Front matter (continued 4)

"That miserable Reinhard!" and Fräulein von Walde pouted a little; "he might have waited awhile,—the world would still have turned around."

"Ah! dear child," sighed the baroness, "we cannot alter these things. We are condemned all our lives long to be the slaves of our inferiors."

Herr von Walde quietly turned towards her, and his glance measured her slowly from head to foot.

"Well, why do you look at me so, my dear Rudolph?" she asked, not without a tinge of uneasiness in her tone.

"I looked to see whether you really seemed fitted to play one of those sad parts in Uncle Tom's Cabin."

"Always ridicule when I look for sympathy," rejoined the lady, endeavouring to lend a gentle, melancholy tone to her harsh voice. "I might have known it, but——" She sighed again. "We do not all possess your enviable equanimity, which is never affected by the petty annoyances and necessary evils of this life. We poor women have our miserable nerves, which make us doubly sensitive to everything that jars upon our minds. If you had seen me this morning, in what a wretched condition I was——"

"Indeed!"

"I have been tried inconceivably. Well, Miss Mertens must answer for it."

"Has she injured you?"

"What an expression! My dear Rudolph, how could a person in her situation injure me? She has vexed me,—made me exceedingly angry!"

"I am greatly pleased to see that you do not bend without a struggle to the yoke of bondage."

"I have lately had to endure more than I can tell with that stupid creature," the baroness continued, without heeding her cousin's comment. "My maternal duties are sacred in my eyes, and therefore I have been obliged to superintend my child's instruction. It is, of course, a matter of great moment to me that her youthful mind should be rightly trained. Unfortunately, I have become more and more convinced that Miss Mertens' knowledge is very limited and her views and principles not those which I should wish adopted by a young girl of Bella's rank in life. This morning I heard the silly woman telling the child that nobility of soul was far superior to nobility of birth—as though the one could be separated from the other,—and that she ranked a beggar with a clear conscience above a crowned head whose conscience was not pure; and a quantity more of the same stuff. When I tell you that Bella, the Lord willing, will live at court,—I have all but secured the post of maid of honour at the court of B—— for her,—you will readily conclude that I interrupted such teaching upon the spot. You must admit, my dear Rudolph, that, with such views, Bella would play a poor part at court—nay, even her stay there would be quite impossible."

"Certainly, there is no doubt of that."

"Thank Heaven!" cried the baroness, breathing freely. "I was really in a little doubt as to how you would receive Miss Mertens' dismissal. You know you always valued her far above her deserts. She was so impertinent when I interfered with her lessons that there was nothing for me to do but to send her away."

"I have no right to lay down laws to you with regard to your people," replied Herr von Walde, coldly.

"But I always try to please you as far as I can, my good Rudolph. I cannot tell you how rejoiced I am that I shall see no more of that repulsive English face."

"I am sorry that you will not be able entirely to avoid it, since she will still remain under the same roof,—my secretary Reinhard was betrothed to her about half an hour ago."

The work dropped from the baroness' fingers. This time not only her cheek but also her brow was suffused with crimson.

"Has the man lost his senses?" she cried at last, recovering from her stupefaction.

"I think not, since he has just given such proof of being in full possession of them," said Herr von Walde, with composure.

"Well, I must say that he plays his part of antiquary well. Such a lovely, blooming, young bride!" cried the lady contemptuously, endeavouring to laugh heartily. Hollfeld joined in her laughter, thus giving the first sign of his having heard the conversation. Helene cast a troubled glance at him; but this mirth cut Elizabeth to the soul,—she felt the greatest indignation stirring within her.

"I hope," the baroness began again, "that you will not take it ill of me——"

"What now?"

"That I cannot consent to associate with that person any longer."

"I cannot force you to anything, Amalie, any more than I can forbid my secretary to marry."

"But you can dismiss him if he chooses a wife who makes his residence beneath your roof disagreeable to your nearest relatives."

"That I cannot do either; he has been engaged by me for life, and I have just secured to his future wife a pension in case of his death. Besides, you make a slight mistake, my good cousin, if you suppose that anything in the world could induce me to allow a man to leave me whom I have always found faithful. I am much pleased with Reinhard's choice, and have allotted him the use of the apartments upon the ground-floor of the north wing during his life. His mother-in-law will reside with him."

"Well, I congratulate him upon that valuable acquisition," replied the baroness, and her sharp voice trembled with anger. "I will, however, make one remark: as I cannot bring myself to endure the presence of that person in my apartments for a day longer, she must provide herself with some place where she can stay until her marriage. Probably even you will see, my dear Rudolph, that there is a manifest impropriety in the interesting pair's still living, under present circumstances, beneath the same roof."

"Permit me," said Elizabeth, here turning to Helene, "I am very sure that my parents would extend a warm welcome to Miss Mertens,—we have quite room enough."

"Ah, thank you!—matters could not be better arranged," answered Fräulein von Walde,—extending her hand to her young friend. The baroness shot an angry glance at Elizabeth.

"The affair will thus be settled very satisfactorily," she said, preserving her composure with difficulty. "I will contain myself, and hope in all humility that the future Frau Reinhard will vouchsafe me a spot where I shall be relieved from the sight of her disagreeable countenance. Apropos, Fräulein Ferber," she continued after awhile, in a careless tone, "I have just remembered that the money for your lessons has been for several days in the hands of my maid; just knock at her door as you go by, and she will give it to you with a receipt, which you will please sign."

"But, Amalie!" exclaimed Helene.

"I will do as you desire, madame," replied Elizabeth, quietly. She had noticed that while the baroness was speaking a lightning flash of rage shot from Herr von Walde's eyes, a thunder-cloud seemed to pass over his countenance, but in a moment these witnesses to his agitation gave place to a look of withering sarcasm.

"If I might offer a little advice, Fräulein," he said, turning to Elizabeth,—"I should counsel you not to venture rashly into the baroness' apartments,—they are uncanny. Evil spirits are seen there in broad daylight, and they have often worked mischief. Do not give yourself the slightest trouble in the matter,—my steward shall attend to it; he is thoroughly trustworthy, and manages such affairs with so much delicacy that he would really shame even a lady."

The baroness hastily folded her work together and arose.

"It would be better for me to pass the rest of the day in my solitary room," and she turned to Helene, and her lips quivered; "there are times when our most harmless words and actions are misunderstood and resented. I pray you, therefore, to excuse me from appearing at tea."

