She had just gotten ready, the next afternoon, to go into the garden
with her work-basket, when the bell rang at the gate in the wall. In
consideration of the scene of the day before, her surprise was certainly
justifiable, when, as the gate was opened, she saw Bella standing before
her. Behind the child stood Miss Mertens and the elderly gentleman with
whom Elizabeth had lately had an evening encounter. As she entered Bella
extended her hand, but looked shy and confused and said not a word.
Elizabeth, much amazed, at once guessed the reason of her coming, and
tried to help her in her embarrassment by saying how glad she was to
have a visit from a little girl, and by asking her to come into the
garden. But Miss Mertens stepped forward.
"Do not make it all so pleasant for Bella, Fraeulein Ferber," said she,
"she has been expressly ordered to make an apology to you for her
misconduct yesterday. I must insist upon her speaking."
These words, spoken with much firmness, and still more, perhaps, the
sheltering darkness of the hall through which Elizabeth was leading her
by the hand, at last loosened Bella's tongue, and she softly begged
pardon for her fault, and promised never to be so naughty again.
"And now that is happily settled," cried the gentleman, as he advanced
to Miss Mertens' side, and with an arch smile made a low bow to
Elizabeth.
"It may, perhaps, strike you as very odd," he said, "that I should
attach myself to this reconciliation deputation, with which I have no
concern; but I have an idea that on such occasions people are rather
inclined to overlook all slight transgressions, and so,--there can be no
more favourable moment for the smuggling in of a stranger.
"My name is Ernst Reinhard; I am the secretary and travelling companion
of Herr von Walde, and I have had no more earnest desire for a week past
than to become acquainted with the interesting family at Castle
Gnadeck."
Elizabeth kindly extended her hand. "These old walls have witnessed so
many of the misdeeds of the robber knights of old, that we have no right
to condemn smuggling; you will be cordially welcomed by my parents."
She led the way, and opened the huge oaken door leading into the garden.
Her parents and uncle, who, with little Ernst, were sitting under the
lindens, arose as the strangers entered, and came towards them.
Elizabeth introduced them all round, and then, at a sign from her
mother, returned to the house to order some refreshments for the guests.
When she came back again, Bella had already laid aside her sack and
parasol, and with a joyous face was sitting in a swing, which had been
hung between two trees. Ernst was swinging her, and seemed not a little
proud of his new playmate.
"Indeed," said Reinhard, pointing to Bella as she flew up in the swing,
shouting with delight, "no one who had seen that child this morning and
her sullen bearing, as she went into Herr von Walde's apartment to ask
forgiveness for yesterday's misconduct, or her defiant and angry
expression, when he told her that he could not receive her again until
she had personally begged pardon of Fraeulein Ferber,"--here Elizabeth
reddened, and became absorbed in the preparation of some bread and honey
for the two children,--"would recognize her for the same being, whose
face is now beaming with the innocent joy of childhood."
The hour passed very pleasantly. Miss Mertens was both refined and
cultivated, and Reinhard told many delightful stories of his travels and
researches.
"Probably we should not have thought of returning home for some time,"
he said in concluding an interesting account of adventures in Spain,
"had we not received unfavourable accounts from Thuringia, which,
following fast upon each other, induced Herr von Walde to give up new
plans for travel. The ambition of power often makes its possessor
blind. The incautious request from a feminine pen that Herr von Walde
would pension off the good old village pastor at Lindhof, because he had
grown prosy and was incapable of training the souls under his care,
capped the climax of our unwelcome hews, and we set out for home
immediately.
"When, late in the evening, as we approached Lindhof, we left the
highroad and our carriage, that we might go the rest of the way on foot,
we met with a most charming adventure. How odd! look, Reinhard, what
do you suppose is the meaning of that light in the ruins of Castle
Gnadeck?' asked Herr von Walde. 'It means that there is a lamp there,'
was my reply. 'We must investigate this,' said he, and we ascended the
hill. The light grew brighter, and at last, to our astonishment, we saw
that it streamed from two high illuminated windows. And then, light
steps were heard behind us, something white fluttered among the bushes,
and suddenly, what I took for a being of ethereal mould hovered before
us upon the moonlit sward. I took heart and approached, expecting every
moment that the airy form would vanish before the breath of my lips; but
alas! its own lips opened, and told of two well-trained goats and a
canary bird."
All laughed at this account.
"While we were descending the mountain," Reinhard continued, "my master
said not a word; but from certain signs I judged that he was quite as
ready to laugh at me as you were; it would have been a fine thing if you
could have accompanied us as a good fairy, for we left all the moonlight
and beauty behind us upon the mountain, and had to walk on through the
dim valley, where the mists were rising, and where there was nothing,
not even a wandering zephyr to bid us welcome home. At Castle Lindhof
numberless lights were flitting to and fro like will-o'-the-wisps. The
carriage, with our luggage, had already arrived, and seemed to have
produced the same effect by the sound of its rolling wheels, as that
ascribed to the thunder at the day of judgment, for there was such
hurry, confusion, and disorder reigning there when we arrived, that, for
my part, I should have been thankful to retrace my steps, and lay my
weary head upon the first quiet, mossy spot that I could find in the
forest. The only person who, in the midst of the universal agitation,
presented an appearance of placid self possession was the chaplain,
Moehring. He had put on a white cravat with great despatch, and
welcomed the master of the house at the foot of the grand staircase in a
speech full of unction."
"The reign of that stern gentleman is at an end now, is it not?" asked
the forester.
"Yes, indeed, thank God!" replied Miss Mertens. "He will leave Lindhof
in a short time. Baroness Lessen's influence has procured him a good
parish. He could not endure to sink back into insignificance where he
had so lately held sway. I can readily understand it, for he had ruled
with all the persecuting zeal of a tyrant who seeks to tread every one
beneath his feet. He would not allow a thought in his kingdom without
his permission, and even the baroness, his mistress, upon whom he smiled
so servilely, felt his iron rule. Every one in the household, without
exception, was obliged to write down, in the evening, the thoughts and
sentiments that had occurred to them during the avocations of the day. I
can see before me now the poor housemaids, to whom even a short letter
to their friends at home is a greater task than a long ironing-day,
sitting in that cold room on the winter evenings, holding the pen in
their tired clumsy fingers, and beating their poor brains for something
to say.
"'Yes, if the chaplain had worked as hard as I have done the whole day,'
one would whisper softly but angrily to another, 'he would not relish
writing much.'"
