moment at least, feel her sweet presence?  Already I stood at the castle; already I was about to pull the bell—­then suddenly I stopped and said:  “No! no weakness!  You should be ashamed to stand before her like a thief in the night.  Early in the morning go to her like a hero, returning from battle, for whom she is now weaving the crown of love, which she will place upon thy head in the morning.”

And the morning came—­and I was with her, really with her.  Oh, speak not of the spirit as if it could exist without the body.  Complete existence, consciousness, and enjoyment, can only be where body and soul are one—­an embodied spirit, a spiritualized body.  There is no spirit without body, else it would be a ghost:  there is no body without spirit, else it would be a corpse.  Is the flower in the field without spirit?  Does it not appear in a divine will, in a creative thought which preserves it, and gives it life and existence?  That is its soul—­only it is silent in the flower, while it manifests itself in man by words.  Real life is, after all, the bodily and spiritual life; real consciousness is, after all, the bodily and spiritual consciousness; real being together is, after all, bodily and spiritually being together, and the whole world of memory in which I had lived so happily for two days, disappeared like a shadow, like a nonentity, as I stood before her, and was really with her.  I could have laid my hands upon her brow, her eyes, and her cheeks, to know, to unmistakably know, if it were really she—­not only the image which had hovered before my soul day and night, but a being who was not mine, and still could and would be mine; a being in whom I could believe as in myself; a being far from me and yet nearer to me than my own self; a being without whom my life was no life, death was no death; without whom my poor existence would dissolve into infinity like a sigh.  I felt, as my thoughts and glances rested upon her, that now, in this very instant, the happiness of my existence was complete—­and a shudder crept over me as I thought of death—­but it seemed no longer to have any terror for me; for death could not destroy this love; it would only purify; ennoble, and immortalize it.

It was so beautiful to be silent with her.  The whole depth of her soul was reflected in her countenance, and as I looked upon her I saw and heard her every thought and emotion.  “You make me sad,” she seemed on the point of saying, and yet would not, “Are we not together again at last?  Be quiet!  Complain not!  Ask not!  Speak not!  Be welcome to me!  Be not bad to me!” All this looked from her eyes, and still we did not venture to disturb the peace of our happiness with a word.

“Have you received a letter from the Hofrath?” was the first question, and her voice trembled with each word.

“No,” I replied.

She was silent for a time, and then said: