Master Pernhart was wed on Tuesday after Palm Sunday. Ann was wont to
come to our house early on Wednesday morning, and this was ever a happy
meeting to which we gave the name of “the Italian spinning-hour,” by
reason that one of us would turn her wheel and draw out the yarn, while
the other read aloud from the works of the great Italian poets.
Nor did Ann fail to come on this Wednesday after the wedding; but I had
thrust Herdegen’s letter into the bosom of my bodice and awaited her
with a quaking heart.
Her spirit was heavy; I could see in her eyes that they had shed tears,
and at my first question they filled again. Had she not seen her mother
this morn beaming with happiness, and then remembered, with new pangs
of heartache, the father she had lost scarce a year ago and whose image
seemed to have faded out of the mind of the wife he had so truly loved.
When I said to her that I well understood her sorrow, but that I had
other matter to lay before her which might bring her yet more cruel
grief, she knew that it must be as touching Herdegen; and whereas before
I spoke I could only clasp her to me and could not bring out a single
word, she thrust me from her and cried: “Herdegen? Speak! Some ill has
come upon him! Margery--Merciful Virgin! How you are sobbing!--Dead--is
he dead?”
As she said these words her cheeks turned pale and, when I shook my
head, she seized my hand and asked sadly: “Worse? Then he has broken
faith once more?”
Meseemed I could never speak again; and yet I might not keep silence,
and the words broke from my bursting heart: “Ah, worse and far
worse; more strange, more terrible! I have it here, in his
hand.--Henceforth--my uncle, his rich inheritance.... All is over, Ann,
betwixt him and you. And I--oh, that he should have left it to me to
tell it!”
She stood in front of me as if rooted to the ground, and it was some
time before she could find a word. Then she said in a dull voice: “Where
is the letter?”
I snatched it out of the bosom of my dress and was about to rend it as
I went towards the hearth, but she stood in my way, snatched the letter
violently from me, and cried: “Then if all is at an end, I will at any
rate be clear about it. No false comfort, no cloaking of the truth!”
And she strove to wrench Herdegen’s letter from me. But my strength was
greater than hers, indeed full great for a maid; yet my heart told me
that in her case my will would have been the same, so I made no more
resistance but yielded up the letter. Then and there she read it; and
although she was pale as death and I marked how her lips trembled and
every nerve in her body, her eyes were dry, and when she presently
folded the letter and held it forth to me, she said with light scorn
which cut in--to the heart: “This then is what matters have come to! He
has sold his love and his sweetheart! Only her face, it would seem, is
not in the bargain by reason that he keeps that to rob his saint of her
holiness! Well, he is free, and the wild joys of life in every form are
to make up for love; and yet--and yet, Margery, pray that he may not end
miserably!”
Gentle pity had sounded in these last words, and I took her hand and
besought her right earnestly: “And you, Ann. Do you pray with me.” But
she shook her head and replied: “Nay, Margery; all is at an end between
him and me, even thoughts and yearning. I know him no more--and now
let me go.” With this she put on her little cloak, and was by the door
already when Cousin Maud came in with some sweetmeats, as she was ever
wont to do when we thus sat spinning; and as soon as she had set down
that which she was carrying she opened her arms to the outcast maid,
to clasp her to her bosom and comfort her with good words; but Ann only
took her hand, pressed it to her lips, and vanished down the stairs.
At dinner that morning the dishes would have been carried out as full
as they were brought in, if Master Peter had not done his best to hinder
it; and as soon as the meal was over I could no longer bear myself in
the house, but went off straight to the Pernharts’.
There the air seemed warmer and lighter, and Mistress Giovanna welcomed
me to her new home right gladly; but she would not suffer me to go to
Ann’s chamber, forasmuch as that she had a terrible headache and had
prayed to see no one, not even me. Yet I felt strongly drawn to her, and
as the new-made wife knew that she and I were as one she did not forbid
me from going upstairs, where Pernhart had made dead Gertrude’s room
all clean and fresh for Ann. Now whereas I knew that when her head
ached every noise gave her pain, I mounted the steps with great care and
opened the door softly without knocking. Also she was not aware of my
coming. I would fain have crept away unseen; or even rather would have
fallen on my knees by her side to crave her forgiveness for the bitter
wrong my brother had done her. She was lying on the bed, her face hidden
in the pillows, and her slender body shook as in an ague fit, while she
sobbed low but right bitterly. Nor did she mark my presence there till
I fell on my knees by the bed and cast my arms about her. Then she
suddenly raised herself from the pillows, passed her hand across her wet
eyes, and entreated me to leave her. Yet I did not as she bade me; and
when she saw how deeply I took her griefs to heart, she rose from her
couch, on which she had lain down with all her clothes on, and only
prayed me that this should be the last time I would ever speak with her
of Herdegen.
