Our sister could not tell how long or how far they had gone in this wild, headlong manner, but they were not far from the foot of the mountain, when suddenly at no great distance above them, seemingly the very way they had come, she heard a faint cry, "Genoveva!"
Not knowing whether she were bewitched or really gone mad from all these months of loneliness, she stood like one dazed; but then again, and even a third time, she heard her name as though the one calling were going farther up the mountain. The witch too heard the cry and together they hastened up the hill, but hearing no longer the calls; and in this wise they came back again to the great rock, and there, so that she could hardly believe her own eyes, it now being broad daylight, lay the figure of a man face downward as though he had fallen that way, who as they turned him about she saw was Sonnlein.
Here I interrupted our sister most foolishly by asking, "What didst do—kiss him?" To which unmanly question she made no reply, only that I feel sure had it not been so dark in the hut, the moon having gone down, I should have seen exceedingly rich blushings on the face of our dear sister.
But she and the witch, the latter seeming to have the strength of a man (and in truth Genoveva was no weakling) carried Sonnlein into the hut, where he lay for weeks with a raging fever, and though she and the witch watched over him and nursed him, our sister despaired of his ever coming to himself again. Had it not been that the witch possessed wonderful knowledge of the herbs she gathered in the woods and made into physic for Sonnlein, our sister felt he surely would have died. But for some reason the witch became greatly devoted to Sonnlein, nursing him as tenderly as though she were his own mother, sometimes seeming jealous of our sister, so that until this night the witch had not left the hut since they had found Sonnlein lying on the rock; but gradually under the witch's care he had come to himself again, and was now quite strong and in his own mind, only that he was continually pestering our sister that she must marry him.
To this I made question, "But being a Rose of Saron thou wouldst not marry him?"
And to which she replied softly, "So have I oft told him, but he sayeth he careth naught what I say, that he will marry me whether I have him or not, and thou hast so spoiled him all his life by letting him have his own will I fear I can do naught but let him have it in this."
I merely made reply, "May thy reward be great for sacrificing thyself so willingly to the result of my over-indulgence!" whereat she laughed so merrily, 'twas like music, for though quick to feel the soft sting in my retort she was too great-hearted a woman to be hurt at what she knew was only meant in jest.