Читать книгу The Lost Manuscript: A Novel - Gustav Freytag - Страница 5

Whoever on a certain sunny harvest-morning in August had looked down from the heights in the direction of Rossau, would have observed an object moving along the road between the meadows that extended to the gates of the city. On closer observation two travelers might be perceived, one taller than the other, both wearing light summer clothes, the freshness of which had been sullied by the stormy rain of the last few days. They had both leather traveling-bags, which hung by straps from their shoulders; the taller one wore a broad-brimmed felt hat, the shorter one a straw hat.

The travelers were evidently strangers, for they stopped at times to observe and enjoy the view of the valley and hills, which is seldom the custom with people born in the country. The district had not yet been discovered by pleasure-seekers; there were no smooth paths in the woods for the thin boots of towns-folk; even the carriage road was not a work of art, the water lay in the tracks made by the wheels; the sheep-bells and the axe of the wood-cutter only were heard by the dwellers of the neighborhood, who were working in the fields or passing on their way to their work. And yet the country was not without charm; the woody hills were marked in bold outlines, a stone-quarry might be seen between the fields in the plain, or the head of a rock jutted out from amongst the trees. From the hills on the horizon a small brook wound its course to the distant river, bordered by strips of meadow, behind which the arable land ran up to the woody heights. The lovely landscape looked bright in the morning sunshine.

In the low country in front of the travelers rose to view, surrounded by hills, the village of Rossau, a little country-town with two massive church towers and dark-tiled roofs, which projected above the walls of the place like the backs of a herd of cattle that had crowded together for protection against a pack of wolves.

The strangers looked from their high position with warm interest on the chimneys and towers behind the old discolored and patched walls that lay before them. In that place had once been preserved a treasure, which, if found again, would interest the whole civilized world and excite hundreds to intellectual labor. The landscape looked exactly like other German landscapes, and the village was exactly like other German villages; and yet there was an attraction about the place that inspired a joyful hope in the travelers. Was it the globe-like ornament that crowned the stout old tower? or was it the arch of the gate which just veiled from the travelers in alluring darkness the entrance to the town? or the stillness of the empty valley, in which the place lay without suburbs and outhouses, as the towns are portrayed on old maps? or the herds of cattle that went out of the gate into the open space, and bounded merrily on the pasture ground? or was it perhaps the keen morning air which blew about the temples of the wanderers? Both felt that something remarkable and promising hovered over the valley in which, as searchers of the past, they were entering.

"Imagine the landscape as it once appeared to the eye," began the Professor; "the forest, in olden times, encircled the town more closely; the hills seemed higher, the valley deeper; the monastery then lay, with the dwellings of its dependants, as in a deep basin. There, to the south, where the country sharply rises, the monks had their vineyards. Gradually the houses of the town drew about the monastery. Take from those towers beyond us the caps that were placed upon them a century ago, give them back their old pinnacles, place here and there a turret on the walls, and you have an ideal, wondrously beautiful picture of mediaeval days."

"And upon the same road that leads us thither, a learned monk once strode with his precious manuscripts towards the quiet valley; there to teach his companions, or to shield himself, perhaps, from powerful enemies," the Doctor said, with enthusiasm.

The travelers passed by the pasture ground; the herdsmen looked with indifference at the strangers; but the cows placed themselves by the edge of the ditch and stared, while the young ones of the herd bellowed at them inquiringly. They went through the dark arch of the gate and looked curiously along the streets. It was a poor little town, the main street alone was paved, and that badly. Not far from the gate the sloping beam of a well projected high in the air, and from it hung along pole with a bucket attached. Few people were to be seen, those who were not working in the houses were occupied in the field; for the straws which stuck in the stone crevices of the arch of the gate showed that harvest wagons were carrying the fruits of the fields to the farm-yards of the citizens. Near many of the houses there were open wooden doors, through which one could look into the yard and barns, and over the dung heap on which small fowls were pecking. The last century had altered the place but little, and the low houses still stood with their gables to the front. Instead of the coats of arms, there projected into the street the signs of artisans, carved in tin or wood, and painted-such as a large wooden boot; a griffin, holding enormous shears in its hand; or a rampant lion, that extended a bretzel; or, as the most beautiful masterpiece of all, a regular hexagon of colored glass panes.

