A nimble young squire had dismounted and approached the door abruptly, though he veiled his cap before the lady. “Gracious Gräfin,” said he, “I am commanded to say that the reverend abbess your aunt is not pleased at your custom of visiting this woman of doubtful honesty. Having learned for what purpose you left the castle, she has ridden hither to fetch you back to Blankenburg, and your prompt obedience will spare me further mixing in an unpleasant duty.” Ilsa looked back with another wry face. I stood by the chimney, disliking an introduction to the reverent abbess in such a dubious spot. “Fare you well,” spoke the Gräfin, as if to Hedwig, “just for a little. I don’t mind the scolding, if my aunt _is_ a saint. I am so glad you were not the Master Devil! We’ll go hunting together after the red deer by the Brocken. _Auf wiedersehen!_” And with that she was gone. I heard the murmur of a brief, sharp colloquy with the abbess, doubtless accented by the fact that Lady Ilsa had carried forth a neat little packet of Hedwig’s simples under her elbow. I saw the Gräfin clamber upon a pillion behind the squire. A clatter of hoofs--the troop was gone, and the young mistress with it. It was as if a sunbeam had vanished from the cottage. The sun still shone unclouded, but darkened. Inscrutable as she had been in her mode of greeting, her mingling of the serious and the gay, her girlishness, yet her occasional bursts of high womanhood, I felt myself wholly baffled at the impression she had made upon me. I stood in silence while Hedwig glanced cautiously out of the door to be sure her unwelcome guests were gone. “The abbess is like flint,” she spoke at length; “all white, and pure, and hard--” I took out a gulden and laid it significantly on the table. “Hark you, wise dame,” I said civilly; “while I deny I am a foreigner here, I confess I lack your local gossip. Who is this Gräfin von Blankenburg I met by chance in the forest?” “A moonbeam, a spring rose, a wood dove with an eagle’s heart and will.” “You have known her, then?” “Ei! Didn’t I help her into the world the day her mother--God rest her soul--passed from it?” “Good woman,” I continued, “my folk at the castle do not like to give me an evil opinion of my noble neighbors. Whenever I ask of the Graf of Blankenburg they praise his hunting and let it go at that.” “Holy St. Elizabeth--well they may!” “What is he, then?” She looked slyly at the coin. “Your Lordship will not reveal _I_ told you tales. The Graf of Blankenburg had his coat of arms burned on the cheek of a castle varlet last year just for telling a few stories about his betters.” “You are safe, continue.”