be recognised at once." The sister entered the place, but not alone,—Weyland was with her; and both, when they saw us, stood still, as if petrified.
If we should all at once see a flame burst out violently from a quiet roof, or should meet a monster whose deformity was at the same time revolting and fearful, we should not be struck with such a fierce horror as that which seizes us when, unexpectedly, we see with our own eyes what we have believed morally impossible. "What is this?" cried the elder, with the rapidity of one who is frightened; "what is this? you with George, hand-in-hand! How am I to understand this?" "Dear sister," replied Frederica, very doubtfully, "the poor fellow. He is begging something of me: he has something to beg of you too, but you must forgive him beforehand." "I do not understand, I do not comprehend," said her sister, shaking her head, and looking at Weyland, who, in his quiet way, stood by in perfect tranquillity, and contemplated the scene without any kind of expression. Frederica arose and drew me after her. "No hesitating!" cried she: "let pardon be begged and granted!" "Well, then," said I, stepping pretty near the elder, "I have need of pardon." She drew back, gave a loud shriek, and was covered with blushes: she then threw herself down on the grass, laughed immoderately, and seemed as if she would never have done. Weyland smiled as if pleased, and cried, "You are a rare youth!" Then he shook my hand in his. He was not usually liberal with his caresses, but his shake of the hand had something hearty and enlivening about it; yet he was sparing of this also.
After having somewhat recovered and collected ourselves, we set out on our return to the village. On the way I learned how this singular meeting had been occasioned. Frederica had at last parted from the promenaders to rest herself in her little nook for a
