"My very dear friend--I feel most painfully that my irritability yesterday spoilt for us both a charming evening. But do not think that I mean to dispute your right to reproach me for the prolixity and want of system in my labors. It was just because what you said touched a cord, the secret dissonance of which I have myself sometimes felt, that I for a moment lost my equanimity. You are certainly right in much that you said, only I beg you to believe that my refusal to undertake a great work in conjunction with you was neither selfishness nor want of friendship. I am convinced that I ought not to abandon the work I have undertaken, even though too extensive for my powers; least of all exchange it for a new circle of interests, in which my deficient knowledge would be a burden to you."
After the reception of these letters both were somewhat more at ease. But certain expressions in them made some further explanation necessary to both, so they set to work and wrote again to each other, shortly and pithily, as became thoughtful men. The Professor answered: "I thank you from my heart, my dear Fritz, for your letter; but I must repeat that you always estimate your own worth too low, and this is all that I can reproach you with."
Fritz replied: "How deeply touched I feel by your friendship at this moment! This only will I say, that among the many things I have to learn from you, there is nothing I need more than your modesty; and when you speak of your knowledge so comprehensive and fertile in results, as being limited, be not angry if I strive after the same modesty with regard to my work."
After sending the letter, the Professor, still disquieted, went to his lecture, and was conscious that his mind wandered during his discourse. Fritz hastened to the library, and diligently collected all the referenced which he could find respecting the Manor of Bielstein. At midday, on their return home, each of them read the second letter of his friend: then the Professor frequently looked at the clock, and when it struck three he hastily put on his hat and went with great strides across the street to the hostile house. As he laid hold of the door-knob of the Doctor's room, he felt a counter pressure from within. Pushing the door open, he found Fritz standing before him, also with his hat on, intending to visit him. Without saying a word the two friends embraced each other.
"I bring you good tidings from the book-seller," began the Professor.
"And I of the old Manor," exclaimed Fritz.
"Listen," said the Professor. "The book-seller bought the monk's book of a retail-dealer who travels about the country collecting curiosities and old books. The man was brought into my presence; he had himself bought the little book in the town of Rossau, at an auction of the effects of a cloth-maker, together with an old cupboard and some carved stools. It is at least possible that the remarks in cipher at the end, which evade unpracticed eyes, may never, after the death of the friar, have excited observation nor caused investigation. Perhaps there may still be preserved in some church-record at Rossau an account of the life and death of the monk Tobias Bachhuber."
"Possibly," assented Fritz, much pleased. "A congregation of his persuasion still exists. But Manor Bielstein lies at a distance of half an hour from the town of Rossau, on a woody height--see, here is the map. It formerly belonged to the ruling sovereign, but in the last century it passed into private hands; the buildings, however, remain. It is represented on this map as an old chateau, at present the residence of a Mr. Bauer. My father also knows about the house; he has seen it from the high road on his journeys, and describes it as a long stretch of buildings, with balconies and a high roof."
"The threads interweave themselves into a satisfactory web," said the Professor, complacently.
"Stop a moment," cried the Doctor, eagerly. "The traditions of this province have been collected by one of our friends. The man is trustworthy. Let us see whether he has recorded any reminiscences of the neighborhood of Rossau." He hastily opened and looked into a book, and then gazed speechless at his friend.