'
'Sir,' said the old man, in a very stately, shaky manner, 'you are
at the River Farm, and I am Killian Gottesheim, at your disposal.
We are here, sir, at about an equal distance from Mittwalden in
Grunewald and Brandenau in Gerolstein: six leagues to either, and
the road excellent; but there is not a wine bush, not a carter's
alehouse, anywhere between. You will have to accept my hospitality
for the night; rough hospitality, to which I make you freely
welcome; for, sir,' he added with a bow, 'it is God who sends the
guest.'
'Amen. And I most heartily thank you,' replied Otto, bowing in his
turn.
'Fritz,' said the old man, turning towards the interior, 'lead round
this gentleman's horse; and you, sir, condescend to enter.'
Otto entered a chamber occupying the greater part of the ground-
floor of the building. It had probably once been divided; for the
farther end was raised by a long step above the nearer, and the
blazing fire and the white supper-table seemed to stand upon a dais.
All around were dark, brass-mounted cabinets and cupboards; dark
shelves carrying ancient country crockery; guns and antlers and
broadside ballads on the wall; a tall old clock with roses on the
dial; and down in one corner the comfortable promise of a wine
barrel. It was homely, elegant, and quaint.
A powerful youth hurried out to attend on the grey mare; and when
Mr.
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