Before the day had well dawned, Hadumoth had already set out again on her journey. Her road now took her through extensive woods, in which the fir-trees seemed never to come to an end. Here, the first soft touches of spring were already visible. The first flowers were peeping out from the moss; and the first beetles hovered above them, softly humming; and the delicious smell of the pine-trees scented the air everywhere, as if it were an incense, which the trees sent up to the sun, to show their gratitude for all which his rays had called up into life, around them.
The little maiden, however, was not satisfied. "Here it is far too beautiful, for the Huns to be," said she to herself. So, at the first opportunity which offered itself, she turned her back on the mountains, and soon came to an opening in the wood, which afforded a considerable view. Far down, in the distance, the Rhine was winding along, like a serpent. Jammed in between its dividing arms was an island, bearing many a stately tower and wall, as if belonging to a monastery; but Hadumoth's sharp eyes discerned that the walls were blackened and spotted, and the roofs all destroyed. A dark-blue cloud of smoke, hung heavily over it.
"How do they call the land here?" asked she of a man, who was just then emerging from the wood.
"Blackforest," was the answer.
"And over there?"
"Rheingau."
"The Huns must have been there?"
"The day before yesterday."
"And where are they now?"
The man, leaning on his staff gave a sharp look at the child, and pointing down the Rhine, said, "and why dost thou ask?"