passed on, two passed, and a third followed, and in all that
time there came only two letters. One was brought by the carrier, the
other by a traveller, who had taken a circuitous course, besides
visiting several cities and other places.

How often had not Anthon and Molly heard together the story of
Tristand and Isolde, and how often did not Anthon think of himself and
Molly as them! Although the name "Tristand" signified that he was born
to sorrow, and that did not apply to Anthon, he never thought as
Tristand did, "She has forgotten me!" But Isolde had not forgotten her
heart's dear friend; and when they were both dead and buried, one on
each side of the church, two linden trees grew out of their graves,
and, stretching over the roof of the church, met there in full bloom.
This was very delightful, thought Anthon, and yet so sad! But there
could be no sadness where he and Molly were concerned. And then he
whistled an air of the Minnesinger's "Walther von der Vogelweide,"--

"Under the lime tree by the hedge;"

and especially that favourite verse,--

"Beyond the wood, in the quiet dale,
Tandaradai,
Sang the melodious nightingale."

This song was always on his lips. He hummed it, and he whistled it on
the clear moonlight night, when, passing on horseback through the
deep ravine, he rode in haste to Weimar to visit Molly. He wished to
arrive unexpectedly, and he _did_ arrive unexpectedly.

He was well received. Wine sparkled in the goblets; there was gay
society, distinguished society. He had a comfortable room and an
excellent bed; and yet he found nothing as he had dreamt and thought
to find it. He did not understand himself; he did not understand those
about him; but we can understand all. One can be in a house, can
mingle with a family, and yet be a total stranger. One may converse,
but it is like conversing in a stage coach; may know each other as
people know each other in a stage coach; be a restraint upon each
other; wish that one were away, or that one's good neighbour were
away; and it was thus that Anthon felt.

"I will be sincere with you," said Molly to him. "Things have changed
much since we were together as children--changed within and without.
Habit and will have no power over our hearts. Anthon, I do not wish to
have an enemy in you when I am far away from this, as I soon shall be.
Believe me, I have a great regard for you; but to love you--as I now
know how one can love anoth