Approaching quietly in the moonlight, Alois rose on tiptoe and gazed within the house.
A single candle in a tall candlestick was burning at each end of the mantel, candles were burning in sconces on the wall, and the golden lantern, still aglow, hung close beside the door. The maiden of the light was sitting at an oaken loom, working the treadles with her feet, and tossing the shuttle back and forth from side to side. Skeins of golden thread, and white, and rose, and mulberry, and blue lay at her fingers’ ends, and on the frame of the loom stood forth the finished labor, a noble tapestry in which the maiden had cunningly woven knights and ladies, banners and tents and men at arms, and castles moated round with quiet streams.
This maid in homespun green, I must tell you, was an orphan lass who earned her bread in the world by weaving at her loom. It was her custom to stain the weaving yarns with colors made of roots and flowers, and she had been wandering about in search of the starlight daisy when Alois had seen her lantern on the hill.
Now it came to pass that, as the youth Alois rode home in the moonlight to his tower, he could think of naught but the lovely maiden of the loom and determined to ride forth again, find her, and make her his wife. On the following morning, therefore, he rode singing down the wildwood road to the house in the glade and asked a cup of water from the maid. And so graciously and prettily did Fidella--for this was the maiden’s name--offer him the cup, that Alois thought her more than ever quite the most charming person in the world.
Months passed, the youth rode every day to the little house, and presently made so bold as to ask Fidella to marry him on the morrow’s morn. Little suspecting that Alois was aught but a simple squire of the court, the maiden answered with a nod, and promised to be ready to ride with him to the village on the hilltop, and there be wedded by the Master Villager.
And now it was the marriage morn; great clouds fled over the sun, chilling and quieting the world, yet every now and then breaking asunder and dappling the broad land with spots of sunshine, which gleamed for a moment and were gone. Dressed in her pretty country finery, and with a nosegay of posies at her throat, Fidella stood by her window waiting to hear the thunder of arriving hoofs and Alois’ joyous hail.