He does as he is bid. He is just good enough to go errands! He inspects the rows of conveyances, and, when he does not find what he is seeking, he returns to the tent. Now the curtain is drawn aside. There she stands--a little transparent shawl about her shoulders, looking pale and so beautiful. "Just as I expected," says Martin, when he reports to him--"the carriage wasn't ordered till daybreak." "But what now? Does Trude want to go?" he asks anxiously. "Trude must!" says she, giving him a look out of her tear-stained eyes, which are already trying to smile again. "Resign yourself to it, my child," answers Martin, stroking her hair. "If it were only the foot, it would not matter. But your crying just now--all this excitement--I think your illness is still hanging about you and rest will do you good. If only it did not take so long to fetch the carriage! I believe it would be best if you could walk the short distance across the fields--of course, only if you have no more pain. Can you manage it?" Trude gives Johannes a look; then nods eagerly. "The air is warm, the grass is dry," Martin continues, "and Johannes can accompany you." Trude gives a start, and he feels his blood mount in a hot wave to his head. His eyes seek hers, but she avoids his glance. "You can easily be here again in half an hour, my dear boy," says Martin, who takes Johannes' silence to mean vexation. He shakes his head, and declares, with a look at Trude, that he too has had enough of it now. "Well then, good speed to you, children," says Martin, "and, when I have disbanded my party, I will follow!" Johannes sends a look into the distance; the plain which lies before him, swathed in silver veils of moonlight, appears to him like an abyss over which mists are brewing; he feels as if the arm which is just being pushed so gently and caressingly through his were dragging him down--down into the deepest depths. "Good-night," he murmurs, half turned away from his brother. "Aren't you even going to shake hands?" asked Martin, with playful reproach, and, when Johannes hesitatingly extends his right hand, he gives it a hearty shake. What pain such a shake of the hand can inflict! The din of the fete more and more dies away into the distance. The many-voiced tumult becomes a dull roaring in which only the shrill tinkle of the merry-go-round is distinguishable, and when the dance-music, which has been silent so long, commences anew, it drowns everything else with its piercing trumpet-blasts. But even that grows more and more indistinct, and the big drum alone, which hitherto has played only a modest part, now gains ascendancy over the other instruments, for its dull, droning beat travels furthest into the distance. Silently they walk beside each other--neither ventures to address the other. Trude's arm trembles in his; her eyes rest upon the mists which rise up in the greenish light from the meadows.