Front matter (continued 5)

The tower was square, clumsy, and ugly. On the flat roof above, that was surrounded by a stone balustrade, the stairs were capped by a very small, square apartment, from which egress upon the roof was obtained through a massive oaken door. Here there was a magnificent prospect and distant view of L——. For the sake of this prospect the tower had been rebuilt and kept in constant repair. Immense iron clamps bound the walls together at the corners, and numberless lines of fresh mortar meandered across its blackened surface, so that the old building looked at a distance like a gigantic piece of agate.

But to-day the old pile was decked out like some old fellow dressed for a wooing. Fresh flowers,—that is to say, four gigantic fir trees—were sticking in his hat; and from their tops gay banners were floating, like large birds above the green waves beneath. The old fellow, who, until to-day, had only whispered nightly and daily confidences to his comrades the oaks but had never made an advance towards them from his dignified position, was now clutching them with green wide-spread arms; huge garlands were draped from his topmost walls, and were lost among the boughs of the surrounding forest; while from one side a white sail-cloth was extended and attached to the trunks of two tall hemlocks. Beneath the shade of this tent were several refreshing-looking casks, a whole battery of dusty red-sealed flasks and countless silver-capped bottles in ice-buckets,—all presided over by a very pretty girl in the dress of a vivandiere.

Elizabeth had silently and passively left the large hall upon Herr von Walde's arm. In spite of her determination to go home, she had not had the courage to gainsay him, or to tell him of her desire,—he had spoken in a tone of such authority; and, what had influenced her still more, had entered the lists, as it were, for her, and sought to help her out of her embarrassment. Any opposition on her part would have seemed like obstinate defiance of him, and would have served only to increase her painful apprehension of drawing to herself general attention.

The silken garments of the ladies rustled along the walls of the corridor behind her. Laughing and chattering, the gay crowd followed Herr von Walde in a long train until it issued from the chief entrance door, and then it scattered hither and thither, taking the various forest paths which led to the convent tower. Those whose elaborate toilets required special care took the broad, well-kept path. Herr von Walde certainly never dreamed that his companion's simple, snowy muslin could be as precious in her eyes as were the rich dresses of the other ladies in theirs, or he certainly would not have selected the narrow, lonely pathway into which he suddenly turned.

"It is usually very damp here," Elizabeth broke silence timidly,—hitherto no words had passed between them. Her feet trembled as though they would far rather retreat than advance, and yet it is possible that her thoughts were not of her dress nor her thin shoes, but rather of the long, narrow, leafy way before them, through which she must pass alone by his side, and of the voice that would suddenly sound in her ears with that harsh, authoritative tone almost always adopted by him when alone with her.

"It has not rained for a long time,—see how dry the ground is," he quietly replied, as he walked slowly on and broke off a twig which threatened to brush Elizabeth's cheek. "This path is the shortest, and we can for a quarter of an hour at least escape from the buzz and clatter with which my friends and relatives are celebrating the completion of my thirty-seventh year. But perhaps you are afraid of meeting Linke in this sequestered spot?"

A shudder passed through the young girl's frame. She thought upon the criminal's desperate end, but she could not control herself sufficiently to impart her knowledge to Herr von Walde.

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

"He has probably left the country, and if not, he would hardly be so discourteous as to intrude upon the pleasures of people who are seeking to indemnify themselves for the pains they have taken with their formal congratulations. By-the-way, you cannot have failed to observe that every member of the company to-day has honoured me with a few moments of special attention, even the youngest slip of a girl in white muslin has made me her courtesy and uttered her studied desire for my health and happiness. You, perhaps, do not think me old enough yet to need the wishes of others for a prolongation of my life?"

"I should suppose that such wishes were as appropriate to youth or the prime of life as to advanced age; the one possesses as little as the other a monopoly of existence."

"Well, then, why did you not come to me? Yesterday you saved my life, and to-day you care so little about it that you do not even take the trouble to open your lips and say 'God protect it for the future.'"

"You have just said yourself 'every one of the company.' I did not belong to the company, and therefore could not intrude myself among those who offered their congratulations." She spoke quickly, for there was discontent in his tone, and the arm upon which her hand rested moved impatiently.

"But you were invited——"

"To entertain your guests."

"Was that modest view of the case the only reason why you did not wish to come with me?"

"Yes; most certainly my refusal could not have had anything to do with the gentleman who had fallen to my lot, whose name I could not possibly know."

"You can hardly persuade me of that; you must have seen at the first glance that all the gentlemen present, with the exception of myself, were already appropriated; you must have known that my sister, without drawing a paper, had requested Hollfeld to accompany her, as she can walk more easily leaning upon his arm than upon any other. Confess——"

"I knew and saw nothing. I was far too much troubled when I entered the ball-room to return the paper, for the hour at which I was expected to return home had been particularly mentioned to me yesterday. I had no idea that any special festivity was to follow the concert, and in taking the folded slip of paper I committed an indiscretion, for which I cannot forgive myself."

He suddenly stood still.

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

She raised her eyes, and although she felt her cheeks glow, she sustained unflinchingly the gaze which at first rested sternly upon her and then became indescribably gentle.

"No, no," he muttered softly, as if to himself, "it were a crime to suspect deceit here. Yes, double-dyed," he continued in an altered, sarcastic tone; it sounded as though he wished to sneer away some momentary weakness,—"was I not the involuntary auditor of your declaration: 'It needs more courage to tell a lie boldly than to confess a fault?'"

"That is my conviction, I repeat it."

"Ah, what a splendid thing strength of character is! But I should suppose that if one were too upright to soil the lips with deceit, a strict watch should be kept upon the eyes also, lest they lie. I know one moment in your life when you appeared what you were not."

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

"Oh, no—you do not escape me so easily!" he cried, retaining it. "You must either deny or acknowledge it. You looked indifferent lately, when I threw away my cousin's tender token, the rose."

"Should I have flown after it?"

"Certainly, if you had been true."

Elizabeth knew now why he had entered this lonely path with her,—she was to confess her feelings towards Hollfeld. She was confirmed in her former suspicions,—Herr von Walde was evidently most anxious lest she should prize his cousin's homage too highly and perhaps imagine that he could forget her social position. The moment had come when she could declare her sentiments. By a hasty movement she released her hand from his arm, and stepped a little aside.

"I grant you," she said, "that if my face that day expressed indifference, it was not in harmony with my thoughts."

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

"I was in fact indignant."

"At my interference?"

"At the unauthorized levity of Herr von Hollfeld."

"He startled you greatly; but——"

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

She must have been right in her solution of his manner; but she had never dreamed that her declaration would be so highly prized by him. A weight seemed to fall from his heart. A ray of purest joy broke from the eyes which had gazed at her with a mixture of mistrust, contempt, and sarcasm. He drew a deep breath, and half extended his arms. Elizabeth involuntarily looked round to discover what it was that caused his eyes to flash and glow so. She saw nothing, but she felt his hand tremble as he laid hers once more upon his arm. They walked on a few paces without a word. Suddenly he stood still again.

"Now we are entirely alone," he said, in the gentlest possible tone. "See, only one small eye of heavenly blue looks down upon us,—no prying faces are near to come between us,—I cannot,—I will not be deprived of a birthday greeting from you. Give it to me now, when no one can hear it but myself alone."

She was silent and confused.

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

"Oh, yes," she replied, and an arch smile hovered upon her lips. "I am well practised in such things. My parents, my uncle, Ernst——"

"All have birthdays," he interrupted her, smiling. "But you cannot wonder that I want a birthday greeting all to myself,—that I desire that it may sound quite different from any that you have hitherto uttered,—for I am neither your father, nor your bluff forester uncle, and certainly I cannot lay claim to the rights of the brother with whom you play. Come, speak!"

Still she said nothing. What should she say? Her eyes were cast down, for she could no longer endure that searching glance, that seemed to penetrate her very soul with its troubled expression of entreaty.

"Then come," he cried abruptly, drawing her forward, after waiting in vain for some moments for one word from her lips. "It was a foolish wish of mine. I know that your tongue, which is always ready to say what is kind and gentle to others, is dumb for me, or only ready with some rebuke."

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

"You will, then?" he asked more gently, "and cannot find the words?" he continued, shaking his head, as she was silent but looked up at him beseechingly. "Well, then, I have a plan. Let me say what I should like to hear from your lips, and you will repeat it after me word for word."

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

"In the first place, you give your friend your hand," he began, and took her hand in his,—she trembled, but did not withdraw it,—"and then you say, 'You have hitherto been a wretched wanderer upon the face of the earth,—it is high time that the clouds above you should break, and be penetrated by the pure ray of light which has transformed your whole existence. It is my true and earnest wish that this light may never forsake you. Here is my hand, as the pledge of a happiness so inconceivable——"

So far she had repeated this strangely-worded greeting after him, but at the last words she hesitated. He seized her other hand also, and urged passionately, "Go on, go on!"

"Here is my——" she began at last.

"Oh, Herr von Walde," suddenly cried Cornelie's voice from the thicket, "what a delightful meeting! Now I shall enjoy in company with you the triumph of being received with a flourish of trumpets!"

