And we began to ascend the mountain. At last, we pushed aside the briars that blockaded the little, descending path that led to the bower. The magnificent ruins appeared spread out below us, and I half forgot the sorrows of my eccentric friend in lively feelings of pleasure. After a pause, which I was unwilling to interrupt (for I saw in his countenance, in his whole bearing, evidence of a severe interior struggle), he said— “When I am able to reflect, I know that I am imposing on your generosity in some way, but I scarce know how. It is only your goodness which has prompted you to undergo all this fatigue and trouble; and now I feel bound, I wish to open my heart to you, but it seems as though all I can tell you cannot compensate you. At any rate, it will be a relief to me, and hereafter it may help the vividness of your recollections of Heidelberg. I thought I should never tell this story, or speak this name again; but that lady recalled, in so many ways, so lively an image of my lost Ella, that I _must_ unburden my heart of its excess. She was the niece of Father Klaus. Her parents died when she was very young, and the good old man took her into his own charge. No parent could have loved her more, or watched over her with more tender solicitude than he did. As she grew up, he taught her many things which, but for him, would have been entirely beyond her reach; but she repaid him, for an apter scholar never learned, and never had man a child who loved him more. She grew to be very beautiful, and was talked of for her beauty all the country round; but I had won her heart when it was a child’s, and as we grew up my only fear in life was for that, and all my efforts were only for _that_. Father Klaus knew how matters stood nearly as soon as we, and was contented. When we grew up, he ratified and blessed our betrothal, and turned his attention to my own prospects. Through his influence with the old Count Reisach, I was enabled to enter the academy of Heidelberg, and, thanks to the count’s generosity and patronage, I had laid up nearly enough to gain Father Klaus’s consent to our marriage. The day was fixed; but nearly a year distant, and the good old man was to perform the ceremony himself. Often, and often, as I returned home from town have I turned down this path, and here was Ella waiting for me, to sit a while, and then stroll home together. Here we built this very bower, when we were children, with our own hands. She chose the place. Here we would sit and watch the setting sun; and I, as a proud young artist, would descant to her upon the harmony of the glowing colors, scarce brighter than her own bright eyes and glowing cheeks. Here would we come and spend hours together—she would bring her needle, and I would sketch the castle, the mountain, the town, the plain, the forest, and every object that could afford a pretext for remaining. Sometimes, when she was very busy, I would gaze, and gaze into her sweet face and