It was not till morning that Christian fell into a troubled sleep.
She dreamed that a voice was calling her, and she was filled with a
helpless, dumb dream terror.
When she woke the light was streaming in; it was Sunday, and the
cathedral bells were chiming. Her first thought was of Harz. One step,
one moment of courage! Why had she not told her uncle? If he had only
asked! But why—why should she tell him? When it was over and she was
gone, he would see that all was for the best.
Her eyes fell on Greta's empty bed. She sprang up, and bending over,
kissed the pillow. 'She will mind at first; but she's so young! Nobody
will really miss me, except Uncle Nic!' She stood along while in the
window without moving. When she was dressed she called out to her maid:
“Bring me some milk, Barbi; I'm going to church.”
“Ach! gnadiges Fraulein, will you no breakfast have?”
“No thank you, Barbi.”
“Liebes Fraulein, what a beautiful morning after the rain it has become!
How cool! It is for you good—for the colour in your cheeks; now they
will bloom again!” and Barbi stroked her own well-coloured cheeks.
Dominique, sunning himself outside with a cloth across his arm, bowed as
she passed, and smiled affectionately:
“He is better this morning, M'mselle. We march—we are getting on. Good
news will put the heart into you.”