"mourir! c'est un instant de supplice: mais vivre?"--frederic soulie.

the physician from nyborg, who had been on a visit to a sick person in the neighborhood, took this opportunity of calling on the family and inquiring after eva's health. they had prayed him to stay over the night there, and rather to drive hone in the early morning than so late in the evening. he allowed himself to be persuaded. otto, on his return, found him and the family in deep conversation. they were talking of the "letters of a wandering ghost."

"where have you been?" asked sophie, as otto entered.

"you look so pale!" said louise; "are you ill?"

"i do not feel well!" replied otto; "i went therefore down into the garden a little. now i am perfectly recovered." and he took part in the conversation.

the overwhelming sorrow had dissolved itself in tears. his mind had raised itself up again from its stupefaction, and sought for a point of light on which to attach itself. they were talking of the immense caves of maastricht, how they stretch themselves out into deep passages and vast squares, in which sound is lost, and where the light, which cannot reach the nearest object, only glimmers like a point of fire. in order to comprehend this vacuity and this darkness, the travellers let the guide extinguish his torch, and all is night; they are penetrated, as it were, with darkness; the hand feels after a wall, in order to have some restraint, some thought on which to repose itself: the eye sees nothing; the ear hears nothing. horror seizes on the strongest mind: the same darkness, the same desolate emotion, had heinrich's words breathed into otto's soul; therefore he sank like the traveller to the earth: but as the traveller's whole soul rivets itself by the eye upon the first spark which glimmers, to kindle again the torch which is to lead him forth from this grave, so did otto attach himself to the first awakening thought of help. "wilhelm? his soul is noble and good, him will i initiate into my painful secret, which chance had once almost revealed to him."

but this was again extinguished, as the first spark is extinguished which the steel gives birth to. he could not confide himself to wilhelm; the understanding which this very confidence would give birth to between them, must separate them from each other. it was humiliating, it was annihilating. but for sophie? no, how could he, after that, declare the love of his heart? how far below her should he be placed, as the child of poverty and shame! but the mother of the family? yes, she was gentle and kind; with a maternal sentiment she extended to him her hand, and looked upon him as on a near relation. his thoughts raised themselves on high, his hands folded themselves to prayer; "the will of the lord alone be done!" trembled involuntarily from his lips. courage returned refreshingly to his heart. the help of man was like the spark which was soon extinguished; god was an eternal torch, which illumined the darkness and could guide him through it.

"almighty god! thou alone canst and willest!" said he; "to thou who knowest the heart, do thou alone help and lead me!"

this determination was firmly taken; to no human being would he confide himself; alone would he release the prisoner, and give her up to heinrich. he thought upon the future, and yet darker and heavier than hitherto it stood before him. but he who confides in god can never despair the only thing that was now to be done was to obtain the key of the chamber where sidsel was confined, and then when all in the house were asleep he would dare that which must be done.

courage and tranquillity return into every powerful soul when it once sees the possibility of accomplishing its work. with a constrained vivacity otto mingled in the conversation, no one imagining what a struggle his soul had passed through.

the disputation continued. wilhelm was in one of his eloquent moods. the doctor regarded the "letters of the wandering ghost" as one of the most perfect books in the danish literature. once sophie had been of the same opinion, now she preferred cooper's novels to this and all other books.

"people so easily forget the good for the new," said wilhelm; "if the new is only somewhat astonishing, the many regard the author as the first of writers. the nation is, aesthetically considered, now in its period of development. every really cultivated person, who stands among the best spirits of his age, obtains, whilst he observes his own advance in the intellectual kingdom, clearness with regard to the development of his nation. this has, like himself, its distinct periods; in him some important event in life, in it some agitating world convulsion, may advance them suddenly a great leap forward. the public favor is unsteady; to-day it strews palm-branches, to-morrow it cries, 'crucify him!' but i regard that as a moment of development. you will permit me to make use of an image to elucidate my idea. the botanist goes wandering through field and wood, he collects flowers and plants; every one of these had, while he gathered it, his entire interest, his whole thought-- but the impression which it made faded before that of its successor: nor is it till after a longer time that he is able to enjoy the whole of his treasures, and arrange them according to their worth and their rareness. the public seizes alike upon flowers and herbs; we hear its assiduous occupation with the object of the moment, but it is not yet come into possession of the whole. at one time, that which was sentimental was the foremost in favor, and that poet was called the greatest who best knew how to touch this string; then it passed over to the peppered style of writing, and nothing pleased but histories of knights and robbers. now people find pleasure in prosaic life, and schroder and iffland are the acknowledged idols. for us the strength of the north opened heroes and gods, a new and significant scene. then tragedy stood uppermost with us. latterly we have begun to feel that this is not the flesh and blood of the present times. then the fluttering little bird, the vaudeville, came out to us from the dark wood, and enticed us into our own chambers, where all is warm and comfortable, where one has leave to laugh, and to laugh is now a necessity for the danes. one must not, like the crowd, inconsiderately place that as foremost which swims upon the waters, but treasure the good of every time, and arrange them side by side, as the botanist arranges his plants. every people must, under the poetical sunshine, have their sentimental period, their berserker rage, their enjoyment of domestic life, and their giddy flights beyond it; it must merge itself in individuality before it can embrace the beauty of the whole. it is unfortunate for the poet who believes himself to be the wheel of his age; and yet he, with his whole crowd of admirers, is, as menzel says, only a single wheel in the great machine--a little link in the infinite chain of beauty."

"you speak like a plato!" said sophie.

"if we could accord as well in music as we do in poetry," said otto, "then we should be entirely united in our estimation of the arts. i love that music best which goes through the ear to the heart, and carries me away with it; on the contrary, if it is to be admired by the understanding, it is foreign to me."

"yes, that is your false estimation of the subject, dear friend!" said wilhelm: "in aesthetics you come at once to the pure and true; but in music you are far away in the outer court, where the crowd is dancing, with cymbals and trumpets, around the musical golden calf!"

and now the aesthetic unity brought them into a musical disunity. on such occasions, otto was not one to be driven back from his position; he very well knew how to bear down his assailant by striking and original observations: but otto, this evening, although he was animated enough--excited, one might almost say--did not exhibit the calmness, the decision in his thoughts and words, which otherwise would have given him the victory.

it was a long hour, and one yet longer and more full of anxiety, which commenced with supper. the conversation turned to the events of the day. otto mingled in it, and endeavored therefrom to derive advantage; it was a martyrdom of the soul. sophie praised highly his discovery.

"if mr. thostrup had not been here," said she, "then we should hardly have discovered the thief. we must thank mr. thostrup for it, and really for a merry, amusing spectacle."

they joked about it alai laughed, and otto was obliged to laugh also.

"and now she sits up there, like a captive, in the roof!" said he; "it must be an uncomfortable night to her!"

"oh, she sleeps, perhaps, better than some of us others!" said wilhelm: "that will not annoy her!"

"she is confined in the gable chamber, out in the court, is she not?" inquired otto: "there she has not any moonlight."

"yes, surely she has!" answered sophie; "it is in the gable to the right, hooking toward the wood, that she is confined. we have placed her as near to the moon as we could. the gable on the uppermost floor is our keep."

"but is it securely locked?" inquired otto.

"there is a padlock and a great bar outside the door; those she cannot force, and no one about the place will do such a piece of service for her. they dislike her, every one of them."

they rose up from the table; the bell was just on the stroke of eleven.

"but the baron must play us a little piece!" said the physician.

"then mr. thostrup will sing us the pretty jutlandish song by steen-blicher!" exclaimed louise.

"o yes!" said the mother, and clapped otto on the shoulder.

wilhelm played.

"do sing!" said wilhelm; all besought him to do so, and otto sang the jutlandish song for them.

"see, you sang that with the proper humor," said sophie, and clapped her hands in applause. with that all arose, offered to him their hands, and wilhelm whispered to him, yet so that the sisters heard it, "this evening you have been right amiable!"

otto and wilhelm went to their sleeping-room.

