Thereupon I saw in the old forester’s face that he was “on the scent” of my Ann—­to use his own words—­so I took heart again and said:  “Well, little uncle?”

“Well,” said he slowly and doubtingly.  But he presently uplifted Ann’s chin, gazed her in the face, and said:  “To be sure, to be sure!  Peaches get they red cheeks better where we dwell than here among stone walls.”  And he pulled down his belt and went on quickly, as though he weened that he might have to rue his hasty words:  “Margery is to be our welcome guest out in the forest; and if she should bring thee with her, child, thou’lt be welcome.”

Nor need I here set down how gladly the bidding was received; and Ann’s parents were more than content to let her go.  Thenceforth had Cousin Maud, and our house maids, and Beata the tailor-wife, enough on their hands; for they deemed it a pleasure to take care to outfit Ann as well as me, since there were many noble guests at the forest lodge, especially about St. Hubert’s day, when there was ever a grand hunt.

Dame Giovanna, Ann’s mother, was in truth at all times choicely clad, and she ever kept Ann in more seemly and richer habit than others of her standing; yet she was greatly content with the summer holiday raiment which Cousin Maud had made for us.  Likewise, for each of us, a green riding habit, fit for the forest, was made of good Florence cloth; and if ever two young maids rode out with glad and thankful hearts into the fair, sunny world, we were those maids when, on Saint Margaret’s day in the morning—­[The 13th July, old style.]—­we bid adieu and, mounted on our saddles, followed Balzer, the old forester, whom my uncle had sent with four men at arms on horseback to attend us, and two beasts of burthen to carry Susan and the “woman’s gear.”

As we rode forth at this early hour, across the fields, and saw the lark mount singing, we likewise lifted up our voices, and did not stop singing till we entered the wood.  Then in the dewy silence our minds were turned to devotion and a Sabbath mood, and we spoke not of what was in our minds; only once—­and it seems as I could hear her now—­these simple words rose from Ann’s heart to her lips:  “I am so thankful!”

And I was thankful at that hour, with my whole heart; and as the great hills of the Alps cover their heads with pure snow as they get nearer to heaven, so should every good man or woman, when in some happy hour he feels God’s mercy nigh him, deck his heart with pure and joyful thanksgiving.

At last we drew up on a plot shut in by tall trees, in front of a bee-keeper’s hut, and while we were there, refreshing on some new milk and the store Cousin Maud had put into our saddle bags, we heard the barking of hounds and a noise of hoofs, and ere long Uncle Conrad was giving us a welcome.