Willy was coming home.

In another minute he was in the house.
"Rotha, Rotha," he cried excitedly, "I've great news, great news." "What news ?" asked Rotha, not daring to look up.
"Great news," repeated Willy.
Lifting her eyes furtively to his face, Rotha saw that, like his voice, it was brimming over with delight.
"The bloodhounds are gone," he said, and, throwing off his cloak and leggings, he embraced the girl and kissed her and laughed the laugh of a happy man.

Then he hurried out to see to his horse.
What was Rotha to do?
What was she to say?
This mistake of Willy's made her position not less than terrible.

How was she to tell him that his joyousness was misplaced?
If he had come to her with a sad face she might then have told him all--yes, all the cruel truth! If he had come to her with reproaches on his tongue, how easily she might have unburdened her heavy heart! But this laughter and these kisses worked like madness in her brain.
The minutes flew like thought, and Willy was back in the house.
"I thought they dare not do it.

You'll remember I told them so.