Of this our friend in his solitude we have only thus much to say—­that in his seclusion he was resigning himself utterly to the feeling of his passion, thinking out plan after plan, and feeding himself with innumerable hopes.  He could not deny that he longed to see Ottilie there; that he would like to carry her off there, to tempt her there; and whatever else (putting, as he now did, no check upon his thoughts) pleased to suggest itself, whether permitted or unpermitted.  Then his imagination wandered up and down, picturing every sort of possibility.  If he could not have her there, if he could not lawfully possess her, he would secure to her the possession of the property for her own.  There she should live for herself, silently, independently; she should be happy in that spot—­sometimes his self-torturing mood would lead him further—­be happy in it, perhaps, with another.

So days flowed away in increasing oscillation between hope and suffering, between tears and happiness—­between purposes, preparations, and despair.  The sight of Mittler did not surprise him; he had long expected that he would come; and now that he did, he was partly welcome to him.  He believed that he had been sent by Charlotte.  He had prepared himself with all manner of excuses and delays; and if these would not serve, with decided refusals; or else, perhaps, he might hope to learn something of Ottilie—­and then he would be as dear to him as a messenger from heaven.

Not a little vexed and annoyed was Edward, therefore, when he understood that Mittler had not come from the castle at all, but of his own free accord.  His heart closed up, and at first the conversation would not open itself.  Mittler, however, knew very well that a heart that is occupied with love has an urgent necessity to express itself—­to pour out to a friend what is passing within it; and he allowed himself, therefore, after a few speeches backward and forward, for this once to go out of his character and play the confidant in place of the mediator.  He had calculated justly.  He had been finding fault in a good-natured way with Edward for burying himself in that lonely place, upon which Edward replied: 

“I do not know how I could spend my time more agreeably.  I am always occupied with her; I am always close to her.  I have the inestimable comfort of being able to think where Ottilie is at each moment—­where she is going, where she is standing, where she is reposing.  I see her moving and acting before me as usual; ever doing or designing something which is to give me pleasure.  But this will not always answer; for how can I be happy away from her?  And then my fancy begins to work; I think what Ottilie should do to come to me; I write sweet, loving letters in her name to myself, and then I answer them, and keep the sheets together.  I have promised that I will take no steps to seek her; and that promise I will keep.  But what binds her that she should make no advances to me I Has Charlotte