Then she led me to her table and showed me things which she had laid out
thereon; poor little gifts which my brother had brought her; every one,
except only the Petrarca with the names in gold: Anna-Laura. And she
desired that I would take them all and send them back to Herdegen at
some fitting time.
As I nodded sadly enough, she must have seen in my face that I missed
the little volumes and, ere I was aware, she had taken them out of her
chest and thrown them in with the rest.
Then she cried in a changed voice: “That likewise--Ah, no, not that! It
is the best gift he ever made me, and he was so good and kind then--You
do not know, you do not know!--How I long to keep the books! But away,
away with them!”
Then she put everything into a silken kerchief, tied it up with hard
knots, pushed the bundle into my hand, and besought me to go home.
I went home, sick at heart, with the bundle in my cold hand, and when
the door was opened by Akusch, who, poor wight, bore our bitter winters
but ill, I heard from above-stairs loud and right merry laughter and
glee; and I knew it for the voice of Cousin Maud who seemed overpowered
by sheer mirth. My wrath flared up, for our house this day was of a
certainty the last where such merriment was fitting.
My cheeks were red from the snow-storm, yet rage made them even hotter
as I hastened up-stairs. But before I could speak a single word Cousin
Maud, with whom were the Magister and old Pirkheimer the member of
council, cried out as soon as she saw me: “Only imagine, Margery, what
rare tidings his Excellency has brought us.” And she went on to tell
me, with great joy, while his worship added facts now and then, that
the Magister had since yestereve become a rich man, inasmuch as his
godmother, old Dame Oelhaf, had died, leaving him no small wealth.
This was verily marvellous and joyful hearing, for many had imagined the
deceased to be a needy woman who had carried on the business left her by
her husband, albeit she had no service but that of an ill-paid shop-lad,
who was like one of the lean ears of Pharaoh’s dream and moreover blind
of one eye. Nevertheless I remembered well that her little shop, which
was no greater than a fair-sized closet, had ever been filled with
buyers when we had stolen in, against all commands, to buy a few dried
figs. I can see the little crippled mistress now as she limped across
the shop or along the street, and the boys would call after her: “Hip
hop! Lame duck!” and all Nuremberg knew her better by the nickname of
the Lame Duck than by her husband’s.
That the poor little woman had departed this life we had all heard
yestereve; but even the Magister had fully believed that her leavings
would scarce be worth the pains of a walk to the town hall. But now
the learned advocate told him that by her will, drawn up and attested
according to law, she had devised to him all she had to leave as being
the only child she had ever been thought worthy to hold at the font.
Then, due inquisition being made in her little place, a goodly number
of worn stockings were found in the straw of her bed and other hiding
places, and in them, instead of her lean little legs, many a gulden and
Hungarian ducat of good gold. Moreover she had a house at Nordlingen and
a mill at Schwabach, and thus the inheritance that had come to Magister
Peter was altogether no small matter.
The simple man had never hoped for such fortune, and it was in truth
laughable to see how he forgot his dignity, and leaped first on one foot
and then the other, crying: “No, no! It cannot be true! Then poor Irus
is become rich Croesus!”
And thus he went on till he left us with Master Perkheimer. Then I
laughed with my cousin; and when I was once more alone I marvelled at
the mercy of a benevolent Providence, by whose ruling a small joy makes
us to forget our heavy griefs, though it were but for a moment.
