From the
promptness of his reply I thought that he had wished me to ask
concerning his outgoing and incoming.
"I have been to the bridge over the moat, near Castleman's House under
the Wall," he answered.
"What did you there?" I asked, seeing his willingness to be questioned.
"I stood there--I--I--" He paused, laughed, and stammered on. "I looked
at the castle and at the moat, like a silly fool, and--and--"
"Castleman's house?" I suggested, helping him out.
"Y-e-s," he answered hesitatingly, "I could not help seeing it. It is
close by the bridge--not twenty paces distant."
"Did you see any one else--except the house?" I asked.
"No," he returned promptly. "I did not want to see any one else. If I
had I should have entered the house."
"Why, then, did you go to the bridge?" I queried.
"I cannot answer that question even to myself," he replied. "I--I--there
is a constant hungering for her, Karl, that I cannot overcome; it seems
as if I am compelled to go to the bridge, though I know I should not. It
is very foolish in me, I am sure, but--"
"I heartily agree with you," I answered. "It is not only foolish, it is
rash; and it may bring you great trouble."
I did not deem it necessary to tell him that he was following in the
footsteps of his race. I left him to suppose that he was the only fool
of the sort that had ever lived. The thought would abate his vanity.
"But I _must_ go to the bridge," he continued, finishing the sentence I
had interrupted, "and I do not see how there can be evil in it.
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