Lothar, who had meant to see and to read nothing, had seen and read enough to make him stride to and fro in the room like a madman, muttering in broken sentences, "He loves her,--she has been sitting to him! Bernhard has neglected her, and Werner has consoled her, while I, fool, double-dyed fool that I am, suspected nothing! Night and day I have thought of her, and never dared, not even to myself, to call what I felt for her by its right name! And now I know that Bernhard is faithless to her, that Werner is false, and that she, indeed, is no saint! Was I not half mad for her sake yesterday when Hohenstein went on telling such fine stories of Bernhard, my worthy brother? Did I not try to drive away with wine and cards the thoughts that would haunt me? and at that very time perhaps Werner was with her. Oh, if it were not so horrible it would be ridiculous,--a silly, ridiculous farce----" "Has the Herr Lieutenant any orders?" the voice of Werner's servant suddenly asked just behind him. "Where is your master?" Lothar asked, roughly. "The Herr Lieutenant has ridden over to Eichhof. He left word that he should be gone some time, as he meant to go farther still." Lothar was gone before the man had finished his sentence. For a moment he had forgotten his gambling debt: he thought only of Werner and Thea. His brain seemed on fire; his temples throbbed violently. Without one distinct idea formed in his mind, he threw himself upon his horse and rode furiously to Eichhof. As he dismounted in the court-yard his first question was with regard to Werner. "The Herr Lieutenant rode away more than two hours ago," the footman replied. Lothar ran up the staircase, and entered Thea's bow-windowed room almost at the same moment in which the servant announced him. As he did so an opposite door was hastily closed, and he thought he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps. Agitated as he was, no longer master of himself, he took no notice of Thea, who was sitting at her writing-table and who rose to greet him, but rushed to the closed door and tore it open, to discover Alma, who quickened her pace almost to a run as she perceived him. He turned about, went to Thea, seized her by the wrist, and said, with flashing eyes, "Has Alma been here all day long?" Thea tried to free her hand from his grasp. "What is the matter, Lothar?" she asked, alarmed by his expression and his strange conduct. "What do you want with Alma?" "Why did she hurry away as though there was some mystery to conceal?" "Good heavens! she went to lay aside her wraps. I had detained her here to read a letter." "A letter? What letter?" Thea shook her head and tried to smile. "It was nothing," she said; "nothing worth mentioning," but her lip quivered. Lothar still gazed at her with eyes that were menacing and yet unutterably sad.