• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 I
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 XIII
 XIV
 XV
 XVI
 XVII
 XVIII
 XIX
 XX
 XXI
 XXII
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: The pathway of the fawn : a tale of the New Year
Title: The pathway of the fawn
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002135/00001
 Material Information
Title: The pathway of the fawn a tale of the New Year
Alternate Title: Tale of the New Year
Physical Description: 195 p., <2> leaves of plates : col. ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Hervey, T. K., 1811-1903
Thomas, William Luson, 1830-1900 ( Engraver )
Thomas, George Houseman, 1824-1868 ( Illustrator )
Macquoid, Thomas Robert, 1820-1912 ( Illustrator )
Office of the National Illustrated Library ( Publisher )
Levey, Robson, and Franklyn ( Printer )
Publisher: Office of the National Illustrated Library
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Levey, Robson, and Franklyn
Publication Date: 1852
 Subjects
Subject: Inheritance and succession   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
Summary: Bertha is forced by her father to masquerade as a boy in order to bar the succession of his nephew, Heinrich, to the family estates. She is secretly learning sculpting from her cousin who lives in the vicinity with his sister, Roschen, and his mother. Two local landowners and friends discover love in unexpected places: Ernst sees through Bertha's disguise and declares his love; and Moritz meets Roschen and vows to marry her. After many trials, revelations, an illness and a strayed letter the two pairs of lovers find happiness.
Citation/Reference: Wolff, R.L. 19th cent. fiction,
General Note: Added title page, engraved.
General Note: Illustrations from designs by G.H. Thomas, chapter initials by T.R. Macquoid, engraved by W.L. Thomas.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
Statement of Responsibility: by Mrs. T.K. Hervey.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002135
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002231474
oclc - 22162349
notis - ALH1851
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
    Frontispiece
        Front page 4
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
    Copyright
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
    List of Illustrations
        Page vii
        Page viii
    I
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 23
        Page 24
    II
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    III
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    IV
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    V
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    VI
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    VII
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
    VIII
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    IX
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    X
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    XI
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97a
        Page 98
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    XII
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
    XIII
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
    XIV
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    XV
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
    XVI
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    XVII
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    XVIII
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 158a
        Page 158
    XIX
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    XX
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
    XXI
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
    XXII
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
    Back Cover
        Page 196
    Spine
        Page 197
Full Text

























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FRONTIrIW*C. I L.
..... .. .


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THE


Sat byag of tft fair.


A

galt of i~t ffiv gtar*


BY MRS. T. K. HERVEY.









LONDON:
OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY,,
227 STRAND.









































LONDON:
PRINTED BY LRVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLIN,
Great New Street, Fetter Laue.

























CHAP.
I. THE YEAR'S LAST SIGH. DESERTION . .

II. THE MOUNTAIN PATHWAY THE HEART S STRUGGLE .


III. THE SCULPTOR'S HOME FAIRY-GIFTS .... 32


IV. THE EMPTY CAGE .

V. THE PINE WOOD .

VI. MORITZ AND ROSCHEN

VII. THE INTERRUPTED VOW

VIII. THE FAILING GENIUS

IX. REVELATIONS .

X. THE CLOSED DOOR .

XI. THE FOREST SHADE .

XII. THE FOUNTAIN'S BRIM

XIII. THE GANYMEDE .

XIV. THE CHECKED PURSUIT

XV. THE ITALIAN GRAVE

XVI. THE GREY PILLAR .


. THE AVENGING ANGEL

. THE SOUL'S SECRET .

. FANCY'S FROLICS .

. GLIMMERINGS OF THE PAST

. RECOGNITION .

. THE BOY BERTHOLD .

. THE TRUST REPOSED .

. DIE GUTE IN DIE SCHONE

. TROST IN SUMMER

. THE CHARM WORKS

. THE BANDED BROTHERS.

, THE NIOBE .. ..

. THE SPELL DEEPENS .


PAGE
S 9

. 25


S46

S53

S61

S67

S74

S83

Sb7

S95

. 104

. 112

. 120

. 129

. 135









vi


CONTENTS.


CHAP. ,
XVII. RUIN'S RIOT .

XVIII. THE RIVER'S BRINK. .

XIX. LOVERS, BUT NO LOVE .

XX. THE HAUNTED CHAMBER

XXI. THE ANTIQUE CHAIR

XXII. THE PILGRIM GUEST


PAGB
* CLAY AND SPIRIT 145

. THE SELF-REBUKE 152

. ROSCHEN'S WHISPER 159

. THE SPIRIT-RIDDEN 164

. THE BLENDING SHADOWS 173

. CONCLUSION .. 183



















frnm signs h4q 0 f. Tl.umas.

THE CHAPTER-INITIALS BY T. R. MACQUOID.

ENGRAVED BY W. L. THOMAS.


THE DEPARTURE. TITLE-PAGE.

THE YEAR'S LAST SIGH. FRONTISPIECE.

THE HOME OF ARMER THE SCULPTOR

THE INTERRUPTED VOW

BERTHOLD AND ROSCHEN

THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN

WILIELM VON PERN AND THE STATUE

MORITZ AND ROSCHEN AT THE FOUNTAIN

THE DESERTED GARDEN

MORITZ AND ROSCHEN .

BERTHA AND VON FERN

THE BALL. THE PILGRIM GUEST


PAGE
31

S 70

75

96

. 113

. 121

. 147

. 159

. 178

. 188
































goti scar's Last Vtltg Deserttu. n' I
"The Old Year lies a-dying I
The night is starry and cold, my friend;
And the New Year, blithe and bold, my friend.
Comes up to take his own I" TaXnIrox.
N, earlier days, -neither chivalric
S .- 3 nor steam-ridden, fast by a rude
Sold city of the Rhine; cradled on

the breast of a wooded mountain-,
slope girded at its base by the crumbling walls of
the ancient citadel; a seeming partaker of the safety
afforded by the far-extending ramparts below, yet with

B






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


a certain ostentatious and upstart aspect looking down
upon its more ancient neighbour--stood the towers of
Graubriider.'
The place, as its name imports, had been originally
a monastery for Monks of the order of Grey Friars.
A portion of the earlier structure still held its ground,
wearing to the wandering fancy an aspect not without
some shadowy and fantastic resemblance to the good
brotherhood themselves, long since departed, who had
once found there "a habitation and a name," Here
might be seen the remains of an antique tower, bald
and tonsured with clustering weeds; there, a wreck
of broken wall cowled with grey lichens; while, silent
and solitary, and girt by the moonbeams, a half-de-
molished arch would greet the eye, bending beneath
its mantle of the ivy, like the drooping of old age under
the severity of monastic isolation.
Some little way apart, as if the very front of ruin
wore a forbidding aspect to the possessor of so much
wealth as the lord of Graubriider, extended many a
rood the princely mansion where he made his abiding-
place.


10





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Beyond this again, stretching far away,-farther and
farther from the habitations of men, from the city's
busy hum, the bartering of trade, the ringing of the
money-changers; from the struggles of congregated
households, the cry of the many and the laughter of
the few,-rising with graduated slope, a solitary region,
the upland terminated in an abrupt ridge skirting the
horizon.
This verge, or boundary-line, was familiarly known
by the appellation of The Hunter's Ridge."
The name had originated in the fact that, when-
ever the hunt was up, the whole pack-including alike
huntsmen and dogs-were there visible for miles round,
the forms of both horseman and hound being distinctly
traced against the blue or clouded welkin, dilated by
their position into the semblance of shapes more
gigantic than the reality.
The "Hunter's Ridge" was terminated at one end
of its horizontal line by a deep, dark, overhang-
ing wood-the refuge of the startled Fawn; skirting
the borders of which was a narrow precipitous path,
leading towards the city and the winding Rhine at


11





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


its foot. At the other end it diverged downwards,
at a less acute angle, till gradually lost in the open
country.
Such was the position tenanted by one of the most
luxurious men of his day-Wilhelm von Fern, lord of
Graubriider.
Without a passion more exalted than that of self-
aggrandisement; without an object more worthy than
self-indulgence, or a wish that flew beyond the narrow
region of its attainment;-it was wonderful how the
easy grace of manner so naturally accompanying these
decent-sounding vices won the world's approval. Wil-
helm von Fern was a man universally lauded.
But a time for the heart's reckoning comes to all;
and the man of luxury was soon destined to feel this
truth in its fullest force.
To-night an unaccountable sensation of uneasiness
besets him,-a vague haunting, over which the mind
has no control, and with which reason has no power
to grapple. He gives it no words, moulds it not even
into a thought of dread. He feasts as is his wont. In
yonder lofty dining-hall, hung round with trophies of


