Lucie's resolve was a hard one. Castle Hohenwald was to her as a home. The thought of leaving Celia and the old Freiherr gave her intense pain, but it must be done,--she could not stay. She had written her letter to Adèle with feverish haste, almost immediately after Arno had left her; but now that it lay before her sealed and addressed she hesitated to despatch it. She shrank from so decisive a step.
Did stern duty really require of her to leave this loved asylum and brave the world again and the danger of Repuin's persecution? Here she was safe both from the Russian and from Sorr; both the old Freiherr and Arno would extend protection to her, and must she give it all up just because Arno loved her? No; not for that. Had she been sure of her own heart she might have remained. She had not felt the need of fleeing from Werner's distasteful devotion.
But Arno! She had summoned up strength to utter the words that annihilated his hopes; but she felt that in so doing she had almost exhausted her self-control. Could she have withstood his pleading a moment longer? Even while writing to Adèle the thought would not be banished from her mind that she was actually free, bound by no obligation to the wretch who himself on that terrible night had sundered the tie that had linked her to him!
But could he sunder it? No; it must still remain a brazen fetter chaining her to her unworthy husband, although she were forever parted from him. As she had herself said, her marriage could not be dissolved; she was free only in spirit,--only the death of the dishonoured thief could make it possible for her to form another tie.
Her heart rebelled against so unnatural a chain; but cool reason told her that she could not disregard it without dishonour. Sorr's wife must not listen to Arno's words of affection; if she could not slay within her the love she now knew that he had awakened there, he must never know it.
The sealed letter trembled in her hand; if it were to be sent it must go instantly. From her window Lucie saw already saddled and standing in the court-yard the horse upon which the groom was to take the daily mail from the castle to A----. Frau Kaselitz stood upon the steps just about to close the post-bag. One minute more and it would be too late. A day at least would be gained, a day for reflection, and a day, too, of imminent peril, a day in which Arno might repeat his protestations, his entreaties!
She hastily threw open the window. "Wait one moment, Frau Kaselitz; I have a letter to go!" she called out into the court-yard, and then hurried down the great staircase to the hall-door. She could not trust herself, and it was only when she had seen the groom gallop away bearing her letter with him that she breathed freely again.
The die was cast, and she could think clearly and calmly. Her strength of will returned, and she knew that she could brave any struggle which the next few days might bring her. She had regained the calm self-control that would enable her to fulfil her duties towards the Freiherr and Celia during the time she should yet remain in the castle, and this fulfilment should instantly be put into action. Celia should suspect nothing during lesson-hours of the mental agony that had so tortured her teacher.
But where was Celia? She had not made her appearance, although the time had long passed at which she usually returned from her afternoon ride. Lucie inquired of old John, who was on his way to the stables, and learned that Fräulein Celia was still out in the forest. She never had stayed so late before, the old man added; indeed, she had had time to ride up and down the broad forest road to Grünhagen at least twenty times. Of course that was where she was; she always rode there. John could not see why she never tired of that road. Lucie was not ill pleased to hear that the girl was still in the forest: she longed for its cool depths; and since John assured her that she could not fail to meet Fräulein Celia, she determined to go in search of her. She declined John's attendance, for she felt perfectly secure in the vicinity of the castle. Quickly tying on her hat she sallied forth.
Her walks hitherto had never extended beyond the castle garden and the park. This was her first flight into the "forest depths," from which the castle took its name. She gazed in wonder at the mighty oaks and beeches. Around her brooded the mystery of the primeval forest; in the vicinity of the castle no axe had rung a discord in the poetry of woodland life. The deep silence, broken only by the low notes of the woodland birds, harmonized with Lucie's mood; she sauntered dreamily along the path, passing in mental review the events of the day, and particularly the struggle with herself, in which--and there was a measure of content in the consciousness--she had come off conqueror.
Lost in thought, she almost forgot that she had come out to look for Celia; her gaze wandered unconsciously over the wealth of foliage on every side of her. She did not observe, when she had reached the loneliest part of the forest, a solitary stranger walking towards her, and hastening his steps with every sign of amazement upon seeing her. Not until he had approached her very nearly did she look up and start in terror. Could she believe her eyes? The Assessor von Hahn, whose element was fashionable society, here alone in the woodland solitude? She could not be deceived; the Assessor stood before her as elegant as if bound upon a round of morning visits, staring at her out of his wide blue eyes, and twirling, as was his wont when startled or surprised, his flaxen moustache; it was indeed Herr von Hahn as large as life.
The good Assessor was no less startled than was Lucie. "Is it possible?" he exclaimed; "am I awake or dreaming? Frau von Sorr here in the forest! This is a surprise indeed,--a most agreeable surprise of course. I am enchanted to meet you, madame."
As he spoke he held out his hand, and Lucie was obliged to place her own within it and to allow him to kiss it; she could not show him how unwelcome was his presence here. Of all her former acquaintances she would have preferred to have almost any one invade her retirement rather than the gossiping Assessor, but she could not let him perceive this; she banished all surprise and terror from her face and said, not unkindly, "A most unforeseen meeting. I never should have expected to find you in this remote corner of Saxony, Herr von Hahn."
