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They reached a gloomy part of the grounds. Melancholy sounds,
incoherent, yet pleasurable, became audible, accompanied by an
uninterrupted splashing of water. The children walked slower and closer
together, in a state of excited expectation, and a kind of shuddering
curiosity. The melancholy tones and the falling water became more and
more distinct, as they found themselves inclosed in a thick fir-wood;
presently, however, an opening to the right showed itself, and then
thickly wreathed with a wild growth of plants and heavily-leaved trees,
the vault of a grotto revealed itself, within which, and in the
distance, stood a large white figure, with aged head, long beard,
crooked back, and goat's legs. To his lips he held a pandean pipe, from
which the extraordinary sounds appeared to proceed. Little waterfalls
leapt here and there from the rocks around, and then collected
themselves at the foot of the statue in a large basin, in which the
figure seemed, with a dreamy countenance, to contemplate himself and the
leaf-garlanded entrance of the grotto.

The Candidate informed them that this was the Wood-god Pan; but what
further information he gave respecting the faith of the ancients in this
deity of nature was listened to by nobody but the Queen-bee, who,
however, shook her wise head over the want of wisdom in the Grecians who
could believe on such a god; and by Elise, who loved to discover in the
belief of antiquity a God of nature, which makes itself felt also in our
days, but in a truer and, as we think, a diviner sense.

The exhibition in the grotto had produced its effect upon all the
spectators, great as well as small; but the brain of the little Petrea
seemed quite intoxicated, not to say crazed by it. The Wood-god, with
his music, his half-animal, half-human figure, although only of gypsum,
and, as the Candidate declared, the offspring only of a dim fancy, as
well as that it was without life or actuality, still remained to her
imagination a living existence, as real as wonderful. She could see
nothing, think of nothing, but the Wood-god; and the foreboding of a new
and wonderful world filled her soul with a delicious terror.

In the mean time the Candidate conducted Elise, by a path which wound
among alders and birches, up the mountain in which the grotto was. When
they reached the top, all was sunny and cheerful; and behold upon a
mound was set out, so pleasantly in the sunshine, a little collation of
berries and fruit. It was the Candidate, who had great pleasure in being
the kind-hearted host on such occasions, who had provided this little
surprise for Elise and the children; and never, indeed, was a surprise
more welcome or more joyous. It is the most thankful thing in the world
to give pleasure to children; and, moreover, the goodwill of the mother
is always obtained thereby.

The Candidate spread his cloak upon a green slope under a hedge of
roses, on which Elise's favourite flowers were still blooming, as a seat
for herself and "the baby," which now, lifted out of the
wicker-carriage, had its green silk bonnet taken off, and its golden
locks bathed in sunshine. He chose out the best fruit for her and her
mother; and then seating himself on the grass near her, played with her,
and drove away the flies from her and her mother with a spray of roses,
whilst the other children ran about at a distance, enjoying with all the
zest of childhood, gooseberries and freedom. The trees soughed in the
soft south wind, whilst the melodious sighs of the Wood-god, and the
splash of the water, mingled gently with the whispering leaves. It was a
delicious time, and its soft influence stole into the soul of Elise. The
sun, the scent of the roses, the song of the wood and of the water, and
the Syrinx, the beautiful scene before her, the happy children--all
these called up suddenly into her breast that summer of the heart, in
which all sentiments, all thoughts, are like beautiful flowers, and
which makes life seem so light and so lovely: she conceived a friendship
for that young man who had occasioned it, and whose good heart beamed
forth from his eyes, which at one moment were fixed on the blue heavens,
and then on her own soft blue eyes, with an expression of devotion and a
certain pure earnestness, which she had never observed in him before.
Elise felt that she could now undertake the explanation with him; she
felt that she could talk with him openly and warmly as a sister, and
that the truth would flow from her lips, without wounding him or giving
him pain.

Scarcely, however, had she with cordial, though with tremulous voice,
began to speak, when an uneasy movement among the children interrupted
her. Some looked in the hedges, some ran about under the trees, and the
name "Petrea! Petrea!" was repeated in every variety of tone. The mother
looked uneasily around, and the Candidate sprang up to see what was
amiss. It was nothing uncommon for Petrea to separate herself from the
rest of the children, and occupied by her own little thoughts, to lag
behind; on that account, therefore, nobody had at first troubled
themselves because she was not with them at the collation, for they
said, "she will soon come." Afterwards, Elise and the Candidate were too
much occupied by their own thoughts; and the children said as usual,
"she'll soon come." But when she did not come, they began to seek for
her, and Elise and the Candidate came to their assistance. They ran back
to the grotto; they sought and called, but all in vain--Petrea was
nowhere to be found! and uneasiness very soon changed itself into actual
anxiety.

