As he threw himself on the bed and settled his head in the pillows, he started up again, horrified, for some demon seemed to have enveloped him in the scent which the letter of his former mistress had brought home to his senses, and then he remembered that he had hurled the sheet of paper on the bed, and it had evidently left its traces behind.
And though he turned and shook the pillow, and finally tossed it out of bed, that powerful odour--a mixture of iris and opoponax, with which everything around her was saturated, a sort of symbol of herself--the cursed odour would not budge. It tortured him with hateful dreams one minute, and the next brought him back to a grim awakening.
At half-past five the gate watchman's long pole knocked on the window-pane, according to custom.
He jumped up with his head on fire, the blood racing and thumping in his temples. The morning douche did not brace him. He scarcely felt the cold water as it ran down his slackened limbs.
The weather was favourable, for the mist of the night shrouded the garden. The obelisk was a mere shadow, and there was not a trace of the trees to be seen. There was not the slightest fear of being observed from Uhlenfelde if he approached the island by boat. Why, then, should he put it off?
Quarter of an hour later he was galloping along the high road under the dripping branches. He was obliged to take the round by Wengern, as the only boat the nearer landing-place boasted had sailed away with Hertha the day before.
He left his horse at the farm, and walked down to the ferry with no spring in his step. He was scarcely yet awake to what he was doing. That in the next hour he would be standing face to face with the woman who had played the part of Fate in his life seemed incredible, and, at the same time, a matter of indifference. He walked on like a somnambulist. Only a pressure about his skull, a tormenting contraction of his breast, intimated dully that the path he was taking might lead to significant events.
Old Jürgens could not contain his astonishment at sight of his master out on foot at such an ungodly hour of the morning. He got the boat ready for him in garrulous haste, distributing, by the way, all sorts of advice and warnings, and let the frail craft sink low in the water to ensure the master having a comfortable "push off." But he had not dreamed of the bright half-crown which dropped into his hand at parting. Now he knew what service was expected of him. It was the same as of old, "Keep your mouth shut."
As Leo moved through the mist over the grey eddying water, he felt the pressure which had weighed on the top of his head clasp his forehead like an iron ring, as if it would crush in his very brains. His limp arms had scarcely strength enough to keep firm hold of the oars. He let himself drift down-stream almost unconsciously.
The watery vapours welled and whirled all around him. They rose and rocked like masses of jelly that had been invisibly shaken and then sank again. Here and there the sun made its way in sulphur-coloured shafts through the milky thickness, cut circles of light on the water, and then by tremulous waves of mist was forced back and obscured. The water seemed to be rising hungrily in small bubbles, that swam about everywhere, and were driven by the circling ripples into the centre of the stream.