CHAPTER XX.While happiness was reigning in the home upon old Gnadeck, a sad event occurred in the valley.Two peasants from Lindhof, who, provided with torches, had been looking for Elizabeth, heard, as they were proceeding from their village to the forest, a loud growling at a little distance,—it sounded like an angry dog. Not far from them lay stretched across the road a human form, while a large dog lying beside it, as if to defend it, had placed both his forepaws upon its breast. The animal became infuriated at the approach of the men, and, gnashing its teeth, threatened to fly at them. They were afraid, and ran back to the village, where they met a party bearing torches, and among them the forester, who had just heard from Herr von Walde's servant of Elizabeth's safety.Instantly all hastened to the spot which the frightened peasants described. This time the dog did not growl. He whined, and crept to the forester's feet; it was Wolf, his watch-dog, and there lay Bertha, apparently lifeless. She was bleeding profusely from a wound in her head, and her face was as pale as death.The forester did not speak, he shunned the sympathetic glances of the by-standers; anger and pain strove for the mastery in his features. He raised Bertha from the ground, and carried her into the first house in the village; it was the poor weaver's. Then he sent a messenger for Sabina. Fortunately, the Waldheim physician was with one of his patients in the village. He was sent for, and soon brought the poor girl to herself. She recognized him, and asked for water. Her wound was not dangerous, but the physician shook his head and looked meaningly at the forester, who was anxiously watching him.The doctor was a blunt man, with rather rude manners. He suddenly approached the forester, and said a few words to him in a slight undertone. The old man staggered back as though from a mortal blow, stared absently at the doctor without replying a word,—and then left the house without looking at the sick girl."Uncle, uncle, forgive me!" she cried after him in heart-breaking tones, but he had already vanished into the dark night.And now Sabina made her appearance in the doorway. A maid followed her, bearing a huge bundle of linen upon her head, and a basket upon her arm, containing bandages, provisions, and all manner of necessary articles."Gracious Powers! what have you been doing with yourself, Bertha?" cried the old woman with tears in her eyes, as she saw the pale face, and the bandaged head lying upon the pillow. "And to-day, too, when I thought you went out looking so much better,—you had such beautiful red cheeks!"The girl buried her face in the bedclothes, and began to sob convulsively.The physician told Sabina what was to be done, and strictly forbade the invalid to converse or even to speak."Must I be silent?" cried Bertha, raising herself in bed. "Ah! silence may be easy for such an old man, whose blood runs cool and calm in his veins. But I must speak, Sabina, and if it kills me,—so much the better!"She drew the old housekeeper towards her upon the bed, and, weeping bitterly, confessed all to her.She had had a love affair with Hollfeld, who had promised to marry her, and had induced her to swear solemnly that she would keep silent concerning their relations to each other, and not claim her rights until he should authorize her to do so; for, as he told her, he must first influence his mother and his relatives at Lindhof to accede to his wishes. The unthinking girl promised all that he asked,—and in addition vowed solemnly that no human being should hear one word from her lips until she could proclaim her proud secret to the world. The meetings of the pair usually took place in the convent-tower or in the pavilion in the park. No one discovered them. The baroness' suspicions were aroused by some slight circumstance,—she fell into a violent rage, and forbade Bertha ever to show her face at Lindhof Castle.Still Bertha's lofty hopes were unshaken, for Hollfeld consoled her, and referred to the future. But then came Elizabeth Ferber, and he was an altered man from that moment. He avoided Bertha, and when she compelled him by threats to an interview, he treated her with a coldness and contempt that excited the girl's passionate nature to frenzy.When at last she became convinced that she had to do with a man utterly devoid of honour, the whole horror of her situation was laid bare before her. She fell into a state of the wildest despair, and then began her nightly escapades. Sleep scarcely visited her eyes, and she grew more composed only when she could shriek out her agony and woe in the lonely forest.At last came the end to the tragedy,—the same end that has befallen such tragedies hundreds of times before, and that will continue to befall them,—for the warning