In the course of a few days the plan of campaign devised by Edmund and
Hedwig was carried into execution. The young people made their
important disclosure, declaring their sentiments in most unambiguous
terms, and the effects produced were precisely those expected. First
came a simultaneous outburst of indignation at Brunneck and at
Ettersberg; then followed reproaches, prayers, threats; finally an
irrevocable fiat was issued on either side. The Countess solemnly
announced to her son, the heir, that she once for all refused her
consent to such a marriage; and Fraeulein Hedwig Ruestow, on making her
avowal, encountered a small hurricane, before which she was fain for a
while to bow her head. The Councillor grew fairly distracted with
wrath when he heard that an Ettersberg, a member of the family he
hated, and his adversary in the Dornau suit, was to be presented to
him as a son-in-law.
The parental displeasure, though most pointedly expressed,
unfortunately made but small impression on the young people.
Prohibited, as a matter of course, from holding any further
communication, they calmly within the hour sat down to write to each
other, having, with a wise prevision of coming events, already fixed
on a plan for the safe conveyance of their letters.
Councillor Ruestow was striding angrily up and down the family
sitting-room at the Brunneck manor-house. Hedwig had thought it wise
to retire and leave her infuriated parent to himself for a while. The
worthy gentleman, finding his daughter beyond his reach, turned
fiercely upon his unhappy cousin, whom he bitterly accused of having,
by her unpardonable weakness and folly in favouring the acquaintance,
paved the way for all that had occurred.
Fraeulein Lina Ruestow sat in her accustomed place by the window and
listened, going on steadily with the needlework she had in hand. She
waited patiently for a pause to supervene. When at length her
exasperated cousin was compelled to stop and take breath, she
inquired, with perfect imperturbability:
'Tell me, in the first place, Erich, what objection you really have to
offer to this marriage?'
The master of the house came to a sudden stand. This was a little too
much! For the last half-hour he had been giving expression in every
possible way to his anger, his fury, his indignation, and now he was
coolly asked what objection he really had to offer to the marriage.
The question so amazed and upset him that for a moment he could find
no fitting answer.
'Upon my word, I do not understand why you should be so angry,' went
on the lady, in the same tone. 'There is evidently a sincere and
mutual attachment. Count Ettersberg, in himself, is a most charming
person. That unhappy lawsuit, which has so tried your temper during
the whole of the winter, will be brought to the simplest conclusion;
while, in a worldly point of view, the match is in every respect a
brilliant one for Hedwig. Why do you set yourself so strongly against
it?'
'Why--why?' cried Ruestow, more and more incensed by this calm,
argumentative tone of hers. 'Because I will not suffer my daughter to
marry an Ettersberg. Because, once for all, I forbid it--that is why!'
Aunt Lina shrugged her shoulders.
'I do not think Hedwig will surrender to such reasons as those. She
will simply appeal to the example of her parents, who married without
the father's consent----'
'That was a very different matter,' interrupted Ruestow hotly. 'A very
different matter indeed.'
'It was a precisely similar case, only that in that instance all the
circumstances were far more unfavourable than they are now, when
really prejudice and obstinacy alone stand in the way of the young
people's happiness.'
'Well, these are nice compliments you are heaping upon me, I must
say,' cried the Councillor, breaking forth anew. 'Prejudice!
obstinacy! Have you any more flattering epithets to bestow on me?
Don't hesitate, pray. I am waiting to hear.'
'There is no speaking sensibly to you to-day, I see,' observed the
lady, tranquilly resuming the work which for a few minutes had been
discontinued. 'We will talk of this another time, when you have grown
calmer.'
'Lina, you will drive me mad with that abominable composure of yours,
which is nothing but affectation. Put that confounded sewing stuff
away, do. I can't endure to see you drawing your thread in and out as
primly as though there were nothing amiss, while I--I----'
'Feel inclined to pull the whole house about our ears. Don't take the
trouble; it will stand after all, you know, just as firm on its
foundations as ever.'
'Yes, it will stand, though everyone prove rebellious, though even you
set yourself in open opposition to me, the master. Thank God, I have
an ally, and a strong one, in the Countess-mother over at Ettersberg.
She will show more obstinacy even than I, you may depend upon it. We
can't endure each other; we are doing our very best to harass and
torment each other by raising fresh quibbles in the lawsuit; but on
this point we shall, for once, be agreed. She will soon bring her son
to reason, and I am glad of it. It meets my views exactly. I shall act
in the same way by my daughter.'
