she had every reason to look
forward to the next few hours with grave anxiety. Each moment might
bring imprisonment to him and all, and if they discovered--if it were
disclosed who he, who Elizabeth was....

Ulrich and Ruth brought up the rear, saying little to each other.

At first the path ascended again, then led down to the valley. It had
stopped snowing long before, and the farther they went the lighter the
drifts became.

They had journeyed in this way for two hours, when Ruth's strength
failed, and she stood still with tearful, imploring eyes. The
charcoal-burner saw it, and growled:

"Come here, little girl; I'll carry you to the sleigh."

"No, let me," Ulrich eagerly interposed. And Ruth exclaimed:

"Yes, you, you shall carry me."

Marx grasped her around the waist, lifted her high into the air, and
placed her in the boy's arms. She clasped her hands around his neck, and
as he walked on pressed her fresh, cool cheek to his. It pleased him,
and the thought entered his mind that he had been parted from her a long
time, and it was delightful to have her again.

His heart swelled more and more; he felt that he would rather have
Ruth than everything else in the world, and he drew her towards him as
closely as if an invisible hand were already out-stretched to take her
from him.

To-day her dear, delicate little face was not pale, but glowed crimson
after the long walk through the frosty, winter air. She was glad to
have Ulrich clasp her so firmly, so she pressed her cheek closer to his,
loosened her fingers from his neck, caressingly stroked his face with
her cold hand, and murmured:

"You are kind, Ulrich, and I love you!"

It sounded so tender and loving, that Ulrich's heart melted, for no one
had spoken to him so since his mother went away.

He felt strong and joyous, Ruth did not seem at all heavy, and when
she again clasped her hands around his neck, he said: "I should like to
carry you so always."

Ruth only nodded, as if the wish pleased her, but he continued:

"In the monastery I had no one, who was very kind to me, for even Lips,
well, he was a count--everybody is kind to you. You don't know what it
is, to be all alone, and have to struggle against every one. When I was
in the monastery, I often wished that I was lying under the earth; now
I don't want to die, and we will stay with you--father told me so--and
everything will be just as it was, and I shall learn no more Latin,
but become a