"Indeed, I think so," cried the forester. "What a shameful system of
torture and oppression has been carried on there under the cloak of
service to the Lord!"
"The worst of it all is," said Ferber, "that unless a man is possessed
of great culture, or of a special fund of good humour, he ends by
detesting not only his tormentors but the whole subject of religion that
causes him such suffering. Thus, he is led more and more astray from
all faith, while his outward observance of forms must be stricter than
ever, his subsistence depending upon his wearing the mask well. All
this gives the death-blow to true religion among the people."
"Well, we are fortunate in at least having one among us who has force of
character enough and sufficient strength of will, to say, 'Thus far
shalt thou go and no farther!' Zounds! it came upon us like a second
deluge!" said the forester.
"True, Herr von Walde is possessed of an energy and force of character
such as falls to the lot of but few," replied Miss Mertens, quickly.
"His mouth is closed, but his eyes are wide open, and servility, malice,
and hypocrisy quail before them and drop their masks."
In the mean while Reinhard had been attentively examining the walls of
the ruinous wing of the old castle which bounded the garden on the
south. Three large, pointed, arched windows, faultless in shape,
extended upward to the height of the second story from about six feet
from the ground. Close beside them a curious jutty projected far into
the garden, forming a deep corner, where grew a giant oak, which
stretched some of its boughs through the two nearest sashless windows
far into the airy, cool apartment within, which must once have been the
chapel of the castle, intended to accommodate a large number of
worshippers, for it extended through the entire depth of the wing.
Opposite these windows were three others of like dimensions; they had
been less exposed to wind and weather, and had preserved some fragments
of coloured glass in their delicately carved stone rosettes. Through
them could be seen the dark court-yard, with its crumbling, ghostly
walls like a picture painted in gray. The garden side of this wing
looked gay and odd enough. The most extravagant caprice had here heaped
together all styles of windows and decorations; judging by the exterior,
the old building must have been a perfect labyrinth of rooms, passages,
and staircases. The jutty alone seemed to be in a most dangerous state
of decay. It inclined perceptibly to one side, and appeared to be
awaiting the moment when it should bury the blooming life of the oak
beneath its masses of stone. It had thrown a green mantle coquettishly
over its falling form,--an impenetrable garment of ivy wreathed it all
over from the ground to the ruinous roof, and effectually concealed
every crack and aperture in the masonry. Some sprays of the ivy had
crept across the oak and climbed up to the sculptured arms on the
principal front of the chapel, which looked forth grimly enough from
beneath its intrusive decoration.
"I attempted," said Ferber, "to explore this wing as far as I could,
shortly after my arrival here, for its peculiar style of architecture
interests me greatly; but I could not get farther than the chapel,
where, indeed, it seemed dangerous to stay long. You see the whole
upper story has fallen in, and the weight of the ruins has caused the
ceiling of the chapel to sink considerably, so that it seems ready to
tumble at the slightest breath of wind. The jutty has only lately looked
so threatening in consequence of several severe storms. It must be
taken away, for it makes a part of the garden inaccessible to us. If I
could have engaged any workmen, it should have been pulled down before
now."
After this explanation, Reinhard had no further relish, as he expressed
it, for wandering about in the old ruins. But he was all the more
interested in the connecting building, and Ferber arose to show his
guests his dwelling. And first, they ascended the rampart behind them.
Ferber was very capable and skilful, and employed every moment of his
leisure in improving his new possession. With his own hands he had
mended the steps which led to the top of the rampart, and they arose now
smooth and white from the close-shaven turf which clothed its sloping
side. On top, the tolerably wide plateau was strewn with fresh gravel,
and in the centre of it, embowered in the linden boughs which
overshadowed the basin below, stood a group of home-made garden chairs
and a table. While they leaned against the breastwork and enjoyed the
confined but lovely view from the steep mountain over the valley
beneath, Elizabeth told the story of Sabina's ancestress, for doubtless
this rampart had been the scene of her narrative.
"Br-rr!" said Reinhard, shuddering. "What a leap it would have been!
The wall is high, and when I imagine below there, instead of that mossy
carpet, the sluggish, slimy waters of a castle-ditch full of frogs and
lizards, I cannot possibly understand the resolution required to throw
one's self over."
"But," said Miss Mertens, "despair has led many a one to seek a death
even more horrible."
At this moment Elizabeth saw with her mind's eye the glowing, passionate
expression with which Hollfeld had hastened towards her on the preceding
evening. She remembered the disgust that she had experienced at his
touch, and she thought to herself that it was not very difficult to
imagine the position of the persecuted girl.
"Come in, child," said her uncle, rousing her from her reverie. "Are
you listening to hear the grass grow that you stand there so silent?"
Beneath his clear gaze, and at the sound of his strong, honest voice,
the terrible vision vanished in an instant. "No, uncle," she replied,
laughing, "that I shall not attempt, even though I do boast that I have
wonderfully keen eyes and ears for the processes of nature."
He took her hand, and led her after the others, who were just entering
the house. At the top of the steps, Bella came running to Miss Mertens.
She had several picture-books in one hand, and with the other she drew
her governess into Elizabeth's room.
"Only think, Miss Mertens, you can see our castle from here!" she cried.
That they were the owners of Lindhof she seemed firmly to believe, and
no wonder. The way in which the baroness had, until now, wielded her
sceptre, had left no doubt in the child's mind that her mother was the
indisputable mistress of Lindhof. "Look," she continued gaily, "do you
see the path down there? Uncle Rudolph has just ridden past. He saw
me, and waved his hand to me. Mamma will be glad that he is kind to me
again."
Miss Mertens admonished her to be a good little girl, and get her hat
and sack, for it was time to go.
Elizabeth and Ernst accompanied them out into the park.
"We have stayed too long," said Miss Mertens anxiously, as she took
leave of the Ferbers and stepped out into the forest-clearing. "I must
be prepared for a tempest this evening."
"You think the baroness will be vexed at your remaining here so long?"
"Without doubt."
"Never mind,--you must not repent it. We have spent such a delightful
afternoon," said Reinhard.
The children had wandered on before them, hand in hand, and disappeared
now and then among the trees on either side of the path, plucking
flowers. Hector, who had forsaken his master to accompany them, leaped
joyously hither and thither, never forgetting to return now and then to
be stroked and patted by the gentle hand of Elizabeth, the lady of his
love, as her uncle said.
Suddenly he stopped, and stood still in the centre of the path. They
had nearly reached the borders of the park. Through the forest they
could see the vivid green of the lawn, and the plashing of the nearest
fountain was audible. Hector had discovered a female figure hastily
approaching. Elizabeth recognized her instantly as silent Bertha,
although her whole appearance seemed strangely altered.
