oland complained also of being
kept hungry, and then added, his face seeming to grow fuller and fairer
as he spoke:--

"Hiawatha voluntarily suffered hunger, and do you remember, Eric, my
thinking then that man was the only creature that could voluntarily
hunger? Now I must practice what I preached."

Roland showed himself particularly full of affection toward Eric's
mother. He maintained that she was the only person he had recognized
during his delirium, and that it had caused him the greatest distress
not to be able to say so at the time, but the wrong words would keep
coming from his mouth. Even the Mother did not stay with him long at a
time.

He rejoiced to see lilies of the valley in his room, and remembered
that he had dreamed of them.

"Was not Manna with me too? I was always seeing her black eyes."

Heimchen's illness, they told him, prevented her leaving the convent.

He wanted to see the photograph taken of him in his page's dress, and
said to Eric:

"You were right, it will be a pleasant recollection to me by and by.
Indeed the by and by is already here; it seems to me two years ago. Do
give me a glass, for I must know how I look."

"Not now," returned Eric; "not for a week yet."

Roland was as obedient as a little child, and as grateful as an
appreciative man. The second day, he begged Eric to let him relieve his
mind by speaking out what was in it.

"If you will speak calmly I will hear you."

"Listen to me then, and warn me when I speak too excitedly. I was on
the sea, and dolphins were playing about the ship, when suddenly there
was nothing to be seen but black men's heads, and in the midst of them
a pulpit swimming, in which stood Theodore Parker preaching with a
mighty voice, louder than the roaring of the sea; and the pulpit kept
swimming on and on with the ship----"

"You are speaking excitedly already," interposed Eric. Roland went on
more quietly, in a low tone, but every word perfectly distinct:--

"Now comes the most beautiful part of all. I told you how as I lay in
the forest that time when I was journeying after you--nearly a year ago
now--there came a child with long, bright, wavy hair, and said, 'This
is the German forest;' and I gave her mayflowers, and she was taken up
in a carriage and disappeared; you remember it all, don't you? But in
my dream it was even more bright and beautiful. 'This is the German
forest,' was sung by hundreds and hundreds of voices, just as it was at