"Much has been retained of mediæval times here," said the Professor.

The friends came to the market-place, an irregular space, the little houses of which were adorned with bright paint. There on an insignificant building prominently stood a red dragon with a curled tail, carved out of a board, and supported in the air on an iron pole. Upon it was painted, in ill-formed letters; "The Dragon Inn."

"See," said Fritz, pointing to the dragon, "the fancy of the artist has carved him with a pike's head and thick teeth. The dragon is the oldest treasure-preserver of our legends. It is remarkable how firmly the recollection of this legendary animal everywhere clings to the people. Probably this sign-board originates from some tradition of the place."

They ascended the white stone steps into the house, utterly unconscious that they had long been watched by sharp eyes. A citizen, who was taking his morning draught, exclaimed to the stout host, "Who can these be? They do not look like commercial travelers; perhaps one of them is the new parson from Kirchdorf."

"Parsons don't look like that," said the inn-keeper, decidedly, who knew men better; "they are strangers on foot, no carriage and no luggage."

The strangers entered, placed themselves at a red-painted table, and ordered breakfast. "A beautiful country, mine host," began the Professor; "magnificent trees in your forests."

"Yes," answered the host.

"A wealthy neighborhood, apparently," continued the Professor.

"People complain that they do not earn enough," replied the host.

"How many clergy have you in the place?"

"Two," said the host, more politely. "But the old pastor is dead; meanwhile, there is a candidate here."

"Is the other pastor at home?"

"I do not know," said the landlord.

"Have you a court of justice here?"

"We have a Justice of the Peace; he is now here-court is in session to-day."

"Was there not in former times a monastery in the city?" said the Doctor, taking up the examination.

The citizen and the landlord looked at each other. "That is long since," replied the master of the inn.

"Does not the Manor of Bielstein lie in the neighborhood?" inquired Fritz.

Again the citizen and the landlord looked significantly at each other.

"It lies somewhere here in the neighborhood," answered the landlord, with reserve.

"How long does it take to go to the manor?" asked the Professor, irritated by the short answers of the man.

"Do you wish to go there?" inquired the landlord. "Do you know the owner?"

"No," answered the Professor.

"Have you any business with him?"

"That is our affair," answered the Professor, curtly.

"The road leads through the wood, and takes half an hour-you cannot miss it;" and the landlord abruptly closed the conversation and left the room. The citizen followed him.

"We have not learnt much," said the Doctor, laughing. "I hope the pastor and magistrate will be more communicative."

"We will go direct to the place," said the Professor, with decision.

Meanwhile the landlord and the citizen consulted together. "Whatever the strangers may be," repeated the citizen, "they are not ecclesiastics, and they did not seem to care for the magistrate. Did you remark how they inquired about the monastery and the Manor?" The landlord nodded. "I will tell you my suspicion," continued the citizen, eagerly; "they have not come here for nothing; they are after something."

"What can that be?" asked the landlord, pondering.

"They are disguised Jesuits; that's what they look like to me."

"Well, if they intend to seek a quarrel with the people at the Manor, they will find their match."

"I am on my way now to the Inspector on business; I will give him a hint."

"Do not meddle with what does not concern you," said the landlord, warningly. But the citizen only held the boots he carried, tighter under his arm, and drove round the corner.

Our two friends left, disgusted with the lack of courtesy they encountered at the Dragon. They inquired the way to the manor of an old woman at the opposite gate of the city. Behind the town the path rose from the gravel bed of the brook to the woody height. They entered a clearing of underbrush, from which, here and there, rose up high oaks. The rain of the last evening still hung in drops on the leaves-the deep green of summer glistened in the sun's rays-the song of birds and the tapping of the woodpecker above broke the stillness.

