"Station A----. One minute's stop!"
The conductor hastily opened the door of a second-class carriage and
helped out a young lady, civilly handed her her travelling-bag and
railway wrap, clambered into his place again, and in a few moments the
train was out of sight.
The young lady was the only passenger who had left the train; therefore
the gentleman who had been walking to and fro on the platform for a
quarter of an hour easily recognized her as the person for whom he had
been waiting. He approached her, and, raising his hat, said,
courteously, "Have I the honour of addressing Fraeulein Anna Mueller? I
am the Finanzrath von Hohenwald."
"Have you come yourself, Herr Finanzrath, in spite of this terrible
weather? It is really too kind."
There was surprise as well as great satisfaction in the smile with
which Werner looked at the young lady; he was in truth deeply impressed
by her striking beauty.
Fraeulein Mueller was by no means equally pleased. She had supposed the
Finanzrath to be a much older man; his fresh, smooth-shaven face looked
to her very youthful, and she was not agreeably impressed by the
satisfied smile with which he contemplated her.
It was but a moment that Werner devoted to his scrutiny of the lady; he
now bowed even lower and more respectfully than at first, and said,
with extreme politeness, "I was too much rejoiced, Fraeulein Mueller,
that I had been able to induce you to come to Hohenwald to allow
another than myself to be the first to welcome you here. Moreover, I
felt it my duty to meet you, since I was the cause of your accepting a
position for the difficulties of which you are perhaps not fully
prepared. Before you enter Castle Hohenwald you ought to have a more
vivid idea of those with whom your life there will be passed than it
was possible to give you in my short letter. I described as impartially
as I could the difficulties of your position, but there is much that
you should know, which I shall be able to tell you during our drive to
the castle, which in this weather, and from the consequent state of the
roads, must needs be a slow one. And now let me conduct you to the
carriage as quickly as possible; it will, I fear, be quite late and
very dark by the time we reach Hohenwald."
Then taking her travelling-bag, and offering her his arm, which after a
moment's hesitation she accepted, he led her through the station-house
to where a close travelling carriage was awaiting them.
The wind howled, and the rain poured in torrents. The Finanzrath was
assiduous in his attentions, holding his umbrella over his companion as
she got into the carriage, then hurrying to see that the porter
fastened her luggage securely in its place behind the carriage. Not
until all was arranged to his satisfaction did he take his seat beside
her in the well-cushioned vehicle. The rattling of the carriage over
the stones while the road led through the town of A---- prevented all
conversation, and enabled the Finanzrath to observe his companion
attentively without attempting any of his promised communications.
He was impressed anew by the girl's extraordinary beauty; an expression
of melancholy that vanished when she spoke, but which characterized her
features in repose, made her still more attractive, while it afforded
the Finanzrath--who remembered all that Frau von Adelung had hinted to
him of Fraeulein Mueller's misfortunes--an explanation of her readiness
to accept the offer of a position at Castle Hohenwald. At length the
carriage left the paved streets and entered upon the country road
leading to the castle. Although the wind howled about the vehicle and
the rain pelted against its windows, conversation had become possible.
The Finanzrath was a clever man; it was but natural that his lively
portrayal of the inmates of the castle should interest Fraeulein Mueller
extremely. She listened eagerly, only interrupting him now and then by
brief questions, which he answered readily. With an impartiality which
was surely worthy of all praise, Werner entered upon a detailed account
of the characteristics of his nearest relatives,--his father, his
brother, and his sister; he warmly extolled their good qualities--his
father's kindness of heart and simple truth, Arno's stern sense of
justice, his earnestness, his industry, his varied acquirements,
Celia's gay good humour and childlike simplicity; but at the same time
he concealed none of their faults. As he discoursed, the daylight had
vanished and darkness had succeeded the short twilight. The sky was
black with clouds, and within the carriage it was so dark that Anna
could scarcely see the outline of her companion's figure, although he
leaned towards her as he repeatedly assured her that in him she would
find a friend ready to aid her in any way during her life at the
castle, and begged her to confide frankly to him any wish with which he
could comply.
