Who better than she knew the whole art and secret of healing the wounds of a hound’s making?  And so I told the old dame, to comfort her, albeit she struggled furiously to get the babe from me.  Nay and she might have done so if the little thing had not clung round my neck with its right arm that had no hurt, as lovingly as though it had been mine own and no kin to the shrieking old woman.

But ere long a clear and strange light was cast on the matter; for when we had loosened the child’s little shirt, and my aunt had duly washed the blood from the wounds, under the dark hue of its skin behold it was tender white, and so it was plain that here was a stolen child, needing to be rescued.

Then the house-stewardess, the widow of a forester whose husband had been slain by poachers, and who labored bravely to bring up her five orphan children, with my aunt’s help—­this woman, I say, now remembered that when she had made her pilgrimage, but lately, to Vierzehnheiligen, the Knight von Hirschhorn, treasurer to the Lord Bishop of Bamberg at Schesslitz, not far from the place of pilgrimage, had lost a babe, stolen away by vagabond knaves.  Then Aunt Jacoba bethought herself that restitution and benevolence might be made one; and, quoth she, this matter might greatly profit the housekeeper and her little ones, inasmuch as that the sorrowing father had promised a ransom of thirty Hungarian ducats to him who should bring back his little daughter living; and forthwith the whole tribe of the bear-leaders were to be bound.  The old beldame gave our men a hard job, for she tried to make off to the forest, and called aloud:  “Hind—­Hind!” which was the young wench’s name, with outlandish words which doubtless were to warn her to flee; but the serving men gained their end and made the wild hag fast.

Ann was pale and in pain with her head aching, but she helped my aunt to tend the child; and I was glad, inasmuch as I conceived that I knew where to find Herdegen and the young dancing wench, and I cared only to save his poor betrayed sweetheart from shame and sorrow.  I crept away, unmarked, through the garden of herbs behind the lodge, to a moss but which my banished cousin had built up for me, in a covert spot between two mighty beech-trees, while I was yet but a school maid.

Verily my imagination was not belied, for whereas I passed round the pine-grove I heard my brother cry out:  “Ah—­wild cat!” and the hussy’s loathsome laugh.  And thereupon they both came forth, only in the doorway he held her back to kiss her.  At this she showed her white teeth, and meseemed she would fain bite him; she thrust him away and laughed as she said:  “To-night; not too much at once.”  Howbeit he snatched her to him, and thereupon I called him by name and went forward.

He let her go soon enough then, but he stamped with his foot for sheer rage.  This, indeed, moved me not; with a calm demeanor I bid the wench follow me, and to that faithless knave I cried:  “Fie!” in a tone of scorn which must have made his ears burn a good while.  Before we entered the garden I bid him go round about the house and come upon the others from the right hand; she was to come with me and round by the left side.