Never in her life had Elizabeth seen such a sudden change take place in a human countenance as now transformed Herr von Walde's features. One strong blue vein stood out upon his pale forehead, his eyes flashed, and he involuntarily stamped his foot. It really seemed as if he would have liked to hurl back into the thicket the unwelcome intruder, who, holding up her crape skirt, came hurrying through the bushes towards them. He could not command his emotion as quickly as usual; perhaps he did not wish to do so, for he frowned angrily as Hollfeld made his appearance behind the lady. As he came in sight, Herr von Walde drew Elizabeth's hand through his arm with gentle violence, as if he feared lest she should be snatched from him.

"Why, how you look, Herr von Walde," cried Fräulein von Quittelsdorf, stepping into the middle of the path; "actually as if we were bandits, with designs upon your life; or, at all events, upon your property!"

Without replying a word to this attack, he turned to his cousin and asked, "Where is my sister?"

"She was afraid of the long rough path," the latter replied, "and preferred to drive."

"Well, I suppose you will hardly leave Helene to be lifted out of the carriage by the old Count Wildenau; I cannot understand how, as her faithful knight, you could leave the principal path. A few, quick steps will enable you to rejoin her. I will not prevent you from doing so," said Herr von Walde sharply, while a sarcastic smile quivered around the corners of his mouth. He stepped aside with Elizabeth to allow the pair to pass.

"And pray, if one may ask, why did you leave the principal path yourself?" asked Fräulein von Quittelsdorf flippantly, much more like a pert chamber-maid than a maid of honour.

"That you can easily learn; simply because I hoped, by coming along this lonely path, to escape the eloquent tongues of certain ladies," replied Herr von Walde drily.

"Ah, how cross you are! Heaven shield us from such an irritable birthday hero!" cried the lady, shuddering, and retreating a few paces with a comical assumption of terror. "It was a mistake that we did not come to you to-day with funereal faces, and muffled to the eyes in black crape!"

She pouted, and, taking Hollfeld's arm, would have dragged him forward; but he, strangely enough, seemed inclined, for the first time in his life, to set his cousin's wishes at defiance. He walked on slowly, and as if weary of existence, peering right and left into the bushes, apparently intensely interested in every stone in the pathway, every squirrel that ran swiftly past. Then he began a conversation with his companion, whose answers absorbed his attention so entirely that he paused and stood still to listen to them.

Herr von Walde muttered something between his teeth; Elizabeth could not understand it; but the hostile glance that he cast after his cousin showed how the behaviour of the latter incensed him. He said not another word to her. He turned slowly towards her, and she felt that he continued to regard her steadfastly, but she was unable to lift her eyes to his. Had she done so he must have discovered on the spot how greatly she was moved by the strange words that he had just whispered to her with so much emotion in his voice. One look would have betrayed the conflict within her, and then,—she could not pursue the thought,—he would doubtless have repented the simple wish that he had expressed. Thus deeply agitated, it was natural enough that the young girl's eyelids fell low over her eyes, and that she failed to observe the inaudible sigh that escaped her companion, or mark how all signs of irritation vanished from his features to give place to the shade of melancholy that was so wont to rest upon his brow.

A faint and dying trumpet note, which was doubtless the result of the impatience of the musicians who were waiting upon the roof of the tower, betrayed the close vicinity of the scene of festivity. And soon a buzz and noise, as of some neighbouring gypsy encampment, broke upon their ears; the path grew broader, gay throngs were seen fluttering through the bushes, and suddenly a loud flourish of bugles and trumpets sounded over their heads. Elizabeth availed herself of the opportunity to slip her hand from the arm of her conductor and to lose herself in the crowd that gathered around the lord of the feast; while a young girl, habited as a Dryad, and accompanied by four other wood-nymphs, approached, and, in limping hexameters, welcomed him to the forest.

"Well, von Walde has gotten rid of his Dulcinea at the right moment. I don't see the girl at all, now," the Countess Falkenberg whispered smilingly to Count Wildenau, who was sitting beside her upon a kind of raised dais, beneath the shade of a group of oaks. "He will never forgive the baroness and our flippant Cornelia for so stupidly forcing him into playing the knight, even for a few moments, to such a creature. My child," and she turned to Helene; seated at her right, who was anxiously searching the crowd with troubled eyes, "when those people release him we must take him in here among us, and do everything in our power to make him forget the provoking beginning of the festival."

Helene nodded mechanically. Apparently she had only heard half of what the lady had whispered in her ear. Her poor little figure, enveloped in a heavy, light-blue silk, leaned helplessly and wearily back in her huge armchair, and her cheeks were whiter than the lily-wreath that crowned her brow.'

Meanwhile Elizabeth had encountered in the throng Dr. Fels and his wife. The latter immediately took the young girl under her care, that they might not be separated again.

"Only stay until the dancing begins," she replied to Elizabeth's remark that the moment seemed to have arrived when she could slip away unnoticed, and go home. "I do not wonder that you wish to leave as soon as possible," she added, with a smile. "We, too, shall not stay long. I am anxious about my children at home. I made a great sacrifice to my husband's position in coming at all. Herr von Walde, to whom you are assigned for the day by lot, does not dance. So never fear, you will be released."

Suddenly the crowd separated. From the top of the tower sounded a grand march, and while the gentlemen sought the shade of the trees, the ladies, according to the rules of the feast, hastened to provide them with refreshments from the tent.

Herr von Walde walked slowly across the sward, his hands clasped behind him, talking with the military-inspector Busch, by his side.

"My dear Herr von Walde, now pray come to us!" the Countess Falkenberg cried out to him, extending her hand with an air almost caressing. "I have kept such a charming place here for you. Come, rest upon your well-earned laurels. 'Tis true, all the young ladies present are disposed of by lot, but here are our fair and lovely wood-nymphs all ready to wreathe your goblet, and furnish you from the tent with all that your heart can desire."

"I am deeply touched by your kindness and care for me, gracious lady," the gentleman replied, "but I cannot think that Fräulein Ferber will leave me to appeal to the general sympathy."

He spoke loudly, and turned to Elizabeth, who was standing quite near. She had heard every word, and instantly walked quietly towards him, placing herself at his side, as though she were by no means inclined to delegate to others one jot of her duty. As he saw her approach him thus, something of a joyful surprise lit up his countenance. He cast an answering glance at the face that, unembarrassed now by those around, looked smilingly up at him. Strangely enough, he seemed entirely to forget the charming place that the countess had reserved for him, for, after a slight obeisance to her stately ladyship and her court of young ladies, he offered his arm to Elizabeth, and conducted her to the shade of a giant oak, where Doctor Fels had just provided comfortable places for his wife and himself.

"Now, that is carrying his revenge a little too far," said the great lady, with irritation, turning for sympathy to Count Wildenau and the five disconcerted Dryads. "He really throws scorn upon the entire fête by taking so much notice of that young person. I begin to be really vexed with him. No one is more ready than I to grant that he is entirely right to be angry, but I really think that he should not allow himself to be so carried away by his indignation as to forget those of his guests who have had no share in the absurdities of the baroness or of von Quittelsdorf. I'll wager that that little fool there attributes his attentions to the influence of her beautiful eyes."

The small band of amiable Dryads shot annihilating looks at Elizabeth, who was quietly proceeding to the refreshment tent, whence she presently issued with a flask of champagne and four glasses, which she placed upon the table beneath the oak, where Herr von Walde was sitting with the doctor and his wife.

"Our young ladies to-day are wearing perfect flower gardens upon their heads," said Frau Fels, as the young girl approached the table. "Fräulein Ferber alone is as destitute of ornament as Cinderella. I cannot have it so."

She took two roses from the large bouquet which she held in her hand, and stood up to place them in Elizabeth's hair.

"Stop, I pray you," cried Herr von Walde, detaining her hand, "nothing should adorn that hair but orange blossoms."

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

"I know that well," he replied quietly; and as if he had said the most natural thing in the world, he filled the glasses, and turned to Dr. Fels. "Clink glasses with me, doctor," he said; "I drink to the welfare of the saviour of my life—of Gold Elsie of Castle Gnadeck!"

The doctor smiled, and the glasses clinked with a loud ring. At this signal, a group of gentlemen approached, glasses in hand.

"You come at the right moment, gentlemen," the lord of the feast cried out to them. "Drink with me to the fulfilment of my dearest wish!"

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

"Scandalous!" cried the old court lady, and dropped her fork, with its choice morsel, upon her plate; "really, they are conducting themselves over there like students at a carouse! I am positively shocked! What an unseemly noise! Actually the mob in the street is better behaved when they shout 'vivats' to our gracious Prince. Apropos, my love," she continued, turning to Helene, "I observe that your brother seems quite intimate with Doctor Fels."

"He esteems him highly as a thoroughly upright man of great scientific attainments," replied Helene.

"That is all very well,—but he certainly cannot be aware that the man just now is in very bad odour at court. Only imagine, he has had the inconceivable insolence to refuse our beloved Princess Catharine——"

"Yes; I know that story," said Fräulein von Walde, interrupting the irritated lady; "my brother related the circumstance to me himself a few days ago."

