Lucie's resolve was a hard one. Castle Hohenwald was to her as a home.
The thought of leaving Celia and the old Freiherr gave her intense
pain, but it must be done,--she could not stay. She had written her
letter to Adele with feverish haste, almost immediately after Arno had
left her; but now that it lay before her sealed and addressed she
hesitated to despatch it. She shrank from so decisive a step.
Did stern duty really require of her to leave this loved asylum and
brave the world again and the danger of Repuin's persecution? Here she
was safe both from the Russian and from Sorr; both the old Freiherr and
Arno would extend protection to her, and must she give it all up just
because Arno loved her? No; not for that. Had she been sure of her own
heart she might have remained. She had not felt the need of fleeing
from Werner's distasteful devotion.
But Arno! She had summoned up strength to utter the words that
annihilated his hopes; but she felt that in so doing she had almost
exhausted her self-control. Could she have withstood his pleading a
moment longer? Even while writing to Adele the thought would not be
banished from her mind that she was actually free, bound by no
obligation to the wretch who himself on that terrible night had
sundered the tie that had linked her to him!
But could he sunder it? No; it must still remain a brazen fetter
chaining her to her unworthy husband, although she were forever parted
from him. As she had herself said, her marriage could not be dissolved;
she was free only in spirit,--only the death of the dishonoured thief
could make it possible for her to form another tie.
Her heart rebelled against so unnatural a chain; but cool reason told
her that she could not disregard it without dishonour. Sorr's wife must
not listen to Arno's words of affection; if she could not slay within
her the love she now knew that he had awakened there, he must never
know it.
The sealed letter trembled in her hand; if it were to be sent it must
go instantly. From her window Lucie saw already saddled and standing in
the court-yard the horse upon which the groom was to take the daily
mail from the castle to A----. Frau Kaselitz stood upon the steps just
about to close the post-bag. One minute more and it would be too late.
A day at least would be gained, a day for reflection, and a day, too,
of imminent peril, a day in which Arno might repeat his protestations,
his entreaties!
She hastily threw open the window. "Wait one moment, Frau Kaselitz; I
have a letter to go!" she called out into the court-yard, and then
hurried down the great staircase to the hall-door. She could not trust
herself, and it was only when she had seen the groom gallop away
bearing her letter with him that she breathed freely again.
The die was cast, and she could think clearly and calmly. Her strength
of will returned, and she knew that she could brave any struggle
which the next few days might bring her. She had regained the calm
self-control that would enable her to fulfil her duties towards the
Freiherr and Celia during the time she should yet remain in the castle,
and this fulfilment should instantly be put into action. Celia should
suspect nothing during lesson-hours of the mental agony that had so
tortured her teacher.
But where was Celia? She had not made her appearance, although the time
had long passed at which she usually returned from her afternoon ride.
Lucie inquired of old John, who was on his way to the stables, and
learned that Fraeulein Celia was still out in the forest. She never had
stayed so late before, the old man added; indeed, she had had time to
ride up and down the broad forest road to Gruenhagen at least twenty
times. Of course that was where she was; she always rode there. John
could not see why she never tired of that road. Lucie was not ill
pleased to hear that the girl was still in the forest: she longed for
its cool depths; and since John assured her that she could not fail to
meet Fraeulein Celia, she determined to go in search of her. She
declined John's attendance, for she felt perfectly secure in the
vicinity of the castle. Quickly tying on her hat she sallied forth.
Her walks hitherto had never extended beyond the castle garden and the
park. This was her first flight into the "forest depths," from which
the castle took its name. She gazed in wonder at the mighty oaks and
beeches. Around her brooded the mystery of the primeval forest; in the
vicinity of the castle no axe had rung a discord in the poetry of
woodland life. The deep silence, broken only by the low notes of the
woodland birds, harmonized with Lucie's mood; she sauntered dreamily
along the path, passing in mental review the events of the day, and
particularly the struggle with herself, in which--and there was a
measure of content in the consciousness--she had come off conqueror.
Lost in thought, she almost forgot that she had come out to look for
Celia; her gaze wandered unconsciously over the wealth of foliage on
every side of her. She did not observe, when she had reached the
loneliest part of the forest, a solitary stranger walking towards her,
and hastening his steps with every sign of amazement upon seeing her.
Not until he had approached her very nearly did she look up and start
in terror. Could she believe her eyes? The Assessor von Hahn, whose
element was fashionable society, here alone in the woodland solitude?