He said not one word that circumstances did not fully warrant, and yet
Anna was excessively uncomfortable. The _tete-a-tete_ with him in the
dark carriage seemed to her almost insufferable. She shrank away from
him at the very time when he was speaking so gently and kindly to her
that there could not be the slightest reasonable cause for her distaste
of his society.
Suddenly the carriage stopped. Anna drew a long breath of relief when
the Finanzrath broke off his discourse and, opening the window, asked,
anxiously, "What is the matter, John? Why do you not drive on?"
"I do not know, Herr Finanzrath," a voice from the box replied, "but I
think something is wrong."
"What can be wrong?" It seemed to Anna that the Finanzrath's voice
trembled as he asked the question. Was he, strong man as he was, so
fearful of an accident that his fear betrayed itself in his voice? The
sign of weakness instantly put an end to all Anna's dread of the
Finanzrath. She felt strong, indeed, in view of his timidity. No
possible danger of the road in the dark night had power to alarm her.
All she had dreaded had been the _tete-a-tete_ with her companion.
The coachman did not immediately answer; he slowly descended from the
box, and not until the Finanzrath asked in a tone of still greater
anxiety, "What has happened, John?" did he reply, sullenly, "Nothing
has happened, Herr Finanzrath, but the devil himself could not find the
way in this storm; you can't see your hand before your face. I thought
we had got off the road and were going towards the Gruenhagen quarry,
but it is all right, and we can drive on."
"No, no, don't try, for Heaven's sake, John!" the Finanzrath exclaimed,
in evident terror.
"Oh, it's all right," the coachman said, with great composure. "We must
drive on; we can't spend the night here in this weather."
He mounted the box again and whipped up his horses, but the next
instant there was a jolt, a crash! The wheels on one side of the
carriage rolled over a stone, while those on the other sank deeper and
deeper into the mud, the carriage leaned more and more to one side and
finally upset.
Anna felt herself tossed to one side; her head struck against some hard
object. She experienced a burning pain in her temple, and was near
fainting, but the next moment recalled her to herself; she did not
choose to faint, and her will was victorious.
The carriage had fallen upon the side where sat the Finanzrath. Anna
heard him groan as he struggled to rise.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, anxiously.
"My foot pains me terribly; I fear it is broken," he replied, in a
loud, distinct voice which soothed Anna's apprehensions that his
injuries might be mortal.
"I will try to open the door that is uppermost," she said; and this,
after several attempts, she succeeded in doing. The rain poured down
upon her, but she braved it, and exerting all her strength, she climbed
out upon the side of the carriage and thence got down to the ground. At
first she sank ankle-deep in the mud, but in a minute she found firm
footing. "Can you possibly get out, Herr Finanzrath?" she asked.
"I will try," a voice from the carriage replied, and immediately
afterward the Finanzrath looked out of the open door. He gazed about
him, but in the gloom could see nothing. Anna's figure was hardly
distinguishable, although she was but a few paces off. "John! John!
Where are you?" Werner called loudly, but, although he repeated the
call several times, there was no reply.
"I am afraid the poor fellow has had a bad fall," said Anna.
"So it seems, since he does not answer," rejoined the Finanzrath. There
was not much sympathy in the tone of his voice, and still less was
there in the remark that followed. "The clumsy scoundrel cannot even
hold the horses after upsetting us. This is horrible! Suppose the
horses should run off just as I am climbing out?"
This fear was groundless. The horses had stopped the instant the
vehicle overturned. They did not stir, and the Finanzrath climbed out
upon the carriage, but did not attempt to descend from it.
"Is your foot so painful that you cannot step upon it?" Anna asked,
compassionately. "Can I help you? Take my hand, I pray you!"
"Thank you," he replied; "but my foot will not permit me to climb
farther. What are we to do? We cannot sit here all night in the rain."