At night, to be sure, I could not help thinking with fresh sorrow of
that which had come upon us; but then, on the morrow, I saw the Magister
again, and would fain have rejoiced in his gladness; but lo, he was
now silent and dull, and at the first opening he led ne aside and said,
right humbly and with downcast eyes: “Think no evil of me, Mistress
Margery, in that yestereve my joy in earthly possessions was over much
for my wits; believe me, it was not the glitter of mammon, but far other
matters that turned my brain.” And he confessed to me that he had ever
borne Ann in his heart, even when she was but a young maid at school,
and had made the winning of her the goal of his life. To this end, and
whereas without some means of living he could not hope, he had laid
by every penny he had earned by teaching at our house and in the Latin
classes, and had foregone the buying of many a fine and learned book, or
even of a jar of wine to drink in the company of his fellows. Thus had
he saved a goodly sum of money; nay, he had thought himself within
reach of his high aim when he had discovered, that Christmas eve before
Herdegen’s departing, that the Junker had robbed him of his one ewe
lamb. There was nought left for him to do but to hold his peace, albeit
in bitter sorrow, till within the last few days Heaven had showered its
mercies on him. The powerful Junker--for so it was that he ever spoke
and thought of my elder brother--had it seemed, released the lamb, and
he himself was now in a state of life in which he might right well set
up housekeeping. Then he went on to beseech me with all humbleness to
speak a word for him to the lady of his choice, and I found it not in my
heart to give the death-blow forthwith to his fond and faithful hopes,
albeit I wist full surely that they were all in vain. Thus I bid him to
have patience at least till Christmas, inasmuch as he should give Ann
time to put away the memory of Herdegen; and he consented with simple
kindness, although he had changed much and for the better in these late
years, and could boast of good respect among the learned men of our
city; and thus, albeit not a wealthy man, and in spite of his mature
years, he would be welcomed as a son-in-law by many a mother of
daughters.
Thus the Magister, who had waited so long, held back even yet awhile.
One week followed another, the third Sunday in Advent went by, and the
holy tide was at hand when the delay should end which the patient suitor
had allowed.
I had seen Ann less often than in past times. In the coppersmith’s great
household she commonly had her hands full, and I felt indeed that her
face was changed towards me. A kind of fear, which I had not marked in
her of old, had come over her of late; meseemed she lived ever in dread
of some new insult and hurt; also she had courteously but steadfastly
refused to join in the festivities to which she was bidden by Elsa Ebner
or others of the upper class, and even said nay to uncle Christian’s
bidding to a dance, to be given this very day, being his name-day, at
his lodgings in the Castle. I likewise was bidden and had accepted my
godfather’s kindness; but my timid endeavor to move Ann to do his will,
as her best and dearest old friend, brought forth the sorrowful answer
that I myself must judge how little she was fit for any merry-makings
of the kind. My friendship with her, which had once been my highest joy,
had thus lost all its lightheartedness, albeit it had not lost all its
joys, nor was she therefore the less dear to me though I dealt with
her now as with a well-beloved child for whose hurt we are not wholly
blameless.
Now it fell that on this day, the 20th December, being my godfather’s
name-day, I found her not with the rest, but in her own chamber in
violent distress. Her cheeks were on fire, and she was in such turmoil
as though she had escaped some terrible persecution. Thereupon I
questioned her in haste and fear, and she answered me with reserve,
till, on a sudden, she cried:
“It is killing me! I will bear it no more!” and hid her face in her
hands, I clasped her in my arms, and to soothe her spoke in praise of
her stepfather, Master Pernhart, and his high spirit and good heart;
then she sobbed aloud and said: “Oh, for that matter! If that were all!”
And suddenly, or even I was aware, she had cast her arms about me and
kissed my lips and cheeks with great warmth. Then she cried out: “Oh,
Margery! You cannot turn from me! I indeed tried to turn from you; and I
could have done it, even if it had cost me my heart’s blood! But now and
here I ask you: Is it just that I should lay myself on the rack because
he has so cruelly hurt me? No, no. And I need your true soul to help me
to shake off the burden which is crushing me to the earth and choking
me. Help me to bear it, or I shall come to a bad end--I shall follow her
who died here in this very chamber.”
