From the top of a hill she looked back.

She could still see the tower of the castle of Hidvar in the valley, but it looked blue through the mist in the distance and then she hastened down into the valley whose steep overhanging sides hid her even from the moonlight.
The night was noiseless, the forest dark.

Now and again a humming night beetle circled round and round her and obstinately pursued her as if he also was a spy sent after her.

The poor thing's heart throbbed violently.

What if she had lost her way?
What if she fell into the hands of the robbers whom they were now actually pursuing through the woods?
Yet still greater was her terror of Hidvar and a hundred times more homelike was the dreadful forest with its giant trees speaking in their sleep than the tapestried walls of the Castle of Hidvar.
Suddenly a glade opened up before her which seemed to greet her as an old acquaintance.
Yes, indeed, there were the wild roses which she had so often plucked to adorn her hat.