"My dear Arno,--You have a right to scold. I can see you frown when you
learn that this letter would have reached you two weeks ago, if I had
fulfilled my promise of writing to you about my visit to my uncle
Guntram soon after my arrival in M----.
"But man proposes, and a charming, smiling little blonde disposes.
Indeed she is charming enough to make a man forget even the sacred
claims of friendship, and so I confess my fault, and pray your
forgiveness. But I can see the frown deepen on your brow, you
incorrigible woman-hater, and you are less inclined than ever to
forgive upon such a plea. What will you say, then, when you know the
worst? Listen, and wonder, Arno. I am betrothed,--the happy lover of
the aforesaid lovely little blonde. I beg leave to present to you the
betrothed pair, Adele von Guntram--Karl, Count Styrum. There! Do not
throw the letter angrily aside, or you will not learn how it has all
come about so quickly, and, besides, you must accustom yourself to the
idea of receiving, upon your promised visit to Altenheim, a welcome
from a charming little Countess Styrum. That your welcome from her will
be of the warmest I can assure you, for my betrothed takes the keenest
interest in Arno von Hohenwald, about whom she is never weary of
hearing. I might almost be jealous of him did I not know his views with
regard to women.
"And now let me tell you what is stranger than all, that it is owing to
this interest of Adele's in you that I am now her accepted lover, or
rather that I am so much sooner than I could otherwise have been; and I
will tell you as briefly as I can, without breaking a promise I have
made, how this came about.
"You know I visited M---- on account of the vexatious lawsuit with my
uncle Guntram which I inherited from my father, and concerning which I
hoped to effect some sort of compromise. My uncle received me with the
greatest cordiality, and we should speedily have arranged matters had
it not been for my cousin Heinrich, who, being a newly-fledged lawyer,
would not hear of any adjustment of the affair. I believe I could not
have offended him more deeply than by voluntarily relinquishing my
claims. Now he must put up with this offence, although it is given in a
manner different from any that he could have foreseen. His zeal
for litigation was of the greatest service to me, for it kept me in
M---- when I thought my presence necessary at Altenheim. Thus weeks and
even months passed, and I was no nearer the goal than at first, that
is, so far as the lawsuit was concerned, otherwise my stay in M---- was
entirely delightful to me. My uncle Guntram was all that he could be in
the way of affectionate kindness, Heinrich extremely amiable in a
cousinly way, and Adele--no, I will not write about Adele, for you
would only laugh at me and call me a love-sick fool. Wait until you
come to M----, as friendship demands you should do, to be present at my
marriage, and you will understand how welcome any pretext was to me for
a protracted stay here, and how willingly I spent day after day beneath
my uncle's roof, passing the most of my time talking with Adele. She
treated me in the kindest manner, but her innocent familiarity, which
was almost like that she might show to a brother, made me anxious. A
distant connection of yours, a certain Assessor von Hahn, frequents my
uncle's house, and was evidently suing for my cousin's favour. I heard
reports from all sides of a private betrothal between them, which was
not to be announced until the Assessor had obtained the position of
circuit judge, since my uncle greatly disapproved of long engagements.
"I really could not perceive that Adele favoured the pretensions of the
Assessor, who is a very well-disposed but rather ridiculous little man;
but as all the world declared that it was a settled affair, and as even
the Assessor himself let fall several hints to the same effect, I
thought I should be forced to accept my fate. I should never have dared
to tell my charming cousin how dear she was to me had not you, Arno,
without knowing it, lent me your aid.
"I had often talked of you to Adele, telling her of our delightful
travels, and even describing to her your father, your sister Cecilia,
and your surroundings at Castle Hohenwald, as I had learned to know
them from yourself.
"When I went to my uncle's this morning at the usual time, I found
Adele alone; she received me more kindly than usual; she even owned
frankly that she had for an hour been longing for my coming. Flattering
as this reception was, I founded no hopes upon it, for I saw that my
cousin was desirous to acquaint me with some plan, in the execution of
which she looked to me for assistance. She was in a state of feverish
agitation; at times she would look at me with an expression of intense
entreaty, and then, just when I hoped she was about to speak frankly of
what was nearest her heart, she would introduce some indifferent topic
of conversation. At last she evidently summoned up courage sufficient
to enable her to bestow her confidence upon me. 'Cousin Karl,' she
said, in her sweet, gentle voice, 'I have a very, very great favour to
ask of you.' I need not tell you how fervently I assured her that she
could not ask what it would not be my delight to grant. She then
proceeded to tell me that her dearest friend, a Fraulein Anna Mueller,
who had been her schoolmate at Frau Adelung's, in Dresden, was forced
by dire misfortune to seek a position as governess. Frau von Adelung
had recommended the young lady to your brother Werner for your sister
Celia, and Fraulein Mueller was to start for Hohenwald this very day.
