seemed as if his imagination had got hold of him, and he ended in a
perfect paroxysm of fear--white-faced, perspiring, trembling and looking
round him, as if expecting that some dreadful presence would manifest
itself there in the bright sunshine on the open plain. Finally, in an
agony of desperation, he cried:

'Walpurgis nacht!' and pointed to the carriage for me to get in. All my
English blood rose at this, and, standing back, I said:

'You are afraid, Johann--you are afraid. Go home; I shall return alone;
the walk will do me good.' The carriage door was open. I took from the
seat my oak walking-stick--which I always carry on my holiday
excursions--and closed the door, pointing back to Munich, and said, 'Go
home, Johann--Walpurgis-nacht doesn't concern Englishmen.'

The horses were now more restive than ever, and Johann was trying to
hold them in, while excitedly imploring me not to do anything so
foolish. I pitied the poor fellow, he was deeply in earnest; but all the
same I could not help laughing. His English was quite gone now. In his
anxiety he had forgotten that his only means of making me understand was
to talk my language, so he jabbered away in his native German. It began
to be a little tedious. After giving the direction, 'Home!' I turned to
go down the cross-road into the valley.

With a despairing gesture, Johann turned his horses towards Munich. I
leaned on my stick and looked after him. He went slowly along the road
for a while: then there came over the crest of the hill a man tall and
thin. I could see so much in the distance. When he drew near the horses,
they began to jump and kick about, then to scream with terror. Johann
could not hold them in; they bolted down the road, running away madly. I