We will now ourselves go in quest of Petrea. So enchanted was she with
the Wood-god and his music, that no sooner had she, with the others,
begun to climb the hill, than she turned back to the grotto, and there,
transported by its wonderful world, she was suddenly possessed by a
desire to acquaint her father and Brigitta, with her having seen the
Wood-god. Resolve and action are much more one with children than with
women. To be the first who should carry to the father the important
tidings, "Father, I have seen the Wood-god!" was a temptation too strong
for Petrea's ambition and craving for sympathy.

She had heard them say that they should rest on the hill; and as her
organ of locality was as feeble as her imagination was powerful, she
never doubted for a moment of being able to run home and back before
they were aware even of her absence. As for the rest, to confess the
truth, she thought nothing at all about it; but with a loudly-beating
heart, and the words, "Oh, father! we have seen the Wood-god!" on her
lips, she made a spring, and rushed forward on the wings of fancy as
fast as her little legs would carry her in a direction exactly the
opposite of that which led homeward, and which at the same time removed
her from the grotto; never thinking, the poor Petrea! that in this world
there are many ways. Before long, however, she found it necessary to
stand still, in order to rest herself: it was all so beautiful around
her; delicious odours breathed from the wild flowers; the birds sang;
the heaven was cloudless; and here, where no Cupids nor Chinese temples
dazzled her thoughts, the very remembrance of the god Pan vanished from
her soul, and instead of it a thought, or more properly speaking a
sentiment, took possession of it--a holy and beautiful sentiment, which
the mother had early instilled into the hearts of her children. Petrea
saw herself solitary, yet at the same time she felt that she was not so;
in the deliciousness of the air, in the beauty of nature, she perceived
the presence of a good spirit, which she had been taught to call Father;
and filled, as her heart seemed to be, by a sense of his goodness and
affection, which appeared never to have been so sensibly impressed upon
her mind as then, her heart felt as if it must dissolve itself in love
and happiness. She sank down on the grass, and seemed to be on the way
to heaven. But, ah! the way thither is not so easy; and these heavenly
foretastes remain only a short time in the souls of children, as well as
of grown people.

That which brought Petrea from her heavenly journey back to the earth
again was a squirrel, which sprang directly across her path, and sent
her forth immediately in chase of it. To catch such game, and to carry
it home, would be indeed in the highest degree a memorable action. "What
would Henrik and my sisters say? What would all the city say? Perhaps it
will get into the newspapers!--perhaps the king may get to hear of
it!"--thought Petrea, whilst, out of herself with ambition and
earnestness, she pursued the little squirrel over stock and stone.

Her frock was torn; her hands and feet were bruised; but that was a mere
nothing! She felt it not, more particularly--oh, height of felicity!--as
she fell down, and at that same moment grasped in her trembling hands
her little prey. Petrea cried for delight, and shouted to her mother and
sisters, who--could not hear her.

"Oh, thou little most loveable creature!" said Petrea, endeavouring at
the same time to kiss her little captive, in return for which that most
loveable little creature bit her by the chin. Surprised, and sorely
smarting from the pain, Petrea began to cry; yet for all that would not
let go the squirrel, although the blood flowed from the wound. Petrea
ran forward, wondering that she never came to the great trellis-gate,
through which she knew she must pass in order to reach home. Whilst she
thus wondered with herself, and ran, and struggled with her little
untractable prisoner, she saw a gentleman coming towards her. It never
once occurred to her that this could be any other than her father, and
almost transported for joy, she exclaimed, "Father, I have seen the
Wood-god!"

Greatly astonished to hear himself thus parentally addressed, the young
man looked up from the book in which he read, gazed at Petrea, smiled,
and replied, "Nay, my child, he is gone in that direction," pointing
with his finger towards that quarter whence Petrea had come. Imagining
at once that he meant the Candidate, Petrea replied with anxiety and a
quick foreboding that she was on a wrong track, "Oh, no, it is not he!"
and then turned suddenly back again.

