As Oswald was looking for something among the papers on his writing-table, on the following morning, he came upon a note, which he had overlooked the night before. He recognized at once the handwriting, which was as problematic as the writer, with its now bold and grand, now scribbled and confused characters. Oldenburg wrote:--

"I have just received information which compels me to start immediately on a distant journey, which may be extended I know not how long. Certainly not less than a week. I write these lines to drop them at Grenwitz, if I should not see you, which I would regret very much, as I have much to tell you. I take our Czika with me, as the solitude does not seem to me a safe place for her during my absence. I shall certainly be back for the day appointed by the gypsy woman. Until then, farewell.

"In great haste, and with still greater friendship,

"A. O."

Oswald was strangely impressed by this letter, for that divining power which plays so prominent a part in matters of the heart, made him at once suspect some connection between this sudden departure of Oldenburg and Melitta's departure. Whether much that he heard about the relations existing between the two appeared to him now in a new light since Melitta's recital, or whether it was merely the vagueness of Oldenburg's statement--enough, Oswald resented it as a kind of insult, that he was continually encountering riddles in that direction. He determined to go across to Berkow this very day, and to see if old Baumann had a letter for him from Melitta.

Then his thoughts turned into another channel when his eye fell upon the verses he had written the night before. He smiled now as he read them over. "There your wretched imagination has played you another trick," he said to himself. "You have only to hear of a pretty girl who is to marry somebody else and not your highness, and you have a paroxysm of pity with the girl and a paroxysm of hate against the man. And then you have only to see the girl, and to find that she has large bright eyes, and looks more attractive than half-grown girls generally do, and a boy has only to tell you stories about this half-grown girl, and you are forced to write miserable verses like these, which I would put instantly in the fire if we were not unfortunately in the dog-days."

But Oswald held no auto da fe, although the light of a candle would have done him the same service, but put the paper away again in his desk.

The morning greeted him so kindly from the dew-refreshed garden, that Oswald could not resist the temptation to saunter about a little among the flower-beds and in the shady avenues. Besides, it was early yet, almost two hour's time, and the boys were still asleep.

Oswald hastened down and went to his favorite place, the immense wall which encircled the chÂteau, the garden, and the courtyard, and on which he loved to walk under the beeches and the walnut-trees, especially in the morning, when the red rays of the sun were peeping through the waving branches, and the half-wild ducks were enjoying themselves heartily on the moss-grown moat.

Oswald sauntered leisurely along, enjoying all the charming details of the delicious morning, and giving himself up to the enjoyment all the more heartily to-day, as the loveliness, the soft beauty that surrounded him here on all sides contrasted very strangely with the sombre monotony of the seacoast, which he had of late continually had before his eyes. Now he could hardly understand how he had been so completely overcome by his bad humor. The doctor was right: solitude is a sweet intoxicating poison which finally kills. I must consult the doctor frequently. A clear head, which sees men and things always in the right light. But still he is mistaken about the proposed match between Miss Helen and her cousin. In the first place, she is much too young; secondly, she is too beautiful; and thirdly, I won't have it. Do you hear, madame la baroness? I won't have it! You will not carry out your nice plan, however much you may stare at me with your big and presumptuous eyes, and draw yourself up to your full height.

It was fortunate that Oswald was not pronouncing these words grandly and pathetically, but murmured them merely in his beard, for just as he was turning round the corner of the walk, which a projecting shrub made still sharper, he found himself suddenly face to face with Miss Helen. The meeting was so surprising to both parties that the young girl scarcely succeeded in suppressing a loud cry, and Oswald, contrary to his habit, became exceedingly embarrassed, and hardly knew whether to speak to the young lady or pass her with a silent bow.

Miss Helen, however, relieved him from his doubts; for she found it quite natural that the young tutor, whose powers of conversation had not shone forth very brightly the night before, should not have the presence of mind to start immediately a conversation. She thought it, therefore, quite proper to help him, by making a harmless remark about the fine morning.

"The fine morning, I see, has brought you out too."

"Yes, the morning is really very fine."

"Delicious. Have you always had such fine weather of late?"

"Always--I mean, a few rainy days excepted."

"When one sees the sky looking so deep blue, one would be tempted to consider bad weather a fairy fable--don't you think so?"

"Certainly."

Miss Helen probably thought the very clever conversation had lasted quite long enough, and as they happened to have come to a place where a narrow flight of steps led down from the wall into the garden, she availed herself of this opportunity to end the scene in her own interest and that of her monosyllabic companion.

"Have you any idea what time it is?"

"Half-past six."

"Already? Then I must make haste to get back to the house before mamma finds out that I am not there."

