CHAPTER XV.

The next morning at five o'clock the inmates of Gnadeck were awakened by

a discharge of artillery. "Aha!" said Ferber to his wife, "the

celebration is beginning." But Elizabeth was startled from a fearful

dream, in which the misfortune which she had yesterday averted seemed

actually to take place. She had just seen Herr von Walde fall dying to

the ground, when the cannon in the valley awoke her. It was some time

before she could collect herself. For one moment she suffered

fearfully. It seemed as if heaven and earth were vanishing from her as

that noble figure fell; and even now, when she saw the golden light of

morning falling upon the familiar objects in her room and not upon the

blood-stained sward, her agitated nerves still quivered; she had never,

not even the day before, when she had so fearlessly risked her life for

his, felt so deeply that his death would be hers also.

Again and again the cannon thundered up from the valley. The

window-panes shook slightly, and the little canary fluttered in terror

from side to side in his cage. At each report Elizabeth shuddered; and

when her anxious mother, who could not quite allay her fears for the

result of the previous day's occurrence, although her child had seemed

unharmed and well, came to her bedside to ask how she had slept, the

girl threw her arms around her neck and burst into an uncontrollable fit

of tears.

"Good heavens, my child!" cried Frau Ferber, much frightened, "you are

ill. I knew that you would suffer from yesterday's shock, and there is

that terrible shooting going on in the valley."

Elizabeth had some trouble in convincing her mother that she felt

perfectly well, and that she could not be induced to lie in bed, but was

resolved to take her breakfast with the family. And to put a stop to

all further remonstrance, she immediately arose, bathed and dressed, and

assisted her mother in preparing the simple breakfast.

The sound of the cannon suddenly ceased, and before long all traces of

tears vanished from Elizabeth's eyes. The world looked brighter to her;

for, although a life of renunciation lay before her, he still lived;

this thought had, in consequence of her fearful dream, a soothing effect

upon her restless heart. Even if he went away to distant lands, and she

was forced to live years without seeing him, a time must come when he

would return. And she could still love and think of him, for he belonged

to no one else.

Later in the day she went with her family and Miss Mertens to the Lodge,

where they had been invited to dine. There was a dark cloud upon the

forester's brow as he came to meet them. Elizabeth soon discovered that

he was troubled about Bertha.

"I cannot and will not bear it any longer!" he cried angrily. "Must I

turn spy in my old age, and constantly be upon the watch to prevent a

wayward, foolish child, who has no possible claim upon me, from making a

perpetual fool of herself?"

"But remember, uncle, she is unhappy," said Elizabeth, somewhat alarmed.

"Unhappy?--she is a deceitful fool!--I am no ogre, and when I thought

her really unhappy, that is, when she lost both her parents, I did all

that I could to protect and guide her. But that is not what is the

matter with her, for scarcely two months after her loss she went singing

about and chattering like a magpie, so that I was really grieved to see

such heartlessness and frivolity. What is she unhappy about, eh? But I

don't want to know her state secret if she has no confidence in me;--let

it alone. For all I care she may wear that die-away look upon her face

for the next year; but to pretend to be dumb, to run about in the forest

at night like a maniac, and perhaps one of these fine days burn down my

house about my ears, it is more than I can bear, and I must have a word

or two to say about the matter."

"Did you not heed the warning that I gave you?" asked Ferber.

"Certainly I did; I put her into another room; she sleeps now just above

me, so that I can hear her lightest step. At night both the house doors

are not only bolted, as they have always been at night, but locked too,

and I take the key into my room. And oh! the cunning of women,--but

that's an old story. At any rate my precautions ensured us some rest.

But last night I could not get to sleep; the affair with Linke was

running through my brain, and I heard steps above me, cautious steps,

soft as a cat's. Aha! I thought, she is at her nightly promenades

again, and I rose, but when I went up-stairs the nest was already empty.

On a table at the open window a light was burning, and as I opened the

door the curtain flew into the flame. Zounds! if I had not been quick

as a flash we should have had a blaze that would have been well fed by

those old balconies. And how did she get out? Through the kitchen

window. I would rather take care of a swarm of ants than of such a sly,

deceitful creature."

"I am convinced that some love affair is at the bottom of the girl's

conduct," said Frau Ferber.

"Yes, you told me so once before, sister-in-law," replied the forester

with irritation, "and if you would be kind enough to tell me with whom,

I should be infinitely obliged to you. Look around us and see if there

is any one here to turn a girl's brain. My assistants,--they are not

half good enough for her; she never would have a word to say to them; it

cannot be the rogue Linke, with his crooked legs and carroty wig, and

there is no one else here."

"You have forgotten one," said Frau Ferber significantly, with a glance

towards Elizabeth, who had lingered behind to cut a whip for Ernst.

"Well?" asked the forester.

"Herr von Hollfeld."

The forester remained silent for awhile. "Hm!" he muttered at last, "I

should never in the world have thought of him. No, no," he continued

quickly, "I do not believe it, for in the first place the girl cannot

possibly be such a fool as to believe that he would make her my lady von

Odenberg, and----"

"Perhaps she hoped that he would, and finds herself mistaken,"

interrupted Frau Ferber.

"She is vain and arrogant enough for it, but he,--he cares nothing for

women,--he is a cold, heartless egotist," said the forester.

"An egotist, I grant you," said Frau Ferber, "and that explains Bertha's

conduct and manner."

"That would be a fine affair," cried the forester angrily, "to think

that I should have been hoodwinked like any old fool in a comedy! I

will sift the matter now to the bottom, and woe to the girl if she has

really dared to bring disgrace upon herself and me!"

The dinner was a very quiet one. The forester was out of sorts, and

would have extorted a confession from Bertha upon the spot had not Frau

Ferber prayed him to wait for a few days. After coffee the guests left

the Lodge; the forester threw his rifle across his shoulder, and plunged

into the forest, which, as he said, always soothed and brought him to

reason.

Elizabeth dressed herself for the concert, that is, she put on a simple,

white muslin dress, whose only decoration was a bouquet of fresh wild

flowers. Her mother tied around her neck a little locket attached to a

very narrow black velvet ribbon, and this was her toilet, which would

certainly have seemed most embarrassingly simple to most young girls

going for the first time among a large assemblage of brilliantly-dressed

people; but Elizabeth, if she thought of it at all, congratulated

herself upon the delicate neatness of her muslin, and would rather not

have worn her mother's little ornament on this occasion, as she

considered that she was to appear only as a musician and not as one of

the guests, and that her fingers were all that she need be anxious

about. She was rather annoyed that the arms above these same fingers

were bare, and that her dress was low-necked. She had hitherto never

worn a dress that did not cover her neck to her chin, and could not see

why the fashionable world had decided that women should be _decollete_

in large assemblies. She thought as little of the exquisite form and

dazzling whiteness of her shoulders and arms as of the beauty and grace

of her head, which, with its heavy braids of golden hair, was set so

exquisitely upon her finely-moulded neck. Her mother herself had

arranged her hair to-day, and it clustered in short shining curls above

her forehead, contrasting wondrously with the delicately pencilled but

decided arch of the dark eyebrows. And Frau Ferber could not but agree

with Miss Mertens, who, as she watched Elizabeth disappear upon the

forest path, declared with enthusiasm that she was supernaturally

lovely. The mother had just acknowledged to herself that her child's

beauty had unfolded in a most striking degree.

When Elizabeth entered the vestibule of Castle Lindhof she encountered

Dr. Fels, who, with his wife upon his arm, was just turning down one of

the corridors. She hastened towards him, and accosted him gaily, for

her heart had been beating anxiously as she approached the castle, at

the thought that she should be obliged to enter entirely alone the

spacious saloon, where the greater part of the company were doubtless

already assembled. The doctor received her most cordially, and

presented her to his wife, in an undertone, as "yesterday's heroine."

Both gladly took her under their protection. The large folding-doors

were flung open, and Elizabeth was grateful for the lucky star that had

allowed her to take shelter behind the tall, commanding figure of the

doctor's wife, for she was at first rather overcome at sight of the

large, richly-decorated apartment, over whose highly-polished floor

glided the costly dresses of the ladies and the polished boots of the

gentlemen. In the centre of the saloon stood the Baroness Lessen,

arrayed in magnificent dark-blue moire-antique, and receiving the

guests. She returned the salutations of the doctor and his wife very

politely, but very coolly, and replied to the doctor's question, "Where

is Herr von Walde?" by pointing to a knot of men standing near a window,

whence issued a murmur like the Babylonish confusion of tongues.

