Lucie had withdrawn after dinner to the library, to pore over the newspapers, now so filled with exciting intelligence. She was alone, for Celia was in the garden usually at this hour, and since her harsh rejection of Arno he never sought the library when Fräulein Müller was there. She sat for a while lost in thought. Arno had applied the day before for re-admission into the army; he was to leave for Dresden on the following day, and her heart told her that this would be a separation forever. She was so absorbed in her revery that she did not notice old Franz's entrance, and looked up startled when he held towards her a note and announced, with a grim air of discontent, "For Fräulein Müller."
"For me, Franz?" she asked, in great surprise. "Who could have brought it?"
"The Fräulein may well be surprised at the fellow's impudence. A servant-man from Grünhagen brought it, and refuses to return without an answer!" was the reply. After which Franz left the room with the air of having made his protest, although vainly, against some crying sin.
Lucie paid him but little heed; she opened her note and read:
"Dear Fräulein Müller,--I am to leave Grünhagen to-night for I cannot say how long, perhaps forever. I am going to Berlin to obtain permission to enter the Prussian army as a volunteer. Must I go without seeing my dearest Celia once more? May I not bid her good-bye and tell her how dear she is to me? I promised you not to see Celia again until you consented to our meeting, and I will keep my promise if you refuse to release me from it upon this one occasion; but I pray you to allow us to see each other once more, perhaps for the last time in this world.
"I do not ask to see my darling alone. Pray come with her to the old place of meeting in the forest, where I will await you. Let me hope that you will grant my request. I need not tell you with what impatience I look for your answer, a simple 'yes' or 'no,' by the bearer of this.
"With the greatest regard, yours,
"Kurt von Poseneck."
Lucie was profoundly touched by Kurt's note. Celia too, then, was to suffer the pain of seeing her lover depart for the war. Poor, and yet happy Celia! She might hope that if he whom she loved returned alive the old Freiherr would relent, and her love be crowned with happiness; while if Arno returned, if he should ever seek her again, what then? For her hope did not exist.
She took up a pen and wrote hurriedly:
"I will be at the appointed spot at the usual time; whether Celia will accompany me or not depends upon the decision of the Freiherr von Hohenwald.Anna Müller."
She sealed her note, addressed it to Herr von Poseneck, and hurried down to the court-yard to deliver it herself to the Grünhagen messenger, upon whom she enjoined the utmost despatch. She did not observe that as she spoke with the man Franz was watching her from the hall, while Arno, who was crossing the court-yard, paused in astonishment as he heard her words. Was she really so intimate with young Poseneck that she corresponded with him? Perhaps the letter after all might not have been for Kurt von Poseneck; but all doubts on this head were set at rest by Franz, who, exercising his prerogative as a privileged servant, said grumblingly, as his young master passed him in the hall, "Fine doings in Hohenwald, when the Fräulein receives letters from Herr von Poseneck, and even condescends to answer them!" This was enough to arouse once more within Arno's heart the demon of jealousy, which Lucie's words to him should have killed forever.
Meanwhile, entirely unconscious of the suffering she had caused, Lucie walked slowly towards the garden-room, to carry into effect the plan she had hastily formed. The Freiherr greeted her with a smile of welcome. "Why, here we have Fräulein Anna!" he said, in great satisfaction. "Have you come to bestow your charming society upon an old fellow at this unwonted hour? But what is that?" he added, pointing to Kurt's letter, which she held in her hand. "I owe the pleasure of your visit to business, I see, not to my own attractions. Never mind, I am always delighted to see you, whatever brings you."
"Indeed, Herr Baron? May I rely upon that?" Lucie asked, meaningly, as she drew a chair to his side and sat down. "Are you sure that you will not drive me away indignantly if I come to prefer a request that does not please you?"
"A request? 'Tis granted before 'tis asked; I know of nothing that I could refuse you."
"I might take you at your word, Herr Baron, but that I will not do. You shall not be bound by a promise to grant my request, you must do it of your own free choice."
"Why, this sounds quite solemn. I am curious; out with your request, whatever it is. What do you ask?"
"Nothing for myself, Herr Baron. My request concerns Herr von Poseneck."
The Freiherr was not made in the least angry, as would formerly have been the case, by this mention of the name of Poseneck; on the contrary, he laughed, saying, as if in badinage, "Always Poseneck! Really, child, I believe you are in love with this infernal Poseneck, who must be a tremendously fine fellow to excite such an interest in you."
"That he certainly is, Herr Baron, although I just as certainly am not in love with him. He is a noble-hearted fellow, who now, after having served with honour in America, is going off to Berlin to enter the army there as a volunteer. His life in America never lessened his honest love for his German fatherland."
