"The Count of Hohenzollern."
"Him I also know."
"Thou shouldst know him well, for he is also thy father."
"My father is in Eisenach."
"Thou hast more parents."
"Whither are we going?"
"Ever homewards."
They had now reached a roomy spot in the wood, where some decayed towers were standing beyond deep ravines. Early shrubbery wound about the old walls, like a youthful garland around the silvery head of an old man. While contemplating the gray stones, the tortuous clefts, and the tall, ghastly, shapes of rock, one looked into immensity of time, and saw the most distant events, collected in short but brilliant minutes. So appears to us the infinite space of heaven, clad in dark blue; and like a milky glimmer, stainless as an infant's cheeks, appears the most distant array of its ponderous and mighty worlds. They walked through an old doorway, and the pilgrim was not a little astonished when he found himself entirely surrounded by strange plants, and saw all the charms of the most beautiful garden hidden beneath the ruins. A small stone house built in recent style, with large windows, lay in the rear. There stood an old man behind the broad-leafed shrubbery, employed in tying the drooping branches to some little props. His female guide led the pilgrim to him, and said, "Here is Henry, after whom you have inquired so often."
As the old man turned around, Henry fancied that he saw the miner before him.
"This is the physician Sylvester," said the little girl.