hand which I received about this time from Mina.  This is her very character.  I will copy it for you.

“I know I am a weak, silly girl; for I have taught myself to believe my beloved would not

give me pain, and this because I deeply, dearly love him.  Alas! thou art so kind, so unutterably kind! but do not delude me.  For me make no sacrifice—wish to make no sacrifice.  Heaven!  I could hate myself if I caused thee to do so.  No, thou hast made me infinitely happy; thou hast taught me to love thee.  But go in peace! my destiny tells me Count Peter is not mine, but the whole world’s; and then I shall feel proudly as I hear: ‘That it was he—and he again—that he had done this—that he has been adored here, and deified there.’  When I think of this, I could reproach thee for forgetting thy high destinies in a simple maiden.  Go in peace, or the thought will make me miserable—me, alas! who am so happy, so blessed through thee.  And have not I entwined in thy existence an olive-branch and a rose-bud, as in the garland which I dared to present thee?  Think of thyself, my beloved one; fear not to leave me, I should die so blessed—so unutterably blessed, through thee.”

You may well imagine how these words thrilled through my bosom.  I told her I was not that which I was supposed to be; I was only a wealthy, but an infinitely-wretched man.  There was, I said, a curse upon me, which should be the only secret between her and me;

for I had not yet lost the hope of being delivered from it.  This was the poison of my existence: That I could have swept her away with me into the abyss; her, the sole light, the sole bliss, the sole spirit of my life.  Then she wept again that I was so unhappy.  She was so amiable, so full of love!  How blessed had she felt to have offered herself up in order to spare me a single tear!

But she was far from rightly understanding my words: she sometimes fancied I was a prince pursued by a cruel proscription; a high and devoted chief, whom her imagination loved to depicture, and to give to her beloved one all the bright hues of heroism.

Once I said to her, “Mina, on the last day of the coming month, my doom may change and be decided; if that should not happen I must die, for I cannot make thee miserable.”  She wept, and her head sunk upon my bosom.  “If thy doom should change, let me but know thou art happy; I have no claim upon thee—but shouldst thou become miserable, bind me to thy misery, I will help thee to bear it.”

“Beloved maiden! withdraw—withdraw the rash, the foolish word which has escaped thy lips.  Dost thou know what is my misery? dost thou know what is my curse?  That thy

beloved—what he?  Dost thou see me shuddering convulsively before thee, and concealing from thee—”  She sunk sobbing at my feet, and renewed her declaration with a solemn vow.

I declared to the now approaching forest-master, my determination to ask the hand of his daughter for the first day of the coming month.  I fixed that period, because in the meanwhile many an event might occur which would have great influence on my fortunes.  My love for his daughter could not but be unchangeable.

The good old man started back, as it were, while the words escaped from Count Peter’s lips.  He fell upon my neck, and then blushed that he had so far forgotten himself.  Then he began to doubt, to ponder, to inquire; he spoke of dowry, of security for the future for his beloved child.  I thanked him for reminding me of it.  I told him I wished to settle and live a life free from anxiety, in a neighbourhood where I appeared to be beloved.  I ordered him to buy, in the name of his daughter, the finest estates that were offered, and refer to me for the payment.  A father would surely best serve the lover of his child.  This gave him trouble enough, for some stranger or other always forestalled

him: but he bought for only the amount of about a million florins.

The truth is, this was a sort of innocent trick to get rid of him, which I had already once done before: for I must own he was rather tedious.  The good mother, on the contrary, was somewhat deaf, and not, like him, always jealous of the honour of entertaining the noble Count.

The mother pressed forward.  The happy people crowded around me, entreating me to lengthen the evening among them.  I dared not linger a moment: the moon was rising above the twilight of evening: my time was come.

Next evening I returned again to the forest-garden.  I had thrown my broad mantle over my shoulders, my hat was slouched over my eyes.  I advanced towards Mina; as she lifted up her eyes and looked at me, an involuntary shudder came over her.  The frightful night in which I had shown myself shadowless in the moonlight, returned in all its brightness to my mind.  It was indeed she!  Had she, too, recognized me?  She was silent and full of thought.  I felt the oppression of a nightmare on my breast.  I rose from my seat; she threw herself speechless on my bosom.  I left her.

But now I often found her in tears; my soul grew darker and darker, while her parents seemed to revel in undisturbed joy.  The day so big with fate rolled onwards, heavy and dark, like a thunder-cloud.  Its eve had arrived, I could scarcely breathe.  I had been foresighted enough to fill some chests with gold.  I waited for midnight:—it tolled.

And there I sat, my eyes directed to the hand of the clock; the seconds, the minutes, as they tinkled, entered me like a dagger.  I rose up at every sound I heard.  The day began to dawn; the leaden hours crowded one on another; it was morning—evening—night.  The hands of the timepiece moved slowly on, and hope was departing.  It struck eleven, and nothing appeared.  The last minutes of the last hour vanished—still nothing appeared; the first stroke—the last stroke of twelve sounded.  I sank hopeless on my couch in ceaseless tears.  To-morrow—shadowless for ever!—to-morrow I should solicit the hand of my beloved.  Towards morning a heavy sleep closed my eyes.