"Will you bring the dark man to that place when the full moon stands in the heavens as it does now? Oh say yes! I beseech you by your love to the beautiful, kind lady, by the bones of your mother, say yes!" The gypsy was kneeling once more before Oswald, and looked, with folded hands, imploringly up to him. "Get up, Isabel," said the young man, "I will do what you wish, if I can." The gypsy seized his hands, as he stretched them out to help her get up, and kissed them with passionate gratitude. Then she started up, hastened across the road toward the forest, and had the next moment disappeared in the dense underwood, through which she sped with the strength and the swiftness of a deer. Before Oswald could recover from the speechless astonishment which the conduct of the Brown Countess had caused him, he heard the rolling of the carriage, which returned as swiftly as it had left. But before the wagon had reached the trees, behind which it had before disappeared, it suddenly stopped, and the baron appeared, bareheaded, and carrying little Czika on his arm. "We have hunted, we have caught," he called out from afar. "The cowardly wolves let the fair booty go as soon as they saw us in pursuit, and escaped in haste.--There, little Ganymede, now see if your feet will carry you again." The baron let the child glide down. "But what has become of the mother, or whoever that brown woman was?" he asked, surprised to find Oswald alone. Oswald told him, in a few words, what had happened during his absence. "Well, that is not so bad," said the baron; "the thing becomes more and more romantic. Full moon, edge of lake, gypsy women, cunning of Egypt, and two simple German boys, who are cheated! What are we to do with little Czika, as you call the little princess?--for I am sure she is a king's daughter, stolen from the cradle----" "If we do not wish to leave her on the high-road, we shall have to take her with us, I suppose." "But will the child go with us? Listen, little Czika, will you go with me?" "Yes, sir!" said the child, who had so far shown no sign of apprehension, fear, or anxiety. "Hm!" said the baron, "here I have an adopted child without asking for it!" He had become very serious of a sudden. He stroked Czika's bluish-black curls and her fine brow, and looked at her steadily. "How beautiful the child is," he murmured, "how very beautiful! And how it has grown!--Come with me, little Czika, you shall be happy at my house, very happy; I will love you more than your mother, who has left you so basely, has ever loved you." "Mother has not left Czika," said the child, quietly looking up at the baron; "mother is where Czika is; mother is everywhere." Turning away from the two gentlemen, she put her little hands to her mouth, and sent a cry into the silent forest exactly like the call of a hungry young falcon. The child inclined her head on one side and listened; the baron and Oswald instinctively held their breath.