In the Yule-Log Glow, Book II | Page 7

uncertain; and you fear that the honeyed words of
courtship might turn to bitter sayings in matrimony. They do,
sometimes, eh, baron? By all means guard her from such a fate as that.
Poor, tender flower! Or who knows, worse than that, baron! Hard
words break no bones, they say, but angry men are quick, and a blow is
soon struck, eh?"
The goblin had drawn nearer and nearer, and laid his hand upon the
baron's arm, and the last words were literally hissed into his ears.
The baron's frame swayed to and fro under the violence of his emotion.
At last, with a cry of agony, he dashed his hands upon his forehead.
The veins were swollen up like thick cords, and his voice was almost
inarticulate in its unnatural hoarseness.
"Tortures! release me! Let me go, let me go and do something to forget
the past, or I shall go mad and die!"
He rushed out of the room and paced wildly down the corridor, the
goblin following him. At last, as they came near the outer door of the
castle, which opened of itself as they reached it, the spirit spoke:
"This way, baron, this way. I told you there was work for us to do
before morning, you know."
"Work!" exclaimed the baron, absently, passing his fingers through his
tangled hair; "oh! yes, work! the harder the better; anything to make me
forget."
The two stepped out into the court-yard, and the baron shivered, though,
as it seemed, unconsciously, at the breath of the frosty midnight air.
The snow lay deep on the ground, and the baron's heavy boots sank into
it with a crisp, crushing sound at every tread.
He was bareheaded, but seemed unconscious of the fact, and tramped
on, as if utterly indifferent to anything but his own thoughts. At last, as
a blast of the night wind, keener than ordinary, swept over him, he
seemed for the first time to feel the chill. His teeth chattered, and he

muttered, "Cold, very cold."
"Ay, baron," said the goblin, "it is cold even to us, who are healthy and
strong, and warmed with wine. Colder still, though, to those who are
hungry and half-naked, and have to sleep on the snow."
"Sleep? snow?" said the baron. "Who sleeps on the snow? Why, I
wouldn't let my dogs be out on such a night as this."
"Your dogs, no!" said the goblin; "I spoke of meaner animals--your
wretched tenants. Did you not order, yesterday, that Wilhelm and
Friedrich, if they did not pay their rent to-morrow, should be turned out
to sleep on the snow? A snug bed for the little ones, and a nice white
coverlet, eh? Ha! ha! twenty florins or so is no great matter, is it? I'm
afraid their chance is small; nevertheless, come and see."
The baron hung his head. A few minutes brought him to the first of the
poor dwellings, which they entered noiselessly. The fireless grate, the
carpetless floor, the broken window-panes, all gave sufficient
testimony to the want and misery of the occupants. In one corner lay
sleeping a man, a woman, and three children, and nestling to each other
for the warmth which their ragged coverlet could afford. In the man,
the baron recognized his tenant Wilhelm, one of those who had been
with him to beg for indulgence on the previous day.
The keen features, and bones almost starting through the pallid skin,
showed how heavily the hand of hunger had been laid upon all.
The cold night wind moaned and whistled through the many flaws in
the ill-glazed, ill-thatched tenement, and rustled over the sleepers, who
shivered even in their sleep.
"Ha, baron!" said the goblin, "death is breathing in their faces even now,
you see; it is hardly worth while to lay them to sleep in the snow, is it?
They would sleep a little sounder, that's all."
The baron shuddered, and then, hastily pulling the warm coat from his
own shoulders, he spread it over the sleepers.

"Oho!" said the goblin; "bravely done, baron! By all means keep them
warm to-night; they enjoy the snow more to-morrow, you know."
Strange to say, the baron, instead of feeling chilled when he had
removed his coat, felt a strange glow of warmth spread from the region
of the heart over his entire frame. The goblin's continual allusions to his
former intention, which he had by this time totally relinquished, hurt
him, and he said, rather pathetically,--
"Don't talk of that again, good goblin. I'd rather sleep on the snow
myself."
"Eh! what?" said the goblin; "you don't mean to say you're sorry? Then
what do you say to making these poor people comfortable?"
"With all my heart," said the baron, "if we had only anything