The mighty favour that Adele asked of me was to write to you and exert
my influence with you to insure the young lady a favourable reception
at Castle Hohenwald. I never can tell so evil-minded a woman-hater as
yourself how exquisitely lovely Adele was as she thus pleaded with me
for her friend, nor how it happened that I retained the hand I took in
mine and forgot all the silly stories about the Assessor von Hahn.
Indeed, I do not know where I found the courage to tell her how
inexpressibly dear she was to me, and how life had no greater joy for
me than the hope of keeping for my very own forever the hand I then
held. I was afraid she would instantly withdraw it, but she did not,
and--no, I will only tell you that I am the happiest fellow in the
world. Uncle Guntram, when he came from his study shortly afterwards,
found us betrothed, and gave us his blessing, assuring me that his
dearest wish was fulfilled in our betrothal, and adding that Adele
should have the lawsuit for her dowry, so that if I wished to continue
it I could do so with my wife. Heinrich made a wry face at this, but
there was no help for it, and he offered us his brotherly
congratulations.
"Thus, you see, I owe my being the happy lover that I am to you, Arno,
for had it not been for Adele's request I never should have had the
courage to confess to her that I loved her. The bugbear of her
betrothal to Herr von Hahn would have prevented my speaking frankly to
her. Adele laughed at me when I told her this, and rallied me upon
lending an ear to such silly gossip.
"And now, Arno, that my confession is made, my next duty is to fulfil
my love's request, and cordially to recommend her friend to your
kindness. I do this with a good conscience; she is a cultivated,
highly-gifted person. I congratulate your sister that your brother
succeeded in inducing her to come to Castle Hohenwald. I as well as
Adele am convinced that Fraulein Mueller's talents and acquirements will
achieve for her an honoured position in your father's household, and
Adele hopes for more yet; she trusts that her friend in the solitude of
Hohenwald, in a refined family circle, may in time forget the
misfortunes that have befallen her, and that your kindness may assist
her to do so. I know your magnanimity and delicacy of sentiment, and
that you only need be told that Fraulein Mueller, owing to no fault of
her own, is very unhappy, and that any allusion to her past, any
question with regard to it, would be extremely painful to her. To
alleviate her sorrow she only needs cordial kindness, confidence which
she deserves in fullest measure, and considerate regard. All these I
know she will find at Castle Hohenwald, and among you she will not be
subjected to a curiosity to which she would be specially sensitive. You
will forgive me for communicating no further particulars to you with
regard to the lady's past when I tell you that I am bound by a promise.
I know that you will be content with my declaration that I vouch for
Fraulein Mueller's blameless integrity and purity of character. When you
receive this she will already be beneath your roof; let me pray you not
to let her know that I have written to you, and my Adele will thank you
for not doing so when you come to M---- to our marriage.
"One thing more before this long letter is concluded: with regard to
your nearest neighbor, my cousin, Kurt von Poseneck. I have heard
something of an hereditary feud between the Hohenwalds and the
Posenecks, but I know you too well to suspect you of giving heed to any
such folly, and therefore I cordially commend my cousin to your
kindness. Kurt's life in America has been the best of training for him;
he is a fine fellow. I learned to know him well when he paid me a visit
at Altenheim not long ago, and I assure you that I have rarely seen a
young man so greatly to my mind, as I know he will be to yours.
Although we are antagonistic in politics (he is a democrat, as was his
father before him), I enjoyed every moment of his stay with me at
Altenheim, for even in a political discussion Kurt never forgets that
he is a gentleman. He defends his views with spirit, but with such
calmness and moderation that he is never offensive. I am sure you will
soon be friends, if you will only consent to break the spell of your
solitude so far as to become acquainted with him.
"And now adieu! God bless you! Woman-hater though you be, your
congratulations are confidently expected by
"Yours always,
"Karl Styrum."