example convinces the understanding but never touches an unsuspecting, loving heart. Hollfeld offered the poor girl a sum of money if she would relinquish her claims and leave that part of the country. He pretended that his mother and his Lindhof relatives forced him to marry the newly-made Fräulein von Gnadewitz. Bertha denounced him as an unprincipled liar, and rushed from his presence. In a frenzy of rage she presented herself before his mother and told her all.Thus far Bertha continued her sad tale connectedly, only interrupted by her violent gestures, sobs, and tears. She paused for a moment, and an expression of inextinguishable hatred distorted her countenance."That horrible woman," she cried at last, gasping for breath, "has the Bible always upon her lips. She knits and sews night and day for missionaries, who are to carry the word of God to the heathen, that they may be converted; but they cannot in their ignorance be more inhuman and cruel than this Christian in her pride. She wishes to root out idol-worship, and sets up herself for an idol, surrounding herself by a crowd of fawning, flattering hypocrites, who declare that she is one of the elect,—not as other people are. Woe to the upright, honest man who refuses to consider her as such,—his crime is blasphemy! She thrust me from her doors, and threatened to have the dogs hunt me from the park, if I ever showed my face there again. From that time I do not know what became of me," she said, sinking back exhausted among the pillows, and pressing her hands upon her aching forehead. "I only know that I awaked and saw the doctor's face bending over me. He told my uncle of my disgrace,—I heard him. What will become of me!"Sabina had listened to this confession with horror and grief. She had always advocated the strictest purity and decorum, and had been, as Bertha well knew, a stern and inflexible judge in such unhappy cases as that of the wretched girl. But her heart was full of love and pity. She looked down upon the crushed sinner before her with tears of compassion, and soothed the weary head upon her kind old breast. She was rewarded by seeing the poor girl fall asleep in her arms, like a child worn out with weeping.Soon nothing was heard in the little room but the quiet breathing of the sick girl and the ticking of the clock. Sabina put on her spectacles, drew an old worn copy of the New Testament from her basket, and watched faithfully by the bedside until the bright dawn looked in at the windows.Bertha did not die, as she had hoped to do in consequence of her agitating confession. On the contrary, she recovered very quickly, nursed and tended by Sabina and Frau Ferber. There was no return of her insanity. The wound in her head, which had been caused by a fall upon a sharp stone, had produced a most beneficial result in the copious loss of blood which had ensued.The forester was beside himself at the disgrace which Bertha had brought beneath his honest roof. For some days he would not even listen to his brother's calm, soothing words. After Sabina had communicated to him Bertha's confession, he rode to Odenberg to call "the worthless scoundrel to account;" but the servants there informed him, shrugging their shoulders, that their master had started upon a journey; they could not tell whither, or when he would return. Herr von Walde's search for him was also without result.Bertha herself declared that she would never again hear of her betrayer, whom she now regarded with a hate as fervent as had been her love. A few weeks after her recovery she left the weaver's hut,—she never again entered the Lodge,—to go to America. But she did not go alone. One of her uncle's assistants, a fine young fellow, begged for his dismissal, because he had always loved Bertha in silence, and could not find it in his heart to let her go alone into the wide world. She had promised to be his. They were to be married in Bremen, and sail thence for the New World, where he would lead a farmer's life. Herr von Walde provided the pair with a considerable sum of money; and, at Frau Ferber's and Elizabeth's request, the forester silently consented that Sabina should rob the overflowing store of linen that his deceased wife had accumulated, to furnish the household of the emigrants.* * * * *Upon a gloomy autumn day a well-packed travelling carriage left Castle Lindhof and slowly rolled towards L——. Her haughty arrogance all vanished, the baroness sat huddled together in one corner of it. Her brilliant part at Lindhof was played; she was reluctantly returning to her small rooms and reduced circumstances."Mamma," said Bella, in her shrill, childish accents, as she opened and shut the carriage window and drummed against the seat with her feet, "does the castle belong now to Elizabeth Ferber? Will she drive in our beautiful carriage with the white damask cushions? Can she go into your room whenever she pleases and sit in the embroidered arm-chairs? Old Lorenz says that she will be the mistress there now, and that all her orders must be obeyed.""Child, do not torment me so with your chatter," groaned the baroness, burying her face in her pocket-handkerchief."It is very unkind of Uncle Rudolph to send us away," the child continued, without heeding what her mother said. "You know we have no silver dishes to eat from in B——, have we, mamma? Shall we dine at a restaurant, mamma? and will you dress your own hair while Caroline washes and irons? Why——""Silence!" her mother interrupted the flood of speech that so tormented her.Bella cowered terrified in a corner, and did not look up until the carriage was rolling over the stone pavement of L——. The baroness cast a hasty glance at the Princely castle, then drew her veil over her face and burst into tears.In consequence of Bertha's confession there had been a stormy interview between Herr von Walde and the baroness, which had ended in the departure of the latter. Helene repulsed her with aversion when she appealed to her, and she was forced to enter the travelling carriage, which appeared punctually before the castle at the hour appointed by its master. There was one consoling drop in her cup of misfortune,—Herr von Walde had provided the means for Bella's education, upon condition that it should be more sensibly conducted than heretofore.Almost at the same hour in which the Baroness Lessen was leaving Lindhof forever, the Countess von Falkenberg presented herself in the boudoir of the princess, who had returned with her husband a few days before from the baths.The countess made as profound an obeisance as her uncertain limbs would permit, but showed a degree of haste that she would have stigmatized in another as contrary to all rules of etiquette. She held an open letter in her hand, which had been somewhat crushed by her trembling fingers."I am most unhappy," she began in an unnatural tone of voice, "to be obliged to impart to your highnesses a most scandalous piece of news. Oh, mon Dieu, who would have thought it! Well, if even in our own sphere all sense of shame, all dignified self-consciousness, is at an end,—if every one is to heed the dictates of low and vulgar impulses,—no wonder that the halo surrounding us is dimmed, and the mob ventures to attack the throne itself!""Calm yourself, my dear Falkenberg," said the prince, who was present, with evident amusement. "Your preface is somewhat after the magnificent style of a Cassandra. But as yet I see no signs of earthquake; and to my great satisfaction I observe,"—and he glanced out of the window at the quiet market-square with a smile,—"that my faithful subjects are quite composed. What have you to tell us?"She looked up surprised,—his sarcastic tone made her falter."Oh, if your highness only knew!" she cried at last. "That man, upon whose pride of birth I so relied, Herr von Walde, informs me that he is betrothed. And to whom? to whom?""To Fräulein Ferber, the niece of my brave, old forester," the prince, smiling, replied. "Yes, yes, I have heard something of this; Walde knows what he is about, I see. The little girl is a miracle of beauty and loveliness they say. Well, I hope he will not keep us waiting long to make her acquaintance, but will present her to us soon.""Your highness," cried the paralyzed countess, "she is the daughter of your highness' forester's clerk!""Yes, yes, my good Falkenberg," chimed in the princess, "we know that. But be calm; she is I assure you of noble rank.""Will your highness graciously permit me," rejoined the old lady, her face crimson, as she pointed to the crumpled letter, "here it stands in black and white,—his betrothal with a person of low birth,—here is the name, Ferber, and no other, and just so it will be written upon von Walde's genealogical tree forever. It actually seems as if the man paraded it with a sort of ostentation. The inconceivable indifference of these people in refusing to assume the name of von Gnadewitz shows plainly enough that they have nothing in common with that aristocratic family. Their noble blood has utterly degenerated in the course of years, and, according to my notions of nobility, the girl is and always will be of low birth. I sincerely pity poor Hollfeld, who is, as your highness knows, of stainless descent; by this misalliance he will lose at least half a million,—and the poor Lessen, too, from whom I have just had a few sad lines,—she leaves Lindhof to-day, of course to escape from such scandalous proceedings.""Those are matters affecting your own personal feeling, and of course I say nothing with regard to them," rejoined the prince, not without severity. "But I herewith