it no longer necessary to fear the short arms of such a weak
police force. Soon he was completely forgotten. His Uncle Simon seldom
spoke of him, and then ill. The Jew's wife finally consoled herself and
took another husband. Only poor Margaret remained without consolation.

About half a year afterward the lord of the estate read in the presence
of the court clerk some letters just received. "Remarkable, remarkable!"
he exclaimed. "Just think, Kapp, perhaps Mergel is innocent of the
murder. The chairman of the court of P. has just written me: 'Le vrai
n'est pas toujours vraisemblable' (Truth does not always bear the marks
of probability). I often find this out in my profession, and now I have
a new proof of it. Do you know that it is possible that your dear trusty
Frederick Mergel killed the Jew no more than you or I? Unfortunately
proofs are lacking, but the probability is great. A member of the
Schlemming band (which, by-the-by, we now have, for the most part, under
lock and key), named Ragged Moses, alleged in the last hearing that he
repented of nothing so much as of murdering one of his co-religionists,
Aaron, whom he had beaten to death in the woods, and had found only six
groschen on him.

"Unfortunately the examination was interrupted by the noon recess and,
while we were at lunch, the dog of a Jew hanged himself with a garter.
What do you say to that? Aaron is a common name, to be sure," etc.

"What do you say to that?" repeated the Baron; "and what reason then did
the fool of a fellow have for running away?"

The court clerk reflected. "Well, perhaps on account of the forest
thefts which we were just then investigating. Isn't it said: 'The wicked
man flees from his own shadow?' Mergel's conscience was dirty enough,
even without this spot."

With these considerations they let the matter drop. Frederick had gone,
disappeared; and John Nobody--poor, neglected John--with him on the same
day. A long, long time had passed--twenty-eight years, almost half a
lifetime. The Baron was grown very old and gray, and his good-natured
assistant, Kapp, had been long since buried. People, animals, and plants
had arisen, matured, passed away; only Castle B., gray and dignified as
of old, still looked down on the cottages which, like palsied old
people, always seemed about to fall, yet always kept their balance.

It was Christmas Eve, December 24, 1788.

The narrow passes were covered with snow, probably about twelve feet