"You are right," I said; "the happiest time of first love is when neither of the lovers has as yet awakened to the cause that makes the most wonderful event seem simple, and the simplest a wonder. It is generally to some external influence that the lovers owe the discovery of how deep this feeling has grown." Adolf laughed. "You speak like a book," he answered. "But--you're right all the same. The 'external influence,' as you call it, was not wanting in our case." Then he continued: "One morning I went to the ruins as usual, but she did not come. Hour after hour I paced the courtyard impatiently, every now and then going to look down the pathway leading to the town. All in vain. Rachel did not come. My disappointment opened my eyes to the fact that she had grown very dear to me. "She did not appear on the next day or the next. A week passed, and she did not come. I was in despair. "At last I found her seated in the old place one morning when I went to the castle. I hastened to her and took her hand in mine. 'Thank God! you've come back,' I cried, joyfully. 'Rachel, Rachel, you don't know how anxious I have been about you.' "She smiled sadly; her face was pale, and her eyelids reddened with weeping. 'I could not come,' she said softly, 'I was ill.' "'Ill!' I exclaimed. 'And I not with you! I had then good reason to be anxious about you.' "'It wasn't much,' she returned. 'And you came here often?' "'Every day--and waited and waited!' "'Thank you,' she said in a low voice, and held out her hand once more to me. "As we stood there silent, looking at each other and finding no word to say, we all at once became clearly conscious of our love for each other. We both trembled. "'I must go,' she said at length, withdrawing her hand from mine. 'My mother will be anxious--good-by.' "'Till to-morrow,' I answered. 'You will come?' "'I will come,' she said in a low voice.... "I had not long to wait for her on the following day: she was very punctual. "I went to meet her shyly, and rather ill at ease,--not joyously, as on the previous day. "She was still very pale, and showed her weakness by the tremulousness of her walk. "'You are worse than you'd have me believe,' I said. "'No,' she replied, 'I am not ill, and'--she hesitated, and then resumed in a firmer voice--'I haven't been ill. I lied to you yesterday.' "I stared at her in amazement. "'Yes,' she repeated, 'I lied, because I had not courage to tell the truth. I am pale, and my eyes are red, because I wept so much, and was so miserable during the last week. I've a great deal to say to you, and entreat of you to listen to me quietly.' "We seated ourselves on the great stone at the foot of the red cross.