request you to announce to the princess and myself the fact, as soon as Herr von Walde wishes to present his bride to us."In the next room, the door of which was open, Cornelie was merrily turning upon her heels and snapping her fingers."Aha! and that was why Sir Bruin wished to escape the tongues of certain eloquent ladies!" she cried, with a stifled laugh. "Cornelie, where was your usual penetration with regard to the masculine heart? Oh, the thing delights me for old Falkenberg's sake," she said, in a whisper, to another young lady who sat at the window embroidering. "Now for at least two weeks we shall have the pleasure of seeing how the loyal creature will look daggers at their highnesses whenever their backs are turned, while all the honey of the promised land will overflow her withered lips as soon as the sun of their royal smile shines upon her. I could wish that every man whom we know would follow Herr von Walde's silly example!""Good Heavens! Cornelie, are you insane?" cried her companion at the window, dropping her needle from her fingers.At the same time that every drop of blood in the Falkenberg's aristocratic veins was so outraged, Doctor Fels returned to his home, and went to the nursery, where his wife was bathing her baby and superintending the knitting fingers of her two little daughters."Rejoice with me, dear love!" he cried, with sparkling eyes, as he stood upon the threshold of the door. "Lindhof will have a mistress, and such a mistress! Gold Elsie, our beautiful Gold Elsie! Do you hear, my darling? Now the sun will shine brightly there. The healthy atmosphere has conquered, and the evil spirit that actually dropped mildew upon poor human souls has fled. I have just seen it drive past in Herr von Walde's travelling carriage. The announcement of the betrothal has fallen upon our worthy town like a bomb-shell. I tell you it is wonderful to see the long, incredulous faces! But the news has not surprised me at all. I have known what must happen ever since Linke's murderous attempt. Since I drove that evening to Lindhof by Herr von Walde's side, to see whether the excitement had produced no ill effects upon the brave child, I have known well that his hour had struck, that he had a heart indeed, a heart full of fervent, passionate love."* * * * *Let us pass over a space of two years, and once more enter the old Gnadeck ruins. We shall ascend the mountain by a broad well-kept road, leading to the castle gate, which has exchanged its rusty bolts and bars for more convenient fastenings.We remember with a shiver the cold, damp court-yard behind this gate, shut in by gloomy colonnades on three sides, while the crumbling buildings threatened to bury us beneath their ruins. We remember the lonely basin in the centre, that, surrounded by the lions of stone, has waited in vain during so many years for the silver stream that should fill it.Remembering all this, we ring the bell. At its clear sound, a fresh, trim maiden opens the massive gate, and invites us to enter. But we start back almost dazzled, for from the open gate what a flood of light and colour greets us! The ruins have vanished, the high wall that surrounded them alone remains, and we are for the first time aware how extensive is the space which it encloses.We do not tread upon the echoing pavement of a courtyard, a smooth gravel-walk is beneath our feet; before us stretches a level, well-kept lawn. In its centre stands the granite basin, and from the threatening jaws of the lions are pouring four powerful streams of water. The chestnuts still remain the faithful guardians of the fountain, but since their boughs have been bathed in heaven's air and light they have grown strong and young again, and are now covered with a wealth of fan-like blossoms. We wind among the gravel paths that intersect the lawn, delight our eyes with the groups of shrubbery, still very young, that are so tastefully scattered here and there, and with the gay beds of carefully tended flowers.Before us lies the home. Its four walls are free now to the air and light, and have put on a fresh bright garment; but its front is far more stately than it used to be. New windows are seen on every side. Ferber has had four rooms added to it; for when the forester retires to private life, he and Sabina are to live there also. In the family dwelling-room,—from whose two high windows can now be seen the same view formerly seen only from Elizabeth's room above,—Herr von Walde has had the trees thinned so that her parents might always have the home of their darling before their eyes,—stands the young Frau von Walde. She has been kept in the house for several weeks, and her first expedition has been to carry her first-born to her parents' home. There he lies in her arms. Miss Mertens, or rather the happily married