She could have had no idea that any one was near, for, as she walked,
she gesticulated violently with her arms. Her cheeks were crimson, her
eyebrows contracted as though in the greatest agony of mind, and her
lips moved as though she were talking to herself. Her white hat, which
she had decked with flowers, had slipped from her dark braids, and was
hanging upon her neck by its loose red strings, which, as her motions
grew still more earnest, became wholly untied, and the hat fell on the
ground without the knowledge of its owner.
She came rapidly forward, and did not raise her eyes until just as she
stood close to Elizabeth. Then she started as though stung by an adder.
In a moment the expression of anguish upon her countenance was changed
to one of the bitterest anger. Hate flashed from her eyes, her hands
clenched convulsively, and while something like a low hiss escaped her
lips, she seemed as if about to spring, raging, upon the young girl.
Reinhard instantly placed himself by Elizabeth's side, and drew her
slightly back. When Bertha saw him, she uttered a low cry, and rushed
madly into the thicket, through which she forced a path, although her
clothes were torn by the thorns, and she struck her forehead against the
drooping boughs. In a few moments she was lost to sight.
"That was Bertha, from the Lodge!" cried Miss Mertens, with surprise.
"What can have happened to her?"
"Yes,--what can have happened?" repeated Reinhard. "The young creature
was in a state of terrible excitement, and seemed to grow actually
furious at sight of you," turning to Elizabeth. "Is she related to
you?"
"No indeed," she replied. "She is only distantly connected with my
uncle, and I do not even know her. She has avoided me from the beginning
most resolutely, although I wished much to be on friendly terms with
her. It is clear that she hates me, but I cannot tell why. Of course
it troubles me, but her character is not sufficiently pleasing to induce
me to attach much importance to her dislike."
"Good Heavens, my child, there is no question of dislike here! The
little fury would have gladly torn you to pieces with her teeth."
"I am not afraid of her," replied Elizabeth, smiling.
"But I would advise you to be careful," said Miss Mertens. "There was
something actually demoniac in her looks. Where could she have been?"
"Probably at the castle," remarked Elizabeth, as she picked up Bertha's
hat, and brushed the moss and dried leaves from it.
"I think not," rejoined Miss Mertens. "Since she has been dumb she has,
very strangely, ceased visiting Lindhof. Before then she came every
day, attended the Bible Class, and was a great protegee of the baroness,
but suddenly it all came to an end, to the surprise of all. Only now
and then, in my solitary rambles in the park, I have seen her gliding
through the bushes like a snake,--indeed she seems to me to bear an
affinity to that reptile."
They had already reached one of the gravelled paths leading through the
park, and it was time to take leave of each other. They separated with
mutual cordiality.
"Now, Elsie," said Ernst, as the other three vanished behind a group of
trees, "we'll see which of us will reach the corner first." The corner
was the entrance to a narrow forest-path which led directly to the foot
of the mountain.
"Agreed, my darling," laughed Elizabeth, and began to run. At first she
kept even step with the little boy who was beside her; but just before
the goal was reached, she flew forward lightly as a feather, and stood
in the entrance of the path, and, to her terror, close to the head of a
horse which snorted violently. Hector, who was by her side, barked
loudly. The horse leaped aside and stood erect upon his hind legs.
"Back!" cried a powerful voice. Elizabeth snatched op the little boy
and sprang with him out of the way, while the horse rushed out of the
forest, and, scarcely touching the ground with his hoofs, galloped madly
across the meadow. Herr von Walde was seated upon the frightened
animal, which did its best to throw its rider. He, however, sat firm as
a rock; only once he leaned from his saddle and struck with his
riding-whip at Hector, who was leaping and barking about the horse,
greatly increasing its fright. For awhile it bounded wildly over the
meadow, then suddenly turned away and disappeared into the forest.
Elizabeth's teeth fairly chattered with fright at the horrible accident
which she had no doubt would shortly occur. She took Ernst by the hand
and was about to run to the castle for assistance, when, before she had
gone many steps, she saw the horseman returning. The animal was much
more quiet, his bit was covered with foam, and his legs trembled. Herr
von Walde patted his neck caressingly, sprang off, tied him to a tree,
and then approached Elizabeth.
"Pray forgive me," she said in a trembling voice, as soon as he stood
beside her.
"What for, my child?" he rejoined gently. "You have done nothing.
Come, sit down upon this bank, you are deadly pale."
He moved as if to take her hand and lead her to the spot which he had
designated, but his arm dropped instantly by his side. Elizabeth
mechanically obeyed him, and without another word he seated himself
beside her. Little Ernst leaned against his sister and fixed his large
beautiful full eyes upon Herr von Walde's face. The boy had been
frightened for one moment when the horse had first appeared, but the
gallop around the meadow had amused him, for he had no suspicion of
danger.
"What did you intend to do when you came running so hastily into the
forest?" Herr von Walde asked Elizabeth after a short silence.
An arch smile played about the still pale lips of the young girl. "I
was pursued," she replied.
"By whom?"
"By this boy," pointing to Ernst, "We were running a race."
"Is the little one your brother?"
"Yes;" she looked lovingly in the boy's face and passed her hand over
his dark curls.
"And she is my only sister," said the little fellow with great emphasis.
"Indeed! Well, you seem quite fond of this only sister," said Herr von
Walde.
"Oh yes; I love her dearly. She plays with me just like a boy."
"Is it possible?"
"Oh yes; if I want to play soldiers she puts on just the same kind of
paper hat that she makes for me, and marches, drumming up and down the
garden, just as long as I choose. And before I go to bed she tells me
lovely stories while I am eating my supper."
A bright smile broke over Herr von Walde's face. Elizabeth had never
seen it before, and she found that it gave an indescribable charm to
features which she had thought immovably stern; it seemed to her like a
clear sunbeam breaking through a thick, cloudy sky.
"You are quite right, my boy," he said, drawing the child towards him;
"those are most valuable talents to possess; but is she never angry?" he
asked, pointing to Elizabeth, who was enjoying like a child, Ernst's
revelations, which seemed comical enough to her.
"No, never angry," replied the boy, "only serious sometimes, and then
she always plays on the piano."
"But, Ernst----"
"Oh yes, Elsie," he interrupted her eagerly; "don't you remember when we
were so poor in B----?"
"Ah, there you are right," she replied with composure; "but it was only
when papa and mamma had to work so hard that we might have bread to eat;
it was much better afterwards."
