of her secret. As for Greif himself, the situation appeared to him more
mysterious than ever, and the air of the house more oppressive. It
seemed to him that every one was watching every one else, and that at
the same time each member of the household was concealing something
from the others. He felt that it would be a relief to return to the
thoughtless life of the University, even at the expense of a separation
from Hilda.

Hilda had not failed to notice what was so apparent to every one else,
and had asked her mother questions concerning the evident depression
that reigned in the household. But the good baroness had only answered
that, whatever might be the matter, it was no concern of Hilda's nor of
her own; and that when disagreeable things occurred in other people's
houses it was a duty not to see them. Hilda's ideas about ill health
were exceedingly vague, and she contented herself with supposing that
Frau von Greifenstein was ill, and that sick persons probably always
behaved as she did. At last the time came for Greif's departure.

The sense of impending evil was in some measure accountable for the
unusual emotion exhibited at the parting. He had never taken leave of
his mother so affectionately before, nor had he before seen the tears
start into her eyes as she kissed him and said good-bye. Never before
had the grip of his father's hand seemed to convey so much of sympathy,
nor did he remember that his own voice had ever at other times trembled
as though it were sticking in his throat. Even Frau von Sigmundskron
was a little moved and pressed his hand warmly when he kissed her,
though she said nothing. Hilda was very silent, and never took her eyes
from him. He had bidden her farewell before taking leave of the rest,
at their old haunt by the Hunger-Thurm. There had not been many words,
and there had been no tears, but it had been nevertheless the saddest