Schiller opened the door and rushed out into the still night, and through the lonely streets, unconscious that he was bareheaded, oblivious of having left his hat in Charlotte's room. He rushed on, heedless of the raw night air and cutting wind. At length he was aroused by the heavy drops of rain which were falling on his forehead. The cold rain awakened him from a last painful struggle with his passion, and cooled his head and heart at the same time. "O God, I thank Thee for sending down the waters of heaven to cleanse my heart from passion and slavish love, and making me free again! And now I am free!--am once more myself! am free!" Schiller entered Streicher's apartment with a cheerful countenance, and greeted his friend heartily; but Andrew regarded his wet clothing and dripping hair with dismay. "Where in the world do you come from, Fritz? You look as if you had been paying the Maid of the Rhine a visit, and had just escaped from her moist embrace!" "You are, perhaps, right, Andrew! I have just taken leave of the fair maid who had bewitched me." "But what have you done with your hat, Fritz? Did you leave it with the maid as a souvenir?" "You are, perhaps, right again, Andrew. I left my hat with the maid as a souvenir, and only succeeded in slipping my head out of the noose." "Be kind enough to speak sensibly," said Streicher, "and tell me where your hat is." "I have told you already I left it with the Maid of the Rhine as a souvenir." "I wish you had not done so," said Andrew, in grumbling tones. "You had better have left her a lock of your yellow hair; that would have been cheaper, for hair grows again, but hats must be bought. Well, fortunately I happened to buy a new hat to-day, and that you must take, of course." He handed Schiller a brand-new beaver hat, telling him to dry his disordered locks and try it on. "Andrew," said Schiller, after having tried the hat on, and found that it fitted him perfectly. "Andrew, you bought this hat for yourself to-day?" "Yes, for myself, of course, but you, wild fellow, come running here bareheaded, and no resource is left but to put my beaver on your head." "Come here, Andrew," said Schiller, smiling, and when he came up, Schiller placed the hat on the little bald head and pressed it down over his friend's eyes, making Streicher a very ludicrous object. Schiller, however, did not laugh, but slowly lifted the hat up, and looked lovingly into the abashed and mortified countenance of his friend. "Andrew, I would never have believed that you knew how to tell an untruth!"