"But you still play on the piano?"
"Yes," answered Elizabeth laughing, "but no longer for the reason which
Ernst gives. My father and mother are now provided for."
"And you?" Herr von Walde persisted.
"Oh, I? I am quite brave enough to fight life's battle and win my own
independence in the struggle?"
"How do you propose to do it?"
"Next year I shall go somewhere as a governess."
"Does not Miss Mertens' example deter you?"
"Not at all. I am not so weak as to wish for a luxurious life while so
many others in my circumstances take upon themselves so bravely the yoke
of service."
"But here there is question not only of service but of endurance. You
are proud. It is not only your look at this moment which tells me so,
but every sentiment which you uttered yesterday."
"Indeed, it may, perhaps, be pride that induces me to rank real dignity
of character far above any mere exterior advantages which egotism has
invented and maintains, and for that very reason I believe that one
human being can humble another only by setting before him an example of
moral and intellectual greatness which it is impossible for him to
imitate,--never by insulting treatment."
"And you think that these views will steel you against all the
mortifications great and little which a heartless, capricious mistress
might heap upon you?"
"Oh no, but I need never bow before her."
A short pause ensued, during which Ernst approached the horse, examining
him attentively.
"From what you said yesterday, I gathered that you are attached to your
present home," Herr von Walde began again.
"Yes, more than I can tell."
"Ah! I can understand that, for this is the loveliest spot in
Thuringia. How then can you so easily endure the thought of leaving it
again?"
"On the contrary, I shall not find it at all easy; but my father has
taught me that our pleasures must yield to our necessities, and I
understand perfectly that it must be so. I confess that I cannot easily
comprehend how one can give up what is so pleasant except at the command
of necessity."
"Ah! that was aimed at me. You cannot conceive how a man can
voluntarily hide himself in the pyramids when he might breathe the cool,
sunny air of Thuringia."
Elizabeth felt a burning blush suffuse her cheeks. Herr von Walde had
humourously alluded here to the jesting conversation that she had had
with her uncle, to which he had been an involuntary listener.
"If I should attempt to explain this to you I should fail, for you seem
to me to find all that you look for in your home circle," he said after
a moment's silence. He had leaned forward and was mechanically drawing
figures with his riding-whip upon the ground at his feet. He spoke in
those deep tones which always appealed powerfully to Elizabeth's mind.
"But there is a time for some of us," he continued, "when we rush out
into the world, to forget in its whirl and novelty that we cannot find
happiness at home. If a man cannot fill up a painful void in his
existence, he can at least ignore it by devoting himself to science."
This, then, was the sore spot in his heart. He had not found the
affection in his own home that he longed for, and that he had a right to
claim and expect from a sister for whom he manifested always the purest
and most self-sacrificing tenderness.
Elizabeth had comprehended this pain, even before she had seen Herr von
Walde, and, at this moment, when he alluded to it so openly, she longed
most fervently to console him. Words of sympathy hovered upon her lips,
but she was possessed suddenly by an unconquerable shyness which
prevented her from speaking; and as she glanced up at him and marked the
firm lines of his profile and his brow which was so proud and
commanding, while his voice sounded so gentle and melancholy, the
embarrassing suspicion flashed upon her that he had forgotten for a
moment who was sitting beside him; his aristocratic ideas would cause
him bitterly to repent the moment when, under the influence of a sudden
self-forgetfulness, he had revealed a glimpse of his sternly guarded
consciousness to an insignificant girl. This thought dyed her cheeks
again; she arose quickly and called Ernst. Herr von Walde turned in
surprise, and for an instant his eyes rested searchingly upon her face;
then he also arose, and, as if to confirm her suspicion, stood at once
proudly calm and composed before her,--but she noticed for the first
time that sad, gloomy expression between the eyebrows, which her father
had spoken of, and which impressed her just as his voice had done.
"You are usually very quick to think,"--he said, evidently trying to
give the conversation a gayer turn, and slowly walking along by
Elizabeth's side,--she was going for Ernst who had not heard her call.
"Before one has quite finished a sentence the answer is plainly ready on
your lips. Your silence, therefore, at this moment, tells me that I was
quite right when I said that you would not understand me, because you
have found all the happiness that you look for."
"The idea of happiness is so different with different people, that
indeed I hardly know."
"We all have the same idea," he interrupted her; "it may still slumber
in you."
"Oh, no!" she cried, forgetting her reserve and with enthusiasm,--"I
love my friends with my whole heart, and am most happily conscious that
I am loved in return!"
"Ah, then you did not quite misunderstand me! Well,--and your
friends,--there must be a large circle to whom you open your heart?"
"No," she cried, laughing,--"their tale is soon told! My parents, my
uncle, and this little fellow here," and she took Ernst by the hand as
he came running to her, "who grows larger and makes more demands upon me
every year. But now we must go, my darling," she said to the child, "or
mamma will be anxious."
She bowed courteously to Herr von Walde,--it seemed to her that the
shade upon his brow had disappeared. He raised his hat to her and shook
hands with Ernst,--then he walked slowly towards the horse that was
pawing impatiently, untied it, and led it away by the bridle.
"Do you know, Elsie," said Ernst, as they were ascending the mountain,
"whom Herr von Walde looks like?"
"Whom?"
"The brave knight of St. George, just when he has killed the dragon."
"Aha!" she laughed. "But you have never seen any picture of the brave
knight."
"I know that. Still I think he looks like him."
And she too had thought of the resemblance when she had seen him
controlling his unruly steed. At this moment she remembered the pang
she had suffered at the thought of a probable accident, and her
unspeakable delight at seeing him return from the thicket unharmed. She
stood still, and with a smile of wonder laid her hand upon her throbbing
heart.
"Now see," said Ernst, "you have been running too quickly up the
mountain. I could not keep up with you. What would uncle say if he knew
it?"
She walked slowly on, like one in a dream. She scarcely heard the
child's reproof. What then was this strange half-consciousness which
had yesterday mingled itself with her melodies, causing them to mourn
and to rejoice at the same moment? Again she felt it take possession of
her soul more mightily and intoxicatingly than before, but it was just
as mysterious and incomprehensible.
"But, Elsie," cried Ernst, impatiently, "what is the matter with you?
You are walking so slowly that it will be dark before we reach home."
He took hold of her dress, and tried to pull her on. This call from the
outer world was too energetic to be any longer withstood,--Elizabeth
roused herself and walked on quickly, to the child's entire content.