While Fels and his wife walked towards the spot, Elizabeth gladly and

gratefully obeyed a gesture from Helene, who, sitting at another window,

hurriedly and agitatedly informed her that she had suddenly had an

attack of what is called "stage fright;" that she was in overwhelming

terror at playing before so many people, and would rather creep into a

mouse-hole. And then she begged Elizabeth, instead of the four-handed

composition with which the concert was to open, to play a sonata of

Beethoven's, a wish with which Elizabeth immediately complied. Her

embarrassment vanished. She stepped up to the table where the music was

lying, and selected the sonata which she was to play. Meanwhile,

carriage after carriage rolled into the court-yard. The folding-doors

opened and closed incessantly upon such quantities of tulle and velvet

and lace, which were crowded into the saloon, that Elizabeth smiled

pityingly at the thought of her simple white muslin, so soon to loose

its unwrinkled smoothness in such a crush of crinoline.

She could very easily decide, from the manner of the baroness, upon the

social rank of the guests. One gracious wave of the feather-crowned

head of the great lady answered every social requirement whenever she

received untitled guests, and these untitled guests did their part well

in acknowledging and respecting this aristocratic reserve. All, in

obedience to a gesture from the baroness, first made their way towards

the window where stood Herr von Walde,--who, however, remained entirely

invisible to Elizabeth,--and then scattered into single groups, either

awaiting the opening of the concert, or engaged in conversation among

themselves.

Suddenly the doors flew open again, and a corpulent old lady hobbled in

upon the arm of an equally aged gentleman, whose coat glittered with

orders,--and with them came Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf. The baroness

hastened toward these guests, and Fraeulein von Walde also arose with

difficulty, and, taking Hollfeld's arm, went to meet the aged pair,

while all the ladies standing around her followed like the tail of a

comet. The crowd of men at the window divided suddenly as by magic, and

Herr von Walde's lofty figure appeared.

"We must come to you, if we wish to see you, naughty man!" cried the old

lady, shaking her forefinger at him, as she hobbled towards him. "You

see, in spite of my poor feet, and although you have neglected me

shamefully, I am here to-day to offer you my congratulations."

He bowed, and said a few words to her, to which she replied by

laughingly tapping him upon the shoulder with her fan. Then he

conducted her to an arm-chair, where she seated herself with much

majesty.

"The Countess of Falkenberg, chief lady in waiting at the court of

L----," was the reply of the doctor's wife when Elizabeth asked who the

old lady was. Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf looked exquisitely beautiful

to-day in her white crape dress, with a wreath of scarlet euphorbia in

her dark hair, as she busied herself about the noble lady, while she did

not forget to cast a roguish glance now and then at Fraeulein von Walde.

The arrival of the guests from the court was the signal for the

beginning of the concert. Elizabeth could almost hear her own heart

beat. She was standing behind the doctor's wife, and was hidden from

all the eyes which would in one moment be directed towards her,

following every one of her movements. Suddenly she was overcome with

timidity, and she repented bitterly having consented to play first

alone. She trembled when Fraeulein von Walde motioned to her to begin,

but there was no time to withdraw. She took a long breath, and walked

slowly, with downcast eyes, to the piano, where she courtesied timidly.

At first there was a breathless silence; then a whisper ran from mouth

to mouth, which was instantly hushed when the young girl struck the

keys. Elizabeth's fear and embarrassment all vanished at the sound of

the first chords. She was no longer alone. He with whom she had so

often wandered along meadow paths in brilliant sunshine, and past gloomy

abysses in storm and rain, was with her,--the one who had so often

aroused within her joyous presentiments, and who had expressed in

immortal harmonies all the loftiest and most sacred aspirations of her

nature,--who was as dear and familiar to her as her mother's face,

although her gaze fell dazzled by the fiery glories which wreathed his

majestic head. The flower-crowned heads ranged against the walls, the

lorgnettes and spectacles which, glittering in the sunlight, shot their

lightning directly upon the lonely performer in the midst of the saloon,

all vanished. She was alone with the great master, following with

rapture every manifestation of his creative spirit.

An actual storm of applause startled her when she had finished. She

courtesied, and then almost flew to her protectress, Frau Fels, who,

speechless with emotion, held out both hands to her. The concert did

not last very long. Four young gentlemen from L---- sang a delightful

quartette, and then there was a performance by a famous violin player.

Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf sang two songs in a charming voice, but

without any ear, so that at every high note the guests either moved

involuntarily and nervously upon their chairs, or cast their eyes down

in confusion. And then came one of the well-practised duets. Fraeulein

von Walde had recovered her composure, and played excellently well with

Elizabeth.

When the concert was over, Elizabeth went towards the door of an

anteroom, where she had left her shawl. She was closely followed by an

elderly gentleman, who had been sitting opposite her, and had regarded

her attentively. At his request, Frau Fels presented him to the young

girl as the Military Inspector-general Busch. He said many flattering

things about Elizabeth's performance, and added that he was much pleased

to become acquainted with the heroic preserver of the life of the lord

of the castle; he had accepted to-day's invitation with all the greater

pleasure, since within the last few hours he had been deprived of all

hope of claiming her assistance in the investigation of the murderous

attempt.

He laughed heartily at Elizabeth's sudden alarm.

"No, no, I pray you not to look so horror-stricken, Fraeulein," he said

at last. "As I have just told you, we shall have no occasion to subject

you to a cross-examination. Linke has himself put a stop to our

proceedings by a single blow. His dead body was taken from the lake in

the park this afternoon," he added, in a low tone. "They informed me of

it at the inn, where I alighted. I proceeded, accompanied by the

Waldheim physician, who happened to be at the inn, to the scene of the

suicide, and convinced myself that that hand will never again be raised

against the life of another. The condition of the body shows that Linke

must have sought death immediately after the failure of his murderous

purpose."

Elizabeth shuddered. "Does Herr von Walde know of his fearful end?" she

asked in a trembling voice.

"No; I have had no opportunity to speak with him alone."

"None of the company present appear to have any suspicion of yesterday's

occurrence," said Frau Fels.

"Fortunately they have not, thanks to our foresight and reserve,"

replied the inspector-general, ironically. "As it is, poor Herr von

Walde has been quite overwhelmed with congratulations upon being born

into the world. What would his friends have done to him had they known

how fortunately his life has been preserved?"

The butler, Lorenz, at this moment approached Elizabeth and held out to

her a little silver waiter, upon which lay several folded slips of

paper. She looked up in questioning surprise, and he said respectfully:

"Will you have the kindness to take one of the papers?"

Elizabeth hesitated.

"This is probably part of our entertainment," said Frau Fels. "Take it

quickly, that the butler may not be detained."

Almost mechanically she took up one of the slips of paper, but started

in alarm as the Baroness Lessen suddenly appeared at the door, and

looked searchingly around the room.

"Come, Lorenz," she said hastily, stepping towards the servant, "what

are you doing here?"

"I have just handed Fraeulein Ferber the salver, gracious lady," replied

the old man.

The baroness gave him an angry look, and then measured Elizabeth from

head to foot. "How, Fraeulein Ferber," she said sharply, "are you still

here? I thought you were at home long ago, resting upon your laurels."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned to leave the room; but just upon

the threshold she looked back at the old butler with a frown and

shrugged her shoulders.

"What can you be thinking of, Lorenz? You grow very thoughtless. This

infirmity has grown upon you of late."

With these words, she bustled out, and the old man quietly followed. He

replied not one word to her harsh reproof,--only contracted his bushy,

gray eyebrows, so that his honest eyes almost disappeared.

The others remained looking at each other in astonishment, when the

doctor entered. He made a profound, comical obeisance to his wife, and

said solemnly:

"In consideration of the fact that Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf has just

had the clemency to unite us again as closely as by the priestly

blessing fifteen years ago, I am content still further to endure the

conjugal yoke, and particularly on this day to enjoy by your side, and,

cherished by your tender care, O true and faithful spouse, all the

delights prepared for us!"

"My dear husband, what do you mean?" cried his wife, laughing.

"Pardon me,--I mean nothing at all. Ah, I see you have not heard

Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf's directions. What a pity! I am then

compelled to inform you that every married couple here present, whether

now upon a war footing or otherwise, must repair, within the next

quarter of an hour, to the convent tower in the forest, where a rural

festival will be held. There it will be your duty to provide me with as

much to eat and drink as my soul may desire, and in every way to attend

upon my wishes, after the pattern of the famous Penelope. But that the

unmarried men who are present in large numbers may have no reason to

complain,--that their mouths also may be filled,--a sort of lottery has

been ingeniously devised. Every unmarried lady is provided with a slip

of paper, upon which stands written the name of some unmarried man, and

it is left to Cupid and Fate either to unite or to separate faithful

hearts."

