pond, while Hartmut threw himself on the ground again.

It was one of those autumn days which during the midday hours recall
thoughts of early spring. The sunshine was so golden, the air so mild,
the woods so fresh and odorous. Upon the glistening little lake danced
thousands of shining sparks, and the long grass whispered softly and
mysteriously to itself whenever a breath of wind passed over it.

Hartmut lay stretched out motionless on the grass as if listening to the
secrets it told to the autumnal wind. The wild passion and excitement
which flashed from his eyes when he spoke of the bird of prey had all
vanished. Now the eyes which looked into the heavens above were sad and
dreamy, and there rested in them an expression of ardent longing.

A light step, almost unheard on the soft ground, approached, and the low
bushes rustled as if against a silk garment. Then they parted and a
woman's figure appeared and stood looking intently at the young dreamer.

"Hartmut!"

The boy started and sprang up instantly. He knew neither the voice nor
the apparition which stood before him, but saw it was a lady, and he
made her one of his courtly bows.

"Pardon, Madame--"

A slender, trembling hand was laid quickly and restrainingly on his arm.

"Be quiet, not so loud; your companion might hear us, and I want to
speak to you, and to you alone, Hartmut."

She stepped back again into the thicket and motioned him to follow.
Hartmut hesitated a moment. How came this heavily-veiled and
richly-attired stranger into the lonely wood, and why did she speak so
familiarly to him whom she had never seen before? But the mysteriousness
of her behavior beginning to charm him, he followed.

She stood now in the shadow of the low trees, where she could not be
seen from the lake, and slowly threw back her veil. She was not very
young, a woman of more than thirty, but her face with its great burning
eyes, possessed an indefinable witchery, and a certain charm lay in her
voice, which, though she talked in whispers, had a soft, deep tone, and
an odd intonation, as though the German which she spoke so fluently was
not her mother tongue.

"Hartmut, look at me. Do you really not know me any more? Does no memory
of your childhood come back to you, to tell you who I am?"

The young man shook his head slowly, and yet some dreamy and obscure
memory did come to his recollection, of having heard this voice before,
and of this face which had looked int