ld
limits--as if a bond which had been violently broken could again be
joined together as before.

In the meantime Edward felt very deeply the hindrances which were thrown
in his way. He soon observed that they were keeping him and Ottilie
separate; that they made it difficult for him to speak with her alone,
or even to approach her, except in the presence of others. And while he
was angry about this, he was angry at many things besides. If he caught
an opportunity for a few hasty words with Ottilie, it was not only to
assure her of his love, but to complain of his wife and of the Captain.
He never felt that with his own irrational haste he was on the way to
exhaust the cash-box. He found bitter fault with them, because in the
execution of the work they were not keeping to the first agreement, and
yet he had been himself a consenting party to the second; indeed, it was
he who had occasioned it and made it necessary.

Hatred is a partisan, but love is even more so. Ottilie also estranged
herself from Charlotte and the Captain. As Edward was complaining one
day to Ottilie of the latter, saying that he was not treating him like a
friend, or, under the circumstances, acting quite uprightly, she
answered unthinkingly, "I have once or twice had a painful feeling that
he was not quite honest with you. I heard him say once to Charlotte: 'If
Edward would but spare us that eternal flute of his! He can make nothing
of it, and it is too disagreeable to listen to him.' You may imagine how
it hurt me, when I like accompanying you so much."

She had scarcely uttered the words when her conscience whispered to her
that she had much better have been silent. However, the thing was said.
Edward's features worked violently. Never had anything stung him more.
He was touched on his tenderest point. It was his amusement; he followed
it like a child. He never made the slightest pretensions; what gave him
pleasure should be treated with forbearance by his friends. He never
thought how intolerable it is for a third person to have his ears
lacerated by an unsuccessful talent. He was indignant; he was hurt in a
way which he could not forgive. He felt himself discharged from all
obligations.

The necessity of being with Ottilie, of seeing her, whispering to her,
exchanging his confidence with her, increased with every day. He
determined to write to her, and ask her to carry on a secret
correspondence with him. The strip of paper on which he had,