She could not be deceived; the Assessor stood before her as elegant as
if bound upon a round of morning visits, staring at her out of his wide
blue eyes, and twirling, as was his wont when startled or surprised,
his flaxen moustache; it was indeed Herr von Hahn as large as life.
The good Assessor was no less startled than was Lucie. "Is it
possible?" he exclaimed; "am I awake or dreaming? Frau von Sorr here in
the forest! This is a surprise indeed,--a most agreeable surprise of
course. I am enchanted to meet you, madame."
As he spoke he held out his hand, and Lucie was obliged to place her
own within it and to allow him to kiss it; she could not show him how
unwelcome was his presence here. Of all her former acquaintances she
would have preferred to have almost any one invade her retirement
rather than the gossiping Assessor, but she could not let him perceive
this; she banished all surprise and terror from her face and said, not
unkindly, "A most unforeseen meeting. I never should have expected to
find you in this remote corner of Saxony, Herr von Hahn."
"My presence here is easily explained, madame. I have been transferred
to A----, and, as there is scarcely any society in the tiresome little
town, I beguile my leisure by visits to the neighbouring gentry. I am
at present enjoying the Amtsrath Friese's hospitality, in Gruenhagen,
and was just taking a woodland walk. But you, madame,--how happens it
that I meet you here? You must be living either at Gruenhagen or in
Castle Hohenwald. Oh, I see, I see. My cousin, the old Freiherr, has
overcome his antipathy to your charming sex and has admitted into his
household a governess for my lovely cousin Celia. You are this
governess of course. This is why you vanished so suddenly from the face
of the earth. It must be so; my keen perception has penetrated the
mystery. I do not boast, for keenness of perception is one of the gifts
of nature, and her gifts are variously bestowed, but I possess it.
Confess, madame, that I am right."
The Assessor, who had now succeeded in twirling the ends of his
moustache into two long thin points, stayed the torrent of his words
for a moment to regard Lucie with a triumphant look of inquiry.
What should she reply? Chance had revealed to him her retreat in Castle
Hohenwald; he now knew too much to admit of his not being told more.
She dreaded his loquacity, but perhaps he might be induced to curb it
if she appealed to his honour. And, besides, he need keep silence only
for a short time; in a few days she hoped her friend Adele would have
provided another refuge for her, and then the good Assessor's love of
gossip could do no harm. "Your keen perception has not been at fault,
Herr Assessor," she replied. "I live in Castle Hohenwald as governess
to Fraeulein Celia von Hohenwald, but I need hardly tell you that in
order to obtain such a situation I have been obliged to change my name.
The consequences would be disastrous to me if any one in Castle
Hohenwald should learn my real name, and still more so if any one save
yourself, Herr Assessor, whom I trust implicitly, should suspect that I
have taken refuge in Castle Hohenwald. Your perceptions are too keen to
make any explanations necessary as to the painful circumstances that
have driven me thus to change my name and to take refuge in the deepest
seclusion. I rely upon your honour, and am convinced that you will not
abuse the knowledge you have gained by accident, and that you will
mention to no one our meeting to-day."
The Assessor bowed profoundly, feeling immensely flattered. He seized
Lucie's hand and kissed it with fervour, "Your gratifying confidence is
not misplaced. I swear it by my honour!" he exclaimed, his hand on his
heart. "I will be torn limb from limb sooner than that Herr von Sorr or
Count Repuin or any enemy of yours, dear madame, shall learn where you
have found an asylum. Rely upon me, madame, and if you should need
counsel or aid I am always at your service."
"Thank you, Herr von Hahn. I knew I could trust you, and therefore I
have bestowed upon you my entire confidence. If I need your assistance
I shall certainly apply to you, but at present I ask only your silence
and your forgiveness for concluding this interview; I must not be seen
in your society."
"I understand and respect your wishes, madame; I am discreet; I make no
boast of it, but----"
"I know it, Herr Assessor, and I thank you for it. But before we part
let me ask one question. Have you encountered upon this road a young
lady on horseback?"
"Ah, you mean my fair cousin, Celia von Hohenwald."
"Do you know Celia?"
"Certainly; that is, I have seen her."
"Did you meet her?"
The question was a simple one, and yet it confused the Assessor. He
remembered Herr von Poseneck's words and felt very uncomfortable. True,
he had not been told not to mention meeting Celia. Kurt's prohibition
had borne reference only to his betrothal, but he had expressly
declared that he should call the Assessor personally to account for any
indiscretion, and Herr von Poseneck seemed to be a man very likely to
keep his word. Would he not consider it an indiscretion to direct Frau
von Sorr to where she would find the lovers together? He would not run
any risk, and so answered with some hesitation, "I really do not know,
madame; I hardly remember----"
"Whether you have met Celia in the forest? You can hardly have
forgotten it."