"My presence here is easily explained, madame. I have been transferred to A----, and, as there is scarcely any society in the tiresome little town, I beguile my leisure by visits to the neighbouring gentry. I am at present enjoying the Amtsrath Friese's hospitality, in Grünhagen, and was just taking a woodland walk. But you, madame,--how happens it that I meet you here? You must be living either at Grünhagen or in Castle Hohenwald. Oh, I see, I see. My cousin, the old Freiherr, has overcome his antipathy to your charming sex and has admitted into his household a governess for my lovely cousin Celia. You are this governess of course. This is why you vanished so suddenly from the face of the earth. It must be so; my keen perception has penetrated the mystery. I do not boast, for keenness of perception is one of the gifts of nature, and her gifts are variously bestowed, but I possess it. Confess, madame, that I am right."
The Assessor, who had now succeeded in twirling the ends of his moustache into two long thin points, stayed the torrent of his words for a moment to regard Lucie with a triumphant look of inquiry.
What should she reply? Chance had revealed to him her retreat in Castle Hohenwald; he now knew too much to admit of his not being told more. She dreaded his loquacity, but perhaps he might be induced to curb it if she appealed to his honour. And, besides, he need keep silence only for a short time; in a few days she hoped her friend Adèle would have provided another refuge for her, and then the good Assessor's love of gossip could do no harm. "Your keen perception has not been at fault, Herr Assessor," she replied. "I live in Castle Hohenwald as governess to Fräulein Celia von Hohenwald, but I need hardly tell you that in order to obtain such a situation I have been obliged to change my name. The consequences would be disastrous to me if any one in Castle Hohenwald should learn my real name, and still more so if any one save yourself, Herr Assessor, whom I trust implicitly, should suspect that I have taken refuge in Castle Hohenwald. Your perceptions are too keen to make any explanations necessary as to the painful circumstances that have driven me thus to change my name and to take refuge in the deepest seclusion. I rely upon your honour, and am convinced that you will not abuse the knowledge you have gained by accident, and that you will mention to no one our meeting to-day."
The Assessor bowed profoundly, feeling immensely flattered. He seized Lucie's hand and kissed it with fervour, "Your gratifying confidence is not misplaced. I swear it by my honour!" he exclaimed, his hand on his heart. "I will be torn limb from limb sooner than that Herr von Sorr or Count Repuin or any enemy of yours, dear madame, shall learn where you have found an asylum. Rely upon me, madame, and if you should need counsel or aid I am always at your service."
"Thank you, Herr von Hahn. I knew I could trust you, and therefore I have bestowed upon you my entire confidence. If I need your assistance I shall certainly apply to you, but at present I ask only your silence and your forgiveness for concluding this interview; I must not be seen in your society."
"I understand and respect your wishes, madame; I am discreet; I make no boast of it, but----"
"I know it, Herr Assessor, and I thank you for it. But before we part let me ask one question. Have you encountered upon this road a young lady on horseback?"
"Ah, you mean my fair cousin, Celia von Hohenwald."
"Do you know Celia?"
"Certainly; that is, I have seen her."
"Did you meet her?"
The question was a simple one, and yet it confused the Assessor. He remembered Herr von Poseneck's words and felt very uncomfortable. True, he had not been told not to mention meeting Celia. Kurt's prohibition had borne reference only to his betrothal, but he had expressly declared that he should call the Assessor personally to account for any indiscretion, and Herr von Poseneck seemed to be a man very likely to keep his word. Would he not consider it an indiscretion to direct Frau von Sorr to where she would find the lovers together? He would not run any risk, and so answered with some hesitation, "I really do not know, madame; I hardly remember----"
"Whether you have met Celia in the forest? You can hardly have forgotten it."
"Certainly not, but--some one is coming. You desire that we should not be seen together; I hasten to comply with your wishes. Adieu, madame!"
He bowed very low, glad to have any pretext for his flight, and walked away so quickly that he was in danger of overlooking the group of mighty oaks near which was the by-path to which Kurt had directed him. Fortunately, he discovered it in time and was soon lost to sight.
Lucie looked after him, at a loss to understand his conduct. Why should he find such difficulty in answering her simple question with regard to Celia, and hurry away in such confusion? He must have seen Celia; why not say so? She quickened her pace and soon reached a turning-point in the road that opened a long vista before her. Here her glance instantly encountered Celia, who was riding slowly towards her, attended by Kurt, whom Lucie instantly recognized, having seen him upon the evening of her arrival at Castle Hohenwald. Celia held her bridle negligently in her left hand; her right was clasped in that of Kurt, towards whom she was leaning, talking so earnestly that at first she did not perceive Lucie, who stood still transfixed with astonishment.
This, then, was the reason of the Assessor's mysterious behaviour; this was the explanation of Celia's devotion to her daily rides in the forest.