"I will seek help," Anna replied, resolutely. "The road must lead to
some house or village. Wait for me here. I shall soon return with men,
who can right the carriage."
"For Heaven's sake, do not go one step!" Werner cried, in great
agitation. "We are close upon the quarry; there must be a deep chasm
just at hand!"
"I will be very careful. At all events help must be procured. Something
must be done for the poor coachman, who has given no sign of life yet;
and you too, Herr Finanzrath, need assistance."
"Yes, yes; but you must not leave me. Let us both shout for help. We
shall perhaps be heard. There must be labourers' cottages near the
quarry. Help! help!" he thereupon shouted with all the force of his
powerful lungs. And in fact scarcely had the sound died away when a
distant "Halloo!" was heard.
"Thank Heaven, they have heard us!" Werner said, and then shouted
again, "Help! help!"
The answering shout came nearer, and in a few moments a dark figure
approached. "What is the matter here?" a rough voice asked. "A carriage
upset, as I live! What the devil were you doing in the quarry at this
hour?"
"We lost the road, and are greatly in need of assistance," replied
Werner.
"Lost the road? Were you going to Gruenhagen?"
"No; to Castle Hohenwald."
"To the castle? Then you belong to Hohenwald?"
"I am the Finanzrath von Hohenwald; but this is not the time for
talking. I beg you, my friend, to help me to reach some place of
security."
A burst of discordant laughter was the only reply vouchsafed to this
request. After indulging in his ill-timed merriment, the new-comer
inquired, "Have you ever heard of Carter Jock?"
"No; but, my friend----"
"No friend of yours! I would rather eat my head than help a Hohenwald.
Any of the castle people can tell you about Carter Jock. Finely they
treated him indeed; and, by way of thanks, he wishes you a pleasant
night!" With another scornful laugh the man turned on his heel and
would have gone, when Anna approached him, and, laying her hand on his
shoulder, said, "You will not be so cruel as to desert us in our need?"
"The deuce! There's a woman in the scrape, and not the madcap Celia
either!" the man exclaimed, in amazement, after having lighted a couple
of matches, which the rain, to be sure, instantly extinguished, but not
before he had perceived that it was not Celia who addressed him.
"A lady! a stranger!" he muttered to himself. "She must not be left all
night in the quarry. The devil take the Hohenwalds; but I must let the
folks at Gruenhagen know what has happened."
For one moment he stood reflecting, and then, without heeding the
Finanzrath's entreaties, he turned away and vanished in the darkness.
For a while Werner von Hohenwald sat silent as if in utter despair. At
last a red spark of light appeared in the distance; again he shouted as
loud as he could for help, and to his joy the voice that answered him
was Arno's.
In a few minutes Arno, followed by several men with lighted torches,
reached the overturned carriage. "I was afraid," he said, "that John
would miss the road, and so came out to meet you with torches; not soon
enough, unfortunately, to prevent an accident. But why do you sit up
there on the carriage, Werner? Why don't you jump down?"
"The chasm must be close by, Arno."
"Nonsense! there is no chasm here. Give me your hand and spring down."
Werner grasped the hand extended to him and sprang out upon the road.
His foot could not have been severely injured, since he accomplished
this with apparent ease.
"Where is Fraeulein Mueller? I hope nothing has happened to her."
"Nothing has happened to me, Herr von Hohenwald," said Anna, who was
standing in the shadow, "but I am afraid the coachman has received some
injury."
Arno turned hastily, and stepped aside so that the torchlight fell full
upon Anna's face. Its great beauty astonished him also, but he was
shocked at the sight of a dark-red streak that extended from beneath
the chestnut curls on her temple to the white kerchief about her
throat, which was stained crimson. "You are bleeding?" he exclaimed,
"you are hurt?"
"It is nothing. Never mind me; but let us search for the unfortunate
coachman. I fear he is terribly hurt."
"Where is he? John, where are you?"
There was no reply, and Arno became alarmed. He took one of the torches
from the men, and was not long in finding poor old John, who was lying
unconscious by the roadside, with a terrible wound on his forehead.
