The tempest had spent its fury in the night, and the sun shone warm and
bright into Lucie's bedroom when she awaked at a rather late hour the
next morning. She was habitually an early riser, but the fatigue of the
previous day and evening had prevented her from sleeping until towards
morning, and she did not awake until eight o'clock from her dreamless
and refreshing slumber. She gazed around her in some bewilderment, and
could not at first remember where she was; but in an instant all the
past, her parting from her dear Adele, her journey hither, and last
night's adventures, flashed upon her mind, and brought with them the
consciousness that she was actually in Castle Hohenwald. If her room
had looked pretty and comfortable by candle-light on the previous
evening, it was positively charming now, with a bunch of fresh spring
flowers, which she had not seen the night before, upon a little table
between the windows, and the sunlight glorifying the landscape without.
Lucie hastily left her bed, and was proceeding to dress, when there
came a low knock at her door. "Who is there?" she asked.
"I,--Celia. I waited until I heard you stirring, to tell you that your
trunk has been brought over from Gruenhagen, and is here in the next
room--our morning room--with your dry dress from the Inspector's. I
will come to take you to breakfast in half an hour."
When Lucie opened the door into the next room Celia had vanished, but
her trunk stood near, and her travelling-dress, brushed and dry, hung
across a chair. She made haste to perform her simple toilet, and then
went again into the apartment which Celia had called "our morning
room." This room, then, she was to share with her pupil. It was a
delightful and luxurious retreat; its windows opening upon an
enchanting prospect of the garden, the mighty oaks in the park, and the
distant mountains; near one window was a table, upon which lay a
half-finished piece of embroidery, while another table, evidently new,
and prettily furnished with writing materials, was plainly destined for
the new governess. Upon it was a small vase filled with flowers
evidently plucked but an hour ago, the dew not yet dry upon the petals
of the roses. Flowers! So little, and yet so much! They made a welcome
where they stood. Lucie bent over them to inhale their cool fragrance,
and when she raised her head looked into Celia's laughing eyes. "How
can I thank you for placing these here, Fraeulein von Hohenwald?" she
said, with emotion.
"By never again calling me Fraeulein, but Celia. Every one who cares for
me calls me Celia, and I want you to care for me very much."
Such a request, accompanied as it was by a kiss and a caress, could not
be refused. The girl's frank tenderness was inexpressibly soothing to
Lucie.
"And now come with me to the garden-room," Celia went on, putting
Lucie's hand within her arm. "Papa is waiting for us; he drank his
morning cup of coffee long ago, but he wants us to take our breakfast
in the garden-room all the same."
The Freiherr had indeed been awaiting the appearance of the ladies to
breakfast in the garden-room for more than an hour. Seated in his
rolling-chair in his favourite spot, he was rejoicing in the beauty of
the lovely morning and inhaling the mild air of spring, while, as he
sipped his coffee, he received his morning visit from his son.
Arno seated himself beside his father's chair and began, as was his
wont in the early hour of talk, to discuss matters connected with the
estate, agricultural schemes, etc., which did not, however, appear to
have the power to interest him today as deeply as usual. It almost
seemed as if he were thinking of other things as he expatiated upon the
new ploughs and the building of fresh stables. He now and then paused
in his talk, and seemed to lose the thread of his discourse. The case
seemed the same with the Freiherr. He could think of nothing but what
had already occupied his mind since he arose,--the pleasant talk of the
previous evening. For years he had not conversed with a lady. Celia,
Frau Kaselitz, and the servant-maids were the only women with whom he
ever exchanged a word. His conversation with the governess had
therefore the added charm of novelty, and he had greatly enjoyed it.
Celia's appearance to wish her father good-morning interrupted, to the
Baron's satisfaction, the agricultural discussion, and gave him an
opportunity to ask after Fraeulein Mueller. Celia announced that she had
listened several times at the door of her bedroom, but that she was not
yet stirring.
"Evidently accustomed to late hours," Arno observed.
His words sounded like sarcasm, and instantly aroused Celia's
combativeness. "Do you suppose," she said, indignantly, "that a
delicately-framed woman, not used like you to hunting all night long,
can endure without fatigue such a walk through the storm as Fraeulein
Mueller took last evening? It was almost three o'clock when we went to
bed, and it is now just seven. Four hours' sleep is not much after such
fatigue, although you may think it sufficient for yourself. Besides,
you are used to such early rising that you should not judge for
others."
"Don't quarrel, children," the old Freiherr interposed; "although you
are quite right, child, to take up the cudgels for your governess; she
certainly has well earned a few hours of sleep. Even you, Arno,
expressed your wonder last evening at her quiet endurance of so much
fatigue."
"Yes, papa; is it not odious of Arno to be so unjust to Fraeulein
Mueller, when she is so charming, so divinely beautiful, and so
amiable?"
"The child is all fire and flame!" Arno remarked. "Well, well, it is
nothing to me; believe that your governess is an angel of light and a
miracle of amiability if you choose, only do not require me to agree
with you. Your enthusiasm lightens the duty with which my friend Styrum
has charged me. I found a letter from him among my papers last night
announcing his betrothal to his cousin, Adele von Guntram, and telling
me that Fraeulein Mueller is his betrothed's most intimate friend. Here
is his letter; read aloud to my father what he says of Fraeulein Mueller,
Celia, if you like."
This Celia did most willingly. As she returned it to Arno she said
reproachfully to her brother, "You do not deserve the confidence, Arno,
that Count Styrum reposes in your friendship. I cannot conceive how you
can judge Fraeulein Mueller so harshly and unjustly after such a
recommendation from your dearest friend."
"Bah! his recommendation is utterly worthless; he sees with the fair
Adele's eyes, and would recommend the devil's grandmother to us if his
betrothed desired it. What I did promise him was that the lady shall be
annoyed by no inquiries or allusions to her past. In this respect
Karl's word is all-sufficient, for not even the entreaties of his
betrothed could induce him to vouch for Fraeulein Mueller's purity of
character if the slightest blame attached to her. I know my promise
will be kept by all."
"Most certainly it shall," the old Freiherr rejoined. "Styrum's word is
quite enough for me; he is a man of honour, as was his father, once my
intimate friend. I respect the young fellow, although I do not know him
personally. You remember, Arno, how well he conducted himself upon a
former occasion, with what tact and delicacy----"
"Let the past be forgotten, father!" Arno interrupted him; and, turning
to his sister, he added, "I hope you will be discreet, Celia, and not
ask any idle questions of Fraeulein Mueller."
"I am not curious, and I certainly will be careful," Celia replied, as
she left the room.
The Freiherr called after her, "Beg Fraeulein Mueller, if she is up, to
take her breakfast here in the garden-room. I am expecting her."
It was not long before his darling reappeared with the governess, whose
cheerful good-morning the old man returned after his most genial
fashion. Then, ringing the bell, he desired Franz to have Fraeulein
Mueller's breakfast served immediately, and to roll his chair nearer to
the table that he might take part in the conversation.
This he found exceedingly entertaining. Whatever was the subject under
discussion Fraeulein Mueller bore her part charmingly. The Baron found
her possessed of a far higher degree of culture than he had thought
possible in a woman, and he was specially pleased to find her at home
in his beloved classical literature.
When the meal was ended she seated herself, at his request, at the fine
grand piano, which had been his last gift to Celia, and, after a lovely
prelude, sang a little national melody, in a rich, deep contralto, with
such pathos that Celia embraced her enthusiastically with eyes swimming
in tears, and the old Freiherr was inexpressibly delighted. It
certainly was a fact that Werner had found a treasure; his advice,
after all, had been worthy of all gratitude. The old man was in an
admirable humour, as was plainly shown when his sons unexpectedly
entered the room together. He had intended on the previous evening to
greet the elder upon his return from Gruenhagen with a thunder-blast;
but he was now half inclined to condone his transgression of the family
traditions. "Why, here we have the Herr Finanzrath," he said, as Werner
approached him. "Have you had a comfortable night at Gruenhagen with the
Posenecks? I am pleased to see that your broken leg is mended again. I
certainly should not imagine from your walk that anything had ailed
it."
Werner had expected a much harsher reception, therefore he quietly
accepted the raillery. "It was not so very bad," he replied, with a
smile, "although it certainly pained me so much last evening that I
could not have undertaken the long walk to the village."
"Which Fraeulein Mueller courageously accomplished, in spite of her
evident fatigue," Arno interposed.
"I admire Fraeulein Mueller's courage," the Finanzrath continued, with a
courteous bow to Lucie; "but she would hardly have been able to walk so
far had her injury been of the foot instead of the temple. I positively
could not, and, as Herr von Poseneck was polite enough to invite me to
Gruenhagen, I saw no reason for declining his kindness; it might have
offended him."
"So you preferred to offend your father by accepting it," the old Baron
said, angrily, his good humour already disturbed by Werner's words.
