'Yes--come on! Vivat, floreat, crescat Suabia! The last semester shall
be a merry one!'
And away they went, crowding down the narrow staircase, laughing,
jesting, and humming snatches of tunes as they burst out into the quiet
shadowy street below.
CHAPTER VII
Greif was not able to throw off the memories of his vacation so easily
as he had at first imagined. The busy week that followed his return to
Schwarzburg furnished enough excitement to divert his thoughts for a
time into a more cheerful channel, and he was further reassured by the
fact that his father's letter contained nothing that could alarm him.
Everything was going on at Greifenstein as usual. Hilda and her mother
had returned to Sigmundskron. The shooting was particularly good. A
postscript informed Greif that nothing had been heard from a certain
person, who was not named. The young man thought his father's
handwriting was growing larger and more angular than ever, and that
instead of becoming less steady with advancing years, the letters
looked as though they were cut into the paper with the point of a sharp
knife. Some days passed quickly by, and he began to think that he had
disturbed himself foolishly, and had suffered his judgment to be
unbalanced by the impulsive speeches of Hilda and of his own mother.
Then, all at once, as he sat one morning at his accustomed place in one
of the lecture-rooms, noting in a blank book the wisdom that fell from
the lips of a shrivelled professor, his thoughts wandered and the
vision of Hilda rose before his eyes, with the expression she had worn
when she had spoken of that terrible catastrophe which was in store for
him.
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