"Away with you, rude little things," cried Lenore; "how can you think of barring our way? The gentleman comes from the castle."
And Bernhard felt with pride that, for the moment, he belonged to her. He put his hand in his purse, and soon got rid of the children. "It is long," said he, "since I have seen a dandelion chain. I have an indistinct recollection of sitting as a little boy in a green nook, and trying to make one;" and, gathering a few dandelion stalks, he began the childish task.
"If you are so expert in such childish play," said Lenore, "here is something for you," and she pointed to a great burdock near the road-side. "Have you ever seen a cap of burs?"
"No," answered Bernhard, with some slight misgiving.
"You shall have one immediately," said Lenore. She went to the burdock; Bernhard gathered her some handfuls of burs. She fitted one into the other, and made a cap with two little horns. "You may put it on," said she, graciously.
"I dare not; the very birds would be frightened. If you too would—"
"You can not expect me to wear burs," replied she; "but you shall have your wish." She led him back to a group of sunflowers in the shrubbery, and, gathering a few of them, she made a kind of helmet, which she laughingly put on. "Now for your cap," commanded she. Bernhard obeyed, and his thoughtful, deeply-marked features, black coat, and white cravat looked so strange and incongruous beneath the cap of burs, that Lenore could not help laughing. "Come with me," said she; "you shall look at yourself in the lake." And she led him past the site of the factory—a rough place, with heaps of earth, tiles, beams, in utmost confusion. It was a holiday; all the laborers had left, but some village children were playing about and collecting chips. A few steps farther on they came to a little bay, covered with water-lilies and surrounded by brushwood. "How desolate it looks!" said Lenore; "the bushes half pulled away—even the trees injured: all the result of this building. We seldom come here on account of the strange workmen. The village children, too, are become so bold, they make this their play-ground, and there is no keeping them away."
That moment a boat came in sight. A little village girl, a red-faced chubby thing, stood up tottering in it, while her older brother tried to get as far from shore as with one oar he could. "Look!" cried Lenore, angrily, "the little wretches have actually taken our boat. Come back instantly to the shore." The children were startled, the boy dropped the oar, the little girl tottered more than before, and, in the terror of a guilty conscience, lost her balance and fell into the water. Her brother drifted helplessly into the bay. "Save the child!" screamed Lenore. Bernhard ran into the lake forgetting that he could not swim, waded in a few steps, and then stood up to the breast in mud and water. He stretched out his arms to the spot where the child had sunk, but could not reach it. Meanwhile Lenore had sprung, quick as lightning, behind a bush. After a few seconds she returned and ran to a projecting bank.
Bernhard looked with rapture and terror at her tall figure. She still wore her fantastic coronal, her light garments floated round her, her eyes were fixed upon the spot where the child would reappear. Raising her arms above her head, she leaped in and swam toward it, seized its frock, struck out with her free arm, and soon reached the boat. Exerting all her strength, she lifted the child in, and then drew the boat to land. Bernhard, who, pale as death, had stood watching her efforts, fought his way back to the land, gave her his hand, and drew in the boat. Lenore carried the unconscious child. Bernhard lifted out the boy, and both hurried to the gardener's house, while the little lad ran screaming behind them. Lenore's soaked garments clung closely to her beautiful form, and every movement of her fair limbs was seen almost unveiled by her companion. She did not heed it. Bernhard went with her into the room, but she hastily sent him out again; while, with the help of the gardener's wife, she undressed, and sought by friction and other means to restore the child to life. Meanwhile Bernhard stood without, his teeth chattering with cold, but in a state of excitement which made his eyes glow like fire. "Is the child alive?" he called through the door.
"She is," answered Lenore from within.