'I do not suppose that the Countess will give her consent very
readily,' said Aunt Lina, in a pensive tone. 'To obtain that from her
must be Edmund's business.'
'Edmund!' repeated Ruestow, whose indignation was constantly being
roused afresh. 'Dear, dear! how very familiar we are, quite like
relations already! You regard him altogether in the light of a nephew,
I suppose. But you will find yourself mistaken. I say no, and I mean
no, so that is all about it.'
With these words he stormed out of the room, banging the door to
behind him with a crash which set all the windows jarring. Aunt Lina
must indeed have conquered 'her nerves,' for she did not start at the
noise, but merely looked after the angry man with a shake of the head,
and murmured to herself:
'I wonder how long it will be before he gives in!'
There was certainly less noise and bluster at Ettersberg, but the
prospects of the young pair were not on that account more hopeful. The
Countess thought the matter serious enough to warrant her in sending
for her brother, Baron Heideck, who, in all cases of difficulty, was
her stay and counsellor. He answered her summons in person, so Count
Edmund had now to contend with the allied forces of mother and
guardian.
The latter, who had arrived from the capital a few hours previously,
was closeted with the Countess in her own boudoir. He was several
years older than his sister, and while she had preserved an almost
youthful appearance, a premature look of age, on the contrary, was to
be remarked in him. Cold, grave, and methodical in speech and bearing,
his outward man at once denoted the bureaucrat of high standing. He
listened attentively and in silence to the Countess as she made her
report, which concluded in rather desponding terms.
'As I told you in my letter, there is nothing whatever to be done with
Edmund. He persists stubbornly in this marriage-scheme, and is
constantly urging me to give my consent to it. I really did not know
what better course to take than to send for you.'
'You did quite right,' said the Baron; 'for I fear that, left to
yourself, you would not have the necessary firmness to resist your
darling, and refuse him his heart's desire. I think, however, we are
agreed in this--the alliance in question must be prevented at any
pains or any cost.'
'Certainly we are,' assented the Countess. 'The only point to be
discussed is _how_ we are to prevent it. Edmund will shortly come of
age, and he will then be absolute master, free to follow his own
will.'
'Hitherto he has submitted to yours,' remarked the Count. 'His love
for you is paramount.'
'Has been hitherto!' said the Countess, with a rush of bitter feeling.
'But now another shares his love. It remains to be seen whether his
mother will retain her old place in his affections.'
'Ah, this maternal sensitiveness of yours has been the cause of all
the trouble, Constance,' remonstrated her brother. 'You have loved
your son with a jealous exclusiveness which has made you shrink from
the thought of his marriage. That was why you refused to entertain the
proposal I made to you last year. An alliance suitable in point of
rank and in every other respect could then easily have been secured.
You see the result of your conduct on that occasion. But let us to the
matter in hand. This Ruestow is wealthy?'
'He passes, at least, for wealthy in this part of the country.'
'And in town also. Not long ago he contributed funds towards one of
our great industrial undertakings to a surprisingly large amount.
Moreover, he is looked upon as an authority in his own particular
line. Even at the Ministry his opinion on all subjects connected with
agriculture carries weight with it. Add to this his connection by
marriage with the Ettersberg family, which, say what you will, exists,
and must be taken into account, and it becomes evident that we cannot
treat this intended marriage as we would an unworthy mesalliance.'
'No, and I think Edmund builds on that fact.'
'He builds simply on your unbounded affection for him, from which he
hopes to obtain all he desires--perhaps would have obtained it, had I
not stepped in in time. You owe it to your husband's memory and to the
name you bear to resist this marriage, which, as you know, he never
would have allowed. Remember how he condemned his cousin for
contracting a union with Ruestow. You are bound to act according to his
wishes.'
'I have done so in all respects,' said the Countess, a little piqued;
'but if Edmund will not listen----'
'It is for you to exact obedience from him, no matter by what means.
This plebeian blood must not again be infused into the Ettersberg
race. One such taint was sufficient.'
He spoke slowly and meaningly, and the Countess grew pale beneath the
menace of his look.
'Armand, what do you mean? I----'
'I am alluding to Ruestow's marriage with your husband's cousin,' the
Baron interrupted coldly. 'The reminder was, I think, necessary to
warn you that there must be no weakness now. You are not wanting in
energy generally, but to Edmund you have always been far too indulgent
a mother.'
