“You! did wainwright’s Rosa love?” said the stranger, interrupting him; “that is not true, let me tell you.”
“You know that well enough, you jealous fool. Did not she wear for a whole year the blessed ring of silver that I brought with me from Scherpenheuvel, till you yourself took the ring by force, and cast it into the brook?”
The traveler’s countenance brightened into a melancholy smile.
“Lauw! Lauw! the recollection of the old times makes children of us again. Believe me, Rosa never loved you as you fancy. She took your ring out of friendship, and because it had been blessed. In my youth I was rude and harsh, and did not always act in the best manner toward my comrades; but should not the four-and-thirty years which have operated so annihilatingly on men and things, have calmed down our evil passions? Shall I, in the only man who has recollected me, find an irreconcilable enemy? Come, give me your hand; let us be friends; I will make you comfortable for your whole life.”
But the grave-digger drew angrily his hand back, and answered in a caustic tone—
“It is too late to forget. You have embittered my life, and there passes no day but I think of you. Is that, think you, to bless your name? You, who contributed so much to my misfortune, may easily guess.”
The traveler struck his trembling hands together, and lifting his eyes toward heaven, exclaimed—
“God! hatred alone recognizes me! hate only never forgets!”
“You have done well,” continued the grave-digger, “to come back to rest amongst your departed ancestors. I have kept a good grave for you. When the headstrong long Jan lies under the earth, the rain will wash misery from his corpse.”
The traveler trembled in every limb at this rude jest. Anger and displeasure kindled in his eyes. But this hasty emotion quickly vanished; dejection and pity took their place.