I can scarcely believe it. But there is no knocking at the window as I
pass the parsonage--no friendly face smiling at me. And I can scarcely
believe that he has gone.

_Ascension Day_, 1835.

A few days ago I had a letter from my former pupil, our present master.
He was ill, tired of the world, and wanted to find peace and rest in the
mountains. He remembered his old teacher, and asked me to be his guide.
I went to meet him, and he behaved so strangely that I thought I was
walking with a madman. On the second day he seemed better. He wanted to
ascend at once the highest peak, known as the "Grey Tooth." And as we
passed the dark mountain lake, we saw a beautiful young woman bathing.
She looked like a water-nymph. But when she saw us she disappeared under
the water, and did not show herself again. Was she drowning herself from
very modesty? I pulled her out of the water, we dressed her; then fear
gave her strength, she jumped up and ran away. It was my "Forest Lily."

Hermann no longer insisted on climbing the mountain. He came with me to
Winkelsteg, remained three days, made Berthold gamekeeper, and arranged
that he should forthwith marry Aga in our church. Before he left he said
to me: "She thought more of her maidenhood than of her life. I never
knew there were such women. This is a new world for me--I, too, belong
to the forest. I entrust her to you--teach her if she wants to learn,
and take care of her. And keep the secret If I can be cured, I shall
return."

_Summer_, 1837.