She made a ceremonious courtesy to the brother and sister, took the arm of her son, who looked much confused, and rustled out of the room.

Helene arose with tears in her eyes, and was about to follow her, but her brother took her hand with kindly gravity, and drew her down again upon the Sofia beside him.

"Will you not give me the pleasure of your company while I drink my coffee?" he said gently, and as quietly as if nothing had occurred.

"Oh, yes, if you wish it," she replied hesitatingly and without looking at him; "but I am sorry to tell you that you must hurry a little, for Fräulein Ferber has come to practise with me, and she has already been kept waiting an unconscionable time."

"Well, let us go to the piano immediately,—but upon one condition, Helene."

"And that is?"

"That you allow me to listen."

"No, no, that I cannot permit,—I am not far enough advanced,—your ears could not endure my bungling.

"Poor Emil! He does not dream that he owes the delight of listening to you to his uncultivated ear!"

Helene blushed. She had hitherto never mentioned Hollfeld's visits to her brother for reasons that may easily be imagined. Besides, she supposed that they would have been a matter of entire indifference to him, and now it appeared that he really attached importance to them. She seemed to herself to be a detected deceiver, and for a few moments she could not speak. Elizabeth suspected what her sensations were; she too grew confused, and felt her face flush painfully. Just at this moment Herr von Walde turned towards her, his keen, searching glance scanned her countenance, and the gloomy wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows.

"Does Fräulein Ferber improvise during these hours for practice as they are called?" he asked his sister, speaking more quickly than was his wont.

"Oh no," she answered, glad to recover her composure,—"had she done so I should not have spoken of bungling. I admitted Emil because I think that where there is a budding taste for music, it should be encouraged."

Herr von Walde smiled slightly, but it was not the smile which had lately possessed such a peculiar charm for Elizabeth. The dark lines in his brow did not disappear, and his look was gloomy as he still observed Elizabeth keenly.

"You are right, Helene," he said at last, not without a tinge of irony. "But what magnetism there must be in these musical practisings that they have worked such miracles! A very short time ago Emil would much rather have listened to his Diana's baying, than to Beethoven's sonatas."

Helene was silent, and cast down her eyes.

"But we have forgotten Miss Mertens," said her brother suddenly, in a different tone. "Would it not be advisable for Fräulein Ferber to settle that matter as soon as possible?"

"Yes, indeed," replied Helene, quickly, seizing upon any pretext to divert the conversation from its present painful direction. "We had better omit the lesson for to-day,—while you, dear child," and she turned to Elizabeth, "take the necessary steps,—pray go now, then, to your parents, and ask them in my name to offer an asylum to the poor lady."

Elizabeth arose, and Helene also stood up. When her brother saw that she wished to leave the pavilion, he put his arm about her little form, raised her from the ground like a feather, and carried her to the wheeled chair that stood outside the door. After he had arranged the cushions at her back, and covered her little feet carefully with a shawl, he raised his hat to Elizabeth, who saw that the wrinkle between his eyebrows was not yet gone, and pushed the chair along the nearest path leading to the castle.

"She quite fills his heart," thought Elizabeth, as she ascended the mountain, "and Miss Mertens must be wrong if she imagines that he will ever give to another a higher, or even a like place in his affections. He is jealous of his cousin, and rightly so. How can it be—" and here she stood still for a minute as two masculine figures arose to her mind's eye,—"that such a man as Hollfeld can have any charms for Helene by the side of Herr von Walde? The one retreats behind an appearance of wise silence because he has nothing to say, while the other, through whose noble external repose breaks such fire, possesses a world of power trained and restrained by force of character. Hence his seeming great reserve, which commonplace people cannot possibly understand."

She suddenly remembered the look that Herr von Walde had fixed upon her. Did he think her an accomplice,—his sister's confidante,—and was he vexed with her when, in fact, she had, at this present moment, no more earnest desire than that Herr von Hollfeld's passion for music might subside as quickly as it had been aroused? Of course, she could not say so to any one,—least of all to Herr von Walde,—and, therefore, she must silently pay the penalty for those painful blushes that had suffused her cheeks just at the wrong moment, and when there was no earthly reason for them.

CHAPTER XII.

Her father and mother instantly acceded to Elizabeth's request; and she hastened back to the castle to carry to Miss Mertens their cordial invitation. The governess, when Elizabeth entered her room, was leaning with folded hands against the wall. At her feet stood a trunk half packed, closets and wardrobes were wide open, and the chairs were heaped with books, dresses, and linen. The young girl hastened to her friend, threw her arms around her, and looked into her face, which, while it bore traces of tears, was beaming with happiness.

"I am so astounded by the sudden change in my lot," said Miss Mertens, after Elizabeth had offered her congratulations, "that I am obliged to close my eyes how and then and collect my senses. Only this morning everything seemed so dark before me,—I actually could not tell where to go,—the ground seemed slipping from under my feet. And just in the midst of my anxiety a home is suddenly provided for me. A man whom I esteem thoroughly, but whose regard for the poor governess I had never suspected, will be forever faithful to me, and I can fulfill the warmest desire of my heart and have my dear good mother to live with me! What will she say when she receives the news,—she, who has suffered so much in thinking that I must battle with the storms of life alone, and that she could not recall me to her loving heart!"

She told Elizabeth that in a few weeks Reinhard would go to England for her mother. His employer had himself proposed the journey, and insisted upon defraying all the expenses. Whenever Miss Mertens mentioned Herr von Walde the tears filled her eyes,—she declared that all the wrong done her by the baroness was more than overbalanced by his kindness and generosity; he could not endure to have any one beneath his roof suffer injustice. Elizabeth completed the measure of her happiness by the invitation which she brought. Miss Mertens had intended to go to the little village inn until she could find lodgings.

"But now we will go to your house together as soon as possible," she said, her face beaming with joy. "The baroness, a short time ago, sent me my salary, requesting that I would not again enter her presence, and Bella passed through my room without even looking at me,—that grieves me, grieves me very deeply, for I have cherished her like the apple of my eye. Her health used to be very delicate, and while her mother has been absent, attending the court balls, I have sat by her bedside and watched her feverish slumbers night after night. Now it is all forgotten,—but I only meant to let you know that I need not take leave of either of them."

While Miss Mertens went to bid good-by to Fräulein von Walde and a few others in the house who were fond of her, Elizabeth packed up a travelling bag for her. The new inmate of Gnadeck only took a few necessary articles with her; the rest of her possessions were sent to the future apartments of the betrothed pair.

