ere there was nought to remind me of
the stir of mankind, with its haste and noise and fighting and craving,
and that was a delight; nor did the woodland sounds.--The song of birds,
the hum of chafers and bees, the whisper of leaves, and all the rush and
rustle of the forest were its mother-tongue.

Yet, not so! There was in truth one human soul of whom I was ever minded
while thinking and dreaming in these woods through whom I had first known
the joy of loving, and that was the youth whose home was here, for whose
return my aunt longed day and night, whose favorite songs I was ever
bidden to sing to my uncle when he would take the oars in his strong old
hands of an evening, and row us on the pool-he who peradventure had long
since followed my lover, and was dead in some far-off land.

Ann, who was ever diligent, took less pleasure in idle dreaming; she
would ever carry a book or some broidery in her hand. Or she would abide
alone with my aunt; and whereas my aunt now held her to be her fellow in
sorrow, and might talk with her of the woe of thinking of the dearest on
earth as far away and half lost, they grew closer to each other, and
there was bitter grief when our duty took us back to the town once more.
At home likewise Herdegen was ever in our minds, nevertheless the
sunshine was as bright and the children's faces as dear as heretofore,
and we could go about the tasks of the hour with fresh spirit.

If now and again grief cast a darker shade over Ann, still the star of
Hope shone with more comfort for her than for me and Cousin Maud; and it
was but seldom that you might mark that she had any sorrow. Truly there
were many matters besides her every-day duties, and her errands within
and without the house to beguile her of her fears for her lost lover.
First of all there came her stepfather's brother, his Eminence Cardinal
Bernhardi--for to this dignity had his Holiness raised the Bishop--from
Rome to Nuremberg, where he lodged in the house of his fathers. Now this
high prelate was such a man as I never met the like of, and his goodly
face, beardless indeed, but of a manly brown, with its piercing, great
eyes, I weened was as a magic book, having the power to compel others,
even against their will, to put forth all that was in them of grace and
good gifts. Yet was he not grave nor gloomy, but of a happy cheer, and
ready to have his jest with us maidens; only in his jests there would
ever be a covert intent to arouse