HANS RECEIVES A HEARTY WELCOME FROM AN OLD FRIEND.
"Not a foreign land, Hans; I am in my own country," answered the noble Venetian, as he led the young man through the splendid halls, whose stately walls were adorned with the masterpieces of those immortal artists who called Italy their home. Then they sat down together in the wide bow-window, and Hans looked joyfully into the old man's venerable countenance.
"So you did not forget the poor herdsman in your splendid home?" said he.
"Forget thee, Hans!" replied the noble Venetian—"forget thee, who didst think of me in the midst of love and pleasure, and even in thy flight, when thy heart was filled with deadly anguish! No, indeed. I long to reward those years of faithful love, and perhaps the opportunity has come at last."
"Oh, sir," cried Hans with shining eyes, "will you tell me how things go at home, where you have been more lately than I? Tell me if Nazerl recovered, if my mother has ceased to grieve about me, and if Anneli still remembers me."
"Nazerl is dead—but through no fault of thine," said the old man soothingly, for Hans had looked terror-stricken at his opening words. "He soon recovered from the trifling wound caused by thy hand; but his own foolhardiness drove him up to the highest points of rock after a chamois, and a rash step hurled him into the ravine. It was not till long afterwards that they found his mangled corpse. As for thy mother and Anneli, thou mayest see for thyself."
So saying he rose, stepped up to a richly carved cabinet, and took from a secret compartment a flashing jewel. The young man recognised it well; it was the wondrous mountain mirror; and now he held it once more in his hand, and looked searchingly on its shining surface. Light mists rolled over it; they grew gradually thinner and thinner, till at last there lay before him in the splendour of the morning sunlight his own beloved valley, and the substantial farm-house, Anneli's home. He gave no heed to the cheerful stir in barn and stable, nor to the busy preparation for the returning herds. No, his eye pressed through the clear window-panes to a well-remembered room. It was quiet and cosy, as in days gone by. At the window sat Anneli, fair and lovable as ever, but her countenance bore traces of gentle melancholy. The snow-white thread rested in her hands, and her lips moved in earnest talk with the two women at the other window—the farmer's widow and the old mother that Hans was longing to comfort. It seemed to Hans that the conversation concerned him, and as if now and then his name fell from Anneli's rosy lips. And every time she raised her eyes towards the opposite wall, Hans followed the direction of her gaze, and saw, carefully preserved by glass and frame, a well-remembered blue ribbon and bunch of withered mountain flowers. At this sign of faithful memory tears started to the young man's eyes, and when he had dried them, and looked again on the magic mirror, the dear vision had vanished, and the glass flashed once more in the light of the Italian sun.
"Listen, my son; I will tell thee the wish that my heart cherishes for thee," said the old man, as he laid the magic mirror carefully back in the cabinet. "I am alone and lonely, the last representative of a name of ancient renown. When I was young and strong, I was filled with a desire after secret knowledge. I sought the gold of the mountains far and near—thou knowest this well—heaping treasures on treasures, and all the while I never noticed that I was growing old, and was still alone in life. Stay now with me. I will enrich thy mind with the treasures of my knowledge, and thy heart shall remain pure. Thou shalt be my son, the heir of my wealth; and thy name shall be inscribed among the noblest names in the golden book of Venice."