“Marie flew from room to room; no Reinhold was to be found.  Then to the garden, calling his name at each step.  A wild fear seized her young heart; her brain grew giddy; yet on she went, calling again and again his name.  As though impelled by an unseen force, she flew till she reached the edge of a wood, where herself and brothers had played together.  She went on.  Something lay on the ground; an object, she could not at first discover what.  A cold chill run through her frame.  The blood seemed to stagnate in every vein, for there, under an old oak, lay the lifeless body of Reinhold.

“She fainted, and fell.  The cool air blew on her temples and restored her to consciousness.  She passed her hand over her forehead, as though trying to recall some terrible dream,—­and then it all burst upon her mind, more fearful and appalling in its rebound.

“‘My mother, my father,’ were the only words that broke from her lips, and she went back, slowly, for the fright and agony had almost paralyzed her brain and limbs.

“‘You were gone a long time,’ said her anxious parents, who did not see her face when she entered; ‘where is Reinhold?’

“She had no words.  The deathly face, the beating heart, and the trembling limbs, told all.  She led them to the spot, and the mystery appeared still deeper.

“Seven days Conrad lay in a raging fever.  At their close, reason returned, and they learned from him the vision which had so haunted him, and wondered over the strange phase of life, in which action had been involuntary, but dual.

“They buried Reinhold under the tree where he had shot himself, and kept it covered with flowers, watered by tears.

“Poor Rosa returned to her home with her good parents, and pined slowly away.  Conrad held his brother’s memory sacred, and never breathed words of love to his affianced.  ’She will be his in Heaven,’ he said, as he walked with his sister one day to his grave; and when the Summer flowers faded they made another beside it, for Rosa went to join Reinhold, and to guard, with tender love, Conrad and Marie.”

Krepsel rose from the chair.  The hours were waning.

“We can have but one more,” said the leader, “and from whom shall it be?”

“From Berthhold,” cried several voices.

“I have seen his eyes full of strange, weird tales to-night,” said one.

“I know by his far-off look he has something interesting to say,” said another.

“Berthhold, take the chair,” said the leader.

He rose, walked like one in a dream, took the seat, gazed a few moments around, and then commenced: 

“My story will be told in a few words.  It is not of tradition, but experience.”

All eyes turned to the youth, whose face glowed with a strange light, as he commenced.

“While sitting here to-night, listening to the story just narrated, my eyes have seen something I never saw before, and I pray I may not again see, at least until my nerves are stronger.”