As Adolf returned homeward, many and various were the contending reflections which embittered his mind. At one time he thought of the misery which he must endure in beholding the object of his dearest affections, united to Mienckel, her profound aversion; now, vague dreams of the wealth and happiness which the possession of the hidden treasure would confer upon him, flitted across his mind; but a chill damp struck through his soul as he remembered the intimated penalty; and wild imaginations of spectral forms, demoniac faces, and the awful legendary tales, so current among the peasantry, filled his breast with horror. He reached his cottage, and threw himself upon his humble couch, agonised by conflicting emotions. No sleep visited his pillow, and early the next morning he arose and went forth, hoping to subdue the fever of his blood by exercise in the cold air. He wandered about for some time, listless in which direction he took his way, until he found himself near the farm house of old Mullerhorn. It was a jolly day at the house of that ancient. Turkeys, geese, pigs, and the promiscuous tenantry of the barn yard, bled beneath the knives of the rosy Dutch damsels. The smoke curled in copious volumes from the ample chimneys, and the hissing of culinary utensils, employed at the genial occupation of preparing divers dainties, together with the savory odors from the purlieus of the kitchen, gave indisputable tokens that something highly important was taking place in the house. Adolf viewed this busy scene with melancholy feelings enough, for he well presaged what it meaned. He paused, and leaned sadly on his rifle; but his heart felt still heavier, when, from a window of the farm house a fair white hand was extended, waving a handkerchief toward him. A tear stole down his cheek, as he acknowledged the signal, and, raising his rifle, was about to depart, when a slight tap on the shoulder arrested him, and a plump little maiden, whose rosy cheeks, and smiling face, were the very emblems of good humor, in fact, a perfect Dutch Hebe, accosted him. “Why, how now, master Adolf? Have you not a word for an old acquaintance?” “Ah, Agatha, is it thou? How dost thou, my good lass?” “Better, Adolf, than either yourself or Barbara, if there is any judgment in your looks. Why, you look as if you had seen a spectre, and if you will keep company with that black-looking wretch, that Franz Rudenfranck, I wouldn’t insure that you will not see one, some of these dark nights. Bless me, how you change color. Are you sick?” “No, no, Agatha. Not so sick in body as in heart. How fares Barbara?” “Why, indeed, Dolf, for I will call you Dolf again, and it’s a shame for father Philip to make us all call you master Adolf; master indeed! she has done nothing but cry all night. But she is to be married to old Chriss this morning—the odious fool! I’m sure she hates him—and I’ve a thousand things to do; so good bye to you Dolf.”