12




THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


the chase, he drains glass after glass of the Rhine's
choicest vintage-the all-imperial Johannisberger; and
if a spectre sits at his board-as it will at the banquet-
ings of better men-to him it is yet voiceless as the
crowned terror of the Egyptian revel-a formless shape
without a name.
It was the last night of the closing year, and he
had gathered round him, at that festal board, a few
choice spirits-younger men all than himself-to bear
him company in seeing the New Year in.
At such a season, the varying moods to which the
passing and coming year gives rise, seldom fail to find
expression, and, however mirthful or however sad, are
alike sanctioned by the spirit of the hour. The sha-
dow on the heart, or the cloud upon the brow, of our
brother, for this one night passes without notice. Each
man is busied with the ushering in of his own indi-
vidual fate, of which the hand upon the dial-plate is
accounted the silent and mysterious herald. V
As the hour of midnight drew near, the cloud
which had been slowly gathering upon the brow of
Wilhelm von Fern assumed a deeper hue. It was in


13




THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


vain that the wine went freely round ; in vain that
his voice joined chorus with the snatches of song that
made the great hall ring;-every note seemed an-
swered by a strange wild echo, mysterious and un-
earthly. He could not lift off the burthen that lay
like a loadstone at his breast, attracting to itself every
shape and form and presence of material things, and
enduing them with a power equal to its own, till the
accumulated weight threatened to crush him. The
very finger on the dial, like the needle of the mariner's
compass, seemed to point to him, and him alone.
So unusual a manifestation of seriousness, almost of
gloom, on the part of their host, could not fail to com-
municate itself in some measure to his guests. And it
soon became evident, from the changed current of the
conversation, that the distant and the mystical were gra-
dually usurping the place of the present and actual, as the
stealing finger of Time was coursing mutely but surely
towards that point at which another year must die.
The superstitions of their own and other lands be-
came now the topic of the moment. The aspect of the
night-dark, silent, and starless, without one solitary


14





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


gleam to enliven its cheerlessness, or a single breath to
break the hushed monotony of the hour-afforded an
opening for the peculiar tone which was unconsciously
stealing over that festive board.
You are right, Moritz," remarked the young
Ernst Engelhertz, in reply to an observation made by
his friend; indeed most of the northern nations have
shared in this feeling, and drawn singular prognostics
from the winds of New Year's Eve."
It is almost universal," pursued Moritz von der
Brunn. In the uplands of Scotia, or Scottisland, the
inhabitants have their Candlemas Bull"
Their what!" exclaimed the somewhat affected
Ruprecht von Lorn; their bull? I thought that was
the peculiar property of that island in the Irischer See,
called by the natives Die Smaragden Insel.' "
Pardon me," said Moritz; but, to use a phrase
borrowed from another island of some note, you have
'taken the wrong bull by the horns.' The Candlemas
Bull of which I speak is a material rather than an in-
tellectual cloud; neither more nor less than a vapour
in the atmosphere a passing mist, known by that


15





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


name from its assuming, or being supposed to assume,
by the aid of a prolific northern imagination, the form
of that animal, and from whose motions or transitions,
caused by different currents of air, on this particular
night, many strange auguries arise."
With us, now," exclaimed Ruprecht, we Ger-
mans assign more importance to the breath that issues
from human lips as the old year dies out."
And with reason," rejoined Ernst; "inasmuch as
the moment of midnight, at such a season, has ever
been regarded in our land as the chosen time for the
races of genii, good and evil, to move abroad."
Childish nonsense !" cried Wilhelm von Fern;
are not good and evil ever on the wing? and can a
particular day or hour be supposed to rule the sleepless
watches of spirits that are eternal-if they have any
being at all ?"
'" Question not their being," mildly remonstrated
the young Ernst: we know and feel their presence
hour by hour, and day by day. I would not lose the
strong conviction of their ministry for all this world's
-so called -realities."


16





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


But the evil ones?" asked Ruprecht, with a light
laugh. "Come, come, Ernst, confess that you could
do well enough without them."
The evil ones," suggested the generous Moritz
von der Brunn, answering for his friend, are fain to
pass on the shady side of the wall when Ernst walks
abroad."
"' I consider," replied Engelhertz, that the evil
races of genii have their moral significance equally with
the good. Were there nothing to overcome, where
were the triumph ?"
"" You believe, then," cried Wilhelm von Fern,
with a faint attempt at a sneer, belied by his quivering
lip, in the extreme point to which credulity has
pushed this superstition: in fine, that the particular
utterances of to-night-here, for instance, in a land of
civilisation, and round a board where the potent Rhine-
spirit circles in the grape-have power to compel the
fiend ?"
I do truly believe," was the answer of the young
and enthusiastic Ernst, "that words involuntarily uttered
at such a season as this,-whether around such a board


17





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


or elsewhere; whether spoken on the summit of the
Brocken, or beneath the pitchy boughs of the Schwartz-
wald; whether in the green depths of the Rhine valleys,
or beside its winding waters,-are alike potent from
the lips that give them breath. Nay, further, that
while the worse spirits are at times permitted to apply
such terms in a strained or fatal sense-if at all ambi-
guous,-on the other hand, the words themselves, on
the lips of the just, may become words of power, con-
trolling the designs of demons, and forcing them to
work out the good of the utterer against their will."
"Ha ha! ha !" shouted Wilhelm von Fern;
"further than this the tide of superstition can scarcely
run. But see!" he added, suddenly pointing to the
dial-plate, we have almost forgotten the watches of
the night. It wants but a minute to the charmed
hour!"
That minute was one of the deepest hush. Every
eye turned in the same direction, and became riveted
on the time-piece.
Wilhelm von Fern rose, and treading the boards as
if his step would have disturbed some sleeper, turned


18





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


to the window, and noiselessly opened the casement to
its full swing, in order that the chimes of the distant
cathedral might be distinctly heard.
Still, not a breath stirred, not a star was visible.
But down, far down the rocky steep, lay the ancient
city at its foot, with all her innumerable lights reflected
in the waters of the darkened Rhine-so many witnesses
of the anxious and breathless watchers that awaited the
signal of another birth to time; a year for hope, for
love-young voices and old graves.
At last the finger approached the point of twelve;
neared, all but touched it.
Every glass had been filled to the brim, and every
man stood ready, his eye fixed on the numeral figure,
to hail with one prolonged cheer the crowning of the
hour.
At this moment of intense silence, when the hand of
the dial had all but marked the appointed stroke; while
the heart itself seemed to pause, so still were its beat-
ings; and when, had a feather dropped, it would have
startled the listeners ;-suddenly-whence or from what
quarter of the globe it came no man knew-suddenly


19





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


a wild rush of air, perfectly indescribable save by the
term, a gasp, a shudder of wind, swept past the case-
ment!
It scarcely sounded before it was gone, dying as
suddenly as it rose.
Every man started, looked on his neighbour, and
turned pale.
Ernst Engelhertz and Wilhelm von Fern, the be-
liever and the sceptic, gazed into each other's eyes.
The face of Ernst was pale, but calm; the aspect of his
entertainer was that of one suddenly arrested for some
crime. To the "angel-hearted" guest that sound was
but the death-sob of his departed year. To the shrouded
heart of the self-lover it bore another tone. The retri-
butive angel was winging its dark way overhead, and
in that shuddering gust he heard the rushing of its
wing.
Hark!
Without the door, along the corridor, like a spirit's
tread, in the pause of the revel, is there heard no other
sound ?
Hark!


20





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Is there no step on the outer floor that is sounding
its last there ? no music on the boards that shall miss its
echo through all the long year that is newly born?
Hark!
Stealing down along the carved and gilded staircase;
sweeping with light, quick step, but still guarded tread,
from marble step to step, from carpeted landing to
stated recess; halting here and there with breathless
pause, then bounding on anew under the pressure of
the impulse from within,-passed a youth of apparently
some sixteen summers.
The massive hall-door stood partly open, as if to
afford surer and more speedy egress to the figure thus
stealthily hastening to cross its threshold-for ever!
The face that was seen to emerge from that parental
roof was pale; pale as that of the sculptured form that
stood beneath the carved balusters to light the boy forth
from the house of his fathers.
As the night-wind fanned his cheek, and he felt that
he was about to give himself, his hopes, and his fortunes,
to the keeping of that world without, whose breath was


23




24 THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


less tender than the fresh but chilling night-breeze that
wafted his bright hair, an expression somewhat akin to
dismay for a moment crossed his face.
But his part was taken, and the youth passed out.








CHAPTER II.


C VI jntaiVii fnt taq. f4r 3art's dtaggh.

"Potent was the spell that bound thee,
Not unwilling to obey;
For blue Ether's arms around thee
Still'd the paintings of dismay."
WORDSWORTH.



