She did her work and took that which she needed out of the household purse without check or question.

It was long before I guessed that Hanne also owed her life to my father's care.

I had noticed, indeed, when he had upon him the red headman's dress, which fitted him like a flame climbing up a tall back log on the winter's fire, that old Hanne trembled from head to foot and shrank away into her den under the stairs.

Many a time have I seen her peeping round the corner of the kitchen-door and tottering back when she heard him come down the stair from the garret.

And I guessed so well the reason of her fear that I used to cry to her: "Come out, good Hanne; the Red Axe is gone." Then would she run, pattering like a scared rabbit over the uneven floor, to the window, and watch my father stalking, grim and tall, across the open spaces of the yard towards the Judgment Hall of Duke Casimir, the men-at-arms avoiding him with deft reverence.