It was an amusement for Elizabeth to arrange Miss Mertens' books in a bookcase in one of these apartments. Herr von Walde had allowed all the furniture in the rooms to remain for the use of their new inhabitants. Many of these books were most interesting; she not only glanced at their title pages, but, as she stood there, ran over several pages. Miss Mertens and her affairs were all forgotten for the moment as if they had never existed. While she was buried in Goethe's appearance in the crowd at the coronation of Joseph II., a fresh rose fell over her shoulder upon the pages of the book Elizabeth started, but instantly smiled, shook off the rose, and went on reading. Miss Mertens, who was doubtless standing behind her, should not exult in any effect of her teasing. But she suddenly uttered a low cry,—a white, well-formed man's hand appeared and was gently laid upon hers. She turned round,—not Miss Mertens, but Hollfeld, was standing behind her and spreading out his arms with a smile, as if to seize the startled girl.

Instantly her alarm was converted into indignation; but before she could breathe a word, a harsh commanding voice cried out: "Emil, everybody is looking for you. Your superintendent from Odenberg is here to see you upon business of importance. Pray go to him instantly!"

Beside Elizabeth was an open window. Outside of it stood Herr von Walde, with his arms leaning upon the broad sill looking in. It was his voice which banished Hollfeld on the instant in great embarrassment. What an angry expression there was upon the uncovered forehead, in the compressed lips, and in the eyes that flashed upon Hollfeld's retreating figure as it vanished through the opposite door!

At last his glance returned to Elizabeth, who had hitherto stood still, but who now, recovering from her two-fold fright, was about to retreat into the recesses of the apartment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, brusquely; his voice had not lost its former harsh tone. Elizabeth, deeply wounded by the manner and style of his address, was about to return a defiant answer, when she suddenly recollected that she was in his house, and therefore she simply answered:

"I am arranging Miss Mertens' books."

"There was another answer upon your lips,—I saw it, and I wish to know what it was."

"Well, then,—I was about to say that I do not reply to questions asked in such a manner."

"And why did you suppress this reproof?"

"Because it occurred to me that you have the right to command here."

"I am glad,—it is well that you think thus,—for I should like just at this moment to exercise this obvious right of mine: tread upon that rose which lies languishing there at your feet."

"That I shall not do,—it has done no wrong." She picked up the rose, a beautiful half-open centifolia, and laid it upon the window-sill. Herr von Walde took the flower, and without more ado tossed it away over the lawn.

"There let it die a poetic death," he said with a sneer, "let the grasses bend above it, and the evening dews shed sympathetic tears over the poor victim."

The rigid expression had passed away from his features, but there was still the same inquisitorial look in his eyes, and his voice was not much gentler, as he asked:

"What were you reading when it was my misfortune to interrupt you?"

"Goethe's 'Wahrheit und Dichtung.'"

"Do you know the book?"

"Only selections from it."

"Well, how do you like the touching story of Gretchen?"

"I do not know it."

"You have it open in your hands."

"No, I was reading the coronation of Joseph II., at Frankfort."

"Let me see it."

She handed him the open book.

"It is even so! But look how ugly that is! Just where Goethe describes the emperor ascending the throne, there is an ugly green spot. Doubtless you pressed the green rose leaves too tenderly upon the leaf of the book; the Emperor, Goethe, and Miss Mertens will hardly forgive you for it."

"That spot is old—I did not touch the rose."

"But you smiled at sight of it."

"Because I thought it came from Miss Mertens."

"Ah, there is something touching in this friendship! It must have been a great disappointment when, instead of your friend, you saw my cousin's handsome face behind you."

"Yes."

"'Yes.' How that sounds! I like laconic brevity, but it must not be ambiguous. What does that 'yes' mean? It sounds neither sweet nor bitter; and then your face!—why is that defiant frown there between your eyebrows?"

"Because I think that there are limits to every right."

"I did not know that I was making use of my right just at present."

"But you will know it if you will ask yourself whether you would address me thus harshly in my father's house."

Herr von Walde grew pale. He compressed his lips, and retreated a few paces. Elizabeth took the book which he had laid upon the window-sill, and went to the bookcase to close it.

"Under the same circumstances, I should have spoken exactly so in your father's house," he said, after awhile, somewhat more gently, as he again approached the window. "You make me impatient. Why do you answer so ambiguously? How could I tell from that simple syllable whether the disappointment of which you spoke were a disagreeable or a pleasant one? Well?"

He leaned far across the window-sill, and looked full into her face, as though to read the answer upon her lips; but she turned away with irritation. Hateful thought! How could any one suppose that Hollfeld could ever be agreeable to her? Did not her face, her whole bearing towards the man, show how thoroughly disagreeable she thought him?

At this moment Miss Mertens entered the room to seek Elizabeth. She had completed all her preparations, and was quite ready to leave the house. With a sigh of relief, Elizabeth hastened to her, while Herr von Walde left the window and paced to and fro several times on the lawn. When he again approached, Miss Mertens went towards him, and courtesied profoundly. She told him that she had in vain endeavoured to obtain access to him several times that day, and that she rejoiced to have an opportunity to thank him for his kindness and thoughtfulness.

He made a deprecating gesture, and offered his congratulations upon her betrothal. He spoke very calmly. Again his whole presence breathed an atmosphere of dignity and reserve, so that Elizabeth could not understand how she had ever found the courage to remind this man of the laws of common politeness. The eyes that had flashed so passionately now looked serenely into Miss Mertens' face. The deep, gentle tones of his voice obliterated all remembrance of the cutting irony that had rendered it so sharp a few moments before, when it had given to his words such an accent of irritation, and had sounded as if designed only to wound and avenge.