When they reached the castle Elizabeth laid Bertha's hat, which was
still hanging upon her arm, upon the table. She was unwilling to mention
her meeting with the girl to her parents, for she rightly judged that it
would make them anxious, and that they would relate the occurrence to
her uncle, who had been so angry and bitter of late whenever Bertha was
alluded to, that Elizabeth feared that if he heard of the meeting in the
wood he would put a stop to the annoyance by immediately dismissing the
cause of it from the Lodge. Ernst had noticed neither the hat nor her
desire to conceal it, so there was no danger that he would betray her.
After supper Elizabeth walked down to the Lodge. She met Sabina in the
garden, and heard to her satisfaction that her uncle had gone to
Lindhof. She gave the hat to the old housekeeper, and told her of
Bertha's extraordinary behaviour, asking in conclusion whether she were
at home yet. Sabina was indignant.
"Indeed I think, child, that if you had been alone she would have
scratched your eyes out. I don't know what will become of her. These
last few days she has been worse than ever. She does not sleep at
nights, but walks up and down in her room, talking again--but only to
herself. If I had but the courage to open her door just when she is at
the worst,--but I could not do it though you would give me heaps of
gold. You will laugh at me, I know; but she's not right. Look at her
eyes--they sparkle and glow as though all the fire of the Blocksberg
were burning in them. No, I shall hold my tongue; the Herr Forester
sleeps soundly, and so do the rest,--but I wake at the slightest noise,
and I know perfectly well that Bertha is up and away many a night, and
when she goes the great watch-dog is gone too from his kennel. He is
the only one in the house that loves her; and, fierce as he is, he never
touches her."
"Does my uncle know this?" asked Elizabeth with surprise.
"Not for the world! I wouldn't for my life tell him, for who knows what
mischief would come of it?"
"But, Sabina, only think. You may do great harm to my uncle by
remaining silent. The house is so lonely if there is no dog in the
yard----"
"But I stand at the window of my room and watch until she comes from the
mountain and chains up the dog again."
"What a tremendous sacrifice to make to your superstition! Why not tell
Bertha----"
"Hush! not so loud, there she sits!" Sabina pointed through the fence
to the pear tree in the court-yard. Upon the stone bench under the tree
Bertha was sitting, apparently quite composed, trimming carrots. The
crimson of excitement had passed away from cheek and brow, and given
place to a livid pallor. Elizabeth could see now that the girl had
lately grown much thinner. Her delicate nose looked pinched, and her
cheeks had lost their lovely oval. There were dark ridges around her
eyes, and between her eyebrows there were two deep wrinkles in the
delicate skin which gave a sullen expression to the face, but, in
connection with certain lines around the mouth, lent an air of deep
melancholy to her look. The sight cut Elizabeth to the heart. Some
misery was burdening the soul of that lonely creature, misery all the
harder to endure because it was borne in silence. She forgot all the
dislike of her which Bertha had always shown, and took several quick
steps towards her, that she might lay that weary head upon her breast
and say, "Rest here, poor child! Tell me of the grief that you are
struggling with in such loneliness, and I promise to aid you to
endure----" but Sabina seized her arm and detained her.
"You must not go," she whispered in terror; "I will not let you. She is
just in a condition to stick that knife into you."
"But she is so terribly unhappy. Perhaps I can convince her that only
the kindliest sympathy moves me."
"No, no! I'll soon show you whether anything can be done with her."
Sabina descended the steps into the court-yard. Bertha let her approach
without raising her eyes.
"Fraeulein, Elizabeth found it," said Sabina, holding the hat towards
her; then she laid her hand upon the girl's shoulder, and continued
kindly: "She would like to say a few words to you."
Bertha started up as if she had received a deadly insult. She angrily
shook off Sabina's hand, and darted a furious glance towards the spot
where Elizabeth was standing,--a proof that she had known before that
she was there. She threw her knife upon the table, and by a hasty
gesture overset the basket at her feet, so that the carrots were
scattered around upon the pavement. She ran into the house. They heard
her through the open window shut the door of her own room and bolt it
behind her.
Elizabeth was stupefied with surprise mingled with much pain. She would
have so liked to console the wretched girl, but she now perceived that
it was not to be thought of.
For a week past she had been daily to the castle. Fraeulein von Walde
had been steadily improving in health since the afternoon when, as the
baroness tenderly expressed it, she had found a cure in the coffee which
she herself had prepared, and in Herr von Hollfeld's arrival. She was
diligently practising several duets, and at last confided to Elizabeth
that she wished to celebrate her brother's birthday fete the last of
August. It was to be a very splendid celebration, for she intended to
make it also a welcome home to the long absent traveller. On that day
he should first hear her play again after so many years, and she knew
what a pleasant surprise it would be to him.
Elizabeth always looked forward with a mixture of pleasure and dread to
these practisings. She did not know why herself; but the castle and
park had suddenly become dear and attractive to her; she even had a kind
of tender regard for the bank where she had sat with Herr von Walde, as
if it were an old friend; she made a little circuit in order to pass by
it. Herr von Hollfeld's behaviour inspired her, on the contrary, with
very different feelings. After she had several times foiled his
attempts to meet her by a hasty avoidance of him, he came to Fraeulein
von Walde's room, one day, and begged permission to remain there during
the lesson. To Elizabeth's terror, Helene, with delight beaming in her
eyes, assured him that he was doubly welcome as a convert who had
hitherto had no taste whatever for music. He now made his appearance
regularly, silently laying some fresh flowers upon the piano before
Helene as he entered, in consequence of which she invariably struck
several false chords. Then he retired to a deep window-seat whence he
could look the players directly in the face. As long as the practising
continued he covered his eyes with his hand, as if he wished to shut out
the world that he might resign himself entirely to the charms of music.
But, to Elizabeth's vexation, she soon observed that he only covered his
face so as to conceal it from Helene; from behind his hand he stared the
whole time fixedly at Elizabeth, following her every motion. She
shuddered beneath those eyes which, usually so dull and expressionless,
always burned with a peculiar fire when he looked at her. Under this
hateful ordeal she often had to exercise great self-control in order to
play correctly.
Helene apparently had no suspicion of the cunning which Hollfeld had
employed to attain his end. She often stopped playing for awhile and
conversed with him, that is, she talked herself, and, usually, very
well. She listened to his monosyllabic replies,--which were empty and
foolish enough,--as if they were the words of an oracle wherein more
meaning than met the ear was to be found.