4,`' RETE,my mother,
are you there?"-
..S. asked the boy, in
a low, sweet voice,
S as in the dark his hand sought and
clasped that of his foster-mother.
True to that love which is se-
cond only to the natural instinct
that binds the real mother to her
offspring, old Grete stood by the portal
j awaiting her foster-child. Long before the
f appointed hour she had lingered about the
walls; and her anxious gaze, from time to
I





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


time directed towards the half-open door, would have
betrayed to a looker-on, had such been at hand, how
hazardous she considered the step about to be taken.
But no sooner had she caught a glimpse of her youthful
charge descending the lighted gallery within, than her
wrinkled face brightened, like night touched by the
morning.
As the boy's foot crossed the threshold, the strong
light from within threw his figure into bold relief. To
eyes, like those of Grete, accustomed to look on him,
there was little that could be termed singular in his
appearance. A stranger, however, might have detected
a slight effeminacy of air, and even of costume. The
loose tunic, somewhat resembling the more modern
blouse, which formed part of the student-costume of
the time, was in the present instance longer than usual,
fuller and more flowing, -a modification by no means
ill-adapted to his slight but graceful figure. Bent over
his brow, its looped-up brim scarcely serving the pur-
pose of concealment for which it appeared to be so
placed, he wore a low-crowned hat of the half-German,
half-Spanish form.


26





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Stepping thus out into the night, he shook back the
waving curls that partially shaded his face, and drawing
the folds of his tunic more closely around him, stretched
forth his hand into the darkness.
Grete, my mother, are you there ?"
"Here, my Berth"--
It is well; but call me Berthold. I have borne
that name for eighteen years; I must know no other
now. Oh, Grete, it is done !-no faltering, no look-
ing back. Affection, kindred, home, where are they
now?"
It is not yet too late: return."
Return! Is it thus that you would counsel me ?-
you, who have ever taught me to shun evil as a plague?
No, Grete, no; let us on: quick quick!"
Under the pressure of some strong emotion, the boy
half led, half dragged his unresisting guide up the steep
towards the summit of the Hunter's Ridge.
But already, ere half the distance was gained that
lay between them and the point towards which they
pushed, the boy's strength was overtasked.
"Stay, good Grete," he faltered breathlessly; a


27






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


moment's rest. The path is surely bewitched to-night;
I never felt its steepness till this hour."
'Tis thy heart's beating, child, that robs the breath
God gave thee."
"Look yonder!" said the youth, as, pausing for a
brief rest, he gazed back upon the home he had for-
saken; see, the lights dance from every window.
Methinks even now I hear the sounds of their wassail.
Those generous spirits little know with whom they
feast. There was Moritz; I heard his clear voice above
them all: and Ernst, the good and pious Ernst. Ah!
little knows he, as he quaffs the wine-cup, that the
gold which lines it is another's little dreams he that
the bread he breaks is yours, Armer, my poor one
Oh! shame shame shame !"
The evil-doer will rue it soon, my bird, when to-
morrow's sun shines upon thy empty cage, and not on
thee."
Oh, Grete, not that! say not that! There lies the
sting! Your words reprove me as for a sin. Whatever
guilt lies at his door, it is not against me. Could any
other act than this have touched him with the full sense


28






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


of his wrong, I had not done it. Be he to others what
he may, he is my father still."
In renewed bitterness of spirit, the boy knelt on
the rough and stony path, and lifted up his voice to
Heaven.
Hear me," he cried, Thou who knowest the
suffering and the wrong; Thou at whose feet, before
whose throne, I cast off for ever the inheritance I have
so long unwillingly usurped; Thou who seest my
agony of heart, my failing, faltering soul,-hear and
sustain me, Thou! If I have done this thing in a wil-
ful, a selfish, or an unfilial spirit; if I have dealt this
blow at the heart that loves me for any other good than
theirs, of which his must be a part, in the reconciling
of each one with another; if I have done this, knowing
not myself,-forsake me."
And the boy bowed his face to the chill earth, and
sobbed aloud.
Then Grete spoke. "Arise, my Berth, and come
away. Why,-all good spirits shield thee, child !-thy
touch is cold as death!"
Nay, mother, I am strengthened. There, give


29






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


me your hand once more; we will on again. See, the
stars come out; Orion's belt is studded thick; the path
clears: on, on, my Grete !"
And the foot that had scarcely crushed the flowers
of eighteen summers trod that mountain pathway once
more with buoyant step.
Long and trying was the path, the night keen and
cheerless; but Berthold no more faltered by the way.
All good spirits abroad that night sang to his spirit as
he went on his course; the evil ones kept aloof.
See, the Pathway of the Fawn," said he at last,
pointing to a worn track along the upper ridge, which
lost itself in the depths of the forest. Down behind
yonder wood lies your home-and mine, dear Grete.
A nightly shelter shall you give me. I am but young,
my mother. But first,-ay, before I sleep, you must
down yonder path with me."
Save thee, child !-to-night?" exclaimed Grete.
Ay, to-night, good mother. Right deeds make
right times, my simple Grete."
Well, well, be it as thou wilt; but tarry not
long."


30





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Oh! city of the sorrowful!" exclaimed the youth,
as, skirting the pine-wood, they descended the pathway
to the city, "how calm thou liest! yet aching hearts
and lips that hunger are rife within thy streets. Be-
neath yonder roof from whose window the lights shine
feeblest, whose battered walls scarce serve to shut out
the wintry wind, thou wakest and watchest, lone
mother of poverty! And Armer, thou; and thou, my
little Roschen, sweet bud of tender promise !"
Thus, as he pursued his midnight path, did the boy
Berthold ponder: till now, as the chimes from every
tower and minaret told that half the mid-hour was
passed, the two approached the lowly roof that shel-
tered the sculptor Armer.


31









CHAPTER III.


4 t Ilptnfr's 3nme. n aiq difts.

The Beings of the mind are not of clay."
BYRON.

HE interior of the sculptor's studio
might in itself have formed a fittii 0
subject for the limner. Narrow iq+
dimensions, and scantily furnished
with even those appliances which
constitute the mere machinery of art,
the room was not indebted to the
101 cold forms of sculpture alone for the
beauty that breathed through it.
Before a small table, on which burned a solitary
lamp, her pale but still beautiful face bent over her
work, sat the mother of Armer the sculptor. Low at
her feet, so placed as to make the matron's lap the
receiver of the winter flowers she was occupied in
weaving into a wreath for the New Year, knelt his

































































p. 81.


**










S
*





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


young sister Roschen. Half conscious of the loving
eyes that from time to time rested upon her bent-down
face, she continued to weave her garland of the flower-
ing laurel and winter rose, singing, as she wove, to no
music save that within her heart.
Armer stood before the statue on which he had
been labouring when the stroke of the New Year had
arrested his hand and drawn the little family group
into the narrow circle of one fond embrace. Now, the
year was fully ushered in and the three had resumed
their places. But, though the chisel was still in his
hand, Armer paused once more; and turning at the
sound of that voice, listened to the singer.




'TwAs a sculptor of olden days
Who pictured a being of air:
On the phantom, entranced, would he gaze-
The child of his thought was there.
He drank from the fount of delight,
But a poison lay hid in the bowl;
For there shone on this world of night
No form like the dream of his soul.


35





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


He pined, and his glory was fled;
He wept, but none wept for him;
He slept with the quiet dead-
What now was the world to him ?
He had sighed, but his sighs have fleeted;
He had mourned, but his tears are o'er;
He had hoped, but his hope was cheated;
He had dreamed, but he dreams no more.

Beside him a heathen boy
In an unblest grave was laid,
Who had sung sweet hymns of joy
To the god his hands had made.
But soon his awakened thought,
Bewildered, refused to rejoice;
For the clay he had piously wrought
Returned him no answering voice.

Lament not the sculptor, whose grave
Is hallowed, and calm, and deep;
O'er his grief shall the welcome wave
Of a soft oblivion sweep:
Nor fear for the heathen child,
His prayer was a prayer of love.
Their search had been long and wild;
They have found what they sought-above.


