"It would be best," he said at last, "to row the 'gnädiger Herr' as far as the Isle of Friendship, which is halfway there."
Leo nodded. The Isle of Friendship! So well known was the tie which bound him and Ulrich together that their friendship had become a romance current amongst the people, so that even the name they had given in joke to the place where as boys they had loved best to meet, which they had never mentioned except to a few near relations, had grown into a geographical landmark for the public. Ah, but if they knew! If they could see the ghost which had arisen between them!
"Repent nothing," a voice cried out within him; and he struck the water with his clenched fist, till a fountain of glistening drops started up around him.
Old Jürgens nearly dropped his oars, in alarm, and stuttered out a query.
Leo laughed at him. "I didn't mean anything, old man," he said. "I was simply quarrelling with brother within."
"No good to be got out of him--maybe he's a devil," said the old ferryman, philosophically, and rowed on.
The boat had turned its keel down the river, which shimmered faintly as it wound along between the dusky blackness of the willow-bushes, now widening almost into a lake, then narrowing where a headland, like an outstretched knee, jutted darkly into the ripples.
The deep ruddy glow on the horizon now covered a smaller space. A phosphorescent green, slashed with small silver-fringed clouds, slowly struggled higher and higher till it was lost in the dark blue of night. The twilight of midnight, the dreamy magic of which is only known to men who have their homes in northern climes, was descending on the earth.
Just in front of the boat floated the raft, a huge mass reflected in the shining water, with the smoke from smouldering brushwood curling softly upwards and hovering in the air above it. In a few minutes they overtook it. Figures crouching on the rafters raised their heads in languid curiosity and stared at the boat as it passed. Red flames flickered still under the cauldron, and from within the straw-roofed cabin, rough as any rubbish-heap in the fields, came the sound of a woman's voice singing a plaintive ditty.
In about half an hour the black shadowy outline of an island reared itself from the middle of the gleaming mirror of water. It resembled a massive flower-basket, for from the stony edge of its banks the ragged branches of the alders drooped far over into the stream.