Steck was the first to interrupt the sweet quietness which was not silence. "How beautifully clear is this little mountain-brook alongside of us!" he said. "See, it has followed us all the way from the Drusenheim inn."
"I should rather say," answered Waldstein, "that we have followed it; and in truth it is the surest guide for us: as we keep along this path, bearing its channel always in sight, the first bend in its course will bring us in view of our goal."
A few paces more led them to the curve, and then only a single narrow field lay between them and the parsonage.
CHAPTER II
THE PARSONAGE
It looked more like an ancient farm-house than the home of the parish priest, and was separated by a considerable distance from the village church, whose humble spire and glittering vane peered above the clustered trees beyond. It seemed a very antique and weather-stained homestead, but wore rather the quaint picturesqueness that just precedes decay, than the actual dilapidation of ruin itself. It would have been hard to tell with what color it had originally been decorated, for it was now sunburned and rain-washed into a streaky, sombre gray, to which this gorgeous October light gave a certain mellow warmth of its own; and the walls were so covered with the glossy leaves of the ivy, the porch was so overgrown with the interlocked stems of the honeysuckle, that comparatively little of the dwelling itself was left bare. In front was a small, carefully-tended garden, where the autumn roses were glowing; but nearly all the adjacent grounds were devoted to what would have seemed the interests of a goodly farm; the gray old orchard rich with red and yellow globes twinkling among the branches or lying half buried in the soft turf below; the vine-trellises beyond, with their large, dusky leaves, bearing their splendid blue and golden-green fruitage freely in the open air; and on the other side of the house, the thriving kitchen-garden with its stripes of varied verdure,—all prosperously basking in the radiant sunshine of harvest-tide. Some of the windows were thrown open for the air and light to play through the dwelling; from one of them a white curtain, detached from its fastenings, was blowing. A perky little hen, with her brood close after her, was strutting along the garden-lane and pecking near the walls of the manse, but no other living creature seemed to be stirring about the premises.
"A queer, quiet old place it is," said Steck, taking in all the details at a glance.
"Yes," said Waldstein, dryly; "it is younger inside."
The gate was open, and they walked noiselessly through, frightening the hen and her young ones into a brisk trot towards the barnyard. They had almost reached the doorway before they saw, half reclining on a long wooden bench in the porch, the portly figure of the pastor, his face concealed by a large volume held up before his eyes.
"Good-evening, Father Duroc," cried Max.
Their host started, let fall his book from before him, and disclosed a jovial, weak, handsome face, but little marked by age, whose thick dark eyebrows and rosy coloring contrasted strikingly with the pure white of his unpowdered hair.