“But we could not sleep; there was something so unusual, not only in seeing strange people, but in having those people sleep at the cottage, that we were bewildered.  As for poor little Marcella, she was quiet, but I perceived that she trembled during the whole night, and sometimes I thought that she was checking a sob.  My father had brought out some spirits, which he rarely used, and he and the strange hunter remained drinking and talking before the fire.  Our ears were ready to catch the slightest whisper—­so much was our curiosity excited.

“‘You said you came from Transylvania?’ observed my father.

“‘Even so, Mynheer,’ replied the hunter.  ’I was a serf to the noble house of ——­; my master would insist upon my surrendering up my fair girl to his wishes; it ended in my giving him a few inches of my hunting-knife.’

“‘We are countrymen, and brothers in misfortune,’ replied my father, taking the huntsman’s hand, and pressing it warmly.

“‘Indeed!  Are you, then, from that country?’

“’Yes; and I too have fled for my life.  But mine is a melancholy tale.’

“‘Your name?’ inquired the hunter.

“‘Krantz.’

“’What!  Krantz of ——­ I have heard your tale; you need not renew your grief by repeating it now.  Welcome, most welcome, Mynheer, and, I may say, my worthy kinsman.  I am your second cousin, Wilfred of Barnsdorf,’ cried the hunter, rising up and embracing my father.

“They filled their horn mugs to the brim, and drank to one another, after the German fashion.  The conversation was then carried on in a low tone; all that we could collect from it was, that our new relative and his daughter were to take up their abode in our cottage, at least for the present.  In about an hour they both fell back in their chairs, and appeared to sleep.

“‘Marcella, dear, did you hear?’ said my brother in a low tone.

“‘Yes,’ replied Marcella, in a whisper; ’I heard all.  Oh! brother, I cannot bear to look upon that woman—­I feel so frightened.’

“My brother made no reply, and shortly afterwards we were all three fast asleep.

“When we awoke the next morning, we found that the hunter’s daughter had risen before us.  I thought she looked more beautiful than ever.  She came up to little Marcella and caressed her; the child burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

“But, not to detain you with too long a story, the huntsman and his daughter were accommodated in the cottage.  My father and he went out hunting daily, leaving Christina with us.  She performed all the household duties; was very kind to us children; and, gradually, the dislike even of little Marcella wore away.  But a great change took place in my father; he appeared to have conquered his aversion to the sex, and was most attentive to Christina.  Often, after her father and we were in bed, would he sit up with her, conversing in a low tone by the