My soul had ever stood open to her and so I told her right heartily, and
her face became once more as it had been of old; and albeit those things
she had to tell me were not indeed comforting, still I could in all
honesty bid her to be of good heart; and I presently felt that to
unburden herself of all that had weighed upon her these last few weeks,
did her as much good as a bath. For it still was a pain to her to see
her mother cooing like a pigeon round her new mate. She herself was full
of his praises, albeit this man, well brought up and trained to good
manners, would ever abide by the old customs of the old craftsmen, and
his venerable mother likewise held fast by them, so that his wife
had striven in vain to change the ways of the house. Thus master and
mistress, son and daughter, foreman and apprentice, sewing man and
maid all ate, as they had ever done, at the same table. And whereas
the daughters, by old custom, sat in order on the mother’s side, the
youngest next to her and the oldest at the end, it thus fell that Ann
was placed next to the foreman, who was that very one who had betrayed
Gotz Waldstromer to his master because he had himself cast an eye on
Gertrude. The young fellow had ere long set his light heart on Ann; and
being a fine lad, and the sole son of a well-to-do master in Augsburg,
he was likewise a famous wooer and breaker of maiden hearts, and could
boast of many a triumphant love affair among the daughters of the
simpler class. He was, in his own rank of life, cock of the walk, as
such folks say; and I remembered well having seen him at an apprentices’
dance at the May merrymakings, whither he had come apparelled in a
rose-colored jerkin and light-hued hose, bedecked with flowers and
greenery in his cap and belt; he had fooled with the daughters of the
master of his guild like the coxcomb he was, and whirled them off to
dance as though he did them high honor by paying court to them. It
might, to be sure, have given him a lesson to find that his master’s
fair daughter scorned his suit; yet that sank not deep, inasmuch as it
was for the sake of a Junker of high degree. With Ann he might hope for
better luck; for although from the first she gave him to wit that he
pleased her not, he did not therefore leave her in peace, and this very
morning, finding her alone in the hall, he had made so bold as to put
forth his hand to clasp her. Albeit she had forthwith set him in his
place, and right sharply, it seemed that to protect herself against his
advances there was no remedy but a complaint to his master, which would
disturb the peace of the household. She was indeed able enough to take
care of herself and to ward off any unseemly boldness on his part;
but she felt her noble purity soiled by contact with that taint of
commonness of which she was conscious in this young fellow’s ways, and
in many other daily experiences.
Every meal, with the great dish into which the apprentice dipped his
spoon next to hers, was a misery to her; and when the master’s old
mother marked this, and noted also how uneasily she submitted to her
new place and part in life, seeing likewise Ann’s tear-stained eyes and
sorrowful countenance, she conceived that all this was by reason that
Ann’s pride could hardly bend to endure life in a craftsman’s dwelling.
And her heart was turned from her son’s step-daughter, whom at first she
had welcomed right kindly; she overlooked her as a rule, or if she
spoke to her, it was in harsh and ungracious tones. This, as Ann saw
its purpose, hurt her all the more, as she saw more clearly that the new
grandmother was a warm-hearted and worthy and right-minded woman, from
whose lips fell many a wise word, while she was as kind to the younger
children as though they had been her own grandchildren. Nay, one had but
to look at her to see that she was made of sound stuff, and had head and
heart both in the right place.
A few hours since Ann had opened her heart to her Father confessor, the
reverend prebendary von Hellfeld; and he had counselled her to take the
veil and win heavenly bliss in a convent as the bride of Christ. And
whereas all she craved was peace, and a refuge from the world wherein
she had suffered so much, and Cousin Maud and I likewise deemed it the
better course for her, she would gladly have followed this good counsel,
but that her late dear father had ever been strongly averse to the life
of the cloister. Self-seeking, he would say, is at the root of all
evil, and he who becomes an alien from this world and its duties to seek
happiness in a convent--inasmuch as that beatitude for which monks and
nuns strive is nothing else than a higher form of happiness, extending
beyond the grave to the very end of all things--may indeed intend to
pursue the highest aim, and yet it is but self-seeking, although of
the loftiest and noblest kind. Also, but a few days ere he died, he had
admonished Ann, in whom he had long discerned the true teacher of his
younger children, to warn them above all things against self-seeking,
inasmuch as now that the hand of death was already on him, he found his
chiefest comfort in the assurance of having labored faithfully, trusting
in his Redeemer’s grace, to do all that in him lay for his own kith and
kin, and for other folks’ orphans, whether rich or poor.
This discourse had sunk deep into Ann’s soul, and had been in her mind
when she spoke such brave words to Herdegen, exhorting him to higher
aims. Now, again, coming forth from the good priest’s door, she had
met her grand-uncle the organist, and asking him what he would say if
a hapless and forlorn maid should seek the peace she had lost in the
silence of the cloister, the simple man looked her full in the eyes and
murmured sadly to himself: “Alack! And has it come to this!” Then he
went close up to her, raised her drooping head, and cried in a cheering
voice:
“In a cloister? You, in a cloister! You, our Ann, who have already
learnt to be so good a mother in the Sisters’s school? No child, and
again and again I say No. Pay heed rather to the saying which your old
grand-uncle once heard from the lips of a wise and good man, when in
the sorest hour of his life he was about to knock at the gate of a
Cistercian convent.--His words were: ‘Though thou lose all thou deemest
thy happiness, if thou canst but make the happiness of others, thou
shalt find it again in thine own heart.’”
