The words were scarcely out of his mouth when with a blithe shout she darted off down the slope, the bottom of which was lost in the purple darkness of autumn. But at the end of a short stretch she tripped over the Scotch plaid she had taken along and had refused to let Von Prell carry. She fell full length and he came just in time to help her to her feet. This having spoiled Lilly's taste for tag they mounted the hill like well-behaved children. Here their eyes could travel over a rippling lake of leaves far, far away. The beeches glowed a deep red, the maples danced in all the colours of the rainbow, the birches quivered with bright flames, the elm flaunted its flakes of gold, while the oak alone obstinately retained its green garb of summer. Lilly stared into the violet-veiled distance. The sun hid itself behind gold-rimmed clouds, from which fiery tracks descended to earth. A narrow band of scarlet edged the horizon. "Shall we sit down here?" asked Von Prell. "No, not here," said Lilly, seized with a vague dread. "I'll begin to cry here." She ran ahead of him, back into the woods, and came again upon the path leading along the rill. Here the darkness of evening prevailed, but the sun-charm in which they had been enveloped worked its magic here, too, and filled her heart with a happy devoutness. Oh, how happy she was! How happy she was! No fear and no danger so far as her thoughts could reach; and no danger from her own heart, for the man walking by her side was her friend and playmate, nothing more. He might not and could not be anything else. No secret wish, no distorted desire came from him or went to meet him. Everything uniting him to her was clear and transparent as sunlight. Even if the others must not have a suspicion of their intercourse, there was no sin in it--only salvation for him and laughter for her and youth for both. She felt a warm-hearted impulse to take his hand, but fearing to be misunderstood she checked herself. Thus they walked at each other's side to the spot where the rill was caught up in a rotting wooden conduit, from which it spouted with a soft singsong. Withered ferns covered the light green moss with their ragged red fronds and tired leaves came fluttering down out of the beech trees. "Let us rest here," suggested Lilly. "But it's damp." "We'll spread the plaid," she said eagerly, taking the blanket from him--he had managed to snatch it away from her--and threw it over the fern stalks, which cracked under the weight. She sat down on the right side of the plaid and invited him to make use of the left side, to keep his fine new suit clean. "Do you hear the vesper bells?" he asked. "We ought to be eating supper now." "We poor church mice, we have nothing," she laughed.