He always departed a few minutes before the end of the lesson. The
first time that he did so, Elizabeth discovered him from one of the hall
windows that commanded an extensive view of the park, standing waiting
at the entrance of the forest-path, by which she must pass. She defeated
his intention, not without secret self-gratulation, by paying a visit of
an hour to Miss Mertens, who received her with open arms; and she grew
so fond of the governess that she never passed the door of her room
without entering for an hour's quiet talk.
Miss Mertens was almost always depressed and sad. She saw that her stay
at Lindhof was becoming impossible. The baroness, suddenly deprived of
her sovereign authority and its consequent manifold occupations, was
often bored nearly to death. She was obliged to wear her mask of
gentleness and content while she was with her relatives, which was hard
enough, and therefore all her ill humour had to be pent up within the
locked doors of her own apartment. But she never vented it upon Bella,
for, looking upon her child more as a born baroness than as a daughter,
she restrained herself; nor upon her old waiting-maid, for whom she had,
no one knew why, what the old steward Lorenz called "an ungodly sort of
respect." Nor could she scold the lower servants without offending the
master of the house, and therefore all her malice was wreaked upon the
unfortunate and defenceless governess.
In order to torment her victim most thoroughly, the lady ordered the
lessons to be daily conducted beneath her own most illustrious eyes. In
presence of the pupil, the methods of the teacher were perpetually
analyzed and criticised. It was no wonder that Bella did not improve
under such instructions, and her nerves, too, were sure to be ruined,
for Miss Mertens had the most disagreeable voice in teaching in the
world,--how, too, could the child be expected to be graceful while she
had constantly before her eyes the angular, clumsy manner in which her
governess held her book and turned over the leaves, etc.? In history,
Miss Mertens' reflections were quite too sentimental, or too plebeian,
and, besides, she was so outrageously impertinent "as to have opinions
of her own." In some cases the lesson was deliberately interrupted; the
baroness placed herself in the teacher's chair, and the governess was
obliged to listen reverentially to a lecture full of supercilious scorn
and aristocratic arrogance. If the lady needed support, the chaplain,
Herr Moehring, was sent for. And then, the nettle-stings of her
discourse vanished into insignificance by the side of the cruelty with
which the unappreciated martyr invoked upon the head of the wretched
governess all the gall of his suppressed sermons. The baroness must
have known that the chaplain's French was execrable,--but she requested
him to be present during the French hour that he might correct Miss
Mertens' accent. Bella's improvement was forgotten in the overflow of
her mother's petty malice.
Sometimes Miss Mertens would declare, with tears, that only love for her
mother, who looked to her for support, induced her to submit to this
martyrdom. The old lady was almost entirely dependent upon the
exertions of her daughter, and therefore any change of situation was
very undesirable in view of the pecuniary loss which must attend it But
however depressed her spirits might be, her gentle face brightened
whenever Elizabeth knocked at the door, and asked, in her sweet, fresh
accents, if she might come in. At sight of the young girl all her care
and anxiety took flight, and as they sat together on the little sofa by
the window they had many a happy hour, and the poor governess seemed to
live over again her own youthful days, and Elizabeth gained not a little
from the fund of knowledge and riper experience of her more mature
friend.
These brief afternoon visits had also a secret charm for Elizabeth,
which she would not for the world have confessed, and which,
nevertheless, caused her heart to throb quickly, and an undefined
sensation of mingled joy and anxiety to possess her as she knocked at
the door.
The windows of Miss Mertens' room looked out upon a large court-yard,
which Elizabeth used to call the convent garden,--it lay so retired and
quiet, encircled by its four high walls. Some spreading lindens cast
their green shade upon the rich grassy soil, only intersected here and
there by narrow paved paths. In the centre of the space was a fountain,
which supplied the house with delicious water, and upon the edge of the
large basin several marble figures were reposing their white limbs,
bathed in the green light that broke through the overhanging trees. When
the sun poured his fierce rays, like melted lead, upon the open parts of
the park and garden, this spot was always refreshingly cool. A door
upon the ground-floor, leading from the court-yard directly into Herr
von Walde's library, almost always stood open. Now and then he himself
would issue from it, and pace to and fro with folded arms. What
thoughts lay hidden behind that fine white forehead, when, after walking
thus for awhile, with his head sunk upon his breast, he suddenly raised
it, as if roused from some delightful dream! Miss Mertens often
remarked that he seemed to have returned from his travels much altered.
Before his departure, she said, Herr von Walde's face had seemed to her
like that of a statue, so serious and immovable; and although she had
always known him to be a man of genuine nobility of character, she had
been oppressed when near him by the icy coldness of his manner. Now it
seemed to her as if some revivifying hand had passed over his nature;
even his step was lighter and more elastic, and she would maintain that,
in his pacings to and fro in the court yard, a smile frequently broke
over his face, as if he saw, in imagination, some vision that delighted
him. While she talked thus, Miss Mertens would smile and declare
mysteriously that he must certainly have brought home some very
agreeable memories with him, and that she could not refrain from
suspecting that matters at Lindhof would soon wear a different aspect.
She never noticed the involuntary start of her young friend when she
arrived at this conclusion, and Elizabeth was equally unaware of it, for
the pang that she felt at such an idea, made her utterly incapable of
controlling her external behaviour.
The quiet pacing to and fro beneath the lindens was, however, often
interrupted, not only by Herr von Walde's workmen and men upon business,
but by the needy and unfortunate, who would come timidly down the steps,
ushered by a servant, and stand with bowed heads before the commanding
figure that confronted them, until they were encouraged by the gentle
tones of his voice to speak, as he kindly bent down to catch their
whispered words. They always left him greatly cheered, for those who
were not worthy of his assistance did not dare to present themselves
before him.
One day Elizabeth set out for Castle Lindhof a half hour earlier than
usual. The fact was that her father, in returning at noon from the
Lodge, had met Miss Mertens in the forest. She had evidently been
weeping, and was unable to speak at the moment; she had merely bowed and
passed hurriedly on. This intelligence made Elizabeth very anxious.
She would not for the world have postponed her visit to the governess
until the end of her lesson,--the lonely woman was certainly in need of
love and friendly sympathy.
Just across the large meadow which bordered upon the forest was a
charming pavilion. A dark grove surrounded the graceful structure upon
three sides, so that its white front stood out in shining contrast with
the green shade. It had hitherto been kept closed, although the outside
shutters to the windows were thrown back and Elizabeth had seen that the
room within was furnished most luxuriously. But to-day, as she issued
from the forest, she saw that the doors of the pavilion were wide open.
A servant, with a waiter in his hand, stepped out and requested her to
enter. As she approached she could see that Fraeulein von Walde, the
baroness, and Hollfeld were drinking coffee in the pretty room which
constituted the whole interior of the building.
"You are a little too early to-day, my child," said Helene, as her young
friend appeared upon the threshold. Elizabeth replied that she wished to
pay a visit to Miss Mertens before the practising.
"Ah! pray let that go to-day," said Helene, quickly, but evidently
confused, while the baroness looked up from her crotchet-work with a
malicious smile. "Do you know that a large package of new music has
just come from Leipzig?" continued Fraeulein von Walde; "I have looked
over it slightly, the pieces are beautiful. Perhaps we can find among
them just the thing that we want for our concert. Sit down, we will go
to the castle together."
She offered Elizabeth a basket of cake, and put a magnificent pear upon
her plate.
At this moment, Herr von Walde's dog came bounding into the room;
instantly both ladies were on the alert and expectant; Helene looked
towards the door with a manifest effort to seem quiet and unconstrained,
but the baroness threw her work into a basket, examined the coffee-pot
to see whether the coffee was still hot, placed a cup near the sugar
basin, and drew a chair up to the table. The malicious smile was
replaced by an air of grave reserve, and she was apparently resolved to
make as dignified and imposing an appearance as possible. At sight of
the dog, Hollfeld hastened into the garden, and came back in a few
moments with Herr von Walde, who had evidently just returned from a
drive, for he wore a gray dust coat and a round felt hat.
"We were afraid, dear Rudolph," Helene cried out to him as soon as he
appeared, while she half arose and held out her hand,--"that we should
not see you at all to day."
"I found more business awaiting me at L---- than I had anticipated," he
replied, seating himself, not upon the chair which had been placed for
him, but upon the sofa by the side of his sister, so that when Elizabeth
raised her eyes she looked him full in the face, for he sat directly
opposite to her. "Besides," he continued, "I have been at home full
half an hour, but Reinhard wished to speak with me upon private business
which required immediate action, and so I nearly lost the pleasure of
taking coffee with you, my dear Helene."
"That miserable Reinhard!" and Fraeulein von Walde pouted a little; "he
might have waited awhile,--the world would still have turned around."
"Ah! dear child," sighed the baroness, "we cannot alter these things.
We are condemned all our lives long to be the slaves of our inferiors."
Herr von Walde quietly turned towards her, and his glance measured her
slowly from head to foot.
"Well, why do you look at me so, my dear Rudolph?" she asked, not
without a tinge of uneasiness in her tone.
"I looked to see whether you really seemed fitted to play one of those
sad parts in Uncle Tom's Cabin."
"Always ridicule when I look for sympathy," rejoined the lady,
endeavouring to lend a gentle, melancholy tone to her harsh voice. "I
might have known it, but----" She sighed again. "We do not all possess
your enviable equanimity, which is never affected by the petty
annoyances and necessary evils of this life. We poor women have our
miserable nerves, which make us doubly sensitive to everything that jars
upon our minds. If you had seen me this morning, in what a wretched
condition I was----"
"Indeed!"
"I have been tried inconceivably. Well, Miss Mertens must answer for
it."
"Has she injured you?"
"What an expression! My dear Rudolph, how could a person in her
situation injure me? She has vexed me,--made me exceedingly angry!"
"I am greatly pleased to see that you do not bend without a struggle to
the yoke of bondage."
"I have lately had to endure more than I can tell with that stupid
creature," the baroness continued, without heeding her cousin's comment.
"My maternal duties are sacred in my eyes, and therefore I have been
obliged to superintend my child's instruction. It is, of course, a
matter of great moment to me that her youthful mind should be rightly
trained. Unfortunately, I have become more and more convinced that Miss
Mertens' knowledge is very limited and her views and principles not
those which I should wish adopted by a young girl of Bella's rank in
life. This morning I heard the silly woman telling the child that
nobility of soul was far superior to nobility of birth--as though the
one could be separated from the other,--and that she ranked a beggar
with a clear conscience above a crowned head whose conscience was not
pure; and a quantity more of the same stuff. When I tell you that
Bella, the Lord willing, will live at court,--I have all but secured the
post of maid of honour at the court of B---- for her,--you will readily
conclude that I interrupted such teaching upon the spot. You must
admit, my dear Rudolph, that, with such views, Bella would play a poor
part at court--nay, even her stay there would be quite impossible."
"Certainly, there is no doubt of that."
"Thank Heaven!" cried the baroness, breathing freely. "I was really in a
little doubt as to how you would receive Miss Mertens' dismissal. You
know you always valued her far above her deserts. She was so
impertinent when I interfered with her lessons that there was nothing
for me to do but to send her away."
"I have no right to lay down laws to you with regard to your people,"
replied Herr von Walde, coldly.
"But I always try to please you as far as I can, my good Rudolph. I
cannot tell you how rejoiced I am that I shall see no more of that
repulsive English face."
"I am sorry that you will not be able entirely to avoid it, since she
will still remain under the same roof,--my secretary Reinhard was
betrothed to her about half an hour ago."
The work dropped from the baroness' fingers. This time not only her
cheek but also her brow was suffused with crimson.
"Has the man lost his senses?" she cried at last, recovering from her
stupefaction.
"I think not, since he has just given such proof of being in full
possession of them," said Herr von Walde, with composure.
"Well, I must say that he plays his part of antiquary well. Such a
lovely, blooming, young bride!" cried the lady contemptuously,
endeavouring to laugh heartily. Hollfeld joined in her laughter, thus
giving the first sign of his having heard the conversation. Helene cast
a troubled glance at him; but this mirth cut Elizabeth to the soul,--she
felt the greatest indignation stirring within her.
"I hope," the baroness began again, "that you will not take it ill of
me----"
"What now?"
"That I cannot consent to associate with that person any longer."
"I cannot force you to anything, Amalie, any more than I can forbid my
secretary to marry."
"But you can dismiss him if he chooses a wife who makes his residence
beneath your roof disagreeable to your nearest relatives."
"That I cannot do either; he has been engaged by me for life, and I have
just secured to his future wife a pension in case of his death.
Besides, you make a slight mistake, my good cousin, if you suppose that
anything in the world could induce me to allow a man to leave me whom I
have always found faithful. I am much pleased with Reinhard's choice,
and have allotted him the use of the apartments upon the ground-floor of
the north wing during his life. His mother-in-law will reside with
him."
"Well, I congratulate him upon that valuable acquisition," replied the
baroness, and her sharp voice trembled with anger. "I will, however,
make one remark: as I cannot bring myself to endure the presence of that
person in my apartments for a day longer, she must provide herself with
some place where she can stay until her marriage. Probably even you
will see, my dear Rudolph, that there is a manifest impropriety in the
interesting pair's still living, under present circumstances, beneath
the same roof."
"Permit me," said Elizabeth, here turning to Helene, "I am very sure
that my parents would extend a warm welcome to Miss Mertens,--we have
quite room enough."
"Ah, thank you!--matters could not be better arranged," answered
Fraeulein von Walde,--extending her hand to her young friend. The
baroness shot an angry glance at Elizabeth.
"The affair will thus be settled very satisfactorily," she said,
preserving her composure with difficulty. "I will contain myself, and
hope in all humility that the future Frau Reinhard will vouchsafe me a
spot where I shall be relieved from the sight of her disagreeable
countenance. Apropos, Fraeulein Ferber," she continued after awhile, in
a careless tone, "I have just remembered that the money for your lessons
has been for several days in the hands of my maid; just knock at her
door as you go by, and she will give it to you with a receipt, which you
will please sign."
"But, Amalie!" exclaimed Helene.
"I will do as you desire, madame," replied Elizabeth, quietly. She had
noticed that while the baroness was speaking a lightning flash of rage
shot from Herr von Walde's eyes, a thunder-cloud seemed to pass over his
countenance, but in a moment these witnesses to his agitation gave place
to a look of withering sarcasm.
"If I might offer a little advice, Fraeulein," he said, turning to
Elizabeth,--"I should counsel you not to venture rashly into the
baroness' apartments,--they are uncanny. Evil spirits are seen there in
broad daylight, and they have often worked mischief. Do not give
yourself the slightest trouble in the matter,--my steward shall attend
to it; he is thoroughly trustworthy, and manages such affairs with so
much delicacy that he would really shame even a lady."
The baroness hastily folded her work together and arose.
"It would be better for me to pass the rest of the day in my solitary
room," and she turned to Helene, and her lips quivered; "there are times
when our most harmless words and actions are misunderstood and resented.
I pray you, therefore, to excuse me from appearing at tea."
She made a ceremonious courtesy to the brother and sister, took the arm
of her son, who looked much confused, and rustled out of the room.
Helene arose with tears in her eyes, and was about to follow her, but
her brother took her hand with kindly gravity, and drew her down again
upon the Sofia beside him.
"Will you not give me the pleasure of your company while I drink my
coffee?" he said gently, and as quietly as if nothing had occurred.
"Oh, yes, if you wish it," she replied hesitatingly and without looking
at him; "but I am sorry to tell you that you must hurry a little, for
Fraeulein Ferber has come to practise with me, and she has already been
kept waiting an unconscionable time."
"Well, let us go to the piano immediately,--but upon one condition,
Helene."
"And that is?"
"That you allow me to listen."
"No, no, that I cannot permit,--I am not far enough advanced,--your ears
could not endure my bungling.
"Poor Emil! He does not dream that he owes the delight of listening to
you to his uncultivated ear!"
Helene blushed. She had hitherto never mentioned Hollfeld's visits to
her brother for reasons that may easily be imagined. Besides, she
supposed that they would have been a matter of entire indifference to
him, and now it appeared that he really attached importance to them.
She seemed to herself to be a detected deceiver, and for a few moments
she could not speak. Elizabeth suspected what her sensations were; she
too grew confused, and felt her face flush painfully. Just at this
moment Herr von Walde turned towards her, his keen, searching glance
scanned her countenance, and the gloomy wrinkle appeared between his
eyebrows.
"Does Fraeulein Ferber improvise during these hours for practice as they
are called?" he asked his sister, speaking more quickly than was his
wont.
"Oh no," she answered, glad to recover her composure,--"had she done so
I should not have spoken of bungling. I admitted Emil because I think
that where there is a budding taste for music, it should be encouraged."
Herr von Walde smiled slightly, but it was not the smile which had
lately possessed such a peculiar charm for Elizabeth. The dark lines in
his brow did not disappear, and his look was gloomy as he still observed
Elizabeth keenly.
"You are right, Helene," he said at last, not without a tinge of irony.
"But what magnetism there must be in these musical practisings that they
have worked such miracles! A very short time ago Emil would much rather
have listened to his Diana's baying, than to Beethoven's sonatas."
Helene was silent, and cast down her eyes.
"But we have forgotten Miss Mertens," said her brother suddenly, in a
different tone. "Would it not be advisable for Fraeulein Ferber to
settle that matter as soon as possible?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Helene, quickly, seizing upon any pretext to
divert the conversation from its present painful direction. "We had
better omit the lesson for to-day,--while you, dear child," and she
turned to Elizabeth, "take the necessary steps,--pray go now, then, to
your parents, and ask them in my name to offer an asylum to the poor
lady."
Elizabeth arose, and Helene also stood up. When her brother saw that
she wished to leave the pavilion, he put his arm about her little form,
raised her from the ground like a feather, and carried her to the
wheeled chair that stood outside the door. After he had arranged the
cushions at her back, and covered her little feet carefully with a
shawl, he raised his hat to Elizabeth, who saw that the wrinkle between
his eyebrows was not yet gone, and pushed the chair along the nearest
path leading to the castle.
"She quite fills his heart," thought Elizabeth, as she ascended the
mountain, "and Miss Mertens must be wrong if she imagines that he will
ever give to another a higher, or even a like place in his affections.
He is jealous of his cousin, and rightly so. How can it be--" and here
she stood still for a minute as two masculine figures arose to her
mind's eye,--"that such a man as Hollfeld can have any charms for Helene
by the side of Herr von Walde? The one retreats behind an appearance of
wise silence because he has nothing to say, while the other, through
whose noble external repose breaks such fire, possesses a world of power
trained and restrained by force of character. Hence his seeming great
reserve, which commonplace people cannot possibly understand."
She suddenly remembered the look that Herr von Walde had fixed upon her.
Did he think her an accomplice,--his sister's confidante,--and was he
vexed with her when, in fact, she had, at this present moment, no more
earnest desire than that Herr von Hollfeld's passion for music might
subside as quickly as it had been aroused? Of course, she could not say
so to any one,--least of all to Herr von Walde,--and, therefore, she
must silently pay the penalty for those painful blushes that had
suffused her cheeks just at the wrong moment, and when there was no
earthly reason for them.