"Oh mistress, oh mistress!" cried the voice with increasing anxiety from the garden-gate. "I am coming," replied the poetess, in great perturbation, and hastened on the sunny walk toward the house. "Shall we not too----" suggested the minister. "Excuse me, I pray, but I shall have to go," said Oswald, interrupting him. "But why, my dear sir? The lady is a most excellent person, and the daughters, although not very beautiful----" "And were they as fair as angels, I should have to deny myself the pleasure of seeing them. Good-by! Good-by! Pray make my excuses to Mrs. Jager. That gate there is open, is it not? _Au revoir._" And so Oswald hurried towards the gate. The minister had far too good an opinion of himself and his Primula to ascribe the "dear friend's" precipitate flight to any other reason than his shyness and his reluctance to meet this high and noble family, to whom he was unknown. Oswald, in the mean time, made his way down the village street and out into the open fields, and did not relax his steps until he was safe under the fine old trees behind which, as he knew, was hid the estate of Melitta. CHAPTER XI. The forest path, on which Oswald was walking merrily, seemed to be little frequented by foot-passengers, and still less by vehicles. It must have been nearly impassable in winter; but now, in midsummer, it was all the brighter and really romantic. The ditches on either side were badly kept, and every now and then the grass and the broad plantain would creep all the way across from side to side, and in many places the tall beeches and old oak-trees formed a dense canopy overhead. The farther Oswald penetrated into this leafy wilderness the quieter the forest became, so quiet and almost lifeless that he stopped the song which he had begun in his joyous happiness, as if he feared to disturb the forest in its slumbers.