" Thanks, thanks, sweet Roschen, for my favourite


36





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


song," said her brother Armer, as the sounds fainted in
music on lips that rivalled the budding rose. Thanks;
the New Year opens, as the Old Year died, with the
sounds I love best to hear."
A kiss from the pale lips that bent over her inter-
rupted the reply of R6schen. So she stood up silently;
and girding the waist of her mother with both her
arms, gazed up into her face, and then nestled her head
in her bosom. Then, starting away with a fawn-like
step, she threw her arms round the neck of Armer, and
kissed him on the brow.
What is it ? speak, my R6schen," said her mo-
ther. Something more than usual flutters at thy
merry little heart. Speak to us; what is it, my sweet ?"
I cannot; I have no words, dear mother. I was
thinking, or feeling,-nay, you know it, both of you,
without my speech. I was thinking how-how-how
happy we all are this blessed New Year's Day!"
A sigh from her mother checked the light heart in
its spring.
Armer was silent. He was busied in chiselling the
final stroke that was to complete his greatest work, the


37





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Diana-a very masterpiece of art; so, at least, the fond
Roschen pronounced it.
The "little Rose" looked from one to the other, till
at last one soft solitary drop, like dew upon the petal,
stood upon her bloom-like cheek. And now, bending
over Armer, she suddenly became absorbed, or seemed
to be so, in the progress of his work.
There," said the young man, as he stepped back-
wards, at the same time casting the chisel from his
hand; there, my work is done! but I am not satisfied
with it. It does not please me, and it never will. But
I can add not another stroke; I am weary. Twenty
times have I remodelled that lip, twenty times have I
retouched that one curve,-and still, still I am not
satisfied. What think you of it, mother ?"
That it is peerless, my son. Before even you
had given to it this last day's labour, you know I pro-
nounced it perfection. What say you, my child ?" she
added, turning to Roschen.
It is Dian herself, sweet mother. See with what
a grace she bends, as over the Latmian hill. One is
fain to cry,' Where is Endymion?' "


38





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


But,--soft! Now another foot was on the floor,
entering like a fay; and another voice than Armer's
replied to the last words of Roschen. The door was
thrown wide, and Berthold stood before them.
Here, my Rose-bud," said he," if by Endymion you
mean one who sleeps, or rather walks, beneath the moon."
The first foot," said the mother thoughtfully, in
a voice none heard, as she glanced quickly from Ber-
thold to her daughter.
Berthold kissed the mother's pale cheek, and stooped
to the lips of Roschen; then he looked on Armer, and
took his hand.
The blessing of the kindly year be with you all,
sweet friends !-Armer, you have toiled late.--But
what is here ? the Dian finished ?"
Berthold, a judgment !" R6schen was the first
to cry.
Ay, cousin, your voice," exclaimed Armer.
That is scarcely fair," echoed the mother with a
smile. You know, Armer, that Berthold is your
pupil-almost your rival now, so closely does he ap-
proach you in the mysteries of your art."


39





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


No rival, dear aunt; a fellow-labourer in the
same vineyard.-But let me look at it. It is indeed
a masterpiece, dear Armer! But"-
Ah that but," cried Armer; that mars all."
Nay, I will shew you what it wants. You will
not be jealous ? May I touch it?"
Armer nodded assent. Roschen took up the dis-
carded chisel, and laid it in the hand of Berthold,
who took his stand before the statue. A few kindred
touches, and the form breathed!
Marvellous marvellous !" cried Armer, really
delighted, and without one taint of envy.
I confess it wanted that last touch," said his
mother.
Ah! cousin Berthold, now it lives indeed!"
chimed in Roschen.
The statue of Armer had been a Diana chaste,
but voluptuous. One touch from the more divine fin-
ger of the boy Berthold, and it became at once the
Dian of the Soul!
And now," said Berthold, for one moment's
serious talk. I must not stay: Grete, my foster-mo-


40





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


their, waits for me without.- Armer, when purpose
you to send this statue to my father ?"
With the first light of day," Armer answered.
" One word from you would prepare him"-
But Berthold, with a sad grave smile, laid his
hand on the arm of his cousin, and said, That is
over !"
A real, deep, and sympathetic sorrow was expressed
in the faces of the three, as they looked into the eyes
of their one friend. They had no words. That look
shewed that they understood him.
Of this no more," said Berthold. Had your
persuasions been listened to, this would not have been.
But it is done; words nor thoughts can alter it now.
So no more. And now, Armer, listen to me. My
plan is this: be you yourself the bearer of this statue.
Let but my father see you. He loves your art, and
will honour the artist."
Who but his son, who but Berthold, taught him
to love it? Ah, how much we already owe you!"
murmured Roschen.
Well, my life on it, good will come of this !-Be


41






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


not backward, Armer; lend yourself to my plot; there
is more in it-far more than any of you dream, more
than I can reveal. Under your assumed name, he will
scarcely discover your close relationship to himself.
When he permitted me to visit you here, Armer, in
the character of your pupil, he little thought that the
son of his only sister was my teacher. While his anger
against her still lives, that secret must be strictly kept;
but if once he learns to love you, as he must, all is
well. And then, farewell poverty and Armer !"
Why, what a phrase, Berthold!" cried the merry
Roschen. Do you mean, farewell to Armer too ?"
Berthold looked troubled-just a little startled.
It was a strange phrase, R6schen," said he; very
strange. I cannot think how my lips came to frame it.
You read my meaning? I would have said, Poverty
and Armer, take your farewell of each other.' In what
a strange blundering way I worded it! I wish I had
not said it,-least of all on New Year's Night!"
A shadow, as of some coming ill-a dim prophetic
sadness-seemed to settle upon their hearts. It was clear
that some such mystic fancy as that of which Ernst


42






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Engelhertz had spoken, was in all their minds. Ber-
thold, though still grave, was the first to break a silence
which was becoming oppressive.
You think he has no suspicion of your real name ?"
he asked, continuing the conversation which had been
so inauspiciously interrupted.
No," said Armer, none."
That is well."
But, Berthold," began the mother. She hesitated.
What would you say, dear aunt?" inquired the
youth.
I do not think we quite see our way here," re-
plied the conscientious matron. You have, I see
clearly, quarrelled finally with your father; and we
are, in some way or other, the cause. Armer must think
well of all the possible consequences to you as well as
to himself, in following out your design for him. If
your father takes a fancy to him and employs his time
fully, so far it is well. But let us look a little beyond.
You have quarrelled with him; you have left his roof.
Suppose, in such a case, as many a man has done be-
fore him, he should take up with a stranger, as Armer


43






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


is to him. Nay, more; should he, when once attached
to him, discover the secret of his relationship to him-
self,-what if he should finally adopt him, discarding
you from all but the inheritance he cannot take from
you?"
The brightest beam of the sun that ever burst
through the storm-cloud might have found a rival in the
sudden radiance that overspread the face of Berthold.
You think it likely,-you conceive it possible,
then?" he cried aloud, as his heart silently whispered
within him,-' Then this is no wild dream! Heaven,
I thank Thee !'
Veiling his gladness with as much seriousness as he
could assume, he added, Be at rest. No wrong can
visit me through Armer: it is not possible. Of that
be assured. And now farewell all!"
The youth was gone. And once more the little
enthusiast Roschen turned to take, before she slept,
a parting look at the Dian.
At the foot of the pedestal lay three small packets,
on which were inscribed the names of Johanna,"
" Armer," and R6schen."


44





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


45


As the mother inspected their contents, Bless him!"
she cried, our best preserver! To-morrow, then, ye
shall fare better, my children; for this day ye have not
tasted bread."











CHAPTER IV.


cf, bmpi (f fafgr. lf 3 going Ingdl.

"About his window, at the dawn,
From the vine's crooked boughs
Birds chirrupped an arouse:
Flies, buzzing, strengthened with the morn ;
He'll not hear them again
At random strike the pane !"


E ELL did Grete foreshadow the
dismay which was to visit the lord
of the revel, when the morning's sun
should shine on the wild bird's for-
saken cage-the sleeping-chamber of
his departed heir.
On that night when the Old Year
sighed its last; when the audible
sob-the death-throe of that portion
of time which had been permitted to
slip by without one better resolution





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


or lawful act of restoration sounded upon the startled
ear of the wrongdoer;-on that night was Wilhelm von
Fern forsaken by his better angel.
A comfortless morning succeeded to a night with-
out sleep; and with a mysterious perception of the
quarter from whence that blow would fall, which his
conscience and the night alike indicated as about to
visit him, his first inquiry was for Berthold.
They sought him first in the upper chambers,-in
the room where he slept. The door stood open, and
the bed was unpressed. The idle lute hung tuneless,
and music-pages lay strewn about in unwonted disorder.
But the Druid misletoe and the prickly holly were
ranged about the precincts of the young recluse at
once with grace and care, and rather as if to deck the
lordly Speisesaal than the solitary Schlafkammer of a
dreaming boy. They searched around and about it; and
to the wondering voices of the seekers echo replied-
"Not there !"

They sought him east, they sought him west,"-

Down among the fountains--low at the Berg's foot,


47






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


where the green sward so often tempted that light
foot to stray ere the birds rose to matins,-
Not there !

They sought the forest thorough,"-

Among the shrub-grown vineyards-past the old
monastery-tower of the Graubriider-along the weed-
crowned walls through the ivied arch the damp
crumbling cloisters-
Not there !

