From that day the life at Greifenstein became even more drearily
monotonous than it had been before, for all the party excepting Greif
and Hilda. To any one not accustomed to the atmosphere the existence
would have been unbearable, but humanity can grow used to anything by
degrees. A stranger finding himself unexpectedly at the castle would
have felt that the sweet air of the forest was poisoned at that one
point by some subtle and undefinable element, that appealed to none of
the senses in particular, but oppressed them all alike. The sensation
was not like that caused by a vague anxiety, or by the shadow of a
coming event creeping mysteriously onward, a mere uneasiness as to the
result which must soon be apparent, but of which it is not possible to
say whether it will be good or bad. It was worse than that, for if
there were to be any result at all, it must be very bad indeed.
Greifenstein himself felt as he supposed a criminal might feel who was
hourly expecting discovery. If his half-brother returned, the suffering
caused by his presence in the country would be almost as great as the
shame of having committed his crime could have been. Frau von
Sigmundskron was more indifferent, for she had never known the man, and
her knowledge of what he had done was less accurate than
Greifenstein's. But she was nevertheless very uncomfortable when she
thought of his appearance. It had been judged best to acquaint Greif
with the proclamation of the amnesty, in order that he might be
prepared for any contingency, but the news made very little impression
upon him, for he had learned the existence of his disgraced relative so
recently that he had from the first feared his return, and had thought
of what he should do ever since. Moreover he had Hilda with him, and he
was very young, two circumstances which greatly diminished his anxiety
about the future. He was very glad, however, that his academical career
was so near its end, for he reflected that it would be tiresome to be