Edward appeared to approve; but it was only to find some means of delay.  Charlotte, who desired to commit him to a definite step, seized the opportunity, as Edward made no immediate opposition, to settle Ottilie’s departure, for which she had already privately made all preparations, for the next day.

Edward shuddered—­he thought he was betrayed.  His wife’s affectionate speech he fancied was an artfully contrived trick to separate him for ever from his happiness.  He appeared to leave the thing entirely to her; but in his heart his resolution was already taken.  To gain time to breathe, to put off the immediate intolerable misery of Ottilie’s being sent away, he determined to leave his house.  He told Charlotte he was going; but he had blinded her to his real reason, by telling her that he would not be present at Ottilie’s departure; indeed, that, from that moment, he would see her no more.  Charlotte, who believed that she had gained her point, approved most cordially.  He ordered his horse, gave his valet the necessary directions what to pack up, and where he should follow him; and then, on the point of departure, he sat down and wrote: 

“EDWARD TO CHARLOTTE

“The misfortune, my love, which has befallen us, may or may not admit of remedy; only this I feel, that if I am not at once to be driven to despair, I must find some means of delay for myself, and for all of us.  In making myself the sacrifice, I have a right to make a request.  I am leaving my home, and I return to it only under happier and more peaceful auspices.  While I am away, you keep possession of it—­but with Ottilie.  I choose to know that she is with you, and not among strangers.  Take care of her; treat her as you have treated her—­only more lovingly, more kindly, more tenderly!  I promise that I will not attempt any secret intercourse with her.  Leave me, as long a time as you please, without knowing anything about you.  I will not allow myself to be anxious—­nor need you be uneasy about me:  only, with all my heart and soul, I beseech you, make no attempt to send Ottilie away, or to introduce her into any other situation.  Beyond the circle of the castle and the park, placed in the hands of strangers, she belongs to me, and I will take possession of her!  If you have any regard for my affection, for my wishes, for my sufferings, you will leave me alone to my madness; and if any hope of recovery from it should ever hereafter offer itself to me, I will not resist.”

Thus last sentence ran off his pen—­not out of his heart.  Even when he saw it upon the paper, he began bitterly to weep.  That he, under any circumstances, should renounce the happiness—­even the wretchedness—­of loving Ottilie!  He only now began to feel what he was doing—­he was going away without knowing what was to be the result.  At any rate he was not to see her again now—­with what certainty could he promise himself that he would ever see her again?