The sweetest flower that ever bloomed,"-

In the gardens of his pleasaunce," where the
thick-grown boughs, unleafed and bare, stood crowned
and fringed with early snow,-where vistas stretched
away, and arbours of the climber-rose shewed here and
there a stunted, scentless, solitary flower; -by the
orchard and the Kiichengarten the broad trellised
walk-and the alley, bough-overarched,-
Not there !-not there!
Then came a time when the search was foregone;
and Wilhelm von Fern sat alone with his anger.
Send for Ernst Engelhertz!" cried he, in the


48






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


first, fierce, sudden storm of his intemperate rage. And
before a second thought could stay the messenger, he
was gone.
In the unreason of passion, beset with suspicions
of he knew not what, the firstlings of his wrath lighted
upon the head of the unconscious Ernst.
He recalled every word of the young man's recent
confession of faith in the mysteries of the unseen world
of spirits. This faith, at the time of its admission his
jest and scorn, he now grew to regard in the light of
a hoax-a simulated and crafty assumption of an out-
world belief,-a trick- a juggle ;-a plot in collusion
with Berthold, to frighten him into submission to an
act of desertion, which was thus made to appear under
the aspect of a divine dispensation.
Man of the calmer soul, startle not at the incon-
ceivable injustice and folly! Such madness is a world-
wide truth.
Ere half an hour had elapsed, wrapped in the cloud-
less ether of a true soul, the young Ernst stood before
him.
Before that face a lie could not live. And now, in


49





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


his inmost heart, Wilhelm von Fern cursed himself for
his folly.
A hurried and stammering recital of the past night's
mystery told to Engelhertz the tale of seeming wrong.
As soon as a pause in the passionate relation of his
late host allowed him an opening, then spoke Ernst.
In the silence that succeeded to the clamour of the
other, his voice sounded like a soft deep wind among
the linden-boughs, when the thunder has rolled by.
I have long watched the boy," said the ernst"
and upright spirit; I have looked into the youth's
soul as, it may be, no other has ever looked."
Here he gazed long and fixedly at the father.
Wilhelm started-looked uneasy-bit his lip.
And this I will say now, and will repeat when-
ever and wherever called upon to do so, answering
with my life for him, as for one without stain, without
tarnish, without touch or blight of evil from this world's
smirching breath; to whomsoever it may concern-to
you, his father, most of all-here, in your presence, in
the light of God's great day, under the blessing of His
new glad year,-this will I say and uphold, that never


50





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


in his young life, either under provocation or temper,
light word or kindless tone, has that child, in thought,
word, or deed, rebelled against his sire, or against his
God !"
To-to-to me, it is true,"-faltered Wilhelm.
To you and to all has he alike been spotless, or
there is no truth in nature. And he is gone--gone
in sorrow and bitterness of heart; and you, his father,
upbraid him. Is this well, Wilhelm von Fern ?-Nay,
you have called me hither, and you must hear me
now," he pursued, as the father strode the room with
a chafed spirit. "Heaven pardon me for judging, if I
judge amiss! Your pardon, too, if unwittingly I do
so; but I must speak. A wrong there is somewhere-
a bitter, a cruel, and a blighting wrong: where or of
what nature I know nothing; but at your door it lies,
not at the boy's."
Again the eyes of Wilhelm sank beneath the youth's
glance.
Recall him!" he continued, with still greater
warmth; a word of yours-some word for which his


51





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


soul thirsts-would bring him to your arms. Speak it,
Wilhelm von Fern !"
By the living Host, I will not hear this !"
Then, farewell! Never at your board do I sit
more; never call you friend, or in fair fellowship wear
out life's hours beneath your roof. Over that flower
-that- that tender plant your foot unrighteously has
spurned, from this hour I keep my watch!"
He has turned, and is gone.
Once more the father sits alone.
The bird in his bower that sang to him so sweetly
-is its voice silent now? Silent? No; it rings to
his spirit through the freshness of the early dawn and
the glow of the noon's mid-hour. The fair phantom-
hand of the child presses sweet music from a shadowy
lute, as twilight, deepening, shuts out the day. And
through all the long night-watches one cry alone is in
his ear, upon his heart-" Father father !"


52










CHAPTER V.


(T)' 4 t ^intMA. lT lnotl's lurnt.

"Why shouldst thou hold thy tenderness aside
From all thy lavishment of other gifts,
As if thou wouldst resort to means and shifts
Thy dearest, noblest attribute to hide ?"


Iy HEN, beneath the light of a
N new day, Berthold came
to consider of what he had
'% done, his heart misgave
i C ( him. One thought, which
in his first impulse in what
She believed to be the cause of
Right, had escaped him, now
struck at the boy's heart with a pang of dis-
may.
S What if his visions, what if the faith he
felt in the resources of his art,-its power to support
both himself and his friends, if the worst were to
come,-should fail to be realized?





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


It was true that he felt within him that divine af-
flatus" which was its own best warrant of success. Yet
what if that should prove, instead of a real inspiration,
the mere colouring of imagination, the result of youth-
ful vanity!
Were it so, not only had he cast away his all--of
that he thought little, -but worse, far worse, the bread
of Armer!
How the boy's fancy twined about that name!
Never, since the days of Pythias, surely was there a
friendship like to this!
The bread of Armer !
He thought how he had laid, with a sweet stealth,
those fairy-gifts at the foot of the Dian. And to this,
his last gift, his power was restricted. It was his
all; his sole help to those who had no other hu-
man aid.
It was a suggestion of pain.
Full of such thoughts, a craving desire possessed
the youth to quit the roof of Grete, and, skirting
the pine-wood, to take one more look at the home he
had abandoned, and around which his fancy clung with


54





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


twofold fondness since that decisive step was taken which
made him an exile for ever from its walls.
Heedless or forgetful that his form was a mark for
every eye, relieved against the now cloudless horizon,
the boy Berthold stood once more upon the little beaten
track worn by the fawn's footsteps in the turf.
Here again he wept a woman's tears: pure as the
drops that flowed from the meek eyes of the half-mortal,
half-spirit Undine, when she breathed the fatal death-
kiss upon the lips of her beloved, did the tender spirit
of the boy pour tears like rain over the inevitable pang
he dealt.
As he continued to gaze, half blinded by his tears,
he thought he described, ascending the steep that led
upwards towards the spot where he stood, a form he
knew well. Yes, he could not be mistaken; it was
Engelhertz.
A crowd of grateful emotions thronged through his
heart as he recognized the one true and tried friend of
his young life. His first impulse was to rush down the
steep to meet him, to tell him all. Nay, all, alas he
could not tell,--his vow forbade that,-but at least his


55






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


act of sudden desertion, and so draw present help and
comfort from his friend's unerring counsel.
But before he could put his design into execution,
a new and painful suggestion deterred him. Something
in the manner, the tender reverential manner, of the
young Ernst had more than once led him to conjecture
that the secret of his life--a secret known only to him-
self, his father, and his old nurse and foster-mother
Grete, and which he had bound himself by a solemn
vow to that father never to reveal-had been divined
by the clear sight of Engelhertz.
As this thought struck him, by a second impulse
more potent than the first the boy strove to avoid him,
and quickly turning from the spot, dived into the re-
cesses of the wood.
Through the clasping boughs Berthold looked down
the steep. He saw the upturned face of Engelhertz
with steady gaze fixed on the exact spot where he
stood, as his earnest defender pursued his upward path
in the direction of the Hunter's Ridge.
As he continued to watch the approach of his
friend, the resolution of the boy was changed. That


56





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


was not a face to flee from; so he made no further
effort to escape, but stood his ground.
Soon the crackling boughs, sapless and crisp with
winter's frost, told that another step had passed the
embowered threshold of the pine-wood; and in another
moment the hand of Berthold was clasped in that of his
friend.
A few brief words served to convey to Ernst the
tale of Berthold's flight, his present sanctuary in the
home of Grete,-from whose cottage there was a secret
opening into the wood,-and the life of future toil he
had marked out for himself.
Ernst also had his tale to tell; softening to the
child's ear all that would grate most harshly on it in
the account he had to give of the father, and conclud-
ing with a hope that reconciliation was not far distant.
"Alas! dear friend, you do not know all," said
Berthold, or you would scarcely venture to breathe
that hope, so little does a reconciliation seem possible."
All things are possible to a pure will; such, at
least, is my creed. And now," added Ernst, "let us
take counsel together, in as far as we may. You say


57





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


you are about to devote yourself to a life of toil. Alas!
dear child, is this a hand," and he lifted the frail fingers
that lay pale within his clasp, "is this a hand for labour
to visit with rough touch? The southern suns, my
boy, beneath which your childhood passed, have left
you too tender and too fragile for rude toil to be your
portion."
Armer, my teacher, has so toiled from his very
earliest youth; why should not I ? We shall work
together; together make real the bright creations of our
dreams; together watch the kindling spirit of true Art
revisit the embodied glories which the earlier sculptors
left half wrought."
"Is it so ?" in his internal spirit sighed the watch-
ful Ernst, as he gazed long and wistfully on the tender
cheek that glowed with some new impulse of delight.
And who is this Armer?" he asked, after a pause
of unquiet consciousness on the part of each.
His true name none may know," was the answer,
until he shall have wrought for himself a glory where-
with to surround it as a halo. His mother calls him
Armer, her poor one.'"


