He grasped the young Count's shoulder as he put the last question, and would have looked him scrutinizingly in the face, but Edmund tore himself free with some violence.
'Do not tease me with all these absurd fancies and imaginings,' he broke out hastily. 'Must I render you account of every word and every glance?'
Oswald receded a step, and gazed at his cousin in amazement. He was indeed more astonished than offended. This sudden outbreak, so entirely unprovoked, as it seemed to him, was absolutely inexplicable. At this moment the roll of approaching wheels and the barking of dogs were heard outside. Edmund drew a deep breath, as though he had been relieved of some unendurable pain.
'Ah, our guests are here! Forgive me, Oswald, if I leave you alone. I am expecting some gentlemen who are to join our shooting-party to-morrow. You will make one of us, will you not?'
'No,' said Oswald coldly. 'I did not come for my pleasure, and to-morrow afternoon I must leave you again.'
'So soon? I am sorry for that, but of course you know best how much time you have to spare. I will give orders for your room to be put in readiness for you.'
He had already reached the threshold.
'One thing more, Oswald. Take the steward to task for me, will you? I have no talent for that sort of thing, and no patience. I shall agree to anything you may decide. Your orders will be equivalent to mine. Goodbye for the present.'
The last words were spoken rapidly, with a feverish excitement of manner which contrasted strangely with his former listless indifference. Then he hurried away, as though the ground were scorching his feet. Oswald stood there alone, hardly knowing whether to be angry or alarmed at such a reception. What could it mean? There could be but one explanation. Edmund had entered the drawing-room as Hedwig quitted it. Possibly he might have approached some minutes before and have partly overheard the short but pregnant conversation that had taken place between the girl and himself. Although not a word had fallen which could be construed into an understanding, there had been enough to show how matters were between Oswald and his own promised bride--enough to kindle a blaze of jealousy in the young Count's breast. That would explain his shrinking from the hand Oswald extended to him, his indifference to the money-loss with which he was threatened, his vehement, excited manner. There could be no other reading of the problem.
'So it was that,' said Oswald to himself. 'He must have overheard something. Well then, he heard how innocent we both were with regard to the meeting, and how we parted. I know myself to be free from blame, and if we ever come to a discussion on the subject, I will meet him and speak out frankly.'