the milk-cows, and the laying hens; plenty in the cellar, plenty in the
granary, and a nice warm fire on the hearth in winter. But what have I to
do with all these things? Wasn't I born a heathen, quite a heathen? I was
born in the woods, just as the squirrel was born in an oak, just as a
hawk was hatched on the crag and the thrush in the fir-tree!"

It is true she had never thought of these things, but she was guided by
instinct; and this mysterious force drew her unconsciously about sunset
to the bare heaths of the Kohle Platz, where the gangs of gipsies that
wander between Alsace and Lorraine are accustomed to stay the night, and
hang up their kettles among the dry heath.

Here Myrtle sat down at the foot of an old oak-tree, tired, footsore, and
ragged; and here she long sat motionless, gazing into vacant space,
listening to the rustling of the wind amongst the tall fir-trees, happy,
and feeling herself quite alone in the wide solitude.

Night came. The stars broke out by thousands in the purple depths of the
autumn sky. The moon rose and silvered with soft light the white stems of
the birch-trees, which hung in graceful groups along the mountain sides.

The young gipsy was beginning to yield to sleep when cries in the
distance roused her into an impulse to fly.

Hark! She knows the voices! They are those of Brémer, Fritz, and all the
people of the farm searching for her!

Then, without a moment's hesitation, Myrtle flew, light as a roe, farther
into the forest, stopping only at long intervals to listen attentively
and anxiously.