Our honest Benedix fancied it was all a dream; he rubbed his eyes, pinched his legs and arms, to see whether he was awake or asleep, and when he saw how matters really were, he embraced the knees of his deliverer, and rested in mute joy, for not a word could he say. The good-hearted monk forced him away, giving him, for his journey, a loaf of bread and a sausage. With tottering steps the youth passed the threshold of the melancholy prison, dreading every moment to be recognised.
Clara in the meanwhile sat sadly thinking in her little chamber, listening to every movement caused by the wind, and watching the footsteps of every passer by. It often seemed to her as if the window shutters were rattling, or as if she heard a knock; her heart beat; she looked out, but was disappointed.
The cocks in the neighbourhood already shook their feathers, and announced by their crowing the coming day. The bell of the monastery sounded for early matins, which was to her like a death-knell.
The watchman blew his horn for the last time to awaken the sleeping housemaids to their early day’s work. Clara’s lamp began to burn dimly, now deficient in oil; her anxiety increased every moment, and did not permit her to perceive the beautiful rose which, as a propitious omen, gleamed up from the glimmering wick. She sat on her bedstead, wept bitterly, and sighed, “Benedix, Benedix, what a sorrowful day for thee and for me is now dawning.” She ran towards the window:—alas, blood-red seemed the sky in the direction of Hirschberg, and dark clouds like crape and mournful drapery floated over the horizon. She shuddered at this ominous sight, and fell into a gloomy reverie: the silence of death was around her.
From this she was aroused by three soft taps at the window; a shiver ran through her veins; she jumped up, gave a loud cry, for a voice whispered through the opening, “Dearest love, art thou awake?” “Ah, Benedix! is it thyself or thy spirit?” she exclaimed, rushing quickly to the door; but when she saw the friar, she sunk down, almost dying with horror. His faithful arm, however, soon raised her up, and the kiss of affection (that great remedy for all sorts of hysterics) brought her speedily back to life again.
When the surprise was over, and the first effusion of feeling had somewhat subsided, Benedix related his wonderful escape from the prison; but his tongue clove to his mouth from thirst and fatigue. Clara brought him some fresh water, after drinking which he felt hungry. She had nothing to give him, save the usual panacea of lovers, bread and salt, with which they at times too hastily make a vow to be contented and happy all the days of their life. Benedix now thought of his sausage, took it from his pocket, amazed to find it heavier than a horse’s shoe. He broke it open, and behold pure gold pieces fell out of it, at which Clara