"How!—is it possible that the facts are known to him, and that he has so little regard for the sentiments of the court,—which has always distinguished him so highly! Incredible! I assure you, dear child, my conscience pricks me sorely; I shall scarcely be able to lift my eyes in the presence of their Serene Highnesses, when they arrive in L——, at the thought of having been in the society here of that impertinent creature."

Helene shrugged her shoulders, and left the lady to her qualms of conscience and a brimming glass of champagne, with which she probably intended to fortify herself in anticipation of the dreaded arrival.

In the society of this lady Fräulein von Walde suffered all the galling annoyance that conventionalities inflict;—she was obliged to listen, with an amiable and interested smile, to a thousand wretched trifles, while her heart was tortured with pain; indeed, only just such a person as the Countess Falkenberg, who sought and found her highest earthly happiness in a gracious glance from a Princely eye, a person whose whole intellectual capacity was exercised in standing sentinel before the domain of etiquette and in guarding religiously the hardly-won prestige of her social position,—only such a one could have been blind to the signs of the deepest suffering in the countenance of the younger lady.

Hollfeld had not only been so inattentive as to leave Helene, upon her arrival at this spot, to the care of Count Wildenau, he had even, upon his tardy appearance, omitted all explanation or apology for his delay, and had finally seated himself beside her in a sullen and abstracted mood. She thought him strangely altered, and she racked her restless heart and brain with vain surmises. At first her suspicions rested upon Cornelie, who, true to her mercurial temperament, fluttered hither and thither like a will-o'-the-wisp, talking and laughing incessantly. But she was soon reassured upon this point, for she could not catch a single glance of Hollfeld's directed towards the coquettish and graceful court beauty. The anxious inquiries that she made of him were answered in monosyllables. She beckoned to one of the servants who was bearing past a tray of delicacies, and herself placed them before Hollfeld,—but he did not eat a morsel, and only swallowed in quick succession several glasses of fiery wine which he procured for himself at the refreshment tent. This careless conduct, which she now observed for the first time, caused her unspeakable pain. At last she was silent, and closed her eyes as though fatigued; no one noticed the crystal drops trembling on their lashes.

Suddenly a shadow was cast upon the universal merriment, which had been all the more unrestrained from the fact that the lord of the feast, usually so grave and serious, had joined in it so cordially,—at least Elizabeth felt convinced that the face of the butler, Lorenz, who now appeared in the distance, boded no good. The old man took the greatest pains to attract his master's attention without being seen by the other guests. At last he succeeded. Herr von Walde arose, and stepped aside with him into the thicket, while the group of gentlemen around him dispersed. He soon returned, with marks of dismay in his countenance.

"I have just received sad news, which will compel me to leave you immediately," he said, in a low voice, to the doctor. "Herr von Hartwig, in Thalleben, one of my oldest friends, has met with a terrible accident; the injury is fatal; they write me that he cannot live a day longer. He summons me to him that he may entrust his young children to my care. I pray you inform the Baroness Lessen of my departure, and its cause; she will see that the festivities are not interrupted. Let my sister and my guests suppose that I am called away for a few minutes by some trifling matter of business, and will return hither shortly. I shall not be missed after the dancing begins."

The doctor went instantly to find the baroness. His wife had strayed away from the spot a few moments before, so Elizabeth was left alone with Herr von Walde. He turned to her quickly:

"I thought we should not part from each other to-day without the conclusion of my birthday greeting," he said, while striving to meet her eyes, which shyly avoided his, "but I seem to be one of those unfortunate ones whose unlucky stars snatch from them the prize when it seems almost within their grasp." He endeavoured to give an air of humour to his words, but they only sounded the more bitter. "However, I submit," he continued, in a determined tone; "I must go. It cannot be helped, but my duty may be made easier and sweeter for me by a promise from you. Do you remember the words which you lately repeated after me?"

"I do not forget so quickly."

"Ah, that encourages me greatly! There is a fairy tale which tells of a realm of inexhaustible riches and endless delights, revealed by a single word. Such a word the conclusion of your greeting can be to me. Will you aid me in having it uttered?"

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

"That is my affair. I do most earnestly entreat you at this moment to make no further attempt at evasion, for time presses. Let me ask you,—will you endeavour to retain in your memory, during my absence, the beginning of that birthday greeting?"

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

"Good; in the midst of the sorrow and gloom to which I am summoned there will be a glimpse of clear blue sky above me, and for you——may my good angel whisper in your ear the word that will unlock that fairy realm for me. Farewell!"

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

Elizabeth stood still for a few moments in a state of delicious stupefaction, from which she was roused by the surprise of the doctor's wife at finding the gentlemen gone. Elizabeth told her what had happened, and the doctor shortly returned and related that the baroness had been greatly piqued that her cousin had not considered it worth his while to inform her in person of the cause of his departure. The unlucky doctor had been obliged to bear the brunt of the lady's ill humour, which had vented itself in several biting remarks, but he had been so discourteous as to allow them to pass him by without in the least disturbing his serenity. He seated himself at the table and began to eat with an excellent appetite.

Meanwhile Elizabeth went to take leave of Fräulein von Walde. There was nothing now to detain her any longer. She longed to be alone with her thoughts, to recall undisturbed every word that he had spoken, and to ponder upon its meaning.

"Are you going?" asked Helene, as Elizabeth stood behind her chair and bade her farewell. "What does my brother say to that?"

"Rudolph has been summoned to the castle upon some business matter," the baroness, who just now appeared, answered in Elizabeth's stead. "Fräulein Ferber is released from all necessity of remaining any longer."

Helene cast a glance of displeasure at the speaker. "I cannot see why," she said. "His business cannot detain him long, he will certainly return."

"Probably," rejoined the baroness; "but he may be delayed quite late. Fräulein Ferber, meanwhile, will be very much fatigued in a circle where she is such an utter stranger."

"Has my brother released you?" Helene turned to Elizabeth, hardly allowing the baroness to complete her sentence.

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

During this short dialogue the Countess Falkenberg leaned back and measured Elizabeth from head to foot with her cold, piercing eyes; but Hollfeld arose and departed without saying a word. Fräulein von Walde looked after him with an air of anxious discontent, and at first did not reply to Elizabeth's request; but at last, with evident absence of mind, she held out her hand and said, "Well, then, go, dear child, and a thousand thanks for your kind assistance to-day."

Elizabeth took a hasty leave of Doctor Fels and his wife, and then entered the forest with a light heart.

She breathed more freely as the throng was left behind her, and as a few sounding chords concluded the waltz whose bewildering notes had for a short distance accompanied her. She could now yield herself up undisturbed to the magic that had laid so sweet a spell upon her entire mind and being, and forced her to listen still to the tones of that voice which had died upon her ear, ensnaring her heart with its thrilling melody, and at the sound of which all the suggestions of maidenly reserve, all the arguments of her understanding, vanished. She called to mind how passively she had followed him, although her deeply offended pride had prompted her instantly to leave the circle where she seemed to be so unwelcome a guest; she still experienced the delight with which she had hastened to his side when he had so emphatically declared, before all present, that he belonged to her for the day, and would accept of no substitute in her place. He might have conducted her to the end of the world,—she would have followed him blindly with unhesitating reliance and the most entire abandonment of herself to his guidance. And her parents? She understood now how a daughter could forsake father and mother to follow a man whose path in life had been widely separated from her own, leading, perhaps, in directly an opposite direction,—a man who had known nothing of the inclinations, influences, occurrences great and small, by which every fibre of her life had been previously intertwined with the life of her family. Two months before, all this would have been an inexplicable riddle to her.

She turned into a path which she had often trodden with Miss Mertens. It led, by many a narrow winding, through the thicket, out upon the broad path which traversed the forest, and for some distance formed the boundary line between the Prince's domain and the estate of Herr von Walde. On the other side of this broad path opened the wide road which led through the forest to her uncle's Lodge.

Lost in her day-dreams, Elizabeth did not hear the sound of hasty footsteps approaching; she therefore started in alarm when she heard her name pronounced, close to her, by a man's voice. Hollfeld stood just behind her. She suspected why he had followed her, and she felt her heart beat quickly, but she collected herself, and, standing aside, made room for him to pass her in the narrow pathway.

"No, that was not what I wished, Fräulein Ferber," he said smiling, and in a tone of such familiarity as deeply offended her. "I wished to have the pleasure of accompanying you."

"I thank you," she coldly replied, "it would be giving you needless trouble; I always greatly prefer walking alone in the forest."

"And have you no fear?" he asked, stepping so close to her that she felt his hot breath upon her cheek.

"Only of unwelcome companionship," she replied, retaining her self-possession by an effort.

"Ah! here is the same dignified reserve again in which you always entrench yourself with me; and wherefore? I shall soon put an end to it, however. To-day, at least, I shall not respect it as I have hitherto been forced to do,—I must speak to you."

"Is what you have to say of such consequence as to require you to absent yourself from your friends and the fête?"

"Yes; it is a wish upon which my life depends; it pursues me day and night; I have been ill and wretched at the idea that it may never be gratified—I——"

In the mean time Elizabeth had accelerated her pace. It was hateful to her,—the presence of this man, in whose eyes glowed all the passion which he had hitherto partly repressed and which had already inspired her with such deep aversion and disgust; but she was perfectly conscious that absolute self-possession was her only weapon, and therefore she interrupted him, while her lips quivered with the sickly semblance of a smile.

