In her despair an old memory rose up before her.
She called to mind that during the earlier days of her stay at Hidvar when she had explored the whole region under the delusion that she could make the wretched happy, she had often passed a little house which had always riveted her attention.

It was a little hunting hut in the midst of the forest built entirely of wood and planed smoothly outside like a little polished cabinet.

In front of it stood broad spreading fruit trees, crowded with flowers in spring, crowded with fruit in autumn, wild vines and moss grew all over its roofs.
In the midst of the listening woods this little house had such an inviting exterior that the very first time she saw it, Henrietta could not resist the temptation of entering it.
The door of the little house stood open before her, being only on the latch.

She had stepped in: there was nobody inside.

In the first room there was furniture of some hard wood; close to the wall stood a carved side-board with painted earthenware on it, on a table was a pitcher of a similar ware full of fresh pure water.