At these words Elizabeth was seized with actual terror. She had never

thought of other entertainments following upon the concert; but now she

clearly understood why the baroness, on the previous day, had so

distinctly alluded to her return home after the conclusion of the music.

Her cheeks glowed with shame, for she had exposed herself to the charge

of being very assuming by taking from the butler's salver the little

slip of paper, which now burned like fire in her hand. Always quick to

decide, she went into the saloon where the opening of the mysterious

papers was going on amid the laughter of the ladies and their assigned

partners.

"What a senseless idea this, of Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf's," a young

sprig of nobility was just exclaiming peevishly to his neighbour as

Elizabeth passed them. "Here I have that stout, pious Fraeulein Lehr

upon my hands. _Fi donc!_"

Elizabeth had not long to look for the baroness. She was standing

apart, near a window, in lively, but, as it seemed, not entirely

agreeable conversation with Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf, the chief lady

in waiting, and Helene. The countess seemed to be remonstrating with

Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf, who did nothing but shrug her pretty

shoulders helplessly from time to time. Intense vexation was expressed

in the baroness' countenance,--there was no need of the round, red spot

on either cheek to show that she was angry. Not far from the group Herr

von Walde was leaning with folded arms against a pillar. He seemed to be

only half listening to the words of the be-ribboned old courtier who was

standing beside him,--his eyes were fixed upon the gesticulating ladies.

Elizabeth hurriedly approached the baroness. It did not escape her

that, at sight of her, Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf gently nudged the

countess, whereupon the latter turned and regarded her with a malevolent

air. She saw that she was the subject of their discussion, and she

quickened her pace, that she might avert from herself as soon as

possible any unworthy suspicion.

"Most gracious lady," she said, with a slight courtesy, "in consequence

of a misunderstanding, I have become possessed of this slip of paper,

and have just learned that it entails upon me duties which I cannot

possibly undertake, for my parents are expecting me at home."

She handed the little slip to the baroness, who took it immediately,

while a ray of actual sunshine broke over her features.

"I think you are in error, Fraeulein Ferber," Herr von Walde suddenly

interposed, in a clear, melodious voice. "It is incumbent upon you to

excuse yourself to the gentleman whose name the paper contains; it rests

with him whether he will release you or not." He scanned, with a

peculiar smile, the company, who were dividing into couples and making

ready for departure; even the old gentleman beside him approached the

countess, and offered her his arm. Herr von Walde continued, as he

slowly approached: "As master of the house, I cannot permit any want of

consideration of one of my guests, wherefore I must beg you, Fraeulein

Ferber, to open the paper."

Elizabeth obeyed, and then handed him the open slip, with a crimson

blush. He glanced at it.

"Ah!" he cried, "I have, as I see, defended my own rights. You must

admit that I am fully justified in either accepting or refusing to

accept your excuses. I prefer the latter course, and must entreat you

strictly to comply with the injunctions laid upon you by that paper."

The baroness approached him, and laid her hand upon his arm. It looked

as if she were almost struggling to suppress her tears.

"Forgive me, dear Rudolph," she said, "it is really not my fault."

"I do not know to what fault you allude, Amalie," he replied, with icy

coldness; "but you certainly choose the right time in which to ask

forgiveness,---just at this moment I could easily forgive an injury."

He took his hat which a servant handed to him, and made the signal for

departure.

"But my parents!" stammered Elizabeth.

"Are they ill, or about to leave Gnadeck immediately?" he asked,

standing still.

"Neither."

"Well, pray then let me see to it that they receive intelligence of the

cause of your delay."

He called a servant, and despatched a message to Gnadeck.

While the saloon was gradually emptied, the group of ladies which had

been joined by the aged cavalier and Hollfeld, who looked much

chagrined, remained standing near the window.

"It serves you quite right, Cornelie," said the countess. "You have set

the crown upon your folly to-day. What a silly idea this lottery is!

How often have I endeavoured to put a stop to your nonsense, to which,

unfortunately, our gracious princess lends only too willing an ear? How

should the butler know any better, when you gave him no instructions?

You consider yourself to belong naturally to the court, and yet do not

know that that sort of person has not an idea of his own. I should not

for an instant grudge you this lesson, if only poor von Walde were not

the victim of your frivolity. There he goes with that little white

goose upon his arm; he who, with his haughty, aristocratic

self-consciousness, has many a time been regardless of the wishes of

some high-born lady, who would have been charmed to take his arm. What

must he suffer to be tied for several hours to that little piano-player,

the daughter of a--forester's clerk?"

"Why does he sacrifice himself so very readily?" rejoined Fraeulein von

Quittelsdorf. "It was quite unnecessary for him to meddle at all in the

matter. The girl had made up her mind to go, when suddenly he steps

forth like a knight without fear or fault, and takes up the burden

voluntarily."

"At all events the burden is dazzlingly beautiful," said the old

cavalier with a conceited smile.

"What are you thinking of, count?" cried the countess. "That is just

like you, who rave about every round-faced peasant girl that you meet.

I do not deny that the girl is pretty; but was not poor Rosa von Bergen

an actual angel of beauty? Hundreds were languishing at her feet; but

von Walde, whom she really preferred, was like a glacier to her. No, he

has not the smallest sensibility to feminine beauty and loveliness. I

long ago erased his name from my list of eligibles for my young

protegees. He has just declared, most distinctly, his reason for

sacrificing himself to-day. He is evidently much pleased and delighted

with the attentions that we have lavished upon him, and wishes to see

every one happy and contented about him,--even the little thing who

played the piano. I advise my dearest Lessen for the future not to

trust implicitly to the tact and ingenuity of our charming

Quittelsdorf."

The maid of honour bit her lips, and dragged her lace shawl over her

lovely shoulders. The carriage now drew up in which the countess and

Helene, accompanied by the baroness and the count, were to be driven to

the place of rendezvous.

"The old cat!" cried Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf, after she had assisted

the countess into the carriage. "She is furious because she was not

asked to assist in the arrangements for to-day. Did not you see,

Hollfeld, how very nearly that false front of hers slipped down upon her

nose when she was waggling her head in such agitation? I should have

laughed for two weeks without intermission if her bald head had suddenly

made its appearance underneath that flower garden on top!"

She was convulsed with laughter at the idea. Her companion walked,

without a word, and with accelerated pace, by her side, as though he

heard nothing of her chatter. His whole bearing manifested hurry and

disquiet. He seemed most desirous to overtake the rest of the

assemblage as quickly as possible. He cast searching glances through

the bushes on either side of the way, and, whenever he caught a glimpse

of a white dress, stopped for a moment, as though to identify the

wearer.

"Indeed, you are too tiresome, Hollfeld; you weary me to death!" cried

the lady peevishly. "To be sure it is your privilege to be as mute as a

fish and yet enjoy the reputation of a clever man. Where your wits are

now I am sure I cannot imagine. What, in Heaven's name, are you running

so fast for? Allow me to entreat you to have some regard for my crape

dress, which will be torn to rags by these bushes through which you are

hurrying me, with such speed."

The convent tower,--the only uninjured remnant of a former nunnery,--was

situated in the depths of a grove of oaks and beeches in a part of the

forest domain appertaining to the Lindhof estate, which here extended

far towards the east.

A certain lady of Gnadewitz, a sister of the ancestor of the wheel, had

built the nunnery, whither she, with twelve other young maidens, retired

to pray for the soul of her brother, cut off so ignominiously in the

flower of his days. Year after year the giant boughs of the oaks had

tapped at the windows of the cells and leaned above the high wall over

the small garden of the convent. They had seen many a fresh young

creature pass hurriedly along the dim narrow forest path to ring the

bell at the convent portal with feverish impatience, as though unable to

wait one instant longer for the promised peace abiding within those

walls. They had seen how, behind those irrevocable bolts and bars, the

mute lips of the nun grew white,--how convulsively her waxen hands

clutched the crucifix, while her agonized looks would seek the ground;

for the sight of the clear, blue heavens, arching above the gay children

of the outer world, awakened joyous memories within her, and breathed a

keen desire for pleasure and life into the soul and heart muffled

forever in the folds of the sackcloth of her order.

The Reformation, which overthrew the convents like card houses, had

stridden through this still forest also, and had passed its mighty hand

over the walls of this gloomy pile, which had, in expiation of the

misery and crime that had cursed its origin, been the perpetual abode of

unhappiness. And even the hollow mockery of existence within its walls

had vanished to the four winds. One stone after another had tumbled to

the feet of the lofty oaks, whose branches had brushed against it while

it formed part of some carved arch or window-frame, and which now

strewed leaves upon it till it sank away far more softly bedded than the

poor bodies of the nuns, which were, so said the legend, all sleeping

together in a subterranean dungeon.

The tower was square, clumsy, and ugly. On the flat roof above, that

was surrounded by a stone balustrade, the stairs were capped by a very

small, square apartment, from which egress upon the roof was obtained

through a massive oaken door. Here there was a magnificent prospect and

distant view of L----. For the sake of this prospect the tower had been

rebuilt and kept in constant repair. Immense iron clamps bound the

walls together at the corners, and numberless lines of fresh mortar

meandered across its blackened surface, so that the old building looked

at a distance like a gigantic piece of agate.

But to-day the old pile was decked out like some old fellow dressed for

a wooing. Fresh flowers,--that is to say, four gigantic fir trees--were

sticking in his hat; and from their tops gay banners were floating, like

large birds above the green waves beneath. The old fellow, who, until

to-day, had only whispered nightly and daily confidences to his comrades

the oaks but had never made an advance towards them from his dignified

position, was now clutching them with green wide-spread arms; huge

garlands were draped from his topmost walls, and were lost among the

boughs of the surrounding forest; while from one side a white sail-cloth

was extended and attached to the trunks of two tall hemlocks. Beneath

the shade of this tent were several refreshing-looking casks, a whole

battery of dusty red-sealed flasks and countless silver-capped bottles

in ice-buckets,--all presided over by a very pretty girl in the dress of

a vivandiere.

Elizabeth had silently and passively left the large hall upon Herr von

Walde's arm. In spite of her determination to go home, she had not had

the courage to gainsay him, or to tell him of her desire,--he had spoken

in a tone of such authority; and, what had influenced her still more,

had entered the lists, as it were, for her, and sought to help her out

of her embarrassment. Any opposition on her part would have seemed like

obstinate defiance of him, and would have served only to increase her

painful apprehension of drawing to herself general attention.

The silken garments of the ladies rustled along the walls of the

corridor behind her. Laughing and chattering, the gay crowd followed

Herr von Walde in a long train until it issued from the chief entrance

door, and then it scattered hither and thither, taking the various

forest paths which led to the convent tower. Those whose elaborate

toilets required special care took the broad, well-kept path. Herr von

Walde certainly never dreamed that his companion's simple, snowy muslin

could be as precious in her eyes as were the rich dresses of the other

ladies in theirs, or he certainly would not have selected the narrow,

lonely pathway into which he suddenly turned.

"It is usually very damp here," Elizabeth broke silence

timidly,--hitherto no words had passed between them. Her feet trembled

as though they would far rather retreat than advance, and yet it is

possible that her thoughts were not of her dress nor her thin shoes, but

rather of the long, narrow, leafy way before them, through which she

must pass alone by his side, and of the voice that would suddenly sound

in her ears with that harsh, authoritative tone almost always adopted by

him when alone with her.

"It has not rained for a long time,--see how dry the ground is," he

quietly replied, as he walked slowly on and broke off a twig which

threatened to brush Elizabeth's cheek. "This path is the shortest, and

we can for a quarter of an hour at least escape from the buzz and

clatter with which my friends and relatives are celebrating the

completion of my thirty-seventh year. But perhaps you are afraid of

meeting Linke in this sequestered spot?"

A shudder passed through the young girl's frame. She thought upon the

criminal's desperate end, but she could not control herself sufficiently

to impart her knowledge to Herr von Walde.

"I do not fear him any longer," she said gravely.

"He has probably left the country, and if not, he would hardly be so

discourteous as to intrude upon the pleasures of people who are seeking

to indemnify themselves for the pains they have taken with their formal

congratulations. By-the-way, you cannot have failed to observe that

every member of the company to-day has honoured me with a few moments of

special attention, even the youngest slip of a girl in white muslin has

made me her courtesy and uttered her studied desire for my health and

happiness. You, perhaps, do not think me old enough yet to need the

wishes of others for a prolongation of my life?"

"I should suppose that such wishes were as appropriate to youth or the

prime of life as to advanced age; the one possesses as little as the

other a monopoly of existence."

"Well, then, why did you not come to me? Yesterday you saved my life,

and to-day you care so little about it that you do not even take the

trouble to open your lips and say 'God protect it for the future.'"

"You have just said yourself 'every one of the company.' I did not

belong to the company, and therefore could not intrude myself among

those who offered their congratulations." She spoke quickly, for there

was discontent in his tone, and the arm upon which her hand rested moved

impatiently.

"But you were invited----"

"To entertain your guests."

"Was that modest view of the case the only reason why you did not wish

to come with me?"

"Yes; most certainly my refusal could not have had anything to do with

the gentleman who had fallen to my lot, whose name I could not possibly

know."

"You can hardly persuade me of that; you must have seen at the first

glance that all the gentlemen present, with the exception of myself,

were already appropriated; you must have known that my sister, without

drawing a paper, had requested Hollfeld to accompany her, as she can

walk more easily leaning upon his arm than upon any other. Confess----"

"I knew and saw nothing. I was far too much troubled when I entered the

ball-room to return the paper, for the hour at which I was expected to

return home had been particularly mentioned to me yesterday. I had no

idea that any special festivity was to follow the concert, and in taking

the folded slip of paper I committed an indiscretion, for which I cannot

forgive myself."

He suddenly stood still.

"I pray you look at me," he said, in a tone of command.

She raised her eyes, and although she felt her cheeks glow, she

sustained unflinchingly the gaze which at first rested sternly upon her

and then became indescribably gentle.

"No, no," he muttered softly, as if to himself, "it were a crime to

suspect deceit here. Yes, double-dyed," he continued in an altered,

sarcastic tone; it sounded as though he wished to sneer away some

momentary weakness,--"was I not the involuntary auditor of your

declaration: 'It needs more courage to tell a lie boldly than to confess

a fault?'"

"That is my conviction, I repeat it."

"Ah, what a splendid thing strength of character is! But I should

suppose that if one were too upright to soil the lips with deceit, a

strict watch should be kept upon the eyes also, lest they lie. I know

one moment in your life when you appeared what you were not."

Elizabeth, wounded, attempted to withdraw her hand from his arm.

"Oh, no--you do not escape me so easily!" he cried, retaining it. "You

must either deny or acknowledge it. You looked indifferent lately, when

I threw away my cousin's tender token, the rose."

"Should I have flown after it?"

"Certainly, if you had been true."

Elizabeth knew now why he had entered this lonely path with her,--she

was to confess her feelings towards Hollfeld. She was confirmed in her

former suspicions,--Herr von Walde was evidently most anxious lest she

should prize his cousin's homage too highly and perhaps imagine that he

could forget her social position. The moment had come when she could

declare her sentiments. By a hasty movement she released her hand from

his arm, and stepped a little aside.

"I grant you," she said, "that if my face that day expressed

indifference, it was not in harmony with my thoughts."

"I thought so!" he cried, but there was no triumph in the exclamation.

"I was in fact indignant."

"At my interference?"

"At the unauthorized levity of Herr von Hollfeld."

"He startled you greatly; but----"

"No, he insulted me! How dared he intrude upon me? I abhor him!"

She must have been right in her solution of his manner; but she had

never dreamed that her declaration would be so highly prized by him. A

weight seemed to fall from his heart. A ray of purest joy broke from

the eyes which had gazed at her with a mixture of mistrust, contempt,

and sarcasm. He drew a deep breath, and half extended his arms.

Elizabeth involuntarily looked round to discover what it was that caused

his eyes to flash and glow so. She saw nothing, but she felt his hand

tremble as he laid hers once more upon his arm. They walked on a few

paces without a word. Suddenly he stood still again.

"Now we are entirely alone," he said, in the gentlest possible tone.

"See, only one small eye of heavenly blue looks down upon us,--no prying

faces are near to come between us,--I cannot,--I will not be deprived of

a birthday greeting from you. Give it to me now, when no one can hear

it but myself alone."

She was silent and confused.

"Well, do you not know how it is done?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied, and an arch smile hovered upon her lips. "I am

well practised in such things. My parents, my uncle, Ernst----"

"All have birthdays," he interrupted her, smiling. "But you cannot

wonder that I want a birthday greeting all to myself,--that I desire

that it may sound quite different from any that you have hitherto

uttered,--for I am neither your father, nor your bluff forester uncle,

and certainly I cannot lay claim to the rights of the brother with whom

you play. Come, speak!"

Still she said nothing. What should she say? Her eyes were cast down,

for she could no longer endure that searching glance, that seemed to

penetrate her very soul with its troubled expression of entreaty.

"Then come," he cried abruptly, drawing her forward, after waiting in

vain for some moments for one word from her lips. "It was a foolish

wish of mine. I know that your tongue, which is always ready to say

what is kind and gentle to others, is dumb for me, or only ready with

some rebuke."

At these words she grew pale, and involuntarily stood still.

"You will, then?" he asked more gently, "and cannot find the words?" he

continued, shaking his head, as she was silent but looked up at him

beseechingly. "Well, then, I have a plan. Let me say what I should

like to hear from your lips, and you will repeat it after me word for

word."

Again the smile played around Elizabeth's mouth, and she murmured

assent.

"In the first place, you give your friend your hand," he began, and took

her hand in his,--she trembled, but did not withdraw it,--"and then you

say, 'You have hitherto been a wretched wanderer upon the face of the

earth,--it is high time that the clouds above you should break, and be

penetrated by the pure ray of light which has transformed your whole

existence. It is my true and earnest wish that this light may never

forsake you. Here is my hand, as the pledge of a happiness so

inconceivable----"

So far she had repeated this strangely-worded greeting after him, but at

the last words she hesitated. He seized her other hand also, and urged

passionately, "Go on, go on!"

"Here is my----" she began at last.

"Oh, Herr von Walde," suddenly cried Cornelie's voice from the thicket,

"what a delightful meeting! Now I shall enjoy in company with you the

triumph of being received with a flourish of trumpets!"

Never in her life had Elizabeth seen such a sudden change take place in

a human countenance as now transformed Herr von Walde's features. One

strong blue vein stood out upon his pale forehead, his eyes flashed, and

he involuntarily stamped his foot. It really seemed as if he would have

liked to hurl back into the thicket the unwelcome intruder, who, holding

up her crape skirt, came hurrying through the bushes towards them. He

could not command his emotion as quickly as usual; perhaps he did not

wish to do so, for he frowned angrily as Hollfeld made his appearance

behind the lady. As he came in sight, Herr von Walde drew Elizabeth's

hand through his arm with gentle violence, as if he feared lest she

should be snatched from him.

"Why, how you look, Herr von Walde," cried Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf,

stepping into the middle of the path; "actually as if we were bandits,

with designs upon your life; or, at all events, upon your property!"

Without replying a word to this attack, he turned to his cousin and

asked, "Where is my sister?"

"She was afraid of the long rough path," the latter replied, "and

preferred to drive."

"Well, I suppose you will hardly leave Helene to be lifted out of the

carriage by the old Count Wildenau; I cannot understand how, as her

faithful knight, you could leave the principal path. A few, quick steps

will enable you to rejoin her. I will not prevent you from doing so,"

said Herr von Walde sharply, while a sarcastic smile quivered around the

corners of his mouth. He stepped aside with Elizabeth to allow the pair

to pass.

"And pray, if one may ask, why did you leave the principal path

yourself?" asked Fraeulein von Quittelsdorf flippantly, much more like a

pert chamber-maid than a maid of honour.

"That you can easily learn; simply because I hoped, by coming along this

lonely path, to escape the eloquent tongues of certain ladies," replied

Herr von Walde drily.

"Ah, how cross you are! Heaven shield us from such an irritable

birthday hero!" cried the lady, shuddering, and retreating a few paces

with a comical assumption of terror. "It was a mistake that we did not

come to you to-day with funereal faces, and muffled to the eyes in black

crape!"

She pouted, and, taking Hollfeld's arm, would have dragged him forward;

but he, strangely enough, seemed inclined, for the first time in his

life, to set his cousin's wishes at defiance. He walked on slowly, and

as if weary of existence, peering right and left into the bushes,

apparently intensely interested in every stone in the pathway, every

squirrel that ran swiftly past. Then he began a conversation with his

companion, whose answers absorbed his attention so entirely that he

paused and stood still to listen to them.

Herr von Walde muttered something between his teeth; Elizabeth could not

understand it; but the hostile glance that he cast after his cousin

showed how the behaviour of the latter incensed him. He said not

another word to her. He turned slowly towards her, and she felt that he

continued to regard her steadfastly, but she was unable to lift her eyes

to his. Had she done so he must have discovered on the spot how greatly

she was moved by the strange words that he had just whispered to her

with so much emotion in his voice. One look would have betrayed the

conflict within her, and then,--she could not pursue the thought,--he

would doubtless have repented the simple wish that he had expressed.

Thus deeply agitated, it was natural enough that the young girl's

eyelids fell low over her eyes, and that she failed to observe the

inaudible sigh that escaped her companion, or mark how all signs of

irritation vanished from his features to give place to the shade of

melancholy that was so wont to rest upon his brow.

A faint and dying trumpet note, which was doubtless the result of the

impatience of the musicians who were waiting upon the roof of the tower,

betrayed the close vicinity of the scene of festivity. And soon a buzz

and noise, as of some neighbouring gypsy encampment, broke upon their

ears; the path grew broader, gay throngs were seen fluttering through

the bushes, and suddenly a loud flourish of bugles and trumpets sounded

over their heads. Elizabeth availed herself of the opportunity to slip

her hand from the arm of her conductor and to lose herself in the crowd

that gathered around the lord of the feast; while a young girl, habited

as a Dryad, and accompanied by four other wood-nymphs, approached, and,

in limping hexameters, welcomed him to the forest.

"Well, von Walde has gotten rid of his Dulcinea at the right moment. I

don't see the girl at all, now," the Countess Falkenberg whispered

smilingly to Count Wildenau, who was sitting beside her upon a kind of

raised dais, beneath the shade of a group of oaks. "He will never

forgive the baroness and our flippant Cornelia for so stupidly forcing

him into playing the knight, even for a few moments, to such a creature.

My child," and she turned to Helene; seated at her right, who was

anxiously searching the crowd with troubled eyes, "when those people

release him we must take him in here among us, and do everything in our

power to make him forget the provoking beginning of the festival."

Helene nodded mechanically. Apparently she had only heard half of what

the lady had whispered in her ear. Her poor little figure, enveloped in

a heavy, light-blue silk, leaned helplessly and wearily back in her huge

armchair, and her cheeks were whiter than the lily-wreath that crowned

her brow.'

Meanwhile Elizabeth had encountered in the throng Dr. Fels and his wife.

The latter immediately took the young girl under her care, that they

might not be separated again.

"Only stay until the dancing begins," she replied to Elizabeth's remark

that the moment seemed to have arrived when she could slip away

unnoticed, and go home. "I do not wonder that you wish to leave as soon

as possible," she added, with a smile. "We, too, shall not stay long.

I am anxious about my children at home. I made a great sacrifice to my

husband's position in coming at all. Herr von Walde, to whom you are

assigned for the day by lot, does not dance. So never fear, you will be

released."

Suddenly the crowd separated. From the top of the tower sounded a grand

march, and while the gentlemen sought the shade of the trees, the

ladies, according to the rules of the feast, hastened to provide them

with refreshments from the tent.

Herr von Walde walked slowly across the sward, his hands clasped behind

him, talking with the military-inspector Busch, by his side.

"My dear Herr von Walde, now pray come to us!" the Countess Falkenberg

cried out to him, extending her hand with an air almost caressing. "I

have kept such a charming place here for you. Come, rest upon your

well-earned laurels. 'Tis true, all the young ladies present are

disposed of by lot, but here are our fair and lovely wood-nymphs all

ready to wreathe your goblet, and furnish you from the tent with all

that your heart can desire."

"I am deeply touched by your kindness and care for me, gracious lady,"

the gentleman replied, "but I cannot think that Fraeulein Ferber will

leave me to appeal to the general sympathy."

He spoke loudly, and turned to Elizabeth, who was standing quite near.

She had heard every word, and instantly walked quietly towards him,

placing herself at his side, as though she were by no means inclined to

delegate to others one jot of her duty. As he saw her approach him

thus, something of a joyful surprise lit up his countenance. He cast an

answering glance at the face that, unembarrassed now by those around,

looked smilingly up at him. Strangely enough, he seemed entirely to

forget the charming place that the countess had reserved for him, for,

after a slight obeisance to her stately ladyship and her court of young

ladies, he offered his arm to Elizabeth, and conducted her to the shade

of a giant oak, where Doctor Fels had just provided comfortable places

for his wife and himself.

"Now, that is carrying his revenge a little too far," said the great

lady, with irritation, turning for sympathy to Count Wildenau and the

five disconcerted Dryads. "He really throws scorn upon the entire fete

by taking so much notice of that young person. I begin to be really

vexed with him. No one is more ready than I to grant that he is

entirely right to be angry, but I really think that he should not allow

himself to be so carried away by his indignation as to forget those of

his guests who have had no share in the absurdities of the baroness or

of von Quittelsdorf. I'll wager that that little fool there attributes

his attentions to the influence of her beautiful eyes."

The small band of amiable Dryads shot annihilating looks at Elizabeth,

who was quietly proceeding to the refreshment tent, whence she presently

issued with a flask of champagne and four glasses, which she placed upon

the table beneath the oak, where Herr von Walde was sitting with the

doctor and his wife.

"Our young ladies to-day are wearing perfect flower gardens upon their

heads," said Frau Fels, as the young girl approached the table.

"Fraeulein Ferber alone is as destitute of ornament as Cinderella. I

cannot have it so."

She took two roses from the large bouquet which she held in her hand,

and stood up to place them in Elizabeth's hair.

"Stop, I pray you," cried Herr von Walde, detaining her hand, "nothing

should adorn that hair but orange blossoms."

"But they are only worn by brides," said the doctor's wife naively.

"I know that well," he replied quietly; and as if he had said the most

natural thing in the world, he filled the glasses, and turned to Dr.

Fels. "Clink glasses with me, doctor," he said; "I drink to the welfare

of the saviour of my life--of Gold Elsie of Castle Gnadeck!"

The doctor smiled, and the glasses clinked with a loud ring. At this

signal, a group of gentlemen approached, glasses in hand.

"You come at the right moment, gentlemen," the lord of the feast cried

out to them. "Drink with me to the fulfilment of my dearest wish!"

A loud "vivat" resounded through the air, and the glasses clinked

merrily.

"Scandalous!" cried the old court lady, and dropped her fork, with its

choice morsel, upon her plate; "really, they are conducting themselves

over there like students at a carouse! I am positively shocked! What

an unseemly noise! Actually the mob in the street is better behaved

when they shout 'vivats' to our gracious Prince. Apropos, my love," she

continued, turning to Helene, "I observe that your brother seems quite

intimate with Doctor Fels."

"He esteems him highly as a thoroughly upright man of great scientific

attainments," replied Helene.

"That is all very well,--but he certainly cannot be aware that the man

just now is in very bad odour at court. Only imagine, he has had the

inconceivable insolence to refuse our beloved Princess Catharine----"

"Yes; I know that story," said Fraeulein von Walde, interrupting the

irritated lady; "my brother related the circumstance to me himself a few

days ago."

"How!--is it possible that the facts are known to him, and that he has

so little regard for the sentiments of the court,--which has always

distinguished him so highly! Incredible! I assure you, dear child, my

conscience pricks me sorely; I shall scarcely be able to lift my eyes in

the presence of their Serene Highnesses, when they arrive in L----, at

the thought of having been in the society here of that impertinent

creature."

Helene shrugged her shoulders, and left the lady to her qualms of

conscience and a brimming glass of champagne, with which she probably

intended to fortify herself in anticipation of the dreaded arrival.

In the society of this lady Fraeulein von Walde suffered all the galling

annoyance that conventionalities inflict;--she was obliged to listen,

with an amiable and interested smile, to a thousand wretched trifles,

while her heart was tortured with pain; indeed, only just such a person

as the Countess Falkenberg, who sought and found her highest earthly

happiness in a gracious glance from a Princely eye, a person whose whole

intellectual capacity was exercised in standing sentinel before the

domain of etiquette and in guarding religiously the hardly-won prestige

of her social position,--only such a one could have been blind to the

signs of the deepest suffering in the countenance of the younger lady.

Hollfeld had not only been so inattentive as to leave Helene, upon her

arrival at this spot, to the care of Count Wildenau, he had even, upon

his tardy appearance, omitted all explanation or apology for his delay,

and had finally seated himself beside her in a sullen and abstracted

mood. She thought him strangely altered, and she racked her restless

heart and brain with vain surmises. At first her suspicions rested upon

Cornelie, who, true to her mercurial temperament, fluttered hither and

thither like a will-o'-the-wisp, talking and laughing incessantly. But

she was soon reassured upon this point, for she could not catch a single

glance of Hollfeld's directed towards the coquettish and graceful court

beauty. The anxious inquiries that she made of him were answered in

monosyllables. She beckoned to one of the servants who was bearing past

a tray of delicacies, and herself placed them before Hollfeld,--but he

did not eat a morsel, and only swallowed in quick succession several

glasses of fiery wine which he procured for himself at the refreshment

tent. This careless conduct, which she now observed for the first time,

caused her unspeakable pain. At last she was silent, and closed her

eyes as though fatigued; no one noticed the crystal drops trembling on

their lashes.

Suddenly a shadow was cast upon the universal merriment, which had been

all the more unrestrained from the fact that the lord of the feast,

usually so grave and serious, had joined in it so cordially,--at least

Elizabeth felt convinced that the face of the butler, Lorenz, who now

appeared in the distance, boded no good. The old man took the greatest

pains to attract his master's attention without being seen by the other

guests. At last he succeeded. Herr von Walde arose, and stepped aside

with him into the thicket, while the group of gentlemen around him

dispersed. He soon returned, with marks of dismay in his countenance.

"I have just received sad news, which will compel me to leave you

immediately," he said, in a low voice, to the doctor. "Herr von

Hartwig, in Thalleben, one of my oldest friends, has met with a terrible

accident; the injury is fatal; they write me that he cannot live a day

longer. He summons me to him that he may entrust his young children to

my care. I pray you inform the Baroness Lessen of my departure, and its

cause; she will see that the festivities are not interrupted. Let my

sister and my guests suppose that I am called away for a few minutes by

some trifling matter of business, and will return hither shortly. I

shall not be missed after the dancing begins."

The doctor went instantly to find the baroness. His wife had strayed

away from the spot a few moments before, so Elizabeth was left alone

with Herr von Walde. He turned to her quickly:

"I thought we should not part from each other to-day without the

conclusion of my birthday greeting," he said, while striving to meet her

eyes, which shyly avoided his, "but I seem to be one of those

unfortunate ones whose unlucky stars snatch from them the prize when it

seems almost within their grasp." He endeavoured to give an air of

humour to his words, but they only sounded the more bitter. "However, I

submit," he continued, in a determined tone; "I must go. It cannot be

helped, but my duty may be made easier and sweeter for me by a promise

from you. Do you remember the words which you lately repeated after

me?"

"I do not forget so quickly."

"Ah, that encourages me greatly! There is a fairy tale which tells of a

realm of inexhaustible riches and endless delights, revealed by a single

word. Such a word the conclusion of your greeting can be to me. Will

you aid me in having it uttered?"

"How can I help you to the attainment of riches and delights?"

"That is my affair. I do most earnestly entreat you at this moment to

make no further attempt at evasion, for time presses. Let me ask

you,--will you endeavour to retain in your memory, during my absence,

the beginning of that birthday greeting?"

"Yes."

"And will you be ready, when I return, to hear the conclusion?"

"Yes."

"Good; in the midst of the sorrow and gloom to which I am summoned there

will be a glimpse of clear blue sky above me, and for you----may my good

angel whisper in your ear the word that will unlock that fairy realm for

me. Farewell!"

He gave her his hand, and disappeared upon the path leading directly to

the castle.

Elizabeth stood still for a few moments in a state of delicious

stupefaction, from which she was roused by the surprise of the doctor's

wife at finding the gentlemen gone. Elizabeth told her what had

happened, and the doctor shortly returned and related that the baroness

had been greatly piqued that her cousin had not considered it worth his

while to inform her in person of the cause of his departure. The

unlucky doctor had been obliged to bear the brunt of the lady's ill

humour, which had vented itself in several biting remarks, but he had

been so discourteous as to allow them to pass him by without in the

least disturbing his serenity. He seated himself at the table and began

to eat with an excellent appetite.

Meanwhile Elizabeth went to take leave of Fraeulein von Walde. There

was nothing now to detain her any longer. She longed to be alone with

her thoughts, to recall undisturbed every word that he had spoken, and

to ponder upon its meaning.

"Are you going?" asked Helene, as Elizabeth stood behind her chair and

bade her farewell. "What does my brother say to that?"

"Rudolph has been summoned to the castle upon some business matter," the

baroness, who just now appeared, answered in Elizabeth's stead.

"Fraeulein Ferber is released from all necessity of remaining any

longer."

Helene cast a glance of displeasure at the speaker. "I cannot see why,"

she said. "His business cannot detain him long, he will certainly

return."

"Probably," rejoined the baroness; "but he may be delayed quite late.

Fraeulein Ferber, meanwhile, will be very much fatigued in a circle

where she is such an utter stranger."

"Has my brother released you?" Helene turned to Elizabeth, hardly

allowing the baroness to complete her sentence.

"Yes," answered she, "and I pray you to allow me to take my departure."

During this short dialogue the Countess Falkenberg leaned back and

measured Elizabeth from head to foot with her cold, piercing eyes; but

Hollfeld arose and departed without saying a word. Fraeulein von Walde

looked after him with an air of anxious discontent, and at first did not

reply to Elizabeth's request; but at last, with evident absence of mind,

she held out her hand and said, "Well, then, go, dear child, and a

thousand thanks for your kind assistance to-day."

Elizabeth took a hasty leave of Doctor Fels and his wife, and then

entered the forest with a light heart.

She breathed more freely as the throng was left behind her, and as a few

sounding chords concluded the waltz whose bewildering notes had for a

short distance accompanied her. She could now yield herself up

undisturbed to the magic that had laid so sweet a spell upon her entire

mind and being, and forced her to listen still to the tones of that

voice which had died upon her ear, ensnaring her heart with its

thrilling melody, and at the sound of which all the suggestions of

maidenly reserve, all the arguments of her understanding, vanished. She

called to mind how passively she had followed him, although her deeply

offended pride had prompted her instantly to leave the circle where she

seemed to be so unwelcome a guest; she still experienced the delight

with which she had hastened to his side when he had so emphatically

declared, before all present, that he belonged to her for the day, and

would accept of no substitute in her place. He might have conducted her

to the end of the world,--she would have followed him blindly with

unhesitating reliance and the most entire abandonment of herself to his

guidance. And her parents? She understood now how a daughter could

forsake father and mother to follow a man whose path in life had been

widely separated from her own, leading, perhaps, in directly an opposite

direction,--a man who had known nothing of the inclinations, influences,

occurrences great and small, by which every fibre of her life had been

previously intertwined with the life of her family. Two months before,

all this would have been an inexplicable riddle to her.

She turned into a path which she had often trodden with Miss Mertens.

It led, by many a narrow winding, through the thicket, out upon the

broad path which traversed the forest, and for some distance formed the

boundary line between the Prince's domain and the estate of Herr von

Walde. On the other side of this broad path opened the wide road which

led through the forest to her uncle's Lodge.

Lost in her day-dreams, Elizabeth did not hear the sound of hasty

footsteps approaching; she therefore started in alarm when she heard her

name pronounced, close to her, by a man's voice. Hollfeld stood just

behind her. She suspected why he had followed her, and she felt her

heart beat quickly, but she collected herself, and, standing aside, made

room for him to pass her in the narrow pathway.

"No, that was not what I wished, Fraeulein Ferber," he said smiling, and

in a tone of such familiarity as deeply offended her. "I wished to have

the pleasure of accompanying you."

"I thank you," she coldly replied, "it would be giving you needless

trouble; I always greatly prefer walking alone in the forest."

"And have you no fear?" he asked, stepping so close to her that she felt

his hot breath upon her cheek.

"Only of unwelcome companionship," she replied, retaining her

self-possession by an effort.

"Ah! here is the same dignified reserve again in which you always

entrench yourself with me; and wherefore? I shall soon put an end to it,

however. To-day, at least, I shall not respect it as I have hitherto

been forced to do,--I must speak to you."

"Is what you have to say of such consequence as to require you to absent

yourself from your friends and the fete?"

"Yes; it is a wish upon which my life depends; it pursues me day and

night; I have been ill and wretched at the idea that it may never be

gratified--I----"

In the mean time Elizabeth had accelerated her pace. It was hateful to

her,--the presence of this man, in whose eyes glowed all the passion

which he had hitherto partly repressed and which had already inspired

her with such deep aversion and disgust; but she was perfectly conscious

that absolute self-possession was her only weapon, and therefore she

interrupted him, while her lips quivered with the sickly semblance of a

smile.

"Ah!" she said, "our practisings, then, have had most desirable results;

you wish my assistance in music, if I understand you rightly?"

"You misunderstand me intentionally," he exclaimed.

"Accept the misunderstanding as an act of forbearance on my part," said

Elizabeth seriously; "I should else be obliged to say much to you which

it might please you still less to hear."

"Go on, I pray. I know your sex sufficiently well to be quite aware

that they delight in wearing the mask of coldness and reserve for

awhile,--their favours are all the more welcome. I do not grudge you

the pleasure of this innocent coquetry, but then----"

Elizabeth stood for one moment dumb and stupefied at his insolence; such

hateful words had never before shocked her ears. Shame and indignation

drove the blood to her face, and she sought in vain for terms in which

to punish such unexampled temerity. He interpreted her silence

otherwise.

"I knew it," he cried triumphantly. "I see through you; the blush of

detection becomes you incomparably! You are beautiful as an angel!

Never have I seen so perfect a form as yours! Ah! you know well enough

that you made me your slave the first time I saw you; since then, I have

languished at your feet. What shoulders and what arms! Why have you

hitherto veiled them so enviously?"

An indignant exclamation broke from Elizabeth's lips:

"How dare you," she cried loudly and violently, "offer me these insults!

If you have not understood me hitherto, let me tell you now, clearly and

distinctly, that your society, which you force upon me thus, is hateful

to me, and that I wish to be alone."

"Bravo! that authoritative tone becomes you excellently well," he said,

with a sneer; "the noble blood that you inherit from your mother shows

itself now. What have I done to make you suddenly play this indignant

part? I have told you that you are beautiful, but your mirror must tell

you the same thing fifty times a day, and I do not believe that you

break it for the telling."

Elizabeth turned her back upon him contemptuously, and walked quickly

onward. He kept pace with her, and seemed quite sure of a final

victory. She had just reached the broad forest-road when a carriage

dashed past. A man's head appeared at the window, but at sight of her

was drawn back quickly, as though surprised. He looked out once more, as

if to convince himself that he had seen correctly, and then the carriage

vanished around a sharp turn in the road.

Elizabeth involuntarily extended her arms after the retreating carriage.

Its inmate well knew how she detested Hollfeld; after the declaration

that she had made to him a few hours before, how could he doubt that she

was most unwillingly in the society of this man? Could he not delay his

journey for one moment, to free her from such odious importunity?

Hollfeld observed her action.

"Aha!" he cried, with a malicious laugh, "that looked almost tender. If

it were not for my cousin's seven and thirty years, I might actually be

jealous! Perhaps you supposed that he would immediately descend from

his vehicle and gallantly offer you his arm to escort you to your home!

You see he is too conscientious; he denies himself that indulgence, and

prefers to fulfil a sacred duty. He is an iceberg, for whom no woman

possesses a single charm. You owe his behaviour to you to-day, which

was so very courteous, not to your enchanting eyes, O bewitching Gold

Elsie, but to his desire to provoke my honoured mamma."

"And does nothing deter you from ascribing such mean motives to the man

whose hospitality you enjoy so freely?" cried Elizabeth, provoked. She

had determined not to reply to him again by a single syllable, in hopes

that she might thus weary out his pertinacity; but the manner in which

he spoke of Herr von Walde overcame her self-control.

"Mean?" he repeated. "You express yourself strongly. I only call it a

little revenge which he was fully justified in taking. And as for his

hospitality,--I am only using now what will be all my own at some future

period; I cannot see that it should alter my opinion of my cousin.

Besides, I am the one to sacrifice myself, I deserve all the gratitude.

Is my devotion and attention to Fraeulein von Walde to go for nothing?"

"It must be a hard task to pluck a few flowers and carry them to a poor

invalid!" said Elizabeth ironically.

"Aha! you are, as I am happy to observe, jealous of these little

attentions of mine," he cried triumphantly. "Did you seriously suppose

for one moment that I could really be in love with her, while my sense

of beauty was so perpetually outraged? I esteem my cousin, but I never

forget for one instant that she is a year older than I, that she limps,

is crooked, and----"

"Detestable!" Elizabeth interrupted him, beside herself with the

abhorrence he inspired; she hastily crossed the broad forest-road. He

followed her.

"Detestable, say I, too," he continued, endeavouring to keep pace with

her; "especially when I see your Hebeform by her side. And now I beg

you, do not run so fast; let there be the peace between us of which I

dream day and night."

He suddenly passed his arm around her waist and forced her to stand

still, while his glowing face, with eyes sparkling with unholy fire,

approached her own. At first she gazed at him speechless and stupefied,

then a shudder convulsed her frame, and with a gesture of utter aversion

she pushed him from her.

