They now walked along gardens under a veritable shower of dew falling from the trees. Lilly shrugged her shoulders, and did not know what to do she felt so cold. At last they were out in the open country. Mats of silver-grey cobwebs, each weighted down with a burden of dew, were spread over the fields of high stubble. Yellow ridges of hills bounded the semicircle of the landscape, and in the distance rose the walls of the woods. Lilly stretched her arms like a swimmer, and drew in through her open mouth five or six deep breaths. "Aren't you feeling well?" Lilly laughed. "I must make up for all I've lost," she said. "I haven't _breathed_ for a whole year." Feeling frozen still she began to run. He tried to keep pace, but soon fell behind, and panted after her, hopping rather than running. When they reached the top of the first hill, the sun began to rise over the plain. The brushwood seemed to be on fire, and the cobwebs shone like silver. Each dew-drop became a glittering spark, a flame ran along each thread. Lilly, warmed and excited from running, pressed her hands to her heaving breast, and stared into the sea of red with drunken eyes. "Oh, look, look," she stammered, giving his face a questioning, searching glance. She half expected him to recite odes, sing hymns, and play the harp. He stood there trying to get his breath, to all appearances occupied exclusively with himself. "Do recite something, Mr. Redlich," she begged. "A poem by Klopstock, or something else." She had not gotten up to Goethe in school. He gave a short laugh, and replied: "Catch me! Now that examinations are over German literature may go to the dogs for all I care." Lilly felt ashamed and said nothing more, fearing the expression of such crude desires must make her culture appear half baked. When she looked up again, the glow was gone. The fields still sent up yellowish-red vapours to meet the climbing sun, whose effulgence hung coldly, almost indifferently, over the earth begging for light. They walked on toward the woods. He swung the paper bag. From either side of the road she gathered blackberries, which depended like bunches of glistening black beads from bushes overlaid with a film of cobwebs. Some distance on, at the edge of the woods, they came upon a bench. Without discussing it, they simply made for the seat. It was the place they needed. Lilly felt a little oppression at her heart. Here she was finally to receive the revelations for which her soul languished; here she was to look into the heaven-gazing eyes of the young genius. He opened the bag, and she laid her handkerchief filled with the blackberries alongside. The work-bag containing the heavy revolver was deposited for the time being between the rounds of the bench. Lilly hollowed out the rolls, and filled them with blackberries, and the two breakfasted together very cosily.