Arno kneeled beside him, and laid his hand upon his heart. "He is
alive," he instantly declared, "but I am afraid he is very badly hurt."
"Oh, is he?" said Werner, who was seated on a stone, calmly watching
his brother's proceeding. "I thought it must be so when he did not
answer. But what are we to do, Arno? My foot is terribly painful."
"Indeed? It cannot be very bad, since you easily jumped from the
carriage."
"Nevertheless it pains me terribly. I never can walk to the castle. Can
the carriage not be righted?"
"We will see." Arno examined the carriage, but found the axle broken.
"This is bad," he said. "We cannot, then, drive poor old John to
Hohenwald, but we can make a litter comfortable with the carriage
cushions, and you, my men, can carry him to the village."
The men assented eagerly, but the Finanzrath was not satisfied. "I
should suppose," he said, peevishly, "that I might be attended to
before John. I cannot possibly walk. When the men have carried me to
Hohenwald they can return and fetch John."
His brother greeted this speech with a glance of contempt. "If you
cannot walk," he said, coolly, "you can sit here! The old man's life,
perhaps, depends upon his having surgical aid speedily."
"I cannot stay here in the pouring rain; I shall catch my death of
cold!"
"Death is not easily caught of cold!" Arno rejoined, unsympathetically.
"Make haste," he said to the men, who were busy constructing the
litter. "Poor old John must be moved as quickly as possible."
"How far are we from Hohenwald?" the Finanzrath asked, when the litter
was nearly completed.
"Three-quarters of a league from the castle and half a league from the
village."
"Then the manor-house of Gruenhagen must be close at hand."
"Gruenhagen is not ten minutes' walk."
"Indeed? Then, Arno, I think it would be much wiser to carry John
there, and I could manage to hobble there myself."
"You would go to Gruenhagen?" Arno asked, and there was surprise as well
as disapproval in his tone. "What business has a Hohenwald in
Gruenhagen? Am I to ask shelter for old John and for you of the Amtsrath
Friese or young Kurt von Poseneck, only to meet with a rude refusal,
or, what would be worse, with a condescending compliance, which would
burden me with an obligation to them?"
"What folly!" Werner declared. "You ought to be above such prejudice,
Arno. It speaks ill for your humanity that you insist upon dragging
poor old John to Hohenwald."
Here one of the men whom Arno had brought with him advanced, and,
taking off his hat, respectfully said, "No offence to the Herr
Finanzrath, but we cannot take old John to Gruenhagen."
"What do you mean?" the Finanzrath angrily inquired. "Would you disobey
orders?"
"Certainly not," the man replied, exchanging a glance with his fellows.
"We are old soldiers, and know how to obey always, but indeed we could
not answer it to the master or to old John himself if we took him to
Gruenhagen. If he had his senses he would be sure to say that he would
rather die than be carried to Gruenhagen. And, besides, if we do take
him farther, we get the doctor sooner, for our Dr. Bruehn in Hohenwald
would not go to Gruenhagen for the world; when they want a doctor there
they have to send to A----, and that is too far."
Arno nodded approvingly to the man. "You are right, Kunz; we will take
John to the Hohenwald village. Lift him carefully and lay him on the
cushions, and let us be off instantly."
"But, Arno, what is to become of me and of Fraeulein Mueller?" Werner
asked, plaintively.
Anna had been no idle spectator during this time; she had helped the
men to arrange the cushions on the litter, and was holding a torch to
light them as they lifted the unconscious John upon it, listening the
while with surprise to the conversation between the brothers. She had
been disgusted with the Finanzrath's selfishness in desiring to be
carried when his foot was evidently not severely hurt; and Arno's stern
refusal to carry the wounded man to Gruenhagen had also impressed her
disagreeably. She had no desire to take any part in the discussion, but
now, when the Finanzrath asked of Arno what was to become of her, she
hastily interposed with, "I shall carry one of the torches, since I
cannot, unfortunately, render any more important assistance; there is
no occasion to waste any thought upon me."
