I pray to Heaven I may eventually do . . .
will not be one of many days, probably;
but while it lasts, we shall not meet."

"Oh, Albrecht!" .... she began; but
she saw that in his face which stopped her;
a look of such intense, suffering anxiety for
her reply, that the words of entreaty died
on her lips. He went on.

"Perhaps I have no right to ask this of
thee my darling. It is early days to
demand such a sacrifice—but if thou knewest
—if ..."

She laid her little pale face on his
shoulder. "Only tell me what good my
going can do?"

"I cannot .... I can only say this.
There is a fatal spell over my poor old
house, which I believe thou—and thou
alone in the world, Magda, canst remove."

She opened her blue eyes wide. What
could he mean? Did he take her for a
child? But no; his tone was too serious
for jesting. Some of Hoffman's wild tales
recurred to her. Was the place haunted?
To her German imagination, brought up to
regard the relations of the positive with the
spiritual world as close and constant, nothing
seemed impossible. But what could he mean
by saying that she alone could remove the
fatal spell.

He felt the little heart palpitate against
his; and he continued at length in a
sorrowful voice,

"No, my Magda, I see the ordeal is too
severe. . . . We will turn our faces the
other way, and go far from hence, and begin
a new life with another people . . . and try
to forget Schloss Rabensberg!" he added
bitterly.

She raised her head.

"No, I will do it, Albrecht. . . . Forgive
me, and try and forget my folly . . . it is
past now. I will do whatever thou biddest
me, du allerliebster Albrecht!"

She flung her arms about him; and he,
turn, expressed his gratitude in the
most impassioned language. All that need
be recorded here were these words:

I shall be near thee, mein schatz, very
near, and thou shalt know daily tidings of
me in some sort, though we may not
meet ... Neither may Lottchen accompany
thee; but thou wilt find four old and
faithful servants in the schloss, one of whom
will undertake Lottchen's duties...  For
the rest, my Magda, all the counsel I will
give thee is never to let the pure and holy
thoughts which are thy constant
companions give place to superstitious terrors,
at Schloss Rabensberg. Such thoughts are
mighty angels to drive out all idle fear.
Be simple, unsuspicious of evil; trustful
of the good God; be thyself in short—and
all will be well with thee!"

The night passed; and soon after breakfast
the next morning, they set off on their
strange and melancholy journey,
unaccompanied by any servant. As Magda
descended the steps of the gloomy old mansion
which had seemed to her as little better
than a prison the day before, she felt almost
a pang of regret; for here, at least, she and
Albrecht had been together, and here no
mystery had reigned. Those lonely hours
—the picture which had so fascinated her,
all was now forgotten; her mind was
absorbed by one subject alone.

At the end of half a day's journey they
came to a rugged upland country. Here
were ravines down which the thread of
some now shrivelled mountain stream forced
its way through grey slags, and the prone
stems of blasted firs. Here, too, were
swampy hollows, rank with overgrowth of
poisonous vegetation, and rising out of them,
anon, great strips of slaty rock, tumbled
about, as by a giant's hand, and crowned
with the dislocated trunks of trees. It was
clear that the storms here every winter
were very violent, and the hand of man
did nothing to repair the injuries of nature.
A more desolate district it was impossible
to find in the kingdom of Bohemia.
And it formed an appropriate prelude to
the black, silent forest, in the centre of
which stood Schloss Rabensberg. Here
was no song of bird, nor sound of water;
nothing but the utter stillness of moveless
boughs, in the hot summer evening. The
road shot like an arrow through the pines,
whose tall red stems, in a serried mass,
rose to an intolerable height, before they
stretched forth their sinuous arms, clasping
their hard dark fingers so closely as almost
to shut out the blue face of heaven. Now
and again there was a cross-road, or narrow
path losing itself speedily in the red blackness
of the pine-trunks; and still the main
road swerved not, but bore on for upwards
of an hour, without break or point of light
on the horizon.

They had sat silent for a long time, their
hands in each other's; their faces, the one
anxious and excited, the other, repressing
by an heroic effort any symptom of nervousness;
when Albrecht jumped up, and called
to the postilion to stop. Magda, leaning
forward, saw that the wood was at last
breaking; what seemed to be an open space
lay some few hundred yards before them.