And Reinhold's thoughts grew still more sad. He had succeeded in the greatest effort of all; he had been permitted to rescue his betrothed from certain death--and with her the unfortunate woman who loved them both, as if they had been her children and whom both loved and honored as a mother. It was indeed such a supreme joy--and yet, yet----? How dearly this joy had been bought! Was there other joy which must be bought just as dearly? Was there everywhere happiness, with unhappiness so near at hand in its pitiless form, like the blue-black shadows yonder between the turrets and the battlements of the castle, bordered on the brightly illuminated surface? Did not even the apparently firmest ground shake, as here the wave undulates above the fields through which the ploughman formerly drove his plough, over the pasture upon which the shepherd formerly drove his flocks? Did they have to die so young, so beautiful, so richly endowed with the most splendid gifts and talents? And if they had to die because they could no longer live, no longer wished to live, death was for them only a release from inevitable destruction. What a questionable good did life appear to be, when with it is born the possibility of such a horrible fate? How could the two fathers bear it?--With fortitude no doubt--and yet, and yet----? They had rowed around the castle in the park, and approached the shore where the willows had burned that night, the charred ends of which still rose from the sands. Several larger as well as smaller boats already lay there, which had come from Ahlbeck, and even from the distant villages along the coast. From every direction--from miles around--they had come, for in every quarter the tragic story of the youth and maiden who loved each other, who both had fled from home and found neither happiness nor a happy star, and now had died and were to be buried today, had passed from mouth to mouth. Reinhold turned from the shore and went to the village. The President had written him that he would arrive at Warnow at a certain hour, and wished to speak to him before he presented himself to the family. Reinhold was well aware of the punctual habits of the worthy man, and had scarcely reached the place in front of the inn, where a barricade of vehicles had already assembled, when an equipage rolled up from which the President descended, and, seeing him, at once came to meet him with outstretched hand. There was something almost paternal in the silent greeting, for the President was too much moved to venture speech until they had stepped aside a few paces. He then began, with a melancholy smile: