"Well, that's the explanation," he laughs. "But I was then already tall and--and--full grown," she answers eagerly. "It wouldn't have hurt you to have whirled me round the room a few times." "Well, we can make up for it in a fortnight at the rifle fete." "Yes, can we?" she asks with beaming eyes. "Martin is one of the patrons of the shooters' company. That is in itself a reason for his being present." Trude gives vent loudly to her delight; then in sudden perplexity she says: "But I have no dancing shoes." "Have some made for yourself." "Oh, our village cobbler is such a clumsy worker." "Then I will order you a pair from town. You need only give me your measure." "Will you really? Oh, you dear, darling Hans!" And then she suddenly withdraws her arm, runs forward a few steps, calls out "catch me," and whisks away. Johannes starts in pursuit,--but he is tired--he cannot overtake her. Across the drawbridge of the weir the chase proceeds across on to the vast grass plain, stretching as far as the distant pine wood. Trude dodges him cleverly,--runs past him--and before he can follow, she is once more on this side of the river. Breathlessly she makes a dash for the chain by which the drawbridge is regulated; from on shore--she tears at it with all her might; the wood-work moves creaking on its hinges--and jerks upwards--at the very moment when Johannes springs on to the foot-plank. He staggers, he cries out,--and clutching hold of the main beam, he manages by sheer force to stem its movement just as the gap is opening. Trude has turned as white as a sheet, she stares speechlessly at him, as, gasping for breath, he gazes down into the dark abyss. "I didn't--think of that, Hans," she stammers with a look which very eloquently pleads forgiveness. He laughs out loud. A wild, devil-may-care feeling of happiness has come over him. "Oh you--you!" he cries, opening out his arms. "I shall have you yet." And with a fool-hardy leap he jumps on to the narrow main-beam, which, with its two slanting, roof-shaped sides, spans the river. "Hans--for God's sake--Hans!" He does not hear--beneath him is the foaming abyss--he has hard work to keep his balance--he moves forward--he trembles he sways--three more--two more steps only one more daring leap--he is over. "Now run!" he cries, with a wild shout of glee. But Trude does not stir. She stares in his direction, paralyzed with terror. Like a tiger he springs towards her--he encircles her with his arms--he presses her to him--she closes her eyes and breathes heavily--then he bends down and lays his hot and thirsting lips upon hers. She gives a loud moan--her body trembles feverishly in his embrace. Then he lets her glide down--his affrighted gaze travels around--has no one seen it? "No, no one!" And what if they have? May Martin's brother not kiss Martin's wife? Did not he himself once require it of him? She opens her eyes as though awakening from a deep dream. Her eyes avoid his.