"So that is why you call this the Tower of Hugh the Wolf?" I resumed.
"Didn't I just tell you so? What are you so surprised at?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Yes, you are. I see it in your face. What are you thinking of?"
"It isn't so much the name of the tower that surprises me, as that you, an old ranger, who from a baby had never known any home but the fir-trees and crests of the Wald Horn and the gorges of the Rhethal, who would never sleep with a roof over your head in spite of all my father's urging, and who amused yourself roaming the paths of the Black Forest and revelling in the fresh air, the sunlight, and the freedom of a hunter's life, should be found here, after sixteen years, in this red-granite hole. Come, Sperver, light your pipe and tell me how it happened."
The old ranger drew a short, black pipe from his leather jacket, filled it leisurely, and snatching up a coal from the hearth, placed it on the bowl of his pipe; then, with his head thrown back and his eyes wandering over the ceiling, he replied thoughtfully:
"After I left your father's service twenty years ago, it was long before I could bring my mind to work for any other master, for I loved the General, and you, and your pretty mother, as I could never come to love others, not even the Count and my mistress Odile. So I took to poaching for a term of years, and found a living by any means I could, until one night the Count came upon me in the moonlight.
"He did not despise Sperver, the old hawk, the true man of the woods; and he said to me, 'Comrade, you have hunted long enough by yourself; now come and hunt with me. You have a good beak and strong claws, and you might as well hunt my game with my permission as without it.'"
Sperver was silent for some minutes; then he continued:
"I was getting old,—and the old falcons and hawks, having long swept the plains, end by settling down in the cleft of a rock to die. So it was with me. I loved the open air, and I love it yet; but now, instead of lying on a high branch at night and being rocked to sleep by the wind, I prefer to come back to my cover, quietly pick a woodcock, and dry my plumage before the fire."