Arno laid the letter aside, after he had read it, with a sigh. He had
found it with his other letters by the day's post upon his table after
he had left the garden-room, as we have seen, long after midnight. "He,
too!" he muttered to himself, with another sigh, and then he read the
letter for the second and third time, his face darkening as he read.
After the third perusal he sat for a long time lost in thought, and
finally took up a pen and wrote:
"My Dear Karl,--You expect congratulations from your friend; it is
indeed an ancient custom to offer kind wishes to the newly betrothed,
and I follow it all the more readily as in my case I employ no empty,
idle phrase when I wish you happiness with all my heart. We have always
agreed to be frank and true in our dealings with each other, and never
to shun entire openness through fear of giving offence. I now fulfil my
share of our compact. Indeed, after reading your letter three times I
cannot but reply to you, my only intimate friend, as my heart dictates
upon the impulse of the moment, not as I might after long and cool
consideration. Therefore this is no formal letter of congratulation,
but the true and faithful reply of a friend. Yes, I wish you all
happiness, but I do so with a heavy heart, for I know how much I lose
by your betrothal,--I, who have hitherto held the foremost place in
your regard, must content myself with the second, and I shall shortly,
as mournful experience teaches, lose this also, for love is the mortal
foe of friendship. Both cannot exist together in the same heart. Thus I
know that I have already half lost you, and shall soon lose you
entirely, for I shall never be content with the cold modicum of regard
which is all that the bridegroom and husband has for an every-day
acquaintance. This pains me profoundly. You were the only man in whom I
could thoroughly confide,--the only one to whom I could look for entire
comprehension and sympathy. Nevertheless, I wish you happiness, and my
wish is all the more fervent since I dread its non-fulfilment. Yes, my
pain in losing you is augmented by my fears for your future. I know
you, and I know that you never can content yourself as can so many
unless your marriage brings you full sympathy of heart and mind. You
are in love, and I know from sad experience that love drugs the
intellect and bewilders the judgment. You will, therefore, doubtless
regard my doubts as to your future as a positive crime against your
betrothed, but I must be frank with you, my regard for you demands it.
I repeat, I wish you joy; you need all good wishes, and if I could I
would close this letter with mine, for my head and heart are so full of
your betrothal that there is hardly room in them for another thought,
but you have made a request of me to which I must reply.
"Fraulein Mueller, your betrothed's friend, has been for several hours
in Castle Hohenwald, to which I myself introduced her after a most
extraordinary fashion. Of this I will write you shortly. I will only
tell you now that I have already had abundant opportunity to admire the
lady's rare courage. She has by her beauty and her frank attractive
bearing already taken Celia's heart by storm and conquered my father's
prejudice against her. I received your letter _after_ her arrival here,
and therefore could not comply with your request as to her reception,
but rest assured that the lady herself insured its cordiality far
better than I could have done. I could not have believed it possible
that my father should treat a stranger with such urbanity, although a
few hours before Fraulein Mueller's arrival he had scouted the idea of
any friendly familiar intercourse with the new governess, and had
declared that while Celia's companion and teacher was entitled to a
courteous and respectful reception in Castle Hohenwald, she could lay
no claim to admission within our family circle. Fraulein Mueller can
have no cause to complain of any want of the cordiality you desire in
my father's or Celia's welcome, but the requirement of such from me is,
unfortunately, a demand with which I cannot comply. You know how I
value your opinion, how highly I rate your recommendation; it is a
warrant to me that the lady is deserving of all regard. I promise you
that she shall be annoyed by no curiosity as to her past, and that I
will do all that I can to conceal from her the discomfort that her stay
among us causes me. More I cannot promise. You would not ask me to be
false to my nature, and I tell you frankly that I have an invincible
repugnance to all intercourse with this young person, which is rather
increased by the fact that she is beautiful, cultured, and amiable, and
that I cannot refuse to accord her a certain degree of esteem in view
of the admirable courage she displayed this evening under exceedingly
trying circumstances.
