"No," answered Ilse, gazing fixedly before her, "it is only the nature of a scholar."
In the night, when the scholar had been long sleeping, his wife rose by his side and gazed, in the subdued light, on the countenance of her loved husband. She got up, and held the night-lamp so that the yellow light fell on his peaceful countenance, and large tears dropped from her eyes on his head. Then she placed herself before him, wringing her hands, and striving to restrain the weeping and convulsions which shook her body.
CHAPTER XXXV.
IN THE PRINCESS'S TOWER.
When the Princess, at the urgent desire of her father, had returned to her home, the illustrious family whose name she now bore made it a condition, not only that she should pass some months of the year at the residence of her deceased husband, but that she should have a special establishment arranged for her in her father's capital. A compact to this effect was concluded, the object of which was undoubtedly to secure to the young Princess a certain degree of independence. In order to fulfil the agreement in appearance, a princely castle in the country was assigned to the Princess for a dwelling, as there was no suitable building in the capital. The castle was half a day's journey from the city, at the foot of a woody hill, surrounded by fields and villages--a pleasant summer residence. The Princess had already spent some of the months of her mourning there.
It was a warm day on which the Professor set off to go to the castle. The air had not yet become cool after the storm of the night. There were fleeting shadows and bright sunshine on the sky and earth; the thick clouds sometimes cast a grey covering over the straight road along which the learned man passed; but then again it lay before him like a golden path, leading to the longed-for goal.
Thus did dazzling light and dark shadows flit through the soul of our scholar. "The manuscript will be found; it is concealed from us," he said to himself, and his brow became clouded. "If it should not be found, many will read with astonishment how deceptive appearances were, how near the possibility. Many will with regret resign the hope which the words of the monk had inspired, yet none will feel this regret so much as I shall. A thought which has for years occupied my fancy, and directed my eyes to one object, has gained the mastery over me. The free mind of man plays with the thousand impressions of ancient and modern times: he restrains their power by the balance of his reason and strength of his will. But with me a small image of the faded characters of an old book has penetrated so deeply into my soul that the hope of obtaining it makes the blood course through my veins, and the fear of losing it paralyzes my energies. I know that my eagerness is too great; it has hardened me against the childish anguish of my wife, and I myself have not become stronger since I have trodden the uncertain path of the poacher. Every one should be on his guard lest his dreams should diminish the sovereignty of his mind. Even the dreams of the best hours, when a soul innocently devotes itself to a great feeling, may turn a man away from the straight path of duty, that lies nearest to him."
A golden light broke over his countenance. "But if it is found! It is only a small portion of our knowledge of ancient times that lies concealed in it. And yet it is just this discovery that would pour a flood of light upon a landscape hovering in twilight, and several decades of ancient life would become visible to our eyes with as distinct an outline as if they lay in a nearer past. The discovery would solve a hundred doubts, and excite a thousand new ones. Every later generation would rejoice in the great gain, and would seek, with revived energy, for new disclosures. Even for her, who at the castle shares so warm-heartedly in my anxieties, I wish the pleasure of this discovery. To her also it would be forever a great remembrance, that she had taken a kindly interest in the first labors of the searcher."
Higher rose the mountains and more brilliant became the coloring of their masses. The line of hills in the foreground stood forth from the misty distance; blue glimpses of the valley were visible through the openings of the dark wood. The carriage rolled through a well-preserved forest; a thick growth of firs and pines shut out the prospect for a time; when the road led again into the open country, through grassy meadows and groups of trees, the castle lay straight before the eyes of the scholar. A massive, old-fashioned tower crowned with pinnacles rose out of a low wood; the afternoon sun shone above, its rays forming long streaks in the vaporous atmosphere. The brown walls stood out in the lonely landscape, like the last pillar of a gigantic ruined castle; only by the fresh-looking stone mullions of the well-fitted windows did one perceive that it was a habitable abode. Adjoining the tower rose the small chateau, with steeply-sloped roof and pointed windows; in its moderate dimensions it formed a strange contrast to its massive companion; but in spite of the disproportion of the parts the whole formed a stately relic of the middle ages. One could well see that its walls had afforded shelter and defense to many generations.
The tendrils of the wild vine twined up to the roof of the house and round the windows of the tower, which rose in seven stories, supported by strong buttresses. Thyme and grass grew above in the crevices of the crumbling stone, but the grass which a few days ago had covered the ground had been pulled up and the court and doors festively adorned for the new occupants. Banks of flowers and plants in pots were placed around in profusion. There was only one corner in which the hasty work had not been finished, and the remains of mossy green on the ground, and a swarm of blackbirds that fluttered round the tower, showed that the building had stood uninhabited in a lonely country.