The shades of evening were gradually enveloping the country in darkness, as Adolf and Barbara sat together, in the mansion of the Mullerhorns. They spoke of love and happier times, and the bright eyes of the maiden beamed joyously upon the countenance of the youth. Adolf had learned the art of dissimulation in a brief space of time. Alas! it is but the first step in evil that alarms, and he, that has abandoned the paths of virtue, but for a moment, finds it far more difficult to retrace his steps, than to continue in the ways of error. To the enquiries of Barbara, concerning the wealth which he had so lately acquired, he replied, that the death of a relation, whose property was ample, had enabled him to compete, in point of riches, even with Christopher Mienckel. Barbara fully believed him; for true love is ever ready of faith; and fondly pictured to herself many a scene of happiness and of domestic felicity. Thus the evening wore on; and the hunter was startled to hear the hour of ten strike from the clock, as he arose to quit the society of Barbara, and to join the companion of his unhallowed undertaking. “Whither away to-night, and so early, Adolf?” asked Barbara, as the hunter made ready to depart. “I have shot a buck in the forest, and must seek aid to bring him in,” replied Adolf. “It is full late to seek your game in the broad forest to-night, Adolf,” said Piet Albrecht, who had been solacing himself with a dish of discourse with Agatha, in the kitchen, and now came to bid Barbara good night. “Yet, if you would wish my help, to show you that I have forgotten our difference, I don’t care if I go with you.” “I thank thee, Piet,” replied the young man, “but the game lies far off, and Franz Rudenfranck has promised to go with me.” “Where have you left it?” asked Barbara. “Deep in the forest; near the Wolf Hills. At the cave of Schwearenheim.” “I know not,” said Piet, shuddering, “what could tempt me to go there, so near midnight. It will be nearly that, Adolf, when you reach there, and the cave is, the saints be good to us, an unholy spot.” “Pshaw, Piet, this is mere superstition,” said the hunter; but his cheek glowed, and his flesh trembled. “Why should the cave be a more unholy spot than any other part of the forest?” “You know as well as I do, Adolf, that few of the hunters have the courage to pass there after dark. My father has told me awful things of the place, and one of them happened to himself.” “What was that, pray, Piet?” said Agatha, “did he tumble into the run, and fancy that the water was Schiedam?”