Pluto was the first to become aware of Lucie's presence; he tossed his head and neighed; this attracted Celia's attention, and she perceived her friend. "Anna!" she exclaimed in a tone of delighted surprise, in which there was not the slightest trace of terror. She withdrew her hand from Kurt's and urged her horse to where her friend stood. "Anna, my darling Anna!" she said, tenderly. "I am so rejoiced to see you! Now you shall learn all. Kurt himself can tell you all about it. Yes, Kurt, tell Anna everything,--how we first came to know each other, that we are betrothed, and that nothing now can separate us; tell her, too, what you told me awhile ago of Werner. Ah, how glad I am that chance has brought you two together! Now, Kurt, you will know my dearest Anna, and will see how wise it is to confide in her absolutely. Adieu, my darling Anna! Au revoir, dear Kurt!"
She kissed her hand to Lucie and Kurt, then gathered up her reins and galloped towards the castle.
Lucie looked after her very gravely. She was inexpressibly pained by the discovery she had so unexpectedly made. It had never occurred to her that Celia, gay, innocent, frank child that she seemed, could be engaged in any secret love-affair; she would have rejected any such idea with indignation.
And yet here was the proof. She felt grieved and ashamed; grieved because she had believed herself possessed of Celia's entire confidence, and ashamed that her care of her pupil had been so negligent that the girl had been able to deceive her from the first day of her arrival at Hohenwald.
Her anger, however, was not for Celia, but for Kurt; Celia was an inexperienced child, who did not and could not know the peril of such secret entanglements; Kurt's was all the blame.
It was therefore a very stern and forbidding look with which she received Kurt, who approached her with some embarrassment in his greeting. He knew that her judgment of him could hardly be a favourable one. She had seen him but once, when his courtesy in proffering assistance and his whole air and manner had made a very pleasant impression upon her, an impression in which she had been strengthened by what she had learned of him from the Finanzrath and from Adèle's letters. Even now, as she looked at him with severe scrutiny, she could not but admit to herself that his appearance was greatly in his favour. He was not, strictly speaking, handsome, his features were not perfectly regular; but his countenance was frank and manly in expression, his fine eyes were honest and true, and about the firm mouth there were lines that betokened great gentleness and kindliness of nature. Lucie easily understood how a young man of so pleasing an exterior could win the heart of the inexperienced Celia, who was debarred all society, and her indignation was the deeper that Kurt should have so unscrupulously used his power over an innocent child.
"You will have the goodness, Herr von Poseneck, to give me the explanation to which Celia has just alluded," she said, gravely and sternly.
Kurt bowed, and not without some confusion, for his conscience was not quite clear, he replied: "You have a right, Fräulein Müller, to ask this explanation of me, and I give it you the more readily, since my betrothed was about to give you her entire confidence this very evening. Even without this chance meeting you would have learned from her what you are now to learn from me."
"Your betrothed?" Lucie repeated the words with sharp emphasis. "Your betrothed? Are you not aware, Herr von Poseneck, that a child of sixteen cannot be betrothed without her father's consent? So far as I know, the Freiherr von Hohenwald has not given his paternal consent to your betrothal to his daughter, nor will he, for reasons with which you doubtless are familiar, ever be likely to do so."
"You condemn me without hearing me!" Kurt said, sadly.
"I have heard from Celia and from you that you are betrothed to my pupil, although you know that the Freiherr is hostile to your family, and that you can never hope for his consent. Was it right, was it honorable, that you, a man of ripe knowledge of the world, should induce a young, innocent girl, almost a child, to grant you private meetings in the forest, and finally to betroth herself to you against her father's will?"
"You are right, Fräulein Müller; I cannot deny it; I have often said just the same thing to myself; but my heart was stronger than my head. I hope, however, that you will judge me less severely when you have heard that I came to know Celia by chance, and that my love for her soon grew to a consuming passion that was beyond heeding the sage suggestions of reason. Only grant me a short interview; I promise you that I will be absolutely frank with you. Will you not hear me?"
Lucie consented, and the short interview ended in a long conversation between the two as they slowly paced to and fro in the woodland road.
Kurt kept his promise to be entirely frank and candid; he began with his first accidental meeting with Celia, who had won his heart at once, although he had determined that he would entertain for her only brotherly friendship. He described eloquently how this love had grown within him, until he had been carried away by it so far as to reveal it to Celia, and how he had been, as it were, forced by the Assessor's intrusion to utter the decisive word that betrothed them on this very day. He went on to tell Lucie how he had agreed with Celia that she was to acquaint her dearest friend with their secret, and ask her for aid and counsel; that he had at first been resolved to go to the old Freiherr and confess everything to him, but that he had been deterred from doing so by Celia's entreaties and representations. He informed Lucie of all that he had heard with regard to Werner's schemes, and of the danger threatening the Freiherr, adding that Celia looked to her to aid in averting it. "And now," he said, in conclusion, "you know everything. Judge for yourself whether I am as culpable as you thought me at first. I confess that my only excuse is my passionate affection for my darling Celia."
Lucie did not reply immediately,--she pondered well upon all that Kurt had said; his candour and integrity she could not doubt,--truth shone in his eyes; she could not help believing him. "I cannot approve your conduct," she said, after a long silence, "but neither will I judge you too harshly. What is done cannot be undone; we can do nothing with the past, but I demand that you atone in the future, as far as in you lies, for the wrong you have committed. There must be an end to these meetings with Celia; this you must promise me,--this duty you must fulfil, however hard it may seem to you. Do not answer me immediately, but reflect. I know that at this moment you think it impossible to comply with my demand; nevertheless it must be done. You must have sufficient self-control to enable you to resign a fleeting moment of happiness. If you love Celia truly and honestly, and would not separate her from her father, you must sacrifice thus much for her sake. You ought not to see Celia again unless by the Freiherr's consent. If you promise me this, Herr von Poseneck, I will promise you to do all that I can to influence the Freiherr in your favour. I will try to combat his unjustifiable hatred of you; I will be silent with regard to what I have seen to-day, although it is perhaps my duty to put him on his guard. Will you make me the promise that I ask, Herr von Poseneck?"
"Can I make it? Would not Celia doubt my faith and affection if she should not find me in the forest at the accustomed hour?"
"Celia will never again, while I am at Castle Hohenwald, ride in the forest alone, and she shall learn from me with what a heavy heart you make the sacrifice to your love which I have asked of you. It is very likely that she, too, will rebel against this sacrifice, and will blame both you and me; but this consideration ought not to deter you from doing your duty; thus only can you enable me to keep silence to the Freiherr, who, if he should learn now, without any preparation, that his daughter is secretly betrothed to a Poseneck, never would forgive you!"
"You demand an impossibility!" Kurt replied. "I cannot make a promise which I may be forced to break. If Celia should call me, should need my help, should I not hasten to her aid? And how easily this might happen! Am I not Celia's natural protector? You know what danger threatens the Freiherr through the Finanzrath's intrigues; if he, with his two sons, should be placed under arrest, to whom could Celia turn for aid and counsel? Ought I then, bound by a promise, to refuse her this aid? I could not!"
"Nor do I ask this. Your promise is not to be held binding in so extreme a case. Give it me with this condition."
"You are very cruel."
"I am only doing my duty, and requiring that you should do yours."
Lucie's firmness conquered, and Kurt submitted after much hesitation. He could not but admit to himself that Lucie was right, and that in her influence with the Freiherr lay his only hope for the future. He gave the required promise.
Away into the open air, to field or forest, wherever nature offers solitude! This was Arno's thought; he longed to be alone, to collect himself, after the fearful blow he had received. He crossed the court-yard and hurried through garden and park into the depths of the forest. Arrived there, where he felt sure of encountering no one, he threw himself down upon the moss-carpet at the foot of a giant oak. The quiet soothed him; he needed it to aid him to control the storm of emotion within him. What had he just undergone? To his humiliation he had been harshly rejected,--rejected in a manner that wounded his pride as well as his heart. What folly his former suspicions of Anna had proved to be! He had preserved towards her a cold and chilling demeanour to convince her that her feminine arts to attract him were vain. How she must have smiled at the silly vanity for which he was now paying so dearly! And he had asked for so little, for only one ray of hope, only for permission to love her, and even this she had coldly and firmly denied him. He had thought his heart desolated by the deceit from which he had suffered years before, but the contrary was proved in the bitter pain that now tortured him. He loved, and she whom he loved scorned his affection. Was her heart no longer free? Did she love another? She had denied this; but could he believe her? He remembered all that Werner had told of her, that she had been betrothed and forsaken by her lover when her father's wealth had vanished. Could she still cling to one so worthless? No; it was impossible. She must despise such a man, and she was too noble to give affection where she could not esteem. Had Werner's studied attentions produced any impression upon her? No; her tone, in speaking of him, had been that of contempt; she saw through him,--he never could touch her heart. And yet how could "duty and honour," of which she had spoken, demand that she should reject forever a genuine devotion, and that she should declare, "We must part forever!" The claim of another upon her affection could alone make it her duty to refuse to listen to his protestations. The thought was torture. He could endure everything save that. He was a prey to a savage jealousy of this unknown who robbed him of all that could make life fair, and he had to force himself to reflect that he had not an atom of foundation for this jealousy, which, nevertheless, he could not crush out of his heart. There it was, and it would assert itself, laughing to scorn the arguments of sober reason.
The sun was low in the heavens when Arno was roused from his long brooding reverie by the crackling of the underbrush, caused as he thought by some animal making its way through the thicket. But no; in a few moments there emerged upon the open space, in the midst of which stood the giant oak at whose feet he was reclining, Hauk, the chief inspector of the Hohenwald estate.
The man was much surprised at encountering thus his young master, whom he had never supposed to be addicted to daydreams in the depth of the forest, and he evidently reflected that his presence here, instead of in the fields superintending the labourers, might seem strange to Baron Arno. He approached him, hat in hand, with an air of some embarrassment. "I beg pardon for disturbing you, Herr Baron," he said, "but I never dreamed of finding you here."
