Hereupon the Chaplain clapped his hands and cried: 

“And thus once more the love of a woman’s heart hath digged a pit for Satan’s craft.”

And I ran forth to bid them harness the sleigh, whereas I knew full well that no counsel would avail.

And now, as of yore when she had fared into the town for love of Ann, she was wrapped in a mountain of warm garments, so we clothed her to-day in a heap of such raiment, and Young Kubbeling would suffer no man but himself to drive the horses.  Thus we went at a slow pace to Grubner’s lodge, and all the way we rode we met not a soul save Cousin Maud, and she only nodded to me, by reason that she could not guess that a living human creature was breathing beneath the furs and coverlets at my side.  Young Kubbeling on the box, and the ravens and tomtits and redbreasts in the woods had not many words from us.  While I was thinking with fear and expectation of the outcome of this meeting of the mother and son, I scarce spoke more than a kind word of good cheer now and again to my aunt, to which Kubbeling would ever add in a low voice:  “All will come right!” or “God bless thee, most noble lady!” And each time we thus spoke I was aware of a small movement about my knees, and would then press my lips to the outermost cover of the beloved bundle by my side.

At about two hundred paces from the Forester’s but the path turned off from the highway, so that we might be seen from the windows thereof; and scarce had the sleigh turned into this cross-road, when the door of the lodge was opened and my uncle and Gotz came forth.

The son had his arm laid on his father’s shoulder and they gazed at us.  And indeed it was a noble and joyful sight as they stood there, the old man and the young one, both of powerful and stalwart build, both grown strong in wind and weather, and true and trustworthy men.  The slim young pine had indeed somewhat overtopped the gnarled oak, but the crown of the older tree was the broader.  Such as the young man was now the old man must have been, and what the son should one day be might be seen—­and I rejoiced to think it—­in his father’s figure and face.  Howbeit, as a husband Gotz gave no promise of treading in his father’s footsteps, and when I thought of this, and of the lesson I had yestereve received, my cheeks grew redder than they had already turned in the sharp December air, or under the gaze of my new lover.

Howbeit I had no time for much thought; the sleigh was already at the door, and or ever I was aware the old man had me in his arms and kissed my lips and brow, and called me his dear and well-beloved daughter.  Then the younger man pressed forward to assert his claims, and when he bent over me I threw my arms round his neck, and he lifted me up, for all that I was none of the lightest in my winter furs and thick raiment, out of the sleigh like a child, and again his lips were on mine.  But we might not suffer them to meet for more than a brief kiss.  Uncle Conrad had discovered my aunt’s face among all her wrappings, and gave loud utterance to his well-founded horror, while my aunt cried out to her long-lost son by name again and again, with all the love of a longing and long-robbed mother’s heart.