'Possibly,' said the Countess, with sad and bitter emphasis. 'I have
had no one but him to love since you compelled me to accept the Count
as my husband.'
'It was not I, but circumstances, that compelled you. I should have
thought you had in your youth sufficient experience of poverty and
privations to make you bless your brother's hand, which delivered you
from that wretched life and placed you in a high position.'
'Bless?' repeated the Countess, in a low, half-stifled voice. 'No,
Armand, I have never blessed your action in the matter.'
Baron Heideck frowned.
'I acted according to my conscience and sense of duty. It was my
desire to procure for my father one last satisfaction on this side the
grave, to free my mother from anxiety as to the future, and to secure
for yourself a brilliant and much-envied position. If I used some
pressure--some force to deliver you from the trammels of a first and
foolish attachment, I did so with the firm conviction that for the
Countess Ettersberg the past would be as though it had not been. I
could not possibly foresee that my sister would not justify the
confidence I placed in her.'
The Countess shuddered as he spoke these words, and turned away.
'Enough of these reminiscences, Armand; I cannot bear them.'
'You are right,' said Heideck, changing his tone. 'We will leave the
past, and turn our attention to the present. Edmund must not be
allowed to commit this act of youthful folly. I hardly touched on the
subject as we drove here from the station--I purposely avoided any
discussion of it until I had spoken to you; but a very decided
impression was left on my mind that we have not to do with a very deep
or serious passion, capable of breaking down all barriers and setting
all at defiance in order to obtain its end. He has merely fallen in
love with a young and, as I hear, beautiful girl, and is naturally in
a great hurry to be married at once. We must take care that this does
not occur. We have weapons enough in our armoury to combat any such
juvenile sentiment.'
'I hope so,' said the Countess, making a visible effort to regain her
composure, and speak in an ordinary conversational tone. 'That is why
I asked you to come. You are his guardian, you know.'
Heideck shook his head.
'My guardianship has never been more than a barren legal fact, and in
a few months it will lapse altogether. Edmund will hardly bow to its
authority but to you he will yield, for he is accustomed to be guided
by you. Place before him the choice between this new fancy of his and
yourself. Threaten that you will leave Ettersberg if he brings this
bride home to the castle. He worships you, and will take no step which
would estrange his mother from him.'
'No; he would not do that,' said the Countess in a tone of absolute
conviction; 'I am still sure of his love.'
'And you may continue to feel sure of it, if you know how to use your
influence over him, as I doubt not you will, to the fullest extent.
You are well aware, Constance, that in your son's case, in his case
especially, the traditions of the family must be maintained. Remember
this, I beg of you.'
'I know it,' said the Countess, drawing a deep breath. 'You may set
your mind at rest.'
A long pause ensued. Then Baron Heideck spoke again:
'And now to the other disagreeable matter! Will you send for Oswald? I
should like to have some talk with him about this wonderful new
project of his.'
The Countess rang the bell.
'Let Herr von Ettersberg know that Baron Heideck wishes to speak to
him, and is waiting for him here,' she said to the servant who
answered the summons.
The man withdrew with his instructions, and Heideck continued, in a
sarcastic vein:
'It must be admitted that Edmund and Oswald are outvying each other
just now in their endeavours to add lustre to the family name. One is
bent on marrying the daughter of a ci-devant farmer, and the other
means to set up as a lawyer. Oswald cannot, I fancy, have conceived
this idea quite suddenly.'
'I think he has cherished the project for years, but he has never
committed himself by a word,' said the Countess. 'It is only now, just
when he is on the point of passing his examination, that he thinks fit
to publish his plan. I have declared to him, however, in the most
decided manner, that he must give up all notion of the law, and
prepare to enter a Government office.'
'And what reply did he make to you?'
'He made none--as usual. You know the moody, obstinate silence with
which, even as a boy, he received reproof and punishment, the look of
insufferable defiance which he always has in readiness, though his
lips remain closed. I am persuaded that my opposition only makes him
cling the more pertinaciously to his absurd plan.'
'Precisely what I should expect from him, but in this case he will
have to give way. A young man who, like Oswald, is absolutely without
resources of his own, must, no matter in what position, be for a time
dependent on his relations. Disobedience would cost him too dearly.'
