"You've loosened a chain from my heart."
They got into the boat and pushed oft, and, like an arrow, the slender bark shot out over the smooth water of the lake.
"The pastor meant to come," said Walpurga, when they had gone some distance.
"He can come some other time; he won't run away," thought Hansei. "We're rowing together, just as we did when we were betrothed."
Walpurga also seized the oars. She and Hansei sat face to face. The four oars rose and fell as if it were a single hand that plied them. Neither spoke a word; there was nothing to be said. The happy glances they bestowed on each other were full of eloquence, and the equal stroke of the oars told the whole story.
When they reached the middle of the lake, they heard loud music from the shore, and, looking back, saw a great crowd, accompanied by the band, in front of their house.
"Thank God! We've escaped that," said Hansei.
They rowed on, further and further, and went ashore on the opposite bank where, holding each other by the hand, they walked up the hill. They soon reached a bluff, where they rested for awhile. At last, Hansei said:
"Walpurga, it seems to me that you don't want to be the landlady of the Chamois. Tell me frankly, is it so?"
"No, I don't; but if you're really bent upon it--"