stle; Roland's name is called out in all the
excavations and dungeons, but there is no answer.

Sonnenkamp sends the groom to the huntsman, but he is off to the field,
and not to be found.

Sonnenkamp rides to the railroad station, taking with him Puck,
Roland's pony, and often looking at the empty saddle. He asks at the
station, in an indifferent tone, if Roland had not arrived, as if he
were expecting his return from a journey. No one had seen him.
Sonnenkamp rides back to the villa, and asks hurriedly if he has not
come, and when they say no, he rides to the next station up the river.
He asks here also, but less cautiously, and here nothing is known. The
servants rush hither and thither as if bewildered.

Sonnenkamp returns to the villa; the Major is there; Fraeulein Milch has
sent him, as perhaps he can render some assistance. She thinks that
Roland has certainly gone to the convent. The Major and Sonnenkamp
drive to the telegraph-office, and send a message to the convent; they
are extremely impatient, for there is no direct telegraphic
communication, and so it will be two hours before an answer can be
returned. Sonnenkamp desires to wait here, and sends the Major to the
town, where he was to see the doctor, and make inquiries everywhere,
but not so as to excite any observation.

Sonnenkamp goes up and down at the station, and places his hot brow
against the cool stone pillars; all is quiet and empty. He went into
the passengers' room; he found that the seats at the station were not
made for comfortable rest; it was horribly inhuman. In America it is
different, or it isn't--no matter.

He went out; he saw the men loading a freight-car,--they did it so
leisurely; he looked at a stone-cutter who was using a pick and a
hammer: he looked fixedly at him as if he himself wanted to learn the
trade. People everywhere were working so quietly; they might well do
so, they had not lost a son. He observed the telegraph-wires, he had an
impulse to cry throughout the whole world, even where it would be of no
possible avail,--

"Where is my son?"

Night comes on. The railway-train rolls in, and Sonnenkamp steps back
in terror; it seems to him that the locomotive would rush directly upon
him. He composes himself, he looks about, he strains his eyes, he sees
nothing of Roland. The people disperse, and all is again still.

Sonnenkamp went to the telegraphist, and asked again if the telegram
which had been sent had reached it