The conversation had undergone a marked change. Previously, when
Edmund's conduct had been under debate, the Countess and her brother
had spoken gravely and with a certain anxiety, but every word
testified to the consideration in which the wilful young son and
nephew was held. They merely wished to lead, to guide him back into
the paths of prudence, and the love he bore his mother was the only
constraining influence suggested. But from the moment Oswald's name
was mentioned, another and a very different tone prevailed. His sins
were reported with harshness, and condemned with great severity;
measures of compulsion were at once discussed. Baron Heideck evidently
shared in an eminent degree his sister's dislike to this young
relation.
The offender now came in. He greeted his aunt and his guardian, whom
he had seen only for a few minutes on arrival, with his accustomed
calm composure; but a keen observer might have detected the fact that
he had armed himself for the coming scene. He stood before them in the
'sombre, obstinate silence' to which allusion had been made, with his
ever-ready look of 'insufferable defiance,' and waited for what should
be made known to him.
'You have prepared a singular surprise for us,' began Baron Heideck,
addressing Oswald. 'For me especially, as I was just about to move in
your interest. What are these absurd ideas you are so suddenly
disclosing? You refused formerly to enter the army, and now you object
to a Government office. Let me tell you that, situated as you are, you
have no right to vacillate thus between the only professions which are
open to you.'
'I have never vacillated, for no choice has ever been offered me,'
replied Oswald quietly. 'I was destined first for the army and then
for a Government clerkship, but my inclination was never consulted.'
'And why did you never inform us by a single word that it would please
you in the last instance to set yourself against this second plan?'
asked the Countess.
'That is easily divined,' interposed Heideck. 'He wished to avoid a
long struggle against you and myself, a struggle in which he was sure
to succumb, and hoped that by taking us unawares he might paralyse our
resistance. But you are mistaken, Oswald. My sister has already
informed you that we consider the name and rank of a Count von
Ettersberg to be incompatible with the calling of the law, and I
repeat to you that you will never receive our consent to your present
scheme.'
'I am sorry for that,' was the steady reply. 'For I shall thus be
obliged to pursue the course I have determined on without the approval
of my nearest relatives.'
The Countess would have started up in anger, but her brother signed to
her to be calm.
'Say nothing, Constance. We shall see if he can carry out this famous
plan. I really do not understand you, Oswald,' he continued, with
withering sarcasm. 'You have been long enough away from home to form
some idea of the world and its ways. Have you never said to yourself
that without some assured means of existence you can neither pass the
examination in the capital, nor live on for years until an income of
your own be forthcoming? Have you not reflected that these means may
be withdrawn, if you push matters so far as to provoke a rupture with
your family? You probably rely on Edmund's good-nature and on his
affection for yourself, but in this case my sister will take care that
he does not second and support you in your wilful obstinacy.'
'I rely on no one but myself,' declared Oswald. 'Edmund knows that I
shall make no claim on him for assistance.'
'Well, perhaps you will allow me, as your ex-guardian, to inquire how
you propose to live during the next few years?' said Heideck, in his
former scornful tone.
'I think of going to town to stay with Councillor Braun, a lawyer of
eminence, whose name is probably known to you.'
'Certainly I know him. He has a considerable reputation at the bar.'
'He was my father's legal adviser, and the intimate friend of our
house. I called on him and renewed our acquaintance when Edmund and I
were in town together, and he has been good enough to transfer the old
friendship from the father to the son. During the time I was at the
university, he gave me many hints how best to direct my studies with a
view to the career I had already chosen, and since then we have
remained in constant correspondence. He wishes now for some assistance
in his really overgrown practice, and the assistant of to-day may,
very probably will, be his successor in the future. The berth will be
held open for me until I shall have passed my examination. He has
asked me to stay at his house during the period of that examination,
and this offer I have thankfully accepted.'
Oswald delivered this speech with imperturbable calm, but the
astonishment of his hearers knew no bounds. They had supposed that a
simple assertion of authority on their part would extinguish all
'absurd ideas,' and quell the rebellious nephew whose dependent
position placed him so completely at their mercy. Instead of this,
they were met by a steady resolve, a practical, matured plan, every
detail of which had been considered and provided for, and which
withdrew the young man altogether from their influence and control.
The disagreeable surprise this discovery caused them was expressed in
the look they now exchanged.
'Really, this is remarkable news,' said the Countess, who could no
longer suppress her anger. 'So you have been conspiring against us
with a stranger in secret--and this conspiracy has been going on for
years!'
