"What a chance, if we could get a shot at
a wolf to-night," said Carl. "And what a
night! how bright the moon is! and the air
how clear! One might see anything by such
a light."

Carl stepped into the sleigh. Eric, gathering
up the reins, settled down into his place; the
bear-skins were spread over them, and tucked
in all round; and then, with a Good night to
all, responded to by a chorus of grooms and
stable-helps, who had gathered round to see
the handsome sleigh and the beautiful
English horses, he gave a touch of the lash
to these last, and they bounded forward: the
sleigh skating smoothly over the frozen snow.
The silver harness glittered in the bright
moonshine, and the silver bells tinkled
merrily in the cold night air, as they left the
streets of Stettin, and emerged into the open
country beyond.

For some time they proceeded in silence,
as if each were communing with his own
thoughts, or were awed by the deep stillness
of the night. Not a sound was to be heard,
not a creature to be seen. They seemed to
be traversing a vast desert of snow. Everything
was wrapped in the same dazzling uniform,
by which the eye was almost pained.
The light of the moon reflected from the
thousand points of snow, sparkling like silver
in its rays, was increased to an intensity
which almost equalled the light of day. The
trees of the forest, along which they now
skirted, stretched out their branches, encased
in sheaths of glittering crystal. At first, the
moon reigned alone in the deep blue sky;
but now, small fleecy clouds began to appear,
every now and then overshadowing her
brightness. Presently a low moaning sound
began to make itself heard, as if the wind
were rising in the depths of the leafless
forest. Eric seemed to listen uneasily, and to
watch anxiously these ominous signs.

"I hope we shall reach Kronenthal before
a snow-storm sets in," said Carl, "I have no
desire to be buried in a snow-wreath."

"I do not think it will be here so soon,"
answered his companion, "though I expect
we shall have it here before long. The sky
looks a little brighter again now. However,
I will drive the horses as fast as they like
to go."

So saying Eric touched their flanks slightly
with the long lash of the sleigh whip,
giving them their heads at the same time.
The noble creatures again bounded forward
with a speed which promised to outstrip all
pursuers, snow-storms included.

"By the way, Eric," said Carl, breaking the
silence after some time, "what became of
your last spring adventure? Did you ever
see the lady of the Sistine chapel again? And
did you find out who she was?"

"Yes, and no," said Eric. "Yes to the question
as to whether I ever saw her again. I
saw her three times after you and I saw her
that morning, but I never could find out who
she was, or where she had gone to, and I did
not even wish to find out after a time."

"Not wish to find out, Eric? I thought
you were madly in love with her, even the first
time you saw her."

"Call it love I felt for her then, if you
like, Carl; but it is with a holier feeling I
think of her now, than any earthly passion.
It seems more to me now, as if she had been
the vision of some saint or angel. I have
her still before me there; those heavenly
blue eyes upturned in rapt devotion; those
twining locks of pure gold descending on the
falling shoulders! I was very glad when
she disappeared from Rome. Those three
visits of hers to the gallery where I was
making that study of Canova, nearly drove
me wild. Day after day I looked for her
anxiously; and nearly gave up everything to
hunt her out; but my better angel prevailed:
I righted myself at last, and recovered, not
only my serenity, but also my communion
with the spiritual, which is so essential to the
life of an artist who would accomplish
anything, and which at one time I seemed to have
almost lost."

"What have you done with the sketch you
made of her, kneeling in the chapel, with the
dark background of the long aisle behind her.
I thought you were going to make a picture
from it, and send it to the exhibition."

"The picture is finished, and I have brought
it for my mother's oratory. I could not
summon up the courage to send it where it
would be stared at by a hundred indifferent
eyes. I could not bear to let others have
a glimpse of a vision which seemed so
entirely my own. Except you, Carl, no one
knows I ever saw her; and I doubt much,
if you had not been with me that morning,
whether I should ever have told you, much
as you are to me."

"Well," said Carl, taking the end of his
cigar out of his mouth, and lighting another
with it, "if that is not what is called being in
love, I do not know what it is. What would
you care who knew what impression she had
made on you, if you did not love her?"

"I do not love her, Carl, and I do not wish
to love her."

"Not wish to love her! Why, Eric, what
on earth do you mean?"

"Would you have me find that my angel,
my vision of purity and holiness, was nothing
but a mere woman, perhaps a captious one,
too; enough to drive one mad with whims
and follies of all sorts. Besides I never mean
to be in love if I can help it. But, hark!
What is that?"

"It is the moaning of the wind," said
Carl. "No!" he exclaimed, springing up
in his seat, as a shrill, wild, piercing cry for
help, rang through the still night. "Hear
that cry."

"Sit down Carl, I beseech you, said Eric,
you will upset the sleigh! Look at the
horses how they tremble. I can scarcely