speed. He informed her,
however, that a young lady was coming to pass the night there, and he
ordered an apartment for her at the back, at the end of the gallery. It
sounded a mysterious sort of affair; but the hostess was ready to do
anything to please her patron, who appeared so interested and so busy
about it. And he, what were his sensations as he watched through the
long, weary hours till evening? He examined the room round and round in
which he was to see her; with all its strangeness and homeliness it
seemed to him to be an abode for angels. He thought over and over what
he had better do; whether he should take her by surprise, or whether he
should prepare her for meeting him. At last the second course seemed the
preferable one. He sat down and wrote a letter, which she was to read:

EDWARD TO OTTILIE

"While you read this letter, my best beloved, I am close to you. Do not
agitate yourself; do not be alarmed; you have nothing to fear from me. I
will not force myself upon you. I will see you or not, as you yourself
shall choose.

"Consider, oh! consider your condition and mine. How must I not thank
you, that you have taken no decisive step! But the step which you have
taken is significant enough. Do not persist in it. Here, as it were, at
a parting of the ways, reflect once again. Can you be mine:--will you be
mine? Oh, you will be showing mercy on us all if you will; and on me,
infinite mercy.

"Let me see you again!--happily, joyfully see you once more! Let me make
my request to you with my own lips; and do you give me your answer your
own beautiful self, on my breast, Ottilie! where you have so often
rested, and which belongs to you for ever!"

As he was writing, the feeling rushed over him that what he was longing
for was coming--was close--would be there almost immediately. By that
door she would come in; she would read that letter; she in her own
person would stand there before him as she used to stand; she for whose
appearance he had thirsted so long. Would she be the same as she
was?--was her form, were her feelings changed? He still held the pen in
his hand; he was going to write as he thought, when the carriage rolled
into the court. With a few hurried strokes he added: "I hear you coming.
For a moment, farewell!"

He folded the letter, and directed it. He had no time for sealing. He
darted into the room through which there was a second outlet into the
gallery, when the next moment he recollected