On the afternoon before the day set for the wedding Ilsa escaped from the clutches of the Freifrau and all her frantically busy women. She wandered forth with me, and we went hand in hand down the slopes of the fortress mountain, scaring a deer among the saplings, following along a grassy glade and stream which the castle folk called the Annathal, till we must needs thread the sinuous, rocky ravine of the Dragon’s Dale, thrusting our way through the moss and ferns and harebells, whilst under our feet ran the glistering, cool water. Beyond the ravine we clambered up the hillside to a little eminence justly named the Violet’s Mount, and there we sat long and happily in the grass, whilst Ilsa made fragrant wreaths for both. After we had talked long of a thousand things I said to her:-- “It was on a day like this, and almost a place like this, I found you first in the forest. Do you remember?” “To the end of time.” “I heard you singing before I saw you. I have often wondered what were the words of that song. Do you remember them also?” “Yes.” But she had turned red. “A fitting spot! Give me the song again.” “Not now, Wälterchen, not now. Although I own the place is appropriate, for it was Walter von der Vogelweide’s song, and his home was at the Wartburg.” But I insisted, and whilst I watched with dozing contentment from the grass, Ilsa lifted her golden head and sang in her sweet clear German the old song of the Minnesinger. “Under the linden Out in the heathland, Where we so gayly played, There will I find him: Soon we’ll together Sit in bright flowers arrayed,--Whilst from out the wooded vale. Tan-dara-dei!-- So’ll sing the nightingale. “In the green meadow There ’tis I found him, How my love greets me there! Gladdest of women Who is more blessed, For _he_ has found me fair? Kisses?--A thousand blow, Tan-dara-dei!-- How red my mouth must glow! “How I am cherished Only one knoweth. (Hide it, dear God, my bliss!) How he caresses, No one, aye, no one Save _he_ and I see this. None,--save for a little bird. Tan-dara-dei!-- Keep still of what you’ve heard!” “Tan-dara-dei!” The word came as an echo over our heads. We both rose very suddenly. Behind us was standing “Junker Georg,” very august and knightly indeed, in his ritter’s dress and beard; we stood looking one to the other sheepishly for a little, while his honest sides shook with laughter. “Oh, my dear children!” said he at last, “if heaven would only teach the Emperor and the Pope the joy which even they might win from an innocent song and a wreath of wood violets, how happy this beautiful world would be.”