other by the silver sparkle of a
narrow winding stream, bordered with poplars, and seen but a glistening
mile of its length by all the thirsty hills. The Eck, or Corner, itself,
is thick-set with wood, but of a stunted growth, and lying like a dark
patch on the landscape. It served, however, entirely to conceal the
castle, and mask every movement of the wary and terrible master. A
trained eye advancing on the copse would hardly mark the glimmer of the
turrets over the topmost leaves, but to every loophole of the walls lies
bare the circuit of the land.
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