"Ah!" she said, "our practisings, then, have had most desirable results; you wish my assistance in music, if I understand you rightly?"

"You misunderstand me intentionally," he exclaimed.

"Accept the misunderstanding as an act of forbearance on my part," said Elizabeth seriously; "I should else be obliged to say much to you which it might please you still less to hear."

"Go on, I pray. I know your sex sufficiently well to be quite aware that they delight in wearing the mask of coldness and reserve for awhile,—their favours are all the more welcome. I do not grudge you the pleasure of this innocent coquetry, but then——"

Elizabeth stood for one moment dumb and stupefied at his insolence; such hateful words had never before shocked her ears. Shame and indignation drove the blood to her face, and she sought in vain for terms in which to punish such unexampled temerity. He interpreted her silence otherwise.

"I knew it," he cried triumphantly. "I see through you; the blush of detection becomes you incomparably! You are beautiful as an angel! Never have I seen so perfect a form as yours! Ah! you know well enough that you made me your slave the first time I saw you; since then, I have languished at your feet. What shoulders and what arms! Why have you hitherto veiled them so enviously?"

An indignant exclamation broke from Elizabeth's lips:

"How dare you," she cried loudly and violently, "offer me these insults! If you have not understood me hitherto, let me tell you now, clearly and distinctly, that your society, which you force upon me thus, is hateful to me, and that I wish to be alone."

"Bravo! that authoritative tone becomes you excellently well," he said, with a sneer; "the noble blood that you inherit from your mother shows itself now. What have I done to make you suddenly play this indignant part? I have told you that you are beautiful, but your mirror must tell you the same thing fifty times a day, and I do not believe that you break it for the telling."

Elizabeth turned her back upon him contemptuously, and walked quickly onward. He kept pace with her, and seemed quite sure of a final victory. She had just reached the broad forest-road when a carriage dashed past. A man's head appeared at the window, but at sight of her was drawn back quickly, as though surprised. He looked out once more, as if to convince himself that he had seen correctly, and then the carriage vanished around a sharp turn in the road.

Elizabeth involuntarily extended her arms after the retreating carriage. Its inmate well knew how she detested Hollfeld; after the declaration that she had made to him a few hours before, how could he doubt that she was most unwillingly in the society of this man? Could he not delay his journey for one moment, to free her from such odious importunity?

Hollfeld observed her action.

"Aha!" he cried, with a malicious laugh, "that looked almost tender. If it were not for my cousin's seven and thirty years, I might actually be jealous! Perhaps you supposed that he would immediately descend from his vehicle and gallantly offer you his arm to escort you to your home! You see he is too conscientious; he denies himself that indulgence, and prefers to fulfil a sacred duty. He is an iceberg, for whom no woman possesses a single charm. You owe his behaviour to you to-day, which was so very courteous, not to your enchanting eyes, O bewitching Gold Elsie, but to his desire to provoke my honoured mamma."

"And does nothing deter you from ascribing such mean motives to the man whose hospitality you enjoy so freely?" cried Elizabeth, provoked. She had determined not to reply to him again by a single syllable, in hopes that she might thus weary out his pertinacity; but the manner in which he spoke of Herr von Walde overcame her self-control.

"Mean?" he repeated. "You express yourself strongly. I only call it a little revenge which he was fully justified in taking. And as for his hospitality,—I am only using now what will be all my own at some future period; I cannot see that it should alter my opinion of my cousin. Besides, I am the one to sacrifice myself, I deserve all the gratitude. Is my devotion and attention to Fräulein von Walde to go for nothing?"

"It must be a hard task to pluck a few flowers and carry them to a poor invalid!" said Elizabeth ironically.

"Aha! you are, as I am happy to observe, jealous of these little attentions of mine," he cried triumphantly. "Did you seriously suppose for one moment that I could really be in love with her, while my sense of beauty was so perpetually outraged? I esteem my cousin, but I never forget for one instant that she is a year older than I, that she limps, is crooked, and——"

"Detestable!" Elizabeth interrupted him, beside herself with the abhorrence he inspired; she hastily crossed the broad forest-road. He followed her.

"Detestable, say I, too," he continued, endeavouring to keep pace with her; "especially when I see your Hebeform by her side. And now I beg you, do not run so fast; let there be the peace between us of which I dream day and night."

He suddenly passed his arm around her waist and forced her to stand still, while his glowing face, with eyes sparkling with unholy fire, approached her own. At first she gazed at him speechless and stupefied, then a shudder convulsed her frame, and with a gesture of utter aversion she pushed him from her.

"Don't dare to touch me again!" she cried in a clear ringing voice,—and at the same moment she heard the loud barking of a dog near her. She turned her head in joyful surprise towards the spot whence the noise proceeded.

"Hector! Hector! here, good dog!" she called; and the forester's huge hound burst through the thicket and fawned upon her.

"My uncle is not far off," she turned coldly and quietly to her discomfited companion; "he will be here in a moment. As you can hardly desire that I should request him to rid me of your society, I advise you to return immediately to the castle."

And, in fact, he stood still like a coward, while she, accompanied by the dog, proceeded towards her home. Hollfeld stamped his feet in his rage, and cursed the blind passion that had robbed him of all prudence. He did not for one instant imagine that he could really be disagreeable to Elizabeth,—he, the pet of society, whose slightest word, were it only an invitation to dance, made such a sensation in the little world of L——, and was so often an occasion of envy and discord among the ladies! The idea was absurd. It was far more likely that the daughter of the forester's clerk was a coquette, who intended to make conquest as difficult as possible for him. He had no faith in the existence of that virgin purity of soul which made Elizabeth thus insensible, and the magic of which affected even him most powerfully, although he did not understand its influence. He had no faith in the sacred reserve of a young girl's inner life, and therefore could not possibly conceive of the instinctive aversion which his selfish, unprincipled nature inspired. He reproached himself angrily for having been too sudden and violent, thus defeating his own ends, and deferring indefinitely the accomplishment of his hopes. He wandered about in the forest for an hour before he could master his emotions; for the guests, who were still dancing on the green before the convent tower whence the gay music reached his ears, must not suspect the volcano seething beneath that cold and interesting exterior.

Elizabeth had apparently walked away with a firm, decided step, but she took care to look neither to the right nor the left, lest she should suddenly see his hated face beside her. At last she ventured to stand still and look around her. He had disappeared. With a sigh of relief, she leaned against the trunk of a tree to collect her thoughts, while Hector stood beside her sagely wagging his tail, seeming thoroughly to understand that he was playing the part of her protector. Doubtless he had been taking a forest walk for his own amusement, for there were no signs of his master. Elizabeth felt her knees tremble beneath her. Her terror, when Hollfeld had clasped her waist, had been extreme. In her innocence she had never imagined such rudeness, and hence his sudden touch had made her for one moment rigid with horror. She shed bitter tears of shame as she recalled Herr von Walde's image, not clothed in the gentleness of the last few hours, but stern and reserved. She thought she should scarcely dare ever to look up at him again since that wretch had touched her. All her happy visions lay shattered at her feet. This unhappy encounter with Hollfeld had ruthlessly brought her back to reality. What he had said of Herr von Walde, coarse and slanderous as it was, had revived much in her mind which she had once believed, and considered as a bar to her growing interest in him. She thought of his invincible pride of descent, of his self-renouncing love for his sister, and of the universal opinion that his heart was cold as ice where women were concerned. All the gay brilliant dreams which had hovered around her path through the forest now folded their wings and vanished beneath the searching gaze of her awakened consciousness. She could hardly tell what it was that formerly made her so happy. Was it not most likely that only a strong sense of justice had induced him to show her such gentle kindness and consideration to-day,—to protect her from the insolent annoyance of his relatives? Had he not in like manner protected Miss Mertens, and endeavoured to indemnify her for the injustice that she had encountered beneath his roof? And the birthday greeting! Ah, she must not think of that, or its unfinished conclusion, for then all her dead visions would instantly celebrate a blissful resurrection!

As she entered the Lodge Sabina came towards her, pale as ashes, in great distress. She pointed mutely to the door of the dwelling-room. Within the apartment her uncle was speaking loudly, while he was pacing heavily to and fro.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" whispered Sabina, "everything is going wrong in there. Bertha has kept out of your uncle's way most carefully for the last few weeks, but a little while ago she was standing at the great door and did not see that he was coming into the yard. He gave her no time to run off, but took her by the hand and led her instantly into the room there. She was as white as the wall, in her fear of him,—but that didn't help her,—go she must. Ah, Lord have mercy upon me! I should not like to have the Herr Forester for a father confessor——"

A loud burst of sobbing, that sounded almost like a stifled shriek, interrupted Sabina's whispering.

"Better so!" they now heard the forester say in a far gentler tone of voice; "at least that is a sign that you are not quite hardened. And now speak out! Remember that I stand here in place of your good parents. If you have a sorrow confide it to me; be sure that if it has befallen you without fault on your part, I will faithfully assist you to bear it."

