Front matter (continued 2)

"It is most certainly a dubious kind of piety," said Frau Ferber, smiling.

"Or even the gracious ladies themselves, who are busy with the last novel or a piquante bit of court scandal—for an interest in all such things is quite consistent with the loftiest piety—do you suppose they are able to divert their thoughts in one instant from worldly affairs and turn them all heavenwards? But these people run in and out of the kingdom of heaven without any thought or preparation, and congratulate themselves upon the honour that they are doing to the Creator."

"And does Herr von Walde sympathize with these reforms of the baroness?" asked Frau Ferber.

"From everything that I can gather from the villagers, I should judge not; but how does that mend the matter? He is probably at this moment prying into the pyramids that he may throw light upon antiquity; how should he know that his cousin here is zealously doing her best to blow out the advancing light of the present? Besides, I dare say he has a crack in his own brain. The prince of L——, who knows him well, wished some years ago to make a match between him and a young person of quality at court, but, as I hear, my gentleman refused the alliance because the fair one's pedigree was not sufficiently long."

"Why, perhaps then he may install as mistress of Lindhof some fair daughter of a fellah, whose ancestors lie among the mummies at Memphis," said Elizabeth, laughing.

"I don't believe he will marry at all," rejoined the forester. "He is no longer young, is too fond of a wandering life, and has never shown any love for women's society. I'll wager my little finger that that fellow there with the book in his hand thinks just as I do, and already in his inmost soul regards Lindhof and all the other charming estates in Saxony, and God only knows where else, as his own."

"Has he any claims to them?" asked Frau Ferber.

"Most certainly. He is the son of the Baroness Lessen, whose family is the only one in the world related to the brother and sister von Walde. The baroness was first married to a certain Herr von Hollfeld; that young man is the fruit of that marriage, and by the death of his father he came into possession of Odenberg, a large estate on the other side of L——. The fair widow was fully conscious that her freedom must be made available to assist her up at least one step in the ladder of human happiness and perfection, and naturally this could only be attained by a marriage with high rank, wherefore Frau von Hollfeld one day became Baroness Lessen. 'Tis true the baron's name had been made somewhat notorious by several acts on his part which people of common, low-born ideas might call dishonourable; but what matter for that? Was he not a lord chamberlain, and did not the keys of his office unlock many a door for him where St. Peter's would have availed nothing, in spite of the power given to them? However, the baron died after two years of marriage, leaving his widow a little daughter and an enormous amount of debts. I have no doubt she is glad enough to queen it at Lindhof, for I hear that she has no part or parcel in her son's property."

Here a maid from the lodge interrupted them with bucket and broom, giving unmistakable signs that she was about to begin the duties of her office in this apartment. The spy-glass was hastily closed, and while the forester went into the garden to renew his labours there in clearing away the luxuriant green from the lower window-sills, Frau Ferber and Elizabeth busied themselves with dust-cloths and brushes in restoring the furniture of the room to something of its original appearance.

CHAPTER VI.

Whitsuntide was over. The brazen bells had retired into private life, and looked black and silent through the loopholes in the bell-towers, that seemed like the coffins of the melodious life which had so lately streamed forth from them during the holidays. But the bright flower-bells in the forest, hanging loosely on their stalks, could not forget the festival. They had joined in bravely when the air had quivered with the brazen clang, and still rang gently with every breeze that swept through the underbrush. What did they care that the wood-cutter, his holiday clothes and face all laid aside, tramped past them in his heavy boots, whistling some rude melody! The forest heeded not, but kept up the same mysterious murmur amid its branches like a thousand-voiced whisper of prayer, and the little birds sang as before their matin and vesper hymns in God's praise.

Up in old Castle Gnadeck, as in the forest, the festal spirit of the holidays still reigned, although Ferber had already entered upon the duties of his office, often making unavoidable visits to L——, while Frau Ferber and Elizabeth had, through Sabina, received several large orders from a ready-made linen establishment in L——, and were besides busy every day for some hours in the garden which even in this first year gave promise of abundant fruit and flowers. Notwithstanding this constant industry, there was a holiday air pervading the whole place, arising from the consciousness in the minds of each one of the family that there had come a happy turn in their affairs; they were continually comparing their present with their former situation, and the new and unaccustomed life of the forest had an almost intoxicating effect upon their spirits.

Her parents had given Elizabeth the gobelin room, because there was the finest prospect from its windows, and because the girl when she had first entered it had declared that she liked it best of all. The gloomy door which led into the huge old wing Had been walled up and gave no sign that such a dreary waste lay beyond it. The further end of the room was filled by one of the renovated canopied bedsteads, and by the window stood the antique writing-table, with its quaint inkstand and writing utensils of porcelain, and two vases filled with lovely flowers; while just outside the window, embowered in the topmost branches of a syringa bush, was the canary's cage; its occupant vying with the forest songsters in its shrill trilling with all the envy of some spoiled bravura singer.

While they were arranging the room, and Frau Ferber was every moment bringing in some new piece of furniture to add to it a greater air of comfort and luxury, her husband went to the longest wall, and, stretching his arms across it, banished to the anteroom the lounge that had just been placed there.

"Stay,—this space I appropriate," he said with a smile. Then he brought a large bracket of dark wood and nailed it upon the wall, which was wainscoted neatly to the ceiling on this side. "Here," he continued, as he placed upon the bracket a bust of Beethoven, "this mightiest mortal shall be enthroned alone."

"But that looks so blank and bare," said Frau Ferber.

"Only wait until to-morrow or the day after, and you will, I am sure, admit that my arrangements are not to be despised, and that Elizabeth will have both pleasure and profit from them."

And on the next day, which had been Whitsun-eve, he went to town with the forester. They returned toward evening, but did not enter through the gate in the garden wall. The great gate was flung wide open, and four strong men bore in a large and shining object through the ruins. Elizabeth was standing near the kitchen window, engaged, for the first time in her new home, in preparing the evening meal, when the men entered the garden with their burden.

She cried out, for it was a piano—a large, square piano, which was immediately borne up stairs and placed in the gobelin room under Beethoven's bust. Elizabeth laughed and wept at the same moment, as she rapturously embraced her father, who had expended his little capital, the proceeds of the sale of their furniture in B——, that he might provide her again with what had been the delight of her life. And then she opened the instrument and a flood of rich melody filled the rooms where the silence of death had reigned for so many years.

The forester had come with her father to enjoy Elizabeth's surprise and delight. He now leaned silently against the wall, as the wondrous sounds flowed forth from beneath the girl's touch. For the first time he heard the true speech of the glowing life that animated the delicate young frame. How thoughtful and inspired was the air of the finely-shaped head which crowned her graceful form, so suggestive of earnest maidenhood! Hitherto only jests and merry repartee had been exchanged between uncle and niece. He often called her his butterfly, because of the airy grace of her motions and her quickness of mind, which never left her at a loss for a reply to his merry attacks; but his favourite name for her was "Gold Elsie," for he maintained that her hair was such perfect gold that he could see it shining and shimmering in the darkest parts of the forest as she approached, and that it heralded her coming to him as the jewel in the giant's shield had once announced his approach to Childe Roland.

When Elizabeth had finished she spread her arms above the instrument as if to embrace it, and, leaning her head upon it, smiled the happiest smile; but her uncle approached her softly, gave her a silent kiss upon the forehead, and departed without a word.

From this time he came up every evening to the old castle. As soon as the last rays of the setting sun had faded from the tree-tops, Elizabeth sat down at the piano. The little family took their places in the large low window-seat, and lost themselves in the fairy world, which was opened to them by the great master whose image looked down from the wall upon the inspired young performer. And then Ferber would think of how Elizabeth had portrayed the free life in the forest when the letter from her uncle had first arrived in B——. 'Tis true no elves or gnomes appeared, but the spirits which the mightiest of the masters of music had imprisoned in sound floated forth from their prison-house on a flood of melody, breathing into the solemn silence around a mysterious life—a life of whose joys and sorrows every sympathetic human soul is conscious, although to genius alone is granted power to embody and reveal them.

One afternoon they were all sitting together at their coffee. The forester had brought his pipe and newspaper, and begged of Elizabeth a cup of the refreshing beverage. He was just about to read aloud an interesting article in his paper, when the bell at the garden gate sounded. To the astonishment of every one, when little Ernst ran to open it, a servant in livery entered and handed Elizabeth a note. It was from the Baroness Lessen. She began by saying much that was flattering with regard to the young girl's masterly performance upon the piano, to which she had listened for the two or three previous evenings while walking in the forest, and concluded by preferring a request that Elizabeth would consent, of course for a stipulated consideration, to come to Castle Lindhof every week and play duets with Fräulein von Walde.

The style of the letter was extremely courteous; nevertheless the forester, after a second perusal of it, threw it angrily upon the table, and said, looking steadily at Elizabeth,—

"I hope you will not consent?"

"And why not, my dear Carl?" asked Ferber in her stead.

"Because Elizabeth is, and always will be, far too good for those people down there!" cried the forester, with some irritation. "But if you choose to see what you have carefully planted, choked up and ruined by poisonous weeds and mildew—why, do it."

"It is certainly true," replied Ferber quietly, "that my child has known until now none other than a parent's care. We have endeavoured most conscientiously, as was our duty, to cherish every germ of good, to foster every plant of tender growth. But we have had no idea of producing a mere hot house flower, and alas for us and for her, if all that we have unweariedly tended and nourished for eighteen years is so loosely planted in the soil that it can be torn thence by the first blast of life! I have educated my daughter to live in the world; she must battle her way among its storms, as we all must. If I should be taken from her to-day, she must herself guide the helm which I have hitherto held for her. If the people in the castle below are not fit associates for her, matters will soon arrange themselves. Either both parties will feel their unsuitability to each other and all intercourse will cease, or everything that offends Elizabeth's principles will pass by her like idle wind, leaving no impression. Why, you yourself never avoid a danger, but rather prove your strength by meeting it bravely."

"But, zounds! I am a man, and can take care of myself!"

"And how do you know that Elizabeth hereafter will possess any support except what she finds in herself, or have any sharer in the responsibility of her actions?"

The forester cast a keen glance at his niece, whose earnest eyes were riveted upon her father's face. He who was to her the embodiment of wisdom and tenderness was echoing her own ideas, and the expression of her beautiful face showed what she felt.

"Father," she said, "you shall see that you have not been mistaken—that I am not weak. I never could endure the trite image of the ivy and the oak, and shall most certainly not illustrate it in my own person. Be comforted, uncle dear, and let me go down to the castle," she said, smiling archly at the forester, whose forehead showed a deep frown of decided irritation. "If the people there are heartless, don't suppose for one moment that they will make a cannibal of me, and that I shall eat my own heart up. If they try to crush me with supercilious arrogance, my own inner standard of action shall be so high that I can look down in pity upon the harmless arrows of their scorn; and if they are hypocrites, I shall turn with all the more delight to gaze into the sunny face of truth, and be more deeply convinced of the ugliness of their black masks."

"Fairly spoken, oh incomparable Elsie, and incontestably true,—if only these same people would kindly hand you their masks to examine. But you will awake some day to find that what you have believed to be gold is only the merest tinsel."

"No indeed, dear uncle; I will not foolishly allow myself to be imposed upon. Remember, we have had many trials since my childhood; they have not been borne without teaching me some good lessons. Certainly we must all trust somewhat in our own strength, and I shall not despair for a long time, even if upon my first experience of the world I plunge into an abyss of Egyptian darkness, full of frightful monsters. But look, uncle dear, to what your zeal for my soul's welfare has brought you,—your coffee looks as though it could be skated upon, and your meerschaum is at its last gasp."

The forester laughed, although the laugh was not from his heart. And while Elizabeth refilled his cup for him and handed him a lighted match, he said to her: "You must not suppose that my ammunition is exhausted because I say to you, 'Well, well, go and try it.' I look forward to the satisfaction of seeing the courageous chicken come flying back again some day, only too thankful to creep under the sheltering wing of home."

"Aha!" laughed Frau Ferber, "you have no idea of the stern determination in that little head. But let us decide. I advise Elizabeth to pay her respects to the ladies to-morrow."

The next afternoon at about five o'clock Elizabeth descended the mountain. A broad, well-kept path led through the forest, which melted imperceptibly into the park. No gateway separated its carefully-tended grounds, with their clumps of trees and feathery grass, from the wild woods beyond.

Elizabeth had put on a fresh light muslin dress, and a small, white, round straw hat. Her father walked with her as far as the first meadow, and then she went bravely on alone. No human being crossed her path during her long walk; it even seemed as though the trees rustled more softly here in the leafy avenues and arcades than in the forest beyond, and as if the birds modulated their notes more gently. She started at the noise of the crunching gravel beneath her tread as she approached the castle, and wondered to find how timid the intense quiet had made her.

At last she reached the principal entrance, and caught sight of a human face. It was a servant, who was busy in an imposing vestibule, but who moved as noiselessly as possible. Upon her request that he would announce her to the baroness, he slipped up the broad staircase fronting the hall door, at the foot of which stood two lofty statues, their white limbs half concealed by the orange trees placed at their bases. He soon returned, and assuring her that she was expected, led the way quickly up the stairs, scarcely touching the steps with the tips of his toes.

Elizabeth followed him with a beating heart. It was not the grandeur around her that oppressed her, it was the sensation of standing all alone in this new untried sphere. The servant conducted her through a long corridor, past the open doors of several apartments, which, furnished with extraordinary splendour, were heaped with such a profusion of elegant trifles that a simple child, unused to such luxury, would have supposed herself in a fancy-shop.

Her guide at last carefully opened a folding-door, and the young girl entered.

Near the windows, opposite Elizabeth, upon a couch lay a lady in apparently great suffering. Her head was resting upon a white pillow, and warm coverings were spread over her entire figure, which, in spite of its wrappings, betrayed decided embonpoint. In her hand was a vinaigrette.

She raised her head slightly, so that Elizabeth could see her face distinctly; it was round and pale, and at first sight by no means unprepossessing. Upon a closer view, the large blue eyes, that glittered beneath light eyelashes and elevated eyebrows as light, looked cold as ice, an expression in nowise softened by the supercilious lines about her mouth and nostrils, and by a broad, rather projecting chin.

"Oh, Fräulein, it is very kind of you to come!" cried the baroness in a weak voice, which nevertheless sounded harsh and cold, as she pointed to a lounge near her, and motioned to Elizabeth, who courtesied politely, to sit down. "I have begged my cousin," she continued, "to arrange matters with you in my room, as I am really too ill to take you to hers."

This reception was certainly courteous, although there was a considerable amount of condescension in the lady's tone and manner.

Elizabeth sat down, and was just about to reply to the question how she liked Thuringia, when the door was suddenly flung open, and a little girl of about eight years of age ran in, holding in her arms a pretty little dog, struggling and whining piteously.

"Ali is so naughty, mamma, he will not stay with me!" cried the child, breathlessly, as she threw the dog upon the carpet.

"You have probably been teasing the little thing again, my child," said her mother. "But I cannot have you here, Bella; you make so much noise, and I have a headache. Go away to your room."

"Oh, it's so stupid there! Miss Mertens has forbidden me to play with Ali, and gives me those tiresome old fables to learn; I cannot bear them."

"Well, then, stay here; but be perfectly quiet."

The child passed close to Elizabeth with a stare and an examination of her dress from top to toe, and mounted upon an embroidered footstool before the mirror in order the easier to reach a vase of fresh flowers. In a moment the tastefully arranged bouquet was thrown into the wildest disorder by the little fingers, which busied themselves with sticking single flowers into the delicately embroidered eyelet-holes of the muslin curtain. During this operation large drops of the water, in which the flowers had been placed, dropped from the stems upon Elizabeth's dress, and she was obliged to move her chair, as there seemed no likelihood that any stop would be put to the proceeding, either by the little Vandal herself or by her mother's prohibition.

Elizabeth had only had time to move, and to reply to the reiterated question of the baroness, that she already felt very happy and, quite at home in Thuringia, when the lady hastily arose from her reclining posture, and, with an amiable smile upon her lips, nodded towards a large portière, which was drawn noiselessly aside and on the threshold of the door appeared the two young people whom Elizabeth had lately seen through the spy-glass; but how strangely ill-assorted they now seemed to be, as she saw them thus standing together. Herr von Hollfeld, a slender figure of great height, was obliged to bend very much on one side to afford any support to the little hand that rested upon his arm. The sylph-like little figure, which had lain upon the couch in the park, was no taller than a child's. The exquisitely lovely head was sunk between the shoulders, and the crutch in her left hand showed how helpless was her crippled condition.

"Forgive me, dearest Helene," cried the baroness, as the pair entered, "for troubling you to come to me; but, as you see, I am again the poor wretched creature upon whom you are so ready to bestow your angelic pity and kindness. Fräulein Ferber," here she motioned towards Elizabeth, as if presenting her, and the young girl rose, blushing, "has had the kindness to come, in compliance with my note of yesterday."

"And, indeed, I am very grateful to you fordoing so!" said the little lady, turning towards Elizabeth with a smile of great sweetness, and holding out her hand. Her glance measured the blushing girl before her with an expression of surprise, and then rested upon the heavy golden braids that appeared below the hat. "Oh, yes," she said, "I have already seen your lovely golden hair; yesterday as I was walking in the forest you were leaning over a wall up there at the old castle."

Elizabeth blushed yet more deeply.

"But because you were there," continued the little lady, "I lost the pleasure for which I had clambered up the height, the pleasure of hearing you play, which I had enjoyed on the previous evening. So young and child-like, and yet with such a thorough appreciation of classic music! it seems impossible! You will make me very happy if you will play often with me."

Something like a shade of displeasure flitted across the features of the baroness, and a close observer might have noticed a scornful contraction of her lips, but it was lost upon Elizabeth, whose attention was entirely absorbed by interest in the unfortunate little lady whose delicate silvery voice seemed to come fresh from the depths of her heart.

In the mean time, Herr von Hollfeld pushed a chair for Fräulein von Walde close to the lounge, and left the room without uttering a word. But as he went out by the door directly opposite to Elizabeth, she could not help noticing that he directed a last long look at her before slowly closing it after him. It disturbed her, for his expression was of so strange a kind that she hurriedly glanced over her dress to see if anything there could have struck him as odd or unsuitable.

For the last few moments Bella had been sitting upon the carpet, playing with the dog. It would have been a charming picture, if the whinings and uneasy movements of the little animal had not betrayed that the child was teasing it. At each loud cry from the dog, Fräulein von Walde started nervously, and the baroness said, mechanically, "Don't tease him so, Bella!" At last, however, when the animal uttered a most piteous howl, the mother raised her forefinger threateningly, and said, "I must call Miss Mertens."

"Oh," replied the child contemptuously, "I don't care for her! She doesn't dare to punish me, for you told her she mustn't."

At this moment, the portière was gently drawn aside, and a pale, faded gentlewoman appeared. She courtesied to the ladies, and said, timidly: "The chaplain is waiting for Bella."

"But I won't have a lesson to-day!" the little girl cried, taking a ball of worsted from the table and throwing it at the speaker.

"Yes, my child, you must," said the baroness. "Go with Miss Mertens, and be a good little girl, Bella."

Bella, as though the matter affected her no more than it did Ali, who had retreated behind the sofa, threw herself into an arm-chair and drew her feet up under her. The governess was about to approach her, but at an angry look from the baroness she retired to the door again.

This disgraceful scene would probably have lasted much longer if the baroness had not brought up a corps de reserve to her assistance in the shape of a box of bonbons. The child, after she had crammed her mouth and pockets full, left her seat, and, pushing aside the hand which her governess held out to her, ran out of the room.

Elizabeth sat petrified with astonishment. The delicate features of Fräulein von Walde also showed evident disapproval; but she said nothing.

The baroness sank back among her pillows. "These governesses will be my death," she sighed. "If Miss Mertens could only learn how to treat, judiciously, a child of Bella's sensitive, nervous temperament! She never takes into account social position, temperament, and physical constitution. She would model all after the same pattern—the daughter of a grocer or a peer; a finely-strung, sensitive nature, or a robust, rude, day-labourer physique—'tis all the same thing to her. Miss Mertens is a disagreeable, pedantic schoolmistress; her English, too, is detestable. Heaven only knows in what mean little English county she learned her native tongue!"

"But really, dear Amalie," said Fräulein von Walde, "I do not find her English impure," and her voice sounded exquisitely kind and soothing.

"There you come with your never-failing angelic amiability; but, although I do not understand English, I can always hear, in one instant, how much more high-bred your accent is, my dear, when you are talking with her."

Elizabeth inwardly doubted the value of this estimate, and Fräulein von Walde blushed with a deprecating gesture.

But the baroness continued: "And Bella hears it, too; she will not open her lips when her governess speaks English to her, and I cannot blame her in the least; it provokes me excessively when this person blames the child for obstinacy."

Under the influence of her irritation the voice of the baroness, which had at first been very weak and suffering, had grown perceptibly stronger. She suddenly seemed to become aware of this herself, and closed her eyes with an expression of great weariness. "Oh heavens!" she sighed, "my unfortunate nerves are too much for me. I grow excited instead of being kept quiet; these vexations are poison both to my mind and body."

"I would advise you, Amalie, when you are as nervous and weak as you are to-day, to leave Bella without a fear to Miss Mertens' care. I am convinced that nothing can be better for her. While I fully understand your touching anxiety on the child's account, I can confidently assure you that Miss Mertens is far too gentle and cultivated a person to do anything that would not conduce to her welfare. You look quite worn out," she continued, sympathizingly. "We had better leave you alone; Fräulein Ferber will certainly have the kindness to accompany me to my room."

So saying she arose, and leaning over the baroness imprinted a gentle kiss upon her cheek. Then she laid her hand upon the arm of Elizabeth, whom the baroness dismissed with a gracious nod, and left the apartment.

As they slowly walked through the various corridors, she told Elizabeth that it would be a special delight to her brother, who was so far from her, if she should resume her music. He used to sit alone with her listening to her playing for hours, until a nervous malady that had attacked her had forced her to give up her beloved music for a long time. Now she felt much stronger, and her physician had also given his consent; she would be very diligent, that she might surprise her brother upon his return home. Elizabeth then took leave.

She hastened with winged speed through the park, and along the path which ascended the mountain. In the forest glade just before the open garden gate her parents were awaiting her return, and little Ernst ran lovingly to meet her. What an air of home breathed all around her here! The greeting that she received showed how she had been missed; the canary was singing merrily in his green embowered cage, the garden laughed in beauty, and in the background, under the group of lindens above the cool spring, the snowy table was spread for supper.

The Italian castle with all its splendour, its aristocratic air, and its oppressive silence, only broken by the clamour of a spoiled child, faded behind her like a dream of the night; and when she had imparted her impressions of all that she had seen and heard to her parents, she concluded with the words: "You have taught me, father dear, never to form any settled judgment of others upon a slight acquaintance with them, for such judgment runs a fair chance of being unjust, but what can I do with my unruly fancy? Whenever I think of the two ladies, I see in imagination a lovely young weeping willow, whose elastic graceful branches are the constant sport of a furious tempest."

CHAPTER VII.

From this time Elizabeth went regularly to Lindhof twice a week. The day following her first visit Baroness Lessen had arranged the hours for the lessons in a very courteous note, and had insisted upon a most generous compensation for Elizabeth's time. These lessons soon proved a source of much enjoyment. Helene von Walde, owing to the absence of all practice for many years, was very deficient in technical knowledge and capacity, and could not be compared at all with Elizabeth; but she played with much feeling, her taste was refined and cultivated, and she was entirely free from the wretched habit, common to most dilettanti, of depreciating whatever lay beyond her reach. Baroness Lessen was never present during the music lessons, and therefore the moments of rest gradually became especially delightful to Elizabeth. At such times a servant usually brought in some light refreshments. Helene leaned back in her armchair, and Elizabeth seated herself upon a cushion at her feet, and listened enchanted to the flute-like silvery voice of the unfortunate lady as she recounted many an experience of the past. The image of the absent brother here played a principal part. She was never weary of telling of his care and thoughtfulness for her, of how, although he was many years her senior, he was continually studying how to gratify and humour her childish whims and peculiarities. She related how he had purchased Lindhof only because, upon a visit which she had formerly made in Thuringia, she had experienced great benefits from the pure Thuringian air; everything showed how dearly he loved her.

One afternoon, when they had been practising unusually long, a servant entering announced a visitor.

"Stay and drink tea with me this afternoon," said Fräulein von Walde to Elizabeth. "My physician is here from L——, and several ladies from the neighbourhood have just arrived; I will send some one up to the castle that your mother may not be anxious about you. My tête-à-tête with the doctor will not last long, and I shall soon be with you again."

And so saying she left the room. Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed before the door opened and Fräulein von Walde entered, leaning upon the arm of a gentleman whom she presented to Elizabeth as Doctor Fels, from L——. He was tall, with an intellectual countenance, and as soon as he heard Elizabeth's name he entered into a lively conversation with her, comically assuring her that his own surprise and horror, as well as that of the entire respectable population of L——, had really known no bounds when it was reported that old Castle Gnadeck had received within its crumbling walls inhabitants of flesh and blood.

Suddenly there was a rustling in the antechamber, and upon the threshold of the door appeared two figures of rather singular exterior. Their great resemblance of feature plainly revealed their relationship as mother and daughter. Both wore dark dresses, which, contrary to the prevailing mode, fell limp and close around them, large scarfs of black woollen stuff, and brown, round straw hats, tied, in the case of the mother, with black ribbon, while the daughter had a lilac bow beneath her chin.

Helene von Walde received the ladies courteously, presenting them as Frau and Fräulein Lehr, and Elizabeth afterwards learned that, residing in L——, they spent their summers in lodgings in the village of Lindhof.

Immediately after their entrance the Baroness Lessen appeared, leaning upon her son's arm, and accompanied by a gentleman who was addressed by those present as Herr Möhring, the chaplain.

The baroness was dressed in dark silk, but with the greatest elegance, and made a most imposing appearance. She paused for an instant upon the threshold of the door, and seemed to be disagreeably surprised at Elizabeth's presence. She measured her with a haughty look of inquiry, and replied to her courtesy by a scarcely perceptible inclination of the head.

Helene noticed the look, and approaching her said in a soothing whisper, "I kept my little favourite with me to-day—I had already detained her so long."

This excuse did not escape Elizabeth's ear. It offended her, and she would willingly have flown away through the window near which she was standing, had not pride induced her to stay and brave the arrogance of the baroness. The great lady seemed entirely pacified by the explanation of what had occurred without her consent. She put her arm around Helene, stroked her curls tenderly, and said a hundred caressing things to her. Then she requested those present to follow her to the adjoining room, where tea was prepared. She did the honours of the tea-table, and discovered a talent, by no means to be despised, for leading and carrying on the conversation. With admirable tact, she contrived always to make Helene the centre of attention without in the least wounding the self-love of the others.

Elizabeth sat silent between the doctor and Fräulein Lehr. The conversation possessed little interest for her, inasmuch as it related to people and circumstances entirely strange to her. Frau von Lehr had much to say, and seemed perfectly instructed in every matter, private or public, that had taken place during the last few weeks among the people living around Lindhof. She spoke in a peculiarly mournful, suppressed tone of voice, and at the conclusion of the rehearsal of each exciting piece of news cast down her eyes and inclined her head with great apparent humility and resignation, as though she were a lamb suffering for the sins of the world. Now and then she drew forth from a huge reticule which she carried a small bottle of rose-water, with which she moistened her eyes, as they seemed weak with perpetual casting towards heaven.

What a contrast between her and Helene's madonna face, as it leaned against the dark plush of the lounge, reminding Elizabeth more than ever of the water-lily lying dreamily with its snow-white leaves upon the dark surface of the lake! To-day there was a strange glow upon the delicate features. It was not that all traces of suffering had vanished, but there was a peaceful light of content in her eyes, and a happy smile wreathed the pale lips as often as she took up from her lap the bouquet of rosebuds which Herr von Hollfeld had presented to her when he entered. He sat beside her, and sometimes joined in the conversation. As soon as he opened his lips the ladies were silent, listening with the greatest attention, although his talk was anything but fluent, and, as Elizabeth soon discovered, betrayed not the slightest originality of mind.

He was a very handsome man, of about four and twenty. There was great repose in the finely-cut features, which at first seemed to indicate manliness and strength of character; but any such impression which their regularity might have produced was effaced by a searching glance into his eyes. Those eyes, although they were large and faultless in shape, had no depth whatever, and never lighted up with that meteoric flash which so often reveals the man of intellect, even when he does not speak. Its want can be atoned for by that mild glow which speaks of deep sensibility, and which, although it does not instantly impress us, gradually attracts and enchains us. But there was nothing of this to be discovered in Herr von Hollfeld's fine blue orbs.

This sentence, however, would have been echoed by but few, for it was the present fashion, especially at the court of L——, to regard Herr von Hollfeld as a prodigy, whose silence gave warrant of unfathomable depths of intellect and sensibility,—in which opinion the ladies in and around Lindhof most cordially joined, as was illustrated by the conduct of Frau von Lehr's very stout daughter, who leaned forward, directly across the modestly shrinking Elizabeth, and listened, as if to the enunciation of a new gospel, whenever Herr von Hollfeld opened his lips. And she, too, appeared quite willing to allow her light to shine.

"Were you not charmed with the lovely sermons with which Herr Möhring edified us during the holidays?" she asked, turning to Elizabeth.

"I regret not having heard them," she answered.

"Then you did not attend divine service?"

"Oh, yes! I went with my parents to the village church at Lindhof."

"Indeed!" said the Baroness Lessen, turning for the first time toward Elizabeth, and smiling sarcastically. "And were you greatly edified at the village church at Lindhof?"

"Most truly was I, gracious lady," Elizabeth quietly replied, looking calmly into the contemptuous eyes that were turned upon her. "I was deeply affected by the simple, earnest words of the preacher. His discourse was not delivered in the church, but under the trees outside. When the service was about to begin it was evident that the little church could not contain the crowd of worshippers, and an altar was constructed under God's free sky. Such altars might often be erected."

"Unfortunately, they often are," said Herr Möhring, who until then had spoken little, contenting himself with confirming all Frau von Lehr's remarks by an amiable smile or an assenting nod. Now, however, his broad, shiny face grew purple, and, turning to the baroness, he continued, contemptuously: "Yes, most gracious lady, it is only too true; the old idols are being replaced in the sacred groves, and we shall have druids sacrificing to them beneath the oaken shades."

"Really, that never occurred to me. With the aid of my wildest imagination I should never have dreamed at the time that I was assisting at a heathen sacrifice," rejoined Elizabeth. She smiled, but continued with serious warmth: "It seemed to me, on that glorious spring morning, as the tones of the organ streamed forth from the open doors and windows of the church, and that reverend old man spoke in such devout tones, as it did when I entered the temple of God for the first time in my life."

"You seem to have an excellent memory, Fräulein," Frau von Lehr here remarked: "How old were you at that time, if I may ask?"

"Eleven years old."

"Eleven years old! Oh, heavens! how can such a thing be possible?" cried the lady in holy horror. "How possible with Christian parents! Why, my children were familiar with the house of God from their earliest years, as you can testify, my dear doctor."

"Yes indeed, madame," he replied with great gravity. "I remember that you ascribed the attack of croup, by which you lost your little son at two years of age, to a couple of hours in the cold church."

Elizabeth looked up quite terrified at her neighbour. The doctor had joined in the conversation hitherto only by throwing in a sarcastic word here and there very drily, which amused Elizabeth greatly, inasmuch as he was always met by a reproving glance from the baroness. When the young girl began to speak she had not noticed him any more than had the others, whose entire attention had been occupied with the wretched heathen child, so that no one had observed how he was bursting with inward laughter at the daring replies of the young stranger, and their effect upon those present. His answer appeared thoughtless and cruel to Elizabeth; but he must have known his companions well, for Frau von Lehr was not at all offended, but replied with great unction: "Yes, the Lord took the pious little angel to himself; he was too good for this world;" then, turning to Elizabeth, she said: "And so you were shut out from the Lord's kingdom for the first eleven years of your life?"

"Only from His temple, gracious lady. As a little child I was instructed in the history of Christianity, and with my first thoughts were blended ideas of God's wisdom and love. I cannot remember the time when I did not hear of them from my father; but it is a firm principle of his never to allow very young children to go to church; he says they are entirely incapable of appreciating the importance and meaning of what they see and hear there; the sermon, which must be entirely beyond their comprehension, wearies them, and they conceive a dislike to the place. My little brother Ernst is seven years old, and has never yet been to church."

"Oh, happy father, who has the courage to frame and execute such plans for his children's culture!" exclaimed Doctor Fels.

"Well, what hinders you from letting your children grow up without care, like mushrooms?" asked the baroness with malice.

"That I can readily tell you in a very few words, most gracious lady. I have six children, and cannot afford to have masters for them at home. My profession prevents me from teaching them myself, and, therefore, I am obliged to send them to the public school and subject them to its laws, which require them to attend church regularly. Just as little can I carry out my views with regard to another subject,—the putting of the Bible into the hands of young children. The Sacred Book, which contains the holy principles that should regulate all our thoughts and actions, and, as such, should be regarded with veneration by the young,—does not belong in their hands at a time when childhood, with rare exceptions, seeks amusement instead of instruction, and is always curious to investigate whatever is forbidden and mysterious. And, therefore, I know,—and any observant teacher will admit,—that children who devote themselves constantly to the perusal of the Bible, for which they are commended by thoughtless parents, do not always search for the text of the last sermon,—but read much else beside,—often meeting with words and expressions which a careful mother would guard them from hearing at home, but whose significance is often made only too clear by their intercourse with other children not so carefully educated, left to the charge of ignorant and vulgar servants. And suppose, even, that they seek explanation of certain words and phrases from their mothers only; an intelligent mother will always know, 'tis true, how to reply to their queries, but she must, most certainly, forbid them the use of many expressions which they find in the Bible,—let us recall to mind the Song of Solomon,—and so the first seeds of doubt and unbelief are sown in the childish mind, which is wanting in the strength that only moral culture and riper understanding can give."

Here the Baroness Lessen arose with a gesture of impatience. Upon her full cheeks, usually so pale, two round, crimson spots had appeared, a sign to all who knew her, of great irritation. Fräulein von Walde, who had been a passive listener to the conversation, also arose, took her cousin's arm, and, leading her to the window, asked whether she would not like to hear a little music from Elizabeth and herself.

This propitiatory proposal was received with a gracious inclination of the head,—the more especially as the baroness did not feel herself quite equal to the doctor in a war of words; and, as everyone must have seen her indignation, she was quite willing to have it supposed that the beautiful, soothing music was the cause of her refraining from annihilating the impious defamer of her holy zeal, for she was perpetually presenting Bibles to poor children.

She took her seat in a windowed recess, and looked out upon the landscape, upon which the first shadows of approaching evening were falling. Her look was cold and cruel,—an expression often seen in a certain kind of light-blue eye, shaded by white eyelashes. The corners of her mouth were drawn down, a sign of great displeasure, which did not vanish even when Schubert's Erlking, arranged for four hands, was performed in a masterly manner by Helene and Elizabeth. The waves of melody broke against that breast unfelt, as the waves of the ocean upon a rocky shore.

When the last chord died away, the ladies arose from the instrument, and the doctor, who had stood immovably, listening, hastened towards them. His eyes sparkled as he thanked them for a treat which, as he assured them, was richer than any he had enjoyed for years. Here Fräulein von Lehr's face grew scarlet, and her mother cast a malicious glance at the unlucky enthusiast. Had not her daughter the preceding winter played several times in public in L——, for the benefit of some charitable association, and had he not attended every concert? However, the doctor did not appear to notice the storms that he was calling down upon his head. He discussed Schubert's compositions in a manner that manifested refined perception and a thorough knowledge of his subject.

Suddenly there was a harsh clash of chords upon the piano; it seemed as though fingers of bone were belabouring the keys. They looked round with a start. The chaplain was seated at the instrument, with head thrown back and inflated nostrils. He raised his hands for a second attack, and began a beautiful choral, which his horrible playing converted into torture for sensitive ears. Still it might have been endured, when, to Elizabeth's horror, he began to sing in a nasal, snuffling tone;—that was too much. The doctor seized his hat, and bowed to Helene and the baroness, the latter only vouchsafing him a slight wave of the hand in token of dismissal, without turning her face from the window.

An incomparable expression of humour hovered upon the doctor's features. He pressed Elizabeth's hand cordially as he departed, and took leave of the rest with a courteous bow.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the baroness arose with excitement and approached Helene, who was sitting in a corner of the sofa.

"It is intolerable!" she cried, and her sharp voice sounded muffled, as if suppressed anger were choking her, while her searching gaze rested full upon the little lady, who looked up to her almost timidly. "How can you, Helene, here in your own house, hear our rank, our dignity as women,—yes, even our holy of holies, which we are bound so faithfully to defend,—assailed so grossly without one word of reply?"

"But, dear Amalie, I cannot see."

"You will not see, child, in your inexhaustible patience and long-suffering, that this doctor insults me whenever he can. Well, I must submit to that, for this is not my house, and besides, as a Christian, I would rather endure wrong than resort to retaliation. But this submission must cease when the sacred claims of the Lord are assailed. Here we should strive and struggle, and not grow weary. Is it not actually blasphemous for this man to seize his hat, and, sans façon, take his departure from the room while our hearts are being stirred and elevated by the lofty thoughts which the truest form of music, the choral, can alone express?"

She had spoken louder and louder, until she did not perceive that her voice was entirely destroying the effect of a touching phrase, just delivered by the unwearied chaplain, whose efforts had not been intermitted for an instant.

"Ah, you must not blame the doctor for that," said Fräulein von Walde. "His time is precious; most likely he has a patient to see in L——; he was about to leave just before we began to play."

"While that heathenish Erlking was going on, the worthy man entirely forgot his patients," the baroness interrupted contemptuously. "Well, I must submit. Unfortunately, in our degenerate days, the scoffers of our faith have gained the upper hand."

"But, for heaven's sake, Amalie, what do you want me to do? You know only too well that Fels is indispensable to me. He is the only physician who knows how to relieve me when I am in great suffering," cried Helene, and her eyes filled with tears, while her cheeks were suffused with a blush of irritation.

"I thought, Fräulein Helene,"—began Frau von Lehr, who had hitherto sat in her corner silently, and on the watch, like a spider in its web,—"I thought that the welfare of our souls should be our first consideration; care for our poor bodies should, in my estimation, rank second in our view. There are many other skilful physicians in L——, with as great a reputation for learning as Dr. Fels enjoys. Believe me, my dear, it often gives great pain to our Christian friends in L—— to know that a scoffer, an infidel, is admitted to your confidence as your friend and adviser."

"Even if I consented to sacrifice myself so far," replied Helene, "as to employ another physician, I dare not take such a step without first obtaining my brother's consent; and I know that I should meet with determined opposition there, for Rudolph is warmly attached to the doctor, and puts entire confidence in him."

"Yes, more's the pity!" cried the baroness. "I have never been able to comprehend that weakness in Rudolph's character. Doctor Fels imposes upon him utterly with his seeming frankness, which might better be called insolence. Well, I wash my hands of the affair, only for the future I must decline any visits from the doctor, and entreat you, my dear Helene, to excuse me when he is with you."

Fräulein von Walde made no reply. She arose and looked sadly around the room for an instant, as if missing something. It seemed to Elizabeth that her eyes sought Herr von Hollfeld, who had left the room unperceived a short time before.

The baroness took up her lace shawl, and Frau von Lehr and her daughter prepared for departure. Both paid several compliments to the chaplain, who had finished his performance, and was standing at the piano rubbing his hands with embarrassment; and then all took leave of Helene, who replied to their good-nights in a tone of great exhaustion.

As Elizabeth descended the stairs she saw Herr von Hollfeld standing in a retired, dimly-lighted corridor. During his mother's outbreak of anger he had sat quietly turning over the leaves of a book, never joining in the conversation by word or look. His conduct had disgusted Elizabeth, who had hoped that he would have stood by Helene and silenced his mother by a few serious words. She was still more displeased when she noticed that he was steadily regarding herself while he was apparently occupied with his book. He might easily have seen her displeasure in her face, but he continued to stare most insultingly. She felt herself at last blush deeply beneath his gaze, and she was the more provoked at feeling this, as the same thing had occurred against her will several times before. It was remarkable that she never went home from Castle Lindhof without chancing to meet Herr von Hollfeld either in the hall, upon the stairs, or stepping suddenly from behind a tree in the park. Why these meetings at last became painfully embarrassing to her she could not have explained to herself. She thought no more about it, and usually forgot him entirely before she reached her home.

He was standing now in the dark passage. A black slouched hat was pulled down over his face, and his summer coat had been exchanged for a light cloak. He seemed to be waiting for some one, and as soon as Elizabeth had reached the last stair approached her hastily, as though about to address her.

At the same moment Frau von Lehr and her daughter appeared on the landing above.

"Aha, Herr von Hollfeld," cried the elder lady, "are you going to walk?"

The young man's features, which had seemed to Elizabeth strikingly animated, instantly assumed a quiet expression of entire indifference.

"I have just come in from the garden," he said negligently, "where I have been refreshing myself in the soft night air. Attend Fräulein Ferber home," he said authoritatively to a servant who issued from the servants' room with a lantern, and then with an obeisance to the ladies, he retired.

"How glad I am," said Elizabeth, as an hour later she was sitting at her mother's bedside relating the events of the afternoon, "that to-morrow will be Sunday. In our dear little simple village church I shall forget all the disagreeable impressions which the last few hours have left upon my mind. I never could have believed that I could have listened to a choral without being moved to aspiration and devotion. But to-day I was really angry, when, amid the clatter of the teacups, and after an hour passed in talk certainly not inspired by love of our neighbour, I suddenly heard those tones which have always been sacred to hours of meditation and serious thought. Behind all this religious zeal there lies hidden boundless arrogance,—that I saw clearly to-day; but if others feel as I do, these people will scarcely make many proselytes. Acknowledge, mother dear, that I am not naturally antagonistic, and yet to-day I felt for the first time in my life an irresistible desire to defy and contradict."

And then she spoke of Herr von Hollfeld and his strange behaviour in the hall, adding that she could not understand what he could possibly have wished to say to her.

"Never mind, we will not puzzle ourselves about that," said Frau Ferber. "If he should ever propose to accompany you on your way home, do not fail to reject such an offer peremptorily. Do you hear, Elizabeth?"

"But, dearest mother, what are you thinking of?" cried the girl with a laugh. "The skies will fall before such a thing happens. If he could allow Frau Lehr and her daughter, who consider themselves persons of distinction, to go home without an escort, he will hardly condescend to notice my insignificant self."

CHAPTER VIII.

About a week after the arrival of his relatives the forester had published an edict in his domicile, which, as he said, had been hailed with joy by his prime minister, and in accordance with which the duty of taking their mid-day meal every Sunday at the Lodge was imposed upon the Ferber family. Those were joyous days for Elizabeth.

Long before the first sound of the church bell they usually set out for church. In her fluttering white dress, her soul filled with the consciousness of youth and happiness, convinced that such a clear, lovely day, must bring joy with it, Elizabeth walked beside her parents, and looked eagerly for the moment when the round gilt ball upon the village church tower at Lindhof emerged from the waves of green in the valley below them; then from the dark and silent forest paths to the right and left, groups of church-goers from the different hamlets around would appear and join them with kindly greetings, until, while the bells were ringing, the whole assembly arrived in the meadow just before the church, where the forester was usually awaiting them. He welcomed them from a distance with sparkling eyes and a flourish of his hat in the air. In every movement of his tall figure, in his whole bearing, might be read that inflexible integrity which never bowed to the mighty ones of the earth, that expression of manly power and force of character from which we expect to see quick resolve and bold action result, but which never suggests the tender emotions of a sensitive nature. Elizabeth declared that it was always a touching surprise when a single gentle star beamed forth at night from a sky covered with clouds, and that the sudden look of melting tenderness that occasionally illumined her uncle's frank, determined countenance, affected her in like manner. And she had many an opportunity of observing this change of expression, for she had grown to be the apple of his eye. He had never had any children, and now poured forth all the paternal affection of which his large, warm heart was capable, upon his brother's lovely child, who, he felt with pride, resembled himself in many points of character, although in her they were transfigured by the charm of feminine delicacy and refinement.

And she repaid his affection with the clinging love and filial care of a daughter. She soon discovered how to make many an addition to his domestic comfort, and where Sabina's penetration or capacity were at fault, she effected many an improvement, with so much tact that the old servant was never offended, whilst a new life opened upon her uncle, surrounded by Elizabeth's tender care.

On the return from church, her uncle led Elizabeth by the hand, "just like a little school-girl," as she said, and, indeed, it looked like it. The excellent sermon which they had just heard, furnished matter for abundant conversation and exchange of newly-developed thoughts and sentiments; while the birds twittered and sang as though determined to vindicate their right to speak here, and the golden-green sunshine came quivering through the tops of the trees, flecking their heads as they passed with its transfiguring light.

At the farthest end of the long dim forest aisle, for it was a very narrow path which led from the Lodge to the village of Lindhof, a little point of light indicated the meadow, in the middle of which stood the old house. With every step the picture grew more distinct, until at last they could distinguish Sabina waiting for them at the door, shading her eyes with the corner of her white apron, and retreating into the house when she saw them, that she might take her stand behind the soup tureen, which was smoking upon the table beneath the beeches, where she fulfilled her duty with the air of a general upon a rampart.

But to-day Sabina had prepared a particularly delicious repast, for in the centre of the table was piled a huge crimson pyramid, the first wood-strawberries of the year, hailed with delight by little Ernst, and by full-grown Elizabeth too. The forester laughed at the enthusiasm of the big and little child, and declared that he had a surprise to offer as well as Sabina,—he would have the horse harnessed and take Elizabeth to L——, where he had a little business to attend to,—a long-promised pleasure. The young girl accepted his proposal with delight.

At table Elizabeth related the occurrences of the previous evening. Her uncle shook with laughter.

"The doctor's a bold fellow," he said, still laughing; "but 'tis of no use, he has drunk his last cup of tea at Lindhof."

"Impossible, uncle,—it would be outrageous!" cried Elizabeth, earnestly. "Fräulein von Walde would never permit such a thing, she will resist with all her might."

"Well," he said, "I wish we could question the little lady to-day with regard to her sentiments towards the doctor, and you would see. How can a strong will inhabit such a frail dwelling? That imperious woman will soon influence her, and there is none to resist, for 'Heaven is high, and the Czar afar,' as the Russians say. We know, Sabina, that many a strange thing has happened since the rule of the baroness began, eh?"

"Ah, yes indeed, Herr Forester!" replied the old woman, who was just putting a dish upon the table. "When I think of poor Schneider,—she is the widow of a day-labourer in the village," she said, turning to the others; "she always worked hard to make both ends meet, and no one could say a word against her, but she had four children to feed, and lived from hand to mouth. And matters went badly with her last harvest, and she had nothing to give her children to eat, so she was driven to do what was wrong, and took an apron full of potatoes from a splendid field belonging to the castle. But the overseer, Linke, who happened to be standing behind a tree not far off, saw her, sprang out upon her instantly, and knocked her down. Even if he had stopped there 'twould not have been so bad, but he kicked her brutally as she lay upon the ground. I had been to Lindhof, and as I was passing beneath the cherry trees near the village, on my way home, I saw some one lying upon the ground,—it was the poor woman, bleeding profusely, and with not a soul near her. She could not move, so I called some people, who helped me to carry her home. The Herr Forester was absent, but I was sure of his permission, and so I nursed and tended her as well as I could. The people in the village were furious at the overseer,—but what could they do? There was some talk of arresting him, but it all came to nothing. Linke is one of the saints, he is the baroness' right-hand man, turns up his eyes, and does everything in the name of the Lord. It must never get abroad that such a pious man could behave so inhumanly, and so the baroness drove to town every day, and was wonderfully condescending, and, in short, the story was hushed up, and the poor woman, who has never entirely recovered, had to get along as best she might, for neither she nor her children ever had a bite or a drop from the castle all the while that she was sick. Ah! yes, the overseer and the baroness' old waiting-maid make a hard time of it for the poor people, they keep a close watch to see who misses prayers or chapel over there, and they have been the means of depriving many an honest man of work at the castle."

"Don't say any more about it," said the forester. "I cannot relish my food when I think of these things, and our pleasant Sunday, to which I look forward all the week, must have no other shadows upon it than those cast by the white, fleecy clouds up there."

As soon as the meal was concluded the forester's modest little equipage made its appearance. He handed in Elizabeth, and seated himself by her side. As she nodded a farewell to the others, she glanced up at the house, and started with actual terror at the eyes which were gazing down upon her from a window in the upper story. 'Tis true, the head disappeared instantly, but Elizabeth had time to recognize the mute Bertha, and to convince herself that she was the object of that look of rage and hate, although she could not divine its cause. Until now Bertha had withdrawn herself entirely from all intercourse with the Ferber family. She never appeared when Elizabeth was at the Lodge. She took her Sunday dinner alone in her own room, and the forester allowed her to please herself in the matter. He had no desire to establish any relation between the two girls.

Frau Ferber had once made an attempt to address the unfortunate girl. Her gentle feminine nature could not believe that mere wilfulness was the spring of Bertha's extraordinary behaviour. She suspected the existence of some deeper cause, perhaps of some secret grief, which made her indifferent to her surroundings, or rendered her so irritable that she chose to remain silent rather than be engaged in perpetual strife. A gentle word from her, a kindly advance on her side, would, she hoped, unseal Bertha's lips; but she succeeded no better than Elizabeth had done. She was even so outraged by the girl's manner that she strictly forbade all further attempt at intercourse with her upon Elizabeth's part.

After a charming drive, Elizabeth and her uncle reached their destination.

L—— was certainly a small town, and bore the unmistakable impress of a small town, although the court resided there from the appearance of the first primrose to the fall of the last autumn leaf, and its inhabitants took the greatest pains to adapt themselves, in their social life, to the manners and customs of a large Capital. But the loud, uneasy creaking of the machinery of a most complicated domestic economy could not be drowned by the rustle of the most flowing and elegant crinoline. The honest townsfolk, who left their dwellings, with doors wide open, in perfect safety, to earn their daily bread in the little uneven streets, or in the strips of meadow land between their houses, fell as far short of being peacocks as did the ducks, that daily delighted to swim in the little brook running directly through the town, of becoming stately swans.

The situation of the place was undeniably delightful. In the centre of a not very spacious valley, nestled at the foot of an eminence whose summit was crowned by the royal castle and domain, it lay buried in the dark, rich green of avenues of lindens, and surrounded in spring by the lovely blossoms of countless orchards.

The forester took Elizabeth to the house of an assessor, one of his friends. She was to wait for him there until he had concluded his business. Although made cordially welcome by the lady of the house, she would gladly have turned round and followed her retreating uncle,—for she found herself, to her vexation, in the midst of a large assemblage of ladies. Her hostess informed her that, in honour of her husband's birthday, she had gotten up a set of tableaux from mythology, to rehearse which was the cause of the present gathering. At the coffee-table, in a pleasantly-furnished apartment, eight or ten ladies were seated, already dressed in mythological costume, and upon the arrival of the stranger, they measured her with glances that seemed to penetrate every plait and fold of her simple attire.

All the goddesses, without exception, had submitted themselves, in their costume, to the sceptre of the royal fair of France, and wore their white robes over abundant crinoline, which was then the fashion, "For," said Ceres, a trig little blonde, upon whose flushed brow a whole harvest was waving, "one looks so forlorn without crinoline;" and how else could her dress have supported the huge bunches of wheat ears and red poppies with which it was adorned? How Dame Ceres had managed this difficulty in her days of splendour was a problem which no one took the pains to solve.

Perhaps the artificial light of the evening would be favourable to the remarkable arrangement of some of the toilets, but now the bright sunlight illuminated and revealed with cruel sincerity every pasted bit of gold-paper, every paper-muslin scarf that should have represented satin, and every basting stitch in the improvised tunics. Several old-fashioned paste shoe-buckles glittered in the girdle of Venus; and the silver crescent upon the forehead of Diana showed the blotting-paper behind it at every movement of the head which it adorned.

The hostess went from one to the other of her guests, exerting herself for the entertainment of all.

"What a shame!" she said, entering the room after a short absence, "Frau Räthin Wolf has sent to say that her Adolph cannot come to-night; he is in bed with a fever. As soon as the note came, I ran across myself to Doctor Fels; but there is no doing anything with that man upon the subject of his children's education. He repeated his former refusal, and so ungraciously, that I am quite outraged. He says that he considers any part in such entertainments with grown-up people entirely unfit for half-grown boys like his Moritz, who get their heads filled with a sense of their own importance, their minds distracted from their lessons,—and Heaven knows what besides. He told me, most insolently, that he thinks I should have done better this evening to have provided my suffering husband—suffering, indeed, he is as lively as a fish in the sea, except for a touch of rheumatism—with a supper that he liked, than to have worried him with such buffoonery, which will only deprive him of his usual comfort and night's rest, and do no living creature any earthly good."

"How coarse! how rude! He is always pretending to be a connoisseur of art, and doesn't understand it one whit better than my little finger," was heard from one and the other of the ladies.

"Let my experience console you, dear Adele," said Ceres. "Were it not that my husband cannot dispense with his services as a physician, Fels should never darken my doors again. When I had that children's fancy-ball last winter, which was acknowledged to be a great success, he refused my invitation to his children; and what do you think he said to me, when I begged him to allow his little girls to come,—'Does it really give you pleasure to see such monkey-tricks?' I never will forgive him!"

Elizabeth suddenly seemed to see the doctor's intellectual face, with its searching glance, sarcastic smile, and the slightly contemptuous play of its finely-formed lips. She laughed inwardly at his rude replies; but she was struck at the same time by the depressing thought, how hard it is for a man to live up to his convictions.

"But what would you have, Frau Director?" broke in Flora, a delicate, languishing figure with a pretty but very pale face, who had hitherto been entirely occupied in smiling upon her flower-decked reflection in an opposite glass. "He has treated us no better. Two years ago he told my father and mother to their faces, that it was not only folly but want of principle—just think of such a thing!—to allow me to go into society so young, with my constitution. Papa and mamma were furious,—as if they did not know best about their own children! It was well that we all knew what prompted such tender care on his part. His youngest sister was then still unmarried, and, naturally enough, she was by no means pleased to see young girls usurping her place in society. Papa would have dismissed the doctor upon the spot, but mamma depends upon his prescriptions. Well, they paid no attention to his advice, and, as you see, I still live."

The silence of the assemblage confirmed Elizabeth's conviction that the triumph which Flora spoke of was a very doubtful one, and that this delicate creature, with her narrow chest and pallid face, would still have to atone severely for the physician's neglected counsel.

Suddenly a barouche slowly passing down the street attracted the ladies to the window. Where she was sitting Elizabeth could plainly see the object of the universal curiosity. In the elegant vehicle sat the Baroness Lessen and Fräulein von Walde. The latter had her face turned towards the assessor's house, and she looked as if she were diligently counting the windows of the lower stories. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, always a sign in her of inward agitation. The baroness, on the contrary, was leaning back negligently among the cushions, and appeared to be entirely unconscious of everything around.

"The Lindhof ladies," said Ceres. "But, Heavens! what is the meaning of that? They are entirely ignoring Doctor Fels' windows. There stands the doctor's wife. Ha, ha! what a long face; she tried to bow, but the ladies have no eyes in the backs of their heads."

Elizabeth looked across at the opposite house. A very beautiful woman, with a lovely fair-haired child in her arms, was standing at the window. There certainly was a puzzled look in her pleasant blue eyes, but the delicate oval of her face was not in the least lengthened. Attracted by the movements of the child, who stretched out his little arms towards the fantastic heads at the windows of the assessor's house, she looked across, and, archly smiling, nodded to the ladies, who kissed their hands, and replied to her salutation by all sorts of tender pantomime.

"Strange!" said the hostess; "what could the ladies mean by passing by her house without nodding to her? They never went by without stopping before to-day. Frau Fels would stand on the carriage-step for ever so long, and Fräulein von Walde seemed to like her so much—the baroness, 'tis true, often made a wry face. It certainly is very strange; but we must wait and see what the future will bring forth."

"Herr von Hollfeld must have stayed at Odenberg. He was with the ladies this morning when the carriage passed," said Diana.

"How will Fräulein von Walde endure the separation?" asked Flora, with a sneer.

"Why, is there anything in that quarter?" asked the hostess.

"Don't you know that, child?" cried Ceres. "We can't tell yet what his sentiments are, but beyond all doubt she loves him passionately. In fact, it is almost certain that the love is all on one side; for how can such an unfortunate cripple inspire affection,—and in such a cold nature as Hollfeld's, which has been unmoved by the greatest beauties?"

"Yes, true enough," said Venus, with a glance at the mirror, which Flora, in spite of her emaciation, had entirely monopolized. "But Fräulein von Walde is enormously rich!"

"Oh, he can have the wealth at a cheaper rate," said Flora. "He is said to be heir to the sister and brother too."

"Oh, the brother!" rejoined Venus. "He had better not rely upon his chances there. Herr von Walde is a man in the prime of life, and may marry at any time."

"Nonsense!" cried Ceres, excitedly. "The woman is yet to be born, or rather sent down from heaven, who can touch him. He is haughtiness itself, and has less heart than his cousin. How provoked I used to be at the court-balls, to see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed as if they were glued together, and looking down so arrogantly upon the crowd. Only when the princess, or one of the royal family, requested him to dance did he stir from the spot, and then he was at no pains to conceal that he cared not a bit for the honour. Well, we know well enough what his requisitions are for the woman at whose feet he will lay the proud name of von Walde—Ancestors! ancestors she must have, and her pedigree must date from Noah's ark."

All laughed, except Elizabeth, who remained very grave. Fräulein von Walde's behaviour had made a deep impression upon her. She was annoyed, and felt that her views of human nature had been lowered. Was such a change possible in the course of a few short hours? The fact just stated by the ladies, that Helene von Walde loved the son of the Baroness Lessen, would have fully explained the influence exercised by the latter to any one of a practical, matter-of-fact nature,—but not to Elizabeth.

The elevating sentiment, described by the poets of all ages and all climes as the truest and most ennobling of which human nature is capable, could not possibly be an incentive to unworthy conduct; and it was equally hard to imagine how Herr von Hollfeld could inspire that sentiment. Here she judged from the one-sided, personal point of view from which we are prone to pass sentence on others; but whether from the instinct of her true womanly nature, or whether she really possessed the clear insight that sees in the lines of the face the clear indications of the soul within and traces them to their source, we cannot say,—certainly, in this case, her judgment of a man with whom she had had scarcely any intercourse was entirely correct.

Herr von Hollfeld was certainly not calculated to personate the ideal of a refined feminine nature. He neither possessed intelligence nor wit, was inordinately vain, and by no means content with the interest excited by his fine person. He was fully aware that most women will forgive defects of person sooner than defects of mind; and therefore he adopted the mask of silence and reserve, behind which the world is so ready to see great intelligence, originality, and strength of character. There was no man living who could boast of being upon intimate terms with Herr von Hollfeld; he was cunning enough to elude every attempt to test the quality of his mind, and avoided all earnest conversation with men, while women, as soon as they perceived the rough shell of his repellant behaviour, were only too ready to cry, "the sweeter the kernel." Herr von Hollfeld understood his part,—he was moved by secret desires and hopes, which were strengthened by the difficulty attending their attainment. Animated by no lofty aspirations, he was the slave of avarice and sensuality. To make his position a brilliant one from a worldly point of view, he disdained no petty intrigue, and his office as chamberlain at the court of L—— opened the way to many such. He deceived and lied, and was all the more dangerous on account of the frank honest seeming behind which men never suspected the low schemer, or women the vulgar sensualist.

Elizabeth was glad when she saw her uncle turn the corner and approach the house. With a sigh of relief she took her place in the carriage at his side. She took off her hat, and bathed her hot forehead in the fresh, delicious evening breeze that swept gently by. The last rays of the sun were just gilding the trembling leaves of the poplars by the roadside, and there was a rosy light upon the fields of blooming grain; but the forest that enclosed in its bosom Elizabeth's home lay dark and gloomy beyond, as if it had already forgotten the sunny life which had penetrated its inmost recesses so short a time before.

The forester glanced several times at the silent young girl at his side. Suddenly he transferred both reins and whip to one hand, took hold of Elizabeth's chin, and turned her face up to him.

"Come, let me see, Elsie!" he said. "What! why, zounds! you have got two wrinkles there in your forehead as deep as old Sabina's furrows. What has happened? Come, out with it! Something has vexed you, hey?"

"No, uncle, I am not vexed, but pained that you were so right in your estimate of Fräulein von Walde," replied Elizabeth, while a deep blush of emotion covered her face.

"Pained because I was right, or because Fräulein von Walde has acted unworthily?"

"Well, because what you prophesied was evil, and——"

"And therefore it follows that you should be angry with me. He is always the criminal who tells the truth in such a matter. And pray, which of the utterances of my worldly wisdom has been justified by time?"

She told him of Helene's conduct, and of what the ladies had said. The forester smiled meaningly.

"Oh women, women, and those women in especial! They prophesy an immediate marriage if two people only say good morning to each other. But perhaps they are right in this case,—it clears up much to my mind that has hitherto seemed inexplicable to me."

"But, uncle, you cannot believe that any one would sacrifice the best feelings of our nature to such a preference?"

"Many other things have happened, my child, for the sake of such a preference, and although I do not for one moment defend Fräulein von Walde's weakness and submission; still, I shall henceforth judge her more leniently. She succumbs to the power which leads us to forget father and mother for another's sake."

"Ah! that is just what I cannot understand," said Elizabeth, earnestly. "How can any one love a stranger better than father or mother?"

"Hm!" rejoined the forester, touching the horses lightly with his whip, to accelerate their speed. This "hm" was followed by a clearing of his throat, and he changed the subject, for he justly thought, "If that be so, she will never understand my definition of love, although I should speak with the tongues of angels." And he himself?—Far, far in the past lay the time when he had carved the dear name upon the trees, and trained his deep voice to sing love songs; when he had walked miles for a single smile, and had hated as his bitterest enemy the man who dared to regard with favour the object of his adoration. He looked back and rejoiced in that wonderful time, but to paint it with its tempests of excited feeling,—its tears and laughter, its hopes and fears,—was more than he could do.

"Do you see that perpendicular black streak just above the forest there?" he asked, after a long silence, pointing with his whip to the mountain which they were approaching.

"Yes, indeed, it is the flag-staff upon Castle Gnadeck. I saw it a few moments ago, and am now rejoicing unspeakably in the thought that there lies a spot of earth that we may call our own,—a place from which no one has the right to drive us. Thank God, we have a home!"

"And such a home!" said the forester, as his beaming eyes looked around the horizon. "When I was quite a little child, how I longed for the Thuringian forest! It was all because of my grandfather's stories. In his youth he had lived in Thuringia, and had the tales and legends of his home at his tongue's end; and when I had reached man's estate, I came hither. Then all the forest which we see before us belonged to the Gnadewitzes, but I would not enter their service,—my father had told me too much about them. I was the first Ferber from time immemorial who had renounced their service. I applied to the Prince of L——. The last of the Gnadewitzes divided his forests because the Prince of L—— was willing to pay an immense sum of money that he might enlarge his own woodland possessions. And thus it happened that the most ardent desire of my youth was gratified, for I live now in the house that may be called the cradle of the Ferbers. You know that we came at first from Thuringia?"

"Oh yes, I have known that from my childhood."

"And do you know the story of our origin?"

"No."

"Well, it was long ago, and perhaps I am the only one who now knows anything about it, but it shall not be lost, for remembrance is all the gratitude that posterity can show for a brave action,—so now you shall hear the story, and then you can tell it again.

"About two hundred years ago,—you see we can trace back a considerable pedigree,—the only pity is that we have no idea who the mother of our race was,—if you should ever be asked any questions concerning her by the Baroness Lessen, or others, you can answer with confidence that we suspect her to have been either Augusta von Blasewitz,—for the story dates from the thirty years' war,—or a vivandiere: perhaps she was a good, honest woman, who clung to her husband through all the hardships of the war, although I cannot forgive her for forsaking her child,—well, then, about two hundred years ago, as the wife of the huntsman Ferber opened her door in the morning—the very door that now shuts upon my home—she saw a little child lying upon the threshold. She clapped the door to again in a great hurry, for the forest was then swarming with gypsies, and she thought it would prove to be one of their dirty brats. But her husband was more of a Christian, and took the child in. It was scarcely a day old. A paper was pinned upon its breast, stating that the child was born in holy wedlock, that he had been baptized by the name of Hans, and that whoever would take care of him should receive further revelations concerning him at some future day. Hidden in the child's dress was found a purse containing some money. The huntsman's wife was a good woman, and when she heard the child was born of Christian parents, and was probably the son of some honest soldier who had left it here that it might not be exposed to the dangers of the war, she took it to her heart and brought it up with her own little girl as if they had been brother and sister. It was well for him that she did so, for no one ever heard another word about his relatives. His foster-father afterwards adopted him, and, to make his happiness complete, he married his foster-sister. He, as well as his son and grandson, lived where I live now, as foresters to the Gnadewitzes, and they all died there. My grandfather was the first who left this place with his master for one of the estates in Silesia. As a boy, I was much disappointed that some countess mother did not turn up in the end who should recognize the foundling as her son, stolen from her by the malice of an enemy, and bear him home in triumph to her castle. Later in life I learned to endure the want of this romantic termination to the story with a good grace, as I considered that in such case my own appearance here would have been very dubious, and my honest name pleased me too much to wish it changed for any other; but imagine my sensations when I stood for the first time upon the threshold where the little foundling had passed the most helpless moment of his life, when, deserted by his natural parents, sympathy had not yet supplied their place. The worn stone is undoubtedly the same upon which the child lay, and as long as I live here or have anything to do with the place, it shall never be removed."

Suddenly the forester leaned forward and pointed through the boughs, for they had entered the wood.

"Do you see that white spot?" he asked.

The white spot was the cap of Sabina, who was sitting at the door of the Lodge waiting for them. When she saw the carriage, she rose quickly, shook the contents of her apron, which proved to be a quantity of forget-me-nots, into a basket, and came to assist Elizabeth to alight.

The horse trotted, neighing, behind the house, where he was awaited and received with a caressing pat. Hector laid himself down upon the ground, wagging his tail contentedly, and the doves and sparrows, which the noise of the arrival had frightened away, returned and hopped fearlessly about upon the green painted bench and table under the linden, where, as the little rogues well knew, the forester was in the habit of taking his morning and evening meals. He went into the house for a moment that he might exchange his uniform for the more comfortable garment worn at home, and soon returned, pipe and newspaper in hand, to the linden, where Sabina soon began to lay the table.

"'Tis a fact, it's a silly piece of Sunday work for such an old woman as I am," said the housekeeper, laughing, as she passed Elizabeth, who, sitting upon the stone step which now possessed such an interest for her, continued the weaving of the wreath which Sabina had begun. "But I have been used to such work from my youth. I have two little black pictures up in my room, likenesses of my blessed father and mother; they certainly deserve that I should honour them and hold them in loving remembrance, so I hang fresh flowers around them every Sunday, as long as there is a blossom to be had. A couple of children from Lindhof bring me fresh ones every Sunday, and to-day they brought me so many that there is enough for a wreath for Gold Elsie; if she puts it in a dish of water it will keep fresh all through the week."

Elizabeth sat a long time this evening with her uncle. A flood of memories came rushing over his mind, called forth by his narration of the old story of two hundred years before. He recalled many a wish, plan, and aspiration of his youth, which now provoked only a smiling sigh of sympathetic pity,—they had all vanished before the actual, like dust before the wind. He talked them over now, as one who, standing upon the land, hears the dash of the breakers afar that cannot reach him. Sometimes he would make some witty attack, in the midst of his recollections, upon Elizabeth, who would parry his thrusts and retort merrily.

Meanwhile a light arose behind the trees, which had blended undistinguishably with the dark heavens, but which now stood out in strong relief against the bright background. Single rays shot like silver arrows between interlacing boughs, and lay motionless like oases of light upon the dim meadow, until at last the moon arose, large and victorious, above the tops of the trees, and its full lustre flooded the landscape. The gentle breeze of evening had long since folded its wings,—you could have counted the shadows of the linden leaves upon the moonlit earth, so distinct and motionless they lay. All the clearer was heard the gurgle of the little fountain in the court-yard of the Lodge, and the low, indefinite murmur from the woods, which Elizabeth called "the sleepy rain" of the forest.

"There," said Sabina, crowning Elizabeth's head lightly with the forget-me-not wreath, which she had just completed. "Carry it home so, and you'll not crush it."

"Then it may stay there," said she, laughing, as she arose. "Many thanks for my ride! Good-night, uncle, good-night, Sabina!"

And then she hastened through the house and garden, and was soon outside the gate, which she closed behind her, and flew along up the narrow moonlit forest path. In the dwelling-room above, the lamp was burning; in spite of the bright moonlight, its beams were distinctly visible, for the front of her home lay in deep shade.

As she reached the little clearing, a remarkable shadow fell across her path. It was neither a tree nor a post, but the figure of a man, a stranger, who had been standing upon one side of the path, and now, to her terror, approached her. The apparition courteously removed its hat, and Elizabeth's terror vanished on the instant, for she saw before her the smiling, good-humoured countenance of a well dressed, rather elderly man.

"I pray your pardon, Fräulein, if I have frightened you," he said, as he looked kindly over the large, shining glasses of his spectacles into her face. "I assure you, I have no designs either upon your life or your purse, and am simply a peaceful traveller, returning to his home, who greatly desires to know what the light in the ruins yonder may betoken; and yet this moment convinces me that my question is quite superfluous. Fairies and elves are holding their revels there, while the fairest among them keeps guard in the forest around, that none may invade their charmed circle with impunity."

This gallant comparison, trite as it may appear, was not ill applied at this moment, for the slight girlish figure in white robes, with the blue wreath crowning her angelic countenance, and bathed in moonlight, might well have been mistaken for a fairy vision, as it glided so lightly among the trees of the wood.

She herself laughed inwardly at the quaint compliment, but with a little pique at the thought of resembling such a mercurial elfish being, and she replied to the old gentleman with maidenly dignity.

"I am really sorry," she said, "to be forced to lead you back to realities, but I fail to see anything in the light yonder, except a commonplace lamp in the dwelling-room of a forester's clerk in the service of the Prince of L——."

"Ah!" laughed the gentleman, "and does the man live all alone in those uncanny old walls?"

"He might do so with a quiet mind, for over those whose consciences are pure nothing uncanny can have any power. Nevertheless some loving creatures bear him company, among the rest, two well-fed goats and a canary bird, not to mention the owls, who have retired into private life in great indignation, since the frivolous conduct of human beings does not assort at all well with the solemn views of life entertained by their grave worships."

"Or perhaps because they shun the light and cannot endure——"

"That the new arrival should adore the truth?"

"Perhaps that, too; but I was about to suggest that they fly from the two suns that have suddenly arisen in the old ruins."

"Two suns at once? That would be a terrible experience for their poor owls' eyes, and might even prove too much for a fire-worshipper," replied Elizabeth, laughing, as she passed him with a slight inclination, for her parents had just emerged from the gate in the wall, and were advancing towards her. They had come out with some anxiety when they heard Elizabeth's voice and that of a stranger, and they gently reproved her, after she had related her little adventure, for entering so thoughtlessly into conversation with strangers.