calm after this fever fit, and hanging the mandolin on his back, he held out his hand to Frederick.
"Let us go, dear brother," said he affectionately—"let us go to the neighboring village. I have a sure remedy to chase away the phantoms that might attack us on the road."
"Well, my friend, of what phantoms could we be afraid? Let us descend into the valley, and sing, sing on! I feel unspeakable pleasure in listening to thee."
Myriads of brilliant stars studded the sombre blue of the sky. The night wind rustled the high grass; the brooks ran murmuring along their borders, and the voices of the solitude were prolonged like sighs from an organ under the dome of the forests.
Frederick and Reinhold slowly descended the road that conducted to the village. When they reached the inn, Reinhold, throwing aside his travelling gear, pressed Frederick to his heart, and wept long and earnestly.
VI.
The following day, Frederick, on awaking, no longer finding his new friend lying by his side, thought that he had perhaps changed his route, when Reinhold reappeared suddenly before him, his bag on his back, but in a different costume from that which he had worn the evening before. He had taken from his cap the long floating feather, no longer wore his short sword, and a sack of very common stuff and color replaced the elegant doublet which had set off the beauty of his form.
"Well, brother," exclaimed he, "wouldst thou take me now for a good and hearty workman, such as I wish to be? But for a lover, thou hast, it seems to me, slept famously. Look and see how high the sun is already. Come quickly—some courage, and more legs!"
Frederick, absorbed in thoughts of the future, hardly answered the words of Reinhold, who, completely electrified by a
