I make sure there is not a man in Grunewald would lay
hands upon you.'

'O, many, many,' said the Prince; 'but from you, who were bold with me in
my greatness, I should even look for aid in my distress.'

The miller became the colour of beetroot. 'You may say so indeed,' said
he. 'And meanwhile, will you and your lady step into my house.'

'We have not time for that,' replied the Prince; 'but if you would oblige
us with a cup of wine without here, you will give a pleasure and a
service, both in one.'

The miller once more coloured to the nape. He hastened to bring forth
wine in a pitcher and three bright crystal tumblers. 'Your Highness must
not suppose,' he said, as he filled them, 'that I am an habitual drinker.
The time when I had the misfortune to encounter you, I was a trifle
overtaken, I allow; but a more sober man than I am in my ordinary, I do
not know where you are to look for; and even this glass that I drink to
you (and to the lady) is quite an unusual recreation.'

The wine was drunk with due rustic courtesies; and then, refusing further
hospitality, Otto and Seraphina once more proceeded to descend the glen,
which now began to open and to be invaded by the taller trees.

'I owed that man a reparation,' said the Prince; 'for when we met I was
in the wrong and put a sore affront upon him. I judge by myself,
perhaps; but I begin to think that no one is the better for a
humiliation.'

'But some have to be taught so,' she replied.

'Well, well,' he said, with a painful embarrassment. 'Well, well. But
let us think of safety. My miller is all very good, but I do not pin my
faith to him. To follow down this stream will bring us, but after
innumerable windings, to my house. Here, up this glade, there lies a
cross-cut--the world's end for solitude--the very deer scarce visit it.
Are you too tired, or could you pass that way?'

'Choose the path, Otto. I will follow you,' she said.

'No,' he replied, with a singular imbecility of manner and appearance,
'but I meant the path was rough. It lies, all the way, by glade and
dingle, and the dingles are both deep and thorny.'

'Lead on,' she said. 'Are you not Otto the Hunter?'

They had now burst across a veil of underwood, and were come into a lawn
among the forest, very green and innocent, and solemnly surrounded by
trees. Otto paused on the margin, looking about him with delight; then
his glance returned to Seraphina, as she stood framed in that