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Dawney did everything for him, and Harz resented in a listless way the intent scrutiny of the doctor's calm, black eyes. Towards the end of the second day he was able to get up; Dawney found him sitting on the bed in shirt and trousers. "My son," he said, "you had better tell me what the trouble is it will do your stubborn carcase good." "I must go back to work," said Harz.
Greta, with feet crossed, sat on a coloured blanket, dabbling her finger in a little pool of coffee, and gazing up at Harz. And he thought: 'I should like to paint her like that. "A forget-me-not." He took out his chalks to make a sketch of her. "Shall you show me?" cried out Greta, scrambling to her feet. "'Will, Greta 'will'; how often must I tell you?
It is said that the young duke was at the time among the Harz Mountains, and that the ambassadors found him in the homely attire of a sportsman in the fowling floor. He obeyed the call of the nation without delay and without manifesting surprise. The error he had committed in rebelling against the State, it was his firm purpose to atone for by his conduct as emperor.
"There is a trunk," I said, "that I wish you would take to the Mansion House to the care of a Mr. Somnus lodging there here is the card attached, with his name; place it with his baggage. It is to go to New York, for a Miss Harz, a relation of mine a teacher, I believe, who has applied to me for assistance; but he understands all that, so you need not be at, any trouble to explain.
Ask Paul there, he's one of your moral men, or Count Sarelli." The latter said impassively: "If I cared for her I should very likely kill her if not " he shrugged his shoulders. Harz, who was watching, was reminded of his other words at dinner, "wild beasts whom I would tear to pieces."
"Work!" said Dawney deliberately: "you couldn't, if you tried." "I must." "My dear fellow, you couldn't tell one colour from another." "I must be doing something; I can't sit here and think." Dawney hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat: "You won't see the sun for three days yet, if I can help it." Harz got up. "I'm going to my studio to-morrow," he said. "I promise not to go out.
"But, dear; how can you come with me? We can't be married here." "I am giving my life to you." "You are too good for me," said Harz. "The life you're going into may be dark, like that!" he pointed to the window. A sound of footsteps broke the hush. They could see a figure on the path below. It stopped, seemed to consider, vanished.
Whether any such legend really lingers about the Kaatskill mountains I do not know; but I have a vehement suspicion that Washington Irving was indebted rather to Otmar's "Traditions of the Harz," a book published at Bremen in the year 1800.
I've got to shove along until I've made my name, and then, my little man then " "Then you'll be soft!" "You pay dearly for that first period!" "Take my chance of that; there's no other way." "Make one!" "Humph!" Harz poised his brush, as though it were a spear: "A man must do the best in him. If he has to suffer let him!"
"Tell me not of such folly," he said; "the demon is a good demon he lives among us as if he were a peasant like ourselves haunts the lonely crags and recesses of the mountains like a huntsman or goatherd and he who loves the Harz forest and its wild scenes cannot be indifferent to the fate of the hardy children of the soil.
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