er human being--that I have never done. You
must put up with this. Farewell, Anthon!"

And Anthon also said farewell. No tears sprang to his eyes, but he
perceived that he was no longer Molly's friend. If we were to kiss a
burning bar of iron, or a frozen bar of iron, we should experience the
same sensation when the skin came off our lips.

Within twenty-four hours Anthon had reached Eisenach again, but the
horse he rode was ruined.

"What of that?" cried he. "I am ruined, and I will ruin all that can
remind me of her. Fru Holle! Fru Holle! Thou heathenish woman! I will
tear down and smash the apple tree, and pull it up by the roots. It
shall never blossom or bear fruit more."

But the tree was not destroyed; he himself was knocked down, and lay
long in a violent fever. What was to raise him from his sick bed? The
medicine that did it was the bitterest that could be--one that shook
the languid body and the shrinking soul. Anthon's father was no longer
the rich merchant. Days of adversity, days of trial, were close at
hand. Misfortune rushed in like overwhelming billows--it surged into
that once wealthy house. His father became a poor man, and sorrow and
calamity paralysed him. Then Anthon found that he had something else
to think of than disappointed love, or being angry with Molly. He had
now to be both father and mother in his desolate home. He had to
arrange everything, look after everything, and to go forth into the
world to work for his own and his parents' bread.

He went to Bremen. There he suffered many privations, and passed many
melancholy days; and all that he went through sometimes soured his
temper, sometimes saddened him, till strength and mind seemed failing.
How different were the world and mankind from what he had fancied them
in his childhood! What were now to him Minnesingers' poems and songs?
They were gall and wormwood. Yes, this was what he often felt; but
there were other times when the songs vibrated to his soul, and his
mind became calm and peaceful.

"What God wills is always the best," said he then. "It was well that
our Lord did not permit Molly's heart to hang on me. What could it
have led to, now that prosperity has left me and mine? She gave me up
before she knew or dreamed of this reverse from more fortunate days
which was hanging over us. It was the mercy of our Lord towards me.
Everything is ordained for the best. Yes, all happens wisely. She
could not, therefore, have acted othe