Half an hour later, they drew up at the Wengern ferry. The black river lay there in the darkness, yawning and gurgling like a huge monster gifted with invisible and destructive life. Over it the wind whistled and sighed, although not a twig stirred on the plains. The ferry-raft oscillated, the horses neighed anxiously, confused cries and words of command rang out through the air. The heavily loaded waggons rumbled, amidst the cracking of whips and rattling harness, down the precipitous decline of the dyke, as if they were bound to roll headlong into the abyss. They got on to the shaking landing-stage, where the bar brought the horses to a halt, and these swerved to one side in their nervousness, and tried to bite each other's flanks. The ferry could take ten at a time, the rest had to wait for the second journey. A curious feeling of panic seized Leo every time the rope slackened and the pulleys began to work. He rode up and down the bank and watched the fleet embark. It seemed to glide into space, and was swallowed up in darkness. Only the reflection of the lanterns made trembling threads of light across the black water. On the other side of the ferry the train divided, for it would have been a waste of time for the first relay to await the second. When the last waggon had crossed, Leo's enjoyment began. He loosened the curb, in order to gallop the quicker after the receding carts. His limbs, numb from cold or wet, thawed, a tingling sensation of welcome warmth pervaded his body and winged his thoughts. So long as the race lasted, all trouble was forgotten. The early morning cramp of worry--a symptom which once had been unknown to his robust physique--grew less, and finally disappeared. The first suggestion of light that lay on the earth--dreamy and full of promise--found for a few moments a reflection in his soul. With the rosy dawn, the first waggon made its entry into Münsterberg, and drew up at the station shed, near which was the great pair of scales. A tedious hour of wrangling and counting followed. Then he turned his face towards home. And in the castle dining-room, when grandmamma called the children to coffee, Leo made his appearance, too. Sometimes he was covered with dust, sometimes drenched with rain. With clattering of spurs, and amidst barking of dogs, he would come into the room, and with a weary "Good morning," hurl his cap into a corner. His day's work only began now in earnest, and when he entered his bedroom at night, he dropped into a chair as if felled by a sudden blow. Often he could scarcely find the strength to undress, and two or three times the pitiless pole had tapped and surprised him still sitting at his table, with flushed face and smoking lamp.