"To treat her with cordiality is impossible for me; I will keep out of
her way as far as I can. I will always observe every rule of
conventional courtesy in my unavoidable intercourse with her, and, in
deference to your request, will endeavour to make her position in the
household as pleasant as it can be under the circumstances; you will
not ask more of me. Enough for to-night. In a few days I will write you
a detailed account of my adventures in bringing Fraulein Mueller to
Castle Hohenwald, and of my encounter with your cousin Kurt von
Poseneck, whom I saw for a moment upon the same occasion. Farewell, and
do not be angry with me for perhaps mingling one bitter drop in your
cup of happiness,--I could not help it. I must always be utterly frank
and true with you.
"Always and all ways your faithful friend,
"Arno von Hohenwald."
The letter was finished; but when Arno read it over he was not
satisfied with its contents. He had meant to tell his friend in
heartsome words how he feared for his future; but now that they were
there on the paper in black and white they seemed cold and insulting.
It was but a poor reply to Karl's warm-hearted letter. And he was no
better pleased either with what he had written about Fraeulein Mueller.
He had meant to be perfectly candid and true to his friend. Had he not
promised always to be so? and this surely justified all he had said.
But was what he had written quite true? Did he feel an invincible
repugnance to any familiar intercourse with Fraeulein Mueller? Had she
not, on the contrary, inspired him with an inexplicable interest which
he vainly tried to suppress? While he was writing she was perpetually
in his mind. He had been obliged once to lay down his pen because her
image so flitted before him; he saw her walking beside him through the
night and the tempest, braving the storm so boldly, and yet without
doing violence to a true feminine nature. Even on the road to the
village of Hohenwald he had tried to resist the impression that the
first sight of this charming girl had made upon him, but in vain,
although he conjured to his aid the ghosts of a vanished past. He would
gladly have detested this stranger thus thrust into his life; he heaped
her with all kinds of accusations, and yet confessed to himself that
they were all unjust. What reason had he for crediting her with a
desire for admiration? had she sought by look or by gesture to attract
him? Would Styrum have commended her so warmly if she had not been
worthy of all praise? Still, why should she alone of all women be
careless of admiration? No; Styrum was in love; he saw with his
betrothed's eyes. He was credulous, and had not purchased with his
heart's blood the sad experience that the most innocent of smiles upon
lovely lips is but a prearranged means to some desired end. Poor Karl!
he had not seen through the game they were playing with him, or he
would not have fallen into their toils so easily. The rich Count,
belonging as he did to the foremost of the Saxon nobility, would at any
time have been considered by the President Guntram as an excellent
parti for his daughter; but the prospect of a happy conclusion to the
lawsuit had doubtless made the match doubly desirable. Therefore it was
that the engagement between the fair Adele and the Assessor had been
dissolved, and no means had been neglected to bring the Count to a
declaration. Interest for her friend had afforded Adele an excellent
opportunity to treat her cousin with flattering confidence, and she had
won the game. Poor Karl! in his noble trust in innocence and purity he
had fallen a victim to an excellently-laid plan, and was now made use
of by Adele to insure her friend a firm footing in Castle Hohenwald.
Arno could not but laugh at himself. Had he really been in danger of
proving false to his principles? He had seen through the game at the
right moment, however,--the suspicion that had been aroused on the road
to Hohenwald now became a certainty, and what he had written to his
friend was the truth. Yes, he now felt an invincible repugnance to any
closer intercourse with this intriguing stranger, who had selected
Castle Hohenwald as the theatre for her schemes. The letter should be
despatched just as it was. He folded and sealed it, and then betook
himself to rest. The day's exertions had wearied him, and he soon
slept, but the image of the lovely stranger mingled in his dreams.
The stranger herself stood at the window of the room to which Celia had
shown her, and gazed out into the gloomy night; she heard the howling
of the wind and the beating of the rain against the panes, but she did
not heed them, for before her mind's eye rose a form that made her
oblivious of the present. She shuddered as she looked back to that last
terrible night spent beneath the same roof with the wretch who would
have bartered his wife's honour for a release from poverty and
detection. She had clung to him faithfully, had always conscientiously
fulfilled her duty to him, hoping that she might perhaps in the end
influence him for good. She had forgiven him for squandering her
property, for plunging her into poverty, although she no longer loved
him, and was bound to him only by a sense of duty; but that he could so
dishonour her as actually to wish to sell her to the Russian was a sin
never to be forgiven,--it separated her from him forever.