"He is a fine fellow then, and I honour him. I never would have believed it of a Poseneck," the Freiherr said, with a kindly nod at Lucie.
"You may believe anything that is good and true of him," Lucie continued; "his self-devotion costs him more than it does most men. He not only has to conquer his ambition as a former major in thus entering the army as a common soldier, but he sacrifices his whole future happiness. He passionately loves a young girl, whose father is a bitter enemy to Prussia, and who never will give his daughter to a man who fights for Prussia in this war."
"Who is the scoundrel?" the Freiherr exclaimed, indignantly.
"You do an excellent old man great injustice, Herr Baron," Lucie replied, with a smile. "He is a man of honour, but the victim of a prejudice which so possesses him that he cannot conquer it sufficiently to call a Prussian his son-in-law."
"Then he does not love his child!" the Freiherr eagerly asserted, and then suddenly paused and eyed Lucie suspiciously. "Stop! stop, child!" he said. "I begin to suspect that you have been playing your own little game with me. Honestly, what has all this to do with your request?"
"Will you really not be angry with me, Herr Baron, if I speak perfectly frankly to you?" Lucie asked, laying her little hand on the old man's brown, wrinkled fist, and bestowing upon him one of her charming smiles.
"Little flatterer, how can any one be angry with you? Oh, you have the old bear fast in your toils, and now come, tell me all about it."
"You shall hear, Herr Baron. First read this note which I received not an hour ago from Herr von Poseneck; it will tell you all, and when you have finished I will tell you how it came to be written."
The Baron read Kurt's note, while Lucie noted with keen anxiety every change in his features as he read. She saw his face darken, and then a smile dawned about his mouth; he was not very angry. She could have shouted for joy at her victory.
"A most interesting production!" the Freiherr said, he handed the note back to her. "Really, this Herr von Poseneck----"
"Wait until you hear all, Herr Baron, and then judge," Lucie interrupted him.
And she went on to tell the old Freiherr how Celia had accidentally made the young man's acquaintance; how, in her childlike innocence and trust, she had grown to love him, and how, at last, chance had betrayed her secret. She told how Kurt had given his promise never to see Celia without her governess's consent, and how faithfully he had kept his word. "And now for my request, Herr Baron," she said, in conclusion. "I know it will be hard for you to grant it, but I hope everything from your magnanimity. Let me take Celia with me; she knows nothing of this note, and if you refuse me she shall know nothing; but you will not be so cruel. There must be a farewell,--a last farewell. May not Celia go with me?"
"You are a white witch, and know how to wind the old ogre round your finger," the Freiherr said, shaking his finger at Lucie. "In fact, I ought to be excessively angry with you, but as this is impossible I may as well take my pill without a wry face. The will-o'-the-wisp had certainly better see the young man under your auspices than run off, perhaps through the night and storm, to take leave of him; the child might do it if she should hear that Poseneck was going away. But one very serious word I must speak. Your Poseneck certainly is an honest, honourable young fellow, his note and his whole conduct show that. Celia in her unsuspicious innocence might have fallen into bad hands. You cannot expect me to be quite content, but time will bring counsel. Only there must be no more of it all for the present; no talk of a betrothal as yet, no tender exchange of letters and such stuff. Celia is as yet little more than a child. If the young man ever comes back from the war he may come and see me here and we will talk it over together. But before then I'll not listen to another word about it. Do you agree, you white witch?"
"Your will shall be my law in the matter, Herr Baron, and I thank you from my very heart for conquering for your child's sake your dislike of a Poseneck."
"You may spare your thanks, child, or rather keep them for yourself, who honestly deserve them for taking care that my dislike should gradually subside. Have you not hammered away at my heart with your Poseneck every evening, for weeks, until at last the tough old muscle has grown quite tender?"
The Freiherr had caused his rolling-chair to be pushed near the open glass doors of the garden-room, that he might inhale the fragrance which now towards evening was borne in upon the delicious breeze from the garden, already lying in shadow from the lofty forest. The papers lay upon the table beside him. His thoughts were busy with the occurrences of the day. "Where can Werner be?" he suddenly asked himself. Several letters that had arrived at the castle for the Finanzrath and had been forwarded to his address in Dresden had been to-day returned, with the notice on the envelopes that he had left Dresden. Hence the question that the father asked himself. He nearly started from his chair when old Franz flung wide the folding-doors leading into the hall and announced, "The Herr Finanzrath!"