58





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


He should be rich in soul whose tasks are mated
unto thine !"
At those words the hearer looked round;-and the
eyes of the twain were upon each other.
There was no mistaking that look. Either in the
all but divine nature of Engelhertz, or in some pure
instinct felt but unknown, there existed a power which
at one and the same time read the companion-soul and
its secret.
Did a setting sun pierce the dim pine-boughs with
a kindling glow, that the changing cheek of Berthold
should redden thus with a bloom like the new-blown
rose ?
In silence did Ernst take the withdrawn hand once
more within his own; -in silence lead the way to the
cottage of Grete.
Your safest rest is here," he cried. "Be it my
care that none shall molest you; that no eye, without
your will, shall look upon your face as I have looked
this day! As a bond between us that no offence has
come to you through me; that you will give yourself
to my guidance, my protection, at all hours and at all


59





60 THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


seasons, should peril beset you,-let this be the token:
let me speak to you again here, near the Pathway of the
Roe, whence, a startled Fawn, but now you fled before
my step;-at some passing times-when you will. Do
you promise this?"
With downcast eyes, and a heart that melted like
a very woman's, the youth faltered, "I do need pro-
tection, and of thee will I seek it, for thy soul is as my
soul."
And the two parted.








CHAPTER VI.


3nrit adh Ansttu. Anst's Anliis.

"Of gentle blood, upon her birth
Consenting planets smiled;
And she had seen those days of mirth
That frolic round the child.
With her, methinks, life's little hour
Pass'd like the fragrance of a flower,
That leaves upon the vernal wind
Sweetness we ne'er again may find."
J. MONTGOMERY.



HY, thy step grows more
S womanly and stately every
day, little Roschen," cried Mo-
ritz von der Brunn, as he helped
her to fill her pitcher at the
-a fountain that played just without
his father's Schlosshof.
2) Time it should, Herr Moritz;
Sfor do you not know that to-morrow I am
to be a statue ?"
"Thou a statue --That round cheek,
without line or dint, save where the






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


merry dimples run,--marry, 'twill puzzle the sculp-
tor."
Oh, but I am to be a Hebe-cup-bearer to the
gods, you know; a little Hebe, with full round
face"-
A feast for the gods, indeed, where thou pourest
out the nectar! Why, thou art fresher than the new-
sprung hyacinth, best flower of the spring. Take care
that, like the flower's namesake, thou fallest not in love
with thine own beauty when thou art a statue."
"Take care you don't, laughter-loving Herr Mo-
ritz."
"Dost thou think there is danger, pretty one?"
"Ay, indeed I do. Why, are you not ever on
the watch for my coming? and do you not teaze me
with merry sayings and light jests, saucy words and
more saucy looks ?- and do not lovers do so? So Lene,
the herdsman's daughter, says. I should so like to
have a lover: will you be mine ?"
"That will I, right honestly," said the laughing
Moritz, half bewitched with the Hebe glance of the
child; and to begin, you must give me a kiss."


62






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


To begin? No, no; ask Lene."
"I prithee get thee gone, child; I waste my time
talking folly to thee. I fear thou wilt learn little from
my teaching, thou seemest so grave a lecturer thyself.-
Away!" And he raised the filled water-jar on to the
head of the girl, and turned to go.
Stay, stay, Herr Moritz," said Roschen, calling
after him.
What wouldst thou, child?"
"See, you have left your ring, a goodly golden
hoop, on the fountain's brim."
A ring?" looking at his bare finger. "In good
sooth, so I have; my grandam's ancient wedding-ring.
Thanks, my pretty maid; but for thee it surely had
been lost. See, I have two, one on the other hand
finger; my grandam's both. Methinks I well can spare
you one. Wilt keep it for my sake, thou budding
rose?-A little too big for thy finger, eh? Let me
try. Why, so it is. But, see here; thou hast a ribbon
round thy neck-there let it hang: 'twill some day fit
thee better."
The sly Roschen, when night drew down, put the


65







66


THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


golden bauble underneath her pillow ; and dreamed
she was Moritz's little wife.
Moritz thought, I was a fool to give my grandam's
wedding-ring to any but my wife :-I must marry little
Roschen to get back my hoop."












c^ ><^>^91P^ KC^^ c>









CHAPTER VII.


t Sn trruptth um. (limmringp nf tlO p st.

To be forsworn,
Better that thou hadst ne'er been born:
Thou'rt outcast by thine own consent.
An oath when broken is not sprent,
But with a curse of heaven reknit;
For angels have attested it."
WHITEHEAD.




N a lonely close beside the old
S Cathedral towers-the most
I / silent and unfrequented spot
Sof the entire city-an hour
before midnight, a solitary male
figure was seen slowly pacing to and
W fro. A foil was held lightly in his
grasp; and from the presence of the
Rappierknopf, or button, at the point--
S the usual accompaniment of the mere
fencing weapon, and which, when the
foil was used for more deadly pur-





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


poses, was struck off,--it was evident, although the
place and time might have augured otherwise, that he
was a lounger there with no very hostile intent.
He had not long paced thus the sacred precincts of
the Domkirche, waking the echoes of its grass-grown
courts, before he was joined by a second, and soon after
by a third, haunter of the night-each weaponed like
himself.
The greeting passed in silence on the part of each,
except that as they met, the foil of the one would strike
against that of the other, clashing for a moment, and
breaking with its sharp clang the silence that prevailed.
When the last comer had thus crossed steel with his
confreres in token of peaceful fellowship, he who had
been first at the place of meeting was also the first to
speak.
Say," said Ruprecht von Lorn-for it was he,-
" are ye both prepared? Shall we here, after the cus-
tom of our land, enter into a defensive league together,
pledging ourselves by a solemn vow to all the relations
which belong to the bond of Briiderschaft ?- help, aid,
and succour in peril; defence of each other in absence;


68






































































- c ~~':ZICT


-T~nP"-
r:.


J~ .~

II-i~ 77~~~






A Y~








liAl








'hin






I q
L4' C~5~~~


"hough the

that he









. : ;r il..'.
C'!;


* i'~ -


--I'-


i* -


- .-t


I',









































































p. 70.


i,
-- LZ~ITi~
--s




" I





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


present counsel in all need; unity of hand in life, law,
and freedom,-the heart, the purse, the sword?"
We are prepared," answered with one voice both
Ernst Engelhertz and Moritz von der Brunn.
"Touch steel once again, then, in sign of commu-
nion."
As the clang of their foils once more broke upon
the silence of the night,-suddenly the weapons were
pushed aside, and a woman's form stood before them.
It was the mother of Armer.
Hold!" she cried, as, half fainting, she leant
against the cloister-wall. "Never on a spot where I
draw breath shall that vow be passed again! Put down
your harmless weapons, oh, heedless youths! while yet
they are bloodless. A bond like this once broken
brings with it perdition, alike here and hereafter !"
The suffering visible in her face as she spoke was
sufficient to impose for the moment a barrier to their
project; and with one consent the three lowered the
points of their foils, and turned respectfully towards
her.
"Nay, good mother, be it as you will for this night;


71





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


we may not promise more," said Ruprecht, who, though
wanting in some of the finer qualities of his companions,
was, in all, a passing good youth.
By the grief and agony of a long life," pursued
the excited Johanna, I do enjoin ye all to forbear this
deed. No blessing rests upon it. It is a thing to be
forsworn of all good men, so fatal is the breaking of the
bond. Hear me!" she cried still more vehemently. I
was a wife, and am a mother. This bond,- its broken
faith, made me widowed and forlorn; my boy a wan-
derer, his young sister dowerless-beggared!
They were three--those friends of my youth,-
even as ye are three, when one of their number first
sought my love; my own brother-the child of the
same mother-was the second; the third was thyfa-
ther," pointing to Engelhertz, forgetful at the moment
how far the secret of her own history might be im-
periled. He alone was faultless and faithful to his
vow. By the other two, my brother and my lover, it
was broken; and from the hour it was outraged, and
the weapons once crossed in peace were raised in strife
against each other, from that hour, downwards, all good


72





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


fortune forsook the one to his slow-withering, dying
day, as all good men should forsake the other !"
Engelhertz who had, during this earnest appeal of
the widowed mother, continued to regard her atten-
tively, was here on the point of speaking:-but she
arrested his voice.
Not now," she cried;- not here: I have said too
much. If you recognize me, breathe not my name to-
night, nor ever. And for you," she continued, turning
to the other two, oh, think well what ye do! Pre-
serve to each other the bond of unity in faithful Briider-
schaft unbroken; but make no vow. The noble heart
needs none to bind its truth! Let your boast be rather
that, without help or aid from any idle vow either to
each other or to heaven, ye can preserve a knightly
faith unblemished by the blood upon the steel!"
As she turned to go, Ernst, with a parting wave of
the hand to his friends, sprung to her side and lent his
arm for her support.
As they passed together on their way, the quiet ear
of night alone heard the whispered exclamation of En-
gelhertz: Johanna von Fern-von Alpen !"


