Once on my legs I took a view of the surrounding country. We were on the outskirts of the wood, and separated from the ploughed cornfields by a half-dry ditch, luxuriantly overgrown with all kinds of marsh plants. On our right was a heath; on the left potato fields. There was not a soul to be seen, and on consulting my watch I found it was just twelve o’clock. Consequently all the farm labourers had gone home to their midday meal.

Suddenly we heard a peal of resounding laughter quite close at hand, only the sound seemed to come somewhat from above us. I looked up in the direction of the undulating heath; and on the top of a sand-hill, overgrown with grass, stood the person who was enjoying our perplexity.

“Major Frank!” exclaimed the driver in his shrill tone of voice, his astonishment and annoyance causing him to show little respect.

It was indeed Francis Mordaunt herself who was mocking us. Really, I could never have anticipated such a reception.

As she stood there, some feet above me but still pretty near, I had a good view of her; and I cannot say that this first sight reconciled me to the person who had already caused me so many disagreeable emotions. Perhaps it was not her fault; but she was dressed in such a strange manner that at first sight I was doubtful whether a man or a woman stood before me. She had gathered up her riding-habit in a way that reminded me of Zouave trousers, and she had, besides, put on a wide cloak made of some long-haired material—which was doubtless very useful this sharp, cold spring day, but which, buttoned up to her throat, was not adapted to show off the beauty of her form if she was really well-shaped. Her head-gear consisted of a gray billy-cock hat with a soft, downward-bent brim, ornamented with a bunch of cock’s feathers negligently fastened with a green ribbon—just as if she really wished to imitate the wild huntsman of the fairy tale. And then, because it was rather windy, she had tied a red silk handkerchief over her hat and fastened it under her chin. She wore no veil. As far as I could judge of her appearance, she seemed to be rather delicately built and slim, with a fine Roman nose. Still, I was not in the humour to be agreeably impressed by a face convulsed with laughter, and bandaged up as if she had the toothache. Her laugh sounded to my ears like a provocation, and rendered me little inclined to be courteous to a woman who had so evidently forgotten all feminine self-respect.

“Listen,” I cried—“listen for a moment, you who are rejoicing so much at your neighbour’s distress. You would do better to direct us on our way.”

“There is no way. I should have thought you could see that. Any one who enters this wood except with the purpose of driving round it, does a very stupid thing.”

“And you?”

“I?” she laughed again. “I jumped my horse over the dry ditch yonder. Imitate me if you feel inclined, though I fear with your horse and carriage it will not be quite so easy. But where are you going to?”

“To the Castle de Werve.”

“To the Werve!” she repeated, descending the hill and approaching me as nearly as she could on the opposite side of the ditch. “What is your business at the Castle, sir?” she inquired, in quite another tone, no longer speaking like a “somebody” to a “nobody.”

“To pay a visit to General von Zwenken, and his granddaughter, Freule Mordaunt.”

“The General no longer receives visitors, and what you have to say to his granddaughter you can address to me. I am Freule Mordaunt.”

“I can scarcely believe it; but, if so, may I request Freule Mordaunt to appoint a more suitable place than this. What I have got to say cannot be shouted across a ditch in the presence of a third person.”

“Then you must drive back to the toll-bar. There they will direct you to the village, from which you can easily reach the Castle, if your visit is so very urgent.”

“In order to give you time to get home and deny yourself to all visitors, my little Major,” I thought to myself. “But now’s my opportunity, and I will not let it slip me.”

So, giving orders to the driver to go on to the village and wait for me there, I took my stout walking-stick, fixed it as firmly as I could in the muddy bottom of the ditch, and reached the opposite side I scarcely know how.

“Bravo! well done!” cried Francis, clapping her hands with delight.

As I approached I raised my hat, and she saluted with her riding-whip.

“This is an amusing adventure, sir,” she said, again laughing; “if you still wish to go to Werve you must cross the heath.”

“Is it a long walk?”

“No, it is much shorter than by the high-road, but as you don’t know the way, you run the risk of getting lost again.”

“You forget that I have a claim on your company for the rest of the way.”

“A claim! how do you make that out?”

“Miss Mordaunt promised me an interview; is it strange that I should seize the first occasion that offers?”

