There came from the forest, but evidently from a great distance, the answer; the clear, wild cry of the old falcon when he has spied out his quarry far down below him. "You see, sir," said the child, "mother does not leave Czika; if you wish to take Czika with you, Czika will go with you." "Well, then, come, young falcon," said the baron, taking the child by the hand. "Come, doctor! I believe Charles has mended the strap which broke just around the corner. There he is. All right again, Charles?" "Yes, sir." The gentlemen got in and took the child between them. "Go on," said the baron. "Let them trot out." They soon came upon the wide heath which extends from Fashwitz to Grenwitz, the same heath on which Oswald had met the old woman from the village. It wanted yet half an hour to sunrise. On the eastern sky a series of purple streaks rose one above the other. The air came cool from the sea across the damp moor. The little Czika had come up close to the baron and was fast asleep. "How thinly the child is dressed," said the latter; "it will take cold in the fresh morning air!" He rose, pulled off his overcoat, wrapped it around the little one, took her in his lap, and rested her head on his bosom. "So, so!" he said, kindly! and then to Oswald, who had been silent, meditating on the enigmatical character of the man by his side: "I look to you a little crazy, doctor, eh?" "No," said the other, looking up, "not in the least." "That is because you suffer of the same disease as I do; what makes others speechless with amazement appears to us perfectly natural; and what the good people and bad musicians consider a matter of course, seems to us nothing less than fabulous. You will, for instance, readily believe that I have met this same child now for the third time in my life, and that I am superstitious enough to see in this threefold meeting much more than a mere accident. Besides, like Wallenstein, I believe in no accident." "And where and when do you think you have seen Czika?" "The first time, four years ago, in England. I was riding with a couple of English friends in a distant part of Hyde Park. As we turned round a corner at full speed, a child was standing before us--a brown child, with big black eyes, raising its tiny hands imploringly. I scarcely noticed it, being engaged in an animated conversation. After we had gone on perhaps a hundred yards, I felt suddenly as if spirits were drawing me back. I cannot describe the sensation. I felt, however, as if my riding past the sweet, helpless creature had been a crime, which made me perfectly wretched. I turned round; I raced back to the place like a madman. The child was gone. I called after her; I searched the shrubbery all around; my friends aided me, in spite of my madness, as they called it; but all in vain.