pictures swarmed and vanished in his brain; a surge of temptation, a

beat of all his blood, went over him, to set spur to the mare and to

go on into the unknown for ever. And then it passed away; hunger

and fatigue, and that habit of middling actions which we call common

sense, resumed their empire; and in that changed mood his eye

lighted upon two bright windows on his left hand, between the road

and river.

He turned off by a by-road, and in a few minutes he was knocking

with his whip on the door of a large farmhouse, and a chorus of dogs

from the farmyard were making angry answer. A very tall, old,

white-headed man came, shading a candle, at the summons. He had

been of great strength in his time, and of a handsome countenance;

but now he was fallen away, his teeth were quite gone, and his voice

when he spoke was broken and falsetto.

'You will pardon me,' said Otto. 'I am a traveller and have

entirely lost my way.'

'Sir,' said the old man, in a very stately, shaky manner, 'you are

at the River Farm, and I am Killian Gottesheim, at your disposal.

We are here, sir, at about an equal distance from Mittwalden in

Grunewald and Brandenau in Gerolstein: six leagues to either, and

the road excellent; but there is not a wine bush, not a carter's

alehouse, anywhere between. You will have to accept my hospitality

for the night; rough hospitality, to which I make you freely

welcome; for, sir,' he added with a bow, 'it is God who sends the

guest.'

'Amen. And I most heartily thank you,' replied Otto, bowing in his

turn.

'Fritz,' said the old man, turning towards the interior, 'lead round

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