ed to
fall.

He felt a burning thirst; heat in his head, cold in all his limbs; he
grasped his hunting flask, but it was empty; he had not thought of
filling it when he rushed up the hill. He had never been ill, but now
he was so; he was weary and had a desire to throw himself down to
sleep, but everything was streaming with water. He endeavoured to
collect his ideas, but all objects danced before his eyes. Suddenly he
perceived a newly built house leaning against the rocks and in the
doorway stood a young girl. Yes, it appeared to him that it was the
schoolmaster's Annette, whom he had once kissed whilst dancing; but it
was not Annette and yet he had seen her before--perhaps in
Grindelwald, on the evening when he returned from the shooting-festival
at Interlaken.

"Where do you come from?" asked he.

"I am at home," said she, "I tend my flock!"

"Your flock, where do they pasture? Here are only cliffs and snow!"

"You have a ready answer," said she and laughed; "below there is a
charming meadow! There are my goats! I take good care of them! I lose
none of them, what is mine, remains mine!"

"You are bold!" said Rudy.

"So are you!" answered she.

"Have you any milk? Do give me some, my thirst is intolerable!"

"I have something better than milk," said she, "and you shall have
it! Travellers came yesterday with their guide, but they forgot a
flask of wine, such as you have never tasted; they will not come for
it, I shall not drink it, so drink you!"

She brought the wine, poured it in a wooden cup and handed it to Rudy.

"That is good," said he, "I have never drunk such a warming, such a
fiery wine!" His eyes beamed, a life, a glow came over him; all sorrow
and oppression seemed to die away; gushing, fresh human nature stirred
itself within him.

"Why this is the schoolmaster's Annette," exclaimed he, "give me a
kiss!"

"Yes, give me the beautiful ring, which you wear on your finger!"

"My engagement ring?"

"Just that one!" said the young girl and pouring wine into the cup,
put it to his lips and he drank. Then the joy of life streamed in his
blood; the whole world seemed to belong to him. "Why torment one's
self? Every thing is made for our enjoyment and happiness! The stream
of life is the stream of joy, and forgetfulness is felicity!" He
looked at the young girl, it was Annette and then again not Annette;
still less, an enchanted phantom, as he had named her, when he met her
near Grindelwald. Th