"Should he really never see her more?" he asked himself; "or should he see her again, but as the wife of another?" There was agony and despair in the very thought; and yet, what could he do? how could he act to prevent it? how could he shut out that terrible but too certain conviction? It was impossible to change his hard fate. It was impossible even to dream that it would be changed; and in the end he gave himself up to dull and heavy despondency.
His feelings had been grave and sad even when he came to Heidelberg. He had believed that he was destined to go through life unloving and unbeloved, linked to one whose reported conduct was, to say the least, light, whom he only remembered as a proud haughty child; whom he only knew by the evil rumours which had reached him. But since that time a light had arisen on the darkness of such feelings, to go out as suddenly as it had been kindled, and leave the night tenfold more gloomy than before. He had learned to love, but without hope; and what state can be more terrible to a young and passionate heart?
On such things he pondered as they rode along; and they soon absorbed his whole attention. He marked not with any degree of accuracy the road they took; he hardly saw the houses, or the trees, or the mountains as they passed. He marked not the fleeting hours, or the changes of the light and sky. But there were others in the train whose eyes were more busily employed; and amongst them were those of his own servants, who, with less to occupy their thoughts, felt, or seemed to feel, the fatigues of the way and the oppression of the sultry atmosphere far more than their lord.
"It is mighty hot, Tony," said Frill, the page, wiping his brow with a delicate kerchief; "and methinks the folks are riding exceedingly fast, considering the sultriness of the temperature, and the capability of their quadrupeds."
"Ay, goodlack, it is hot," answered the servant; "but the quadrupeds, as you call them, Master Frill, can bear it quite as well as the two-legged beasts perched upon them. There thou art now thyself, mounted upon the tall roan, with thy red-heeled riding boots sticking out from under thy cloak, like a small Cornish crow upon the back of a big sheep; and losing much moisture from thy brow and temples, while the good beast has hardly turned a hair. Now, I will warrant thee, Frill, thou art thinking in a miserly spirit of the world of essences and perfumed soap it will cost to cleanse thee of all this dust; but I will console thee, Frill; I will relieve thy mind. Thy conscience shall be spared the small sin of pilfering odours out of our lord's saddle-bags."
"I have no need to pilfer, Tony," answered the boy; "I leave that to you. I have got all I want in my own saddle-bags, and ask nothing but a little fair water."
"That thou shalt have in abundance, Frill," replied his companion; "and sooner, perchance, than thou thinkest; for, if yon great leaden cloud lie not, thou shalt have water enough within an hour as to spare thee all future washing for the day, and make thee forswear such liquids for a month to come."
"It looks marvellous like it," answered Frill, eyeing the heavens with a somewhat rueful look.
"Like it, but not marvellous, friend Frill," answered Tony: "thunderstorms will come in most countries of the world; and rain will fall; and wind will blow; and grass will spring up with its universal evergreen; and pages will say flat things in pleasant tones, and think themselves mighty wise in their estate."
"Do you judge it will thunder, Tony?" asked the youth, in a tone which made the older servant fancy he was somewhat apprehensive.