can never be. You are dear to me, and I wish you to remain so, but that
you can only do by not breaking the oath you have sworn."

"Sworn?" asked Georg. "Sworn?"

"Yes, sworn," interrupted Maria, checking her steps. "On Peter's breast,
on the morning of his birthday--after the singing. You remember it well.
At the time you took a solemn vow; I know it, know it no less surely,
than that I myself swore faith to my husband at the altar. If you can
give me the lie, do so."

Georg shook his head, and answered with increasing warmth:

"You read my soul. Our hearts know each other like two faithful friends,
as the earth knows her moon, the moon her earth. What is one without the
other? Why must they be separated? Did you ever walk along a forest
path? The tracks of two wheels run side by side and never touch. The
axle holds them asunder, as our oath parts us."

"Say rather--our honor."

"As our honor parts us. But often in the woods we find a place where the
road ends in a field or hill, and there the tracks cross and intersect
each other, and in this hour I feel that my path has come to an end. I
can go no farther, I cannot, or the horses will plunge into the thicket
and the vehicle be shattered on the roots and stones."

"And honor with it. Not a word more. Let us walk faster. See the
lights in the windows. Everyone wants to show that he rejoices in the
good news. Our house mustn't remain dark either."