“You must ask father that. He shot it. But where have you been all this while? and why have you never come here?”
“I have been in the capital working at my trade, of course. They don’t print newspapers in the forest; so, you see, I should starve if I spent much time here.”
Dorothea stole up to him, and whispered a timid question.
“I hope it isn’t true what father said about conspiracies? You don’t really hate the good young King, do you, Johann?”
“I don’t hate any one who is good. But never mind the King. I haven’t come here to talk about him. Give me some cider, if you can spare any from your friend who gives the brooches.”
The young girl gave a swift look at him, then, turning away, with a gesture equally swift she snapped the brooch from her neck, and slipped it into her pocket. Then she went to fetch the cider.
A soon as Johann had refreshed himself sufficiently, he got up, and announced that he must take his departure. Dorothea followed him out to the gate, where her father was still lounging, with a sullen but determined look on his face.
“Where are you going?” was the only remark he vouchsafed by way of farewell to his nephew.
Johann pointed to the path through the woodland, by which the two friends had disappeared. His uncle instantly gripped him by the arm.
“No,” he cried hoarsely; “not that way! Not to the Castle!”