Frau Reinhard, has just removed the veil from the little thing. The minute, plump, red face shows, in the eyes of the mother, an unmistakable resemblance to Herr von Walde. Ernst is laughing loudly at the vague movements of the fat little fists, which are stretching out in all directions. But the forester stands with his own powerful hands behind him, and an expression of great anxiety, as if he feared that if he moved he might do the frail atom an injury. He is no less delighted with his grand-nephew than are Elizabeth's parents with their grandchild. He has outlived his distress concerning Bertha, and basks in Elizabeth's happiness, which was a great surprise to him at first, and which he maintained he was obliged to become accustomed to anew every morning. Not, indeed, that he thought such good fortune one whit too great for his darling,—he would have thought the richest of earthly crowns well placed upon Elizabeth's head; but it was so strange to him to see his sunny Gold Elsie by the side of her grave, thoughtful husband.Elizabeth is happy in the fullest sense of the word. Her husband adores her, and his words have proved true,—the expression of stern melancholy has faded forever from his brow.Just now the young wife is looking tenderly at the little creature in her arms, and then down into the valley, whence Herr von Walde will soon appear to conduct her to her home. Her glance grows sad for a moment, and tears fill her eyes, as they rest upon a lofty gilded cross, glimmering among the trees upon the shore of the lake,—beneath those rustling boughs Helene has slept for a year. She died in Elizabeth's arms, praying God to bless the dear sister who had so helped her to bear her burden of woe until her spirit could soar away from its frail mortal tenement.Hollfeld has sold Odenberg, and no one knows in what corner of the earth he hides his discontent at the overthrow of all his plots.THE END.* * * * * * * *ENTERTAINING NEW BOOKSPublished by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & Co., Philadelphia.Will be sent by Mail, post-paid, on receipt of price.THE WHITE ROSE.A Novel. 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CHAPTER XX.
While happiness was reigning in the home upon old Gnadeck, a sad event occurred in the valley.
Two peasants from Lindhof, who, provided with torches, had been looking for Elizabeth, heard, as they were proceeding from their village to the forest, a loud growling at a little distance,—it sounded like an angry dog. Not far from them lay stretched across the road a human form, while a large dog lying beside it, as if to defend it, had placed both his forepaws upon its breast. The animal became infuriated at the approach of the men, and, gnashing its teeth, threatened to fly at them. They were afraid, and ran back to the village, where they met a party bearing torches, and among them the forester, who had just heard from Herr von Walde's servant of Elizabeth's safety.
Instantly all hastened to the spot which the frightened peasants described. This time the dog did not growl. He whined, and crept to the forester's feet; it was Wolf, his watch-dog, and there lay Bertha, apparently lifeless. She was bleeding profusely from a wound in her head, and her face was as pale as death.
The forester did not speak, he shunned the sympathetic glances of the by-standers; anger and pain strove for the mastery in his features. He raised Bertha from the ground, and carried her into the first house in the village; it was the poor weaver's. Then he sent a messenger for Sabina. Fortunately, the Waldheim physician was with one of his patients in the village. He was sent for, and soon brought the poor girl to herself. She recognized him, and asked for water. Her wound was not dangerous, but the physician shook his head and looked meaningly at the forester, who was anxiously watching him.
The doctor was a blunt man, with rather rude manners. He suddenly approached the forester, and said a few words to him in a slight undertone. The old man staggered back as though from a mortal blow, stared absently at the doctor without replying a word,—and then left the house without looking at the sick girl.
"Uncle, uncle, forgive me!" she cried after him in heart-breaking tones, but he had already vanished into the dark night.
And now Sabina made her appearance in the doorway. A maid followed her, bearing a huge bundle of linen upon her head, and a basket upon her arm, containing bandages, provisions, and all manner of necessary articles.
"Gracious Powers! what have you been doing with yourself, Bertha?" cried the old woman with tears in her eyes, as she saw the pale face, and the bandaged head lying upon the pillow. "And to-day, too, when I thought you went out looking so much better,—you had such beautiful red cheeks!"
The girl buried her face in the bedclothes, and began to sob convulsively.
The physician told Sabina what was to be done, and strictly forbade the invalid to converse or even to speak.
"Must I be silent?" cried Bertha, raising herself in bed. "Ah! silence may be easy for such an old man, whose blood runs cool and calm in his veins. But I must speak, Sabina, and if it kills me,—so much the better!"
She drew the old housekeeper towards her upon the bed, and, weeping bitterly, confessed all to her.
She had had a love affair with Hollfeld, who had promised to marry her, and had induced her to swear solemnly that she would keep silent concerning their relations to each other, and not claim her rights until he should authorize her to do so; for, as he told her, he must first influence his mother and his relatives at Lindhof to accede to his wishes. The unthinking girl promised all that he asked,—and in addition vowed solemnly that no human being should hear one word from her lips until she could proclaim her proud secret to the world. The meetings of the pair usually took place in the convent-tower or in the pavilion in the park. No one discovered them. The baroness' suspicions were aroused by some slight circumstance,—she fell into a violent rage, and forbade Bertha ever to show her face at Lindhof Castle.
Still Bertha's lofty hopes were unshaken, for Hollfeld consoled her, and referred to the future. But then came Elizabeth Ferber, and he was an altered man from that moment. He avoided Bertha, and when she compelled him by threats to an interview, he treated her with a coldness and contempt that excited the girl's passionate nature to frenzy.
When at last she became convinced that she had to do with a man utterly devoid of honour, the whole horror of her situation was laid bare before her. She fell into a state of the wildest despair, and then began her nightly escapades. Sleep scarcely visited her eyes, and she grew more composed only when she could shriek out her agony and woe in the lonely forest.
At last came the end to the tragedy,—the same end that has befallen such tragedies hundreds of times before, and that will continue to befall them,—for the warning example convinces the understanding but never touches an unsuspecting, loving heart. Hollfeld offered the poor girl a sum of money if she would relinquish her claims and leave that part of the country. He pretended that his mother and his Lindhof relatives forced him to marry the newly-made Fräulein von Gnadewitz. Bertha denounced him as an unprincipled liar, and rushed from his presence. In a frenzy of rage she presented herself before his mother and told her all.
Thus far Bertha continued her sad tale connectedly, only interrupted by her violent gestures, sobs, and tears. She paused for a moment, and an expression of inextinguishable hatred distorted her countenance.
"That horrible woman," she cried at last, gasping for breath, "has the Bible always upon her lips. She knits and sews night and day for missionaries, who are to carry the word of God to the heathen, that they may be converted; but they cannot in their ignorance be more inhuman and cruel than this Christian in her pride. She wishes to root out idol-worship, and sets up herself for an idol, surrounding herself by a crowd of fawning, flattering hypocrites, who declare that she is one of the elect,—not as other people are. Woe to the upright, honest man who refuses to consider her as such,—his crime is blasphemy! She thrust me from her doors, and threatened to have the dogs hunt me from the park, if I ever showed my face there again. From that time I do not know what became of me," she said, sinking back exhausted among the pillows, and pressing her hands upon her aching forehead. "I only know that I awaked and saw the doctor's face bending over me. He told my uncle of my disgrace,—I heard him. What will become of me!"
Sabina had listened to this confession with horror and grief. She had always advocated the strictest purity and decorum, and had been, as Bertha well knew, a stern and inflexible judge in such unhappy cases as that of the wretched girl. But her heart was full of love and pity. She looked down upon the crushed sinner before her with tears of compassion, and soothed the weary head upon her kind old breast. She was rewarded by seeing the poor girl fall asleep in her arms, like a child worn out with weeping.
Soon nothing was heard in the little room but the quiet breathing of the sick girl and the ticking of the clock. Sabina put on her spectacles, drew an old worn copy of the New Testament from her basket, and watched faithfully by the bedside until the bright dawn looked in at the windows.
