rtin." "What!" exclaimed
Frederick, whilst an electric thrill, as it were, shot through all his
limbs--"what! you are going away now that Master Martin is willing to
take you for his son-in-law, and Rose loves you?" Reinhold replied,
"That was only a delusion, brother, which your jealousy has led you
into. It has now come out that Rose would have had me simply to show
her dutifulness and obedience, but there's not a spark of love glowing
in her ice-cold heart. Ha! ha! I should have made a fine cooper--that I
should. Week-days scraping hoops and planing staves, Sundays walking
beside my honest wife to St. Catherine's or St. Sebald's, and in the
evening to the Allerwiese, year after year"---- "Nay, mock not," said
Frederick, interrupting Reinhold's loud laughter, "mock not at the
excellent burgher's simple, harmless life. If Rose does not really love
you, it is not her fault; you are so passionate, so wild." "You are
right," said Reinhold; "It is only the silly way I have of making as
much noise as a spoilt child when I conceive I have been hurt. You can
easily imagine that I spoke to Rose of my love and of her father's
good-will. Then the tears started from her eyes, and her hand trembled
in mine. Turning her face away, she whispered, 'I must submit to my
father's will'--that was enough for me. My peculiar resentment, dear
Frederick, will now let you see into the depths of my heart; I must
tell you that my striving to win Rose was a deception, imposed upon me
by my wandering mind. After I had finished Rose's picture my heart grew
calm; and often, strange enough, I fancied that Rose was now the
picture, and that the picture was become the real Rose. I detested my
former coarse, rude handiwork; and when I came so intimately into
contact with the incidents of common life, getting one's 'mastership'
and getting married, I felt as if I were going to be confined in a
dungeon and chained to the stocks. How indeed can the divine being whom
I carry in my heart ever be my wife? No, she shall for ever stand forth
glorious in youth, grace, and beauty, in the pictures--the
masterpieces--which my restless spirit shall create. Oh! how I long for
such things! How came I ever to turn away from my divine art? O thou
glorious land, thou home of Art, soon again will I revel amidst thy
cool and balmy airs." The friends had reached the place where the road
which Reinhold intended to take turned to the left. "Here we will
part," cried Reinhold,