knapsack and guided him half through the night and took his hand; and
so they parted.

Ulrich did not return to Alt Waldnitz, that lies hidden in the forest
beside the murmuring Muhlde. They would think he had gone to the war;
he would let them think so. He was too great a coward to go back to
them and tell them that he no longer wanted to fight; that the sound
of the drum brought to him only the thought of trampled grass where
dead men lay with curses in their eyes.

So, with head bowed down in shame, to and fro about the moaning land,
Ulrich of the dreamy eyes came and went, guiding his solitary
footsteps by the sounds of sorrow, driving away the things of evil
where they crawled among the wounded, making his way swiftly to the
side of pain, heedless of the uniform.

Thus one day he found himself by chance near again to forest-girdled
Waldnitz. He would push his way across the hills, wander through its
quiet ways in the moonlight while the good folks all lay sleeping.
His foot-steps quickened as he drew nearer. Where the trees broke he
would be able to look down upon it, see every roof he knew so
well--the church, the mill, the winding Muhlde--the green, worn grey
with dancing feet, where, when the hateful war was over, would be
heard again the Saxon folk-songs.

Another was there, where the forest halts on the brow of the hill--a
figure kneeling on the ground with his face towards the village.
Ulrich stole closer. It was the Herr Pfarrer, praying volubly but
inaudibly. He scrambled to his feet as Ulrich touched him, and his
first astonishment over, poured forth his tale of woe.