“It is supper-time, youngster,” said he, laying his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, you may well wonder where you are. What are you looking for?”
“I thought, sir, I had written a letter Just before I fell asleep. I was writing here.” And I turned over the papers and shook them, tossing them wildly about, to discover the letter, but in vain. It was not there. Could it have been that I had merely composed it in my mind, and never have committed it to paper? But that could scarcely be, seeing how fresh in my memory were all the doubts and hesitations that had beset me.
“I am sure I wrote a letter here,” said I, trying to recall each circumstance to my mind.
“When you have finished dreaming, lad, I will lock the door,” said he, waiting to see me pass out.
“Forgive me one moment, sir, only one,” cried I, wildly, scattering the papers over the table. “It is of consequence to me—what I have written.”
“That is, if you have written anything,” said he, dryly.
The grave tone of this doubt determined the conflict in my mind.
“I suppose you are right,” said I; “it was a dream.” And I arose and followed him out.
As I reached the foot of the stairs, I came suddenly on Herr Ignaz and his daughter. It was a common thing for her to come and accompany him home at the end of the day's work; and as latterly he had become much broken and very feeble, she scarcely missed a day in this attention. “Oh, here he is!” I heard her say as I came up. What he replied I could not catch, but it was with some earnestness he rejoined,—
“Herr von Owen, my father wishes to say that they have mistaken his instructions regarding you in the office. He never expected you could at once possess yourself of all the details of a varied business; he meant that you should go about and see what branch you would like to attach yourself to, and to do this he will give you ample time. Take a week; take two; a month, if you like.” And she made a little gesture of friendly adieu with her hand, and passed on.