Then it came into his head that perhaps it was all false after all, and the witch was either chaffing him, or knew nothing about it at all, and was making a guess at a solution of his difficulty, which, however likely to be correct as regarded the generality of young ladies, was most improbable with respect to a damsel of high degree, so well and carefully brought up as he considered his child to have been. As this thought struck him, he spoke out aloud at once. “What meanest thou?” he cried. “Men will woo, and girls will have lovers, as we all know full well; but to suppose that the young Baroness of Guerre-à-mort would fly from her convent with any lover that ever was born is an error and an insult to boot. Trifle not with me, then, whoever thou art, but tell me truly, an thou knowest, what has really become of my daughter?” A low laugh issued from the cottage as the same voice replied to this appeal with the following words:-- “Oh mighty are Barons in battle array, Full swift are their steeds and full sharp are their swords; But the heart of a maiden must have its own way, And Love is far stronger than Barons and Lords. He climbs the high walls of the castle so strong, In vain your defences your treasure to shield; To words which are whispered by lover’s true tongue, The peeress and peasant will equally yield.” This {122}reply was by no means more satisfactory to the Baron than the first had been, and he saw that there was evidently but little information to be obtained from the Witch of Salt Hill. Turning away, therefore, with a moody air, he rejoined his servants, mounted his steed, and returned to his castle, very much disgusted with his want of success. Scarcely had he left the place before the head of an old woman peered forth from the entrance of the cottage, and presently the whole figure followed. It was that of an aged crone, clad in a long grey cloak, with a strange head-covering of handkerchiefs twined in the form of a turban, from which a few grey locks escaped and fluttered in the wind around the venerable head. She held in her hand a strong staff, upon which she leaned, whilst she carefully looked right and left to make sure that her visitors had all departed. As soon as she had convinced herself of this fact, she turned round again to the entrance of the cottage and called in a low voice--“It is quite safe; come forth, my lord, come forth!” Upon this there was a movement inside the place, and there presently stepped forth a young man, the pallor of whose handsome countenance betokened recent illness, and who supported himself upon a stout oaken staff. Had the Baron stood where he had been standing but a few {123}minutes before, he would scarcely have departed so easily, for in this individual he would have seen the hereditary enemy of his house standing close beside him.