He had become so completely the soul of the company that they seemed almost to resent it when he declared, directly after supper, that he could not join them on their proposed walk through the beech forest, because it was mail-day the next day, and he had to write several important letters. If Oswald meant by this refusal to comply with the well-known rule, that we must retire at the very moment when we have made ourselves necessary to the company, then he could be well satisfied with his success. Miss Helen, at least, condescended to ask him downright to stay, and as he insisted, she turned so abruptly from him that her anger was evident.
But Oswald had in this case other and better motives to keep him from staying any longer. The bright star which had just risen above the horizon, had not blinded him so completely that he should have forgotten the other constellation which had looked down upon him so long, and with such a constant, faithful, loving light. He had hoped to find a letter yesterday already; he was afraid old Baumann might have inquired after him the same evening on which he had left the village with the doctor. He had told Mother Carsten, to be sure, that he was going back to Grenwitz; but old Baumann could of course not bring him Melitta's letter to the château, where it might so easily fall into wrong hands. And yet Oswald longed anxiously for the long-expected letter.
As soon, therefore, as he had left the company he stole away through the garden and the big gate, which led almost immediately into the pine forest between Grenwitz and Berkow. It was dark already under the tall trees, with their broad overhanging branches. The wood, warmed by the heat of the day, gave out a fragrant aroma in the cool evening. The whole forest lay buried in almost painful stillness.
And now in this solemn evening hour, in this imposing forest temple, the memory of Melitta overcame Oswald's heart. Her tall form, so lovely in all its round fulness; her rich brown hair, which flowed so softly in swelling waves from the head down upon the shoulders; her dark affectionate eyes, her lovely playful manner,--and alas! above all, her unspeakable goodness and love,--how clearly her image stood before his soul! how ardently he vowed never, never to be faithless to her, the good, the sweet, the lovely one, not even in thought, and to return infinite love for her love, come what may!
Then he heard the hoofs of a horse on the soft ground of the silent forest, and soon a horseman rose in the twilight, who came up at a rapid trot. Oswald started with joyful surprise when he recognized old Baumann on Brownlock.
"A letter? Do you have a letter?" he cried, with such vehemence that Brownlock started aside.
"Quiet, Brownlock, be quiet!" said the old man, patting the horse's slender neck. "Good evening, sir! I have looked for you down at the village, but whereas I was informed that you had already yesterday gone to Grenwitz, I was on the point of riding over there----"
"But how if you had not found me there? and under what pretext could you gain admittance there?--But never mind--where is the letter?"
"Here," said the old man, who had in the mean time got down from his horse, drawing quite a considerable package from the deep pocket of his long overcoat.
"Hand it here!"