looked up again there was an expression of deep pain on his face.

"Do you know this flower?" he asked.

She gave him a questioning look. "It is an erica. I have often
gathered them in the woods."

"I have an old book at home," he said; "I once used to write in it all
sorts of songs and rhymes, but that is all over and done with long
since. Between its leaves also there is an erica, but it is only a
faded one. Do you know who gave it me?"

She nodded without saying a word; but she cast down her eyes and fixed
them on the bloom which he held in his hand. For a long time they
stood thus. When she raised her eyes on him again he saw that they
were brimming over with tears.

"Elisabeth," he said, "behind yonder blue hills lies our youth. What
has become of it?"

Nothing more was spoken. They walked dumbly by each other's side down
to the lake. The air was sultry; to westward dark clouds were rising.
"There's going to be a storm," said Elisabeth, hastening her steps.
Reinhard nodded in silence, and together they rapidly sped along the
shore till they reached their boat.

On the way across Elisabeth rested her hand on the gunwale of the
boat. As he rowed Reinhard glanced along at her, but she gazed past
him into the distance. And so his glance fell downward and rested on
her hand, and the white hand betrayed to him what her lips had failed