"but, my good friend," said wilhelm, "what did you really go into the garden for? be so good as to confess to me: you were not unwell! you did not go only into the garden! you went into the wood, and you remained a long time there! i saw it! you made a little visit to the handsome woman while the fiddler was here, did you not? i do not trust you so entirely!"

"you are joking!" answered otto.

"yes, yes," continued wilhelm, "she is a pretty little woman. do you not remember how, last year at the mowing-feast, i threw roses at her? now she is peter cripple's wife. when she comes with her husband then we have, bodily, 'beauty and the beast.'"

that which otto desired was, that wilhelm should now soon go to sleep, and, therefore, he would not contradict him; he confessed even that the young wife was handsome, but added that she, as peter cripple's wife, was to him like a beautiful flower upon which a toad had set itself,--it would be disgusting to him to press the flower to his lips.

the friends were soon in bed. they bade each other good night, and seemed both of them to sleep; and with wilhelm this was the case.

otto lay awake; his pulse throbbed violently.

now the great hall clock struck twelve. all was still, quite still; but otto did not yet dare to raise himself. it struck a quarter past the hour. he raised himself slowly, and glanced toward the bed where wilhelm lay. otto arose and dressed himself, suppressing the while his very breathing. a hunting-knife which hung upon the wall, and which belonged to wilhelm, he put in his pocket; and lifted up, to take with him, the fire-tongs, with which he intended to break the iron staple that held the padlock. yet once more he looked toward wilhelm, who slept soundly. he opened the door, and went out without his shoes.

he looked out from the passage-windows to see if lights were visible from any part of the building. all was still; all was in repose. that which he now feared most was, that one of the dogs might be lying in the lobby, and should begin to bark. but there was not one. he mounted up the steps, and went into the upper story.

only once before had he been there; now all was in darkness. he felt with his hands before him as he went.

at length he found a narrow flight of stairs which led into a yet higher story. the opening at the top was closed, and he was obliged to use his whole strength to open it. at length it gave way with a loud noise. this was not the proper entrance; that lay on the opposite side of the story, and had he gone there he would have found it open, whereas this one had not been opened for a long time.

the violent efforts which he had made caused him great pain, both in his neck and shoulders; but he was now at the very top of the building, close before the door he sought, and the moonlight shone in through the opening in the roof.

by the help of the hunting-knife and the fire-tongs he succeeded in forcing the door, and that without any very considerable noise. he looked into a small, low room, upon the floor of which some dirty coverlets were thrown.

sidsel slept deeply and soundly with open mouth. a thick mass of hair escaped from beneath her cap, upon her brow; the moonlight fell, through the window-pane in the roof, upon her face. otto bowed himself over her and examined the coarse, unpleasing features. the thick, black eyebrows appeared only like one irregular streak.

"she is my sister!" was the thought which penetrated him. "she lay upon the same bosom that i did! the blood in these limbs has kinship with that in mine! she was the repelled one, the rejected one!"

he trembled with pain and anguish; but it was only for a short time.

"stand up!" cried he, and touched the sleeper.

"ih, jane dou! [author's note: an exclamation among the common people of funen, expressive of terror.] what is it?" cried she, half terrified, and fixed her unpleasant eyes wildly upon him.

"come with me!" said otto, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "german heinrich waits in the avenue! i will help you out! hence; to-morrow it will be too late!"

"what do you say?" asked she, and still looked at him with a bewildered mien.

otto repeated his words.

"do you think that i can get away?" asked she, and seized him by the arm, as she hastily sprang up.

"only silently and circumspectly!" said otto.

"i should not have expected theft from you!" said she. "but tell me why you do it?"

otto trembled; it was impossible for him to tell her his reasons, or to express the word,--"thou art my sister!"

his lips were silent.

