Ottilie had gone out that afternoon for a walk along the shore.  She had the child with her, and read as she usually did while she went along.  She had gone as far as the oak-tree by the ferry.  The boy had fallen asleep; she sat down; laid it on the ground at her side, and continued reading.  The book was one of those which attract persons of delicate feeling, and afterward will not let them go again.  She forgot the time and the hours; she never thought what a long way round it was by land to the new house; but she sat lost in her book and in herself, so beautiful to look at, that the trees and the bushes round her ought to have been alive, and to have had eyes given them to gaze upon her and admire her.  The sun was sinking; a ruddy streak of light fell upon her from behind, tinging with gold her cheek and shoulder.  Edward, who had made his way to the lake without being seen, finding his park desolate, and no trace of human creature to be seen anywhere, went on and on.  At last he broke through the copse behind the oak-tree, and saw her.  At the same moment she saw him.  He flew to her, and threw himself at her feet.  After a long, silent pause, in which they both endeavored to collect themselves, he explained in a few words why and how he had come there.  He had sent the Major to Charlotte; and perhaps at that moment their common destiny was being decided.  Never had he doubted her affection, and she assuredly had never doubted his.  He begged for her consent; she hesitated; he implored her.  He offered to resume his old privilege, and throw his arms around her, and embrace her; she pointed down to the child.

Edward looked at it, and was amazed.  “Great God!” he cried; “if I had cause to doubt my wife and my friend, this face would witness fearfully against them.  Is not this the very image of the Major?  I never saw such a likeness.”

“Indeed!” replied Ottilie; “all the world say it is like me.”

“Is it possible?” Edward answered; and at the moment the child opened its eyes—­two large, black, piercing eyes, deep and full of love; already the little face was full of intelligence.  He seemed as if he knew both the figures which he saw standing before him.  Edward threw himself down beside the child, and then knelt a second time before Ottilie.  “It is you,” he cried; “the eyes are yours! ah, but let me look into yours; let me throw a veil over that ill-starred hour which gave its being to this little creature.  Shall I shock your pure spirit with the fearful thought, that man and wife who are estranged from each other, can yet press each other to their heart, and profane the bonds by which the law unites them by other eager wishes?  Oh yes!  As I have said so much; as my connection with Charlotte must now be severed; as you will be mine, why should I not speak out the words to you?  This child is the offspring of a double adultery.  It should have been a tie between my wife and myself; but it severs her from me, and me from her.  Let it witness, then, against me.  Let these fair eyes say to yours, that in the arms of another I belonged to you.  You must feel, Ottilie, oh! you must feel, that my fault, my crime, I can only expiate in your arms.”