anding by his boat;
he will row us up the Rhine."

Speechless, and as if every limb were broken, Beautiful Sara sank into
the arms of the Rabbi, who slowly bore her to the bank. There stood
William, a deaf and dumb but very handsome youth, who, to support his
old foster-mother, a neighbor of the Rabbi, caught and sold fish, and
kept his boat in this place. It seemed as if he had divined the
intention of Abraham, and was waiting for him, for on his silent lips
there was an expression of tender sympathy, and his large blue eyes
rested as with deep meaning on Beautiful Sara, as he lifted her
carefully into the boat.

The glance of the silent youth roused Beautiful Sara from her lethargy,
and she realized at once that all which her husband had told her was not
a mere dream. A stream of bitter tears poured over her cheeks, which
were as white as her garment. Thus she sat in the boat, a weeping image
of white marble, and beside her sat her husband and Dumb William, who
was busily rowing.

Whether it is due to the measured beat of the oars, or to the rocking of
the boat, or to the fresh perfume from those steep banks whereon joy
grows, it ever happens that even the most sorrowful heart is marvelously
relieved when on a night in spring it is lightly borne along in a small
boat on the dear, limpid waters of the Rhine. For, in truth,
kind-hearted, old Father Rhine cannot bear to see his children weep, and
so, drying their tears, he rocks them on his trusty arm, and tells them
his most beautiful stories, and promises them his most golden treasures,
perhaps even the old, old, long-sunk Nibelungen hoard. Gradually the
tears of Beautiful Sara ceased to flow; her extreme sorrow seemed to be
washed away by the whispering waves, while the hills about her home bade
her the tenderest farewell. But especially cordial seemed the farewell
greeting of Kedrich, her favorite mountain; and far up on its summit, in
the strange moonlight, she imagined she saw a lady with outstretched.
arms, while active little dwarfs swarmed out of their caverns in the
rocks, and a rider came rushing down the side in full gallop. Beautiful
Sara felt as if she were a child again, and were sitting once more in
the lap of her aunt from Lorch, who was telling her brave tales of the
bold knight who freed the stolen damsel from the dwarfs, and many other
true stories of the wonderful Wisperthal over there, where the birds
talk as sensibly as men, and of Gingerbread L