Miss Helen nodded carelessly with her head, stepped down the steep steps, and went slowly between the flower-beds towards the house.

"The happy know no hour," said Oswald to himself, following the slender youthful figure with his eyes; "my meteorological observations have evidently not made her happy, and she was less anxious to get back to the house than to get away from me. At all events, she seems to have time enough to gather a pretty bouquet. It is no doubt intended for me. I have evidently made a conquest. How she looked at me with her, wonderful eyes, half pitying, half contemptuous, as if she meant to say: I do you a great favor if I leave you alone with your bashfulness! She is proud, says Bruno, but how well that pride becomes her! How can a girl with such a face, such eyes, and such hair, be anything else but proud? It is her atmosphere, in which alone she can live, as the eagle in the highest regions of the air. The eagle is proud, too, and no one blames him for it.... How very beautiful she is! A superb beauty that need not be afraid of broad daylight, and that seems to be the greater the more costly the frame is in which it is set. A weird kind of beauty, too, that enchains us, and transfixes us as that of the deadly beautiful Medusa. Ah! now I know it! It is the very face of the Grenwitz family, of which Albert spoke--divine, and yet not without its trace of the Evil One! Feature by feature! it is Harald's face translated into the other sex; the same demoniac eyes, the same intoxicating feature around the full, almost exuberant lips, the same strength in the luxuriant bluish black hair which curls high up on the broad, firm forehead!--Gracious mamma! You are sorely mistaken if you fancy that forehead will easily bow to your decrees! Excellent Baron Felix, you will have to do great credit to your name as the lucky one, if you wish to succeed here! The morning is really delightful, and one would really be tempted to consider bad weather a fairy tale when one sees the skies so deep blue."

Oswald had of late been so exclusively occupied with his own affairs that he now felt the want, for a change, to interest himself in the affairs of others. The baroness was surprised at the sympathy with which he entered upon her ideas at table, and during a long conversation after dinner. He actually discussed with her several questions which she raised about his instruction: Would it not be expedient during the hot terms to commence the lessons at seven instead of eight? Might not the afternoon lessons be altogether omitted? Did he think the books which Helen had so far used for her studies of History and Literature still suitable for her? Would two lessons a week suffice for her? and did he think the morning or the evening better for the purpose?

The old baron also was pleasantly surprised when Oswald proved an attentive listener to the long history of his complaints. Oswald had always treated him with great courtesy, and he had looked upon him as a good and amiable young man, in spite of the decided opposition of Anna Maria and the somewhat doubtful assent of the Reverend Mr. Jager. He was glad, therefore, to be able to express this opinion today in harmony with Anna Maria. The journey seemed in fact to have produced a most happy influence on the baroness. Mademoiselle Marguerite, who certainly had the means of forming an opinion on that subject, told Albert: "She is changed totalement, she me has not scolded a single time the whole day;" whereupon the ingenuous Albert said: "Yes; I think myself the old dragon is quite enjoyable to-day." In a word, such peace and harmony reigned to-day at Castle Grenwitz as had not been known there for many a year. Everybody seemed to have forgotten his reasons for being discontented with the others. This might indeed be the result of different causes in each case, but as the effect was very pleasing to all, they took for good coin what everybody offered as such--of course reserving the right to pay him back in the same coin.

Oswald had not forgotten his meeting with Miss Helen in the morning, and, fully conscious of the impression he had then produced on the beautiful, proud young lady, he was pleased to find more than one opportunity during the day to make his natural advantages more prominent. When they asked him at table to tell what had happened to him during the absence of the family, he described his solitary life in the fishermen's village, assuming a half-amusing, half-sentimental part in the little drama, and taking good care to leave the romantic mystery undisturbed, in which he concealed his stay there. Good Mother Carsten became an heroic dame; her red-haired daughters, Stine and Line, were changed into lovely Undines, and the old half-idiotic Father Stephen into a wise Merlin. The chalk cliffs of the coast rose to immeasurable heights, and the breakers thundered amid the rocks with Ossianic majesty. The company, although feeling the exaggeration, listened nevertheless with breathless interest, and Oswald felt, as the fairest reward for his fantastic improvisation, that Helen's large brilliant eyes were immovably fixed upon him during his recitals, half in wonder and half in doubt.

He had become so completely the soul of the company that they seemed almost to resent it when he declared, directly after supper, that he could not join them on their proposed walk through the beech forest, because it was mail-day the next day, and he had to write several important letters. If Oswald meant by this refusal to comply with the well-known rule, that we must retire at the very moment when we have made ourselves necessary to the company, then he could be well satisfied with his success. Miss Helen, at least, condescended to ask him downright to stay, and as he insisted, she turned so abruptly from him that her anger was evident.

