Leo was now left alone to occupy himself with a careful examination of the apartment which was for some time to be his. Everywhere he observed proofs of kindly loving care. By one window stood a writing-table, provided with everything that he could require in that line. A paint-box filled with water-colors and pencils and brushes of all sizes lay open upon it, and two vases of mountain-flowers adorned a shelf in the corner of the room.
In a bookcase he found a fine collection of German authors, and the preponderance of historical works showed that Hilda and his uncle had been aware of his preference for the study of history.
This regard for his peculiar inclinations, this evident desire to make his stay in Castle Reifenstein pleasant to him, awakened in Leo a feeling of remorse. He remembered how unwillingly he had complied with his father's imperious desire that he should visit these relatives who received him with such affection. How charming had been the kindly familiarity of Hilda's manner to him! How evident her desire, by her care for his comfort, that he should feel at home beneath her father's roof!
But this father! Leo had never met a human being who had impressed him so disagreeably at first sight; and yet had not this very uncle given convincing proof of his friendly interest in his nephew? Would Hilda ever have been able so to minister to her cousin's tastes and inclinations if her father had not first taken the trouble to ascertain what those tastes and inclinations were? Leo reflected that, disagreeably impressed though he were by his uncle's conduct, the strange harshness of his first words had borne reference to Paul, and not to his nephew. What cause the old man could have to hate Delmar Leo could not guess, but it was none the less certain that, in the sudden terror caused by Paul's appearance, he had given vent to his hatred in those first few broken words. The coldness of his uncle's reception of himself was due entirely to his hatred of Paul, and Leo had no right to be aggrieved by it,--he had reason to be grateful to the old man for the kindness shown in the provisions made for his comfort.
True to the principle which forbade his yielding undue influence to first impressions, Leo was no sooner convinced that he had no cause for resentment towards his uncle than he exerted himself to conquer all feeling of repulsion for the old man, or rather to transform any such feeling into gratitude for the kindness shown him. Although he could not comply with his wishes in regard to a union between Hilda and himself, he could at least do his part towards establishing friendly relations between his nearest of kin and himself, and pave the way for his father to be reconciled to his only brother.
Filled with this resolve as the result of his short season of reflection, Leo went into the comfortable sleeping-room adjoining his sitting-room to remove from his dress all traces of his dusty walk among the Reifenstein rocks. After which he set out to join his cousin and uncle in the garden, in compliance with Hilda's invitation.
The way thither, however, after he had left his rooms, was not so easy to find. He remembered passing through numerous apartments, decorated partly in mediæval style and partly according to modern ideas, but how many he had seen of these, or in what direction he had come after reaching a large central room into which numerous doors opened, he could not say. He trusted to his luck, however, and from this central apartment, which he easily reached, he entered a small room, which he thought he remembered. The beautiful old wainscoting on the walls had struck his artistic eye, and he now paused to examine it more leisurely. The work must have dated from the end of the fourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century, and the carving had evidently been executed by a master's hand. Around the wall, directly under the ceiling, ran a long inscription cut into the wood-work. Leo tried to decipher it, but it baffled him, and he determined to devote himself to the task when he should be less hurried; at present he would not keep his cousin waiting for him.
He wandered through a long range of rooms. In each he found interesting and extremely valuable relics of mediæval splendour, and many precious works of art, upon each of which he would have gladly bestowed attention had he had the time. One room in especial interested him greatly: it was Herr von Heydeck's study; a large, gloomy apartment, into which the narrow windows admitted so little light that a dim twilight reigned in its remote corners although the sun outside was shining brightly. Its rays could not penetrate the thick octagonal panes of glass, set in leaden frames, which had apparently not been cleaned for years and were hardly transparent any longer. All the walls were covered with wide shelves filled partly with old books, partly with boxes and bundles of papers, and partly with bottles; these bottles, containing all sorts of snakes, lizards, and fish, preserved in spirits, might well have inspired the uninitiated with disgust.
Close by a window, in a deep embrasure of the wall, stood Herr von Heydeck's writing-table. It was half covered with open books, and a microscope placed just against the window and several magnifying-glasses bore witness to the industry of their possessor.
Leo would have greatly enjoyed a thorough examination of the various objects of interest that made this old room the very ideal of the magician's den of an enchanted castle, but he preferred to do so in his uncle's society, and at present what he most desired was to find the way to the court-yard. He opened a door in this room, and discovered a dark, steep winding staircase, which he descended, quite sure that it would lead him into the open air; but when he reached the bottom he found himself in a dim, deserted kitchen, only so far lighted by a window high up in the wall as to enable him to distinguish where he was. Opening an opposite door, he was disappointed to find, not another room or hall of entrance from the court-yard, but a narrow, dim passage, which evidently did not lead out to light and air. Probably this was the way to the round tower of which the postmaster had had so much to tell.