ng, he became convinced that it was nobody
but Walther himself who was talking with the old man. His terror was
indescribable; completely beside himself, he rushed out, left the city
that night, and, after losing his way many times, returned to his
castle.

Like a restless spirit he hurried from room to room. No thought could
he hold fast; the pictures in his mind grew more and more terrible,
and he did not sleep a wink. The idea often occurred to him that he
was crazy and that all these notions were merely the product of his
own imagination. Then again he remembered Walther's features, and it
was all more puzzling to him than ever. He resolved to go on a journey
in order to compose his thoughts; he had long since given up the idea
of a friend and the wish for a companion.

Without any definite destination in view, he set out, nor did he pay
much attention to the country that lay before him. After he had
trotted along several days on his horse, he suddenly lost his way in a
maze of rocks, from which he was unable to discover any egress.
Finally he met an old peasant who showed him a way out, leading past a
water-fall. He started to give him a few coins by way of thanks, but
the peasant refused them.

"What can it mean?" he said to himself. "I could easily imagine that
that man was no other than Walther." He looked back once more--it was
indeed no one else but Walther!

Eckbert spurred on his horse as fast as it could run--through meadows
and forests, until, completely exhausted, it collapsed beneath him.
Unconcerned, he continued his journey on foot.

Dreamily he ascended a hill. There he seemed to hear a dog barking
cheerily close by--birch trees rustled about him--he heard the notes
of a wonderful song:

O solitude
Of lonely wood,
Thou chiefest good,
Where thou dost brood
Is joy renewed,
O solitude!

Now it was all up with Eckbert's consciousness and his senses; he
could not solve the mystery whether he was now dreaming or had
formerly dreamt of a woman Bertha. The most marvelous was confused
with the most ordinary--the world around him was bewitched--no
thought, no memory was under his control.

An old crook-backed woman with a cane came creeping up the hill,
coughing.

"Are you bringing my bird, my pearls, my dog?" she cried out to him.
"Look--wrong punishes itself. I and no other was your friend Walther,
your Hugo."

"God in Heaven!" said Eckbert softly to himself. "In what terrible
s