"Never, never!" he said.
"Then you will give up your place?"
"No; at least not till I have defeated that plan in some way or other--before I have done all in my power to defeat it!"
"But what do you think you can do? My dear friend, generosity is a virtue which has to be examined very closely, lest the crown of the hero, of which we dream, changes into a fool's cap! Think of the noble knight of La Mancha, and how his knightly body was beaten and bruised for his benevolent intentions!--And then, are you sure that the Andromeda, whose Perseus you propose to become, really desires to be liberated? I do not know Baron Felix--perhaps he is better than his reputation; I never said two words to Miss Helen--perhaps she is by no means as good and sweet as she is beautiful."
"She is so, rely upon it," cried Oswald, warmly.
"It is well for you, you are not thirty yet!" laughed the doctor.
"Why?"
"Because you know what happens to enthusiasts at that time of life, according to Goethe? They die--on the same cross which they have been dragging through life so far. But here we are at the gates. Will you permit me to set you down here? I have to make a visit in the village and this is the nearest way; if I went through the castle it would detain one too long. Day after to-morrow I shall be in Grenwitz. I hope your pulse will be calmer then. I told you before: Solitude is simply poison for your system. Adieu!"
CHAPTER XIV.
It was a superb sight which the courtyard of Castle Grenwitz presented when Oswald entered through the dark portal,--a sight well calculated to lull a careworn heart to slumber. The red evening sun was still lying warm on the highest tops of the magnificent linden-trees, which led up to the portal of the château, and upon the lofty battlements of the old castle; but deep shadows had fallen already upon the space beneath the trees, the sides of the walls, and the tall grass, which everywhere cropped out between the pavement. The crowns of the linden-trees, which were covered with a snow of white blossoms, exhaled a sweet perfume which filled the whole atmosphere. All around reigned such perfect stillness that the busy hum of insects was distinctly heard; on the brim of the basin of the headless Naiad sat a little bird and sang to the setting sun; high up in the rose-colored air a few swallows were still swiftly shooting to and fro, as if they could not leave the glorious bright air for their homes below.