So saying, he sprang on his horse, without waiting the arrival of the coffee.

“Here you see,” said Charlotte, “the small service a third person can be, when things are off their balance between two persons closely connected; we are left, if possible, more confused and more uncertain than we were.”

They would both, probably, have continued hesitating some time longer, had not a letter arrived from the Captain, in reply to Edward’s last.  He had made up his mind to accept one of the situations which had been offered him, although it was not in the least up to his mark.  He was to share the ennui of certain wealthy persons of rank, who depended on his ability to dissipate it.

Edward’s keen glance saw into the whole thing, and he pictured it out in just, sharp lines.

“Can we endure to think of our friend in such a position?” he cried; “you cannot be so cruel, Charlotte.”

“That strange Mittler is right after all,” replied Charlotte; “all such undertakings are ventures; what will come of them it is impossible to foresee.  New elements introduced among us may be fruitful in fortune or in misfortune, without our having to take credit to ourselves for one or the other.  I do not feel myself firm enough to oppose you further.  Let us make the experiment; only one thing I will entreat of you—­that it be only for a short time.  You must allow me to exert myself more than ever, to use all my influence among all my connections, to find him some position which will satisfy him in his own way.”

Edward poured out the warmest expressions of gratitude.  He hastened, with a light, happy heart, to write off his proposals to his friend.  Charlotte, in a postscript, was to signify her approbation with her own hand, and unite her own kind entreaties with his.  She wrote, with a rapid pen, pleasantly and affectionately, but yet with a sort of haste which was not usual with her; and, most unlike herself, she disfigured the paper at last with a blot of ink, which put her out of temper, and which she only made worse with her attempts to wipe it away.

Edward laughed at her about it, and, as there was still room, added a second postscript, that his friend was to see from this symptom the impatience with which he was expected, and measure the speed at which he came to them by the haste in which the letter was written.

The messenger was gone; and Edward thought he could not give a more convincing evidence of his gratitude, than in insisting again and again that Charlotte should at once send for Ottilie from the school.  She said she would think about it; and, for that evening, induced Edward to join with her in the enjoyment of a little music.  Charlotte played exceedingly well on the piano, Edward not quite so well on the flute.  He had taken a great deal of pains with it at times; but he was without the patience, without the perseverance, which are requisite for the completely successful cultivation of such a talent; consequently,