Arno looked at her with a surprised but kindly air. "Brava!" he said.
"You are brave, and I trust can walk the half-league to the village; if
you are very tired I will assist you. You, Werner, must help yourself.
If you cannot walk with us, creep back into the carriage and shelter
yourself from the rain until I can send you assistance. And now on to
Hohenwald!"
"No, Herr von Hohenwald; to Gruenhagen," a strong, manly voice was now
heard to say.
The voice was Kurt von Poseneck's; he emerged from the darkness into
the torchlight, and, advancing towards Arno and the Finanzrath,
courteously informed them that he had just heard the news of the
accident in the quarry, and had instantly given orders to have a
carriage prepared, while he had hurried hither to entreat the gentlemen
to turn towards Gruenhagen, where they would be cordially welcome, and
where apartments were already prepared for them. The injured coachman,
too, should have every care bestowed upon him, and a carriage should be
instantly sent to fetch Dr. Bruehn to Gruenhagen.
Kurt spoke so kindly, so cordially, that even Arno could not help for a
moment forgetting his prejudice against the Posenecks as he thanked the
young man for his proffered hospitality, which, however, he declined.
In vain did Werner add his entreaties to Kurt's. Arno refused to yield,
and cut short all further discussion by ordering the men to proceed
with the litter.
Werner was very indignant at his brother's obstinacy. "Such
unreasonableness is inconceivable!" he exclaimed; "but you shall not
force me, Arno, to share your folly. I accept your invitation
gratefully, Herr von Poseneck, for Fraeulein Mueller and myself; we will
return with you to Gruenhagen and accept your hospitality."
"You must not speak for me, Herr Finanzrath," Anna protested. "I
promised to be at Hohenwald this evening, and I shall keep my word."
"But, Fraeulein Mueller, you cannot surely persist in walking to
Hohenwald in this weather? I will engage to excuse your delay to my
father."
"I need no excuse, Herr Finanzrath," Anna replied.
In vain did Werner expend his eloquence in entreaties and
representations. She carried one of the torches and walked beside the
litter towards Hohenwald. She stoutly braved the storm; the wind
blowing in her face cooled her burning temples, and she experienced a
sense of strange satisfaction when, upon looking back, she found that
the quarry was already so far in the distance that the light of the
torch left with the Finanzrath gleamed like a faint spark in the black
darkness of the night.
* * * * *
The castle clock had struck eleven, and the Freiherr von Hohenwald, who
was usually rolled into his bedroom at ten precisely, was still sitting
in the spacious garden-room. He was not in a good humour, as was
manifested by the frown upon his forehead, which even Celia's
cajoleries could not smooth. The girl was seated on a low chair beside
him, endeavouring in vain to win him to cheerfulness. Sure as she
usually was of an affectionate reply to her questions, to-night he
would not be amiable. She had been reading aloud to him; but even that
did not please him. He took the book from her, grumblingly declaring
that she was inattentive, that her emphasis was all wrong; she was
thinking, of course, of the new governess, on whose account the whole
house was turned upside down.
As he spoke, the Freiherr glanced angrily at the table in the centre of
the room spread for four people. "It capped the climax," he added,
peevishly, "for Werner to tell me it was not the thing to smoke in
ladies' society, I am not to be hectored after that fashion, however.
Bring me my meerschaum!"
Celia sprang up and brought him his large meerschaum, with a lighted
match. He usually rewarded her for this service with a loving smile,
but to-night he sat puffing out clouds of smoke without a word, until
he drew out his huge gold watch and said, "Ten minutes after eleven!
This household is topsy-turvy. It was not enough that Werner should
insanely go to meet the woman at the station himself, but that fool
Arno must needs run after him. There stands the table waiting,--nine
o'clock is the supper-hour, and it is now nearly midnight."
"But you had your supper at the right time, papa," said Celia.
