believed to have been woven of
the very finest thread, which during her ascent to Heaven frayed away
from her body.

He took up another sheet: "I stood on the mountain height..."[7]

[7] An ancient folk-song which treats of a beautiful but poor maiden,
who, being unable to marry 'the young count,' retired to a convent.

"I know that one," cried Elisabeth; "begin it, do, Reinhard, and I
will help you out."

So they sang that famous melody, which is so mysterious that one can
hardly believe that it was ever conceived by the heart of man,
Elisabeth with her slightly clouded contralta taking the second part
to the young man's tenor.

The mother meanwhile sat busy with her needlework, while Eric listened
attentively, with one hand clasped in the other. The song finished,
Reinhard laid the sheet on one side in silence. Up from the lake-shore
came through the evening calm the tinkle of the cattle bells; they
were all listening without knowing why, and presently they heard a
boy's clear voice singing:

I stood on the mountain height
And viewed the deep valley beneath....

Reinhard smiled. "Do you hear that now? So it passes from mouth to
mouth."

"It is often sung in these parts," said Elisabeth.

"Yes," said Eric, "it is Casper the herdsman; he is driving the heifers
home."[8]

[8] _Starke_ is the southern dialect word for _Faerse_, 'young cow,'
'heifer.'

They listened a while longer until the tinkle of the bells died away
behind the farm buildings. "These melodies are as old as the world,"
said Reinhard; "they slumber in the depths of the forest; God knows
who discovered them."

He drew forth a fresh sheet.

It had now grown darker; a crimson evening glow lay like foam over the
woods in the farther side of the lake. Reinhard unrolled the sheet,
Elisabeth caught one side of it in her hand, and they both examined it
together. Then Reinhard read:

By my mother's hard decree
Another's wife I needs must be;
Him on whom my heart was set,
Him, alas! I must forget;
My heart protesting, but not free.

Bitterly did I complain
That my mother brought me pain.
What mine honour might have been,
That is turned to deadly sin.
Can I ever hope again?

For my pride what can I show,
And my joy, save grief and woe?
Oh! could I undo what's done,
O'er the moor scorched by the sun
Beggarwise I'd gladly go.

During the reading of this Reinhard had fel