His visit was not welcome, and when Werner entered, not alone, but daring to introduce a stranger without permission, the old man's patience was too sorely tried. The look with which he regarded his son was by no means amiable, but that with which he greeted his companion was darker still. He was very unfavourably impressed by this man from the first instant of his appearance. In spite of his long seclusion from society the Freiherr had always retained the greatest neatness, and withal an old-fashioned elegance, in his dress. Nothing was more distasteful to him than a want of cleanliness or an air of neglect, and both of these characterized the former fastidious Herr von Sorr, whom Werner now presented to his father. And Sorr's countenance did not belie his dress. The pale flabby cheeks, the watery eyes, the whole expression indeed of the man, bore witness to his degraded, debauched character and made him odious to the old Baron. For such a guest no consideration was necessary.
"What in thunder do you mean?" he said angrily to Werner. "How dare you bring a stranger here? Don't you know that I receive no visitors? Whoever you are, sir, learn that I permit no invasion of my seclusion! There is the door!"
Sorr, trained though he had been by Repuin to submit to all sorts of contemptuous treatment, was nevertheless abashed by this reception, and might perhaps scarcely have ventured to persist in his intrusion had not Werner come to his aid.
"Before you express yourself so angrily, sir," he said to his father, "you should hear the reasons that exist for my transgression of your commands and my introduction to you of Herr von Sorr. I appeal to your sense of justice, sir, in informing you that Herr von Sorr has no desire to intrude upon you, but has come hither because I have assured him that no Freiherr von Hohenwald ever refused what another had a right to claim, and that his just demand must be made directly to yourself."
"What have I to do with this man?" the Freiherr asked, crossly.
"This you can only learn, sir, by granting a hearing to Herr von Sorr, not by repulsing him in a manner that cannot but be offensive to a gentleman who comes hither at the request of your eldest son."
Again, as often before, the Finanzrath's imperturbable composure asserted its sway over his father's passion. The old man gave his son a dark look, but yielded, and turning to Sorr, said, with forced calmness, "Approach, sir; I regret it if my hastiness offended you,--such was not my intention. I can make no exception to the rule which I have observed for years of denying myself to visitors, and therefore I beg you to tell me as briefly as possible what you desire."
Sorr complied with the invitation in spite of the ungracious manner in which it was conveyed, and took a chair near the old man, but when he met his dark, searching eye the words which he had committed to memory that they might serve him in this need would not at first be uttered. He cleared his throat in a vain endeavour to begin with some fitting introductory phrase.
"Well, sir?"
The Baron's impatient tone admitted of no further delay, and Sorr began, overcoming his first stammering hesitation as he proceeded. "Herr Baron," he said, "you see in me a wretched man, who appeals to you for aid in recovering his lost happiness. In the terrible misfortunes that have overwhelmed me I have not been guiltless, but I assure you on my honour that I repent the wrong I have done, and that I am determined to begin a new life if through your aid I succeed in attempting it."
"What is it that you want of me? What business have you to ask me for your lost happiness?" the Freiherr interrupted Sorr's studied speech.
"Forgive me, Herr Baron, if, carried away by my emotion, I fail to use the right words in which to convey my request. Bear with me for a little while and you shall learn all. I will be as brief as possible, A few years ago I was a happy man, my fortune was considerable, I enjoyed the esteem of my friends, an exalted position in society, and I possessed a charming wife, to whom I was ardently attached. I lacked but one thing,--the strength to withstand temptation. One passion ruled my life,--the love of gaming. Although I was usually fortunate, my success in winning large sums destroyed in me all appreciation of the value of money. I indulged in the wildest extravagances, and my income was always exceeded by my expenses. Thus my property dwindled almost without my knowledge. My wife, who loved me tenderly, warned me, entreated me, but even her prayers, all-powerful in every other direction, availed nothing to induce me to resist the fatal temptation offered me by cards. It dragged me down into an abyss that engulfed my fortune and that of my wife also. I found myself at last a beggar, my fortune, friends, position in society, and, worse than all, the affection of a wife whom I idolized, all gone. Meanwhile, one of my friends had, with inconceivable cunning and treachery, abused my confidence. The evenings that I spent at the gaming-table he passed with my wife, representing himself as having been sent by me to beguile her solitude. He was enormously wealthy, and no sacrifice being too great in his eyes where the attainment of his vile ends was concerned, he at times forced upon me large sums for the payment of my debts, and I--with shame I confess it--was weak enough, when my wife complained to me of the persistent attentions of this treacherous friend, to entreat her not to offend him by any harsh rejection of them. I had utter confidence in my wife, and never suspected to what depths of infamy my false friend would descend."
"What the devil have I to do with all this?" the Freiherr burst out, more and more disgusted with Sorr, who had hoped his theatrical pathos was producing a very different impression. "For Heaven's sake, come to the point!"
"I am about to do so. My treacherous friend, Count Repuin----"
"Stay! What name was that? Count Repuin, the Russian, Werner's friend and confidant,--was he the man?"
"The same, Herr Baron. I lost the greater part of my fortune to him; he systematically contrived my ruin, believing that when I found myself a beggar, my wife, with destitution staring her in the face, would lend an ear to his vile proposals. When I had lost all, so that I knew not where to turn for the barest necessaries of existence, he carried to my wife the false report that I was dishonoured, that I had been detected in cheating at cards, and that it was in his power to send me to a jail. It was a bold falsehood, but it found credence with my wife, whose esteem for me my passion for play had destroyed; and when he further informed her that, in consideration of a large sum of money, I had resigned to him all claim upon her duty, in short, that I had sold her to him, in her despair the wretched woman believed this lie also."
"Infamous! incredible!" the Freiherr indignantly exclaimed, involuntarily interested at last in Sorr's recital.
"But the scoundrel failed in his schemes, although he has plunged me into misery. Devilish though his cunning was, he failed to take into account one thing,--in which, indeed, he had no faith,--that a woman might be impregnably virtuous. He did not know my Lucie. What was his wealth to her in comparison with her honour? She spurned his offers with contempt, and yet she believed him, and driven by despair almost to madness, she secretly left my house. When on the morning after the fearful night in which I had sacrificed my last hope at the gaming-table I sought my wife's apartment to pray for her forgiveness and to make her the promise for which she had so often implored me, that never again would I touch a card, I found upon her table this terrible letter. Read it, Herr Baron; it will explain to you better than any words of mine the depth of my misery." And Sorr handed to the Freiherr the letter that Lucie had left behind her on the evening of her flight. The old Baron read:
"You have given back to me my freedom; I accept it. It is your desire that we should part; it shall be fulfilled: you will never see me again. Should you dare to persecute me, you will force me to denounce you publicly, and to give to the world the reasons that justify my conduct. The detected thief, who would barter his wife's honour, has forfeited the right to control her destiny.--LUCIE."
An odious smile hovered upon Sorr's lips as he watched the Freiherr while he read this letter aloud, and as he marked the impression that it produced upon him. He exchanged a significant glance with Werner, and then, when the reading was finished, continued: "I was beside myself with grief and fury when I found that my adored Lucie had left me. She had fled, that was clear, although I could understand neither her threat nor her strange intimations that I had desired to part from her, that I had sold her. She had vanished; no trace of her could I find, although I even summoned the police to my aid. Surely, as a forsaken husband, I had a right to do so. All was in vain. Again and again I read her mysterious letter, and at last, upon a sudden impulse, I hastened to Repuin, showed him Lucie's note, and demanded and received its explanation. The wretch had the effrontery to tell me with a smile, of the manner in which he had destroyed the happiness of my life. We fought. I arose from the sick-bed, where a wound received in the duel prostrated me for weeks, an altered man. I have taken a vow never again to touch a card. I have since that day earned my daily bread by honest toil, correcting proofs for publishers, and giving lessons in French and English. I have now an assured although moderate income. In this period of struggle one hope alone has sustained me, that of finding my Lucie again. She is my wife by the indissoluble bond of marriage, a marriage blest by the Church. I know that she will gladly return to me and share my toil and my poverty when she knows of my change of heart and life. And chance has befriended me, Herr Baron, leading me to a knowledge of your son, the Herr Finanzrath, from whom I have learned that, in order to secure herself from fancied persecution, my wife has taken refuge in a feigned name, and that she dwells beneath your roof as Anna Müller."
The Freiherr stared at Sorr in blank amazement. "Good God, sir! what do you mean? Are you mad?" he exclaimed. "Fräulein Müller a wife, and your wife!"
"Ask your son, Herr Baron," Sorr replied; "he will confirm my words."
"Herr von Sorr speaks but the truth, father; it is my duty to attest this. Frau von Sorr has seen fit to undertake to fill the position of Celia's governess under a feigned name. I had, of course, no idea of this when I engaged her through Frau von Adelung. I learned her true name only lately and by chance, and I felt it my duty to acquaint Herr von Sorr with her place of abode."
When the first shock of his surprise had passed, the old Freiherr looked from Werner to Sorr and from Sorr to Werner in a kind of fury. He had no suspicion as to the truth of Sorr's story; he remembered that, by Count Styrum's desire, no allusion was ever made to Fräulein Müller's past; there could be no doubt that Anna was Sorr's unfortunate wife, forced by a sad fate to fly from her husband. What the Freiherr did doubt, what, indeed, utterly discredited, was the man's assertion of an altered course of life. One glance at his bloated features, at his watery, crimson-lidded eyes, proclaimed the fact that Sorr was deeply plunged in debauchery and drunkenness. This man had never aroused himself to a life of honest toil. It was no affection for his wife that impelled him to seek her out.