'And with what an aim in view!' added Heideck. 'Either in the army or
in a Government office your ancient and noble name would have been of
service to you; it would have assured you a career. But the advantages
you possess you deliberately put from you in order to embrace the law
as a profession. I really thought your ambition would soar higher. Are
you so wedded--so enthusiastically attached to this new vocation of
yours?'
'No,' said Oswald coldly; 'not in the least. But in any other
profession I should have been compelled to go on for years
accepting--accepting benefits I have hitherto enjoyed; and to this I
will not consent. The path I have chosen is the only one that leads to
freedom and independence, and to gain these I willingly sacrifice all
else.'
The words told of a resolve which was not to be shaken, but at the
same time they were barbed with a reproach which the Countess
understood but too well.
'You have accepted these benefits so long that you can now
conveniently do without them,' she remarked.
The tone of this observation was even more insulting than the words.
Oswald's composure seemed to be giving way at length. His quick, short
breathing betrayed his emotion, as he replied in accents to the full
as biting as hers had been:
'If I have hitherto been held fettered by the chain of my dependence,
that assuredly has not been my fault. It was not considered fitting
for an Ettersberg to go out into the world and seek his fortune, as a
man of humbler origin might have done. I could but yield to the
traditional prejudices of my family. I have had to wait on and on for
this hour when at length--at length I can take my future into my own
hands!'
'Which you seem inclined to do in the most offensive manner possible,'
said the Countess, with increasing warmth. 'With the utmost
indifference to those family traditions of which you speak, in open
opposition to the friends to whom you owe everything. Could my husband
have foreseen this, he never would have directed that you should be
brought up with his own son, and treated as a child of the house you
now disown in this manner. But, indeed, gratitude is a word which
seems to have no meaning for you.'
A dangerous light kindled in Oswald's eyes, and they flashed upon the
speaker a glance of menace and evil portent.
'I know, aunt, what a heavy burden my uncle laid on you by those
directions, but, believe me, I have suffered beneath it even more
severely than yourself. It would have been better for me to have been
driven out into the world and brought up among strangers, than to pass
my life amid splendid surroundings, in a sphere where I have daily,
hourly been reminded of my nothingness, where the proud Ettersberg
blood in my veins had but to show itself to be instantly repressed. My
uncle carried his point, and had me received into this house; beyond
that, he made no attempt to shield or protect me. To you I was, from
the first, simply a troublesome legacy left by an unfriendly and
detested brother-in-law. I was accepted with disinclination, and
endured with absolute dislike, and the consciousness of this has
sometimes well-nigh driven me desperate. But for Edmund, the one
person who showed me any affection, the one who held faithfully by me,
in spite of all that was done to estrange us, I could not have borne
the life. Gratitude! You require gratitude at my hands? I have never
felt any, I never shall feel any towards you; for there is a voice
within me which says I am not benefited, but injured. I need not
thank, but might ... accuse!'
He flung the last word at her with loud and threatening emphasis. The
dykes were broken down, and all the hatred, the bitterness he had
secretly borne within him for years flowed out in a stream of fierce
rebellion against this woman who, outwardly at least, had been as a
mother to him. She had risen in her turn, and they now stood face to
face. So might two deadly enemies have measured each other's strength
before the fray; the next word would perhaps have led to an
irreparable breach, had not Heideck intervened.
'Oswald, you forget yourself!' he cried. 'How can you venture to
address such language to your aunt?'
The keen, cold tones of his voice brought reflection to both at the
same moment. The Countess sank slowly back into her seat, and her
nephew retreated a step. For a few seconds a painful silence reigned.
Then Oswald spoke in a changed voice, in a tone freezing as ice:
'You are right; I have to apologize. But at the same time I must beg
of you to allow me henceforth to go my own way unhindered. The path I
shall follow will, in all probability, take me from Ettersberg for
ever, and all further connection may cease between us. I think this is
what we all should wish, and it will certainly be best for the family,
collectively and individually.'
Then, without waiting for an answer, or any sign of dismissal, he
turned and left the room.
'What did that mean?' asked the Countess in a low voice, when the door
had closed upon him.
'It meant a threat,' said Heideck. 'Could you not understand it,
Constance? It was, I think, plainly enough expressed.'
He sprang up, and paced several times uneasily up and down the room.