He had spoken the decisive word himself, he had restored to her her
freedom, lured by false hopes perhaps, but he had done so
unconditionally, and she was now her own mistress; she no longer felt
the chains that had bound her to her wretched husband; they might exist
for the world, but no longer for herself, for her own conscience. When
on that dreadful night she had bolted herself into her bedroom, her
resolution was already taken. Without hesitation she proceeded to carry
it out. She exchanged her ball-dress for a simple stuff gown; she
packed a few necessary articles of clothing in a travelling-bag, and
hastily wrote these lines: "You have given back to me my freedom; I
accept it. It is your desire that we should part; it shall be
fulfilled: you will never see me again. Should you dare to persecute
me, you will force me to denounce you publicly and to give to the world
the reasons that justify my conduct. The detected thief, who would
barter his wife's honour, has forfeited the right to control her
destiny.--LUCIE."
Her hand did not tremble as she wrote these words. She folded the
sheet, sealed it and placed it where its address could be plainly seen
by any one entering the room.
It was done! She was parted from him forever. A shudder ran through her
as she thought of his threat of suicide if she refused to accede to his
wishes, but the thought did not for an instant deter her. Only the
coward, whose courage is never equal to the commission of the deed, can
threaten suicide; if he could have preferred death to disgrace he never
would have been a detected thief.
She cautiously unbolted her door and crept through the drawing-room to
the hall, upon which the door of Sorr's sleeping-room opened. Here she
paused and listened,--he was wont to breathe heavily in his sleep,--but
she could hear nothing: a proof that he was still awake. What if he
should hear her and come from his room to prevent her departure? What
then? The wonted gentleness of her look gave place to stern
determination; involuntarily she clinched her hand; the struggle had
begun, and should under all circumstances be carried on.
Fortunately, however, she encountered no obstacle to her progress down
the stairs to the house-door, which she softly opened and as softly
closed behind her. The streets were deserted; she passed a watchman
asleep on a doorstep, and walked as quickly as possible towards the
President's mansion without being seen by a human being. The windows of
the house were still gleaming with light, and there was a long line of
carriages in the street before it. Lucie paused and hesitated for a
moment. The ball was not yet over. She had hoped this would be the
case; else it would have been difficult for her to obtain an entrance
to the house. But how was she to pass the line of carriages? So late a
wanderer would be sure to be noticed by the coachmen and lackeys, and
she might be the object of coarse jests. Perhaps the little gate
leading from the garden into a side street was open: it was seldom
locked; and even should it be so, she could easily climb the low
garden-fence. She was not to be stopped by such an obstacle; from the
garden, the wing in which was Adele's room was easily entered by a
back-door, which was, of course, still open, and once in the house she
could soon make her way to Adele's room.
She hurried into the side street. The garden-gate was not locked, nor
was the back-door even closed. Fortune favoured her; not a servant did
she encounter as she hurried up a narrow staircase and along the
passage leading to her friend's room, which she reached without being
observed. Arrived here, she sank down upon the little lounge where she
had so often sat conversing gayly with Adele, upon whose aid she now
relied in her plan of flight.
An hour passed slowly; the music floated in from the ball-room; but at
last it ceased; there was a bustle of departing guests, servants ran to
and fro in the house, and the rattle of carriages told Lucie that the
ball was at an end. Another half-hour went by; the house grew quieter,
the bustle entirely subsided; there were steps in the passage, and
Heinrich von Guntram's voice said, "Good-night, Adele. Shall I light
your candle for you?"
"Oh, no; there are matches on the table Good-night, Heinrich."
"Good-night."
The door opened. Adele entered, bolted it behind her, and then, going
to the table in front of the sofa, lighted a match, by the flickering
light of which she distinguished a dark figure sitting on the sofa. She
gasped with terror and ran towards the door, but was instantly arrested
in her flight by the gentle tones of a familiar voice, whispering,
"Don't be frightened, dearest Adele; it is I,--Lucie!"
"You--you here at this hour?"
"I need your help, Adele. In my extremest misery I seek refuge with
you, my dearest friend."
In an instant Adele's arms were about her, and the tenderest assurances
of sympathy and aid were poured into her friend's ear. Then she drew
the curtains close and lighted the candles, before seating herself
beside Lucie and entreating her to tell her all.
Lucie complied; she told her of her wretched past with her worthless
husband, and of the incidents of the last few hours, remaining
perfectly calm amid the storm of indignation with which her friend
greeted her narrative. Anger was dead within her, slain by the thorough
contempt she now felt for Sorr.
