of sight, he
turned about and took the road that led to Windenreuthe.

He felt quite strangely while on his way. He had never before known
that he breathed so hard and was so easily frightened. He was terrified
by every sound, by the nutpecker flying from the tree, the chattering
magpie, the hooting hawk-owl on the rocky ridge, and the bellowing cow
in the meadow.

"I oughtn't to go, and I won't go," he exclaimed, bringing his staff
down with such force that the pointed ferrule struck sparks from the
stones in the road, and yet he went on.

Fortunately, a mist was ascending the mountain, but he walked on,
farther and farther, through the clouds.

Windenreuthe consists of a few poor-looking, scattered houses. Hansei
stopped in front of the first house, as if riveted to the spot. He was
seized with fright as sudden as if a bullet had struck him, and yet
what had alarmed him was nothing, after all. He had merely heard a
child crying in the house before which he stood. "Your child cries just
like this one," said an inner voice. "How will you be, when you see it
and hear it and kiss it again? How will you be, when you pass this
house on your way back.... How will you be, in the spring, when your
wife returns and you walk with her and meet Black Esther? And at every
merry-making, either at home or at the inn, Black Esther will come and
say: 'Make room for me; I belong here too.'"

Hansei's brain reeled. He looked into the future--days and years passed
before him in an instant. And yet he went on. Indeed, he snapped his
fingers and said to himself: "You're a foolish fellow; a perfect
simpleton; you haven't a bit of courage. Other people are merry and
lead a happy life, and don't care a deuce about it and--what jolly
stories the innkeeper tells of such and such a one, and what pranks the
hunters tell of.... To enjoy all you can and lead a loose life into the
bargain, does one credit with those who're not obliged to earn a
living."

He removed his hat; his head seemed as if burning. He put his hat on
again, pressing it down over his eyes, and went on through the dreary
village.

Night had come on. Zenza lived in a so-called herb-hut, in the woods
and at some distance from the village. It was there that her deceased
husband had distilled brandy from various herbs, but principally of
gentian. His master-wort was still noted.

The light from a large fire shone through the open door of the hut. At
that moment, some one c