And then in pleasure at the news that his friends had arrived, he had forgotten her, till, while waiting for them on the bridge, he had caught sight of her hovering about the ruins. The head-dress had fallen on her neck, and the wild black tresses escaped, and waved in confusion about her sunburnt face. She seemed to be smiling absently to herself. He was ashamed to think his friends had seen this woman, and decided to pay her off and dismiss her on the spot, so that they should not encounter her again. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. She started. "Nothing, _Herr_," she replied, guiltily lowering her eyes. "Why did you smile?" "Ah, _Herr_," she murmured, "I was so glad." "Why?" "Because I had got safely back here again." What strange fascination had this spot of earth for the abandoned creature who had suffered on it nothing but shame and degradation and endless misery? He remembered to have heard of domestic cats who, when the house to which they belong is deserted by its inhabitants, prefer to starve beneath its mouldering roof than to take up their abode elsewhere. And if this cat-like propensity were incurable in her--what then? After all, perhaps it would be cruel at this moment to pass sentence of banishment upon her. She might as well stay till to-morrow morning, so long as she kept out of his way. "Go," he had commanded, "and don't come near me and my visitors again." And she had hung her head humbly, and vanished behind the rubbish heap, and there she cowered now, in terror of being discovered. When Boleslav had finished his story, Engelbert exchanged significant glances with his friends, then said-- "We have brought the requisite tools with us. If you can supply us with the wood, we will knock you up a coffin in a very short time." "Naturally it won't be a very grand one," remarked Peter Negenthin with a stony smile. Engelbert looked at him reprovingly. A subdued growl passed from mouth to mouth through the little party, which Boleslav, in his most light-hearted confidence in his friends' good will, did not hear. "Do you remember," he exclaimed, "that coffin we made for the young Count Dohna in the dark? We took two hours over it, though we couldn't see an inch before our noses." But his reminiscences met with no response. "One of you hold the horses," said Engelbert, "and the rest of us will go and look for wood. All must be ready before nightfall." Boleslav bethought him of the wine in the cellar, which the fire had spared, where also was the frugal larder, containing bread and salt meat, but not enough with which to entertain his friends. "I have next to nothing to offer you to eat," he said, "but I wish you would at least refresh yourselves with a bottle of wine before setting to work." The friends were silent, and their faces clouded. "Never mind refreshment," said Engelbert, trying to assume a facetious tone. "Wine makes a man lazy, and we haven't a minute to spare."