The steward departed, and the governor returned with Arwed to the lower hall. There, for a long time, they walked up and down the room together. Arwed dreaded lifting the veil under which the trouble was concealed, and his uncle, who remarked his reluctance, had not courage to repeat his request. Meanwhile the breakfast was brought in. The governor silently filled the goblets, looked occasionally toward the door, sighed, seized the cup mechanically and raised it to his lips, and then set it down again without drinking. 'Am I not like a child who is trembling with fear in anticipation of a ghost story?' he at length said, with a forced jest. 'Courage! narrate it Arwed.' Arwed was about to obey, when an anxious movement was heard without, and, pale as death, the steward re-entered with a billet in his hand. 'The countess is nowhere to be found,' stammered he. 'Her bed has not been disturbed. She was in the garden late last evening, and sent her chambermaid to bed.' 'What is that?' cried the governor rushing upon the steward. 'What holdest thou there?' 'A billet for your excellency,' answered the latter, 'I found it in the chamber of the countess.' The governor seized, opened, and read it. As the oak of a thousand years yields to the force of its own weight when the axe has severed its roots, wavers, and finally rushes crackling to the ground; so wavered and fell that noble old man, whose mental agony was happily relieved by a suspension of consciousness. Whilst the steward and hastening servants were endeavoring to recall him to life, Arwed raised the paper which had fallen from his trembling hand, and read as follows: 'Alike unworthy to call myself Arwed's wife and your daughter, I have not courage to meet your just anger. I therefore follow the man whose wife I already am in the sight of God. By the memory of my noble mother I conjure you curse me not. May you pardon me in another world!' 'Unhappy parent!' sighed Arwed with deep emotion. Meantime the strong old man, who had partially recovered, raised himself up in his chair, and his first glance fell upon Arwed. 'You have read?' he asked, and as Arwed answered in the affirmative, he stretched out his hand to receive the billet, which Arwed with some hesitation handed to him. Having motioned to his people to withdraw, he again read it through. 'No, I will not curse thee, unhappy girl!' said he coldly, and tearing the note. 'An ungrateful child bears already the curse of heaven in her heart, and where love is dead the flames of anger find no nourishment. You hope I shall pardon you in another world! It is possible I may, if in that world earthly conceptions of honor disappear, and a woman without virtue is no longer a disgrace to her sex.' 'Will you not make an attempt,' asked Arwed, 'to tear the poor victim from her seducer? Let us seek her! Your arm reaches further than she can have flown in the course of the night.'