"And now, dear Adele," she concluded, "I come to claim your aid. Your
last words to me this evening when I left the ball-room were, 'Trust in
me; whatever happens, I will stand by you.' This has given me courage
to take this decided step to break the fetters that bound me to one so
unworthy. I knew I should not be quite alone, that you would not desert
me, and therefore I come to you."
"Never, Lucie dear, never; and not only I,--there is another whose aid
will be of more use to you than that of a poor weak girl. My cousin
Karl told me every detail of the miserable scene in Heinrich's room; he
suspected you would soon need protection and assistance, and is ready
to give it to you. You may trust him; he is a noble, true-hearted man,
and has promised me to befriend you at your need. Be sure he will keep
his promise. He will advise us what is best to be done."
"I do not need any advice," Lucie gravely rejoined; "my resolution is
taken, my plans for the future are arranged. I need the help of
faithful friends only in their execution. I shall be grateful for Count
Styrum's help; but later, when I am no longer here."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Herr von Sorr has given me my freedom. I will employ it in beginning a
new life. For years I have foreseen that I should one day be obliged to
turn to account for my support the accomplishments acquired during my
girlhood, and I have continued to study with this end in view. I am
perfectly qualified to fill a position as governess. Such a position I
shall endeavour to find in some retired country-seat, but in order to
obtain it I need testimonials, with which so young a man as Count
Styrum cannot furnish me. I have therefore thought of writing to our
dear old teacher, Frau von Adelung, in Dresden. I remember that she was
constantly applied to for governesses. But I am afraid to confide
wholly in her. With the best intentions she is something of a gossip,
and would find it difficult to keep my secret, and yet her
recommendation I must obtain. When Herr von Sorr finds my letter
to-morrow and discovers that I am fled, he will, I know, together with
Count Repuin, leave no stone unturned to discover my retreat. He will
not be deterred even by the threat in my letter, and he must learn
nothing, and therefore I cannot confide in good Frau von Adelung. You
must write to her and bespeak her good offices for a friend of yours;
you were always one of her favourites, and she will not hesitate to
comply with your request. I am sure, dearest Adele, you will do this
for me."
Lucie's scheme seemed to her friend admirable, and she declared herself
ready to do all that she could to further it: but when Lucie went on to
state that she intended to leave M---- the next morning by the five
o'clock train, to await in some retired village the result of her
friend's action, Adele reused to entertain any such idea. Nowhere, she
said, could Lucie be so safe from Sorr's persecution as in M----, where
he certainly would never expect to find her. The arrival of a lady
alone and unattended in any little village would surely excite remark,
while Lucie might stay for weeks in Adele's room and her presence
beneath the President's roof never be suspected. Adele never received
her friends in her bedroom or dressing-room, and neither her father nor
her brother ever came to her there. All that was to be done was to take
Lina, Adele's special maid, into their confidence,--she had lived in
the house for years, and a more faithful, trustworthy creature there
could not be. Adele's representations overcame her friend's scruples,
and it was agreed to admit the maid to a full knowledge of the state of
the case. And when the dawn was at hand the two friends retired to bed,
Adele happier with regard to Lucie than she had been for a long while.
The next morning when Lina came to call her young mistress her surprise
was great at finding a new inmate in the room, of whose coming no one
had been aware. Adele told her the true reason for Frau von Sorr's
flight from her husband's roof, and Lina, flattered by the confidence
shown her, promised to keep such guard over the fugitive that no one
should dream of her whereabouts, while she should daily fare like an
honoured guest, without arousing the suspicions of the other servants.
She kept her word, which she would have done out of her faithful
devotion to Adele alone, even if Frau von Sorr's gentleness and
misfortunes had not excited her sympathy and spurred her on to
redoubled watchfulness. The scheme was eminently successful. Neither
the President nor Heinrich nor any of the other inmates of the house
ever suspected that Lucie von Sorr, whose sudden disappearance was the
town-talk of M----, was concealed in Adele's room.
The President, at the dinner-table, expressed his surprise that so
beautiful a woman could have contrived to vanish utterly without a
trace. He told how Herr von Sorr had applied to the police for
assistance in his search for his wife; that inquiry had been made of
all the hack-drivers of the town and the porters at the railway
stations. No one could remember having seen the fugitive; an
extraordinary fact in view of the lady's remarkable beauty. Herr von
Sorr was beside himself, and feared that his wife might have been
driven to suicide by the strange reports circulating in the town.
