Oswald thought Bruno was delirious; he felt his pulse instinctively.
Bruno smiled. It was a sad smile.
"No, no!" he said. "Don't fear; I am perfectly conscious; just listen, and you will see that what I say is quite clear and coherent."
Bruno then reminded Oswald that he had said from the beginning Felix had come to win Helen. Until yesterday he had had no absolute proof of this, but since yesterday he was sure of it. He told him then how he had in the afternoon sauntered down to his favorite place in the garden, the old chapel, where he was wont to indulge in his reveries, and how voices near by had roused him from the slumber into which he had fallen during the heat of the day. He explained to him the manner in which he had obtained possession of the letter, and how his desire to return it at night to Helen, when she was, as usual, playing near the open window, had brought about his encounter with Felix.
These passionate but clear and convincing words made naturally a profound impression on Oswald. To-morrow, then, the fearful sacrifice was to be made, and yet she herself knew probably nothing of it. They evidently wished to take her by surprise--to force her to make a promise which she would afterwards be too proud to take back again. And what could this letter mean, which was evidently directed in Helen's handwriting, and had been sealed with her signet ring--how could the baroness lose her daughter's letter? It was not difficult to see that there was treason in this, and that it was absolutely necessary to return the letter to Helen, so that she might know the weapons with which she was to be attacked, and might be enabled to prepare herself for the impending crisis. The only question was, how the letter could reach Helen? Bruno wanted Oswald to carry it himself to her, and to tell her at the same time what Bruno had heard during the conversation of the baroness with Felix. But Oswald declared such a thing utterly out of question; Bruno, as a near relative and acknowledged favorite, might risk such an indiscretion, but he, a stranger, could not possibly venture to allude to such delicate matters.
"But," cried Bruno, "I thought you were her friend, I thought you were fond of her? And yet here her whole life and happiness are at stake, and you refuse to help her because it is not etiquette to do this and that! Just think of it--if they make her say yes! It will drive me mad; I shall not survive it."
"And yet, Bruno, I cannot speak about such a matter,--not I."
"Why not you?"
"Because--I told you, because I am a stranger; because she might say to me: Sir, what is that to you? I will give her the letter; it is her property, and she has a right to expect that the finder should restore it to her as soon as possible. Don't you see, too, that this one fact speaks volumes? She will know at once what she may expect from the other side, and the attack will find her forewarned."
"Then you will give her the letter?"