"to many a fellow," said she, "have i been kinder than i ought to have been, but see whether any of them think about sidsel! and you do it! you who are so fine and so genteel!"

otto pressed together his eyelids; he heard her speak; an animal coarseness mingled itself with a sort of confidential manner which was annihilating to him.

"she is my sister!" resounded in his soul.

"come now! come now!" and, descending the steps, she followed after him.

"i know a better way!" said she, as they came to the lowest story. she seized his arm and they again descended a flight of steps.

suddenly a door opened itself, and louise, still dressed, stepped forth with a light. she uttered a faint cry, and her eye riveted itself upon the two forms before her.

but still more terribly and more powerfully did this encounter operate upon otto. his feet seemed to fail him, and, for a moment, every object moved before his eyes in bright colors. it was the moment of his severest suffering. he sprang forth toward louise, seized her hand, and, pale as death, with lifeless, staring eyes, half kneeling, besought of her, with an agitated voice:--

"for god's sake, tell no one of that which you have seen! i am compelled to serve her--she is my sister! if you betray my secret i am lost to this world--i must die! it was not until this evening that i knew this to be the case! i will tell you all, but do not betray me! and do you prevent tomorrow any pursuit after her! o louise! by the happiness of your own soul feel for the misery of mine! i shall destroy myself if you betray me!"

"o god!" stammered louise. "i will do all--all! i will be silent! conduct her hence, quick, that you may meet with no one!"

she seized otto's hand; he sank upon his knee before her, and looked like a marble image which expressed manly beauty and sorrow.

louise bent herself with sisterly affection over him; tears flowed down her cheeks; her voice trembled, but it was tranquillizing, like the consolation of a good angel. with a glance full of confidence in her, otto tore himself away. sidsel followed him and said not a word.

he led her to the lowest story and opened for her, silently, a window, through which she could descend to the garden, and thence easily reach the avenue where german heinrich waited for her. to have accompanied her any further was unnecessary; it would have been venturing too much without any adequate cause. she stood now upon the window-sill--otto put a little money into her hand.

"the lord is above us!" said he, in a solemn voice. "never forget him and endeavor to amend your life! all may yet be well!" he involuntarily pressed her hand in his. "have god always in your thoughts!" said he.

"i shall get safely away, however," said she, and descended into the garden; she nodded, and vanished behind the hedge.

otto stood for a while and listened whether any noise was heard, or whether any dog barked. he feared for her safety. all was still.

just as sometimes an old melody will suddenly awake in our remembrance and sound in our ear, so awoke now a holy text to his thoughts. "lord, if i should take the wings of the morning, and should fly to the uttermost parts of the sea, thither thou wouldst lead me, and thy right hand would hold me fast! thou art near to us! thou canst accomplish and thou willest our well-being! thou alone canst help us!"

in silence he breathed his prayer.

he returned to his chamber more composed in mind. wilhelm seemed to sleep; but as otto approached his bed he suddenly raised himself, and looked, inquiringly, around him.

"who is there?" exclaimed he; "you are dressed! where have you been?" he was urgent in his inquiry.

otto gave a joking reason.

"let me have your hand!" said he. otto gave it to him be felt his pulse.

"yes, quite correct!" said he; "the blood is yet in commotion. one sees plain enough that there is no concealing things! here was i sleeping in all innocence, and you were running after adventures. you wicked bird!"

the thoughts worked rapidly in otto's soul. if louise would only be silent, no one would dream of the possibility of his having part in sidsel's flight. he must allow wilhelm quietly to have his joke.

"was not i right?" asked wilhelm.

"and if now you were so," replied otto, "will you tell it to any one?"

"do you think that i could do such a thing?" replied wilhelm; "we are all of us only mortal creatures!"

otto gave him his hand. "be silent!" he said.

"yes, certainly," said wilhelm; and, according to his custom, strengthened it with an oath. "now i have sworn it," said he; "but when there is an opportunity you must tell me more about it!"

"yes, certainly," said otto, with a deep sigh. before his friend he no longer stood pure and guiltless.

they slept. otto's sleep was only a hateful dream.