Only stifled sobs ensued.

"You cannot speak?" asked the forester after a short pause. "I know of a certainty that there is no physical obstacle in the way of your speaking, for you talk to yourself continually when you believe yourself unobserved; you must be putting some force upon yourself,—have you made a vow against the use of your tongue?"

Probably an assenting nod must have confirmed him in this supposition, for he continued, with great irritation, "What an insane idea! Do you suppose that you can do your Heavenly Father good service by renouncing one of his best gifts, the power of speech? And are you going to be silent all your life long? No! You will speak, then, if that which you hope to effect by means of your vow fails to come to pass? Very well, I cannot force you to speak,—then endure alone what depresses you and makes you so unhappy, for that you are unhappy any one can read in your face. But let me tell you that you will find an inexorable judge in me, if it should ever appear that you have done anything that shuns the light and should not be told to honest men; for in your boundless arrogance you have hitherto rejected every well-meant piece of advice, every attempt to guide and direct you, making it impossible for me to care for you as it is my duty and desire, standing as I do in the place of your parents. I will bear with you a little longer; but should I find you once leaving the house after nightfall, this is your home no longer,—you must go. And let me tell you also, to-morrow I shall send for the doctor to tell me whether you are really ailing; you have looked wretchedly for the last few weeks. Now go!"

The door opened, and Bertha staggered out. She did not notice Sabina and Elizabeth, and when she heard the door close behind her, she suddenly wrung her hands above her head in the speechless agony of despair, and rushed up the stairs as though hunted by the furies.

"That girl has something on her conscience, whatever it may be," said Sabina, shaking her head. Elizabeth went in to her uncle. He was leaning against the window, and drumming upon one of the panes with his fingers, a common habit with him when irritated. He looked very gloomy, but his features lighted up as Elizabeth entered.

"I'm glad you are come, Gold Elsie!" he exclaimed; "I need to see some true, pure face beside me; I shudder at the black eyes of that girl who has just gone out. Never mind, I have taken up my domestic cross again, and shall bear it on for awhile; I cannot see the child cry, even though I were sure that the effect of every tear was exactly calculated."

Elizabeth was heartily glad that the dreaded encounter between Bertha and her uncle was well over. She hastened to divert his thoughts entirely from the unfortunate girl by describing to him the festivities she had just witnessed, telling him cursorily of Herr von Walde's sudden departure. She informed him also of Linke's dreadful end, at which, however, he was not greatly surprised, as he had expected some such termination to the affair.

He accompanied Elizabeth to the garden gate.

"Be very careful not to ring too loudly at the gate in the wall," he warned her as she left him. "Your mother had an attack of headache to-day, and has gone to bed. I was up there a little while ago."

Elizabeth ran up the mountain in some anxiety, but Miss Mertens, leading little Ernst by the hand, came to meet her on the sward before the castle, and soothed her fears. The attack was over, and her mother was enjoying a refreshing sleep when Elizabeth softly went to her bedside.

It was already twilight; the most profound quiet reigned throughout the house,—the striking clocks had been stopped,—the window shutters were closed that the rustling of the leaves without might not be heard,—not even a fly buzzed,—for Ferber had tenderly taken care that nothing should disturb the stillness that surrounded the sleeper.

If her mother had been sitting in her arm-chair in the window recess of the dwelling-room behind the protecting curtains, looking upon the green domain without, above which stretched the calm evening skies,—the dear familiar corner would have become a confessional, where Elizabeth, kneeling upon the cushion at her mother's feet, would have poured out her overcharged mind and heart. But now she thrust back her precious secret into the inmost recesses of her soul: and who knows whether she will ever find courage to reveal what must fill her mother's heart with the keenest anxiety?

CHAPTER XVI.

The ruins of Gnadeck might well listen in amazement to the strange noise which had resounded through their crumbling walls from the first peep of dawn. It was not the familiar sound of destruction caused by furious storms, or the melting of the snow when spring appeared. Then the water softly excavated little gutters between the stones, and lifted from its niche, without any other warning, one block of granite after another, that, the instant before its final downfall, looked proudly and threateningly down upon the world; for its overthrow had been planned more secretly than that of a royal favourite or an unpopular ministry. And then a violent storm would arise some midnight,—a mighty crash would come, and the rays of the rising sun would wander for the first time over walls and floors that they had never touched before. There would be a huge pile of masonry heaped upon the pavement, and all through the day, with every gentle breeze, broken bits of mortar and little rills of sand would trickle down from the wound; but before long, tender grass would sprout from the jagged edges, and years, long years, would again ensue before the mischievous water beneath the green garment would prepare a new victim for the tempest. It was a slow, scarcely perceptible decline. The ruins might be as easy as the invalid whose disease, though incurable, may permit him to rival the Old Testament patriarchs in length of days.

It was human hands to-day that were effecting the work of destruction. With incredible speed and activity they dislodged stone after stone. The old jutty, which had advanced so boldly for years, like a valiant sentinel keeping watch before this wing of the castle, presented a most deplorable appearance. It had already been shorn of much of its height; its ivy mantle was torn, and dark window niches and mossy masonry came to light, which, perhaps, once were rich in stone carving. The workmen were very diligent. It interested them greatly, hazardous as was their task, to obtain a glimpse down into the dark nooks and corners of the old pile, that popular superstition had peopled with countless ghastly apparitions.

In the afternoon, Frau Ferber was sitting upon the shady rampart with Miss Mertens and Elizabeth, when Reinhard, who, always made his appearance at a certain hour of the day, interrupted their reading. He announced that Linke's body had been committed to the earth as privately as possible that morning, and that Fräulein von Walde had learned, through the carelessness of a servant, of the attempt upon her brother's life. But he remarked, with some bitterness, that Herr von Walde's anxiety, lest his sister's fright upon hearing of the assault should have disastrous consequences, had been wholly unnecessary, since the lady had heard of it with entire composure, and even the terrible accident that had befallen Herr von Hartwig, whose wife was one of her friends, had apparently produced very little impression upon her. "But if the life of her fair-haired favourite had been in danger," he declared angrily, "she would most certainly have torn her chestnut curls. That Herr von Hollfeld is utterly odious to me! He has been walking about the house to-day, looking as if he would like to poison us all. I'll wager that this charming mood of his is the cause of Fräulein von Walde's red and swollen eyes, which she tried to conceal from me when I met her in the garden just now."

At the mention of the hated name, Elizabeth bent low over her work. The blood rushed to her face at the thought of Hollfeld's insolence the day before, of which she had not yet told her mother, for fear that it might cause a return of her headache; and perhaps there were other reasons for her silence; but she would not acknowledge to herself how much she dreaded lest her parents, upon learning of Hollfeld's rudeness, should prohibit her from going to Lindhof again, in which case all chance of seeing Herr von Walde would be at an end.

In the mean time, the destruction of the jutty was going on uninterruptedly. After awhile Ferber entered the garden. He had been to the Lodge, and had brought the forester home with him to take coffee. Ernst came running to them in a great state of excitement. The child had obediently forborne to transgress the bounds which his father had set for him, that he might not be exposed to danger; but he had been looking on from his post of observation, following the progress of the workmen with the greatest interest.

"Papa! papa!" he cried, "the mason wants to speak to you,—come right away; he says he has found something!"

And in fact one of the workmen made signs to the brothers to come nearer.

"We have come to what seems to be a small chamber," the man called down to them, "and, as well as I can see, there is a coffin in it. Will you not examine into the matter, Herr Ferber, before we proceed? You can come up here with entire safety; we have firm foothold."

Reinhard had heard the call and came hastily down the terrace steps. A concealed apartment, containing a coffin!—the words were music to his antiquarian ears.

The three men cautiously ascended the ladder.

The workmen were standing just where the huge jutty sprang forth from the main building, and they pointed down to a tolerably large opening at their feet. Until now they had come upon no room that had been closed; the roof of the main building was partly gone, and standing upon this spot, you could look in all directions through a labyrinth of open rooms, half ruinous passages, and through great gaps in the floors down into the castle chapel. The old ruins did not seem half so desolate from within as from without; the blue heavens peeped in everywhere, and the fresh breeze swept through as often as it would. But now a space suddenly appeared at their feet surrounded by firm walls, and covered by a tolerably well-preserved ceiling. As well as they could judge from where they stood, the room lay like a wedge between the chapel and the space behind. At all events, there must be a window somewhere at the extreme corner formed by the wall of the jutty and that of the main building, for from that direction a weak reflection streamed in through coloured glass, and flickered upon the object which was dimly visible, and which the masons took for a coffin.

Immediately a ladder of greater length was procured, as the room was quite a high one, and one by one all went down in a state of highly-wrought expectation. In descending, there was within reach a wainscoted wall almost black with age. The profusion of strange, rich carving that adorned it startled the eye. Close to the ceiling a plain strip of wood, of much more modern date, had been nailed, upon which were still hanging some rags of black cloth; while the rest of what had once been the mourning drapery of the apartment lay in mouldering, shapeless heaps upon the floor.