The Freiherr's mind was filled with vague suspicion as to the man's motives, suspicion that attached in a degree also to Werner, to whose last words he sharply rejoined, saying,--
"So you have been playing the spy here that you might betray the poor thing's confidence?"
"As Frau von Sorr never honoured me with her confidence I could not possibly betray it," Werner replied coolly to his father's reproach. "When I saw how great was her husband's misery, and how sincere his resolution to amend, I judged it my duty to acquaint him with his wife's retreat."
"I owe the Finanzrath an eternal debt of gratitude for bringing me hither," Sorr interposed, "and for promising to set the crown upon his kindness by doing all that lies in his power to induce my beloved Lucie to fulfil the duty that she owes to an unfortunate husband."
The Finanzrath bit his lip. Sorr's words reminded him, as they were meant to do, of the promise he had made the Russian to do all that lay in his power to further his schemes. The part assigned him here was odious enough, but the fear inspired by the Russian's threats conquered his distaste for it. He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and he therefore replied to Sorr, "I will certainly keep my word, although I think there will be little need of any influence of mine. Frau von Sorr, I feel assured, will willingly follow you; but should she refuse to do so, my father will surely not sustain her in such a departure from her duty. Castle Hohenwald cannot possibly be an asylum for a wife who has deserted her husband in misfortune and refuses to return to him."
As Werner spoke these words he did not look up; he did not dare to meet his father's eyes, and therefore he did not see the contempt that shone in them as the Freiherr turned from his son to Sorr and said, sharply, "What you ask of me, then, Herr von Sorr, is that I shall force this unhappy woman to return to you. Is this so? Speak out, sir; I want a candid reply."
"Your words sound harsh, Herr Baron," was Sorr's humble reply. "I never thought of force, but only that you would place no obstacle in the way of an unfortunate man who only seeks to maintain his rights. I have made an expensive journey hither from Munich in the confident hope that it needed only an interview with my dear Lucie to induce her to take her place once more beside me as my faithful wife whom I dearly love and will never forsake. Surely the last sad months have atoned for my wrong-doing. I have a right to demand that she should follow me when I solemnly assure her that I have broken off all connection with Repuin. She is my wife before God and man, and what God hath joined let not man put asunder. You certainly, Herr Baron, would never protect a wife against the claims of a husband."
The Freiherr did not immediately reply. This Herr von Sorr inspired him with a disgust which his evident and nauseous hypocrisy only served to increase, and yet he could not but admit to himself that the man's claim, as he represented it, was a just one.
He rang the silver hand-bell upon his table and said to Franz, who immediately made his appearance, "Beg Fräulein Müller kindly to come to me as soon as she can."
Then, turning to Sorr, he said, "I will not listen to another word from you until I hear the other side of the question. I reserve my decision until then. Not until I have spoken to Fräulein Anna,--I always call her so, and I have grown very fond of her under this name,--and until she has confirmed your statement, will I accord it full belief."
"I am convinced, Herr Baron----"
"Not another word, Herr von Sorr! I will keep my judgment unbiassed. You shall be confronted with the accused after I have first spoken with her alone."
"I have accused no one but myself, Herr Baron."
"I attach no importance to that; it shall be as I say. I will hear what Fräulein Anna has to say; I will talk with her alone,--she shall not be influenced by the presence of any one. I am sure that she will tell me the whole truth."
This arrangement was not at all satisfactory to Sorr. He feared that Lucie might tell the Freiherr of his conversation with her on the evening preceding her flight, and so destroy his web of specious falsehood. He would at least make an attempt to prevent this. "I entreat you, Herr Baron, to permit me to repeat in Lucie's presence what I have told you. It wounds me that you should doubt my words. Lucie's testimony shall prove to you that I----"
The Freiherr harshly interrupted him, "I will not hear another word. It shall be as I say! Werner, take Herr von Sorr out upon the terrace; you can walk up and down there until I call you; I wish to be alone."
"But, Herr Baron----"
"What the devil, sir,--will you do as I say or not? I am still master in my own castle, I believe, and I will not be contradicted; I wish to be alone. Your place for the present is out there on the terrace. If you refuse to obey my orders, the servants will show you the shortest way out of the castle."
When the old Baron fell into a downright rage there was nothing to be done with him, as Werner knew, and as Sorr perceived; he did not dare further to gainsay his will, and, with a low bow, he followed the Finanzrath out upon the terrace.