"This puts one in different frame of mind," exclaimed the Doctor, cheerfully.

"It requires very little to call forth new melodies in a well-strung heart, if fate has not played on it with too rough a hand. The bark of a few trees covered with hoary moss, a handful of blossoms on the turf, and a few notes from the throats of birds, are sufficient," replied the philosophic Professor. "Hark! that is no greeting of nature to the wanderer," added he, listening attentively, as the sound of distant voices chanting a choral, fell softly on his ear. The sound appeared to come from above the trees.

"Let us go higher up," exclaimed the Doctor, "to the mysterious place where old church-hymns murmur through the oaks."

They ascended the hill some hundred steps, and found themselves on an open terrace, one side of which was surrounded by trees. In the clearing stood a small wooden church surrounded by a graveyard; some distance beyond on a massive extent of rock rose a great old building, the roof of which was broken by many pointed gables.

"How all harmonizes!" exclaimed the Professor, looking curiously over the little church up to the Manor-house.

A funeral chant was heard more clearly from the church. "Let us go in," said the Doctor, pointing to the open door.

"To my mind it is more seemly to remain without," answered the Professor; "it is repulsive to me to intrude either on the pleasures or sorrows of strangers. The hymn is finished; now comes the pastor's little discourse."

Fritz meanwhile had climbed the low stone wall and was examining the church. "Look at the massive buttresses. It is the remains of an old building; they have repaired it with pinewood; the tower and roof are black with age; it would be worth our while to see the inside."

The Professor held in his hand the long shoot of a bramble bush which hung over the wall, looking with admiration at its white blossoms, and at the green and brown berries which grew in thick clusters. The sound of a man's voice fell indistinctly on his ear, and he bent his head involuntarily to catch the words.

"Let us hear," he said at last, and entered the churchyard with his friend. They took off their hats and quietly opened the church door. It was a very small hall; the bricks of the old choir had been whitewashed; the chancel, a gallery, and a few benches were of brown firwood. Before the altar lay open a child's coffin, the form within was covered with flowers. Beside it stood several country people in simple attire; on the steps of the altar was an aged clergyman with white hair and a kind face; and at the head of the coffin the wife of a laborer, mother of the little one, sobbing. Beside her stood a fine, womanly form in city dress; she had taken off her hat, and with folded hands was looking down on the child that lay among the flowers. Thus she stood, motionless; the sun fell obliquely on the waving hair and regular features of the young face. But more captivating than the tall figure and beautiful head was the expression of deep devotion that pervaded the whole countenance. The Professor involuntarily seized hold of his friend's arm to detain him. The clergyman made his concluding prayer; the stately maiden bowed her head lower, then bent down once more to the little one, and wound her arm round the mother, who leaned weeping on her comforter. Thus she stood, speaking gently to the mother, while tears rolled down from her eyes. How spirit-like sounded the murmurs of that rich voice in the ear of her friend! Then the men lifted the coffin from the ground and followed the clergyman, who led the way to the churchyard. Behind the coffin went the mother, her head still on the shoulder of her supporter. The maiden passed by the strangers, gazing before her with an inspired look, whispering in her companion's ear words from the Bible: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Let little children come unto me." Her gentle accents were heard even by the friends. The mother hung broken-hearted on the arm of the girl, and, as if borne along by the gentle tones, tottered to the grave. Reverently did the friends follow the procession. The coffin was lowered into the grave, the clergyman pronounced the blessing, and each one present threw three handfuls of earth on the departed one. Then the country people separated, leaving a free passage for the mother and her companion. The latter gave her hand to the clergyman, and then conducted the mother slowly across the churchyard to the road which led to the Manor.

The friends followed at some distance, without looking at each other. The Professor passed his hand over his eyes. "Such incidents are always very touching," he said, sorrowfully.

