It was late in the same afternoon that Katrina sat in her beloved haunt by the Rose-bush. She had been reading, but as the sun began to set amid a splendid radiance, Katrina closed her book and fell into a reverie. Something, perhaps the soft yet vivid colours of the sunset, recalled to her mind an evening long ago, when she and Fritz had sat upon the bench there in the courtyard, and listened to the strange, melodious voice which had told them stories of the castle. And even as her thoughts dwelt upon these memories of their youthful days, she heard a sound of footsteps coming up the Wartburg hill.
Katrina’s heart beat fast, but she did not stir. How often as a child had she run gladly forth at the sound of steps so strangely like these coming now. But that had been the light, impatient step of a boy; while this was the heavier and firmer tread of a man.
Yes, even at the sight of a tall, manly figure, Katrina, who now lifted her blue eyes timidly, showed no surprise. He had drawn quite near, so near that he must surely see her.
In another moment he was there in the grass beside her, the breath of roses all around. For a time both of them seemed strangely silent; there was too much to say after the interval of years.
XVI.
t last he spoke, and she made no protest against his using the “thou” of their childhood days. It seemed but yesterday since they had talked together.
“Thou art little changed, Katrina, save that thou hast grown to be a woman.”
“I have lived such a quiet life,” she answered, “too quiet to have left its traces.”