powering brightness to
the calm, thoughtful aspect of daily life; and Weigand, now restored
to health, laid aside the mantle with dead men's bones, saying: "I had
chosen for my penance to carry these fearful remains about with me, with
the thought that some of them might have belonged to him whom I have
murdered. Therefore I sought for them round about, in the deep beds of
the mountain-torrents, and in the high nests of the eagles and vultures.
And while I was searching, I sometimes--could it have been only an
illusion?--seemed to meet a being who was very like myself, but far, far
more powerful, and yet still paler and more haggard."

An imploring look from Sintram stopped the flow of his words. With a
gentle smile, Weigand bowed towards him, and said: "You know now all the
deep, unutterably deep, sorrow which preyed upon me. My fear of you, and
my yearning love for you, are no longer an enigma to your kind heart.
For, dear youth, though you may be like your fearful father, you have
also the kind, gentle heart of your mother; and its reflection brightens
your pallid, stern features, like the glow of a morning sky, which
lights up ice-covered mountains and snowy valleys with the soft
radiance of joy. But, alas! how long you have lived alone amidst your
fellow-creatures! and how long since you have seen your mother, my
dearly-loved Sintram!"

"I feel, too, as though a spring were gushing up in the barren
wilderness," replied the youth; "and I should perchance be altogether
restored, could I but keep you long with me, and weep with you, dear
lord. But I have that within me which says that you will very soon be
taken from me."

"I believe, indeed," said the pilgrim, "that my late song was very
nearly my last, and that it contained a prediction full soon to be
accomplished in me. But, as the soul of man is always like the thirsty
ground, the more blessings God has bestowed on us, the more earnestly
do we look out for new ones; so would I crave for one more before, as I
hope, my blessed end. Yet, indeed, it cannot be granted me," added he,
with a faltering voice; "for I feel myself too utterly unworthy of so
high a gift."

"But it will be granted!" said the chaplain, joyfully. "'He that
humbleth himself shall be exalted;' and I fear not to take one
purified from murder to receive a farewell from the holy and forgiving
countenance of Verena."

The pilgrim stretched both his hands up towards heaven and an unspoken
thank