"As she stood at the altar," exclaimed the Doctor, "she seemed like a prophetess of the olden time, with an oaken crown on her head. She drew the poor, woman on by her gentle accents. The words were from our good, old Bible; and now I understand the significant meaning in ancient times of the word 'whisper,' to which a magic power was ascribed. She took possession of the mourner body and soul, and her voice sank deep into my heart also. What was she, maid or married woman?"

"She is a maiden," answered the Professor, impressively. "She dwells at the Manor, and we shall meet her there. Let her go on, and we will wait at the foot of the rock."

They sat some time on a projecting stone. The Professor never seemed weary of contemplating a tuft of moss; he brushed it with his hand, laying it now on one side, now on the other. At last he arose quickly. "Whatever may come of it, let us go on."

They ascended the hill some hundred steps. The landscape before them suddenly changed. On one side lay the manor-precincts with a walled gateway and a courtyard, in which stood large farm-buildings; before them, a wide plain of arable land sloped down from the height into a rich valley. The lonely woodland landscape had disappeared; around the wanderers was the active stir of daily life; the wind waved through the seas of corn; harvest wagons were passing up the roads through the fields; the whip cracked and the sheaves were swung by strong arms over the rails of the wagons.

"Hello! what are you looking for here?" demanded a deep bass voice behind the strangers, in an imperative tone. The friends turned quickly. Before the farmyard-gate stood a powerful, broad-shouldered man, with close-cut hair, and an expression of deep energy in his sunbrown face; behind him stood farm-employees and laborers, stretching their heads out with curiosity through the gate, and a large dog ran barking toward the strangers. "Back, Nero," called out his master, and whistled to the dog, at the same time scanning the strangers with a cold, searching look.

"Have I the honor of addressing the proprietor of this estate, a Mr. Bauer?" inquired the Professor.

"I am that person, and who are you?" asked the Proprietor in return.

The Professor gave their names, and that of the place from which they came. The host approached and examined them both from head to foot.

"There are no Jesuits there, I suppose," he said; "but if you come here to find some hidden treasure, your journey is useless; you will find nothing."

The friends looked at each other; they were near the house, but far from the goal.

"You make us feel," answered the Professor, "that we have approached your dwelling without an introduction. Although you have already made a guess as to the object of our journey, yet I beg of you to permit us to make an explanation before fewer witnesses."

The dignified demeanor of the Professor did not fail to have an effect. "If you really have business with me, it would be better certainly to settle it in the house. Follow me, gentlemen." He lifted his cap a little, pointed with his hand to the gate, and went ahead. "Nero, you brute, can't you be quiet?"

The Professor and the Doctor followed, while the farm hands and laborers and the growling dog closed in behind. Thus the strangers were conducted in a not very cordial manner to the house. In spite of their unpleasant position, they looked with curiosity at the great farmyard, the work going on in the barns, and a flock of large geese which, disturbed by the party, waddled cackling across the road. Then their eyes fell upon the dwelling itself, the broad stone steps with benches on both sides, the vaulted door, and the white washed escutcheon on the keystone. They entered a roomy hall, the Proprietor hung up his cap, laid hold with strong hand of the latch of the sitting-room door, and again made a movement of the hand, which was intended to be polite and to invite the strangers to enter. "Now, that we are alone," he began, "how can I serve you? You have already been announced to me as two treasure-seekers. If you are that, I must begin by plainly telling you that I will not encourage such follies. Apart from that, I am glad to see you."

"But we are not treasure-seekers," rejoined the Professor; "and as we have kept the object of our journey a secret everywhere, we do not understand how you could hear so erroneous a report concerning the occasion of our coming."

"The shoemaker of my steward brought him the intelligence together with a pair of mended boots; he saw you at the tavern in the town, and grew suspicious because of your questions."

"He has exercised more ingenuity than was called for by our harmless questions," answered the Professor. "And yet he was not altogether wrong."

"Then there is something in it," interrupted the Proprietor, gloomily; "in that case I must beg you, gentlemen, not to trouble yourselves or me further. I have no time for such nonsense."

