rom his eyes--

I saw them for certain.--And at that moment I besought the Lord that He
would rather chastise and try me with pain and grief, but bring these
two together and let their marriage be crowned by the highest bliss ever
vouchsafed to human hearts.

CHAPTER XIII.

Spring was past, and again the summer led me and Ann back into the green
wood. Aunt Jacoba's sickness was no whit amended, and the banishment
of her only and comely son gnawed at her heart; but the more she needed
tending and cheering the more Ann could do for her and the dearer she
became to the heart of the sick woman.

Kunz was ever in Venice. Herdegen wrote right loving letters at first
from Padua, but then they came less often, and the last Ann ever had
to show me was a mere feint which pleased me ill indeed, inasmuch as,
albeit it was full of big words, it was empty of tidings of his life or
of his heart's desire. What all this must mean Ann, with her clear sense
and true love, could not fail to see; nevertheless she ceased not from
building on her lover's truth; or, if she did not, she hid that from all
the world, even from me.

We came from the forest earlier than we were wont, on Saint Maurice's
day, forasmuch as that Ann could not be longer spared and, now more than
ever, I could not bear to leave her alone.

Uncle Christian rode to the town with us, and if he had before loved her
well, in this last long time of our all being together he had taken her
yet more into his heart. And now, whereas he had given her the right
to warn him against taking too much wine, he was fain to call her
his little watchman, by reason that it is the watchman's part to give
warning of the enemy's onset.

But while Ann was so truly beloved at the Forest lodge, on her return
home she found no pleasant welcome. In her absence the coppersmith
Pernhart had wooed her mother in good earnest, and the eldest daughter
not being on the spot, had sped so well that the widow had yielded. Ann
once made bold to beseech her mother with due reverence to give up
her purpose, but she fell on her child's neck, as though Ann were the
mother, entreating her, with many tears, to let her have her will.
Ann of a certainty would not now be long under her roof to cherish the
younger children, and it was not in her power as their mother to guide
them in the way in which their father would have them to walk. For
this Ulman Pernhart was the fittest man. Her dead husband had bee