that somewhat lay at my heart, and that was concerning my Ann. She was
not as she was wont to be; she was apt to suffer pains in her head, and
the blood had fled from her fresh cheeks. Nay, at her worst she was all
pale, and the sight of her thus cut me to the heart, so I gladly agreed
when Cousin Maud said that the little house by the river was doing her a
mischief, and the grievous care of her deaf-mute brother and the other
little ones, and that she lacked fresh air. And indeed her own parents
did not fail to mark it; but they lacked the means to obey the leech's
orders and to give Ann the good chance of a change to fresh forest air.

When my uncle had given his bidding, I made so bold as to beseech him
with coaxing words that he would bid her go with me. And if any should
deem that it was but a light matter to ask of a good-hearted old man that
he should harbor a fair young maid for a while, in a large and wealthy
house, he will be mistaken, inasmuch as my uncle was wont, at all times
and in all places, to have regard first to his wife's goodwill and
pleasure.

This lady was a Behaim, of the same noble race as my mother, whom God
keep; and what great pride she set on her ancient and noble blood she had
plainly proven in the matter of her son's love-match. This matter had in
truth no less heavily stricken his father's soul, but he had held his
peace, inasmuch as he could never bring himself to play the lord over his
wife; albeit he was in other matters a strict and thorough man; nay a
right stern master, who ruled the host of foresters and hewers, warders
and beaters, bee-keepers and woodmen who were under him with prudence and
straitness. And yet my aunt Jacoba was a feeble, sickly woman, who rarely
went forth to drink in God's fresh air in the lordly forest, having lost
the use of her feet, so that she must be borne from her couch to her bed.

My uncle knew her full well, and he knew that she had a good and pitiful
heart and was minded to do good to her kind; nevertheless he said his
power over her would not stretch to the point of making her take a
scrivener's child into her noble house, and entertaining her as an equal.
Thus he withstood my fondest prayers, till he granted so much as that Ann
should come and speak for herself or ever he should leave the house.

When she had hastily greeted my cousin and me, and Cousin Maud had told
her who my uncle was, she went up to him in her decent way, made him a
curtsey