ne who scarce touched the ground.

The traveller stood long in the window gazing and musing, breathing in the
fragrance of the flowers. He bent down his face to the violet plants; he
followed the paths with his curious eyes and again gazed on the tiny
footprints; he kept thinking of them and trying to guess whose they were.
By chance he raised his eyes, and there on the wall stood a young girl--her
white garment hid her slender form only to the breast, leaving bare her
shoulders and her swan's neck. Such attire a Lithuanian maiden is wont to
wear only early in the day; in such she is never seen by men. So, though
there was no witness near, she had folded her arms on her breast, in order
to add a veil to her low garment. Her hair, not spread out in loose
ringlets but twisted in little knots and wrapped in small white
curl-papers, marvellously adorned her head, for in the sunlight it shone
like a crown on the image of a saint. Her face could not be seen, for she
had turned towards the meadow, and with her eyes was seeking some one far
off, below her. She caught sight of him, laughed, and clapped her hands;
like a white bird she flew from the wall to the turf, and flashed through
the garden, over stiles and flowers, and over a board supported on the
wall of the chamber; before the young man was aware, she had flown in
through the window, glittering, swift, and light as a moonbeam. Humming to
herself, she seized the gown and ran to the mirror; suddenly she saw the
youth, and the gown fell from her hands and her face grew pale with fright
and wonder. The face of the traveller flamed with a rosy blush, as a cloud
when it is touched with the morning glow; the modest youth half closed his
eyes and hid them with his hand; he wished to speak and ask for pardon,
but only bowed and stepped back. The maiden uttered a pitiful, indistinct
cry, like a child frightened in its sleep; the traveller looked up in
alarm, but she was there no longer; he departed in confusion and felt the
loud beating of his heart; he knew not whether this strange meeting should
cause him amusement or shame or joy.

Meanwhile in the farmhouse they had not failed to notice that some new
guest had driven up before the porch. They had already taken the horses to
the stable and already, as befits an honourable house, had given them
generously of oats and hay, for the Judge9 was never willing to adopt the
new fashion of sending a guest's horse to a Jew's inn. The se