He had risen and was now pacing up and down the room; then he stepped
to the open window. Kurt had kept his seat, thinking that Bertram would
turn to him again. But he did not. The young man grew embarrassed.
Reverence forbade him to disturb the dreamer. Never before had Kurt met
one whose presence had thus thrilled him as with a breath of highest,
purest vitality. And to this consciousness, which seemed to lift him
out of and above himself, was joined the painful feeling which
humiliated him in his own sight: that he had but just now been petty
enough to say a bitter word about the woman of whom he yet knew, that
she had come here to bring the greatest of all sacrifices that a loving
heart can bring. And he, Bertram, knew this too; for Alexandra had said
to Kurt: I have confessed all to Bertram! What a painful discord his
own evil words must have been in the pure and high-souled Bertram's
ear! And now Bertram, who had in all good faith shown him so much
sympathy, had found him ungrateful, had turned from him, now and for
ever.
He would, he must go!
But invisible fetters seemed to chain him to the spot; and as he sat
there, angry with himself, in gloomy thought, it was no longer only the
heavy, weary limbs that refused to obey him. His thoughts, too, flitted
and wandered beyond his control. Something like a dense veil sunk upon
his eyelids, and he saw surrounding objects but momentarily,
indistinctly; the lighted candles upon the table seemed to be far-off
bivouac fires, then they turned to dim and distant stars, then were
lost in night and darkness.
Bertram had carried the candles to the writing-table, and shadows now
rested upon the weary sleeper. Then he returned to the sofa and spread
a coverlet over him.
"Poor lad! I saw how you were struggling against your sleepiness. The
examination was a long one. But I could not spare you, and you have
done well!"
He stood gazing upon him.
"And, like this, his head will rest by the side of hers--on one
pillow!"
He drew his hand over his eyes, stepped noiselessly back to the
writing-table, and presently his pen was gliding lightly and gently
over the paper.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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