With a firm tread, Bruno went down the steps. He had ordered the groom to lead his horse some distance from the castle and there await him. "If there only were no such thing as dying," thought he to himself. While placing his foot in the stirrup, something tugged at his coat. Was it his father's hand? or was it a spirit-hand dragging him back? He stumbled; his coat had caught in a buckle. He loosened it, and was just about to lift his riding-whip against the careless groom, when it occurred to him that such behavior was ill-timed. His father was ill, seriously ill, indeed, in spite of the family physician's reassuring words. No, it would not do to punish the servant now; it should not be said that Bruno had beaten his groom at such a moment. Fitz, who was putting the buckle to rights, stooped as if he already felt the whipstock across his shoulders, and looked up amazed when his master, in the gentlest voice, said to him: "Yes, good Fitz, I see that you've not slept any more than I have, and you're quite nervous. Lie down and rest for another hour. You need not ride out with me. Keep your horse saddled, however. I shall take the straight road through the forest clearing and, if anything should happen here, you or Anton can ride after me. At the foot of the Chamois hill, I shall turn back into the bridle-path and return by way of the valley. Do you hear? Don't forget! And now you can go sleep awhile; but don't unsaddle your horse. Don't forget what I've told you."

Bruno rode off, and the astonished Fitz stood there looking after him for some time.

Bruno took the road that led to the woods, and in the direction of a clearing which was now used as a pasture. It was easy riding over the grassy path, and the morning breezes refreshed him.

The golden glow of morning trembled on every leaf, and sparkled on every dewdrop. The woods on either side were superb, and, with a self-complacent nod, Bruno said to himself: "How well he understood forest matters. No, I shan't be so cruel. I shall have the woods well looked after, and shall not cut down the timber."

He now reached a level stretch of road. He put spurs to his horse and set off at a gallop. Suddenly he halted, for the neighborhood was one with which he was not familiar. There had formerly been a swamp and now there were broad fields, on which lay many sheaves of ripened grain.

Bruno turned towards the laborers who were binding the sheaves. The foreman told the young master that it was his father who had drained the swamp, and that this was now some of the best land on the whole estate. Offering Bruno a handful of the ripened ears, he said: "Take these to your father; I'm sure he thinks of us on his sickbed."

Bruno declined them, and gave the foreman some drink money. He rode off, leaving word that he was going toward the Chamois hill, and instructing the foreman to tell his groom as much, in case he should come after him.

The farm laborers he had left behind him were driving home with the first crop gathered from the redeemed land, and the cracking of their whips was the only sound that broke upon the silence of the forest solitude. He checked his horse's pace to a walk and, as no one could see him there, lit a cigar. When he reached the high level ground, he started off at a brisk trot. Sheep were grazing here, and Bruno did not fail to ride up to the shepherd and tell him what to say to the groom in case he should follow. It was a comfort to know that he had made it so easy to find him. After he had passed, he turned involuntarily. As if to calm himself he patted his horse's neck and, drawing a tight rein, drew himself up in his saddle. The road again led through a clearing in the forest; the valley below was bathed in golden sunshine. Suddenly it occurred to him: "There are so many miserable beings whose constant care is how to manage to keep alive. Why can't one purchase their vital power and, adding their years to his own, live forever? The masses, stupid as they are, are right when they consider us as no better than themselves, for we must die of the same diseases they are subject to.--Here, all is life; tree and beast and man. There, in the castle, lies a man whose end is drawing near, and who may be dying at this very moment. Perhaps even now, the air is wafting his last breath toward me--Where is it? Why does not a shudder pass through all that belongs to him? through every tree, and man, and beast? All that lived with him should die with him, for it is his. This wretched, miserable life--"

"I'm a poor woman, give me something," said a figure, suddenly emerging from the thicket. It was Zenza.

Bruno started as if a ghost had appeared to him. He put spurs to his horse and hurried off. His hair stood on end with fright, and it was long before he regained his composure.