73










CHAPTER VIII.


Ct failing rumins. teragnitinns.

"A youth through the dim twilight I behold,
As mute and motionless and pale as stone.
Hands clenched, eyes closed, he sits-but not in slee ."
WHITEHEAD.








ETURN we to the Sculptor's home.
f Robed in garments light, loose, and flowing;
in her hand a small antique pitcher, such as
Might well have been exhumed from the reek-
ing ashes of Pompeii; an arch smile glancing
like the morn from eye, cheek, and lip,-stood Roschen.
Before the plastic clay, yet formless from the lap of
earth, sat, or rather reclined, the figure of the boy Ber-
thold. His hand had not yet sought to touch the form-
less mass of mould into which the breathing beauty was

































































p. 75.








THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


to pass. His eye, it is true, was fixed upon the young
shape into whose semblance he was about to breathe a
spirit akin to the model herself. Yet it seemed as if his
mind, scarcely yet attuned to the work, was striving-
though evidently with a painful effort-to grasp that
great Ideal without which, so Berthold deemed, no work
of the master's hand is worth the clay that fixes first the
primal thought, giving to it its earliest shape and sub-
stance.
A light, almost childish laugh from Roschen sud-
denly recalled him to a bitter sense of the truth :-
the spirit of his art was for the hour, perhaps for ever,
asleep within him!
Set down your pitcher, Roschen," said he; it
may not be to-day. My eyes are filled with shadows,
that will not let me see you as you are. Weary your-
self no further. Your merry voice is deepest wisdom
here, where silence weighs like lead upon the heart.
Oh, for your cheerful upspring of young life I could
almost envy you, my Roschen."
You are sad to-day; shall I sing to you ?" was her
answer.


77





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


"Any thing but silence and self-thought."
Listen, then, instead of thinking."


Snng.
Mid the Lindenthal springing,
A rose drank the dew,
Where, in melody singing,
A wood-linnet flew;
She flew to the wild-rose,
Inhaling its breath;
But her torn wings reclose
Round the weapon of death.

A thorn neath the false flower
Lay treacherously green,
And the simple one's dower
Proved a dagger unseen.
And still at life's close
Thus her voice sang forlorn,
'I saw only the rose,
Yet I feel but the thorn !'"

May you never press upon the thorns that lie
thick-grown upon the pathways of sweet earth!" cried
Berthold. "Oh! Roschcn," he continued, where
stays Armer? I cannot work alone; my hand is


78





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


powerless. I need your brother's help, dear girl. The
spirit in which I gloried has grown dim."
And in his outspread hands the boy's buried face
was hidden.
It is indeed strange that he does not return," re-
plied Roschen. My mother has gone out to make
inquiry after him; she, too, stays. What can have
become of him ?"
Two whole days, and not a word. How sick the
heart grows that waits and hopes! If we could but
hear his step !"
Hush! listen!" cried Roschen.
Nay, it was but the wind."
And Berthold was right; for though the Old Year
had died so still, but for one gusty breeze of parting
breath, its successor did indeed respire with such full
lungs as set the crazy cottage-walls creaking beneath
their blast.
The wind too, ever a lover of the night, grew
louder and more shrill as the twilight of the short-lived
winter's day deepened and set. And it soon became an
.unprofitable task to strain the ear for sounds that would


79





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


come and go, rise and fall, faint and swell, with every
imaginable freak. Each step that approached seemed
to be suddenly-just when the expectant hearers felt
most sure of its coming-caught up and whirled away,
as if by some phantom wing that hovered directly over
that particular door-sill. And no step came.
Then the night drew down; and the two grew
fearful as two fawns that have missed the doe's track-
way in the waste.
But presently-when, as it ever happens, despair
had seized upon the heart, and it had given up, or
thought it had given up, its long weary watch, then,-
all at once, the latch was lifted, and Armer stood before
them.
There was in the manner of his entry,-in the entire
heedlessness or unconsciousness of all that gnawing
uncertainty, doubt, and dread which had been the
portion of the watchers,--something painfully start-
ling to those on whom the shadow of that roof-tree
had pressed with so dire a weight.
It was felt, but not spoken; not even moulded
into a thought.


80





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Indeed, it was no time for thinking; there was so
much to tell and to hear. Armer had to recount with
vivid delight how well his statue had been received;
how he had himself been treated as though he were
the first of sculptors; how he had been detained hour
after hour, and had been finally prevailed upon to sleep
under a roof whose gorgeousness made it, to the fancy
of one who had been from his birth a wanderer like
Armer, a very fairy palace of enchantment.
This was an explanation sufficient-sufficient at
least for the reason of those who received it; and if
any lingering feeling of disappointment remained, it
was but as a feeling, attributable more to the manner
of Armer than to any thing more real and tangible;
and it was at once smothered as unworthy of being
entertained.
But there was still a something undefined, a chill,
an aching, upon the hearts of both Berthold and
R6schen,-though least so with the younger, lighter
heart,-which would not be lifted off.
As the three were still conversing late into the
night, and wondering to each other what could have


81






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


become of Johanna, the door again opened, and she
entered, accompanied by Engelhertz.
The surprise of the two-Ernst and Berthold-was
great; for, in their brief interview, Berthold had not
told, and Ernst had forborne to ask, the particulars of
all that related to his art, and the friends with whom
it was associated.
Armer, too, had his recognition.
Ah!" he cried, the moment Engelhertz crossed
the threshold, my fellow-student by the Zuricher-
See!"
The exclamation of Ernst was one of no less as-
tonishment:
Welcome, Heinrich von Alpen, to the Miitter-
land!"


82








CHAPTER IX.


ARntlating. (O %U Trrtfnlk.

Oh colder than the wind that freezes
Founts that but now in sunshine played,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom when betrayed."
MOORE.

E pass over the greeting between
SJohanna and her son. All her an-
Si xiety at once relieved by his pre-
sence, the mother's heart was at rest.
iForbearing all questions as to his pro-
'tracted absence in the hearing of Ernst,
Sshe turned to the latter. Alluding to the excla-
Smation he had uttered on entering-
Yours is the first voice," said Johanna, "that
has welcomed us back to the land of our birth.
You spoke of the Miitterland. Alas! she has proved
but a kindless mother. When last we met you, the
blow had not yet fallen which sent us beggared to
her bosom.-You remember Matthiius ?"





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Well-oh, well!"
You witnessed his sufferings-his blighted, crip-
pled life! The mind fell victim first; the body lin-
gered long. That wound inflicted by my brother's
hand, though healed to outward sight, slowly sapped
the powers of life and reason, and he became-what
you saw not.-Oh, what a wreck he was!"
Heaven preserved the orphans ?"
Ay, I hold them! They are my all; sweet
bonds, yet ministers to pain! Pardon, dear Ber-
thold," she pursued, turning to where the boy sat
apart, wrapt in some waking dream,-" friend where
no other friends were found! Pardon if I seem to
grudge my boy's inheritance to you. It is not that.
But to see him so utterly forsaken, when ye should at
least have been sharers in my brother's squandered
wealth,-it does seem hard."
May I hear that tale ?" asked Engelhertz, with
a now deepening interest, his eye wandering to the
face of Berthold.
You shall.-These lands of Graubriider, which
stretch so wide and rule it so lordly, were once par-


84





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


titioned between a brother and a sister-Wilhelm and
Johanna. By my father's will,-for it is of myself
and my brother that I speak,-the lands were to de-
volve upon the male heirs of my co-heir Wilhelm;
or, failing his issue male, to be divided equally be-
tween his children and mine.
"' Taking advantage of another clause in the will,
-in which it was well known there was a flaw,-my
brother assumed the right to exclude me altogether
from my joint life-heirship with himself, in the event
of my marrying without his consent.
That I did so,-little dreaming that the errors
of my poor father's will would thus be used against
me, to the utter beggaring of my orphan children,-
you already know. On that night, when they who
had been such fast friends (united in the triple bond
of Briiderschaft with your father, Ernst,) quarrelled,
became bitter enemies, and sought each other's life;
-on that very night, when my Matthaius fell wounded
beneath the sword of my brother, I fled to him.
I supported, nursed, and finally,-married him.
Soon afterwards my brother went into Italy, where


85






86 THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


he resided many years. He there married, vowing that
no child of mine should ever succeed to his lands.
Fortune favoured his designs. The male heir,
which was to exclude my children from all participa-
tion in the wealth, my portion of which he had already
wrung from me, was granted to his prayer. His wife,
who died at Florence in the second year of her mar-
riage, left him one child-a boy.
Here is the result," she added, looking round at
her poor dwelling, and at her two children, Heinrich
and Roschen.
But the eye of Ernst was turned alone on Berthold.
The boy had fainted!








