The young man could easily have watched Katharina’s every movement, but he did not think it worth while.  Nevertheless, as he rode on, the water-wagtail’s little figure dwelt in his mind; not alone, however, for that of Paula immediately rose by her side; and the smaller Katharina’s seemed, the more ample and noble did the other appear.  Every word he had heard that day from Paula’s lips rushed to his remembrance, and the vivid and lovely memory drove out all care.  That woman, who only a few hours since, had declared herself ready, with him, to hope all things, to believe all things, and to accept his protection—­that lordly maiden whom he had been glad to bid fix her eye, with him, on the goal of his future efforts, whose pure gaze could restrain his passion and impetuosity as by a charm, and who yet granted him the right to strive to possess her—­that proud daughter of heroes, whom even his father would have clasped to his heart as a daughter—­was it possible that she should betray him like some pleasure-seeking city beauty?  Could she forget her dignity as a woman?—­No! and a thousand times no.  To doubt her was to insult her—­was to wrong her and himself.

The physician loved her; but it certainly was not any warmer feeling than friendship on her part that made her receive him at this late hour.  The shame would be his own, if he ever again allowed such base suspicion to find place in his soul!

He breathed a deep sigh of relief.  And when his servant, who had lingered to pay the toll at the bridge, came up with him, Orion dismounted and desired him to lead his horse home, for he himself wished to return on foot, alone with his thoughts.  He walked meditatively and slowly under the sycamores, but he had not gone far when, on the other side of the deserted road, he heard some one overtaking him with long, quick strides.  He recognized the leech Philippus at a glance and was glad, for this proved to him how senseless and unjust his doubts had been, and how little ground he had for regarding the physician as a rival; for indeed this man did not look like a happy lover.  He hurried on with his head bent, as though under a heavy burthen, and clasped his hand to his forehead with a gesture of despair.  No, this nocturnal wanderer had left no hour of bliss behind him; and if his demeanor was calculated to rouse any feeling it was not envy, but pity.

Philippus did not heed Orion; absorbed in himself, he strode on, moaning dully, as if in pain.  For a few minutes he disappeared into a house whence came loud cries of suffering, and when he came out again, he walked on, shaking his head now and then, as a man who sees many things happen which his understanding fails to account for.