"Do you believe that for the sake of any one else I would have come to Germany?" he asked in a low voice. "Forgive me, Egon. I am an unstable nature. I have never been able to stay long in any place since--since my boyhood."
"Then learn it now here at my home," cried Egon. "I came to Rodeck especially to show you my country in its entire beauty. This old edifice, which nestles in the midst of the deep forest like a fairy castle, is a piece of forest poetry such as you could not find in any of my other possessions. I know your taste--but I must really leave you now. You will not drive with me over to Furstenstein?"
"No; I will enjoy your much-praised forest poetry, which, it appears, is already tiresome to you, as you wish to make calls."
"Yes; I am no poet like you, who can dream and be enthused all day," said Egon, laughing. "We have led the life of hermits for a full week, and I cannot live on sunshine and forest perfume and the curtain lectures of Stadinger alone. I need people, and the Chief Forester is about the only person in the neighborhood. Besides, this Herr von Schonan is a splendid, jolly man. You will yet meet and know him, too."
He motioned to the waiting carriage, gave his hand to his friend, sprang to his seat and rolled away.
CHAPTER XI.
Rojanow looked after him until the vehicle had disappeared behind the trees, then he turned and took one of the paths which led into the forest. He carried his gun over his shoulder, but evidently did not think of hunting. Lost in thought, he walked further and further aimlessly, without noticing the road or direction, until deepest forest loneliness surrounded him.
Prince Adelsberg was right; he knew his friend's taste. This forest poetry took full possession of him. He finally came to a standstill and drew a deep breath, but the cloud upon his brow would not dispel; it grew darker and darker as he leaned against the trunk of a tree and allowed his eyes to roam about. Something not of peace or joy was depicted in those beautiful features, which all the sunny beauty around could not erase.
He saw this country for the first time; his former home was far removed in the northern part of Germany; nothing here reminded him directly of the past, and yet just here something awoke in him which seemed to have long been dead--something which had not made itself felt in all those years when he crossed oceans and countries, when intoxicating waves of life surrounded him and he drank with full thirsty draughts the freedom for which he had sacrificed so much--everything.
The old German woods! They rustled here in the south as up there in the familiar north; the same breath floated through the firs and oaks here which whispered there in the crowns of the pines; the same voice which had once been so familiar to the boy when he lay upon the mossy forest soil. He had heard many other voices since, some coaxing and flattering, some intoxicating and enthusiastic, but this voice sounded so grave and yet so sweet in the rustling of the forest trees--the fatherland spoke to the lost son!