"They are very large and intricate," she said; "I can never find the right paths."
"Some one told me I should see the finest oak-trees in England there," he said, "and I have a passion for grand old oaks. I would go anywhere to see them. I went to the woods and had very soon involved myself in the greatest difficulties. I should never have found the way out had I not met one of the keepers."
She liked to listen to him; the clear, refined accent, the musical tone; as she listened a longing came over her that his voice might go on speaking to her and of her.
"Now," he continued, embarrassed by her silence, "I have forgotten your directions; may I ask you to repeat them?"
She did so, and looking at her face he saw there was no anger, nothing but proud, calm content. He said to himself he need not go just yet, he could stay a few minutes longer.
"Do you know that beautiful old German ballad," he said,
"'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel
Still tunes its tuneful lay'?"
"No; I never heard or read it," she answered. "Say it for me."
"'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel
Still tunes its tuneful lay.
My darling once did dwell there,
But now she's far away.
A ring in pledge I gave her,
And vows of love we spoke—
Those vows are all forgotten,
The ring asunder broke.'"
"Hush," she said, holding up one white hand; "hush, it is too sad. Do you not see that the moonlight has grown dim, and the sound of the falling waters is the sound of falling tears?"