"First of all, have the goodness to hear us before so curtly withdrawing your hospitality," replied the Professor, calmly. "We have come with no other aim than to impart to you something concerning the importance of which you may yourself decide. And not only we, but others, might reproach you if you refused our request without taking it into consideration. The matter concerns you more than us."

"Of course," said the host, "we are acquainted with this style of speech."

"Not quite," continued the Professor; "there is a difference according to who uses it, and to what purpose."

"Well, then, in the devil's name, speak, but be clear," exclaimed the Proprietor, impatiently.

"Not till you have shown yourself ready," continued the Professor, "to pay the attention the importance of the subject deserves. A short explanation will be necessary, and you have not even invited us to sit down."

"Be seated," replied the Proprietor, and offered chairs.

The Professor began: "A short time ago, among other written records of the monks of Rossau, I accidentally found some observations in a manuscript which may be of the greatest importance to the branch of learning to which I devote myself."

"And what is your branch of learning?" interrupted the host, unmoved.

"I am a philologist."

"That means one who studies ancient languages?" asked the Proprietor.

"It is so," continued the Professor. "It is stated by a monk, in the volume I have mentioned, that about the year 1500 there existed in the monastery a valuable manuscript, containing a history by the Roman, Tacitus. The work of the renowned historian is only very imperfectly preserved to us in some other well-known manuscripts. A second notice from the same book, in April, 1637, mentions that during the troublous wartimes the last monks of the monastery had concealed from the Swedes their church treasures and manuscripts in a hollow, dry place in the Manor-house of Bielstein. These are the words I have found; I have nothing further to impart to you. We have no doubt of the genuineness of both notices. I have brought with me an abstract of the passages concerning it, and I am ready to submit the original to your inspection, or that of any competent judge whom you may choose. I will only add now that both I and my friend know well how unsatisfactory is the communication we make to you, and how uncertain is the prospect that after two centuries any of the buried possessions of the monastery should be forthcoming. And yet we have made use of a vacation to impart to you this discovery, even at the probable risk of a fruitless search. But we felt ourselves bound in duty to make this journey, not especially on your account-although this manuscript, if found; would be of great value to you-but principally in the interest of science, for in that point of view such a discovery would be invaluable."

The Proprietor had listened attentively, but he left untouched the paper that the Professor had laid on the table before him. Then he began: "I see that you do not mean to deceive me, and that you tell me the whole truth with the best intentions. I understand your explanation. Your Latin I cannot read; but that is not necessary, for, with regard to this matter, I believe you. But," he continued, laughing, "there is one thing which the learned gentlemen living so far away do not know, and that is, that this house has the misfortune to be considered throughout the whole country as a place in which the old monks have concealed treasures."

"That was not, of course, unknown to us," rejoined the Doctor, "and it would not diminish the significance of these written records."

"Then you were greatly in error. It is surely clear that such a report, which has been believed in a country through many generations, has meanwhile stirred up persons who are superstitious and greedy of gain, to discover these supposed treasures. How can you imagine that you are the first to conceive the thought of making a search? This is an old, strong-built house, but it would be stronger still if it did not show traces from cellar to roof that in former times holes have been made and the damage left unrepaired. Only a few years ago I had, at much cost and trouble, to place new beams into the roof, because roof and ceiling were sinking, and it appeared, on examination, that unscrupulous men had sawed off a piece of the rafter, in order to grope into a corner of the roof. And I tell you frankly, that if I have met with anything disagreeable from the old house, in which for twenty years I have experienced both happiness and misfortune, it has been from this troublesome report. Even now an investigation is being carried on in the town respecting a treasure-seeker, who has deceived credulous people in giving out that he could conjure up treasures from this hill. His accomplices are still being tracked. You may ascribe it to your questions in the town, that the people there, who are much excited because of the deception, have taken you to be assistants of the impostor. My rude greeting was also owing to this. I must therefore ask your pardon for it."

