He now entered the thickest part of the wood, a
narrow valley between two high hills which overshadowed it. Oh,
how thirsty he was, so fearfully thirsty! He stood still and
wondered whether he could get anything to drink. Yes, he could
hear the murmur of a brook. He ran farther down towards it. Close
by was an opening in the wood, and as he went towards the stream
he was arrested by something there: the sun had burst forth and
lighted up the tree-tops, throwing deep shadows below. Did he see
anything? Yes; it seemed to him that he saw himself, not
absolutely in the opening, but to one side, in the shadow, under a
tree; he hung there by his hair. He hung there and swung, a man,
but in the velvet jacket of his childhood and the tight-fitting
trousers: he swung suspended by his tangled red hair. And farther
away he distinctly saw another figure: it was his mother, stiff
and stately, who was turning round as if to the sound of music.
And, God preserve him! still farther away, broad and heavy, hung
his father, by the few thin hairs on his neck, with wretched
distorted face as on his death-bed. In other respects those two
were not great sinners.
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