'Bad news, then?'
'No, thank Heaven!' replied Charlie fervently.
'What, then, agitates you?'
'That which I cannot tell you. That which you cannot understand.'
'Carl!' exclaimed Heinrich.
'Pardon me—another time, and I may tell you. Oh, Heinrich, your sister, Ernestine, is indeed the world's one woman to me!' he exclaimed, with deep emotion; and, heedless of Schönforst and the rest, he rose from the table, walked into his tent, and threw himself on the pallet which was his couch, to re-peruse the letter of his betrothed.
The following was the passage at the end of her letter which caused him so much thought and bewilderment:
'Oh, Carl! Carl! what is separation but a living death—a blank in life—a place vacant?' ('How prone the girl is to speak of death!' thought Charlie.) 'But I am ever and always with you in spirit, my love. Do you ever dream of me, Carl? I ask this because last night I had such a delicious dream of you.'
'Last night,' thought Charlie, glancing again at the date of her letter—'7th' August; 'last night must have been the 6th, when we bivouacked in the stackyard, and I had such a vivid dream of her.'
'I imagined, love, Carl,' continued the letter, 'that I came upon you suddenly, when you were lying on the cold earth in your cloak, as I fear you too often are compelled to do. A great horror seized me! I thought you were dead, you looked so white and wasted; but a sudden joy came into my poor heart when I found you were but asleep. I drew your dear head upon my bosom, as a mother might do her baby's, and caressed you, calling you "My darling!" "My very own darling!" so distinctly that Herminia heard me speaking in my sleep.