“I don’t even know the way myself. My horse has lost a shoe, and I have left him at the game-keeper’s, so I shall have to get home as well as I can without assistance. Have you really business at the Castle? I can assure you the General has an aversion to visitors!”

“I wish to make his acquaintance and yours, as I am staying in the neighbourhood, and I, remember, I am related to the family Von Zwenken by my mother’s side.”

“So much the worse for you. At the Castle relationship is a bad recommendation.”

“That I have already heard; but I am not a Roselaer, I am a Van Zonshoven, Freule—Leopold van Zonshoven,” I said, introducing myself.

“I have never heard the name before. However, as you are not a Roselaer you perhaps stand a better chance of a kind reception. But is it quite certain you do not come to trouble the General about business?”

“In that case I should have sent a lawyer, with orders not to inconvenience Miss Mordaunt.”

“Then you would have done wrong,” she rejoined, becoming serious. “The General is over seventy, and has had a life full of trouble; and I will not try to conceal from you that he has many cares and difficulties to contend with even now. It is for this reason I desire you to tell me without reserve the object of your visit. Perhaps I can find some means——”

“I protest to you that my greatest desire is to assist you in sparing your grandfather all annoyance.”

“The sentiment does you honour, but it leads me to doubt your relationship, for it is contrary to all our family traditions.”

“There are exceptions to every rule, as you know, and I hope to prove myself an exception in your family traditions.”

“Then you shall be welcome at the Werve also by exception, for as a rule we admit no new faces.”

“That’s a pity; for I cannot think it is your wish to live in such isolation.”

“Quite my wish!” she interposed, with a certain haughtiness. “I have had sufficient experience of mankind to make me care little for their society.”

“So young, and already such a misanthrope—afraid of the world!” I observed.

“I am not so very young—I am turned twenty-six; and the campaign years, as grandfather calls them, count double. You may speak to me as though I were a woman of forty. I have quite as much experience of life.”

“Ladies talk like that when they wish to be contradicted.”

“Ladies!” she cried, with ineffable contempt. “I very earnestly request you not to include me in the category of beings commonly denominated ladies.”

“In which category must I put you? For, to tell the truth, at first sight I did not know what to call you.”

“I believe you,” she said, with a little laugh; “for to any one who does not know me I must appear very odd. But, tell me, what did you take me for at first sight—for an apparition of the wild huntsman?”

“An apparition! Certainly not; that’s too ethereal. I took you for a sad reality—a gamekeeper suffering from toothache.”

She seemed piqued for a moment, her cheeks coloured, and she bit her lips.

“That’s rude,” she said at last, and glanced at me with scintillating eyes.

“You asked for the truth,” I rejoined.

“So I did; and you shall find I can endure the truth. Give me your hand, cousin; I think we shall become good friends.”

“I hope so, cousin. But don’t be generous by halves: let me touch your hand, and not that rough riding-glove.”

“You are a fastidious fellow,” she said, shaking her head; “but you shall have your way. There.”

And a beautiful white hand lay in mine, which I held a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. She did not seem to perceive it.

“But call me Francis; I shall call you Leo. The endless repetition of cousin is so wearisome,” she said frankly.

“Most willingly;” and I pressed her hand again.

“Your driver will have told you he recognized Major Frank.”

“That’s but too true; and don’t you, Francis, consider it a great insult that people dare to call you by such a name?”

“Oh, I don’t mind it in the least! I know they have given me this nickname. I am neither better nor worse for it. I know, also, that I am pointed at as a Cossack or a cavalry officer by the people round, and am stared at because I dress to suit my own convenience, and not according to the latest fashions.”

“But a woman should try to please others in her way of dressing. In my opinion, a woman’s first duty is to make herself agreeable. Can we not show our good taste even in the simplest and plainest attire?”

She coloured a little.

“Do you imagine, then, that I have no taste at all, because I have put on this shaggy cloak to protect me from the east winds?” she demanded sharply.

“I do not judge from that single article of dress; I am referring to the ensemble, and one gets a bad opinion of a young lady’s taste when she wraps up her face in an unsightly red handkerchief.”

“Which gives her the appearance of a gamekeeper with the toothache,” she interposed, with a quick, bold air. “Well now, that’s easily remedied, if the wind will respect my billycock;” and hereupon she untied the handkerchief and unpinned her riding-habit.