withheld me, or else I think I should already be on my
road back to Stralsund. But now I have met you, brother, and that my
mind is relieved by the knowledge that I have not, even indirectly,
Albert's death to reproach myself with, I must hasten to my Elizabeth
to relieve her anxiety, and dry the tears which I am well assured each
moment of my absence causes her to shed. Come with me, dearest Carl,
and you shall see her, my beautiful Elizabeth, and her good old
father, and the tower and the bell. Ho! the bell, the jolly old bell!"

The painter looked kindly but anxiously in his brother's face. There
was a mildness in his manner that startled him, accustomed as he had
been to his eccentricities when a boy.

"You are tired, brother," said he. "You need repose after the emotions
and fatigues of the last week. I, too, shall not be sorry to sleep.
Let us to bed for a few hours, and then we will have post-horses and
be off to Stralsund."

"I have no need of rest," replied Bernard, "and each moment seems to
me an eternity till I can again clasp my Elizabeth to my heart. Let us
delay, then, as little as may be."

As he spoke they entered the gates of Berlin. The sun was risen, and
the hotels and taverns were beginning to open their doors. Seeing
Bernard's anxiety to depart, the painter abandoned his intention of
taking some repose, and after hasty breakfast, a post-chaise was
brought to the door, and the brothers stepping in, were whirled off on
their road northwards.

The sun was about to set when the travellers came in sight of the
spires of Stralsund, among which the church of St Nicholas reared its
double-headed tower. Bernard had enlivened the journey by his wild
sallies, and merry but extravagant humour. Now, however, that the goal
was almost reached, he became silent and anxious. The hours appeared
to go too slowly for him, and his restlessness was extreme.

"Faster! postilion," cried Carl, observing his brother's impatience.
"Faster! You shall be paid double."

The man flogged his horses till they flew rather than galloped over
the broad level road. Suddenly, however, a strap broke, and the
postilion got off his seat to tie it up. Through the stillness of the
evening, no longer broken by the rattle of the wheels and clatter of
the horses' feet, a clock was heard striking the hour. Another
repeated it, and a third, of deeper tone than the two preceding ones,
took up the chime. Bernard started to his feet, and lea