y, holding her hand
over her eyes, to shade them from the dazzling evening sun, which shone
full into the doorway.

"Why dost thou lead the guest here? Thou knowest that thy father is not
at home. Take him into the men's hall; his place is not here with me."

"But it is, Rauthgundis! Here, with thee, is my place!" cried the old
man, coming forward.

"Father!" cried Rauthgundis, and threw herself into the stranger's
arms.

Puzzled, and not without displeasure, Athalwin looked on at this
meeting.

"So thou art grandfather, who lives up in the northern mountains? God
be with thee, grandfather! But why didst thou not tell me at once? And
why didst thou not come through the gate, like other honest folk?"

The old man held his daughter by both hands, and looked inquiringly
into her eyes.

"She looks happy and blooming," he murmured to himself.

Rauthgundis composed herself. She cast a quick look round the hall.

All the spindles had ceased whirling--except Liuta's--all eyes were
curiously fixed upon the old man.

"Will you spin directly, curious girls!" cried Rauthgundis reprovingly.
"Thou, Marcia, hast let the flax fell with thy staring; thou knowest
the custom--thou wilt spin another spoolful. You others can leave your
work. Come, father! Liuta, prepare a tepid bath, and meat and wine----"

"No," said the old man; "the old peasant in the mountains has only the
waterfall for bath and drink. And as to eating--outside the fence, near
the boundary-stone, lies my knapsack; fetch it for me. There I have my
wheaten bread and my sheep's-milk cheese.--What cattle hast thou in the
stall, and horses in the pasture?"

It was his first question.

An hour after--it was already dark, and little Athalwin had gone to
bed, shaking his head over his grandfather--father and daughter
wandered into the open air in the light of the rising moon.

"I have not air enough inside," the old man had said.

They spoke much and earnestly as they walked up and down the court-yard
and garden. Between whiles, the old man put questions about the
household, such as were suggested by the implements or buildings near
him; and in his tone lay no tenderness; only sometimes he secretly
examined the countenance of his child with a loving look.

"Do cease talking about rye and horses," at last said Rauthgundis, "and
tell me how it has gone with thee these long years? And what has at
last brought thee down from the mountains to thy children?"

"H