It was over then--for him.... And again and again he murmured: "It's all over." He leaned weakly against the wall. Then he listened. This woman who could not yield with sufficient fervour to the abandon of passionate speech and action--this was Alice, his Alice, with her fine sobriety, her philosophic clearness of mind. And that young fool whose mouth she closed with long kisses of gratitude for his folly--did he realise the blessedness which had fallen to the lot of his crude youth? It was over ... all over. And he was so worn, so passionless, so autumnal of soul, that he could smile wearily in the midst of his pain. Very carefully he descended the creaking stairs, locked the door of the house and stood on the street--still smiling. It was over ... all over. Her future was trodden into the mire, hers and his own. And in this supreme moment he grew cruelly aware of his crimes against her. All her love, all her being during these years had been but one secret prayer: "Hold me, do not break me, do not desert me!" He had been deaf. He had given her a stone for bread, irony for love, cold doubt for warm, human trust! And in the end he had even despised her because she had striven, with touching faith, to form herself according to his example. It was all fatally clear--now. Her contradictions, her lack of feeling, her haughty scepticism--all that had chilled and estranged him had been but a dutiful reflection of his own being. Need he be surprised that the last remnant of her lost and corrupted youth rose in impassioned rebellion against him and, thinking to save itself, hurled itself to destruction? He gave one farewell glance to the dark, silent house--the grave of the fairest hopes of all his life. Then he set out upon long, dreary, aimless wandering through the endless, nocturnal streets. Like shadows the shapes of night glided by him. Shy harlots--loud roysterers--benzin flames--more harlots--and here and there one lost in thought even as he. An evil odour, as of singed horses' hoofs, floated over the city..... The dust whirled under the street-cleaning machines. The world grew silent. He was left almost alone..... Then the life of the awakening day began to stir. A sleepy dawn crept over the roofs.... It was the next morning. There would be no "next mornings" for him. That was over. Let others send Indian lilies! THE PURPOSE Chapter I. It was a blazing afternoon, late in July. The Cheruskan fraternity entered Ellerntal in celebration of their mid-summer festivity. They had let the great wagon stand at the outskirts of the village and now marched up its street in well-formed procession, proud and vain as a company of _Schuetzen_ before whom all the world bows down once a year.