She abandoned now all thoughts of running home, and was only desirous of
finding those whom she had so thoughtlessly left. She ran back,
therefore, with all her speed, the way she had come, till she reached
where two roads branched off, and there unfortunately taking the wrong
one, came into a wild region, where she soon perceived how entirely
confused she had become. She no longer knew which way to go, and in
despair threw herself into the grass and wept. All her ambition was
gone; she let the squirrel run away, and gave herself up to her own
comfortless feelings. She thought now of the uneasiness and anxiety of
her mother, and wept all the more at the thought of her own folly. But,
however, consoling thoughts, before long, chased away these desponding
ones. She dried her eyes with her dress--she had lost her
pocket-handkerchief--and looking around her she saw a quantity of fine
raspberries growing in a cleft of the hill. "Raspberries!" exclaimed
she, "my mother's favourite berries!" And now we may see our little
Petrea scrambling up the cliff with all her might, in order to gather
the lovely fruit. She thought that with a bouquet of raspberries in her
hand, she could throw herself at the feet of her mother, and pray for
forgiveness. So thought she, and tore up the raspberry bushes, and new
courage and new hope revived the while in her breast. If, thought she,
she clambered only a little way higher, could she not discover where
her home was? should she not see her mother, father, sisters, nay, the
whole world? Certainly. What a bright idea it was!

With one hand full of raspberries, the other assisted her to climb; but,
ah! first one foot slipped on the dry smooth grass, and then the other.
The left hand could no longer sustain the whole weight of her body; the
right hand would not let go the raspberries. A moment of anguish, a
violent effort, and then Petrea rolled down the cliff into a thicket of
bushes and nettles, where for the present we will leave her, in order to
look after the others.

The anxiety of the mother is not to be described, as after a whole hour
spent with Jacobi and Henrik (the little Queen-bee watched over the
other children near Pan's grotto), in seeking and calling for Petrea,
all was in vain. There were many ponds in the park, and they could not
conceal from themselves that it was possible she might have fallen into
one. It was a most horrible idea for Elise, and sent an anguish like
death into her heart, as she thought of returning in the evening to her
husband with one child missing, and that one of his favourites--missing
through her own negligence. Death itself seemed to her preferable.

Breathless, and pale as a corpse, she wandered about, and more than once
was near sinking to the earth. In vain the Candidate besought her to
spare herself; to keep herself quiet, and leave all to him. In vain! She
heard him not; and restless and unhappy, she sought the child herself.
Jacobi was afraid to leave her long alone, and kept wandering near her;
whilst Henrik ran into other parts of the park, seeking about and
calling.

It was full two hours of fruitless search after the lost one, when the
Candidate had again joined the despairing mother, that at the very same
moment their glances both fell suddenly on the same object--it was
Petrea! She lay in a thicket at the foot of the hill; drops of blood
were visible on her face and dress, and a horrible necklace--a yellow
spangled snake!--glittered in the sun around her neck. She lay
motionless, and appeared as if sleeping. The mother uttered a faint cry
of terror, and would have thrown herself upon her, had not the Candidate
withheld her.

"For heaven's sake," said he, fervently, and pale as death, "be still;
nothing perhaps is amiss; but it is the poisonous snake of our
woods--the aspic! An incautious movement, and both you and Petrea may be
lost! No, you must not; your life is too precious--but I--promise me to
be still, and----"

Elise was scarcely conscious of what she did. "Away! away!" she said,
and strove to put Jacobi aside with her weak hands; she herself would
have gone, but her knees supported her no longer--she staggered, and
fell to the ground.

In that same moment the Candidate was beside Petrea, and seizing the
snake by the neck with as much boldness as dexterity, he slung it to a
distance. By this motion awakened, Petrea shuddered, opened her
sleep-drunken eyes, and looking around her, exclaimed, "Ah, ah, father!
I have seen the Wood-god!"

"God bless thee and thy Wood-god!" cried the delighted Candidate,
rejoicing over this indisputable token of life and health; and then
clasping her to his breast he bore her to her mother. But the mother
neither heard nor saw anything; she lay in a deep swoon, and was first
recalled to consciousness by Henrik's kisses and tears. For a while she
looked about her with anguishful and bewildered looks.

"Is she dead?" whispered she.

"No, no! she lives--she is unhurt!" returned Jacobi, who had thrown
himself on his knees beside her; whilst the little Petrea, kneeling
likewise, and holding forth the bunch of raspberries, sobbed aloud, and
besought her, "Forgive! oh, mamma, forgive me!"

