feeble flutter
of genuine love for her parents awoke in her heart as well, and she
burst into real tears--soft, mournful tears--very different from those
of rage and disappointment to which she was so much used. And another
very remarkable thing was that the moment she began to love her father
and mother, she began to wish to see the wise woman again. The idea of
her being an ogress vanished utterly, and she thought of her only as
one to take her in from the moon, and the loneliness, and the terrors
of the forest-haunted heath, and hide her in a cottage with not even a
door for the horrid wolves to howl against.

But the old woman--as the princess called her, not knowing that her
real name was the Wise Woman--had told her that she must knock at the
door: how was she to do that when there was no door? But again she
bethought herself--that, if she could not do all she was told, she
could, at least, do a part of it: if she could not knock at the door,
she could at least knock--say on the wall, for there was nothing else
to knock upon--and perhaps the old woman would hear her, and lift her
in by some window. Thereupon, she rose at once to her feet, and picking
up a stone, began to knock on the wall with it. A loud noise was the
result, and she found she was knocking on the very door itself. For a
moment she feared the old woman would be offended, but the next, there
came a voice, saying,

"Who is there?"

The princess answered,

"Please, old woman, I did not mean to knock so loud."

To this there came no reply.

Then the princess knocked again, this time with her knuckles, and the
voice came again, saying,

"Who is there?"

And the princess answered,

"Rosamond."

Then a second time there was silence. But the princess soon ventured to
knock a third time.

"What do you want?" said the voice.

"Oh, please, let me in!" said the princess.

"The moon will keep staring at me; and I hear the wolves in the wood."

Then the door opened, and the princess entered. She looked all around,
but saw nothing of the wise woman.

It was a single bare little room, with a white deal table, and a few
old wooden chairs, a fire of fir-wood on the hearth, the smoke of which
smelt sweet, and a patch of thick-growing heath in one corner. Poor as
it was, compared to the grand place Rosamond had left, she felt no
little satisfaction as she shut the door, and looked around her. And
what with the sufferings and terrors she had left o