My father was expected at noon but when I wished to return to me[e]t him I found that I had lost my way: it seemed that in every attempt to find it I only became more involved in the intracacies of the woods, and the trees hid all trace by which I might be guided.[16] I grew impatient, I wept; [_sic_] and wrung my hands but still I could not discover my path.
It was past two o'clock when by a sudden turn I found myself close to the lake near a cove where a little skiff was moored--It was not far from our house and I saw my father and aunt walking on the lawn.

I jumped into the boat, and well accustomed to such feats, I pushed it from shore, and exerted all my strength to row swiftly across.

As I came, dressed in white, covered only by my tartan _rachan_, my hair streaming on my shoulders, and shooting across with greater speed that it could be supposed I could give to my boat, my father has often told me that I looked more like a spirit than a human maid.

I approached the shore, my father held the boat, I leapt lightly out, and in a moment was in his arms.
And now I began to live.

All around me was changed from a dull uniformity to the brightest scene of joy and delight.