his blood, which was
coursing through his veins like mad, cool down. He thought he could
hear his heart throb quite distinctly, although he could not account
for it--oh, it was pounding and stabbing so unpleasantly in his breast;
he had never felt it do like that before. But he had never run like
that before, at any rate since his illness. He had to fight for air, he
thought he was going to choke. But at last he was able to breathe again
more comfortably; now he had not to distend his nostrils and pant for
breath any more. He could enjoy the feeling of ease and comfort that
gradually came over him now.

It was not yet dusk when he set out again, but still the light began
to show that it was October. There was a sweet softness, something
extremely gentle and glorified about the sunshine that fell through the
red branches of the pines, which also softened the wild runaway. He
went in a dream--whither? He did not know, he did not think of it
either, he only walked on and on, in pursuit of a longing that drew him
on irresistibly, that fluttered in front of him and cooed and called
like a dove seeking her nest. And the dove's wings were stronger than
the wings of an eagle.

There were no people where the longing flew. It was so peaceful and
quiet there. Not even his foot made any noise as it sank into the moss
and short grass. The pines stood in the glow of the setting
sun like slender lighted candles. No autumn leaves lay on the ground in
which the wind might have rustled; the air swept noiselessly over the
smooth pine-needles and the colourless cones that had dropped down from
the tree-tops.

Wolfgang had never known it was so beautiful there. He looked round
with amazed delight. It had never seemed so beautiful before. But it
was not like this, of course, where the villas were and the roads. His
eyes glanced curiously now to the right, now to the left and then in
front of him into the twilight of the wood. There, where the last gold
of the setting sun did not cling to the cleft bark like red blood and
the light did not penetrate, there was a soft mysterious dusk, in which
the mossy dark-green stems gleamed nevertheless. And there was a
perfume there, so moist and cool, so pungent and fresh, that the boy
drew a deep breath as though a weight had been lifted from his chest
and a new strength ran through his veins.

The memory of all he had gone through during the day came back to
Wolfgang now in the deep calm. He press