He was too restless to sleep; he looked at some pictures on the walls, and then round on the chamber. “Today,” cried he, “all is so familiar to me, I could almost fancy I had known this house and this apartment of old.” He tried to settle his remembrances, and lifted some large books which were standing in a corner. As he turned their leaves, he shook his head. A lute-case was leaning on the wall; he opened it, and found a strange old instrument, time-worn, and without the strings. “No, I am not mistaken!” cried he, in astonishment; “this lute is too remarkable; it is the Spanish lute of my long-departed friend, old Albert! Here are his magic books; this is the chamber where he raised for me that blissful vision; the red of the tapestry is faded, its golden hem is become dim; but strangely vivid in my heart is all pertaining to those hours. It was for this the fear went over me as I was coming hither, through these long complicated passages where Leopold conducted me. O Heaven! On this very table did the Shape rise budding forth, and grow up as if watered and refreshed by the redness of the gold. The same image smiled upon me here, which has almost driven me crazy in the hall tonight; in that hall where I have walked so often in trustful speech with Albert!”
He undressed, but slept very little. Early in the morning he was up, and looking at the room again; he opened the window, and the same gardens and buildings were lying before him as of old, only many other houses had been built since then. “Forty years have vanished,” sighed he, “since that afternoon; and every day of those bright times has a longer life than all the intervening space.”
He was called to the company. The morning passed in varied talk: at last the bride entered in her marriage-dress. As the old man noticed her, he fell into a state of agitation, such that every one observed it. They proceeded to the church, and the marriage-ceremony was performed. The party was again at home, when Leopold inquired: “Now, mother, how do you like our friend, the good morose old gentleman?”
“I had figured him, by your description,” said she, “much more frightful; he is mild and sympathetic, and might gain from one an honest trust in him.”