"Certainly not, but--some one is coming. You desire that we should not
be seen together; I hasten to comply with your wishes. Adieu, madame!"
He bowed very low, glad to have any pretext for his flight, and walked
away so quickly that he was in danger of overlooking the group of
mighty oaks near which was the by-path to which Kurt had directed him.
Fortunately, he discovered it in time and was soon lost to sight.
Lucie looked after him, at a loss to understand his conduct. Why should
he find such difficulty in answering her simple question with regard to
Celia, and hurry away in such confusion? He must have seen Celia; why
not say so? She quickened her pace and soon reached a turning-point in
the road that opened a long vista before her. Here her glance instantly
encountered Celia, who was riding slowly towards her, attended by Kurt,
whom Lucie instantly recognized, having seen him upon the evening of
her arrival at Castle Hohenwald. Celia held her bridle negligently in
her left hand; her right was clasped in that of Kurt, towards whom she
was leaning, talking so earnestly that at first she did not perceive
Lucie, who stood still transfixed with astonishment.
This, then, was the reason of the Assessor's mysterious behaviour; this
was the explanation of Celia's devotion to her daily rides in the
forest.
Pluto was the first to become aware of Lucie's presence; he tossed his
head and neighed; this attracted Celia's attention, and she perceived
her friend. "Anna!" she exclaimed in a tone of delighted surprise, in
which there was not the slightest trace of terror. She withdrew her
hand from Kurt's and urged her horse to where her friend stood. "Anna,
my darling Anna!" she said, tenderly. "I am so rejoiced to see you! Now
you shall learn all. Kurt himself can tell you all about it. Yes, Kurt,
tell Anna everything,--how we first came to know each other, that we
are betrothed, and that nothing now can separate us; tell her, too,
what you told me awhile ago of Werner. Ah, how glad I am that chance
has brought you two together! Now, Kurt, you will know my dearest Anna,
and will see how wise it is to confide in her absolutely. Adieu, my
darling Anna! Au revoir, dear Kurt!"
She kissed her hand to Lucie and Kurt, then gathered up her reins and
galloped towards the castle.
Lucie looked after her very gravely. She was inexpressibly pained by
the discovery she had so unexpectedly made. It had never occurred to
her that Celia, gay, innocent, frank child that she seemed, could be
engaged in any secret love-affair; she would have rejected any such
idea with indignation.
And yet here was the proof. She felt grieved and ashamed; grieved
because she had believed herself possessed of Celia's entire
confidence, and ashamed that her care of her pupil had been so
negligent that the girl had been able to deceive her from the first day
of her arrival at Hohenwald.
Her anger, however, was not for Celia, but for Kurt; Celia was an
inexperienced child, who did not and could not know the peril of such
secret entanglements; Kurt's was all the blame.
It was therefore a very stern and forbidding look with which she
received Kurt, who approached her with some embarrassment in his
greeting. He knew that her judgment of him could hardly be a favourable
one. She had seen him but once, when his courtesy in proffering
assistance and his whole air and manner had made a very pleasant
impression upon her, an impression in which she had been strengthened
by what she had learned of him from the Finanzrath and from Adele's
letters. Even now, as she looked at him with severe scrutiny, she could
not but admit to herself that his appearance was greatly in his favour.
He was not, strictly speaking, handsome, his features were not
perfectly regular; but his countenance was frank and manly in
expression, his fine eyes were honest and true, and about the firm
mouth there were lines that betokened great gentleness and kindliness
of nature. Lucie easily understood how a young man of so pleasing an
exterior could win the heart of the inexperienced Celia, who was
debarred all society, and her indignation was the deeper that Kurt
should have so unscrupulously used his power over an innocent child.
"You will have the goodness, Herr von Poseneck, to give me the
explanation to which Celia has just alluded," she said, gravely and
sternly.
Kurt bowed, and not without some confusion, for his conscience was not
quite clear, he replied: "You have a right, Fraeulein Mueller, to ask
this explanation of me, and I give it you the more readily, since my
betrothed was about to give you her entire confidence this very
evening. Even without this chance meeting you would have learned from
her what you are now to learn from me."
"Your betrothed?" Lucie repeated the words with sharp emphasis. "Your
betrothed? Are you not aware, Herr von Poseneck, that a child of
sixteen cannot be betrothed without her father's consent? So far as I
know, the Freiherr von Hohenwald has not given his paternal consent to
your betrothal to his daughter, nor will he, for reasons with which you
doubtless are familiar, ever be likely to do so."
"You condemn me without hearing me!" Kurt said, sadly.
"I have heard from Celia and from you that you are betrothed to my
pupil, although you know that the Freiherr is hostile to your family,
and that you can never hope for his consent. Was it right, was it
honorable, that you, a man of ripe knowledge of the world, should
induce a young, innocent girl, almost a child, to grant you private
meetings in the forest, and finally to betroth herself to you against
her father's will?"
"You are right, Fraeulein Mueller; I cannot deny it; I have often said
just the same thing to myself; but my heart was stronger than my head.
I hope, however, that you will judge me less severely when you have
heard that I came to know Celia by chance, and that my love for her
soon grew to a consuming passion that was beyond heeding the sage
suggestions of reason. Only grant me a short interview; I promise you
that I will be absolutely frank with you. Will you not hear me?"
Lucie consented, and the short interview ended in a long conversation
between the two as they slowly paced to and fro in the woodland road.
Kurt kept his promise to be entirely frank and candid; he began with
his first accidental meeting with Celia, who had won his heart at once,
although he had determined that he would entertain for her only
brotherly friendship. He described eloquently how this love had grown
within him, until he had been carried away by it so far as to reveal it
to Celia, and how he had been, as it were, forced by the Assessor's
intrusion to utter the decisive word that betrothed them on this very
day. He went on to tell Lucie how he had agreed with Celia that she was
to acquaint her dearest friend with their secret, and ask her for aid
and counsel; that he had at first been resolved to go to the old
Freiherr and confess everything to him, but that he had been deterred
from doing so by Celia's entreaties and representations. He informed
Lucie of all that he had heard with regard to Werner's schemes, and of
the danger threatening the Freiherr, adding that Celia looked to her to
aid in averting it. "And now," he said, in conclusion, "you know
everything. Judge for yourself whether I am as culpable as you thought
me at first. I confess that my only excuse is my passionate affection
for my darling Celia."
Lucie did not reply immediately,--she pondered well upon all that Kurt
had said; his candour and integrity she could not doubt,--truth shone
in his eyes; she could not help believing him. "I cannot approve your
conduct," she said, after a long silence, "but neither will I judge you
too harshly. What is done cannot be undone; we can do nothing with the
past, but I demand that you atone in the future, as far as in you lies,
for the wrong you have committed. There must be an end to these
meetings with Celia; this you must promise me,--this duty you must
fulfil, however hard it may seem to you. Do not answer me immediately,
but reflect. I know that at this moment you think it impossible to
comply with my demand; nevertheless it must be done. You must have
sufficient self-control to enable you to resign a fleeting moment of
happiness. If you love Celia truly and honestly, and would not separate
her from her father, you must sacrifice thus much for her sake. You
ought not to see Celia again unless by the Freiherr's consent. If you
promise me this, Herr von Poseneck, I will promise you to do all that I
can to influence the Freiherr in your favour. I will try to combat his
unjustifiable hatred of you; I will be silent with regard to what I
have seen to-day, although it is perhaps my duty to put him on his
guard. Will you make me the promise that I ask, Herr von Poseneck?"
"Can I make it? Would not Celia doubt my faith and affection if she
should not find me in the forest at the accustomed hour?"
"Celia will never again, while I am at Castle Hohenwald, ride in the
forest alone, and she shall learn from me with what a heavy heart you
make the sacrifice to your love which I have asked of you. It is very
likely that she, too, will rebel against this sacrifice, and will blame
both you and me; but this consideration ought not to deter you from
doing your duty; thus only can you enable me to keep silence to the
Freiherr, who, if he should learn now, without any preparation, that
his daughter is secretly betrothed to a Poseneck, never would forgive
you!"
"You demand an impossibility!" Kurt replied. "I cannot make a promise
which I may be forced to break. If Celia should call me, should need my
help, should I not hasten to her aid? And how easily this might happen!
Am I not Celia's natural protector? You know what danger threatens the
Freiherr through the Finanzrath's intrigues; if he, with his two sons,
should be placed under arrest, to whom could Celia turn for aid and
counsel? Ought I then, bound by a promise, to refuse her this aid? I
could not!"
"Nor do I ask this. Your promise is not to be held binding in so
extreme a case. Give it me with this condition."
"You are very cruel."
"I am only doing my duty, and requiring that you should do yours."
Lucie's firmness conquered, and Kurt submitted after much hesitation.
He could not but admit to himself that Lucie was right, and that in her
influence with the Freiherr lay his only hope for the future. He gave
the required promise.