That Herr von Walde was filled with bitterness towards his cousin, Elizabeth had already noticed once before that day. But why should she be made to suffer whenever he encountered him? Was not Hollfeld's continual intrusiveness sufficient annoyance to her? Why should she be made the victim of an irritation for which Helene alone was to blame? A sharp pang shot through her as she remembered how tenderly and forgivingly Herr von Walde had taken his sister in his arms, never casting a single look of reproach upon her when Hollfeld's visits had been alluded to. She, the poor piano-player, who was of necessity forced to endure Hollfeld's presence, must be the scapegoat. Or had he perhaps seen how Hollfeld had thrown the rose upon her book, and was his aristocratic pride wounded that his cousin should pay such homage to an untitled maiden? This thought flashed upon Elizabeth as an explanation of everything. Yes, thus only could his conduct be explained. She was to crush the poor flower, that all proof might be destroyed that Herr von Hollfeld had for one moment forgotten his aristocratic descent. That was the reason why he had suddenly spoken in such a harsh tone of command,—a tone which only those heard from him who had committed some fault, and why she was called upon to explain the impression which Hollfeld's sudden appearance had made upon her. At this moment she would have liked to confront him, and tell him frankly how odious his high-born cousin was to her,—that so far from feeling honoured by his attentions, she looked upon them as nothing less than insults. But it was too late. Herr von Walde was discussing Reinhard's journey to England with Miss Mertens so calmly and kindly that it would have been ridiculous, in the midst of such a discussion, suddenly to resume the thread of the previous stormy conversation. Besides, he did not once look at her again, although she stood tolerably near to Miss Mertens.

"I am really half persuaded to go with him," he said in conclusion to the governess. "Reinhard shall return with your mother, for I intend to give him the entire charge of Lindhof here, and I will pass the winter in London, and go to Scotland in the spring."

"And not return for years?" Miss Mertens interrupted him, anxiously. "Has Thuringia, then, no attraction for you?"

"Oh, yes; but I suffer here, and you know that prompt and active treatment will often cure where cautious, cowardly delay might bring danger. I hope much from the air of Scotland."

The last words were spoken in a tone meant to be gay, but the lines between his brows were stronger than ever, and caused Elizabeth to doubt much whether his cheerfulness were genuine.

He shook hands with Miss Mertens, and walked slowly away, soon disappearing behind a clump of trees.

"There it is," said the governess, sadly; "instead of bringing a lovely young wife home to Lindhof, as I hoped he would, he is going away again, and perhaps will not return for years. He is restless, and no wonder, when one thinks of the comfortless home that he has. Baroness Lessen he cannot endure, and yet he is forced to see her daily at his fireside, for his sister, whom he loves so tenderly, has declared to him, that in the society of this woman she is able to forget the bitter trials of her life. And his cousin, too, is an unbidden guest. Herr von Walde's nature is too frank and open to allow him to conceal his dislikes; but these people are made of iron and steel,—the indifference of the master of the house never affects them in the least; they have neither eyes nor ears when he hints at their leaving. And as for Herr von Hollfeld, he seems to me a very insignificant creature, and very repulsive. I cannot conceive how he could have won Fräulein von Walde's heart."

"Do you know that too?" asked Elizabeth.

"Ah, child, that has been a secret known to everybody for a long time. She loves him as truly and deeply as only a woman can love. But this unfortunate attachment, on which she now lives and breathes as in sunlight, will one of these days cast the darkest shadow that has yet fallen upon her sorrowful existence. All this Herr von Walde comprehends; but he cannot open the eyes of his sister without inflicting a mortal wound, and so he sacrifices everything to his fraternal tenderness, and leaves the home where he is made so unhappy."

During this conversation, Miss Mertens and Elizabeth had left the castle, and were now ascending the mountain path. Reinhard, who had been to the village, soon joined them. Miss Mertens told him of her interview with Herr von Walde, and all that he had said about going to England.

"He has not yet mentioned it to me," said Reinhard; "but he often looks as if he longed to leave Lindhof. Such a household! The master of the house is considered by his relatives in the light of a fifth wheel to a coach,—he maintains them, and they show their gratitude by estranging his sister's heart from him. Good Heavens! if I could only take his place for two days, I would soon exorcise the evil spirit and not a trace of it should ever appear again. However, I hope that Herr von Hollfeld will at least soon return to Odenberg for a few days. His superintendent has just arrived with the intelligence that the housekeeper has left,—no one stays there long—my gentleman is too stingy. And several other matters are in disorder there."

When they reached Castle Gnadeck, the guest was most cordially welcomed by the Ferbers. How comfortable and homelike did Miss Mertens' room seem to its new inmate! It shone with neatness; the counterpane and table-covers were spotless, a beautiful Schwarzwald clock was ticking softly just above the prettily arrayed writing-table, and a vase of roses and mignonette upon the window-sill filled the air with fragrance. Through the open door could be seen the dwelling-room of the family. There the table was already laid, and Elizabeth lighted the spirit-lamp beneath the tea-kettle, while Miss Mertens was arranging in drawers and wardrobe the few articles that she had brought with her.

In the mean while the forester, with his long pipe and Hector, had arrived, and Reinhard also stayed, so that a merry circle was soon assembled. The forester was in a particularly happy humour. Elizabeth sat beside him, and did her best to join in his gaiety; but it had never seemed so difficult to her before, and he, who had an acute perception of the most delicate modulations of her voice, soon perceived it.

"Holla, Gold Elsie, what is the matter with you?" he cried, suddenly. "All is not right here." He took her by the chin and looked into her eyes. "I see,—there is a veil over your eyes, and over your heart, too! Zounds! what a sudden change! And what does this sad nun's face mean?"

Elizabeth blushed deeply beneath his scrutinizing gaze. She did all that she could to parry his questions by jest and laughter, but she did not succeed very well, and at last there was nothing for her but to seat herself at the piano, where he never teased nor laughed at her.

How much good it did her heavy heart to give it voice in full rolling chords, as the sound floated sadly out into the gathering twilight,—telling of the gloom that had fallen upon her at the thought of Herr von Walde's again leaving Thuringia! Where now were all her dreamings and all her endeavours to read the meaning of that mysterious warning that had of late breathed through her melodies? It rung out clearly now in mighty tones, at the sound of which all the former gentle breathings of her inward emotions died away in an inaudible whisper. A fairy land, full of golden promise, was revealed before her; her enchanted eyes gazed rapturously upon the fair landscape,—but never, never might she tread that magic ground, for nothing could bridge the abyss at her feet. The veil beneath which her heart had hitherto lain in blissful self-ignorance was rent, and with joy and pain unspeakable she knew—that she loved.

She did not know how long she had been playing. But she was suddenly aroused from her utter forgetfulness of the world without by a bright gleam of light falling directly on the pale bust of Beethoven. Her mother had just lighted the large lamp, and Elizabeth saw her uncle sitting near her on the broad window-seat. He must have entered noiselessly. As her hands dropped from the keys, he gently smoothed her hair with his hand.

"Do you know, child," he said, after the last faint sound had died away, and his voice trembled with emotion, "if I had not already seen that something was the matter, I should soon have learned it from your playing,—it was tears, nothing but tears!"

CHAPTER XIII.

Miss Mertens' presence lent an additional charm to the circle at Gnadeck. For the first time for long, dreary years the governess found herself an object of interest and affection, and at home. Her gentle nature, so long chilled and repressed, now showed itself, and, combined with her varied culture, made her a most attractive addition to the household. She longed to be of use whenever she could, and took great pains with little Ernst, who had a lesson every day in French and English; while Elizabeth, too, gathered all the advantage that she could from her visitor, and studied diligently, knowing that it was the best resource to ward off sad reveries.

In the mean while, the practisings at Castle Lindhof went on as before. Hollfeld, who had only been absent at Odenberg for one day, was still an enthusiastic auditor, trying by every means in his power to obtain a private interview with Elizabeth. Once or twice he had cunningly contrived that, in the intervals of rest, Helene should leave the room to find something that he wanted, but he gained nothing by these manoeuvres, for Elizabeth always left the room at the same time to procure a glass of water. His attempts to meet her upon her return to her home she frustrated also, for Miss Mertens and little Ernst were always awaiting her at the borders of the park. This perpetual frustration of his endeavours at last made him impatient and less cautious. He no longer held his hand before his face. His looks were entirely unguarded, and it was only owing to her near-sightedness that Helene was spared a most painful discovery. Thus Elizabeth's visits to the castle grew more and more annoying, and she was thankful that the fête day was at last close at hand, since with that celebration the daily practisings would, at all events, be discontinued.

The day before Herr von Walde's birthday, Reinhard announced at Gnadeck that a guest had already arrived at Castle Lindhof.

"That scatter-brain completes our misery," he said, with vexation.

"Who is she?" said Miss Mertens and Frau Ferber, laughing at the same moment.

"Oh, she is said to be a friend of Fräulein von Walde,—a lady from court at L——. She is to assist in the ordering of the fête. Heaven help us all, for she turns everything upside down."

"Ah, it must be Fräulein von Quittelsdorf," cried Miss Mertens, still laughing. "Yes, indeed, there is quicksilver in her veins. She is terribly frivolous, but she is not really bad at heart."

Later in the afternoon Reinhard accompanied Elizabeth to Lindhof. As she approached the castle, Herr von Walde's horse was led up to the great entrance on the southern front of it. He himself immediately issued from the glass door, riding-whip in hand, and descended the steps. Elizabeth had not seen him since the afternoon when he had treated her with such harsh want of consideration. She thought he looked very pale and stern.

Just as he was mounting, a young lady, dressed in white, came out upon the steps. She was extremely pretty, and with much grace she hastened down to pat the horse upon the neck and give him a lump of sugar.

Fräulein von Walde, who also appeared leaning upon Hollfeld's arm, stood at the top of the steps, and kissed her hand in token of farewell to her brother.

"Is not that young lady Fräulein von Quittelsdorf?" asked Elizabeth.

Reinhard assented, with a wry face.

"She is certainly very pretty," said the young girl. "Herr von Walde seems much interested," she added, in a lower tone, as the rider leaned from his saddle, and appeared to be listening intently to what the young lady was saying.

"Oh, he does not wish to be rude, and therefore gives her a moment's attention. She would talk the moon out of the sky, and, I verily believe, would seize and hang upon the horse's bridle if she saw any danger of his leaving before she had finished what she had to say."

In the mean time they had reached the vestibule. Here Elizabeth took leave of Reinhard, and betook herself to the music-room, where she found Fräulein von Walde and Hollfeld. The former retired for a moment to her dressing-room, to arrange her curls, that were somewhat out of order, and Hollfeld took advantage of this moment to approach Elizabeth, who had retired to the recess of a window, and was turning over the leaves of a music-book.

"We were provokingly disturbed the other day," he whispered.

"We?" she asked, with emphasis, retreating a step or two. "I, indeed, had reason to complain of being disturbed. I was much provoked, I assure you, by the interruption of my reading."

"Oh, every inch a queen!" he cried jestingly, but in a low tone of voice. "I certainly did not intend to offend you,—on the contrary, do you not know what that rose meant?"

"It would most certainly say that it would a thousand times rather be left to perish upon its stalk than be plucked for such idle purposes."

"Cruel girl! You are hard as marble. Can you not guess, then, what lures me hither daily?"

"Admiration, doubtless, for our great composers."

"You are wrong."

"Then the hope of improving your musical taste."

"Oh, no! That would not bring me a step hither. For me, music is only a bridge——"

"From which you might easily fall into cold water."

"And would you allow me to drown?"

"Most certainly—yes. I am not ambitious of a medal from the Humane Society," replied Elizabeth, dryly.

Fräulein von Walde returned. She seemed surprised to find the pair conversing, for until this moment there had never been a word exchanged between them. She looked keenly at Hollfeld, who could not control his feeling of annoyance, and then seating herself at the piano, began to prelude, while Elizabeth arranged the notes. Hollfeld took his usual place, and leaned his head upon his hand with a melancholy air. But never had his gaze rested upon Elizabeth with such glowing and passionate intentness. She repented having entered into conversation with him. Her endeavour to repulse him by coldness and severity appeared to have had quite a contrary effect. Repugnance and fear overcame her at sight of him, and, notwithstanding the thought of her uncle's probable smile of triumph, the determination rather to resign the practisings entirely than to subject herself any longer to these insolent glances, gained ground in her mind.

The hour was nearly ended, when Fräulein von Quittelsdorf entered in haste. In her arms she carried a little creature in a long, white, infant's cloak, pressing its head down upon her shoulder with one hand.

"Frau Oberhofmeisterin von Falkenberg sends her compliments," she said with formality,—"regrets excessively that a cold will prevent her presence to-morrow, but she takes the liberty of sending her lovely, blooming grandchild——"

Here the creature in her arms made desperate exertions, and, with a loud howl, jumped down upon the ground, and ran under a chair, dragging the long robe after it.

"Ah, Cornelie, you are too childish," cried Fräulein von Walde, with a laugh of amusement and vexation, as Ali's distressed face, surrounded by a baby's cap, peeped out from beneath the chair. "If our good Falkenberg could hear of this, you would play no more tricks at the court of L——."

