They listen only to the voice of tenderness speaking in their hearts, and would that the solemn quiet of this dialogue might not be broken by a loud word from their lips.
The post-horn sounded! They halted at a lonely house near the highway. It is the station. Change horses! There is not a light to be seen. Three times the postilion blew a pealing blast ere they could awake the inmates. The window was at last opened, and a sleepy, complaining voice questioned the number of horses and the distance of the next post.
Slowly they were brought forward, and still more slowly were they attached to the carriage, and all arranged. What matters it? The night is lovely, and like a dream it seems to remain under the starry heavens, spread out like a canopy above them.
Does not your heart tell you that sorrow strides on like the storm? Do you not hear the voices still shrieking after you?
The postilion mounted his horse, and again the trumpet pealed forth its merry air, and was answered with a shout of triumph from the swift pursuers.
Marie raised her head from Philip’s shoulder. “What was it? Did you not hear it?”
“What, my beloved, what should I hear? Do the stars salute you? Do the angels greet their sister upon earth?”
“Hark! there it is again! Do you not hear it? Listen! does it not seem as if one called ‘Halt! halt!’”
“Yes, truly, I hear it now also! What can happen, love? Why trouble ourselves about the outer world and the existence of other beings?”
“I know not, but I am so anxious, my heart almost ceases to beat, with terror!”