Light returned to the eyes of the mother; she started up, and, with a
cry of inexpressible joy, clasped the recovered child to her breast.

"God be praised and blessed!" cried she, raising her folded hands to
heaven; and then silently giving her hand to Jacobi, she looked at him
with tears, which expressed what was beyond the power of words.

"Thank God! thank God!" said Jacobi, with deep emotion, pressing Elise's
hand to his lips and to his breast. He felt himself happy beyond words.

They now hastened to remove from the dangerous neighbourhood of the
snake, after Jacobi and Henrik had given up, at the desire of the
mother, the probably ineffectual design of seeking out the poisonous but
blameless animal, and killing it on the spot.

All this time the little Queen-bee had sate alone by the grotto,
endeavouring to comfort her sisters, whilst she herself wept bitter
tears over Petrea, whom she never expected to see again: on that very
account her joy was all the greater and louder, when she saw her carried
in the arms of the Candidate; and no sooner did she learn from her
mother how he had rescued her from the fangs of death, than she threw
her arms round his neck in inexpressible gratitude. All this Petrea
heard and saw with the astonishment and curiosity of one who meets with
something unheard of; and then, thus seeing the distress which her
inconsiderateness had occasioned, she herself melted into such
despairing tears, that her mother was obliged to console and cheer her.
Of her fall into the thicket Petrea knew no more than that her head had
felt confused, that she could not get up again, had slept, and then
dreamed of the Wood-god.

In the mean time it had become so late, that the harvest of nuts was not
to be thought of, and as much on the mother's as on Petrea's account, it
was necessary to hasten home. The other children probably would have
grieved more over the unfortunate pleasure journey, had they not felt an
extraordinary desire to relate at home the remarkable occurrences of the
day. New difficulties arose on the return. Petrea--who, besides that she
was weary, was bruised and sadly dirtied by her fall--could not walk,
and therefore it was determined that she must ride in the little
carriage, while the Candidate carried Gabriele. When, however, the
little one saw that Jacobi was without gloves, she would neither allow
him to carry her nor to take hold of her, and set up the most pitiable
cry. Spite of her crying, however, he took up the "little mother," as he
called her; and what neither his nor the mother's persuasion could
effect, was brought about by Henrik's leaps and springs, and
caresses--she was diverted: the tears remained standing half-way down
her cheeks, in the dimples which were suddenly made by her hearty
laughter.

Petrea, after the paroxysm of sorrow and penitence was in measure
abated, began to think herself and her adventures particularly
interesting, and sate in her little carriage a very important personage,
surrounded by her sisters, who could not sufficiently listen to her
relation, and who emulated each other in drawing the little equipage.
As for Jacobi, he drew the carriage; he carried the baby, which soon
fell asleep on his shoulder; he sang songs; told stories, in order to
entertain Elise, who remained a long time pale and depressed, from the
danger which had threatened her, and the anxiety which she had endured.

At length they reached home. They poured forth their adventures:
Brigitta shed tears over her "Little angel-sweet Mamselle Petrea;" and
the father, from the impulse of his feelings, pressed Jacobi to his
heart.

After Petrea's scratches and bruises had been washed with Riga-balsam,
the mother permitted the children to have a supper of pancakes and
raspberry-cream, in order to console them for the unfortunate
expedition. Hereupon the children danced for joy about the table; and
Petrea, who, on account of her misfortunes, received a Benjamin's
portion, regarded it as certain that they always eat such cream in
heaven, wherefore she proposed that it should be called "Angels' food."
This proposition met with the highest approbation, and from this day
"Angels' food" became a well-known dish in the Frank family.

Yet Petrea wept some bitter tears on the breast of her father over the
gentle admonition she received from him; but spite of tears, she soon
slept sweetly in his arms.

And the lecture of the Candidate?

"Stay at home with us this evening," said Elise to him, with a kind,
beseeching glance.

The Candidate stayed with them.

CHAPTER VII.

BREAKERS.

"Stay at home with us this evening," prayed Elise the next day, and for
several other days, and the Candidate stayed.