"Then you will not agree," asked the Professor, dissatisfied, "to make use of our communication for further researches?"

"No," replied the Proprietor, "I will not make such a fool of myself. If your book mentions nothing more than what you have told me, this account is of little use. If the monks have concealed anything here, it is a hundred to one that they have taken it away again in quieter times. And even if, contrary to all probability, the concealed objects should remain in their place-as since then some hundred years have passed-other hungry people would long ago have disinterred them. These are, pardon me, nursery stories, only fit for spinning-rooms. I have a great aversion to all these notions that necessitate pulling down walls. The husbandman should dig in his fields and not in his house; his treasures lie beneath God's sun."

The cold demeanor of the man made the Professor's blood boil. He with difficulty controlled his rising anger, and, approaching the window, looked out at a bevy of sparrows that were twittering vehemently at one another. At last, turning round, he began: -

"The owner of a house has the right of refusal. If you persist we shall certainly leave you with a feeling of regret that you do not know how to appreciate the possible importance of our communication. I have been unable to avoid this meeting, although I was aware how uncertain are the impressions formed in a first interview with strangers. Our communication would perhaps have received more attention if it had come to you through the medium of your government, accompanied by a requisition to commence an active search."

"Do you regret that you have not taken that course?" asked the Proprietor, laughing.

"To speak frankly, no. I have no confidence in official protocols in such matters."

"Nor have I," answered the Proprietor, drily. "Ours is a small province, the seat of Government is at a distance, and we are surrounded by foreign dominions. I have nothing to do with the court; years pass without my going there; the government does not bother us, and in my district I control the police. If my government were to attribute importance to your wishes, they would probably call for a report from me, and that would cost me a sheet of paper and an hour's writing. Perhaps, if you made enough ado, they might also send a commission to my house. These would announce themselves to me about dinner-time, and I should take them to the cellars after dinner; they would for form's sake, knock a little upon the walls, and I meanwhile would have a few bottles of wine opened. At last a paper would be quickly written, and the affair would be settled. I am thankful that you have not adopted this method. Moreover, I would defend my household rights, even against my sovereign."

"It is vain, it appears to me, to speak to you of the value of the manuscript," interposed the Professor, severely.

"It would be of no avail," said the Proprietor. "It is questionable whether such a curiosity, even if found on my property, would be of essential value to myself. As to the value to your branch of learning, I only know it from what you say; but neither for myself nor for you will I stir a finger, because I do not believe that such a treasure is concealed on my estate, and I do not choose to sacrifice myself for an improbability. This is my answer, Professor."

The Professor again stepped silently to the window. Fritz, who, although indignant, had restrained himself, felt that it was time to put an end to the conversation, and rose to take his departure. "So you have given us your final decision?"

"I regret that I can give you no other answer," replied the Proprietor, compassionately, looking at the two strangers. "I really am sorry that you have come so far out of your way. If you desire to see my farm, every door shall be opened to you. The walls of my house I open to no one. I am, moreover, ready to keep your communication a secret, and the more so, as this would also be to my own interest."

"Your refusal to allow any search to be made on your property renders any further secrecy unnecessary," answered the Doctor. "All that remains to my friend now is to publish his discovery in some scientific periodical. He will then have done his duty, and perhaps others may be more successful with you than we have been."

The Proprietor started up. "Confound you, sir; what the devil do you mean? Will you tell your story to your colleagues? Probably these will think very much as you do."

"Undoubtedly hundreds will view the matter exactly as we do, and will also condemn your refusal," exclaimed the Doctor.

"Sir, how you judge me is a matter of indifference to me; I am perfectly willing to have you paint me as black as your love of truth will allow," exclaimed the Proprietor, indignantly. "But I see that all will be of no avail. Hang the monks and their treasure! Now I may every Sunday and every hour of your vacation expect a visit like this one-strange people with spectacles and umbrellas, who will claim the right to creep under the wooden trestles of my dairy, and to climb on the ceiling of the nursery. The devil take this Tacitus!"

