Oswald had gone beyond the farm-yard. He came to the place in the road where the scene between Bruno and the servant had taken place. Involuntarily, almost, he stopped; the whole scene came back to his mind; he saw the fair boy, angry and threatening, like a youthful god, and the mean, frightened hind. He almost regretted having persuaded his favorite to stay at home. He was so happy, so cheerful on this beautiful morning, and it had become quite a habit with him to share all his joys with the boy. "You wild, good, noble fellow," he said to himself, "what are you doing in this world of womanish men? Are they not afraid of you already now, when you are a mere boy; what will they do when you grow up to be a man? All the world cries aloud, 'We want men!' How can you ever expect to have men, when home and school and life all unite to break the proud strength of youthful hearts in the germ already? They take the bow and whittle away at it more and more, and then they wonder if the delicate thing breaks suddenly in their hands. Pygmies, who try to bind and fetter with a thousand slender threads the giant whom a lucky accident has brought to their desert island!" Oswald was very near working himself into a most melancholy state of mind; but the bright, clear morning did not let him indulge long in dark night-thoughts. An image, the image of a beautiful woman, which had remained last night, before sleep closed his eyes, clearly before his soul, which had passed like a pleasant shadow through all his dreams, and which this morning had hovered around him like the echo of some charming melody, now came vividly before his mind's eye. He tried in vain to banish it. Who has not experienced the persistency with which the forms of persons who are often perfectly indifferent to us will present themselves before us, with every detail, against our earnest desire, whilst we cannot, by any effort of our own, conjure up the picture of those who are dearest to our heart? Is it because we are so rarely able to look upon these calmly and deliberately; or is it because where heart speaks to heart, and soul mingles with soul, the outward form is consumed as by a flash of lightning? Is it because the mind, capable of seizing what is imperishable, eternal, has no need of the mere perishable body? While Oswald was thinking only of Melitta, and wished to think of nothing else, he saw continually before him the baroness, Mademoiselle Marguerite, and a number of ladies of his acquaintance; but the Amazon in the green riding-habit was forever dissolving into capricious vapors. "Well, then, fare thee well, fair vision!" cried the young man, and endeavored to lead his thoughts into a new channel.