Bella, who had also just entered, shrieked with laughter, only endeavouring to control herself when her mother, amazed at the noise, appeared and represented to her how unbecoming such loud merriment was. The baroness, smiling, shook a threatening forefinger at Fräulein von Quittelsdorf when Helene told her what had happened, and then approached Elizabeth.

"Perhaps Fräulein von Walde has not told you," she said rather graciously, "that all invited to the fête to-morrow will assemble at four o'clock in the large saloon. Pray be punctual. The concert will not be over until near six. I tell you this that your parents may not expect you at home before that time."

At these words, Helene looked down upon the keys of the piano in great confusion, while Fräulein von Quittelsdorf took her stand beside the baroness, and stared Elizabeth impertinently in the face. Beautiful as were the black eyes that were fastened upon her, Elizabeth was annoyed by their steady stare. She bowed to the baroness, assuring her that she would be punctual, and then looked full and gravely at the fair impertinent. The effect was instantaneous. Fräulein von Quittelsdorf looked away, and, in some confusion, turned upon her heel like a spoiled child. Just then she discovered Herr von Hollfeld in the recess of the window.

"How, Hollfeld," she cried, "are you here, or is it your spirit? What are you doing here?"

"I am listening, as you see."

"You are listening? Ha, ha, ha! And of coarse enjoying such indigestible food as Mozart and Beethoven! Don't you remember telling me, four weeks ago, at the last court concert, that you always suffered from dyspepsia after listening to classical music?"

She laughed boisterously.

"Ah, pray let nonsense go now, dearest Cornelie," said the baroness, "and aid me in this programme for the fête with your inventive genius. And you, dear Emil, would do me a great favour if you would come too. You know that I am obliged now to enforce my authority by the presence of a masculine supporter."

Hollfeld arose with visible reluctance.

"Oh, take me too, pray! Would you be so cruel as to leave me here alone until tea-time?" cried Helene, reproachfully, as she stood up. She looked displeased, and it seemed to Elizabeth that she noticed, for the first time, an envious expression in the lovely blue eyes as they looked at the tripping feet of Cornelie, who, without another word, had taken Hollfeld's arm, and was leaving the room. Elizabeth closed the piano, and took a hasty leave.

In all the passages of the castle through which she went there was hurry and bustle. The servants were carrying baskets of china, glass, and silver to the rooms adjoining the grand saloon. From the subterranean regions of the kitchens there streamed a fragrant odour, and through the open door of one of the servants' rooms were seen heaps of green garlands and wreaths.

And he in whose honour all were exerting themselves to-day was riding alone in the forest, gloomily devising ways and means for fleeing from the joyless, unquiet life in his home.

Elizabeth went down to the village to execute a commission for her father. A few days before, a violent storm in the night had so shaken the ruinous jutty in the corner of the garden that there was danger that the slightest jar might send it toppling down upon the garden, burying beneath its fragments the beds and paths which had just been so laboriously arranged. Two Lindhof masons had promised to take down the ruin the following Monday, but as the forester had declared that he knew from experience that small reliance was to be placed upon their promises, Elizabeth was to remind them of their engagement, and impress upon them the urgent necessity for keeping it.

The result of her expedition was favourable. One of the workmen swore by all that was Holy that he would be upon the spot, and she was now wandering through the quiet, lonely path towards her home. About midway upon the path leading from the village to the forest Lodge, a much narrower path branched off, and ascended the mountain to Castle Gnadeck. It was seldom used, and might have escaped stranger eyes, for in some places it was overgrown with low bushes, and fallen leaves lay so thick among the gnarled roots of the trees that it seemed never to have been trodden by the foot of man. Elizabeth loved the path, and now chose it for her return home.

She had never encountered a human being here, but to-day she had not penetrated far into the green twilight before she observed, about twenty paces in front of her, towards the right, just by the trunk of an enormous beech tree, something like an arm slowly projected and then dropped. She could distinctly perceive this movement, as just at that spot the trees separated, and encircled a light spot of grass which shone like an oasis in the dark forest. Elizabeth advanced noiselessly and slowly, but as she arrived opposite to the beech tree she suddenly stood still in terror.

A man was leaning against the tree. His back was turned towards her; his head was uncovered save by masses of coarse, uncombed hair. For one moment he stood motionless, apparently listening, then advanced a step, raised his right arm, and pointed the barrel of a pistol towards the light spot in the forest, after awhile letting his arm fall again by his side.

"He is practising at a mark," thought Elizabeth, but she only thought so to compose herself, for an indescribable terror had at once taken possession of her; she did not know whether to run backward or forward in order to escape observation, and so she stood still, rooted to the spot.

Suddenly the noise of a horse's hoofs struck upon her ear. The man started and stood erect as though electrified. A few moments afterwards a horseman appeared where the forest was more open. The horse walked slowly over the soft turf; its rider, lost in thought, had dropped the bridle upon its neck. The man with the pistol rapidly advanced a couple of paces; raised his arm in the direction of the horseman, and at the same moment turned his head so that Elizabeth instantly recognized the former superintendent, Linke, his features deadly pale and distorted with rage and hate, while the horseman, who was slowly coming within range of the deadly weapon, was Herr von Walde. An instantaneous transformation took place in Elizabeth. The girlish terror that had caused her to tremble at sight of the villain, gave place to a wondrous courage and an incomprehensible calmness and self-control at the thought that she was destined to come to the rescue here. She glided noiselessly through the trees and stood suddenly, as if she had risen from the earth, beside Linke, who, his eyes riveted upon his victim, had no suspicion of her approach. With all the strength of which she was mistress she seized his arm and threw it up. The pistol was discharged with a loud report, and the ball whistled through the air and lodged in the trunk of a tree; as the startled wretch fell upon the ground, a woman's loud scream for help rang through the forest. The assassin tottered to his feet and plunged into the thicket. In the mean time the horse had reared and plunged with fright, but, speedily controlled by its rider, came galloping across the clearing to the spot where Elizabeth was leaning against a beech tree, pale as death. The danger was past, and her feminine nature was reasserting itself. She trembled in every limb, but a happy smile illuminated her countenance when she saw Herr von Walde coming towards her safe and unharmed.

At sight of her he leaped from his horse; but she, who had just manifested such extraordinary self-possession, screamed with fright and turned suddenly as she felt two hands laid upon her shoulders from behind,—Miss Mertens' agitated face was close to her own.

"Good God! Elizabeth," cried the governess, breathlessly, "what have you done! he might have killed you!"

Herr von Walde pushed through the underbrush that separated them from him.

