to his memory. The nun did not pay any attention to these. She came close to his bed, stroked with her icy and bony hand his burning cheeks, and said, “Fred, my Fred, you mus submit. I am thine; thou art mine, soul and body.” Having tormented him thus during an hour with her presence, when the clock struck one, she disappeared.
This platonic love-performance she repeated every night, and even followed him to the town of Eichsfell, where he was quartered.
There he had neither peace nor quietness with his spectral love. He pined and grieved, and lost all courage, so that the high and low staff of the regiment perceived his melancholy, and every honest warrior pitied him greatly. It was a riddle to them, what hidden sorrow their brave companion had; for he feared to make known his unfortunate secret.
The handsome Fred, however, had a confidant among his comrades, an old quartermaster, who had the reputation of being master of all magical operations. He possessed, rumour said, the lost secret of making himself invulnerable; he could summon ghosts, and had every day one sure shot. This experienced warrior pressed him with amiable importunity to make known to him
