Holding the dog by his long, curly hair, Oswald went across the meadow. On the steps the noise of Bonc[oe]ur's paws deadened the sound of his own light footsteps, and thus he crept along on the veranda which surrounded the cottage till he came to the window. The window was open, and through the Venetian ivy which had been trained over it Oswald looked into the room. On the table stood a burning lamp, the globe of which was covered with a red veil, so that the sacred image of Venus looked, in the rosy light, as if it were alive. Melitta was sitting at the foot of the statue near a table, turning her face toward Oswald. She had an open book before her, but she was evidently not reading; the delicate hand which supported her head was buried in the dark, abundant hair, and she seemed to be buried in thought. An inexpressibly touching expression, full of plaintive melancholy and of surpassing happiness, lay on her chaste, childlike features. Oswald had to make a great effort not to destroy the incomparably beautiful picture as it stood before him in the frame of the small window. At last he whispered her name. Melitta raised her head, and fixing her large eyes fully upon the window, she listened for a moment. But then she smiled sadly, as if she wished to say: It was but a dream, and rested her head again in her hand. "Melitta--it is I." This time she had not dreamt. She started up with a cry of joy, to the door, to meet Oswald. She wound her arms around his neck, she felt his burning lips again and again on her own; she laid her head on his bosom; she looked through her tears up at him and said: "See, Oswald, I was just thinking of you. I said to myself: If he loves you he will come, he will surely be here to-day, and if he does not come, he does not love you! Oswald, you do love me--don't you? Not as much as I love you, but still, you love me a little, eh, Oswald?" Speechless with emotion and happiness, Oswald embraced her again and again. "Melitta, you are inexpressibly good and beautiful--whoever loves you must love you boundlessly." Before the door of the hermitage, on a straw mat, his colossal head between his forepaws, lies Bonc[oe]ur. The swift motion of his ears, as soon as he hears a noise from the forest, shows he is keeping faithful watch. He would tear any one to pieces who should dare to intrude upon this temple of love. CHAPTER XXII. Several days had passed since that evening.