Oscar looked into those clear child-eyes, that looked up at him with earnest questioning in their depths, and involuntarily his eyes sought the ground.
"Why? Yes, why does one live at all? To win that happiness, of which they sing to us while we are still in our cradles, and of which we think in youth that it lies out in the wide world, in the dim blue distance. Restlessly, feverishly, we pursue it, ever thinking to attain to it, while it retreats farther and farther from us, until at last it fades away like a shadow until finally we give up the restless chase--and with it hope."
In spite of his strong effort to command himself, the disquiet of a tortured spirit was but only too transparent in these words, that had the ring of perfect sincerity. None knew better than Oscar Wildenrod what was that wild chase after happiness, which he had sought all these years--by what paths, indeed, he alone knew.
That woful confession sounded strange in these surroundings, at this season of spring, when everything breathed only beauty and peace. Bright lay the sunshine upon the mirror of the little lake, over which the dragon-flies were hovering dreamily, with their gay-colored, scintillating wings. Golden rays stole through the young leaves of the beech and played in the tender May-green. Round about bloomed the lilac, filling the air with its fragrance, varied by clumps of the yellow laburnum, covered with its rich freight of pendant clusters of bloom, and the lower shrubbery was strewn over, as it were, with wild hedge-roses. There was no end to the blooms, and in the background rose a distant chain of blue mountains, gravely taking a look into this little sunny paradise.
Wildenrod's chest heaved with his deep and heavy breathing; it seemed as though he wanted to inhale the peace and purity of his environment. Then he looked upon the young being at his side, upon the innocent, rosy countenance, that was so untouched by the slightest breath of that life which he had drunk of to its very dregs. But the brown eyes that were now fixed upon him were swimming in tears, and a low, quivering voice said:
"All that you have just been saying sounds so hard, so desperate. Do you really believe no longer in any happiness?"
"Oh, yes, now I believe in it!" cried Oscar with enthusiasm. "Here at Odensburg, I have learned again to hope. It is the old story of the jewel that one goes out into the world to look for, in a thousand ways, meanwhile it rests hidden in the deep and silent woods, until the happy man draws near, who finds it--and perhaps I am such a lucky fellow!"
He had caught the young girl's hand and clasped it firmly in his own. With sudden force, Maia recognized in these words, this movement, what had hitherto been but a dim, half-understood impression resting in her soul; there sprang up within her a sweet sense of joy and yet, at the same time, again came that mysterious, uneasy sensation, which she had experienced already at their first meeting, the dread of that dark, flaming glance, which seemed to magnetize her, as it were. Her hand trembled in that of the Baron.
"Herr von Wildenrod----"
"My name is Oscar!" interposed he beseechingly.