"How would it have helped matters to have me kept waiting? It is enough
that all the rest of the household suffers because of you and this
governess. It was the stupidest thing I ever did to listen to Werner.
What's the use of your having a governess? Your manners are quite fine
enough for Castle Hohenwald, for Arno, and for me."
"Still it was very wise in you, papa, to follow Werner's advice. I can
learn a great deal from a good governess, and some time, I suppose, I
shall meet those who demand more than Arno or you."
"Oho! the wind has changed, then? So Werner has converted you too!"
Celia blushed. Werner had not even attempted the conversion of
which his father accused him; but she did not say one word in his
defence,--she could not tell her father that it was Kurt von Poseneck
who had caused her change of opinion.
"Where can they be?" the Freiherr exclaimed, impatiently; "they ought
to have been here by ten o'clock at the latest."
"I hope there has been no accident."
"Nonsense! The road is perfectly good, and since Arno chose to go and
meet them with torches an accident is impossible. There is just as much
pother about this governess as if she were a lady of distinction."
"Do not be unjust, papa! If old John, who has not driven over that road
for so long, should have missed the way and got into the Gruenhagen
quarry, and any accident had happened to Werner or the lady, you never
would forgive yourself for scolding Arno for going to meet them, Only
hear how the wind howls and the rain beats against the windows. For my
part, I am almost dead with anxiety lest an accident has happened. But,
thank Heaven, no--there they are; I hear the carriage rattling over the
stones of the court-yard."
Celia started up, and would have hurried out to meet the arrivals, but
a peremptory word from her father detained her. "Stay here!" he
exclaimed. "There is such a thing as being too kind. It is more than
enough that Werner brings her from the station, that Arno goes to meet
her, and that the table and you all are kept waiting for her. As she
herself wrote, she is to be your paid companion and teacher. Remember
that, child. Any undue familiarity is very undesirable."
Celia tossed her head and a reply was upon her tongue, but as she
looked at her father she thought it wiser not to provoke him further,
so she bit her lips and obeyed in silence. At the same time she
privately determined that neither her father's command nor her
brother's advice should influence her conduct towards the governess.
Her patience was put to the proof, for several minutes elapsed before
the hall-doors were thrown open and Arno appeared, ushering in a lady,
whom he presented. "Fraeulein Anna Mueller. My father, my sister Celia."
This introduction he evidently considered quite sufficient, for he
instantly turned from her, and, taking his father's hand, said, "We
have kept you waiting a long while, father--you shall hear why when you
have welcomed Fraeulein Mueller. I have much to tell."
The Freiherr made no reply; during the presentation he had not removed
his pipe from his mouth, but when Anna approached with a slight
courtesy, and, in a soft, rich voice, said, "Forgive me, Herr Baron,
for having been the involuntary cause of so much disturbance," he
instantly laid it aside and made an attempt to rise from his chair in
answer to her words. It was many years since he had exchanged a word
with a lady, but the memory of the time when he lived in society
stirred within him as he looked at Anna. He had supposed that a
negligent word of greeting would suffice for a governess, after all
only a kind of upper servant, but he saw before him a lady to whom he
involuntarily paid a mach greater degree of respect. It was not Anna's
extraordinary beauty that thus impressed him, although he found it
admirable, but a certain indescribable something which characterized
her, and which her unsuitable dress could not conceal. She had left her
drenched clothing at Inspector Hauk's, in the village of Hohenwald, and
had borrowed a dark woollen dress of his wife's, which, although much
too large for her slender figure, could not disguise its beautiful
proportions.
A few minutes previously the Freiherr had not been by any means
inclined to receive kindly the disturber of his domestic peace, but as
he looked into Anna's pale face, and thought he saw an entreaty for
kindness in her fine eyes, the expression of irritation vanished from
his features, and he said, very kindly and simply, "You are heartily
welcome, Fraeulein!"