The Freiherr sat alone, awaiting with the greatest impatience Anna's appearance; but the minutes passed and she did not come, nor did old Franz return to explain the reason why. The Freiherr rang his bell again, and Werner and Sorr, who had been awaiting this summons, instantly entered from the terrace.
The Freiherr received them with a good round oath. "I was ringing for that old ass Franz!" he roared out to Werner. "Stay outside on the terrace with your Herr von Sorr until I call you by name!"
The two men were obliged to withdraw. The Freiherr rang his bell a second and a third time without any result, until at the end of a good half-hour Franz appeared, with the intelligence that Fräulein Müller was nowhere to be found. She was not in her room; Fräulein Celia said that the Fräulein had gone for a walk in the garden or park; but he had searched for her there in vain, and the gardener had helped him, and was sure she could not be either in the park or in the garden.
"Oh, my darling, darling Anna, how can I thank you?" Celia laughed and cried and kissed her friend amid tears and smiles, dancing about her room like some wild sprite.
"Come, Celia; pray be reasonable, child!" Lucie at last admonished her.
"Anything but that, dearest Anna, you must not ask that; I am half mad with delight. My dear, good old father! How unjust I have been to him! How could I keep anything from him? It was shameful! oh, if I only had told him all about it the very first day when I met Kurt!"
Lucie said nothing; but she had her own opinion as to whether the result would have been a very happy one for Celia if she had told her father of her first meeting with Kurt. The girl went on pouring her innocent delight into Lucie's ears, and repeating that she owed it all to her darling Anna.
The castle clock struck four.
"At last!" Celia exclaimed, and begged Lucie to make the greatest haste, lest Kurt should have to wait. Her friend complied; it would have been cruel to detain the girl longer than was necessary to hasten along the broad road, down which Celia had so often galloped upon Pluto to the appointed spot.
They soon espied the light straw hat, and an instant afterward Kurt hurried towards them.
"I have fulfilled your wish, Herr von Poseneck," Lucie said, offering her hand to the young man.
"How can I thank you sufficiently for so doing! for relinquishing your purpose of referring my request to the Freiherr von Hohenwald----"
"No, no, dearest Kurt!" exclaimed Celia. "She did not relinquish it. Yes, you may well be surprised, you unprincipled fellow, who would have persuaded me to meet you again without the knowledge of my darling, kind old father. But, oh, Kurt, we are so happy, and Anna has done it all!" And the girl, amid tears and laughter, told her amazed lover of the success of Anna's exertions in his favour.
In his joy that there was no longer an insurmountable barrier between himself and his love, Kurt gladly promised to obey every condition imposed upon him by the Freiherr, declaring that never would he write so much as one word to his darling except under cover to her father.
When Lucie had explained to him all that she had promised in this way on his behalf she took no further part in the conversation, wandering along the grassy path a little in advance of the lovers, anxious that Celia should enjoy to the full every moment of this short hour of bliss, and lost in sad reflections as to her own future.
"I beg ten thousand pardons!"
Kurt and Celia, who had forgotten all the actual world, and Lucie, in the midst of her sad dreaming, looked up startled. They had just reached the spot where the footpath from Grünhagen crossed the broad road, and confronting them stood the Assessor von Hahn. He took off his hat with an exceedingly low bow to Celia in particular.
"I beg ten thousand pardons, Fräulein von Hohenwald, for intruding again, but I am discreet; I make no boast----"
"There you are quite right, Herr Assessor, for surely there is not much discretion in appearing where you have once been told that your presence is an intrusion."
The Assessor grew crimson at Kurt's words; he retreated a few steps and said, in great confusion, "You wrong me deeply, Herr von Poseneck; you will, I am sure, retract your hasty words when I tell you that my presence here has nothing to do with you or with my respected cousin, but with Madame--that is--I mean, I wish the honour of a few words with Fräulein Müller. I learned in Grünhagen, where I arrived half an hour ago, that Herr von Poseneck had gone to the forest, and I suspected that the two ladies would take their afternoon walk in the same direction. Therefore, as it was highly important that I should speak with Madame--that is, Fräulein Müller, I ventured to come hither."
Lucie bestowed upon the Assessor a glance of anything but welcome, but she could not refuse to respond to his look of appeal. "You have attained your purpose, Herr Assessor," she said. "You probably bring me a message from my friend Adèle. The Assessor is an old acquaintance of mine," she added to Kurt and Celia, who looked rather surprised, "and is a constant visitor at the President von Guntram's."
The Assessor's courage returned upon hearing Lucie acknowledge his acquaintance, and he went on with much more confidence than before: "Certainly, Madame--that is, Fräulein Müller, I bring you a message from Fräulein Adèle, and not merely a message. I am not alone; there is a gentleman in the shrubbery who wishes to speak with you. I brought him at Fräulein Adèle's express desire."