Even the bureaucrat's cold and measured calm was not proof against
such a scene as this. Presently he halted before his sister.
'We must give way. The matter has now assumed a different aspect--a
very different aspect. Active resistance on our part might lead to
serious trouble--the last few moments have made that evident to me.'
'You really think so?'
The Countess spoke these words almost mechanically. She was still
gazing fixedly over at the door through which Oswald had departed.
'Decidedly I think so,' said Heideck, in a determined tone. 'The
fellow suspects more than is good for any of us. It would be dangerous
to irritate him--besides which, we have no longer any power to control
his acts. By this masterly scheme of his, he has secured for himself
an unassailable position. I certainly was not prepared for it, but at
least we now know what lies hidden beneath that calm, indifferent
exterior.'
'I have long known it,' declared the Countess, who seemed only now to
be recovering the full use of her faculties. 'Not without reason have
I feared those cold, searching eyes. From the very first time I saw
that boy's face and met his look, a sort of presentiment awoke within
me that he would work ruin to me and to my son.'
'Folly!' said Heideck. 'Whatever Oswald may suspect, it never can or
will be more than a suspicion; and he will take good care not to put
it into words. It was only in the great excitement of the moment that
he allowed that hint to escape him; but no matter, there must not be a
renewal of this scene. He is right in one thing at least--it will be
better for him in future to avoid Ettersberg; thus the connection with
Edmund will cease. In our own interest, we must let him pursue the
career he has chosen.'
Meanwhile Oswald had passed rapidly through the Countess's apartments,
and was about to turn from them into the corridor, where he met Edmund
on his way to his mother. Gay, lighthearted, and careless as usual,
the young Count stopped at once, caught his cousin by the arm, and
proceeded to interrogate him.
'Well, Oswald, how did the judgment-scene in there go off? We must
hold firmly together now, you know, for we are both in the same
boat--only my case smacks of romance, whereas yours has a dry legal
savour. I underwent a sort of preliminary examination in the carriage
just now, and am about to appear before the high tribunal of justice.
Is my uncle in a very ungracious humour?'
'He will hardly be ungracious to you,' was the laconic reply.
'Oh, I am not in the least afraid!' cried Edmund, laughing. 'I should
have won my mother over long ago, if I had had her alone. She knows
it, and that is why she summoned my uncle to her aid. He is just a
trifle more difficult to manage, though I don't suppose even he will
bear too hardly on me. But you, Oswald'--he came close up to his
cousin, and looked him searchingly in the face--'you have that frown
on your brow again, that bitter expression of countenance I dislike so
much. They have been tormenting you, I am afraid.'
'You know these things cannot be settled without some rather warm
discussion,' replied Oswald evasively. 'But I have gained my end,
notwithstanding. One word more, Edmund. I shall probably leave
Ettersberg sooner than I at first intended--perhaps in the course of a
few days.'
'Why?' exclaimed the young Count. 'What has happened? You had
determined to stay until the autumn. Has my uncle offended you, that
you now talk of leaving at once? I shall stand no nonsense of that
sort, as I shall let him know on the spot----'
'I tell you everything is arranged and settled,' Oswald interrupted.
'Nothing whatever has happened. My aunt and her brother are naturally
rather incensed against me, but they will place no further obstacles
in my way.'
'Do you mean it in earnest?' asked Edmund in surprise. He evidently
could not understand this sudden strange compliance.
'In right good earnest. You will hear it from themselves by-and-by.
Now go and stand your trial. They will not be too hard on you. You
have only to appeal to your mother's love--whereas I had to invoke
fear to my aid.'
Edmund stared at him in amazement.
'Fear? Fear of what--of whom? You really do sometimes use the most
extraordinary expressions.'
'Never mind, go now,' insisted Oswald. 'I can give you an account of
our interview later on.'
'All right.' Edmund turned to the door, but paused again on the
threshold. 'I must say one thing more, though, Oswald. I will not hear
of this sudden departure of yours. You promised to stay until the
autumn, and nothing shall induce me to let you go before. It will be
bad enough for me to have to do without you then for months--for you
will hardly get to Ettersberg before that abominable examination is
over. I know that beforehand.'
With these words he departed. Oswald looked after him moodily. 'For
months? Ah, we must learn to do without each other for good and for
all,' he said. Then in a lower voice he added, 'I did not think I
should have felt it so keenly.'