government; while Wensleben's parents
willingly paid the handsomest salary in order to insure to their
only child the best education which the establishment afforded.
This disparity in circumstances at first produced a species of proud
reserve, amounting to coldness, in Ferdinand's deportment, which
yielded by degrees to the cordial affection that Edward manifested
toward him on every occasion. Two years older than Edward, of a
thoughtful and almost melancholy turn of mind, Ferdinand soon gained
a considerable influence over his weaker friend, who clung to him with
almost girlish dependence.

Their companionship had now lasted with satisfaction and happiness to
both, for several years, and the youths had formed for themselves the
most delightful plans--how they were never to separate, how they were
to enter the service in the same regiment, and if a war broke out,
how they were to fight side by side, and conquer or die together. But
destiny, or rather Providence--whose plans are usually opposed to the
designs of mortals--had ordained otherwise.

Earlier than was expected, Hallberg's father found an opportunity to
have his son appointed to an infantry regiment, and he was ordered
immediately to join the staff in a small provincial town, in an
out-of-the-way mountainous district. This announcement fell like a
thunderbolt on the two friends; but Ferdinand considered himself by
far the more unhappy, since it was ordained that he should be the one
to sever the happy bond that bound them, and to inflict a deep wound
on his loved companion. His schoolfellows vainly endeavored to console
him by calling his attention to his new commission, and the preference
which had been shown him above so many others. He only thought of the
approaching separation; he only saw his friend's grief, and passed the
few remaining days that were allowed him at the academy by Edward's
side, who husbanded every moment of his Ferdinand's society with
jealous care, and could not bear to lose sight of him for an instant.
In one of their most melancholy hours, excited by sorrow and youthful
enthusiasm, they bound themselves by a mysterious vow, namely, that
the one whom God should think fit to call first from this world,
should bind himself (if conformable to the Divine will) to give some
sign of his remembrance and affection to the survivor.

The place where this vow was made was a solitary spot in the garden,
by a monument of gray marble, overshadowe