"Yes, Herr Doctor. At first he was making no end of excuses; for they all want to drive to the man[oe]vres, every man of them; and Herr von Busche has ordered a trap, too, for the afternoon. He'll have to be content with a common cart and a sack. Never mind that, though!" "Why should you look so miserable about that?" "It isn't about that at all, Herr Doctor." "Well?" "It is because I do not like to let the Herr Doctor drive away like this. Can you not take me with you?" "Impossible! You see yourself that you have a couple of hours' work before you yet. These sealed packets are to go into the small portmanteau which you keep by you. These letters you will deliver, when the ladies have risen. This money is for the servants. Do not forget any one, and do not be stingy, Konski! And remember me kindly to your Aurora. And now my cloak, please, and so good-bye, Konski." "Am I not at least to see the Herr Doctor to the carriage?" "No." "Herr Doctor, do not be angry; I really mean so well by you, and Aurora does too. We have been speaking of nothing else. And she swears that the Herr Doctor, if he wished it, could have Miss Erna for the asking." "Then tell your Aurora that the Herr Doctor does not wish it, and that the Herr Doctor has better things to do than to spoon and fool about, like you and her." He had held out his hand to the faithful servant, and now he was gone. A minute later, Konski, standing mournfully by the window, saw the dark figure striding swiftly past the lawn, and vanish behind the terrace-wall. He closed the window with a sigh. Bertram lessened his pace, as soon as he knew himself unobserved. Slowly he descended the steps to the second terrace. Here was the leafy grove which, on the left, led to the platform beneath the plantain-tree. He glanced timidly that way. His foot had already touched the next step, he wanted to get down,--to get away,--but something like a magic spell drew him to the spot. There, in this chair, she had sat; he was facing her; and the golden sunbeams had flitted through the dense foliage, and the birds had been holding a gleeful festival in the branches, and from the gardens below fairest fragrance of flowers had been wafted up, and his heart had been full of light and joy, and of all the blissfulness of spring. And now! and now! "Thou sacred dawn of early morn, forgive me! You quiet trees and bushes, tell it not! I have borne what man can bear; more, I cannot." And pressing his hand to his face, he wept. XXIV. In the little-garden, under wide-spreading chestnut-trees, the lawyer and Bertram were sitting, about four o'clock in the afternoon, at a table covered with books, documents, and papers. From, the small garden one could look across a narrow court-yard, at the windows of the office, where they had just begun to make a fair copy of the will, which had been settled after long deliberation.