And she lay in the other's arms.
"Then go in peace."
Eva tottered to the door, half dragged away by Miranda, yet she turned round once more for a last fond farewell. Then, as if she had made some resolve, with a majestic look upon her features she left the room with a firm step.
But Frail Salden sank upon the couch, buried her face in the cushions, and let her irrepressible flowing tears take their unrestrained course.
CHAPTER V.
[HALF-WITTED KÄTCHEN.]
A few weeks had elapsed since the above-named events. The sea-side places had become empty; the Regierungsrath was seated behind his documents, but Miranda was still at the fisherman's cottage by the sea; she had to nurse Eva, who was taken dangerously ill immediately after her arrival in Warnicken. She was seized with a nervous fever, and wild delirious fancies chased her frightened spirit about in mad career.
Blanden had not set out for his estate; he had retired to the Chief Forester's house, in the deepest woodland solitude; he felt most at home with his father's worthy friend--and he needed the comfort of friendship. It is true that the old gentleman never led the conversation to Blanden's late experiences, but in his fresh, sterling nature, in his devotion to his profession, lay a power which was capable of holding enthralled the evil spirits of a distracted life.
Often they strolled together through the woods, rejoiced at the young, flourishing growth, at the tall oaks, in whose shade Romove's bloody recollections still seemed to dwell, at the sunny glades, across which stags and hinds wandered, visible from afar.
But he loved best to go alone, in a tempest that whirled through the tops of the trees, broke off boughs and branches, and hurled them to the ground, and when all other voices were rendered mute before that of the hurricane, then he believed to hear in it the cry of that almighty destiny before which nothing can exist, and that pursues its own course above the head of man.