"True, Herr Hauk," Arno replied, recalled to the actual world by the Inspector's presence, "nor could I have expected to find you here instead of in the fields."
The Inspector's embarrassment was increased by the reproof conveyed in the young Baron's words; and it suddenly seemed to him that the reasons for which he had undertaken his walk through the forest were mere folly. "I beg pardon, Herr Baron," he said, meekly, "I should not have left my work with the men, but I saw Herr von Poseneck again, and I wanted to know what the young gentleman is after on our land. Something must be wrong when a Poseneck tramps about our forest!"
"You are dreaming. Inspector!" Arno rejoined, harshly. "What could bring Herr von Poseneck to Hohenwald? Go back to your men, and refrain from woodland rambles while harvesting is going on."
The Inspector had never before received so stern a rebuke from the young Baron, and the faithful fellow felt aggrieved. "Of course, if the Herr Baron orders it I will return immediately, but it is a pity that I should not discover what Herr von Poseneck is continually after in our forest. Still, it is no business of mine why he is sneaking here, if the Herr Baron does not care about it."
Arno's curiosity was aroused; he had thought at first that the man's story was an invention to cover his neglect of duty, but he now saw clearly that he had wronged Hauk, who had been a faithful servant for many years. Therefore, in a much gentler tone, he asked, "What is it you are saying about Herr von Poseneck? Explain your meaning, Hauk."
"I mean only, if the Herr Baron will excuse me, what I say. Young Herr von Poseneck, who lives at Grünhagen with the Amtsrath, has been for a long time sauntering about in our forest every day; what he is after I do not know, but since he is a Poseneck, it can be no good. He usually takes the path along the Grünhagen boundary, and gets into the forest that way; but to-day I saw him hurry directly across the Hohenwald meadow. Early in the spring, Kunz, who was ploughing near the Grünhagen boundary, saw him do just the same thing. I watched him enter the forest to-day with my own eyes, and I came through it from the other side, thinking to strike the very path he must have taken, and catch my fine gentleman in the act, if, as I suspect, he is at any poaching work."
This was a strange piece of news. It was folly to suspect Kurt von Poseneck of poaching; the idea was begotten in the Inspector's mind by the universal mistrust of the Posenecks that was rife among the Hohenwald tenantry and servants; still Arno wondered what could bring the young gentleman daily to the Hohenwald forest, and he thought the matter called for an explanation. "Are you sure, Hauk, that you are not mistaken in the man?"
"Perfectly sure, Herr Baron; besides, all the men at work saw him as well as myself."
"Strange! And you say that he has been in the habit for some time of wandering about in our forest daily?"
"Yes, Herr Baron; he has often been seen, mostly by the women when they were gathering sticks, but they said nothing about it, for they themselves were on forbidden ground."
"Mere old women's gossip then!"
"No, Herr Baron; the forester has seen him too, but he did not speak to him, because the Freiherr has ordered us to avoid all quarrels with the Grünhageners; and Kunz saw him, as I said, long ago."
"Long ago? That is very vague. How long ago?"
"I cannot tell exactly, but it must have been about the time that Fräulein Müller came to Hohenwald, for Kunz was with the Herr Baron that night in the quarry, and he told me shortly afterwards that he had seen young Herr von Poseneck cross our field to the forest; that he had not been sure it was he until he saw him that night in the quarry; but that then he was perfectly certain of him. So he must have been seen first about that time, and since then scarcely a day has passed that he has not been seen by some of the people in the wood."
Arno's brow darkened. Kurt was no poacher, but he thought he had discovered the reason for his walks in the Hohenwald forest. Following the path by which he had been seen to enter it, he would reach the lake in the park, upon the shore of which, hidden among the shrubbery, was a bench, whence there was a lovely view of the little sheet of water. This spot was a favourite one with Fräulein Anna Müller. Whenever, as was, to be sure, but rarely the case, she walked in the park during Celia's absence upon her afternoon ride, this bench was always her goal, for she knew that even Werner would not venture to intrude upon her there. Her reason for seeking this retreat was now plain, as was also Kurt's attraction for the Hohenwald forest.
And yet Anna had said that her heart was free! Could she lie? Why had she not frankly confessed the truth? He would have had no right to blame her; her avowal would, indeed, have pained him, but the pain would have been easier to bear than distrust of her. He suffered in the thought that she was no better than the rest, that she could descend to a falsehood when the happiness of a man who loved her devotedly was at stake.
"Is it the Herr Baron's commands that I should return to the harvesters?"
The Inspector's question aroused Arno from his confused imaginings. "Yes, Herr Hauk," he said, with hardly-won composure. "You had best do so." Then seeing the man's discontented expression, he added, "I will myself endeavour to encounter Herr von Poseneck, but I do not desire any one to spy upon his movements. Let him walk as much as he pleases in the Hohenwald forest; I am sure that no ill will towards us brings him here, and I will not have him interfered with. Tell this to the people, Hauk, and bear in mind what I say. My father's desire that all disputes with the Grünhageners shall be avoided must be strictly complied with. Good-afternoon, Hauk."
