"Good news," began the latter, in his softest tone; "a messenger from the Crown Inspector brings me the report that they have all made a safe journey. It must have been a matter of caution that there is no letter for you."

"It was indeed a matter of caution," repeated the Scholar, and his head sank heavily on his breast.

Mr. Hummel seated himself close to him, and whispered in his ear. At the last words the Professor sprang up in terror, and a groan sounded through the room.

"A man is not a screech owl," declared Mr. Hummel, pacifyingly; "and it would be unjust to expect of him that he should be able to distinguish in the darkness the head from the tail of a rat; but every householder knows that there are also worthless contrivances of architecture. These intimations I make to you only, to no one else. I sent my card a few days ago to your father-in-law. Little Fritz Hahn has, in your absence, become a Doctor Faustus, who will carry off my poor child under his fiend's cloak to Bielstein. May I announce your arrival there?"

"Say," replied the Scholar, gloomily, "that I will come as soon as I have settled matters here."

He held Mr. Hummel firmly by the hand, as if he did not like to part from the confidant of his wife, and led him down to the hall. New travelers had arrived there, and a little gentleman in a cloak and a beautiful silk traveling-cap, turned, without looking from under a large umbrella, to the Professor, and said:

"I should be much obliged if you would show me to a room, waiter. Am I in the right place here?"

He mentioned the name of the city; the Professor took the gentleman's traveling-bag from him, seized him by the arm without saying a word, and took him rapidly up the stairs.

"Very polite," exclaimed Raschke, "I thank you sincerely, but I am not at all tired; my only wish is to speak to Professor Werner. Can you arrange for an audience with him?"

Werner opened his room, took off his hat, and embraced him.

"My dear colleague," cried Raschke, "I am the most fortunate traveler in the world: usually a pilgrim on the highroad is contented if no misfortune happens to him, but I have met in the carriage with modest and thoughtful men. The conductor on changing carriages carried my cap after me, and some one kindly accompanied me to this house; and now when, for the first time, I stand on my own feet, I find myself in the arms of him whom I came to see. It is a pleasure to travel, colleague: at every mile-stone one observes how good and warm-hearted the people are among whom we live. We are fools that we do not deliver our lectures in carriages; the anxieties of our wives are unjustifiable; a man can manage by himself."

Thus did Raschke exult.

"Who lives in this room--I or you?"

"You may remain with me or have the adjacent room, as you please,"

replied Werner.

"Then with you; for I wish to be without you, my friend, as little as possible."

"You come to a man who is in need of consolation," said the Scholar.

"My wife is with her father; I am alone," he added, with faltering voice.

"You look to me like a traveler who draws his cloak around him in bad weather," exclaimed Raschke; "therefore what I bring you will at any rate not disturb you in cheerful repose. My business as messenger is to lower a human soul in your eyes; that is hard for us both."

"I have to-day experienced what would shatter the foundations of the strongest structure. There can be but little that would shock me now: I am composed enough to listen."

Raschke seated himself by him and told his story. He fidgeted about on the sofa, slapped his friend on the knee, stroked his arm, and begged for composure.

Again was a veil drawn from the head of the seeker, who had believed himself to be speaking alone with his G.o.d. The Scholar was silent, and did not flinch.

"This is fearful, friend?" he said, at last.

With that he broke off, and the whole evening he did not say a word about the Magister.

The following morning the Professors sat together in Werner's room.

Werner at last threw the two parchment sheets on the table.

"With these at least the Magister has had nothing to do. I myself fetched them out of the old rubbish: there lies the missal on the chest. It demands great self-control for me to look at that dearly-bought acquisition."

Raschke examined the parchment.

"Highly valuable," he exclaimed, "if it is genuine, as it appears." He hastened to the chest and examined the missal. "Probably the initial letters of the book will afford some evidence as to whether the missal was used in the cloister of Rossau," he said. "I regret that my knowledge of monastic customs does not extend to this test."

He opened the chest and took up the contents. Of the absence of mind which usually disturbed him nothing was to be observed: he looked round with sharp eyes, as if he were searching the dark words of a philosopher.

"Very remarkable," he exclaimed. "Only one thing surprises me. Has the chest been cleaned out?"

"No," replied Werner, irritably.

"The three companions of a century's repose are wanting--dust, cobwebs, and grubs; yet there ought to have been something on the inside of the lid or on the bottom, for the chest has crevices which allow of the entrance of insects."

He rummaged again, and examined the bottom.

"Under a splinter of wood there hangs a bit of paper."

He drew out a tiny piece of paper, and a deep shadow pa.s.sed over his n.o.ble features.

"Dear friend, compose yourself, and be prepared for an unwelcome discovery. On this fragment there are only six printed words, but they are the characters of our time: it is a piece of one of our newspapers, and one of the six words is a name well known in the politics of our day."

He laid the bit of paper on the table. Werner stared at it without saying a word; his countenance was changed; it seemed as if one hour had done the work of twenty years of care.

"The things were unpacked by me and again put back; it is possible that the paper may have fallen in."

"It is possible," replied Raschke.

The Professor jumped up, and sought in great haste for his pocket copy of Tacitus.

"Here is the reading of the Florentine ma.n.u.script, comparison with the parchment sheets will throw light on it." He compared some sentences.

"It appears an accurate copy," he said, "too accurate--awkwardly accurate."

He held the ma.n.u.script searchingly towards the light; he poured a drop of water on the corner of the parchment and wiped it with a towel; the next moment he flung towel and parchment to the ground, and clasped his hands over his face. Raschke seized the leaves, and looked at the damaged corner.

"It is true," he exclaimed, sorrowfully; "a writing that had been on the parchment six hundred years would leave other traces on the material."

He paced hastily up and down, his hands in his coat pocket, rubbed his face with the towel, and, perceiving his mistake, threw it away from him.

"I only know of one word for this," he exclaimed--"a word that men unwillingly allow to pa.s.s their lips--and that word is villainy!"

"It was a piece of vile and rascally knavery," exclaimed Werner, in a strong voice.

"Here let us stop, friend," begged Raschke; "we know that a deception has been intended; we know that the attempt has been made lately; and when we compare the place of the discovery and your presence here, we may a.s.sume as a fact, without doing injustice to any one, that the trick was intended to deceive you. Of the person who has practiced it we have only suspicion, well-grounded suspicion, but no certainty."

"We will make it certainty," explained Werner, "before the day becomes many hours older."

"Undoubtedly," replied Raschke, "this certainty must be obtained, for suspicion ought not to continue in the hearts of men; it destroys all ideas and thoughts. But the ultimate question remains: For what object was the deceit practiced? Was it the willfulness of a knave? If so, the wickedness of it is not, to an honorable mind, thereby lessened; yet it is not the worst kind of turpitude. But if it was deliberate malice with intent to injure you, then it deserves the severest condemnation.

On what terms are you with the Magister?"

"It was deliberate malice to injure a man, body and soul," replied the Professor, with solemn earnestness; "but the doer was only the tool--the idea was that of another."