“But I will escape from here,” she said, suddenly ceasing her song. “I will flee to my native home; for there are those who will be my guides when once at liberty. And you will do me a service, Rosebud, as you promised?”
“O yes, indeed!” cried Rosebud; “but how? Where is the door? Where is your little maid? What is your name?”
“My name is Bertha. My little maid is asleep. There is no door,—at least not here. At the edge of the Wood is a mossy gray rock. Behind this rock is a flat stone. Beneath that stone commences the long underground passage which will lead you here. But have you courage?”
“O yes!” cried Rosebud, with eagerness; “I will come instantly!”
“That,” said Bertha, “you cannot do. Listen now, while I give you instructions. Do you fear the night?”
“No, pretty Bertha,” said Rosebud. “For me the night is often more beautiful than the day. I walked behind my granny, last night, a long way in the moonlight, and was not afraid.”
And Rosebud then related to Bertha what had happened, and how she had followed the old woman.
“Ah, I see that you have courage!” said Bertha; “you will not fail me. But why do you say ‘pretty Bertha’? I can see you, little Rosebud, for there are holes pierced in the rock to let in the light of day, and through one of these I see your face, and a charming face it is; but I am hid from you.”
“But your voice is pretty,” said Rosebud.
“Do you think that?” asked Bertha; “listen, then, to it, while it instructs you what to do.