The road across the fields was like a morass from the standing pools of rain, and squelched under the horses' hoofs. A chill breeze stirred the young autumn wheat. Beyond the ragged twigs of the birches was a faint yellow glow, in which a watery-looking sun was sinking. Everything looked fatigued and sad; even the winter crops seemed to think it had been hardly worth while to sow them. They trotted on side by side in silence; every minute seemed an hour. "Surely he must speak at last," she thought, biting her lips till they bled, as she rose in the saddle. He kept his eyes fixed with an unfaltering gaze on the road, and only moved his right hand now and again to adjust his reins. "He'll begin again before long with his 'gracious baronesses,'" she thought bitterly, and felt ashamed of herself and him in anticipation. At length it was she who broke silence. "Do walk your horse!" she implored, nearly crying. "Of course we will, comrade," he said, reining in his chestnut. "Comrade! Comrade!" she echoed derisively, and sought his eyes with a passionate glance. "We've made a nice mess of our comradeship!" He shrugged his shoulders, the gesture with which he always met a scolding, and did not answer. "I wish you would say something!" she cried, quite beside herself. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, making a movement as if he were going to scratch his head reflectively. "It's a nasty affair--we admit that," and he repeated, pondering to himself, "nasty affair, nasty affair!" "And is that all you have to say?" she exclaimed. "My gracious friend," he replied, "I am little, and my heart is little in proportion. It's hardly an adequate platform whereon to parade great anguish of soul!" "Who is talking about anguish of soul!" she cried. "What is to become of us? That is what I want to know." "Directly I inherit an unencumbered ancestral manor," he replied, with a gesture that denoted invitation, "containing house, stable, horses and carriages, and other animate and inanimate necessaries, I shall permit myself the honour of asking your husband for your hand." She could no longer control her despair. "If you continue to make your insulting jokes," she almost screamed, bursting into tears, "I'll ride straight away from you now, and break my neck." "Rather a difficult thing to accomplish on that sober nag of yours," was his cool reply. She was at a loss what to retort and so let her tears fall silently. At last he adopted a different tone. "Be sensible for a change, my child, to please me," he said. "All I meant to do was to clear your soul of superfluous tragedy. As soon as you put a bright face on the matter I'll give it practical consideration; I promise you." She wiped the tears from her eyes with the gauntlet of her riding-glove and forthwith smiled obediently. "That's all right," he said with approval. "Not in vain did the poet sing: 'O weine selten, weine schwer. Wer Traenen hat, hat auch Malheur.'