Margret was very tired, her chattering ceased; she nestled close to her strong companion like a weary little bird. He led her as if she had been a child, raising her over the pools and the stones, and saying now and then comfortingly: “We’ll be home soon.” But the “soon” stretched out to quite a long time; at the last he almost had to carry her. Margret went on as if in a dream. Her eyes were tight shut in blissful confidence; she thought it would go on this way forever. She started up almost in a fright as the youth halted suddenly and pointed out with his hand to where dark shapes grew up in the gray mist with twinkling lights here and there—“Kyllburg!”
They took the narrow path that led straight up the mountain; Margret was quite awake again. This was the path that led up to the lonely hut on the bare hill-top, then she would be at home again, she would be herself again—and the dream would be over. She hurried on now ahead of her companion, for here she knew every stock and stone of the road. In her heart joy and regret mingled and tossed—regret for the parting with her companion, joy at seeing her mother again. She had not known that these feelings could be so mingled before.
Now they halted again. There was the hut, dark and silent, with a little patch of grass in front of it, and the tall sunflowers. There was the pump and the little lean-to for the goat, and over all the silver light of the moon.
“I thank you many thousand times,” said Margret softly, and caught at her companion’s hand.
He had suddenly grown very silent; then he said hesitatingly: “H’m—Say—H’m—The gentleman down in Trier—you didn’t want to give him a kiss—But would you kiss me?—What do you say about it, Margret?”
Half laughing, half in entreaty, he bowed down over her face. And Margret, timid little Margret, put up both arms around his neck and gave him a hearty kiss right on the mouth. Then she tore herself away and ran in through the door of her hut.
The youth stood still on the wet grass and waited until he saw a tiny glimmer of light coming from the hut. Then he said aloud, and with firm decision:
“That’s the one I want.”
Thus Margret’s pilgrimage ended.