with Greif's belongings, and an hour or two passed before father and
son emerged on foot from the first trees of the forest. To-day also,
the master had started betimes and it would be long before he heard the
horses' bells below him in the valley. He walked quickly, as active men
do when they are alone, and there is no one to hinder them, stopping
now and then to see which way a hare sprang, or pausing to listen when
his quick ear caught the distant tread of a buck. He knew that he might
walk for miles without meeting a human being. The road was his, the
land was his, the trees were his. There was no felling to be done in
the neighbourhood, and no one but himself or his men had any right to
be prowling about the woods. In the perfect solitude his features
relaxed a little and their expression changed. The glad anticipation
of the meeting with his son was still in his eyes, but in the rest of
his face there was a weary look which those who knew him best would not
have recognised. He was thinking how different life would seem if Greif
and he were to be the only inhabitants of the old home during the next
dozen years. Then he stiffened his neck suddenly and strode on.

At last the far off tinkling of bells came up to him from the depths of
the forest, with the dull thud of horses' hoofs that echoed among the
trees. He quickened his pace, knowing at how great a distance the
sounds could be heard. Ten minutes elapsed before the carriage came in
sight, and then almost instantly a loud shout rang through the woods,
followed by an answer from old Greifenstein, deeper, but quite as
strong.

'Father!'

'Greif!'