ration: "But the
craftsman loved his child; yea, and she was a sweet and lovely maid, the
fairest in all the town, and her father's pride. And what was it that
snatched her so early away but that she pined for your son? Gotz may soon
be recalled to his mother's arms; but the coppersmith may never see his
child--fair Gertrude, the folks called her--never see her more. And he
might have been rejoiced in her presence to this day if. . . ."

She broke in with words and gestures of warning, and when I nevertheless
would not cease from entreating her no longer to harden her heart, but to
bid her son come home to her, who was her most precious treasure, she
commanded me to quit her chamber. Such a command I must obey, whether I
would or no; nay, while I stood a moment at the door she signed to me to
go; but, as I turned away, she cried after me: "Go and leave me, Margery.
But you are a good child, I will tell you that!"

At supper, which I alone shared with my uncle and the chaplain, I told my
uncle that I had spoken to his wife of Master Pernhart, and when he heard
that I had even spoken a good word for him, he looked at me as though I
had done a right bold deed; yet I could see that he was highly pleased
thereat, and the priest, who had sat silent--as he ever did, gave me a
glance of heartfelt thanks and added a few words of praise. It was long
after supper, and my uncle had had his night-draught of wine when my aunt
sent the house-keeper to fetch me to her. Kindly and sweetly, as though
she set down my past wrath to a good intent, she bid me sit down by her
and then desired that I would repeat to her once more, in every detail,
all I could tell her as touching Gotz and Gertrude. While I did her
bidding to the best of my powers she spoke never a word; but when I ended
she raised her head and said, as it were in a dream: "But Gotz! Did he
not forsake father and mother to follow after a fair face?"

Then again I prayed her right earnestly to yield to the emotions of her
mother's heart. But seeing her fixed gaze into the empty air, and the set
pout of her nether lip, I could not doubt that she would never speak the
word that would bid him home.

I felt a chill down my back, and was about to rise and leave, but she
held me back and once more spoke of Herdegen and that matter. When she
had heard all the tale, she looked troubled: "I know my Ann," quoth she.
"When she has once given her promise to the Bookworm all the twelve
Ap