"I knew of no reasonable grounds why you should be offended by my doing
so. Young Herr von Poseneck, who has only lately come to reside at
Gruenhagen, has certainly never insulted you, nor had any desire to
insult you. He assured me that he had the highest respect for you, and
that only your express refusal to receive visits at Hohenwald had
prevented him from paying his respects to you."
"Let him try it! let him try it!" the old Baron said crossly.
"I hope, father, that calm reflection will induce you to change your
mind," the Finanzrath quietly rejoined. "I can assure you that young
Kurt von Poseneck in no wise deserves the dislike which you have
transferred to him from his late father, and that he really desires to
testify his respect for you. I cannot sufficiently extol the cordial
hospitality extended to me at Gruenhagen, and which can be ascribed only
to the fact of my being your son."
"Nonsense!" growled the Freiherr.
"The Amtsrath Friese, as well as Herr Kurt von Poseneck, repeatedly
expressed his pleasure in being able to render any little service to a
Hohenwald. Both lamented your seclusion, and wished they might convince
you of their friendly regard. Both treated me with distinguished
hospitality, for which I am greatly obliged to them. Herr von Poseneck,
after he had conducted me to Gruenhagen, went back with horses and men
to the quarry to extricate the carriage and horses and get them under
shelter; he sent over Fraeulein Mueller's trunk at daybreak this morning,
and when I expressed a wish to return home, the Amtsrath placed his own
carriage at my disposal. Common courtesy requires that I should drive
to Gruenhagen to-morrow to call, and to tell Herr Kurt von Poseneck that
he will gratify me by visiting me in return at Hohenwald."
Celia's eyes sparkled as she heard the Finanzrath thus announce his
intentions, but her joy quickly fled as she looked at her father, upon
whose forehead the frown had deepened as Werner spoke, and whose rage
now burst forth with, "I'll have the dogs set on him if he dares to
enter the court-yard! No Poseneck shall show his face in Hohenwald so
long as I am master here!"
"Papa, that is very disagreeable of you," Celia ventured to say; "you
do yourself great injustice!"
"Is the girl out of her senses?" the Freiherr asked, angrily. "What are
the Posenecks to you, that you should defend them against your own
father?"
Celia flushed crimson; she could not answer this question.
Fortunately, Werner came to her assistance, saying, "Celia's words,
although they are perhaps to be reprehended, are prompted by her innate
sense of justice. She could not help exclaiming against your threat of
requiting the courtesy of a visit by setting the dogs on the visitor. I
think, upon calmer consideration, you will find her conduct but
natural. I am very sorry, sir, that I should so have provoked you, and
will try to avoid doing so again. Of course I am not to be deterred by
the unfortunate prejudice entertained by you against the Posenecks from
fulfilling the duty enjoined upon me by common politeness. I must call
at Gruenhagen, but I will not invite Herr von Poseneck to Hohenwald. I
will convey to him your thanks, and tell him you regret your inability
to receive him at Hohenwald, since your health does not admit of your
receiving visitors."
"Then you will tell him a lie; my health admits of my receiving any
visitors whom I care to see."
"I think my conscience can endure the weight of a lie of that kind,"
the Finanzrath rejoined, with a smile.
"Do as you please, but let me hear no more of the Posenecks!" growled
the old Baron. His relations with his eldest son were peculiar; he
constantly disputed with him, but in spite of his father's angry
vehemence Werner usually gained his end, because he never lost his
temper. The old Baron felt now that he had been wrong, and, although he
did not frankly admit this, he yielded.
Werner seemed not to notice this; he was too wise to insist upon his
father's acknowledging himself in error. To change the conversation he
turned to Lucie, who, still seated at the piano, had been an
involuntary listener to the dispute between father and son. Approaching
her, the Finanzrath took her hand, and saying, with the air of
protection which had so annoyed her on the previous evening, "Permit
me, dear Fraeulein Mueller, to bid you cordially welcome to Castle
Hohenwald," would have carried it to his lips had she not hastily
withdrawn it.
Why she did so she could not herself have told. She had frequently
allowed her hand to be kissed by way of greeting; it was a received
custom in the society to which she had belonged, and yet she could not
endure that this man should avail himself of it; it seemed to her an
unbecoming familiarity on his part. She acted upon an impulse, and she
did not observe the fleeting smile that passed over Arno's face as he
noticed the intentional withdrawal of her hand. She replied to the
Finanzrath's courtesy by a simple inclination of her head.