And at a later day old Heyden himself told me that he, who while yet
but a youth had been the prefectus of the town-pipers, had been nigh
to madness when his wife, his Elslein, had been snatched from him after
scarce a year and a half of married life. After he had recovered his
wits, he had conceived that any balance or peace of mind was only to be
found in a convent, near to God; and it was at that time that the
wise and excellent Ulman Stromer had spoken the words which had been
thenceforth the light and guiding line of his life. He had remained in
the world; but he had renounced the more honorable post of prefect of
the town-musicians, and taken on him the humble one of organist, in
which it had been granted to him to offer up his great gift of music as
it were a sacrifice to Heaven. This maxim, which had spared the virtuous
old man to the world, made its mark on Ann likewise; and whereas I saw
how gladly she had received the doctrine that happiness should be found
in making others happy, I prayed her to join me in taking it henceforth
as the guiding lamp of our lives. At this she was well pleased; and she
went on to point wherein and how we should henceforth strive to forget
ourselves for our neighbor’s sake, with that soaring flight of soul in
which I could scarce follow her but as a child lags after a butterfly or
a bird.
Then, when I presently saw that she was in better heart, I took courage,
but in jest, being sure of her refusal, to plead the Magister’s suit.
This, however, was as I was departing; I had already stayed and delayed
her over-long, inasmuch as I had yet to array myself for the feast at
Uncle Christian’s. But, as I was about to speak; a serving man came
in with a letter written by the kind old man to Ann herself, his “dear
watchman” in which, for the third time, he besought her, with pressing
warmth, not to refuse to go to him on his name day and pledge him in the
loving cup to his health and happiness.
With the help of this tender appeal I made her say she would go; yet she
spoke the words in haste and great agitation.
My uncle’s messenger had hindered my suing, so while we hastily looked
through Ann’s store of holiday raiment, I brought my pleading for Master
Peter to an end; and what I looked for came, in truth, to pass: without
seeming one whit surprised she steadfastly rejected his suit, saying
that he was the poor, good, faithful Magister, and worthy to win a wife
whose heart was all his own.
At my uncle’s house that night, with the exception of certain learned
and reverend gentlemen, Ann alone was not of gentle birth. Yet was she
in no wise the least, neither in demeanor nor in attire; and when I
beheld her in the ante-chamber, all lighted up with wax tapers, in her
sky-blue gown, thanking the master of the house and his sister--who kept
house for him--for their condescension, as she upraised her great eyes
with loving respect, I could have clasped her in my arms in the face
of all the world, and I marvelled how my brother Herdegen could have
sinfully cast such a jewel from him.
Then, when we went on together into the guest chamber, it fell that the
town-pipers at that minute ceased to play and there was silence on all,
as though a flourish of trumpets had warned of the approach of a prince;
and yet it was only in honor of Ann and her wondrous beauty. Each and
all of the young men there would, meseemed, gladly have stepped into
Herdegen’s place, and she was so fully taken up with dancing that she
could scarce mark how diligently all the mothers and maidens overlooked
her. Howbeit, Ursula Tetzel was not content with that, but went up to
her and with a sneer enquired whether Junker Schopper at Paris were
well.
Ann drew herself up with pride and hastily answered that if any one
craved news of him he had best apply to Mistress Ursula Tetzel, inasmuch
as she was ever wont to have a keen eye on her dear cousin.
At this Ursula cried out: “How well our old schoolmate remembers the
lessons she learnt; even the fable of the Fox and the Grapes!” then,
turning to me she added: “Nor has she lost her skill in learning; she
has not long been in her stepfather’s dwelling and she has already
mastered the art of hitting blows as the coppersmiths do.” And she
turned her back on us both.
And presently, when it came to her turn to join the chain in which Ann
was taking part, I marked well that she urged the youth she danced with
to stand away from the craftsman’s daughter. Howbeit I at once brought
her plot to naught and the young gentleman to shame. Not that she needed
any such defence, for her beauty led every man to seek her above all
others. And when, at supper, Uncle Christian called her to his side and
made it fully manifest to all present how dear she was to his faithful
heart, I hoped that indeed the day was won for her, and that henceforth
our friendship would be regarded as a matter apart from any concern
with her step-father the coppersmith. What need she care about those
discourteous women, who made it, to be sure, plain enough at their
departing, that they took her presence there amiss.
