al for once,
Fritz," cried he, as his friend came out; "do not go riding alone, or,
at least, not through the Tarow estate."

Fink shrugged his shoulders. "Ah! so our Fraeulein is here! It is so long
since we have had the pleasure of seeing you, that our time has hung
rather heavy on our hands."

"Listen to the advice of your friends," replied Lenore, anxiously, "and
beware of dangerous men."

"Why?" returned Fink; "there is no straightforward danger to apprehend;
and in times like these, there is no guarding against every stupid devil
who may lurk behind a tree; that would be taking too much trouble."

"If not for your own sake, think of the anxiety of your friends,"
implored Lenore.

"Have I still friends?" asked Fink, laughing; "I often fancy they have
become faithless. My friends belong to the class who perfectly
understand the duty of composure. Our worthy Wohlfart, perchance, will
put an extra handkerchief in his pocket, and wear his most solemn mien
if the game goes against me; and another companion in arms will console
herself still more readily. Out with my horse!" cried he, swinging
himself on the saddle, and with a slight bow galloping away.

"There he goes, straight to Tarow," said the forester, striking his head
as he watched Fink disappear.

Lenore returned in silence to her parents' room.

But late at night, long after the castle lights were all put out, a
curtain was drawn back, and a woman listened anxiously for the sound of
horses' hoofs. Hour after hour passed away, and it was morning before
the window closed as a rider halted at the door, and, whistling a tune,
himself took his horse to the stable. After a night of watching, Lenore
hid her aching head in her pillows.

Thus months passed away. At length the baron, leaning upon his
daughter's arm and on a staff, ventured out into the open air, to sit
silently in the shadow cast by the castle walls, or to listen for every
trifle which might afford possible scope for fault-finding. At these
times his dependents in general would go a good deal out of their way to
avoid him, and as Anton never did this, he was not unfrequently their
scapegoat. Every day the baron had to hear, in return for his
cross-questioning, "Mr. Wohlfart ordered this," or "Mr. Wohlfart forbade
that." He eagerly found out what orders were given by Anton, that he
might countermand, and all the bitterness and disappointment
accumulated in the spirit of the unfortunate nobleman