But Oswald had in this case other and better motives to keep him from staying any longer. The bright star which had just risen above the horizon, had not blinded him so completely that he should have forgotten the other constellation which had looked down upon him so long, and with such a constant, faithful, loving light. He had hoped to find a letter yesterday already; he was afraid old Baumann might have inquired after him the same evening on which he had left the village with the doctor. He had told Mother Carsten, to be sure, that he was going back to Grenwitz; but old Baumann could of course not bring him Melitta's letter to the chÂteau, where it might so easily fall into wrong hands. And yet Oswald longed anxiously for the long-expected letter.

As soon, therefore, as he had left the company he stole away through the garden and the big gate, which led almost immediately into the pine forest between Grenwitz and Berkow. It was dark already under the tall trees, with their broad overhanging branches. The wood, warmed by the heat of the day, gave out a fragrant aroma in the cool evening. The whole forest lay buried in almost painful stillness.

And now in this solemn evening hour, in this imposing forest temple, the memory of Melitta overcame Oswald's heart. Her tall form, so lovely in all its round fulness; her rich brown hair, which flowed so softly in swelling waves from the head down upon the shoulders; her dark affectionate eyes, her lovely playful manner,--and alas! above all, her unspeakable goodness and love,--how clearly her image stood before his soul! how ardently he vowed never, never to be faithless to her, the good, the sweet, the lovely one, not even in thought, and to return infinite love for her love, come what may!

Then he heard the hoofs of a horse on the soft ground of the silent forest, and soon a horseman rose in the twilight, who came up at a rapid trot. Oswald started with joyful surprise when he recognized old Baumann on Brownlock.

"A letter? Do you have a letter?" he cried, with such vehemence that Brownlock started aside.

"Quiet, Brownlock, be quiet!" said the old man, patting the horse's slender neck. "Good evening, sir! I have looked for you down at the village, but whereas I was informed that you had already yesterday gone to Grenwitz, I was on the point of riding over there----"

"But how if you had not found me there? and under what pretext could you gain admittance there?--But never mind--where is the letter?"

"Here," said the old man, who had in the mean time got down from his horse, drawing quite a considerable package from the deep pocket of his long overcoat.

"Hand it here!"

"Be patient, I pray, sir! I have thought of everything. This package, as you may see, is well tied up and sealed, and bears the inscription: 'Herewith the kindly lent books, with many thanks. Baumann will hand you the others as soon as I have read them,' and the signature: 'Your most obedient, B.'--that means, of course, Bemperlein as well as Baumann, eh?"

Old Baumann had, while he was speaking, untied the string, and taken from one of the three books which it contained a letter, which Oswald hastily opened and held towards the light to read. But the darkness was too great already under the trees; he could only decipher the signature: dearest darling.

"I cannot see," he said, sadly.

"If you had remained in the village, as you intended doing the other day, or if you had yesterday sent word to old Baumann, you would have been in possession of my mistress' letter before daylight was gone."

Oswald felt the reproach hid in these calmly spoken words, and he found no difficulty to confess his wrong to Melitta's faithful servant and friend.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "that I have given you all this trouble. I have blamed myself all day long for my thoughtlessness, and now I am severely punished for it, for I hold the dear letter in my hand, and yet I cannot see how Frau von Berkow is, whether she is well, if she has reached the town, and a thousand other things which I should like to know, and which, no doubt, are all mentioned here"--and he tried once more to read the letter.

"Well, well," said old Baumann, "don't trouble yourself about me; ten miles more or less don't matter much to me or to Brownlock; and as for the news you want to hear, I can tell you something about that, considering that Mr. Bemperlein has sent me a letter, in which he tells me at full length all about the journey and what has happened when they arrived there." The old man had hung the reins over his arm and walked by Oswald's side; the latter hastened his steps to get out of the forest, and to reach Grenwitz and his room as soon as possible.

"My mistress--God bless her," said the old man, "accompanied by Mr. Bemperlein, reached her destination on the third day, and without accident Mr. Bemperlein at once communicated with Dr. Birkenhain, and learnt that Baron Berkow was still alive, but not restored to consciousness, and so weak that his dissolution was expected every hour. That continued so till the day when the letter was posted, on which day my mistress, in company with Mr. Bemperlein and----"

The old man paused and coughed.

"Well, and----?" asked Oswald, whose suspicions about Baron Oldenburg were once more aroused.