"As you please, Herr Baron," the Inspector replied, with a bow, as he took his departure.
Long after he was gone Arno stood leaning against the trunk of the oak, uncertain what to do. Was Kurt at this very moment perhaps seated beside Anna on the bench near the lake? Jealousy impelled him to discover whether his suspicions were correct. In vain did he represent to himself that he had no right to spy upon Anna's actions. He strode through the wood and soon reached the borders of the broad Hohenwald forest road, which he was obliged to cross in order to reach the lake. Here, as he was making his way through the bushes that lined it on either side, he heard a voice that thrilled him; it was Anna's. He could not distinguish what she said, nor the words of the reply, which was given in clear, manly tones. He cautiously proceeded a few steps farther, until, parting the bushes, he obtained a clear view of the broad road. His worst fears were confirmed: Kurt and Anna were slowly walking along it engaged in earnest conversation. They approached the spot where Arno stood concealed; a few more steps and he should hear every word that was said, for they did not suspect a listener near. For a single instant a wild desire possessed Arno to penetrate Anna's mystery; he leaned forward as far as was possible without discovering himself, but the next moment he rose superior to the disgraceful temptation. His cheek flushed at the thought that he had been deaf though but for an instant to the dictates of honour. Silently and hastily he withdrew, moderating his pace only when he could no longer hear the sound of voices. As he returned to the castle he felt that although he had heard nothing he had seen enough.
Lucie parted from Kurt as his friend, and as she slowly walked back to the castle she reflected upon the perils encompassing the people who had become so dear to her. She pondered how to put the Freiherr upon his guard without betraying Celia's secret, and how at the same time to influence the old man to relinquish his foolish prejudice against Kurt. She could hardly warn him directly, but could it not be done indirectly through Werner, perhaps? If she should inform the Finanzrath that his connection with Repuin and other French agents was no longer a secret, that his movements were watched, that he was in danger of arrest, and that his presence in Castle Hohenwald imperilled the safety of his father and brother,--if she begged him to leave the castle, would he not comply with her advice?
Celia hastened to meet her friend; she had not been able to remain within-doors. Arrived at the castle, the girl threw Pluto's bridle to old John and hurried to her room to change her dress, thinking that she would await Anna in their sitting-room; but, although the windows there were all wide open, the confinement seemed to stifle her; she wanted air,--not the air of park or garden, but that of the cool, fragrant forest. As she issued from the gate of the court-yard and was just about to turn into the broad forest road she encountered Arno, and was hurrying past him, longing to see Anna and hear what she had said to Kurt, when he detained her, saying sternly, "Where are you going?"
"That is not your affair," she pertly answered her brother's harsh question. "I might as well ask you, Where have you been?"
"I have been in the forest."
"And I am going to the forest."
She would have passed him, but he still detained her. "Do you usually select this road for your afternoon ride?"
Celia blushed. What did he mean by the question? Did Arno know anything of her meetings with Kurt? With feminine evasion she hastily rejoined, "Why should I always choose this tiresome broad road?"
"Why, indeed? How long since you returned from your ride?"
"About a quarter of an hour ago," she answered, frankly.
"And did you ride on the broad road to-day?"
"What a foolish question! Let me go, Arno! How can it possibly interest you when or whore I ride?"
But Arno still held her hand fast, seeming not to notice her embarrassment. He gazed darkly down the forest road. If Celia pursued it she would meet Kurt and Anna together. Such a discovery would be but a merited punishment for Anna, but what impression would it produce upon his innocent sister? A second glance along the road reassured him,--Anna was slowly approaching the castle alone. He let go Celia's hand, relieved of an ugly dread lest Anna should have confided to her pupil her love-affair with Poseneck. That Celia knew nothing about it was clear from her replies to him; the "will-o'-the-wisp" was so frank a creature.
So soon as she found herself free, Celia ran towards Anna, bestowing not another thought upon Arno, who went his way. Throwing her arms around her friend, she whispered, as she caressed her tenderly, "At last you are come! My darling, darling Anna! Now all is well, and my conscience is once more clear."
"You ought to have had confidence in me," Anna said, in a tone of gentle reproof.
"Oh, I have often said that to myself. I have repeatedly determined to tell you all, but I was so afraid lest you would be angry, and perhaps forbid my meeting Kurt, and so--I cannot live without just saying a few words to him every day."
"You must try it, my dear Celia; you must not meet Herr von Poseneck in the forest again."
"I thought you would say that!" Celia exclaimed. "I knew it, but you are mistaken if you think I shall obey you. I am not a child; I know what I am doing. Kurt is my betrothed, and I have a right to meet him. But no, Anna dear, I will not be angry with you, only do not ask that of me. If you think it wrong for me to see Kurt alone in the forest,--and I have sometimes been afraid that it was,--then come with me; we have no secret from you; only you must not ask me not to see him again,--I cannot obey you: and if you will not go to the forest with me I must go by myself."
"It will be of no use. Herr von Poseneck has promised me that he will not meet you in the forest again."
"That is detestable of you,--detestable!" Celia exclaimed, indignantly. She had been so utterly unused to control that she was really angry, and it was only after a long and grave explanation upon Lucie's part that the girl was brought to see that her friend's counsel was dictated by the truest motives and an earnest desire for her happiness. At last, however, she agreed to be guided entirely by her "darling Anna," and the compact was sealed with a kiss.
Relieved to have been successful with Celia, Lucie now applied herself to the second task she had undertaken, and, instead of entering the castle, turned into the garden, where the Finanzrath was usually to be found towards evening.
"Are we going to the garden?" Celia asked, surprised. "We cannot talk together there, for Werner, as you know, will instantly join us, and we shall not be able to get rid of him."
"I am going purposely to meet him this afternoon," Lucie replied, "and I beg you to leave me with him when he joins us."
"Have you more secrets with him?" Celia asked, fretfully.
"I must speak with him," was Lucie's calm reply. "I promised Herr von Poseneck to warn your father of the danger that threatens him. I cannot do this directly, since I cannot say whence comes my information."
"And you are going to warn him through Werner?" the girl asked, shaking her head. "Don't attempt it, Anna dear; you do not know Werner,--he will not believe you; he thinks he knows more than any one else. Do not have any confidences with Werner; speak to Arno,--he is true and trustworthy; he will find a means to put papa on his guard and to force Werner to go away."
"I must speak with the Finanzrath," Lucie insisted; "do not try to dissuade me, dear child; I cannot help it."
Celia said no more; she silently accompanied Lucie into the garden, and walked beside her along the winding paths until, as had been foreseen, Werner joined them, when she lingered behind to pluck a flower, and then, turning into a side-path, left her brother and her friend to themselves.
Werner greeted Lucie after his usual smooth, courteous fashion; but she interrupted the flow of his complimentary speeches by saying, in a very grave tone, "Our meeting this afternoon, Herr Finanzrath, is owing to no chance. I came into the garden expressly to find you, for I have an important communication to make to you."
Werner's attention was aroused; Lucie frankly admitted that she had come in search of him. What could she have to tell him? And Celia had evidently left them together intentionally. She could have done so only by Lucie's desire. A secret hope that his endeavours to obtain the beautiful woman's favour were about to prove more successful flashed across his vain soul, but vanished as he looked into his companion's grave and even stern face. "I am extremely happy, madame, in receiving this proof of your confidence," he said, "and await with eagerness what you have to tell me."
"It is of no agreeable nature," Lucie went on; "but I will go directly to the point. You are in great peril, Herr Finanzrath; your connection with Count Repuin has aroused suspicion that you are of the number of French agents who are at work here, in the interest of the French Emperor, endeavoring to effect the dissolution of the treaty that unites the South German states and those of the North German alliance, with Prussia, and who are plotting against Prussia among the people as well as in the army."
Werner stayed his steps and looked searchingly into Lucie's face. His cheek grew a trifle paler, and his voice was not quite so firm and clear as usual, as he replied, with forced composure, "Your information is indeed startling, madame; I am excessively grateful to you for it, but you must permit me one question. Whence comes your knowledge that so foolish and ungrounded a suspicion attaches to me?"
"There are all-sufficient reasons, Herr Finanzrath, why I cannot answer your question and reveal to you the source of my information, but I can assure you that my warning is sent you by a sincere friend of yours and of your family, who is well aware of the necessity for it. But let me proceed, and then you can judge for yourself of the magnitude of the peril menacing you."
"I am all ear, madame."
There was a dash of contempt in his tone, and Lucie saw that her refusal to mention the source of her information had shaken his belief in its truth; but she went on quietly: "The suspicion of which I have told you, whether it be well founded or not----"
"Do you doubt me, madame?"
"I have no right to form an opinion, and there is no reason why, if formed, I should express it. Of course, since you declare the suspicion unfounded, I have no choice but to believe you; nevertheless, it exists, and it attaches not only to you, but to your father and brother. The authorities are convinced that your relatives know of your schemes, and aid and abet them, and that Castle Hohenwald is a centre for treasonable plots and conspiracies. The castle is already under surveillance; how strict this is I cannot say, nor whether it extends to the letters sent from here, but I know that it exists, and that the authorities have it in mind to crush any treasonable scheming before it becomes dangerous, by the arrest of the entire Hohenwald family. I think, Herr Finanzrath, that under these circumstances you will see that you owe it both to your family and to yourself to leave the castle as soon as possible. Your presence here imperils your father's safety. He will, on the other hand, be left undisturbed, though not unobserved, if you, the cause of thisgroundlesssuspicion, absent yourself from Castle Hohenwald for a while. Your father's age and infirmity, his seclusion from the world, will shield him from all annoyance as soon as you are away, since it certainly must be the aim of the authorities to avoid exciting indignation in Saxony by any useless arrests. This is all that I had to say to you, Herr Finanzrath. I hope that my well-meant warning will effect its purpose, and that you will, by a speedy departure from Castle Hohenwald, both protect your relatives from the danger of arrest and insure your own safety."
