Night comes on. The railway-train rolls in, and Sonnenkamp steps back in terror; it seems to him that the locomotive would rush directly upon him. He composes himself, he looks about, he strains his eyes, he sees nothing of Roland. The people disperse, and all is again still.
Sonnenkamp went to the telegraphist, and asked again if the telegram which had been sent had reached its destination. The reply was, "Yes." The clicking of the telegraph-lever thrilled him; he felt the same blows in his throbbing temples. He requested the operator to remain there during the night, as one could not tell but that a message might be sent to him, or he might want to send one.
But the operator refused, although a large sum of money was offered him; he was not allowed to change the arrangements without orders from his superiors. He ordered his assistant to stay there as long as he himself remained; he closed the door with a bang, and went off. He was evidently afraid of Sonnenkamp.
Sonnenkamp was again alone. Then he heard the stroke of oars on the river.
"Is it you, Herr Major?" he cried out into the starlight night.
"Yes."
"Have you found him?"
"No."
The Major got out of the boat; there was no trace of Roland in the town. An answer could not be received from the convent before early the next morning. Now the thought presented itself, that perhaps Roland was with Count Wolfsgarten. A messenger was sent thither, and they returned to the villa.
When Sonnenkamp extended his hand to the Major to help him into the carriage the latter said,—