Adele listened to all this in silence, and reported it to her friend
afterwards.
In a few days many visitors made their appearance at the President's,
in hopes of learning something satisfactory from Adele, who was well
known to be Frau von Sorr's nearest friend. Among them were Madame
Gansauge and Frau von Rose, the Messrs. von Saldern and von Arnim,
Assessor von Hahn, and others, all craving information.
Adele listened to all that they had to say, but had nothing to tell
them. She could not imagine why her friend had left M---- so suddenly;
she could not look upon her disappearance as a flight, and she feigned
a fresh interest in every repetition of the reports circulating
in M----.
It was positively certain, the wife of Major Gansauge asserted, that
Frau von Sorr had destroyed herself,--a peasant had seen her at five
o'clock in the morning near the Marble Gate, close by the large pond.
The body had not yet been found, but doubtless would be shortly. Count
Repuin was quite inconsolable, far more so than Herr von Sorr, who bore
his trial with more equanimity.
Frau von Rose knew from the very best authority--she was not at liberty
to mention names--that Count Repuin and Herr von Sorr had a violent
quarrel. The Count would not believe that Sorr was ignorant of his
wife's whereabouts. The affair was certainly very odd, for the Count
behaved precisely as though his wife, and not Herr von Sorr's, had run
away, and had threatened the husband with some dire revenge if the
fugitive were not shortly discovered.
The Assessor von Hahn was more cautious in his expressions; he hinted
that Frau von Sorr had made a profound impression upon Count Styrum,
and that the Count had perhaps been willing to shield her from Count
Repuin's persecutions. The Assessor remarked that he was too discreet
to say more; he did not boast of it, for discretion was a gift of
nature, and her bounties were variously distributed; discretion was one
of his natural endowments, therefore he would be silent.
All these contradictory reports which Adele heard from the gossiping
friends of the family she faithfully recounted to Lucie, and the
friends congratulated themselves that no attempt had been made by Frau
von Sorr to leave M----.
Adele had written immediately to Frau von Adelung, telling her that one
of her dearest friends, a Fraeulein Anna Mueller, was very desirous to
procure a situation in the country as governess. She expatiated upon
the talents, acquirements, and culture of the young lady, who regretted
that, never having dreamed of being obliged to support herself, she
possessed no testimonials to her ability. Now, however, she was in
great distress; her father had died brokenhearted at the loss of his
large fortune, and Fraeulein Mueller had been very unfortunate also in
other ways, so that she craved retirement from the world, and would
prefer a situation in the solitude of the country.
An answer to this letter arrived by return of mail. Frau von Adelung
expressed her pleasure at being able to do anything for her dear Adele,
whose friendship for Fraeulein Mueller was a sufficient recommendation in
her eyes. At present she knew of no situation for her, although there
was no doubt that one could shortly be found, and she promised to write
again as soon as this was the case.
More than a week elapsed before Frau von Adelung was again heard from.
Lucie continued to live in her concealment in her friend's room,
hearing from her all that was going on in M----. Count Repuin and Sorr
had both suddenly left town, the latter deeply in debt. Whither they
had gone no one knew. Count Repuin had left orders that his letters
should be sent to Berlin _poste restante_.
At last, when Lucie was beginning to chafe under her enforced idleness,
a second letter arrived from Frau von Adelung, asking whether Fraeulein
Mueller would be willing to accept the position of governess to the
Baroness Cecilia von Hohenwald, or rather, as the young lady was
sixteen years old, that of companion and teacher. Lucie and Adele were
greatly surprised by this letter; they well remembered the description
given by Count Styrum on the evening of the ball of the secluded life
at Castle Hohenwald, and this remembrance decided Lucie at once to
accept the offered position. In the solitude of Castle Hohenwald, where
no guest ever found admission, surely she might look for the seclusion
she so earnestly desired.
In a short time a third letter was received from Frau von Adelung,
enclosing the one addressed to Fraeulein Mueller by the Finanzrath, of
which we have already heard. His dreary picture of the castle and its
inmates, far from deterring Lucie from accepting the post offered her
there, only made her the more desirous to accept it, and she acceded
instantly to the Finanzrath's request that she would, if she could,
return a favourable reply and inform him of the day of her arrival at
the station A----.
