Hans sat quietly in his boat with the German, ignorant of all the disturbance he had caused. He had never known what it was to be frightened; nor had he ever till now known the feeling of being in love.  As soon as he did feel it, it was intolerable to him until he had settled the matter.  Now it was settled, and he was sitting there setting words to the Bridal March!

He was not much of a poet, but he made out something about their ride to church, and the refrain of every verse told of their meeting in the wood.  He whistled and fished and felt very happy; and the German fished away quietly and left him in peace.

A halloo sounded from the shore, and both he and the bearded German looked up and saw a girl waving.  They exchanged a few words and rowed ashore.  Hans jumped out and tied up the boat, and they lifted out the guns, coats, fish, and fishing tackle; the German went away towards the cabin, but Hans with his load came up to Beret, who was standing on a stone a little way off.

“Who are you?” he asked gently.

“Beret, Mildrid’s sister,” she answered, blushing, and he blushed too.  But the next moment he turned pale.

“Is there anything the matter?”

“No! just that you must come.  She can’t bear to be left alone just now.”

He stood a minute and looked at her, then turned and went towards the hut.  The German was standing outside, hanging up his fishing tackle; Hans hung up his, and they spoke together, and then went in.  Ever since Beret’s halloo, two dogs, shut up in the cabin, had been barking with all their might.  When the men opened the door they burst out, but were at once sternly called back.  It was some time before Hans came out again.  He had changed his clothes, and had his gun and dog with him.  The German gentleman came to the door, and they shook hands as if saying good-bye for a considerable time.  Hans came up quickly to Beret.

“Can you walk fast?” he asked.

“Of course I can.”

And off they went, she running, the dog far ahead.

Beret’s message had entirely changed the current of Hans’s thoughts.  It had never occurred to him before that Mildrid might not have the same happy, sure feeling about their engagement that he had.  But now he saw how natural it was that she should be uneasy about her parents; and how natural, too, that she should feel alarmed by the hurried rush in which everything had come about.  He understood it so well now that he was perfectly astonished at himself for not having thought of it before—­and on he strode.

Even on him the suddenness of the meeting with Mildrid, and the violence of their feelings, had at first made a strange impression; what must she, a child, knowing nothing but the quiet reserve of her parents’ house, have felt, thus launched suddenly on the stormy sea of passion!—­and on he strode.