West-Jersey pioneer., 1877-01-18

81 promise it, Gertrude; but then"
"Then come" said the girl, and giving
him her hand, was about to 60.
Gertrude !" cried Arnold, in a sorrow
full, beseeching voice.
Gertrude hesitated moment, then sud
denly threw her arms about his neck, ant
Arnold felt her ice-cold lips pressed upor
his own. 1t was only for an instant; in the
next she had torn herself away, and he
stood dazed and completely overcome, yet
remembering his promise, he remained OF
| the spot where she had left him.
Now for the first time he noticed that
within few hours the weather had chang
ed. The wind howled through the trees,
the sky was covered with thick drifting
clouds, and few big drops of rain gave
token of a coming storm.
The lights of the tavern shone brightly
through the darkness. and as the wind blew
from that way the sound of the instruments
was borne to him in fitful gusts. But this
| did not last long. He had been standing SC
| only few minutes when the old church
| bell began to strike twelve, and at that
instant the music stopped, or was drowned
| by the bowling of the storm, which ragged so
| fiercely over the whole hill side that Arnold
had to bend down to avoid being thrown
upon the ground.
In STOPPING, he felt upon the earth before
| him the bundle that Gertrude had brought
| out of the house. 1t was his knapsack and
portfolio, and in his surprise he stood up
again. The hour had struck, the storm as
blowing over, but nowhere in the village
could he any longer see light. The dogs
that just before had been barking and howl
ing were still, and thick damp vapor ex-
hailed from the ground.
"The time is up" Arnold murmured soft
ly to himself, throwing his knapsack over
his shoulder, land l must see Gertrude
once more, for can not part from her so.
The dance is over; the dancers will be going
home now, and if the magistrate won't keep
me overnight, I'll stay at the tavern; be-
sides, could never find my way through
the wood in the dark
He came cautiously down from the little
slope that he had assembled with Gertrude.
expecting to strike the broad white road
that led into the village, but he only groped
about vainly among the bushes. The
ground was soft and marshy. With his
thin boots he sank ankle-deep, and all about
where he supposed the road to lie grew
thick alder bushes. He could not have
gone over the road in the darkness, for he
would have felt it hard to the tread; besides
the village wall ran across it, and he could
not have missed that. He sought about in
anxious haste, but all in vain. The earth
kept growing softer and more swampy. The
further he went on, the thicker the bushes
grew, and he was pierced on every side by
thorns, his clothes torn to pieces, and his
hands scratched until they bled.
Had he strapnd off 70
and SO passed by the village? He feared
wandering still further out of the way, and
so remained upon tolerably dry spot, wait
ing until the old bell should strike one
But it did not strike; not dog barked, and
no sound of human life reached him. In
pain and anxiety, wet through and through,
and shivering with cold, he worked his way
back to the higher ground where Gertrude
had left him. From there he made two
more attempts to penetrate the thicket,
but quite uselessly. Tired to death, and
oppressed, too, by vague terror, he shun-
ned at last the dark, weird valley, and
sought sheltering tree under which to
pass the night.
And how tediously the hours dragged by!
Shivering with cold, he could not catch
moments sleep all night long. From time
to time he thought he could catch the harsh
tones of the bell, but only to be, as so often
before, disappointed.
At last the first faint light glimmered in
the east, the clouds had passed away, the
heavens were clear and star-lit, and the
awakening birds twittered softly in the
dusky trees.
The light in the east grew broader and
brighter, and he could easily distinguished
the tree-tops, but he looked in vain for the
old church tower and the weather-beaten
roofs. Nothing but wild alder thicket.
with here and there stunted willow, Law
before him.
At last he came to the stone on which he
had sketched Gertrude. That place he
would have recognized among thousand,
the old alder bush, with it's stiff branches,
marked it so plainly. He knew now exact
ly how he had come and where Germelshau-
sen must lie; so keeping on strictly in the
same direction, he walked back very brisk
ly through the valley which he had follow
ed yesterday with Gertrude. He recognized
the slope over which the mountain mist had
hung, and only the alder thicket separated
him from the first houses. Now he had
reached it, forced his way through, and
found himself back in the same swamp
where he had been wading about in the
night.
Tired to death, he threw himself down
under tree. He took from out his port
forlio Gertrude's picture, and with bitter
longing dwelt upon the dear face of the
maiden that had taken such fast hold upon
his heart.
Suddenly he heard behind him rustling
in the foliage, then dog barked, and as he
sprang up quickly, there stood, not far off,
an old gamekeeper, who was looking curl
ously at such strange, wid-looking indi-
vidual SO respectfully dressed
"Thank God p cried Arnold, rejoiced to
meet human being, and then laying the
leaf back in his portfolio, he said, "You're
just the man wanted to see, Herr Keeper,
for believe Pm astray.''
"H'm" said the old man; eff you've
passed the night lying in the bushes, when
it's hardly mile over to Dillstedt, where
there's good inn, think SO too. Don
nerwetter how you look-iust as if you'd