Thus the die was cast. Two days more were all that she could spend with
the dear friend who had so aided and sheltered her. Adele now wished to
intrust Lucie's secret to her cousin, that he might write and insure
her a friendly reception at Castle Hohenwald, but this Lucie permitted
her to do only upon condition that she should wait until she had
actually departed from M---- before she spoke to Count Styrum upon the
subject.
The day of departure arrived,--an agitating day for Lucie. Hitherto
Lina's fidelity and caution had made concealment possible; not one of
the household even dreamed that the vanished Frau von Sorr was quietly
living in Adele's apartments; but how could she steal away unobserved?
The gossiping Assessor had reported that Count Repuin had bribed all
the railroad officials, who were to give him immediate notice of the
appearance at any one of the M---- stations of the well-known Frau von
Sorr. The police also were in his pay, and it seemed to Lucie almost
impossible to leave the President's house without discovery.
Here, too, the faithful Lina rendered most efficient aid. She had come
to seek service in M---- years before from an Altenburg village, and
the ugly national dress of the Altenburg peasantry, although long since
discarded by her, was still reposing neatly folded in her trunk. She
was about Lucie's height, and, with a few alterations, the peasant's
dress was made to fit the lady perfectly, so that when, one morning
towards four o'clock, a neatly-dressed Altenburg peasant-girl walked
out from the President's garden into the side street, the most
experienced detective would hardly have suspected her of being the
admired Frau von Sorr.
At the Marble Gate Lina was awaiting her in a covered wagon, driven by
one of her cousins, an Altenburg peasant lad, whom she had sent for to
take her to her native village, where she had received permission from
her master to spend a week's holiday. The peasant lad was rather
surprised that his cousin Lina should have stopped him, when they had
driven no farther than the Marble Grate, to wait for a young girl, who
shortly arrived and got into the vehicle. Still greater was his
surprise when, at a little wayside inn some miles from M----, Lina made
him wait much longer, while she went into the house with the young
girl, who must have remained there, for when Lina got into the wagon
again it was in company with a very fine lady, who paid him for driving
her to the nearest railroad station, where she took a kind leave of his
cousin.
Once in the railway carriage bound for A---- Lucie had no farther fear
of discovery, and we have already heard of her safe arrival there, and
of her adventurous drive with the Finanzrath.
How different her reception at the castle had been from any she had
anticipated! She had looked forward with a heavy heart to meeting the
old Baron; but he had welcomed her so kindly, so cordially, that she
felt sure that in him she should find a friend.
But Arno? Even if Count Styrum had written to him beseeching his kind
offices for the new governess, this morning, after his visit at the
President's, he could not have received the letter; his conduct had
been characterized only by the coldest courtesy. Still, she was
prepared for this; she knew his sentiments with regard to women. He had
behaved precisely as she had expected him to do, and his manner was
certainly far preferable to the Finanzrath's. As she called him to mind
a burning blush overspread her cheek, and she leaned her forehead
against the cool glass window-pane. She could not tell what it was in
his behaviour to her that so aroused her repugnance. He had been all
that he should be, and no more, and yet his courtesy inspired her with
dread; this man was antipathetic to her. But why trouble herself about
him in any way? He was but a guest at the castle, where everything
seemed so much more encouraging than she had hoped to find it; he would
be gone in a few days, and Celia, this charming, lovely Celia, who had
evidently conceived a sudden affection for her new companion, would
still be with her. How entirely unnecessary had been Lucie's fear of
the "wayward, spoiled child"! Celia could not feign; in her clear,
honest eyes the genuine welcome she had given to her new governess
was plainly to be read. How happy she had seemed upon noting the
pleasant impression produced by the pretty and luxurious bedroom and
dressing-room to which she had shown Lucie! How cordially she as well
as Frau Kaselitz had begged to know if anything were wanting for the
comfort of the new inmate! and how caressing had been the kiss with
which she had said good-night!
Yes, everything was far, far more pleasant than Lucie had expected;
surely she could find repose and forgetfulness amid these surroundings,
and in the fulfilment of a duty so interesting as the instruction of
this sweet young girl; and yet she could not look forward into the
future with any degree of buoyancy; the driving rain, the dark night,
the moaning wind, seemed to her to symbolize her destiny.