"Don't dare to touch me again!" she cried in a clear ringing voice,--and

at the same moment she heard the loud barking of a dog near her. She

turned her head in joyful surprise towards the spot whence the noise

proceeded.

"Hector! Hector! here, good dog!" she called; and the forester's huge

hound burst through the thicket and fawned upon her.

"My uncle is not far off," she turned coldly and quietly to her

discomfited companion; "he will be here in a moment. As you can hardly

desire that I should request him to rid me of your society, I advise you

to return immediately to the castle."

And, in fact, he stood still like a coward, while she, accompanied by

the dog, proceeded towards her home. Hollfeld stamped his feet in his

rage, and cursed the blind passion that had robbed him of all prudence.

He did not for one instant imagine that he could really be disagreeable

to Elizabeth,--he, the pet of society, whose slightest word, were it

only an invitation to dance, made such a sensation in the little world

of L----, and was so often an occasion of envy and discord among the

ladies! The idea was absurd. It was far more likely that the daughter

of the forester's clerk was a coquette, who intended to make conquest as

difficult as possible for him. He had no faith in the existence of that

virgin purity of soul which made Elizabeth thus insensible, and the

magic of which affected even him most powerfully, although he did not

understand its influence. He had no faith in the sacred reserve of a

young girl's inner life, and therefore could not possibly conceive of

the instinctive aversion which his selfish, unprincipled nature

inspired. He reproached himself angrily for having been too sudden and

violent, thus defeating his own ends, and deferring indefinitely the

accomplishment of his hopes. He wandered about in the forest for an

hour before he could master his emotions; for the guests, who were still

dancing on the green before the convent tower whence the gay music

reached his ears, must not suspect the volcano seething beneath that

cold and interesting exterior.

Elizabeth had apparently walked away with a firm, decided step, but she

took care to look neither to the right nor the left, lest she should

suddenly see his hated face beside her. At last she ventured to stand

still and look around her. He had disappeared. With a sigh of relief,

she leaned against the trunk of a tree to collect her thoughts, while

Hector stood beside her sagely wagging his tail, seeming thoroughly to

understand that he was playing the part of her protector. Doubtless he

had been taking a forest walk for his own amusement, for there were no

signs of his master. Elizabeth felt her knees tremble beneath her. Her

terror, when Hollfeld had clasped her waist, had been extreme. In her

innocence she had never imagined such rudeness, and hence his sudden

touch had made her for one moment rigid with horror. She shed bitter

tears of shame as she recalled Herr von Walde's image, not clothed in

the gentleness of the last few hours, but stern and reserved. She

thought she should scarcely dare ever to look up at him again since that

wretch had touched her. All her happy visions lay shattered at her

feet. This unhappy encounter with Hollfeld had ruthlessly brought her

back to reality. What he had said of Herr von Walde, coarse and

slanderous as it was, had revived much in her mind which she had once

believed, and considered as a bar to her growing interest in him. She

thought of his invincible pride of descent, of his self-renouncing love

for his sister, and of the universal opinion that his heart was cold as

ice where women were concerned. All the gay brilliant dreams which had

hovered around her path through the forest now folded their wings and

vanished beneath the searching gaze of her awakened consciousness. She

could hardly tell what it was that formerly made her so happy. Was it

not most likely that only a strong sense of justice had induced him to

show her such gentle kindness and consideration to-day,--to protect her

from the insolent annoyance of his relatives? Had he not in like manner

protected Miss Mertens, and endeavoured to indemnify her for the

injustice that she had encountered beneath his roof? And the birthday

greeting! Ah, she must not think of that, or its unfinished conclusion,

for then all her dead visions would instantly celebrate a blissful

resurrection!

As she entered the Lodge Sabina came towards her, pale as ashes, in

great distress. She pointed mutely to the door of the dwelling-room.

Within the apartment her uncle was speaking loudly, while he was pacing

heavily to and fro.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" whispered Sabina, "everything is going wrong in

there. Bertha has kept out of your uncle's way most carefully for the

last few weeks, but a little while ago she was standing at the great

door and did not see that he was coming into the yard. He gave her no

time to run off, but took her by the hand and led her instantly into the

room there. She was as white as the wall, in her fear of him,--but that

didn't help her,--go she must. Ah, Lord have mercy upon me! I should

not like to have the Herr Forester for a father confessor----"

A loud burst of sobbing, that sounded almost like a stifled shriek,

interrupted Sabina's whispering.

"Better so!" they now heard the forester say in a far gentler tone of

voice; "at least that is a sign that you are not quite hardened. And

now speak out! Remember that I stand here in place of your good

parents. If you have a sorrow confide it to me; be sure that if it has

befallen you without fault on your part, I will faithfully assist you to

bear it."

Only stifled sobs ensued.

"You cannot speak?" asked the forester after a short pause. "I know of

a certainty that there is no physical obstacle in the way of your

speaking, for you talk to yourself continually when you believe yourself

unobserved; you must be putting some force upon yourself,--have you made

a vow against the use of your tongue?"

Probably an assenting nod must have confirmed him in this supposition,

for he continued, with great irritation, "What an insane idea! Do you

suppose that you can do your Heavenly Father good service by renouncing

one of his best gifts, the power of speech? And are you going to be

silent all your life long? No! You will speak, then, if that which you

hope to effect by means of your vow fails to come to pass? Very well, I

cannot force you to speak,--then endure alone what depresses you and

makes you so unhappy, for that you are unhappy any one can read in your

face. But let me tell you that you will find an inexorable judge in me,

if it should ever appear that you have done anything that shuns the

light and should not be told to honest men; for in your boundless

arrogance you have hitherto rejected every well-meant piece of advice,

every attempt to guide and direct you, making it impossible for me to

care for you as it is my duty and desire, standing as I do in the place

of your parents. I will bear with you a little longer; but should I

find you once leaving the house after nightfall, this is your home no

longer,--you must go. And let me tell you also, to-morrow I shall send

for the doctor to tell me whether you are really ailing; you have looked

wretchedly for the last few weeks. Now go!"

The door opened, and Bertha staggered out. She did not notice Sabina

and Elizabeth, and when she heard the door close behind her, she

suddenly wrung her hands above her head in the speechless agony of

despair, and rushed up the stairs as though hunted by the furies.

"That girl has something on her conscience, whatever it may be," said

Sabina, shaking her head. Elizabeth went in to her uncle. He was

leaning against the window, and drumming upon one of the panes with his

fingers, a common habit with him when irritated. He looked very gloomy,

but his features lighted up as Elizabeth entered.

"I'm glad you are come, Gold Elsie!" he exclaimed; "I need to see some

true, pure face beside me; I shudder at the black eyes of that girl who

has just gone out. Never mind, I have taken up my domestic cross again,

and shall bear it on for awhile; I cannot see the child cry, even though

I were sure that the effect of every tear was exactly calculated."

Elizabeth was heartily glad that the dreaded encounter between Bertha

and her uncle was well over. She hastened to divert his thoughts

entirely from the unfortunate girl by describing to him the festivities

she had just witnessed, telling him cursorily of Herr von Walde's sudden

departure. She informed him also of Linke's dreadful end, at which,

however, he was not greatly surprised, as he had expected some such

termination to the affair.

He accompanied Elizabeth to the garden gate.

"Be very careful not to ring too loudly at the gate in the wall," he

warned her as she left him. "Your mother had an attack of headache

to-day, and has gone to bed. I was up there a little while ago."

Elizabeth ran up the mountain in some anxiety, but Miss Mertens, leading

little Ernst by the hand, came to meet her on the sward before the

castle, and soothed her fears. The attack was over, and her mother was

enjoying a refreshing sleep when Elizabeth softly went to her bedside.

It was already twilight; the most profound quiet reigned throughout the

house,--the striking clocks had been stopped,--the window shutters were

closed that the rustling of the leaves without might not be heard,--not

even a fly buzzed,--for Ferber had tenderly taken care that nothing

should disturb the stillness that surrounded the sleeper.

If her mother had been sitting in her arm-chair in the window recess of

the dwelling-room behind the protecting curtains, looking upon the green

domain without, above which stretched the calm evening skies,--the dear

familiar corner would have become a confessional, where Elizabeth,

kneeling upon the cushion at her mother's feet, would have poured out

her overcharged mind and heart. But now she thrust back her precious

secret into the inmost recesses of her soul: and who knows whether she

will ever find courage to reveal what must fill her mother's heart with

the keenest anxiety?