The bulletins, however, proved favourable with regard to both patients. The Count's wound turned out to be most insignificant, and the Countess was merely suffering from a slight nervous attack, a natural consequence of yesterday's fright. Rest and a few simple remedies would restore them both, and Edmund even forced from the doctor the admission that he might safely leave his room and accompany his cousin to the carriage now waiting for him below. Baron Heideck took a brief, cold leave of his nephew, but Edmund showed himself greatly affected by the parting. He beset Oswald with entreaties to come back to Ettersberg at all events for the wedding, and promised in his turn shortly to pay a visit to the capital. Oswald accepted it all with rather a sad smile; he knew that neither project would hold good. The Countess would certainly find means to prevent her son's intended journey. One last hearty embrace--then the carriage rolled away, and Edmund, as he reentered the castle alone, felt a desolate sense of the void left by his friend's departure. More than a couple of hours passed by before Baron Heideck betook himself to his sister's room to execute the commission which had been confided to him. He had been in no special haste; knowing the terms on which Oswald and his aunt stood, he thought it probable that this last message was of no agreeable import, and that it might increase, rather than lessen, the Countess's indisposition. Possessed by this idea, the Baron had at first proposed to postpone the business to the following day; but Oswald's look and tone, as he gave over the packet, had been so peculiar and impressive, that he resolved to have the matter cleared up without further delay. At his request, the Countess dismissed her maid, with orders to admit no one, and the brother and sister remained long closeted together. The Countess sat on her sofa, looking very pale and worn. It was easy to see what she had suffered since the preceding evening, all that she was suffering now as she sat passive, allowing the stream of her brother's reproaches to flow on without response. He stood before her with the open packet in his hand, speaking in a rather subdued voice, certainly, but with every evidence of great excitement. 'So you really could not make up your mind to part with that unhappy picture! I thought it had been destroyed long ago. How could you be so mad as to keep it in your possession?' 'Do not scold me, Armand.' The Countess's voice was stifled as though by tears. 'It is the only souvenir I have kept--the only one. It came to me with a last message from him, after ... after his death.'