These were the first words that Anna heard from the dreaded
woman-hater, the stern Freiherr. Her future pupil's reception of her
was far more effusive; she had taken Celia's heart by storm. While Anna
was speaking to the old Baron, the girl stood rapt in admiration of the
stranger's exquisite smile and melodious voice, and when she turned
from the father to the daughter, the latter threw her arms around her
in a sudden burst of girlish enthusiasm, which conveyed a far more
cordial welcome than could have been given in words. Anna gently kissed
her brow and felt inexpressibly pleased by the manner of Celia's
greeting, founding upon it the brightest hopes for the future.
And what did the Freiherr say to this infringement of the rule he had
laid down but a few short minutes before? He was not in the least
angry; he smiled benignantly, and watched with great satisfaction the
two charming girls, the governess, apparently but a few years the elder
of the two, and his darling, his will-o'-the-wisp. Paternal pride
whispered to him that, beautiful as the stranger was, she was no
lovelier than Celia.
Arno by no means shared his father's satisfaction. His face grew dark
as he looked at Anna. What magical charm did this stranger, whom Werner
had introduced among them, possess, to enable her thus, by a single
word, to transform his father, prompting him to utter that "heartily
welcome," and now so completely winning over Celia, who had naturally
rebelled against the idea of a governess? Had she not even made a far
deeper impression upon himself than he was willing to admit? She must
be an adept in the art of pleasing.
"Now you shall have supper," said the Freiherr; and Arno rang the bell
to have it served immediately, and then pushed his father's chair up to
the table. It was only when old Franz had placed the dishes on the
table that Celia observed that Werner's place was empty. Her father
noticed this at the same time, and they asked, simultaneously, "Where
is Werner?"
"Where you would least suspect him to be, father," replied Arno. "The
Finanzrath is so far exalted above the traditional prejudices of his
family that he has accepted Herr Kurt von Poseneck's invitation, and is
at this moment either calmly supping with the Amtsrath Friese and Herr
von Poseneck, or comfortably tucked in bed at Gruenhagen."
This announcement produced very different effects upon Celia and her
father. Celia blushed crimson; but so far from seeming shocked at
Werner's transgression, she laughed merrily, and asked, "How did it
happen?"
The Freiherr, on the contrary, would have risen hastily from his chair
had not his gout prevented; he muttered an oath, and exclaimed, "What a
devil of a story is this? Werner at Gruenhagen with those scoundrels of
Posenecks!"
"Why should you speak so harshly of Herr von Poseneck, papa?" Celia
asked, indignantly.
The Baron gazed at his child in amazement. "What is the child thinking
of?" he asked. "Actually taking me to task! Since when have you become
the champion of the Posenecks, little one?"
"It seems to me unjust to abuse the absent, who do not deserve it, and
cannot defend themselves!"
"How do you know what the Posenecks deserve? Would you send your old
father to school? Truly, it seems high time that your education were
looked after, child."
Celia's cheek grew more crimson still, but she made no reply to her
father's reproof. Arno had listened to the brief war of words with a
smile. "Positively," he said, "I shall henceforth believe in signs and
wonders. A Hohenwald partakes of the hospitality of Gruenhagen; Celia
appears as the champion of the Posenecks; my father scolds his darling,
and she makes no reply! Who can discredit miracles after all this?"
"Nonsense!" the Freiherr rejoined, peevishly. "Rather tell me how
Werner came to meet that Poseneck fellow."
In answer Arno gave a narrative of the evening's adventures. He had
determined to state the simple facts to his father, alluding as little
as possible to Fraeulein Anna Mueller, but as he proceeded, his
remembrance of the scene at the quarry was so vivid that he went
farther than he had intended. He could not forbear, for mere justice'
sake, to enlarge somewhat upon the courage and unselfishness of Anna's
conduct, in contrast with Werner's weakness and egotism, when he told
how, although wounded herself, she had declined his aid and had begged
him instantly to bestow it upon old John. He did not utter one word of
praise, but in his description of what had occurred there was much
commendation implied, while he did not spare his sarcasm in speaking of
Werner's very slight injury.
