“Whatever surprise he may have designed for us,” said Charlotte, as soon as he was gone, “I cannot myself just now go down there.  You can go by yourself, and tell me all about it.  No doubt he has been doing something which we shall like.  I will enjoy it first in your description, and afterwards it will be the more charming in the reality.”

Ottilie, who knew well that in many cases Charlotte took care to avoid everything which could produce emotion, and particularly disliked to be surprised, set off down the walk by herself and looked round involuntarily for the Architect, who, however, was nowhere to be seen and must have concealed himself somewhere.  She walked into the church, which she found open.  This had been finished before; it had been cleaned up, and service had been performed in it.  She went on to the chapel door; its heavy mass, all overlaid with iron, yielded easily to her touch, and she found an unexpected sight in a familiar spot.

A solemn, beautiful light streamed in through the one tall window.  It was filled with stained glass, gracefully put together.  The entire chapel had thus received a strange tone, and a peculiar genius was thrown over it.  The beauty of the vaulted ceiling and the walls was set off by the elegance of the pavement, which was composed of peculiarly shaped tiles, fastened together with gypsum, and forming exquisite patterns as they lay.  This and the colored glass for the windows the Architect had prepared without their knowledge, and a short time was sufficient to have it put in its place.

Seats had been provided as well.  Among the relics of the old church some finely carved chancel chairs had been discovered, which now were standing about at convenient places along the walls.

The parts which she knew so well now meeting her as an unfamiliar whole, delighted Ottilie.  She stood still, walked up and down, looked and looked again; at last she seated herself in one of the chairs, and it seemed, as she gazed up and down, as if she was, and yet was not—­as if she felt and did not feel—­as if all this would vanish from before her, and she would vanish from herself; and it was only when the sun left the window, on which before it had been shining full, that she awoke to possession of herself and hastened back to the castle.

She did not hide from herself the strange epoch at which this surprise had occurred to her.  It was the evening of Edward’s birthday.  Very differently she had hoped to keep it.  How was not every thing to be dressed out for this festival and now all the splendor of the autumn flowers remained ungathered!  Those sunflowers still turned their faces to the sky; those asters still looked out with quiet, modest eye; and whatever of them all had been wound into wreaths had served as patterns for the decorating a spot which, if it was not to remain a mere artist’s fancy, was only adapted as a general mausoleum.