t in the hollow of a tree.

VIII

One might go on and tell the tale of continued rebellion, of angry words
on both sides, of pleas and complaints and fruitless arguments, of
bitter controversy and yet bitterer silence.

Daniel fled and returned and let the slothful days glide by, stormed
about in the vicinity, and lay in the high grass beside the pools or
opened his window at night, cursing the silence and envying the clouds
their speed.

His mother followed him when he went to his little room and pressed her
ear to the door, and then entered and saw the candle still lit, and went
to his bed and was frightened at his gleaming eyes which grew sombre at
her approach. Full of the memories of her early cares and fears for him,
and thinking that the darkness and the sight of her weakness would
prevail upon him, she pleaded and begged once more. And he looked up at
her and something broke in his soul, and he promised to do as she
demanded.

So we see him next at the house of the leather merchant Hamecher in
Ansbach. He sits on a bale of leather in the long, dismal passage way or
on the cellar steps or in the store room, and dreams and dreams and
dreams. And gradually the worthy Hamecher's indulgent surprise turned to
blank astonishment and then to indignation, and at the end of six months
he showed the useless fellow the door.

Once more Jason Philip condescended to grant his favour, and chose a new
scene and new people for his nephew, if only to remove him from
Spindler's baneful influence. At the mention of the city of Bayreuth no
one became aware of Daniel's fiery ecstasy, for they had never heard of
the name of Richard Wagner but always of the name of the wine merchant
Maier. And so he came to Bayreuth, the Jerusalem of his yearning, and
forced himself to an appearance of industry in order to remain in that
spot where sun and air and earth and the very beasts and stones and
refuse breathe that music of which Spindler had said that he himself had
a profound presentiment of its nature but was too old to grasp and love
it wholly.

Daniel did his best to make himself useful. But in spite of himself he
scrawled music notes on the invoices, roared strange melodies in lonely
vaults, and let the contents of a whole keg of wine leak out, because in
front of him, on the floor, lay the score of the English Suites.

At a rehearsal he slipped into the Festival Playhouse, but was put out
by