Bertha did not die, as she had hoped to do in consequence of her agitating confession. On the contrary, she recovered very quickly, nursed and tended by Sabina and Frau Ferber. There was no return of her insanity. The wound in her head, which had been caused by a fall upon a sharp stone, had produced a most beneficial result in the copious loss of blood which had ensued.
The forester was beside himself at the disgrace which Bertha had brought beneath his honest roof. For some days he would not even listen to his brother's calm, soothing words. After Sabina had communicated to him Bertha's confession, he rode to Odenberg to call "the worthless scoundrel to account;" but the servants there informed him, shrugging their shoulders, that their master had started upon a journey; they could not tell whither, or when he would return. Herr von Walde's search for him was also without result.
Bertha herself declared that she would never again hear of her betrayer, whom she now regarded with a hate as fervent as had been her love. A few weeks after her recovery she left the weaver's hut,—she never again entered the Lodge,—to go to America. But she did not go alone. One of her uncle's assistants, a fine young fellow, begged for his dismissal, because he had always loved Bertha in silence, and could not find it in his heart to let her go alone into the wide world. She had promised to be his. They were to be married in Bremen, and sail thence for the New World, where he would lead a farmer's life. Herr von Walde provided the pair with a considerable sum of money; and, at Frau Ferber's and Elizabeth's request, the forester silently consented that Sabina should rob the overflowing store of linen that his deceased wife had accumulated, to furnish the household of the emigrants.
* * * * *
Upon a gloomy autumn day a well-packed travelling carriage left Castle Lindhof and slowly rolled towards L——. Her haughty arrogance all vanished, the baroness sat huddled together in one corner of it. Her brilliant part at Lindhof was played; she was reluctantly returning to her small rooms and reduced circumstances.
"Mamma," said Bella, in her shrill, childish accents, as she opened and shut the carriage window and drummed against the seat with her feet, "does the castle belong now to Elizabeth Ferber? Will she drive in our beautiful carriage with the white damask cushions? Can she go into your room whenever she pleases and sit in the embroidered arm-chairs? Old Lorenz says that she will be the mistress there now, and that all her orders must be obeyed."
"Child, do not torment me so with your chatter," groaned the baroness, burying her face in her pocket-handkerchief.
"It is very unkind of Uncle Rudolph to send us away," the child continued, without heeding what her mother said. "You know we have no silver dishes to eat from in B——, have we, mamma? Shall we dine at a restaurant, mamma? and will you dress your own hair while Caroline washes and irons? Why——"
"Silence!" her mother interrupted the flood of speech that so tormented her.
Bella cowered terrified in a corner, and did not look up until the carriage was rolling over the stone pavement of L——. The baroness cast a hasty glance at the Princely castle, then drew her veil over her face and burst into tears.
In consequence of Bertha's confession there had been a stormy interview between Herr von Walde and the baroness, which had ended in the departure of the latter. Helene repulsed her with aversion when she appealed to her, and she was forced to enter the travelling carriage, which appeared punctually before the castle at the hour appointed by its master. There was one consoling drop in her cup of misfortune,—Herr von Walde had provided the means for Bella's education, upon condition that it should be more sensibly conducted than heretofore.
Almost at the same hour in which the Baroness Lessen was leaving Lindhof forever, the Countess von Falkenberg presented herself in the boudoir of the princess, who had returned with her husband a few days before from the baths.
The countess made as profound an obeisance as her uncertain limbs would permit, but showed a degree of haste that she would have stigmatized in another as contrary to all rules of etiquette. She held an open letter in her hand, which had been somewhat crushed by her trembling fingers.
"I am most unhappy," she began in an unnatural tone of voice, "to be obliged to impart to your highnesses a most scandalous piece of news. Oh, mon Dieu, who would have thought it! Well, if even in our own sphere all sense of shame, all dignified self-consciousness, is at an end,—if every one is to heed the dictates of low and vulgar impulses,—no wonder that the halo surrounding us is dimmed, and the mob ventures to attack the throne itself!"