Never before had he seen Elise so kind, so cordial towards him; never
before had she shown him so much attention as now; and this attention,
this cordiality from a lady who, in her intercourse with men, was
generally only polite and indifferent, flattered his vanity, at the same
time that it penetrated his good heart. All occasion for explanation
and lectures vanished, for the Candidate had entirely renounced his
dissipated friends and companions, and now nobody could talk more
edifying than he on the subject. He agreed so cordially with Elise, that
the fleeting champagne of the orgies foamed only for the moment, leaving
nothing but emptiness and flatness behind. "For once, nay, for a few
times," he was of opinion, "such excesses might be harmless, perhaps
even refreshing; but often repeated--ah! that would be prejudicial, and
demoralising in the highest degree!"

All this seemed to the little Queen-bee, who had heard it, remarkably
well expressed.

Nobody seemed now better pleased at home than Jacobi; he felt himself so
well in the regular course of life which he led, and there seemed so
much that was genuine and fresh in the occupations and pleasures of
those quiet days at home.

In the mean time, the fresh life of the Candidate began to develop its
weak side. Gratitude had, in the first instance, warmed Elise's heart
towards him, and then his own real amiability made it so easy to gratify
the wish of her husband respecting her behaviour towards him, and thus
it soon happened that her intercourse with Jacobi enlivened her own
existence. In many respects their tastes were similar, especially in
their love of music and polite literature, whilst his youthful
enthusiasm gave to their common occupations a higher life and interest.
Discussion lost all character of dispute, and became merely an agreeable
interchange of thought: it was no longer now of any importance to him to
be always right; there was a peculiar kind of pleasure in giving up his
opinion to hers. He knew more out of books than she did, but she knew
more of life--the mother of books, than he; and on this account she, on
her part, proceeded as the older and guiding friend. He felt himself
happy from the influence and gentle guidance of an agreeable woman, and
became more and more devoted to her from his soul.

Still there was a quietness and a charm about this connexion that made
him never forbode danger in it. He loved to be treated as a child by
Elise, and he gave, therefore, free play to his naturally
unsophisticated feelings. Her gentle reproofs were a sort of luxury to
him; he had a delight in sinning, in order to deserve them; and then,
whilst listening to them, how gladly would he have pressed her dress,
or her white and beautiful hand to his lips; there was even a sort of
painfully agreeable sensation to him in his not daring to do so.
Whenever she approached, and he heard her light footsteps, or when he
perceived the soft rose-odour which always accompanied her, it seemed to
become infinitely warm around his heart. But that which, above all the
rest, was the strongest bond between Jacobi and Elise, was her
sufferings. Whenever nervous pain, or domestic unpleasantness, depressed
her spirits; when she bore the not unfrequent ill-humour of her husband
with patience, the heart of Jacobi melted in tenderness towards her, and
he did all that lay in his power to amuse and divert her thoughts, and
even to anticipate her slightest wishes. She could not be insensible to
all this--perhaps also it flattered her vanity to observe the power she
had over this young man--perhaps even she might willingly deceive
herself as to the nature of his sentiments, because she would not
disturb the connexion which lent a sweet charm to her life.

"He loves the children and their mother," said she; "he is their friend
and mine! May he only continue such!"

And certain it is that the children had never been better conducted,
never had learned better, never been happier, than they were now, whilst
Jacobi himself developed a more and more happy ability to teach and
guide.

Adverse fate barricades the shore which the vessel is on the point of
approaching, by dangerous breakers, and interrupts the bond between the
dearest friends, which is just about to be cemented eternally. It was
this fate which, at the very time when Jacobi was exhibiting his
character in the fairest point of view, occasioned the Judge to exhibit
the darker side of his.

Judge Frank belonged to that class of persons who are always in the best
humour the more they have to do, and the more active is the life they
lead. And just now there had occurred a pause in an undertaking for the
country's good, which lay much at the Judge's heart; and delay,
occasioned by a number of little circumstances which he willingly would,
but could not, dissipate, put him into an ill humour. At home he was
often exacting and quarrelsome, particularly towards his wife; thus
placing himself, beside the kind and cheerful Jacobi, in a very
disadvantageous light. He felt this, and was displeased with himself,
and displeased with his wife too, because she seemed to pay but little
regard to his grumbling; occupying herself instead by her
singing-practice with Jacobi. This very singing-practice, too, of which
he himself had been the occasion, began to appear to him too much of a
thing. He seemed to think scolding more agreeable for the ear; in fact,
he was in that edifying state of mind which excites and angers itself
about that which a few good words alone would easily put an end to.

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