That day the Prince of Mouselow rode away immensely pleased with himself; he loved to see a maid full of fight, so he said, and he promised himself that Ineld should love him by and by. But the days went past, and do what he would, he could never persuade the maiden to grant him an interview alone.
His spirit chafed at the prolonged delay, and at length he determined upon bolder measures. He lay in wait in the woodland near the home of Ineld, and in due course his patient waiting was rewarded. The fair maiden appeared, and, first looking timidly around, as though to make sure she was unobserved, made her way through the glade to a spot near a fern-covered spring.
Alman chuckled to himself with glee, and silently he kept pace with the maiden, although remaining concealed the while.
When Ineld stopped, and showed unmistakable signs of going no further, the Prince of Mouselow emerged from the undergrowth behind which he had been hidden, and, with a laugh of triumph, stood before her.
“Now, my little vixen,” said he, “I have won you at last. Maids so coy as you must be wooed in rough fashion. And, once inside my mountain fortress, I doubt not your consent to wed Alman will soon be forthcoming.”
So saying, he made to carry her to the spot where his steed was tethered, for he would win his bride by force, even as he had won his wealth and lands.
Ineld screamed shrilly in terror, and the Prince clapped his rough hand upon her lips to stifle the cries.
“Cease such idle wailing,” said he. “The wood is deserted, no one can hear, nor would it greatly matter if they could. I hold thee now, and no man in all the land shall rob me of my prize.”
“Be not so sure of that,” said a voice at his shoulder, so suddenly and unexpectedly that Alman dropped the girl, who immediately, with a joyful cry, sprang to the side of the new comer.