The more he descanted on the Wilder Jäger’s barbarity, the more the Baroness prayed that he would tell her the word that would save her; but he dared not, and all her instance was in vain. “And yet there might be a means,” he said, for he was desirous of doing a service to his deliverers.
“Oh, speak! tell us what we can do—no matter what it is, we will do it!” answered both at once.
“Well, if you happen to overhear it, I shan’t have told you, and yet it will serve your turn just as well;” and with that he walked on close in front of them, singing carelessly as he went.
“How are we to ‘overhear’ it, Heinrich?” said the Baroness, after a bit.
“He seems to have forgotten us,” replied the Baron, in despair. “I have been expecting him every minute to turn round and give us a hint of how he meant to help us; but it is just like every one you do a favour to—when they have got what they want, they forget all about you.”
They walked on in silence; and the fellow kept on close in front of them, singing as before, and always the same verse.
At last the Baroness got wearied with hearing the same thing over and over again, and she began repeating the words over to herself, mechanically. She could not make them out at all at first, for he had a rough, abrupt articulation, but by dint of perseverance in an occupation which served as a distraction to her agony, she at last made it out, word by word:—
“The Wild Huntsman’s betrothed (though he is not tamed)
To a lady fair
Driven to despair.