rnburg was standing in the entry and stepped back with a
respectful bow, but the innkeeper called to him, saying:

"There is much to be done to-day, for many a man will doubtless indulge
himself in a glass of liquor after the good news. No offence, Frau Van
der Werft; but the Junker will escort you home as safely as I--and you,
Herr von Dornburg--"

"I am at your service," replied Georg, and went out into the street with
the young wife.

For a time both walked side by side in silence, each fancying he or she
could hear the beating of the other's heart. At last Georg, drawing a
long breath, said:

"Three long, long months have passed since my arrival here. Have I been
brave, Maria?"

"Yes, Georg."

"But you cannot imagine what it has cost me to fetter this poor heart,
stifle my words, and blind my eyes. Maria, it must once be said--"

"Never, never," she interrupted in a tone of earnest entreaty. "I know
that you have struggled honestly, do not rob yourself of the victory
now."

"Oh! hear me, Maria, this once hear me."

"What will it avail, if you oppress my soul with ardent words? I must
not hear from any man that he loves me, and what I must not hear, you
must not speak."

"Must not?" he asked in a tone of gentle reproach, then in a gloomy,
bitter mood, continued: "You are right, perfectly right. Even speech is
denied me. So life may run on like a leaden stream, and everything that
grows and blossoms on its banks remain scentless and grey. The golden
sunshine has hidden itself behind a mist, joy lies fainting in my heart,
and all that once pleased me has grown stale and charmless. Do you
recognize the happy youth of former days?"

"Seek cheerfulness again, seek it for my sake."

"Gone, gone," he murmured sadly. "You saw me in Delft, but you did not
know me thoroughly. These eyes were like two mirrors of fortune in which
every object was charmingly transfigured, and they were rewarded; for
wherever they looked they met only friendly glances. This heart then
embraced the whole world, and beat so quickly and joyously! I often did
not know what to do with myself from sheer mirth and vivacity, and it
seemed as if I must burst into a thousand pieces like an over-loaded
firelock, only instead of scattering far and wide, mount straight up to
Heaven. Those days were so happy, and yet so sad--I felt it ten times
as much in Delft, when you were kind to me. And now, now? I still have
wings, I still might fly, but h