They took all the byways, until Herman was completely lost, and then, unexpectedly, he was pulled up in front of a stable door, which Heinrich opened.
"Go in!" the simple one exclaimed, standing aside; "but wait," he added, when Herman stood within, not knowing where to move in the darkness. After some trouble, Heinrich lit his lantern and led the way up some rickety steps into a hayloft.
Standing on the top step, Herman saw a humble room where the furniture was scarce and poor. A table stood in the middle of the floor, and by it sat an elderly woman, working at a man's much worn garment by the candlelight, although the hour was so late. She looked up when she heard Heinrich's voice.
"Mother," he whispered, looking in through the half-opened door almost stealthily.
"Yes, my son."
"Is she asleep?"
"No. She was talking to me, anxious about you, until she heard you down below, and then she went to her room to be out of the way. But I heard someone else. Who is it?"
"Go and tell her, mother, to come and see her lover, the man she should have wedded to-morrow. Tell her that, mother."
Herman gazed around the bare and desolate place when he had stepped within. A few moments only had gone when a cry sprang to his lips. For through the open doorway which Heinrich's mother had passed, someone came. It was Margaret, her hands outstretched, her beautiful face wan and pale, transformed now from the consuming anxiety before the woman entered. Her eyes were gleaming with the love-light.
"Herman!" she cried, as she went to her lover's arms.