What had the hermit of Siti to do at the flowery graves at the foot of the Mythen? Or, had the young maiden acted the character of an anchorite? Did she conceal her youthful charms beneath the coarse garb of an hermit? But no, no, that was impossible; the recluse was above a head taller than Liesli, his eyes were sunk and hollow, his voice was tremulous, his skin withered—there was no mask—no illusion there!
I completely lost myself in the most silly surmises, of which the most probable appeared to be, that this truly angelic girl was a supernatural being who had appeared to me. Her whole appearance shewed marks of so much delicacy. She was so light in her movements, in her eye there beamed an expression more than mortal; her voice so melodious, sounded to my ears as if coming from an angel in heaven; her step had more of the air of a seraph than of an earthly being, and her smile resembled that given by the painters of the golden age of art to their angels and cherubs. The form—ah no! that was purely human, reality itself; her limbs so finely rounded—her skin so delicately soft and tender; and the blood which coloured the veins of her beauteous cheeks flowed warm and full of life from the heart.
I lay down to rest, but could not sleep. The Mythen, which, from my bed, I could plainly perceive towering to the black heavens above, seemed to totter and tremble; I could not close my eyes, for at each moment I imagined I beheld it descending to bury me in its ruins, without either flowers or wreath to decorate my grave. At length, towards morning, I fell asleep; overfatigued, I exceeded the appointed hour of the meeting.
Hastily rising, and dressing myself, I flew to the spot, where I arrived breathless—fifty-five minutes past the time! The Rigi was there, but Liesli—not! I waited at the place of meeting, reproaching myself severely, forming a host of suppositions and doubts. I calculated upon a thousand difficulties and hindrances, and that, too, during a fuli and anxiovs hour. The
