Benedict! Benedict! what a fatal day for thee and me is now dawning.” The sky over Hirschberg was blood-red, while along the horizon, clouds, which in her fancy took the shape of funereal crapes and palls, drove to and fro. Terror-struck at these awful appearances, she sank back on her bed in a state of utter stupefaction.
On a sudden three taps were heard at the window. A tremulous joy instantly ran through her frame; she started up, and a slight scream rose to her lips, as a well-known voice whispered through the key-hole, “Dearest love, art thou awake?” She flew to the door and exclaimed, “Benedict! Benedict! is it thyself, or is it but thy ghost?” When she saw the grey frock, she, with disappointment and alarm, fainted, but the warm kisses of her lover, who folded her in his arms, quickly restored her to life.
The first transports of their meeting over, Benedict related his miraculous deliverance from prison; but ere he had well completed the tale, the tongue clove to his mouth from thirst.
Clara ran and brought him a glass of fresh spring water. When he had drunk he felt excessively hungry; poor Clara had nothing to give him for breakfast but bread and salt, that panacea which some lovers imagine they can live very comfortably upon, but which don’t at all answer in practice. Benedict now bethought him of his sausage, which he forth-
