etermined," Eynhardt answered.

"A groan for the worthless fellow; but more in sorrow than in anger,"
said the tall one to the others. They groaned three times loudly, all
together, while the Rhinelander gravely beat time. An unpracticed ear
would very likely have failed to note the shade of feeling implied in
the noise; but he appeared satisfied.

"Well, just as you like. No compulsion. Freedom is the best thing in
life--including the freedom to do stupid things."

"Perhaps he knows of some cave where he is going to turn hermit," said
one of the group.

"Or he has a little business appointment, and we should be in the way,"
said another.

They laughed, and the Rhinelander went on:

"Well! moon away here, and we will travel on. But before all things be
true to yourself. Don't forget that the whole world is as much a
phantom as the brown Black Forest maiden. And now farewell; and think a
great deal about us phantom people, who will always keep up the ghost
of a friendship for you."

The young man whom he addressed shook him and the others by the hand,
and they all lifted their caps with a loud "hurrah," and struck out
vigorously on the road. The sentiment of the farewell, and the tender
speeches, had been disposed of in the inn, so they now parted gayly, in
youth's happy fullness of life and hope for the future, and without any
of that secret melancholy which Time the immeasurable distils into
every parting. Hardly had they turned their backs on the friend they
left behind them when they began to sing, "Im Schwarzen Walfisch zu
Askalon," exaggerating the melancholy of the first half of the tune,
and the gayety of the second, passing riotously away behind a turn of
the road, their song becoming fainter and fainter in the distance.

This little scene, which took place on an August afternoon in the year
1869, had for its theater the highroad leading from Hausach to Triberg,
just at the place where a footpath descends into the valley to the
little town of Hornberg. The persons represented were young men who had
lately graduated at Heidelberg, and who were taking a holiday together
in the Black Forest, recovering from the recent terrors of examination
in the fragrant air of the pine woods. As far off as Offenburg they had
traveled by the railway in the prosaic fashion of commercial travelers,
from there they had tramped like Canadian backwoodsmen, and reached
Hasslach--twelve miles as the crow flies. After resting fo