Some of the women were filling their wooden vessels at the springs which trickled out from under the wall of rock; and as they watched the water sparkling in the fire-light they chattered to one another in the most animated way, or told fairy tales and repeated poetry for the general entertainment. In her own quarters, in the centre of the cavern, close under the wall, Orsolya was seated in a chair of rough pine branches, beneath a canopy of mats, which protected her from the continual droppings of the rock. Her face was covered with a perfect network of lines and wrinkles, but her dark eyes shone like live coals. Her beautiful silver hair was nearly hidden beneath a kerchief which had seen better days, and her dress, a plain, old-fashioned national costume, was neat and clean in spite of its age. She had a large spinning-wheel before her, and on a low stool by her side, sat a young girl, also employed with a spindle. It was evident that this latter, a pale, slim creature with black eyes, was no Magyar. Her features were of a foreign cast, her hands were small and delicate, and the charm and grace of her every movement were suggestive rather of nature than of courts. But the beautiful face looked troubled, as if its owner were haunted by the memory of some overwhelming calamity. Evidently this young relation of hers was the light of the old lady's eyes, for her features lost their stern, rather masculine expression, and her whole face softened whenever she looked at her. Some of the men interrupted their walk from time to time to loiter near the fires, or talk to the sportsmen as they came in, or drew near to Orsolya, as subjects approach a sovereign; and Orsolya talked composedly with each one, too well accustomed to deference and homage even to notice them. "Dear child," said the old lady, as soon as they were left to themselves again, "how many spindles does this make? I'll tell you what, if you spin enough we will put the yarn on a loom and weave it into shirting." The girl raised her beautiful eyes to the old lady's face, saying in good Magyar, though with a somewhat peculiar accent, "I think Mr. Bokor might set up the loom now, dear mother; I have such a number ready." "I only hope we shall be able to make it do, my child," said Orsolya, leaning towards the girl, and stroking the raven hair which floated over her shoulders. "Good man!" she went on, smiling, "not but that he can be as obstinate as anyone now and then! and he has made the shuttle the size of a boat!" The girl laughed a little as she answered, "We will help him, good mother," and she drew the old lady's hand to her lips, and kissed it as if she could not let it go. "Yes," she went on slowly, "necessity is a great teacher; it teaches one all things, except how to forget!" "Oh, my dear, and who would wish it to teach one that! There are some things which we cannot, and ought not to forget, and it is best so, yes, best, even when the past has been a sad one."