Doubtless concealment had been the purpose of the room from the beginning, for there had been no heed paid to symmetry of form in its construction. It represented an irregular triangle, and in one somewhat rounded corner was the very small window whose existence they had suspected. It lay so close to the chapel that Reinhard's supposition that in old Catholic times the church treasures had been secreted here seemed most probable; all the more so as on one side five or six worn stone steps led down to a door in the chapel wall, which had been walled up from within. The window was just behind the evergreen oak, which pressed its thick branches against it, and the ivy had twined a tender lattice-work across the panes; but nevertheless the sun stole through the coloured glass in the graceful, delicate stone rosette, which was in a state of perfect preservation.

It was in fact a coffin,—a small, narrow, leaden coffin,—standing out in strong contrast with the black velvet covering of its pedestal, which was thus found lonely and forgotten within these three walls. At its head was a huge candelabrum, in the branches of which were still to be seen the remains of wax candles; but at its foot was a footstool, upon which lay a mandolin, its strings all broken. It had been an old instrument in the hands of its last possessor, for the black colour of its neck was worn away in spots, and the sounding-board was slightly hollowed where the player had pressed her little fingers. At the approach of the intruders the last fragments of the withered heap of flowers fluttered down from the coffin, upon whose lid in gilt letters was inscribed the name "Lila."

Set in the thick wall of the most extensive side of the apartment was a kind of press, of dark oak, which Reinhard at first supposed had been appropriated to the safe-keeping of the priestly robes and ornaments. He opened the doors, which stood ajar; as they shook in opening there was a rustle within, and little clouds of dust flew forth from a quantity of female garments hanging inside. They formed a strange, fantastic wardrobe,—gay, and most coquettish in fashion, they contrasted oddly enough with the grave solemnity of their surroundings.

She who had worn these garments must have been a wonderfully small and delicate creature, for the silk skirts,—most of them bordered with embroidery in gold thread,—were as short as though made for a child; and the shape of the black and violet velvet bodices, with their silken ribbons and tinsel trimmings, must have fitted an exquisite, pliant, maiden waist. Many, many years must have elapsed since a human being had breathed within these walls,—since any hand warm with life had touched these hidden objects. The hooks in the press had, in some cases, pierced the mouldering stuffs; and the threads, which had once confined the pearls and spangles of the trimming, hung loose and broken.

Against one wall was placed a little table with a stone top. Its legs, grown weak with age, appeared scarcely able to sustain it, and it leaned forward, endangering the safety of a casket that stood upon it. This casket was a master-piece of workmanship in ivory and gold. The cover did not seem to be locked; it looked rather as if it had been lightly closed, in order to preserve a broad parchment which projected from the box and had obviously been arranged with the view of attracting attention. It was yellow with age and covered deep,—as was all else,—with dust; but the large, stiff, black characters upon it were distinctly visible, and the name, "Jost von Gnadewitz," was perfectly legible.

"Good Heavens! what have we here?" cried the forester, whose speech almost failed him with amazement "Jost von Gnadewitz!—the hero of Sabina's tale of her great-grandmother!"

Ferber approached the table, and carefully raised the cover of the casket. Within, upon a dark velvet cushion, lay ornaments of antique workmanship, bracelets, brooches, a necklace of gold coins, and several strings of costly pearls.

The parchment had fallen to the ground. Reinhard picked it up, and offered to read the contents aloud. It was, even for the time when it had been composed,—about two hundred years before,—very clumsily written, and very badly spelled. The writer had evidently understood how to wield the hunting-spear better than the pen,—nevertheless an air of poesy breathed through the lines. They ran thus:

"Whoever you may be who are the first to enter this room, by all that is sacred to you, by everything that you love or that has a home in your heart, do not disturb her repose. She lies there sleeping like a child. The sweet face beneath the dark curls smiles again now that death has touched it. Once more, whoever you are, whether noble or beggar, descendant of hers or not, let my eyes be the last to rest upon her!

"I could not lay her in the dark, cold ground. Here the golden light will play around her, and birds will alight upon the branches of the tree outside with the breath of the forest ruffling their feathers, while the songs that hushed her in her cradle gush from their throats.

"The golden sunlight was quivering in the forest, and the birds were singing in the trees, when the graceful roe parted the bushes, and gazed with shy, startled eyes at the young huntsman who was lying in the shade. His heart beat quickly and wildly at sight of her; he threw his weapons from him, and pursued the maiden-form that fled before him. She, the child of the forest, a daughter of that people which the curse of God pursues making them wanderers upon the face of the earth, with no home for their weary feet, not a foot of land that they can call their own whereon to lay their dying heads,—she had vanquished the heart of the proud, fierce huntsman. Suing for her love, he haunted the camp of her tribe, day and night; he followed her footsteps like a dog, and entreated her passionately until she was touched, to leave her people and fly with him in secret. In the silence of night he bore her away to his castle, and, alas! became her murderer. He did not heed her prayers, when she was suddenly seized by the uncontrollable longing for her forest liberty. As the prisoned bird flutters wildly about its cage, beating its delicate wings against the confining wires, so she wandered in despair through the halls which had once resounded to her intoxicating song and the delicious music of her lute, but which now only echoed to her sighs and complaints. He saw her cheeks grow pale, saw her eyes averted from him in hate; his heart died a thousand deaths when she thrust him from her, and shuddered at his touch; despair possessed him, but he doubly bolted every door, and guarded them in deadly terror, for he knew that she was lost to him forever if once again her foot should press the woodland turf. And then there came a time when she grew less restless,—'tis true she glided past him as though he were a shadow, a nothing,—she never lifted her eyes when he approached her and addressed her in the tenderest tones of entreaty,—it was long since she had spoken to him, and still no words passed her lips; but she no longer beat her tiny hands against the window-bars, tearing her hair, and calling with shrill shrieks upon those who passed through the forest without, enjoying all the sweets of liberty. She no longer fled madly, like some hunted thing, through halls and corridors, nor mounted the castle wall to throw her fair body into the gloomy waters of the moat. She sat beneath the evergreen oak with a sad, patient look upon her lily-white face; she knew of the life within her own,—she was about to become a mother. And when night came, and the huntsman bore her up the broad stairway in his arms,—she did not resist, but she turned her face from him, that his breath might not touch her cheek, that no glance of his loving eyes might fall upon her.

"And one day the pastor of Lindhof came to the castle. The people declared that Jost, a lamb of his flock, had dealings with the devil, and he came to rescue the lost soul. He was admitted, and saw the creature for whose sake the wild huntsman had renounced his merry life in the forest, and heaven itself. Her beauty and purity touched him. He spoke to her in gentle tones, and her heart, paralyzed with suffering, melted at his addresses. For the sake of the child that was to come, she was baptized, and the unholy tie that had bound her to her lover was hallowed by the sanction of the church. And when her dark hour of pain had passed, she pressed her cold lips upon the brow of her child, and, with that kiss, her spirit burst its bonds,—she was free, free! The triumph of that moment transfigured the earthly tenement from which the soul had departed. The wretched man saw those glorious eyes darken in death; he writhed at her feet in an agony of remorse and despair, and implored her in vain for only one last glance of love.

"The boy was christened, and received his father's name,—my baptismal name. I gazed with a shudder into his eyes,—they are my eyes. Together we have murdered her. My old servant, Simon, has taken the boy away. I cannot live for him. Simon says, and the pastor also, that no woman can be found willing to nourish my child at her breast, for, in the eyes of the people I am lost,—doomed eternally to hell-torments. The wife of my forester, Ferber, has adopted the child without knowing whence it comes——"

Here the reader paused, and looked up over the parchment at the brothers. The forester, who, until now, had been leaning against the opposite wall listening with the greatest attention, suddenly stood by his side, and clutched his arm convulsively. The colour left his sun-burnt cheeks for one moment. It seemed as if his heart ceased to beat, so great was his agitation. And Ferber also drew near, testifying in his face and gestures extreme surprise.

"Go on, go on!" cried the forester at last, in stifled accents.

"Simon laid him upon the threshold of the forest lodge," Reinhard read further, "and to-day he saw Ferber's wife kissing and tending him like her own little girl. By the laws of my family, he has no claim upon the Gnadewitz estate, but my maternal inheritance will preserve him from want. My directions I have confided, in a sealed packet, deposited in the town-house at L——, to the public authorities. They will substantiate his claim to be my son and heir. May he, as Hans Jost von Gnadewitz, found a new race. The Almighty will provide kind hearts to protect his youth,—I cannot.

"Everything which adorned that lovely form in happier days shall surround it in death, and yield to the same decay. Her child has a claim upon her jewels, but my heart revolts at the thought that what has rested upon her dazzling brow, her pure neck, may perhaps be torn asunder and desecrated by faithless hands. Better to leave all here to fade and fall to ruin.

"Once more I implore you, whom chance may lead to this sanctuary, after the lapse of centuries perhaps,—honour the dead, and pray for me,

"JOST VON GNADEWITZ."

The two brothers clasped each other's hands, and, without a word, approached the coffin. In their veins flowed the blood of that strange being who had once kindled to a flame the heart of the fierce, proud lord of the castle,—of that woman whose ardent soul, thirsting for freedom, exultingly fled from the idolized body which had crumbled to a little heap of ashes here in its narrow leaden tomb. Two tall figures stood there, descendants of him who, with his dying mother's consecrating kiss upon his brow, was borne out into the forest, and laid upon the low threshold of a servant, while his nobly-born father, despair in his heart, rushed madly to death.