Celia, too, had seen that Werner's salutation was not received with
favour, and with ready tact came to her new friend's aid. "You must
reserve all your fine speeches for another time, Werner," she said,
stepping to Lucie's side; "Fraeulein Mueller belongs entirely to me
to-day. I am burning with desire to take my first lessons of her, to
show her what a good scholar I can be."
Lucie's grateful glance as she arose and followed Celia from the room
showed the young girl that she had done right.
From this time Celia devoted herself to her studies with ardour.
Lucie's hardest task was to induce her to moderate her zeal. The
"will-o'-the-wisp" quite forgot its errant nature; for hours the girl
would sit at the piano practising wearisome exercises, and at other
times she would bury herself in a book,--an entirely new experience for
Celia. It needed but a few weeks of intercourse with her new friend to
arouse within her a genuine literary taste. The old Baron and Arno were
astounded at the change; the former feared that his darling, whom he
saw thus tamed, might perhaps become too tame; he shook his head as he
reminded Celia that she must not study too hard, lest her health should
suffer; she ought to continue to take her daily exercise in the open
air.
To such admonitions the girl was not at all deaf. True, she no longer
roamed about the garden as she had done: it took too much time; she
confined herself to a morning's walk there with Fraeulein Mueller to
visit the green-houses and the shrubberies; but her afternoon ride was
never omitted. When the hour for this arrived she could no longer fix
her attention upon her book: her thoughts flew forth to the forest.
Fraeulein Mueller smiled at her enthusiasm for her daily ride, ascribing
it in great part to the force of habit, since no weather was too stormy
to keep her at home.
Celia always rode alone. Formerly, old John had sometimes accompanied
her, but, although he soon recovered from the effects of his fall, his
young mistress never now desired his attendance. She could not so
easily have declined Lucie's companionship, but Fraeulein Mueller had
never been a horsewoman, and did not care to learn to ride.
Thus, then, Celia rode alone. A happy smile illumined her features and
her dark eyes sparkled as she daily caught the first glimpse of the
light straw hat among the trees, and found Kurt at the appointed place
in the forest waiting to walk along the woodland road by her side. Then
the girl would drop the bridle on her horse's neck, and Pluto, who was
now on the best of terms with Kurt, knew perfectly well that before he
was urged to greater speed than a leisurely walk an hour would elapse.
An hour! How quickly it flew by! how much had both Celia and Kurt to
say in that brief space of time! Celia told of her studies, of the
delightful hours she now owed to her friend Anna, whose beauty and
loveliness, clearness of head and goodness of heart, she described in
such glowing terms that Kurt could not at times suppress a smile, for
which Celia would instantly reprove him as implying a doubt of the
accuracy of her descriptions.
Kurt, on the other hand, would tell of his life at Gruenhagen: how he
was becoming more at home in Germany, how his uncle's hospitality and
social qualities made his house delightful, a resort for the country
gentry and for the principal people in the neighbouring town of A----.
He often spoke also of the Finanzrath, who was now frequently at
Gruenhagen. Kurt, who was always candid and unreserved towards Celia,
admitted to her that, although for her sake he should always treat her
brother with the utmost politeness, he had very little liking for the
exaggerated polish of his manners and bearing.
Thus they talked in the most innocent manner. At parting Celia always
offered her hand to Kurt, and smilingly permitted him to imprint upon
it an ardent kiss, but not again did she bend over him as when she once
had yielded to an irresistible impulse. If he had uttered one tender
word she would hardly have refused him a second kiss, but this word was
not spoken; he withstood with manly determination the temptation to
utter it. He had registered a vow that never should this innocent girl
have cause to regret the frank confidence she had shown him.
Lucie had no suspicion of the attraction that took Celia to the forest,
nor that the simple-hearted girl could have a secret from her. She took
delight in her charming pupil's tender affection for her, which indeed
she reciprocated with all her heart.
The old Freiherr had greatly changed since Lucie's coming to Castle
Hohenwald: he had grown social. True, his sociability was confined to a
desire for the society of his immediate family circle, among whom he
reckoned, of course, Fraeulein Anna Mueller; but with them he developed a
genial courtesy that astonished his sons.