On our way home methought she was in a meditative mood, and as we parted
she bid me go to see her early next morning. This I should have done in
any case, inasmuch as I knew no greater pleasure, after a feast or dance
at which we had been together, than to talk with her of any matter we
might each have marked, but there was something more than this in her
mind.
Next day, indeed, when I had greeted her, she had lost her cheerful mien
of the day before; it was plain to see that she had not slept, and I
presently learned that she had been thinking through the night what her
life must be, and how she could best fulfill the vow we had both made.
The more diligently she had considered of the matter, the more worthy
had she deemed our purpose; and the dance at my Uncle Christian’s had
clearly proven to her that among our class there were few to whom her
presence could be welcome, and none to whom it could bring any real
pleasure.
In this she was doubtless right; yet was I startled when, with the
steadfast will which she ever showed, she said that, after duly weighing
the matter, she had made up her mind to accept the Magister.
When she perceived how greatly I was amazed, she besought me, with the
same eager haste as I had marvelled at the day before, that I would not
contend against a conclusion she had fully weighed; inasmuch as that the
Magister was a worthy man whom she could make truly happy. Moreover, his
newly-acquired wealth would enable her to help many indigent persons in
their need and misery. I enquired of her earnestly how about any love
for him, and she broke out with much vehemence, saying that I must know
for certain that for her all love and the joys of love were numbered
with the dead. She would tell this to Master Peter with all honesty,
and she was sure that he would be content with her friendship and warm
goodwill.
But all this she poured out as though she could not endure to hear her
own words. An inward voice at the same time warned me that she had made
up her mind to this step, in order that Herdegen might fully understand
that to him she was lost for ever, albeit I had not given up all hope
that they might some day come together, and that Ann’s noble love of
what was best in my brother might thus rescue him from utter ruin. Hence
her ill-starred resolve filled me with rage, to such a degree that I
railed at it as a mad and sinful deed against her own peace of mind, and
indeed against him whom she had once held as dear as her own life.
But Ann cut me short, and bade me sharply to mind my promise, and never
speak of Herdegen again. My hot blood rose at this and I made for the
door; nay, I had the handle of the latch in my hand when she flew after
me, held me back by force, and entreated me with prayers that I would
let her do her will, for that she had no choice. She purposed in solemn
earnest henceforth at all times to devote herself to the happiness of
others, and whereas that demanded heavy sacrifice, she was now ready to
make it. If indeed I still refused to carry her answer to the Magister,
then would she send it through her step-father or Dame Henneleinlein,
who was apt at such errands, and bid her suitor come to see her.
Then I perceived that there was but small hope; with a heavy heart,
and, indeed, a secret intent behind, I took the task upon me, for I saw
plainly that my refusal would ruin all. All the same, meseemed it was
a happy ordering that the Magister should have set forth early that
morning to spend a few days at Nordlingen, to take possession of the
house he had fallen heir to; for, when a great misfortune lies ahead, a
hopeful soul clings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance.
I made my way home full of forebodings, and in front of our door I saw
my Forest uncle’s horses in waiting. He was above stairs with cousin
Maud, and I soon was informed that he had come to bid me and Ann to the
great hunt which was to take place at the New Year. His Highness Duke
Albrecht of Bavaria, with divers other knights and gentlemen, had
promised to take part in it, and he needed our help for his sick and
suffering wife; also, said he, he loved to see “a few smart young maids”
at his board. Already he and cousin Maud had discussed at length whether
it would be seemly to bring the coppersmith’s stepdaughter into the
company of such illustrious guests; and the balance in her favor had
been struck in his mind by his opinion that a fair young maid must ever
be pleasing in the hunter’s eyes out in the forest, whatever her rank
might be.
He had now but one care, and that was that neither he nor any other man
had hitherto dared to utter the name of Master Ulman Pernhart to my aunt
Jacoba, and that she therefore knew not of his marriage with her dear
Ann’s mother. Yet must the lady be informed thereof; so, finding that my
cousin Maud made no secret of her will to speed the Magister’s wooing,
while I weened, with good reason, that my aunt would gladly support me
in hindering it, I then and there made up my mind to go back with my
uncle, and hold council with his shrewd-witted wife.