"Well, and the doctor, of course, who else?" said the old man. "Well, what was I going to say? You have confused me with your question, sir. Ah, yes! In company with Mr. Bemperlein and the doctor went to see the baron for a few minutes. He did not recognize her, and the baron was so changed that he looked to my mistress, as she had said herself, like a perfect stranger. He also spoke a few words, but not one could be understood. Then they went away again, and immediately the baron had fallen once more into a deep sleep, and the doctor said that would probably be his condition till he died--which the Lord may bring about very soon by his mercy, so that the poor man may be relieved of his sufferings and my mistress may at last be able to breathe freely."

"Amen!" said Oswald.

"For you see, sir," continued the old man, "my mistress has not had much happiness all her life long, and that grieves me, for I love her as if she were my own child, and perhaps better. For I have never had any children myself, but I see how other fathers do with their children, and how they are not ashamed to treat them not as fathers, and not even as Christian men. And the father of my mistress--well, he was my master, and I have fought through many a campaign with him, and we ought not to speak evil of the departed--but he was a bad man, and yet not exactly bad either, only wild and reckless, like the youngest officer in the regiment. The madder an undertaking was, the better he liked it, and mad deeds and bad deeds often look so much alike it is hard to distinguish them. He meant no harm with them, however, even when he remained as fond of ladies after his marriage as he had been before, but he broke my mistress' heart nevertheless, and she died when her only child was only two years old. Then there was nobody there to take care of her but old Baumann. I took her and played with her, and afterwards, when she grew up, I learnt to read and write with her, for I did not know it before, and a little French, and whatever else I could get into my old head. And then I taught her how to ride, so that she has not her equal on horseback, and thus I grew once more young with her, and never wanted any children of my own, for she was my precious, darling child, although I was but a poor ignorant cavalryman, and she a great lady of high and mighty family. And I have often thought in my mind, if she would not have had a better life of it if she had really been my child? For to be great and rich is all very well, but I think, nevertheless, those whom God loves are born poor. I should never have dreamt of selling my own blood and flesh for vile Mammon; I should never have been on my knees before my own child, beseeching her to marry such and such a person to save her father from disgrace, when I knew very well she did not love him, but that he had money enough to pay all my debts and to keep enough for her and for him. And matters were not quite so bad yet with Baron Barnewitz. What he had lost at play he might have won again at play, and he did win a good deal back again, so that he often told me afterwards, when he had taken a little too much: 'If I had known, Baumann, that I would have such luck at faro, then the--it is an ugly word and an honest man don't like to use it too often--then I would have given that man Berkow something else, but not my daughter. My only consolation is, he won't live long, and then she can marry to please her heart.' Well, my master did not live long himself, but long enough to see with his own eyes the mischief he had done. Then he would have given his life to undo what he had done, but those who deal with the devil need not wonder if God leaves them to their master. So the beautiful young lady became a widow, and yet she was not a widow. She had money enough now, but I think she would have been happier if she had lived under a thatched roof with a good man, than so miserably alone in a big, lonely house, There was Julius, to be sure; but one swallow does not make a summer, and a child is not a family. You see, sir, that often made my heart bleed, and when I saw my mistress wander so lonely through the garden of an evening, I have often prayed to God to take poor Baron Berkow in mercy up into heaven, and to let my poor mistress be happy for once in her life, like other women who are not worthy to unloose the latchet of her shoes. The man need not be rich, for she has enough for both, if wealth there must be--but he ought to have a head and a heart of the right sort, and he ought to love her better than the apple of his eye. And if I knew such a man, and could get her such a husband, and saw her happy by the side of such a man--then I should pray: Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace!--But here we are at the gate. Well, goodnight, sir! If you should have an answer ready to-morrow morning to the letter of my mistress, I will wait for it, between five and six, a little distance down the forest. My mistress would be glad, I am sure, if you were to write soon."

"I shall be there punctually at five," said Oswald.

"Well, half an hour does not matter," said Old Baumann, mounting his horse again. "The mail does not leave before eight o'clock, and till then Brownlock can make the way twice. I wish you once more good-night, sir."

The old man touched his cap, turned Brownlock round, and trotted through the pine-trees back to Berkow.

Oswald hastened to his room without meeting anybody, as the company had not yet returned from their promenade. With trembling hand he opened the letter, and perused it with breathless haste, in order to read it over and over again, as we read letters in which every word touches us like kisses that come from lips we love.

When he sat down late at night to write his answer, he heard the same voice singing which had produced such overflowing enthusiasm in him the preceding night; but to-day he closed the window, for he felt that his admiration for the beautiful girl was, after all, treason against his love of Melitta, although he tried, of course, after the manner of men, to silence the voice of his conscience as well as he could.

Part Third.