d the detached
scenes seemed designed expressly, if not for painting, at least for
life.

At last a neatly kept farm, with a clean, modest dwelling-house,
situated in the middle of a garden, fell under his eye. He conjectured
that this was Edward's present abode; and he was not mistaken.

Of this our friend in his solitude we have only thus much to say--that
in his seclusion he was resigning himself utterly to the feeling of his
passion, thinking out plan after plan, and feeding himself with
innumerable hopes. He could not deny that he longed to see Ottilie
there; that he would like to carry her off there, to tempt her there;
and whatever else (putting, as he now did, no check upon his thoughts)
pleased to suggest itself, whether permitted or unpermitted. Then his
imagination wandered up and down, picturing every sort of possibility.
If he could not have her there, if he could not lawfully possess her, he
would secure to her the possession of the property for her own. There
she should live for herself, silently, independently; she should be
happy in that spot--sometimes his self-torturing mood would lead him
further--be happy in it, perhaps, with another.

So days flowed away in increasing oscillation between hope and
suffering, between tears and happiness--between purposes, preparations,
and despair. The sight of Mittler did not surprise him; he had long
expected that he would come; and now that he did, he was partly welcome
to him. He believed that he had been sent by Charlotte. He had prepared
himself with all manner of excuses and delays; and if these would not
serve, with decided refusals; or else, perhaps, he might hope to learn
something of Ottilie--and then he would be as dear to him as a
messenger from heaven.

Not a little vexed and annoyed was Edward, therefore, when he
understood that Mittler had not come from the castle at all, but of his
own free accord. His heart closed up, and at first the conversation
would not open itself. Mittler, however, knew very well that a heart
that is occupied with love has an urgent necessity to express itself--to
pour out to a friend what is passing within it; and he allowed himself,
therefore, after a few speeches backward and forward, for this once to
go out of his character and play the confidant in place of the mediator.
He had calculated justly. He had been finding fault in a good-natured
way with Edward for burying himself in that lonely place, upon which
Edward re