Yet all was forgiven.
In this man's calm, composed glance, there was not a shadow of reproach, nothing but an affectionate compassion.
"Tell me about yourself, Uhich," he asked, stuttering. "Are you satisfied with your progress? Do you feel quite well now?"
"Yes," said Ulrich, "I am very well."
There was a pause.
Outside the rain fell in warm, soft torrents, and the soil greedily absorbed the moisture. Strings of grey pearls hung on the young green of the twigs, and the half-unfurled leaves expanded, and glistened in the invigorating shower-bath. Everywhere young life and the promise of a fertile spring. But the two men who loved each other better than anything else in the world, felt as if a breath of autumn and dying things hovered about them.
"You know," Ulrich began, "we have much to talk over, old boy. We must come to a clear understanding about our position with regard to each other. I mean, our old friendship."
A quiet, iron resolve made his face like an inscrutable mask. It was as if this sickly, much-wronged soul had fought its last struggles and come off victor. Something of Ulrich's calm was at this minute communicated to Leo. He felt that, happen what might, it would be in accordance with the requirements of their two inmost natures.
"It is well that we have allowed so much time to elapse, since that night," Ulrich went on. "I have been able to think over things, and I believe that I have chosen the right path for us to pursue. The sad story you related to me on the Isle of Friendship has since been corroborated in every particular by Felicitas herself."
Leo started up. "You have seen her?" he stammered.