‘Shameful!’ exclaimed Margarita.  ’I will speak to Berthold as he descends.  I hear him coming.  He shall do what I wish.’

’Call it dreadful, Grete!  Dreadful it was.  If Berthold would like to sit and hear—­Ah! she is gone.  A good girl! and of a levity only on the surface.’

Aunt Lisbeth heard Margarita’s voice rapidly addressing Berthold.  His reply was low and brief.  ‘Refuses to listen to anything of the sort,’ Aunt Lisbeth interpreted it.  Then he seemed to be pleading, and Margarita uttering short answers.  ’I trust ‘tis nothing a maiden should not hear,’ the little lady exclaimed with a sigh.

The door opened, and Lieschen stood at the entrance.

‘For Fraulein Margarita,’ she said, holding a letter halfway out.

‘Give it,’ Aunt Lisbeth commanded.

The woman hesitated—­’’Tis for the Fraulein.’

‘Give it, I tell thee!’ and Aunt Lisbeth eagerly seized the missive, and subjected it to the ordeal of touch.  It was heavy, and contained something hard.  Long pensive pressures revealed its shape on the paper.  It was an arrow.  ‘Go!’ said she to the woman, and, once alone, began, bee-like, to buzz all over it, and finally entered.  It contained Margarita’s Silver Arrow.  ‘The art of that girl!’ And the writing said: 

   ’Sweetest maiden!

’By this arrow of our betrothal, I conjure thee to meet me in all haste without the western gate, where, burning to reveal to thee most urgent tidings that may not be confided to paper, now waits, petitioning the saints, thy

‘Farina.’

Aunt Lisbeth placed letter and arrow in a drawer; locked it; and ’always thought so.’  She ascended the stairs to consult with Gottlieb.  Roars of laughter greeted her just as she lifted the latch, and she retreated abashed.

There was no time to lose.  Farina must be caught in the act of waiting for Margarita, and by Gottlieb, or herself.  Gottlieb was revelling.  ’May this be a warning to thee, Gottlieb,’ murmured Lisbeth, as she hooded her little body in Margarita’s fur-cloak, and determined that she would be the one to confound Farina.

Five minutes later Margarita returned.  Aunt Lisbeth was gone.  The dragon still lacked a tip to his forked tongue, and a stream of fiery threads dangled from the jaws of the monster.  Another letter was brought into the room by Lieschen.

‘For Aunt Lisbeth,’ said Margarita, reading the address.  ’Who can it be from?’

‘She does not stand pressing about your letters,’ said the woman; and informed Margarita of the foregoing missive.

‘You say she drew an arrow from it?’ said Margarita, with burning face.  ‘Who brought this? tell me!’ and just waiting to hear it was Farina’s mother, she tore the letter open, and read: 

   ’Dearest Lisbeth!