"She was the mother of our race," Ferber said at last, with much emotion, to Reinhard. "We are the descendants of the foundling whose parentage has been a mystery until this hour, for the papers which would have established him in his rights were destroyed when the townhouse at L—— was burned down. We must suspend work here for a few days," he said, turning to one of the masons, who, prompted by a pardonable curiosity, had descended the ladder half way, and, from this post of observation, had listened in speechless amazement to the unfolding of a tale which would afford a subject for winter evenings in the large, peasant spinning-rooms, for a long time to come.

"Instead, you must prepare a grave to-morrow in the church-yard at Lindhof," the forester called up to him; "I will speak to the pastor about it afterwards."

He went again to the press, and looked at the garments that had once enveloped the delicate limbs of the gypsy maiden, and had evidently been adjusted with great care, that they might recall the times when they had been seen upon the beautiful Lila by the enraptured eyes of her lover. Upon the floor of the press were ranged shoes. The forester took up a pair of them; they were scarcely longer than the width of his broad hand,—only Cinderella's feet could ever have worn them.

"I will take these to Elsie," he said, smiling, holding them carefully between his forefinger and thumb, "she will be surprised to find what a Liliputian her ancestress was."

Meanwhile Ferber, after brushing the dust from the mandolin, took it carefully under his arm, while Reinhard closed the jewel-box and lifted it from the table by the exquisitely wrought handle on the lid. Thus the three men ascended the ladder again. Arrived at the top, all the boards that they could procure were placed over the opening, so as to afford a temporary protection from wind and rain, and then they descended from their perilous position upon the summit of the ruin.

Below, the ladies had been awaiting them for some time, in a state of great expectation, and were not a little surprised at the strange procession that descended the ladder. But not one word did they learn of what had been seen or heard, until the whole party were once more seated beneath the linden. Then Reinhard placed the casket upon the table, described minutely the hidden apartment and its contents, and, at last producing the parchment, read again what we have already learned; of course with far greater fluency than before.

In breathless silence the ladies listened to these outpourings of a passionate, burning heart. Elizabeth sat pale and still; but when Reinhard came to the words that suddenly threw such a glare of light upon the dim past of her family, she started up, and her eyes rested in speechless surprise upon the smiling face of her uncle, who was observing her narrowly. Even Frau Ferber sat for awhile after the reader had finished, fairly dumb with amazement. To her clear, calm mind, accustomed to reason carefully, this romantic solution of family questions, which had been unanswered for centuries, was almost incomprehensible. But Miss Mertens, to whom the whole bearing of the discovery was explained by Ferber, as she did not even know the story of the foundling, clapped her hands above her head at such a revelation.

"And does not this parchment give you a claim to your inheritance?" she asked quickly and eagerly.

"Undoubtedly," replied Ferber, "but how can we tell in what that maternal inheritance consisted? The family has died out, the very name of Gnadewitz is extinct. Everything has passed into strange hands; who can tell to what we may lay claim?"

"No, let all that rest," said the forester with decision; "such matters cost money, and in the end we might come into possession of only a few thalers. Oh no! let it go! We have not starved yet."

Elizabeth musingly took up the shoes which her uncle had placed before her. The faded silk of which they were made was torn here and there, and showed perfectly the shape of the foot. They had been much worn, but not apparently upon the soil of the forest; the soles showed no traces of such contact; probably they had covered the restless feet at the time of her imprisonment, "when she fled madly through halls and corridors like some hunted thing."

"Aha! Elsie, now we know where you got your slender waist and those feet that trip over the sward, scarcely bending the blades of grass," said her uncle. "You are just such a forest-butterfly as your ancestress, and would flutter just so against the bars of your cage if you were shut up within locked doors; there is gypsy blood in your veins were you ten times Gold Elsie and though your skin is like a snowdrift. There, put on those things, you will find that you can dance in them easily."

"Oh no, uncle," cried Elizabeth deprecatingly, "they seem to me like sacred relics; I could not put them on without fearing that Jost's fiery black eyes might suddenly glare out at me."

Frau Ferber and Miss Mertens agreed with her, and the former declared that in her opinion the press, with all that it contained, ought to be carefully removed to some quiet, dry place, where it might be preserved untouched as a family relic until it fulfilled its destiny, which was to decay with all else that is mortal.

"Well, with regard to the press, let it be as you say," Reinhard here interposed; "but it seems to me that a different fate should await these articles."

He opened the casket. The sunlight penetrating, its interior came flashing back in a thousand sparkling rays, dazzling the eyes that looked on. Reinhard took out a necklace,—it was very broad, and of admirable design.

"These are brilliants of the purest water," he explained to the rest,—the necklace was set thick with precious stones,—"and these rubies here must have gleamed magnificently from the dark curls of the beautiful gypsy girl," he continued, as he took two pins from their velvet cushion with heads formed like lily-cups of red stones, from which chains, set thick with rubies, fell like a glittering little shower.

Elizabeth, smiling, held a costly agraffe above her forehead.

"And so you think, Herr Reinhard," she said, "that we should let all reverence for the past go, and recklessly adorn ourselves with these jewels? What would my white muslin dress say if I should some day introduce it into such distinguished society?"

"The brilliants are exquisitely becoming to you," replied Reinhard, smiling; "but to my mind a nosegay of fresh flowers would be far more suitable with the white muslin; and therefore I should advise that these precious stones be transformed at the jeweller's into shining coin."

Ferber nodded assentingly.

"What! Reinhard," cried Miss Mertens, "do you think these family jewels should be sold?"

"Certainly," he replied; "it would be both foolish and sinful to let such capital lie idle. The stones alone must be worth full seven thousand thalers, and then there are these very fine pearls, and this wrought gold, which will bring a very clever little sum besides."

"Zounds!" exclaimed the forester; "let them go then on the spot,——See, Adolph," he continued more gently, and rested his arm upon his brother's shoulder, "Heaven has been kind to you here. Did I not tell you that all would go smoothly with you in Thuringia, although I never dreamed that eight thousand thalers were waiting for you?"

"For me?" cried Ferber with surprise. "Does it not all belong to you as the elder?"

"None of that! What, in Heaven's name, should I do with the trash? Am I to begin to invest capital in my old days? I think I see myself at such work! I have neither chick nor child in the world, hold an excellent office,—and when my old bones fail me, there is a pension for me, which, try as I may, I shall never be able to spend. Therefore I resign my birthright in favour of the girl with the golden hair and Ernst, the rogue, who shall perpetuate our stock; I will not even have a mess of lentil pottage in exchange, for Sabina says it is not good with venison. Don't touch me!" he cried, with a comic gesture of refusal, clasping his hands behind him, as Frau Ferber, with tears in her eyes, came to him with outstretched arms, and his brother would have remonstrated with him. "It would be much better for you, sister-in-law, to go and see about our coffee. It is really past hearing! four o'clock and not a drop of the usual refreshments, for the sake of which I dragged myself up here."

He accomplished his aim in diverting from himself all grateful acknowledgments. Frau Ferber hastened into the house, accompanied by Elizabeth, and the others laughed. The whole party were soon seated upon the terrace, busy with the brown, fragrant beverage.

"Yes, yes," said the forester, leaning comfortably back in his chair; "I never thought, when I awoke this morning, that I should lie down at night a Herr von Gnadewitz. I shall gain a step in my profession, of course, instantly; that yellow parchment, with its crooked letters, has done for me in an instant what thirty years of hard service have failed to accomplish. As soon as his Highness arrives in L—— I shall make my best bow, and introduce myself by my new name. Zounds! how those people will stare!"

A peculiar side glance was directed, as these words were spoken, towards Elizabeth, and at the same moment the speaker puffed away at his pipe so vigorously that his face was quite concealed by a thick cloud of smoke.

"Uncle," cried his niece, "say what you will, I know that you can never intend to patch up again the shattered crest of the Gnadewitzes."

"I can't see why not, 'tis a beautiful coat of arms, with chevrons, stars——"

"And a wheel covered with blood," interrupted Elizabeth. "God forbid that we should swell the number of those who revive the sins of their ancestors to prove the antiquity of their race, and thus make nobility ignoble,—nothing in the world seems to me more detestable. I should think that all those who have been tortured and hunted down in life by that pitiless, haughty race, would arise, like accusing ghosts, from their graves, if the name should ever be revived, beneath whose shelter such oppression and tyranny existed for centuries. When I compare the two fathers,—one seeking death like a coward, never considering for an instant that his poor child had the most sacred claims upon him; the other, a poor servant, taking the outcast compassionately to his heart, and bestowing upon it his own honest name,—then I know well which was the noble, which name deserves to be perpetuated. And think what sorrow that haughty race has caused my poor, dear mother."

"True enough, true enough," Frau Ferber declared with a sigh—"in the first place, I owe to it a stormy, unhappy childhood, for my mother was a beautiful, amiable girl, whom my father married against the will of his relatives, who could not forgive her ignoble extraction. This misalliance was a source of endless suffering and annoyance to my poor mother, for my father had not sufficient strength of character to break with the chief of the Gnadewitz family, and live only for his wife. This weakness on his part was the cause of constant strife between my parents, which I could not but be cognizant of. And we"—here she held out her hand across the table to her husband—"we can never forget all we had to contend with before we could belong to each other. I would not for the world return to the class who so often ruthlessly stifle every warm, humane sentiment, that outward rank and show may be preserved."

"And you never shall return, Marie," said her husband, with a smile, as he pressed her hand. He glanced mischievously at his brother, who was still puffing forth immense clouds of smoke, while he was doing his best, most unsuccessfully, to keep up the frown upon his brow.

"Ah! my fine plans," he sighed at last, with a comical look of disappointment. "Elsie, you are a cruel, foolish creature. You forget what a fine life we should lead, if I had a position at court, and you were a fine lady. There, does not that tempt you?"

Elizabeth shook her head, smilingly, but most decidedly

"And who knows," added Miss Mertens, "but that, before we could turn round, some noble knight, of stainless lineage, would bear away from old Gnadeck our high-born Elsie as his wife!"

"Do you think I would go with him?" cried Elizabeth, indignantly, her cheeks aglow.

"And why not?—if you loved him."

"No, never," replied the girl in a suppressed voice, "not even if I loved him,—for I should then be all the more wretched in the consciousness that the prestige of my name had weighed heavier in the balance than my heart, that in the eyes of that man all aspiration after spiritual elevation and moral excellence was worthless in comparison with a phantom, which the miserable prejudices of men had tricked out with tinsel."

Frau Ferber gazed with surprise at her daughter, whose face showed evident signs of deep emotion. The forester, on the other hand, held his pipe firmly between his teeth, and clapped his hands loudly.

"Elsie, child of gold!" he cried at last, "give me your hand! that's my brave girl! true metal, through and through! Yes, I say, too, God keep me from swelling the number of those who give up an honest name for the sake of their own personal advantage. No, Adolph, we will not cast scorn upon the parish register of the little Silesian village where we were christened; we will go on writing our names as they are written there."

"And as they have faithfully clung to us in joy and sorrow for half a century," added Ferber with his quiet smile, "I will keep this document for this fellow," and he laid his hand upon little Ernst's curly head, "until his judgment is clear and ripe. I cannot and must not decide for him, but I trust I shall train him so that he will prefer to carve out a path for himself by his own energy, rather than to lie idly in the hot-bed of old traditions and wrongs enjoying privileges which should be the reward only of lofty endeavour. The Gnadewitzes in their long career added nothing to the world, but took much from it; let them moulder in their graves, and their high-sounding, undeserved titles with them!"

"Selah!" cried the forester, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "And now let us go," he said to his brother, "and advise with the Lindhof pastor. A spot beneath the beautiful lindens in our village church-yard seems to me infinitely preferable to those three gloomy walls, within which the mother of our line has lain for so long; and that the 'dark, cold ground' may not touch her coffin, let us have a grave built in the earth and closed with a tombstone."

He departed, accompanied by Ferber and Reinhard, and, whilst her mother and Miss Mertens were putting the jewel-box away in a place of security, Elizabeth climbed the ladder placed against the ruined jutty, pushed aside the boards, and descended into the secret chamber. A slender ray of the setting sun touched a ruby pane in the little window and threw a bloody stain upon the name "Lila," on the lid of the coffin. Elizabeth, with head bowed and hands clasped, stood for a long while beside the lonely bier, whereon that burning heart had slept undisturbed since the moment when death had stilled its wild beating and ended its sorrow. Centuries had flown by, effacing, as if they had never existed, all the transporting charm of that short life,—all the stormy emotion which had worked its ruin,—and yet the young heart that was throbbing restlessly in that chamber of death beside that bier, fancied that the emotions causing it to throb so wildly could never die.

CHAPTER XVII.

The news of the occurrence at Gnadeck had reached Lindhof Castle even before Reinhard returned thither. The masons on their way home to the village had related the wonderful story to a servant whom they met in the park, and the tale had flashed like lightning from mouth to mouth until it reached the boudoir of the ladies of the castle, where it produced the effect almost of a bombshell.

One of the favourite themes of the baroness had always been her own infallibility with regard to blue blood. She maintained that by means of a very delicate and sensitive organization she could recognize the existence of this life-giving stream even in people whose names she did not know. It was thus only natural that she should be able to detect immediately every noble drop happening to flow in plebeian veins. She always had admitted that "the little Ferber" had something distinguished in her appearance in right of the noble descent of her mother. But with regard to the forester, that delicate perception of hers had been so much at fault that she had never dreamed of acknowledging his bow except by an almost imperceptible inclination of the head, which was all she deigned to bestow upon people of so low a rank in life. Why, in her noble rage at the rude blasphemer, who could forbid his ward, Bertha, to attend the Bible-class at the castle, she had often gone so far as to declare that she could detect his low origin a hundred paces off. And this was the man to bring to nought her reputation for this keen perception of aristocracy! He was the descendant of a lofty line,—the possessor of a name which, centuries back, had glowed in all the light of feudal splendour!

To be sure, there was great consolation for her in the thought that two centuries of ignoble marriages had rendered the noble blood very difficult to recognize. She declared as much very earnestly to Fräulein von Walde, who, reclining upon her lounge, was observing the baroness' agitation with a slight, rather contemptuous, smile. Personal interest in Fräulein Ferber, or the more unprejudiced mind of the younger lady, may have prompted some little reproof to her cousin; at all events she lifted her head and said quickly, not without a slight appearance of irritation: "Pardon me, Amalie, but that is a mistake. I know for a certainty that the wife of the forester's clerk is not the only nobly-born person who has married into the Ferber family. They have always been a fine, remarkably intellectual race, whose personal advantages have often conquered the prejudices of birth. I really do not believe that there have been more plebeian marriages in their family than can be found in the pedigree of the Lessens, and you would hardly maintain that there is not a drop of genuine noble blood in Bella's veins."

A delicate colour flickered over the elder lady's faded cheek, and the glance which she directed towards her companion from beneath her half-closed eyelids, was anything but gentle or amiable. A sickly smile still hovered upon her lips. Since the previous day she had, to her horror, frequently felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. It was actually terrifying suddenly to meet with contradiction in a quarter where for years she had found only complete adherence and blind submission.

She was, however, quite right in attributing the change in Helene's demeanour not only to the "unhappy" influence exercised upon her by her brother, but far more to her own son, who had conducted himself so strangely during the last few days. Helene's was, in reality, a noble nature, capable of appreciating all that was lofty and honourable, and animated by the purest desire for the good and true; but she had been accustomed from childhood to consider herself as the centre of the loving care and attention of all around her. Notwithstanding her physical infirmity, she had never known the bitterness of being slighted. That she might forget her weakness, every one around her made her the object of marked attention. While she knew that she could never occupy a wife's position, her heart, overflowing with tenderness, had joyously welcomed a first love; and although, when alone, she might bewail with tears the neglect of nature, which had denied her the crowning joys of life, still she possessed the blissful conviction that her love was returned. Hollfeld's constant attentions, his frequent sojourn at Lindhof, his continual expressions of tenderness, were well calculated to plant this conviction ineradicably in her mind.

Suddenly he had appeared altered and constrained in her presence, and neglected her in the most unaccountable manner. She suffered greatly; her inner self revolted; insulted feminine dignity, an irritation hitherto unknown, and devoted affection, were all at war within her; she was yet far from that height to which, early or late, every noble nature attains: resignation and forgiveness. She grew bitter and violent, and she manifested this change less towards him who had caused her suffering than, by way of indemnifying herself, towards those whose tyranny she had endured for the sake of her love.

Hollfeld had been reading aloud to the ladies, when the old waiting-maid of the baroness entered the room upon some errand, and, before leaving, glibly narrated the remarkable discovery at Gnadeck. If Helene's eyes had not been riveted upon the lips of the speaker, the change in her cousin's features could not have escaped her. He listened breathlessly, with an expression of the intensest delight. In passing from mouth to mouth, the discovered jewels had come to be of "priceless value," and the beautiful Lila's coffin was now pure silver.

The baroness also had not observed the striking change in her son's sullen aspect; and in consequence of Helene's reproof, very naturally darted at him an angry glance, which was not seen by Fräulein von Walde. She was greatly amazed to see him suddenly approach his cousin. He smoothed the embroidered cushion beneath her head, and pushed the bouquet of flowers in the vase nearer to her, that she might more easily inhale their fragrance.

"Helene is quite right, mother," he said with a kindly glance at his cousin, who replied by a happy smile. "You should be the last to bring in question the nobility of that family."

Although the baroness was tortured by the thought that those who had been so far beneath her, might now be her equals,—nay, even rank considerably above her in wealth; still she wisely suppressed the bitter retort that rose to her lips, and contented herself with observing that the whole story at present had altogether too much the air of a legend or fable to be implicitly believed. For her part, she should require the testimony of more competent eye-witnesses than the two masons, before she could consider it worthy of credit.