Anna was not a little embarrassed by his account; she would have liked
to disclaim Arno's praise, but what could she say while he confined
himself to a narrative of facts? When Celia, however, turned to her
with a warm caress, saying, "Good heavens, you are wounded, and have
said nothing to us about it!" she smilingly lifted the dark-brown curls
upon her forehead, and said, "You see it is a mere scratch; the village
doctor attended to it, and told me that it would be perfectly healed in
a few days. It really is nothing."
Arno confirmed her words, and went on to reassure his father as to old
John's condition, which Dr. Bruehn pronounced to be not at all
dangerous, although his injury had at first seemed grave. He then gave
a detailed account of Werner's desire from the first to go to
Gruenhagen, and of how he was not to be dissuaded from accepting Kurt
von Poseneck's invitation, which, Arno admitted, was most amiably and
courteously tendered.
The Freiherr nodded, well pleased, when he heard how the Hohenwald
people had refused to carry old John to Gruenhagen, but he was all the
more irritated by the Finanzrath's acceptance of Kurt's invitation. "It
is disgraceful!" he exclaimed. "How could a Hohenwald forget himself so
far as to accept hospitality at the hands of a beggarly Poseneck!"
"It is not at all nice of you, papa!" Celia instantly declared, with
flaming cheeks and flashing eyes. "How can you, who are usually just
and good, speak so unkindly of Herr von Poseneck, who has never done
anything to you? It is poor thanks to him for hurrying out to the
quarry in the storm to help Werner. And Werner was perfectly right to
accept the invitation; what had he to do with an old worn-out feud?
Herr Kurt von Poseneck certainly had no share in it; he has only lately
arrived from America."
"Why, what an eloquent advocate the Posenecks have in our little one!"
Arno rejoined, before his father, who was quite speechless with
astonishment, could frame a reply. "And in truth she is partly right,
for the young Herr von Poseneck certainly conducted himself excessively
well on this occasion; nevertheless, I did not wish to accept his
invitation, nor did Fraeulein Mueller; Werner, however, is superior to
all Hohenwald prejudice. The Finanzrath knows far better how to conduct
himself than we, who rust here in Castle Hohenwald, possibly can. His
father and brother ought to be banished to the lumber-garret,--eh,
Celia?"
"Come, come; have done with sneering, Arno. Go on with your story," the
girl replied.
"You are right. Disputing cannot change matters; that neither my
father, nor Werner, nor I can do. You and I belong to the old order of
affairs, father; we must be content to find others leaving us; and it
is but natural that Celia should vow allegiance to modern ideas; so I
will not waste another word upon the Posenecks, although I confess I
practise self-denial in not doing so." And he finished his narrative,
describing Anna's courageous braving of the storm and rain on their way
to the Inspector's at the village of Hohenwald, where they found warmth
and shelter, and whence a messenger was despatched for Dr. Bruehn, who
soon pronounced upon old John's case and dressed the cut upon Fraeulein
Mueller's forehead. Then, after Arno had exchanged his wet clothes for a
suit of the Inspector's, and Fraeulein Mueller had been provided with
garments from his wife's wardrobe, a village wagon had brought them
both to the castle.
The old Baron was greatly interested in Arno's account; even Werner's
visit to Gruenhagen was almost forgotten as he eagerly listened to his
son's narrative. The new governess was evidently no spoiled city lady.
He briefly expressed to her his admiration and gratitude, and it
pleased him still more that Anna quietly declined to accept any thanks
for what was merely a matter of course and of no consequence.
Meanwhile, it had grown late, and still, contrary to his custom, the
Freiherr leaned comfortably back in his rolling-chair and said not one
word of retiring, so interested was he in discussing the events of the
evening. Suddenly, however, he happened to glance at the clock, and
discovering that it was just about to strike one, he remembered how
fatigued Fraeulein Mueller must be. Directing Celia to show her to her
apartment, he had himself rolled into his bedroom by Arno, after
wishing the new governess a courteous good-night.