long row of stalls, and said,

"You must have considerable stock?"

"Yes, somewhat. If you would like to see the property, I will show you
around with pleasure."

"I regret that I cannot now avail myself of your kindness; I shall do
so in a few days," answered Frank.

"Herr Frank," said Siegwart, "may the accident which has given us the
pleasure of your agreeable visit, be the occasion of many visits in
future. I know that as usual you will spend the month of May at
Frankenhoehe. We are neighbors--this title, in my opinion, should
indicate a friendly intercourse."

"Let it be understood, Herr Siegwart; I accept with pleasure your
invitation."

On the way to Frankenhoehe Richard walked very slowly, and gazed into
the distance before him. He thought of the swallows that perched on
Angela's shoulders and hands. Their sweet notes still echoed in his
soul.

The country-like quiet of Siegwart's house and the sweet peace that
pervaded it were something new to him. He thought of the simple
character of Siegwart, who, as his father said, was "ultramontane and
clerical," and whom he had represented to himself as a dark, reserved
man. He found nothing in the open, natural manner of the man to
correspond with his preconceived opinion of him. Richard concluded that
either Herr Siegwart was not an ultramontane, or the characteristics of
the ultramontanes, as portrayed in the free-thinking newspapers of the
day, were erroneous and false.

Buried in such thoughts, he reached Frankenhoehe. As he passed through
the yard, he did not observe the carriage that stood there. But as he
passed under the window, he heard a loud voice, and some books were
thrown from the window and fell at his feet. He looked down in surprise
at the books, whose beautiful binding was covered with sand. He now
observed the coach, and smiled.

"Ah! the doctor is here," said he. "He has thrown these unwelcome
guests out of the window. Just like him."

He took up the books and read the titles, _Vogt's Pictures from Animal
Life_, _Vogt's Physiological Letters_, _Czolbe's Sensualism_.

He took the books to his room and began to read them. Herr Frank, with
his joyful countenance, soon appeared.

"Klingenberg is here!" said he.

"I suspected as much already," said Richard. "I passed by just as he
threw the books out of the window with his usual impetuosity."

"Do not let him see the books; the sight of them sets him wild."

"Klingenberg walks only in