In spite of this interruption, and without an effort on his part, his thoughts went back to the subject that engaged them at the moment when Zenza appeared upon the scene; but the old woman's cry of: "Give me something," was ever ringing in his ears. If everything were to die with its possessor, who would inherit? What is more peculiarly a man's own than his thoughts? And even they die with him--

"I won't think any more," said Bruno to himself. "Not now; to-morrow--the day after--some other time; but now I don't want to think."

He raised his hat, as if to permit his thoughts to escape; then he whipped and spurred his horse so that it reared and started off at a furious pace. The effort to maintain himself in his saddle drove what he regarded as gloomy fancies from his mind. He sat firmly, pressed his knees against the horse's ribs, and felt the better for the exertion. But, in spite of all, his thoughts would suddenly wander off to his father again. He felt a sudden shudder--This must have been the very moment--at that instant, his father must have breathed his last--involuntarily, Bruno drew his hand back. His horse halted. He again put spurs to him, and galloped away as if to escape from his thoughts. Suddenly, a voice cried out:

"Stop, Bruno!" He shuddered. Whose voice could it be? Who would call him by name? Surprise and alarm had thrown him into a cold sweat.

"Who calls me?" he asked with pale, trembling lips.

"You can't get here."

"Who are you? Where are you?" cried Bruno. A cold shudder passed over him, and his horse snorted and snuffed the air. Was it true that witches lived in rocks? for the voice had come from the rock.

"Who are you?" repeated Bruno; "your voice seems--"

"Do you still know Black Esther? Turn back, or you're a dead man."

He heard something whizzing by him. Benumbed with terror, he sat upon his horse. At last he dropped the rein, looked at his hand, drew off his glove, as if to satisfy himself that he was still living, that it was yet day, that all was not a dream, or the product of wild imagination--

His horse went on at a gentle pace. Suddenly, it started to one side--there had been the report of a gun. Who could be hunting there?

Bruno had already gotten beyond the limits of his own domain. Who could now be hunting in the royal forests, where the chase was not to begin until next month?

With a complacent air, Bruno twirled his mustache. He again felt confidence in himself, and in his worldly wisdom. He felt for the revolver in his saddle-bag, and calmly examined it to see if it was fit for use. The horse went on. Presently he saw a gun-barrel resting on a tree and directed against him, while a voice from behind the tree called out:

"Turn back, or you're a dead man. One--two--three--"

Trembling from head to foot, Bruno turned his horse's head. Behind him was the loaded gun, and, at any moment, a bullet might pierce him. The cold sweat streamed down his face; his eyes burned; he did not venture to raise his hand, lest the poacher behind him should misinterpret the movement and shoot him in the back. It was not until he had reached the rock where Black Esther had called to him and had so mysteriously disappeared, that he ventured to breathe freely. She had not forgotten his love, and he would henceforth provide for her. He again put spurs to his horse, and hurried off without knowing whither. It was not until he reached tilled land and saw laborers at work, that he alighted and sat down on the ground.

The first feeling of safety inspired him with a good resolve. He would return and, bowing himself--in repentance, ask his father's forgiveness. He would now promise to care for Black Esther, who had been the cause of the rupture between them. But he felt so weak that he could not rise, and a voice within him said: "You can't do it, you can't stand two such shocks in one day, and, besides, there's no hurry; the end will surely not come to-day. There will be time enough to-morrow, or later."

Feeling as if every bone in his body were broken, he, at last, arose, and asked the people in the field where he was. He found that he was far away from the road.

If the groom were now to ride after him and not find him.

Bruno quieted his conscience with the knowledge that he had not meant it to be thus. Dire fate, and an almost inconceivable combination of terrors, had led him from the right road.

Here, no one knew him. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of music and saw several carriages, decorated with green boughs, driving along the road. "What's this? a wedding?" he inquired of the peasant who had already given him some information as to the road.

"I don't know, but I think they must be town folk, or else they couldn't ride about in harvest time. Maybe they're coming from the election."

Bruno again mounted his horse. When he asked for the nearest road to Wildenort, the peasant looked at him in surprise, and pointed to a bridle-path on which he could not miss his way. But Bruno, who had lost all taste for the woods, preferred keeping to the highway. He passed a long string of wagons preceded by a band of music with a flag of black, red, and gold. He hurried by them, for he was not in a mood to listen to music.