The Professor took his hat. "We beg to take leave of you," and went toward the door.

"Stop, my good gentlemen," cried the host, discomposed; "not so quickly. I would rather deal with you two than have an incessant pilgrimage of your colleagues. Wait a moment, and I will make this proposition to you. You, yourselves, shall go through my house, from garret to cellar; it is a severe tax upon me and my household, but I will make the sacrifice. If you find a place that you think suspicious, we will talk it over. On the other hand, promise me that you will be silent with respect to the object of your visit here before my people. My laborers are already sufficiently aroused without this; if you encourage this unfortunate rumor, I cannot answer for it that the idea will not occur to my own people to break through the foundation-wall at a corner of the house. My house is open to you the whole day as long as you are my guests. But then, when you speak or write concerning the matter, I demand that you shall add that you have done all in your power to search through my house, but have found nothing. Will you enter into this compact with me?"

The Doctor looked doubtfully at the Professor to see whether the pride of his friend would stoop to such a condition. Contrary to his expectation, the countenance of the Scholar was radiant with joy, and he answered:

"You have mistaken us on one point. We do not desire to take away the concealed manuscript from your possession, but we have only come to persuade you to make the experiment. It seems very likely to us, that we, in a strange house, not knowing the rooms, and unused to this kind of research, shall find nothing. If, however, we do not shun the ludicrous position in which you would place us, and accept your offer, we do it only in the hope that, during our stay here, we shall succeed in awakening in you a greater interest in the possible discovery."

The Proprietor shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. "The only interest I take in the matter is that it should be forgotten as soon as possible. You may do what you consider your duty. My business prevents me from accompanying you. I shall consign you to the care of my daughter."

He opened the door of the adjoining room and called, "Ilse!"

"Here, father," answered a rich-toned voice.

The Proprietor went into the next room. "Come here, Ilse, I have a special commission for you to-day. There are two strange gentlemen from one of the Universities here. They are looking for a book which is supposed to have been concealed in our house ages ago. Conduct them through the house and open all the rooms to them."

"But, father-" interposed the daughter.

"It matters not," continued the Proprietor, "it must be." He approached closer to her and spoke in a low tone: "They are two scholars and are crackbrained" – he pointed to his head. "What they imagine is madness, and I only give in to them in order to have peace in the future. Be cautious, Ilse; I do not know the people. I must go to the farm, but will tell the Inspector to remain near the house. They appear to me two honest fools, but the devil may trust."

"I have no fear, father," answered the daughter; "the house is full of people; we shall be able to manage."

"Take care that none of the servants are about, whilst the strangers are sounding the walls and measuring. For the rest, they do not look to me as if they would find much, even though all the walls were built up with books. But you must not allow them to break through or injure the walls."

"I understand, father," said the daughter. "Do they remain to dinner?"

"Yes, your duty will continue till evening. The housekeeper can superintend the dairy for you."

The friends heard fragments of the conversation through the door; after the first words of instruction they went quickly to the window, and talked aloud about the great accumulation of straw on the top of the barn, which, according to the Doctor, was a stork's nest, while the Professor maintained that storks did not build their nests so high. But intermingled with this talk the Professor said in a low tone: "It is very uncomfortable for us to continue in this humiliating position. But we can only convince the proprietor by our perseverance."

"Perhaps we may yet discover something," said the Doctor. "I have some experience in masonry. As a boy I found opportunity while our house was building, to obtain a fair degree of knowledge in statics and climbing rafters. It is well that the tyrant leaves us alone. Do you entertain the daughter, I will meanwhile sound the walls."

Whoever has followed an uncertain scent knows full well how difficult on a near approach are things that at a distance appeared easy. While at first the deceitful Goddess of Hope paints all favorable chances in bright colors, the very work of searching raises all possible doubts. The alluring picture fades, despondency and weariness cast their shadows across it; and what in the beginning was a happy venture becomes at last a mere effort of perseverance.