Thus ended the tale of poor Gertrude; but before I had half told it my wrath had cooled.  For my aunt sat in silence, listening to me with devout attention.  Nor were my eyes dry, nor even those of that strong-willed dame, and when, at the end, I said:  “Well, Aunt?” she woke, as it were, from a dream, and cried out:  “And yet those craftsmen folk robbed me of my son, my only child!”

And she sobbed aloud and hid her face in her hands, while I knelt by her side, and threw my arms about her, and kissed her thin fingers which covered her eyes, and said softly, as if by inspiration:  “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 be 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 Apostles would not make her break it, and then she will be doomed to misery, and her fate and your brother’s are both sealed.”