Otto pressed his hand. “We will never speak again of the occurrence of yesterday!”
“Never!” repeated Wilhelm, affected by the strange gravity of his friend.
“You are a noble, a good creature!” said Otto, and bent over him; his lips touched Wilhelm’s forehead.
Wilhelm seized his hand, and gazed frankly into his eye. “You are not happy!” exclaimed he. “If I cannot assist you, I can, at least, dear Otto, honestly share the grief of a friend!”
“Even on that very point we may never speak!” replied Otto. “Farewell! I have determined on travelling home; we have only vacation for a few weeks, and I have not been in Jutland since I became a student. Even a month’s sojourn there cannot throw me back; I am well prepared for the philosophicum.”
“And when will you set out?” asked Wilhelm.
“To-morrow, with the steamboat. It is hot and sultry here in the city: my blood becomes heated: it will, also, soon be a year since I saw my family.”
“Thostrup!” exclaimed Wilhelm, through whom a thought suddenly flashed, “I should also like to see my family; they have written to me to come. Listen: make your journey through Funen, and only remain three or four days with us. My mother’s carriage shall convey you then to Middelfart. Say ‘Yes,’ and we will set out this evening.”
“That cannot be done!” replied Otto; but half an hour later, as both sat together over the tea-table, and Wilhelm repeated his wish, Otto consented, but certainly more through a feeling of obligation than through any pleasure of his own. Toward evening, therefore, they set out in the beautiful summer night to travel through Zealand.
Smartly dressed families wandered pleasantly through the city gate toward the summer theatre and Fredericksberg. The evening sun shone upon the column of Liberty; the beautiful obelisk, around which stand Wiedewelt’s statues, one of which still weeps,