CHAPTER X.


4 V> 1nohtEn r. 9)!trCut trfnh.
Long time he sighed .....
Now, hark! his anxious heart beats high."
WIMOrTT.



T will have been
surmised that, while
Johanna was recit-
ing the history of
her past sorroyv and
wrong, the boy
Berthold-who had
I been sitting apart,
apparently occupied
? by visions unconnected
with the tale was in
truth a silent listener,
eagerly drinking in
every word that passed.
Thus, at the moment
when Johanna's voice





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


ceased, the boy's sick heart,-overtasked and crowded
with more intense, because hidden, anguish,-yielded at
once, beat with feeble pulse, and sense and conscious-
ness deserted him.
The first impulse of Johanna was to loosen the
boy's vest, in order that he might breathe more freely.
But before she could do so, Engelhertz, quickly putting
her aside, called for water, and having bathed the boy's
temples, himself bore him into the open air.
This at once revived him; for, in spite of those
southern suns to which Ernst had chosen to attribute
his almost feminine delicacy of frame, Berthold was
not ordinarily so fragile.
The boy's first look on awaking to a consciousness
of the scene around him, was one of startled uneasiness.
Something, however, in the calm aspect of Ernst re-
assured him, and he soon returned to those who so
anxiously awaited him, smiling at his own weakness.
The circumstance was soon forgotten,-forgotten
by all but Ernst. To him it conveyed a revelation not
to be questioned. Whatever were his suspicions be-
fore, that sudden swoon, at the very close of Johanna's


88





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


relation, in a moment brought conviction to his mind.
Had confirmation been wanting, what followed would
have supplied it.
Berthold sought the city no more. Shut from every
eye but that of Grete, the cottage of his old nurse
became now the boy's only resort. Johanna wondered,
and poor Roschen's tears fell fast; for though both
frequently ascended the path towards the cottage of
Grete, neither was ever admitted. Ernst alone made
no attempt to gain admission. None knew, though
Engelhertz too well divined, the mental struggle that
was going forward within the closed doors of that
humble dwelling.
At last, one morning Grete presented herself at his
door, the bearer of a letter from Berthold.
Here, for the first time, the calmness of Ernst de-
serted him. The trust, then, which he had so fondly
hoped would be reposed in him, if in none else, was
about to be accorded. The promise given on that
never-to-be-forgotten day, beside the Pathway of the
Fawn, was now to be kept in its own pure spirit of
truth. The anticipation was ecstacy.


89





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


In his anxious haste to arrive at its contents, the
letter became torn in his hands, but enough was left
clear for the heart to decipher; and though clothed in
broken words, it conveyed a speaking meaning.

To Ernst Engelhertz.
"Keeping the promise I made to one who would
never have extorted it but for the noblest purpose,
I place in you this trust. The secret of a deadly
wrong has, I am led to think-partly from your own
observation, and partly through my untimely failure
of strength during Johanna's recital-become known
to you. If this be so, towards you at least my vow
is no longer binding. But, before I commit myself
further--since this surmise may prove unfounded-
tell me truly if I am right. If it is as I believe, you
will read my meaning without more words; if not, let
this letter remain the enigma it must be to you. I
cannot tell if I should be glad or sorry that you should
know all. To me it would prove a sumless blessing
to be enabled to open all my heart to one whose watch-
ful guardianship has sweetened the dull life of many


90






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


a year; yet, for the sake of a father's fame, I would
it were not so. Speak to me truly in this hour, for
uncertainty weighs upon my spirit.-Yours,
"c BERTHOLD VON FERN."

Beneath the keen eyes of Grete the trembling hand
of Ernst scrawled a brief reply :-


To the Child of Von Fern.
Your secret is mine! For years have I guarded
it as my life, knowing not its meaning, but trustful in
you. Johanna's relation confirmed what my soul had
never questioned. For your father, fear nothing; his
secret is safe, as yours is, in the true breast of your
Ernst. Let not your trust end here; let me be near
you for your counsel, as of old. Give me permission to
meet you once more, as I prayed, near the Pathway of
the Fawn. And be this the token that I speak truly-
I call you Bertha von Fern.-Yours unto death,
ERNST ENGELHERTZ.
I will pass along the deer's track at the coming
of the sunset."


91






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


Ernst himself, whose heart beat fast with a thou-
sand crowding emotions, could scarcely have desired a
swifter or more earnest messenger than Grete. Accus-
tomed to the mountain-path from her girlhood, she
climbed its steep ascent with a step which youth could
scarce have rivalled, and was soon lost to sight.
As she reached her own door, the latch was cau-
tiously lifted from within, and Grete's entrance was
welcomed by her whom we have hitherto known under
the name of the boy Berthold. Another moment, and
the letter was opened and read with moist eyes and
cold, pale, trembling lips, to which the sweet sounds
came slowly.
It is so, Grete !" exclaimed Bertha, at last; it
is as I have told you: the secret is no longer ours."
"Love has a keen eye, my bird," answered the
wary nurse, glancing at her young charge.
"' Say rather the angel-heart' divines truly, good
Grete," said her foster-child, as, with an uneasy con-
sciousness that the old woman touched closely upon the
truth, she turned away from eyes that searched her
hidden heart.


92






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


After a few moments given to thought, casting her
arms about Grete's neck, she added-
And now, dear nurse, whatever comes, this shame-
ful garb must be laid aside. Never since that night
when I felt that our secret was too surely betrayed-
to one at least, to the noble, earnest heart!-have I
borne to shew myself in such a guise. As you love
me, fetch hither with all speed such garments as maiden
youth may wear without a blush; but let their hue be
sombre, as befits one who mourns. Alas! I have cause
to mourn."
Grete hesitated, doubtfully.
I know what you would say," Bertha responded
to her looks : this is betrayal at once. But not so.
Until I may do so with safety to my vow -broken yet
to none-I leave the refuge of these walls and yonder
wood no more. If ever I am to resume this hateful
disguise, I know not; but this only I feel, I must and
will resign it here-now, at once. A few hours hence
-see, the sun is low already. Oh, haste, dear Grete !
haste Do my bidding but this once, and I will love
thee ever."


93






THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


I read your meaning, child," said the old woman,
still shaking her head doubtfully; "you go to meet
him, then,-this stranger ?"
Stranger!" cried Bertha. Is he a stranger
whose eye alone has watched my steps, whose foot has
hovered round my solitude, for years? A stranger !-
he who, resigning all youth's joyous sports and healthful
pastimes, hour by hour, and year by year, wore his
young days away in silent musings by the side of his
boy-friend? who, in the thrice-blessed confidence of
youth, gave all his glorious aspirations to my keeping,
calling me sweet friend-dear brother?' O Grete,
is he a stranger ?"
Ay, ay, that was all very well then," answered
Grete; but now "--
What now ?-Good nurse, no more. I pray you,
haste !"
Well, well, I am gone.--Ah, it is ever so I Old
steps may lag, but young wishes will speed. Ay,
ay, I was young too once." And half doubting, half
pleased, the good nurse went muttering on her way.


,94








CHAPTER XI.


4| fnrtst 10kat. it (ie te in thir runt.
"Loving the Beautiful, thou lovest all:
Goodness is Beauty in a lovelier guise."



RUE to the hour, the sun no
S sooner slanted, raying down
Behind the crests of the pyramidal
pines, than Ernst was seen slowly
pacing the Pathway of the Fawn.
Dejected, with eyes downcast,
and drooping limbs shrouded in a
woman's garb of mourning, Bertha
stood within the shadow of the pines.
She could not approach him, true,
dear friend though he was. She could
only think, only feel, how often ere now
she had presented herself before him in
the guise of the boy Berthold. Now, a
shrinking woman, she stood in his path
trembling and abashed.





THE PATHWAY OF THE FAWN.


A slanting beam from the setting sun falling on the
spot, betrayed where she stood. In a moment Ernst
was at her side.
How he pined to fold her in one long embrace, as
he gazed upon her strange new beauty, obscured no
more! Not daring to trust his voice, he took her
hand in silence, and -led her farther into the wood-
side shade.
Bertha, drawing comfort from his looks, was the
first to speak.
Can just men pardon me," she cried, the wrong
I do?"
To the just are vows most binding; and you have
vowed," was all his answer. And again there was
silence between the two. Not for worlds would he
have broken the pure dream of her trust in him by
giving breath to the words that trembled on his lips.
But by degrees the new restraint which had sprung
up between those who had been such true and fast
friends, wore insensibly away.
And now," cried Ernst, as the twilight deepening
found them still occupied in sweet but aimless converse,


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