Arno, on the other hand, preserved the same attitude towards his
sister's governess that he had adopted upon her first arrival at the
castle; he was conscious of an involuntary thrill of delight when, in
the course of conversation, or upon an accidental encounter in their
walks, Fraeulein Mueller bestowed upon him one of her rare sweet smiles;
but the next moment he would rouse himself to renewed hatred of the
entire sex, bethinking himself that this very enchanting smile was bit
a trap set by overweening love of admiration, and could avail nothing
with him. And yet he could not avoid her. When Lucie, occupied with
some bit of feminine work, seated herself at the table beside the
Baron's rolling-chair and talked pleasantly with the old man and Celia,
Arno would join the circle, placing his chair where, unobserved, he
could watch every change of expression on the lovely face. He spoke but
little, but not a word of hers escaped him,--especially did he watch
and listen when, as was but rarely the case, she appealed to Werner.
Why was he so pleased at the coldness and reserve of her usual manner
towards his brother? Why should he be so much annoyed when one day
Werner announced that he had just received a favourable reply from his
chief in office to his request for a prolongation of his leave of
absence? Wherefore should Werner have seemed to him absolutely
insufferable since he had taken to paying such marked court to Fraeulein
Mueller?
Arno had never been upon terms of close intimacy with his
brother,--theirs were antagonistic natures; but now he felt an absolute
repugnance to him for which there was no accounting; surely it was
nothing to him if Werner chose to pay court to Celia's beautiful
governess.
No; it was not "nothing to him." He excused himself for this by
reflecting that Werner's superficial, frivolous manner was unworthy a
Hohenwald. What views could he entertain with regard to Fraeulein
Mueller? Had he not often declared that in the choice of a wife he
should consult his head, and not his heart? Wealth was of no
consequence; but the future Freifrau von Hohenwald must belong to a
family through whose influence the Hohenwalds might recover the
importance they had lost with the government. Arno thought he knew well
that Werner, keenly devoted as he was to his own interests, never
carried away by sentiment, would not be false to these expressed
principles of his. It was inconceivable that he should sacrifice his
ambition to love for a poor bourgeoise girl, his sister's governess! He
could scarcely cherish honest intentions with regard to her, and Castle
Hohenwald should never be profaned by the reverse! And this was why, as
Arno tried to convince himself, he watched Werner and Fraeulein Mueller
so narrowly.
Often when riding alone in field or forest it would suddenly occur to
him to wonder whether Werner were at the moment talking with Fraeulein
Anna in the library, or walking with her in the garden. Then resistance
was useless; he was forced to succumb to the impulse that drove him to
plunge the spurs into his horse and gallop furiously to the castle,
where his calm was restored only when convinced of the groundlessness
of his alarm.
Lucie found nothing to offend or displease her in his manner towards
her. When she had resolved, in defence of her honour, to undertake the
battle of life under a maiden name, she had not been unmindful of the
dangers that might beset her path, and she had gladly accepted the
position offered her at Castle Hohenwald, since she knew from Count
Styrum and Adele that there she should have nothing to fear from
obtrusive admirers. She had reckoned upon Arno's hatred of her sex, and
she had not been deceived. From her first meeting with him his manner
had been not only indifferent, but even repellent. It was what she had
hoped for, and she was glad of it; but her gladness was not heartfelt.
Count Styrum's recital of his misfortunes had awakened Lucie's interest
in the misanthrope, and this interest had grown since she had known him
personally. His coldness and reserve did not irritate her; they were
but natural after the terrible experience that life had brought him. He
had--how could it be otherwise?--lost all faith in mankind; but still
he might have shown a trifle less animosity towards her. Sometimes a
severe remark of his would bring a warm flush to her cheek, and she was
tempted to as severe a retort; but if she yielded to the temptation she
always reproached herself afterward. He was so unhappy! What a blessed
task it would be to heal the wounds from which he was still bleeding!
But such ministry was forbidden in her sad case.
Here was a dark spot in Lucie's otherwise contented life at Castle
Hohenwald, and there was one still darker in the anxiety she felt at
the Finanzrath's demeanour towards her. There was surely no sufficient
cause for this anxiety, for the cultured man of the world never
transcended conventional bounds. He was attentive and polite, but never
officious; his courtesy and kindness never degenerated into any
familiarity which Lucie could be justified in resenting. When he
extolled her beauty and amiability, her delightful singing, her
admirable instruction of Celia, and spoke of the excellent influence
she exerted over her pupil, it was all done after so refined a fashion
that she could not take exception to what was said. The old Freiherr
said precisely the same things, though far more bluntly. And yet Lucie
could not away with a feeling of uneasiness with which the Finanzrath's
manner always inspired her. The news of the prolongation of his leave
of absence was very unwelcome to her; it made her really unhappy.