Lucie recoiled in terror. Had the gossiping Assessor betrayed her secret? Had he brought hither either Repuin or Sorr? They were the only persons who could have any interest in discovering her retreat. She gazed towards the spot indicated by the Assessor, and, in dread of encountering Repuin's detested form, moved closer to Kurt as if for protection. "Whom have you brought here?" she asked.
"I cannot mention any name, Fräulein Müller," the Assessor replied. "I promised not to do so, and I am a man of my word. But I can assure you that you will rejoice to see my honoured companion. He wishes to meet you alone, therefore I pray you step aside to where he is awaiting you in the forest only a few steps from here."
"I will not go!" Lucie declared. "Whoever your companion may be, he has no right to require that I should go into the forest to meet him."
"You do not know of whom you speak, Fräulein Müller," the Assessor said, with unusual earnestness. "I entreat you not to refuse. I assure you you will rejoice to see my companion, who longs to clasp you to his heart."
Lucie shot at the little man a glance of flame. She turned in indignation at such insolence to Kurt, saying, "I have nothing further to say to this gentleman. May I beg you, Herr von Poseneck, to continue our walk?"
"But, Madame--Fräulein Müller, I would say--you place me in the most embarrassing position; there can be no reason why you should not see my honoured companion. I give you my word of honour that he comes by Fräulein Adèle's express desire; he is the only man in the world whom I would have conducted hither. I was so glad to meet you here in the forest, and not to be obliged to go to the castle to find you, and now you refuse to go a few steps to meet him when he has come so many miles to see you. Do you mistrust me? I do not deserve it of you!"
There was so much of honesty and good will stamped upon the Assessor's face, he was evidently so aggrieved by Lucie's distrust of him, that his words produced some effect upon her. She hesitated, and wondered whether she were right in her refusal; but before she could reply an elderly gentleman, the same whom the Assessor had received at the railway station, emerged from the forest and hastened towards her.
She gazed at him for a moment, and then, with a shriek of joy, threw herself into his arms, and, clasping her own about his neck, kissed him again and again. "I have you again! Thank God! thank God!" she cried. "This is too much joy! Now I will hold you fast. You must not leave your child again."
The gentleman was much moved, and the tears stood in his eyes as he returned Lucie's kisses. "My child! my dear, good child!" he whispered, tenderly. "You are mine once more, and I shall know how to protect you from your dastardly persecutors."
"We are not alone, we must remember that," Lucie said, at length, extricating herself from her father's embrace.
The old man turned, with his daughter's hand still in his, and extended his right hand to Kurt. "Forgive me, Herr von Poseneck," he said, "for presenting myself so unceremoniously to Fräulein Cecilia von Hohenwald and yourself. I had hoped that my daughter would comply with our friend the Assessor's request and come to me in the forest; but her natural reluctance to do so is the cause why you are the witnesses of a meeting between a father and daughter who have been separated for years."
For a few moments the poor Assessor found himself upon a pinnacle of glory. The modesty with which nature had endowed him was in danger of great deterioration, so enthusiastic were Lucie's thanks to him for his kind interest, so gratifying was the appreciation of his services by his fair cousin and Herr von Poseneck. But alas, poor man! he soon experienced the uncertainty of such a position, and felt himself no better than the fifth wheel to a coach with the two couples, who evidently desired to be left to themselves. Kurt and Celia paid him not the least attention, and Lucie was so wrapped up in her newly-found father that she soon seemed entirely to have forgotten Hahn's existence. He was therefore fain to amuse himself by botanizing among the forest flowers.
Lucie clung to her father's arm as if fearful of losing him again should she leave him for an instant. They walked on in advance of the lovers, and as soon as they were out of hearing the daughter gave words to her delight. "I am so happy, my darling father; I can scarcely believe the evidence of my senses that I am looking into your dear eyes and feeling your strong arm support me. Oh, father, how could you stay so long away from your child? All would have been different if you had been here!"
"I could not have prevented Sorr from ruining himself and you," Ahlborn gloomily replied. "Do not reproach me, my child. I did what I was forced to do, and the result has crowned my work. When I left you without even taking leave of you, I determined never to return unless in possession of all, and more than all, I had lost. Even then I suspected how bitterly we had been deceived in Sorr, and my only object in life was to work for you, my darling, that your future might be secure. With this one thought in my mind I went to America and plunged into a life of toil, in which, when I might have faltered and fallen, the thought of you sustained me. I added dollar to dollar with the parsimony of a miser. I embarked, like a madman, in the boldest speculations. All that I touched seemed to turn to profit. But why dwell upon those wild years? I hate to think of them, for, although I never stooped to what the world calls dishonesty, it galls me now to remember how different was the system of mad speculation by which I regained my lost fortune from the plodding industry by which I first obtained it.