"Are you wounded?" he asked Elizabeth, hurriedly and earnestly.

She shook her head. Without another word he raised her from the ground and carried her to the fallen trunk of a tree, where he gently placed her. Miss Mertens sat down beside her and leaned the girl's head upon her shoulder.

"Now pray tell me what has happened," said Herr von Walde to the governess.

"No, no," cried Elizabeth in terror; "not here, let us go,—the murderer has escaped,—perhaps he is lurking among the bushes, and may yet accomplish his design."

"Linke was about to murder you, Herr von Walde," said Miss Mertens, in a trembling voice.

"Miserable wretch! that shot then was for me," he calmly observed. He turned and went into the thicket where Linke had disappeared. Elizabeth almost lost her self control, and was on the point of following him when he returned.

"Reassure yourself," he said to her; "there are no traces of him to be seen; he will not shoot again to-day. Come, I beg you, Miss Mertens, tell me all about it."

It appeared that knowing that Elizabeth was going to the village, the governess had gone to meet her in the narrow forest path. As she was slowly descending the mountain she saw all that Elizabeth had seen. The villain's intentions were plain, but she had been so paralyzed by fright that she had not been able to move nor cry out. She stood fastened to the spot with deadly terror, when suddenly Elizabeth, whom she had not seen, stood behind the assassin. In her horror at her friend's danger, the cry for help escaped her which had been heard simultaneously with the report of the pistol. She related all this hurriedly, and in conclusion added: "Where did you get the courage, Elizabeth, to seize the man? I shudder at the mere thought of touching him, and should have screamed loudly instead."

"If I had screamed," replied Elizabeth, simply, "Linke might have accomplished his purpose, in his involuntary start of alarm."

Herr von Walde listened quietly but intently to Miss Mertens' account. Only when she described how Elizabeth had seized the murderer's arm, did his face lose colour for an instant, as he riveted a keen, anxious glance upon the girl, to assure himself that she had actually escaped the danger unhurt. He leaned over her, took her right hand and pressed it to his lips, and Elizabeth plainly perceived that his hand trembled.

Miss Mertens, who observed how this expression of gratitude confused Elizabeth and called up a burning blush in her cheeks, left her seat, and picking up the pistol Linke had thrown from him in his flight, handed it to Herr von Walde.

"Horrible!" he murmured. "The wretch would have murdered me with one of my own weapons."

Elizabeth now arose, and assured Miss Mertens that all traces of her fright had vanished, and that she was quite able to resume her walk towards Gnadeck. They would both have taken leave of Herr von Walde, but he tied his horse to the terrible beech tree, and said, lightly:

"We know well that Linke's nature is most revengeful; he may perhaps hate her to whom I owe my life even more than he hates me. I cannot permit you to proceed without a protector."

They ascended the mountain. Miss Mertens hastened on, that she might incite Herr von Walde to greater speed, in order to take steps for the apprehension of the criminal as quickly as possible; but her exertions were all in vain. He walked slowly by the side of Elizabeth, who, after a few moments of conflict with herself, begged him, in a gentle, timid tone, not to go back alone to his horse, but to send for him from Castle Lindhof.

He smiled. "Belisarius is wild and obstinate; you know him already," he said. "He obeys no one but myself, and would never allow any one but his master to take him home. Besides, I assure you, that cowardly wretch will attempt nothing further to-day. And if he should, I bear a charmed life. Has not my happy star risen to-day in my heavens?"

He stood still. "What do you think," he asked, suddenly, in a low tone, and his eyes flashed as he looked at her, "shall I listen to the delicious hope that it may shine upon me for the rest of my life?"

"If it is to tempt you to run repeated risks, it were certainly better not to place such unconditional faith in your star."

"And yet I run the greatest risk of all in trusting such a hope," he murmured, half to himself, as his face darkened.

"I do not understand you," said Elizabeth, surprised.

"It is quite natural that you should not," he replied, bitterly. "Your wishes and hopes lie in quite another direction. Notwithstanding all our stern self-discipline, we are sometimes overmastered by a beautiful dream. No, no, say nothing more! I am punished already, for I am awaking."

He quickened his pace, and walked by Miss Mertens' side, while Elizabeth followed more slowly, lost in wonder at the harsh tone which he had suddenly assumed, and which so wounded her. He spoke not another word; and when at last the walls of the old castle appeared through the trees, he took his leave, coldly and shortly, and descended the mountain.

Miss Mertens looked after him in surprise. "Incomprehensible man!" she said at last, and shook her head. "Even though he attaches but little value to his life, as would seem to be the case, surely a word or two of gratitude at parting from you would not be superfluous, when he knows that you have risked your life for his sake."

"I see no necessity for anything of the kind," rejoined Elizabeth. "You attach altogether too much importance to what I have done. I simply fulfilled my duty to my neighbour; and would," she added, with a strange defiance in her tone and manner, "have done the same if the case had been reversed, and Linke's had been the threatened life. I hope sincerely that Herr von Walde understands this, for to his haughty nature the feeling of obligation to another must be intensely painful, and I would not for the world be that other."

At this moment anxiety and anger were striving within her for the mastery. In thought she followed Herr von Walde, and shuddered with horror as she remembered that perhaps he was just passing some spot where the assassin was lying in wait for him; then she reminded herself, as she quickened her steps, of what utter folly it was to waste so much thought and feeling upon a man who persistently turned the roughest side of his nature towards her. Even in intercourse with the baroness, who was so utterly distasteful to him, he preserved his repose of manner, never for one moment forgetting the laws of common courtesy, although he invariably maintained his convictions with the greatest decision. He had never been seen by those about him except when surrounded by an atmosphere of the serenest dignity. It was only when talking with her that he did not appear to consider it worth his while to control himself. How violent and bitter he could be then! How his eyes flashed as he waited impatiently for her replies, when they were not prompt and decided! And he required besides that she should understand him almost before he spoke, and yet was often utterly incomprehensible even when he did speak. Perhaps every one else was cleverer than she, and could more easily comprehend his manner of speaking, which was such a riddle to her. Was it unwise to determine to avoid all intercourse with him for the future? Certainly not. Well, fortunately, his departure was at hand. Fortunately? The structure of self-deception, which her pride and defiance had erected, crumbled to ruins at this thought; yes, it so utterly vanished, that, to Miss Mertens' surprise, she turned and walked quickly down the path that led to Castle Lindhof. She must satisfy herself that he reached his home in safety. Miss Mertens followed her to a grove whence they could see the door where he usually dismounted, and they were greatly relieved when he shortly emerged from the forest.