Werner had listened in silence, an evil sneer playing about his lips the while. "Then my departure from Castle Hohenwald is the purpose of your communication, madame?" he asked, watching Lucie with keen scrutiny.
"It is; I confidently hope that your departure will remove all danger."
"Indeed? You are extremely kind. I really cannot be sufficiently grateful to you for your care, but I must pray you to fill the measure of your kindness by telling me to what good friend you owe your information, which has the air of proceeding directly from the Chancellor himself, if, indeed, it be not the fabrication of an idle fancy or of a well-laid scheme."
"I do not understand you, Herr Finanzrath," Lucie asked, amazed. "Do you really imagine I could wish to deceive you?"
"Let me beg you again for the name of your informant."
"Let me repeat that I cannot, or rather will not, give it to you; you have no right to demand it of me."
"I do not demand it, madame; I do not even desire it, but perhaps you will allow me to mention it to you myself."
"You cannot know it!"
"But I can guess it. I see through the game that is playing with me. Have a care, madame, that the bow is not too tensely bent; the string might break."
"I do not understand you."
"Then I must speak more clearly. You shall have your will and understand perfectly. Yours be the consequences of allowing me a glimpse into your heart,--of ruthlessly annihilating my fairest hopes. You shall not escape unpunished from the intrigue which you have spun to drive me from Castle Hohenwald."
Werner's eyes flashed fire and his cheek was crimson as he spoke. His agitation Lucie could not understand, and it terrified her. She had never seen the calm, easy Finanzrath thus moved. "You speak in riddles, Herr Finanzrath," she said, looking frankly in his face. "I do not understand your anger. What do you mean by your threat, and by accusing me of intriguing to drive you from Castle Hohenwald?"
"Am I not yet sufficiently clear?" Werner continued, even more angrily. "Do you still imagine you can deceive me? You are mistaken. I see through your game. You choose that I should speak it out plainly? Well, then, so be it! I am weary of the restraint that I have put upon myself for months I will no longer be your plaything! I have loved you passionately since the day when I brought you to the castle; to win your love in return was my highest aim in life, my fondest hope----"
"I must not listen to you. I must leave you!" Lucie exclaimed, indignantly.
"You must listen; I will force you to hear me!" Werner declared.
"You are mad!"
"You have made me so. Thank yourself that my passion asserts itself, that I cast aside the fetters that have bound me for months. As long as I hoped to win your love I endured their restraint; now, since I see through your schemes, I will do so no longer. I suspected it all long since. I have often told myself that you were but playing with my love, but never until now did I know it surely. Do you think I have been blind,--that I have slumbered through these long weeks? No, jealousy has spurred me on to constant watchfulness; not a look exchanged between Arno and yourself has escaped me. I have been insane with jealousy when you were alone with him in the library, but I would not believe that you could prefer him to me, and so I deceived myself and you deceived me. You may well desire my absence. I could by a single word put a stop to all your loving dalliance. Arno is your informant; he would thrust from his path the brother in whom he suspects a rival, and he thinks to drive me away by the threat of an imaginary danger. Fool! I see through his game."
Lucie listened in blank amazement to the accusations thus heaped upon her, which, in their suddenness and strangeness, bewildered her comprehension. Was this Werner, the polished, easy man of fashion, confronting her now with angry eyes and laying bare before her the inmost secrets of his soul? What should she reply to so disgraceful an attack? A contemptuous silence was all that it deserved. And she was silent, but this Werner regarded in the light of a confession; he thought she was trembling at his anger and unable to reply. He laughed scornfully, and continued, "Am I sufficiently clear now, madame? Now you know, I imagine, that you can no longer deceive me. You are right not to attempt it by any denial. One thing, however, you have forgotten, that I know your past, and that one word from me can put an end to your brief dream of love. My precious brother is an idealist who might indeed bestow his heart upon Celia's poor governess, the lovely Anna Müller, but who would turn with aversion and disgust from the runaway wife of Herr von Sorr! Hitherto I have kept your secret faithfully, but I might easily be tempted to forget to do so in future. Herr von Sorr has not resigned his rights; he is still searching for you, and it is owing to my silence alone that he is not now here asserting those rights in defiance of which you would vainly seek protection from Arno. Your safety here you owe only to the love which, spite of all the offence it has received at your hands, still glows within me, a consuming flame. Have a care that you do not convert it to hatred, Frau von Sorr. Continue to reject my devotion, to play with my jealousy, and you shall bitterly repent!"
Not a word could Lucie utter. Amazement, shame, and indignation overwhelmed her. Werner no longer awaited a reply; he left her not as was his wont with a low bow, but with head proudly erect, hurrying towards the castle, and not even looking back at her whom he had so insulted. He did not see the intense scorn and disgust expressed in her face as she gazed after him, nor hear the word "wretch!" that passed her lips as she did so.