Then, just at that moment, the clock in the Marktbreit church steeple
struck two, the blast of the horn followed, and the mysterious voice
rose in the invisible city and sang, this time close at hand and
seemingly with significant emphasis:
"Two paths are to each mortal shown;
Lord, guide me in the narrow one."
As if stung by a serpent, Ada started up, wrenched herself by a sudden
movement from Karl's clasping arms, and hastened away as though pursued
by all the fiends of hell. A moment later, her white figure had
vanished in the castle and Karl found himself alone before the grassy
bank; he might have believed it a dream if the mantilla had not still
lain there exhaling Ada's favourite perfume, a faint fragrance of
carnations.
With heavy, dulled brain, aching limbs, and a strange sense of pain in
his heart, Karl staggered back to the castle and to his room. For a
long time sleep fled from him. A thousand scenes hovered in a confused
throng before his fancy, blending into a witch-dance in whose mazes his
own brain seemed to whirl also, until the giddiness became intolerable.
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