CHAPTER XIV.

In the evening the Ferber family were sitting in the shade of the lindens at the spring. Frau Ferber and Miss Mertens were busied in making a rug which was to lie upon the floor under the piano in winter time.

Frau Ferber had lost for awhile that dignified composure that so well became her still beautiful face. She could not forget the afternoon's occurrence; for, although she saw her child before her safe and sound, she had been very much agitated by Miss Mertens' account. She looked frequently at Elizabeth, fearing, as she remarked her slightest change of colour, that some illness would ensue from the excitement that she had passed through. The father's views were different. "That's my brave daughter!" he said with sparkling eyes, "determine coolly and execute quickly,—thus I would have you do."

To Frau Ferber, her husband had always seemed the ideal of what a man should be. Even now, after so many years of married life, she followed blindly where he led; and in her estimation his opinions admitted of no question. But to-day, as she listened to his paternal praises, a sigh escaped her as she remarked that a mother loved her children infinitely more than a father possibly could.

"Certainly not more, only differently," was Ferber's quiet rejoinder. "It is because I love them that I educate them to be full-grown, responsible beings, capable of thinking and acting courageously and independently, that they may never belong to the miserable class whom want of all force of character condemns to constant suffering."

Elizabeth had also brought her work-basket into the garden, but little Ernst looked greatly disappointed as he saw her take out her sewing.

"Very well, then, Elsie," he said petulantly. "Herr von Walde may ask me a dozen times if I love you,—I shall not say yes again. You never play with me any more; and, I suppose, you think you are as big a girl as Miss Mertens! But you needn't think that,—you won't be for a long while yet."

They all laughed at this odd confounding of age with size. But Elizabeth rose immediately to amuse the little boy, tucked up her long dress, and drew lots which should chase and which run from the other; and then they were both off like a flash, up and down the rampart, hither and thither through the garden.

In the mean time there was a ring at the gate in the wall. Herr Ferber opened it, and Dr. Fels, Reinhard, and the forester appeared upon the threshold. Elizabeth was just running along the principal walk, and did not immediately see the visitors.

"Well, I must say," laughed Dr. Fels, standing still, "this is a wonderful transformation. In the afternoon Valkyria, and in the evening a butterfly!"

But the forester advanced, threw his arm around his niece, and then held her off at arm's length, that he might scan her delicate figure. "My fine darling!" he cried with sparkling eyes, "she looks as fragile and delicate as though she were made of ivory, and yet she has the force of a man in her heart and hands; 'tis an immense pity you are not a boy. I would clap you into a green hunting-coat in spite of all that your father could say."

In the mean while Dr. Fels also drew near, and held out his hand to Elizabeth. "Herr von Walde rode to town to-night," he said, "and requested me to come hither. He is very anxious to know that your fright and terror have produced no evil consequences."

"None whatever," she replied, blushing deeply. "As you see," she added, laughing, "I am perfectly well able to perform my sisterly duties, and Ernst has just assured me that I am very hard to catch."

"Well, I will carry Herr von Walde this message, word for word," said the doctor with an arch smile. "Let him decide whether it is a comforting one, or the contrary."

Ferber now invited the gentlemen to join the circle beneath the lindens. The doctor lighted a cigar and seemed most content. They discussed Linke's attempt very fully. After his dismissal from Lindhof, many of the underhand dealings by which he had taken advantage of his master's absence, had come to light. Although Herr von Walde had taken no steps to bring the offender to justice, the knowledge of his dishonesty spread abroad, and was the means of preventing the superintendent from procuring another situation. Undoubtedly this had filled the measure of his desire for revenge, and had excited him to to-day's deed. Every means had been tried for the apprehension of the assassin; the forester with his men had searched the forest, but their exertions had been followed by no result. Reinhard said that every one at Castle Lindhof had been forbidden to mention the matter to Fräulein von Walde, lest the fright should injure her. And the baroness, Hollfeld, and the old waiting-maid were to know nothing of it.

"Herr von Walde has also requested," he continued, "that the matter should be kept as secret as possible in L——, for he knows that half the town is invited for to-morrow's fête."

"That is, everything that creeps or flies upon a golden, silver, or coloured field," interrupted the doctor sarcastically; "every coat of arms that can be found, and all the court-councillors, and officials. Oh, the selection has been made upon the strictest principles of court etiquette, I assure you. So I have enjoined it upon my wife to conduct herself with becoming humility, like a crow among soaring falcons. To our surprise the baroness,—for she manages the whole affair,—has sent us an invitation."

"Apropos, my dear doctor!" cried Reinhard laughing, "they told me in L—— to-day that the old Princess Catharine wished to install you as her physician, but you declined the honour,—is that true? All L—— is actually standing on its head with surprise."

"Ah, that is nothing new; the dear little town passes half its time in that posture, and the consequence is that the light of intelligence shines upon the tough soles of its feet. But you have heard correctly. I was sufficiently bold to decline that honour."

"But why?"

"First, because I have no time to be coddling the hysterical whims of her aristocratic head every day; and then my sacred respect for court etiquette is too great."

"Yes, yes," cried the forester, laughing, "that is the reason why I always cross myself three times when I leave the royal castle behind me. The prince and princess,—our good princess especially troubles no one,—they shut their eyes when mere matters of ceremony are not according to stiff, prescribed rules; but that court mob, that lisps and crawls and wags its tail about them,—heaven help us! it absolutely shrieks murder if a man walks boldly and uprightly, and goes into fits at the sound of a voice that comes clear and full from the chest just as God meant it should."

It had grown very dark. The family and Miss Mertens accompanied the visitors to the gate in the wall; and, as they all stepped forth upon the open sward, they heard sweet sounds floating up from the valley through the forest, which lay steeped in the silence of night, and where the birds had ceased to flit among the boughs, and even the breeze had fallen asleep in the tree-tops in the midst of the strange tales from distant lands that it whispered to them every evening. The band from the town was serenading Herr von Walde.

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 decolleté 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 Fräulein von Quittelsdorf. The baroness hastened toward these guests, and Fräulein 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. Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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. Fräulein 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. Fräulein 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, Fräulein," 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 Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein von Quittelsdorf, the chief lady in waiting, and Helene. The countess seemed to be remonstrating with Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 protegées. 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 Fräulein 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.