"Three months ago I arrived in Bremen, and hurried to Berlin, where my worst fears with regard to Sorr were confirmed. His reputation was gone, his property lost; and I was told that he had removed with you to M----. When I reached M---- it was too late, you had vanished unaccountably, and Sorr, too, was not to be found."
"Did not Adèle tell you where I was?" Lucie asked.
"I never thought of going to her, so wide-spread was the report that in your despair you had destroyed yourself. I left M---- a broken-hearted man; of what use was my wealth? My aim in life was gone.
"I tried to divert my mind by travelling aimlessly hither and thither; and at Frankfort-on-the-Main, seeing by the papers that a fine estate on the banks of the Rhine was for sale, I purchased it, in hopes of finding relief from my misery in the care of it. But the peaceful solitude to which I had looked to soothe my pain only increased it, and again I began my wanderings, which suddenly found their close in Berlin. Last Friday I was sauntering aimlessly along the street there when I met the Assessor von Hahn. Remembering that in former days he was in the habit of frequenting our house, where he was one of your adorers, I did not rebuff him when he recognized me and with a cordial welcome on his lips walked along by my side. I soon wearied of him, however, and paid no attention to the gossip he continued to retail to me, until I was aroused from my absence of mind by the question, 'Have you been to see your daughter yet?' If he were conscious that your friends mourned you as dead, why ask so cruel a question? I begged him instantly to tell me all that he knew of you, and this threw the little man into the greatest confusion; my joy was unbounded when he assured me positively that you were still alive, although he refused to reveal to me your retreat, and referred me to your friend Adèle. An hour later I was in the train bound for M----, and the next morning I had an early interview with your friend, who was in raptures at recognizing me. But, ah, my child, what a tale she told me! My poor darling, to what a fate did I resign you! Now, however, I know all,--all, for Adèle even gave me your last letter to her to read, entreating me to go instantly to your aid, to carry you to my home on the Rhine, far away from Castle Hohenwald, where, as you said, each moment was torture to you."
"Did Adèle say that?" Lucie asked, in surprise. "Did she not show you my second letter, which she must have received almost simultaneously with the first?"
"I know nothing of any second letter; but your friend regretted deeply that she had not yet been able to procure you the situation for which you implored her, and added that she was upon the point of writing to you, to insist that you should return to your old retreat beneath her father's roof. We consulted together what was best to be done. We agreed that you must leave the castle immediately, but in view of the eccentricity of its lord, I judged it best to accept the friendly offices, so frankly offered, of Herr von Hahn to procure an interview with you, rather than to present myself in person to the Freiherr.
"I telegraphed to the Assessor at A---- to meet me at the station there, and as soon as I was able to procure a place in the crowded trains came hither. He was waiting for me on the platform, and before we left the station he pointed out to me two gentlemen who had arrived by the same train as Count Repuin and the Finanzrath von Hohenwald."
"Good heavens!" Lucie exclaimed. "Werner and the Count! This is, indeed, wretched news. I feared it, I feared it, although I could not conceive that the Finanzrath could be so basely treacherous. But let Count Repuin come,--I am no longer defenceless; I will confront him boldly in the presence of the old Freiherr." Then as she reflected that her kind old friend was absolutely ignorant of her past, now probably to be so misrepresented to him, she went on, in feverish agitation: "But, oh! my father, there is a danger which you cannot avert. What if my kind friend should be led to doubt me by the falsehoods that will doubtless be poured into his ears? I will not lose his esteem and affection; we must see him before the Finanzrath and the Count reach the castle. Perhaps it is already too late. Protect me from them, father, if they should be there, and stand beside me while I tell the Freiherr my wretched story."
But to this her father was not inclined to agree. Had it not been for the presence of Repuin he would gladly have allowed his child to acquaint the Freiherr with all her past, but he could not doubt the Russian's close association with Sorr, and from her husband even Lucie's father could not protect her. Should Sorr require her to follow him, nothing remained for her save to elude him by a secret flight from the castle without even bidding the old Freiherr farewell. Only when beneath her father's roof could she thank Baron von Hohenwald for all his kindness and explain to him the grounds for her sudden and secret flight.
When, however, Herr Ahlborn explained his wishes on this head to his daughter, he encountered a determined opposition on her part; she was so unwilling to leave without one word of explanation what had been to her a dear asylum, that at last, trusting in Sorr's absence, the father yielded to Lucie's entreaties and consented to accompany her to the castle.