"Calm yourself, my dear Falkenberg," said the prince, who was present, with evident amusement. "Your preface is somewhat after the magnificent style of a Cassandra. But as yet I see no signs of earthquake; and to my great satisfaction I observe,"—and he glanced out of the window at the quiet market-square with a smile,—"that my faithful subjects are quite composed. What have you to tell us?"
She looked up surprised,—his sarcastic tone made her falter.
"Oh, if your highness only knew!" she cried at last. "That man, upon whose pride of birth I so relied, Herr von Walde, informs me that he is betrothed. And to whom? to whom?"
"To Fräulein Ferber, the niece of my brave, old forester," the prince, smiling, replied. "Yes, yes, I have heard something of this; Walde knows what he is about, I see. The little girl is a miracle of beauty and loveliness they say. Well, I hope he will not keep us waiting long to make her acquaintance, but will present her to us soon."
"Your highness," cried the paralyzed countess, "she is the daughter of your highness' forester's clerk!"
"Yes, yes, my good Falkenberg," chimed in the princess, "we know that. But be calm; she is I assure you of noble rank."
"Will your highness graciously permit me," rejoined the old lady, her face crimson, as she pointed to the crumpled letter, "here it stands in black and white,—his betrothal with a person of low birth,—here is the name, Ferber, and no other, and just so it will be written upon von Walde's genealogical tree forever. It actually seems as if the man paraded it with a sort of ostentation. The inconceivable indifference of these people in refusing to assume the name of von Gnadewitz shows plainly enough that they have nothing in common with that aristocratic family. Their noble blood has utterly degenerated in the course of years, and, according to my notions of nobility, the girl is and always will be of low birth. I sincerely pity poor Hollfeld, who is, as your highness knows, of stainless descent; by this misalliance he will lose at least half a million,—and the poor Lessen, too, from whom I have just had a few sad lines,—she leaves Lindhof to-day, of course to escape from such scandalous proceedings."
"Those are matters affecting your own personal feeling, and of course I say nothing with regard to them," rejoined the prince, not without severity. "But I herewith request you to announce to the princess and myself the fact, as soon as Herr von Walde wishes to present his bride to us."
In the next room, the door of which was open, Cornelie was merrily turning upon her heels and snapping her fingers.
"Aha! and that was why Sir Bruin wished to escape the tongues of certain eloquent ladies!" she cried, with a stifled laugh. "Cornelie, where was your usual penetration with regard to the masculine heart? Oh, the thing delights me for old Falkenberg's sake," she said, in a whisper, to another young lady who sat at the window embroidering. "Now for at least two weeks we shall have the pleasure of seeing how the loyal creature will look daggers at their highnesses whenever their backs are turned, while all the honey of the promised land will overflow her withered lips as soon as the sun of their royal smile shines upon her. I could wish that every man whom we know would follow Herr von Walde's silly example!"
"Good Heavens! Cornelie, are you insane?" cried her companion at the window, dropping her needle from her fingers.
At the same time that every drop of blood in the Falkenberg's aristocratic veins was so outraged, Doctor Fels returned to his home, and went to the nursery, where his wife was bathing her baby and superintending the knitting fingers of her two little daughters.
"Rejoice with me, dear love!" he cried, with sparkling eyes, as he stood upon the threshold of the door. "Lindhof will have a mistress, and such a mistress! Gold Elsie, our beautiful Gold Elsie! Do you hear, my darling? Now the sun will shine brightly there. The healthy atmosphere has conquered, and the evil spirit that actually dropped mildew upon poor human souls has fled. I have just seen it drive past in Herr von Walde's travelling carriage. The announcement of the betrothal has fallen upon our worthy town like a bomb-shell. I tell you it is wonderful to see the long, incredulous faces! But the news has not surprised me at all. I have known what must happen ever since Linke's murderous attempt. Since I drove that evening to Lindhof by Herr von Walde's side, to see whether the excitement had produced no ill effects upon the brave child, I have known well that his hour had struck, that he had a heart indeed, a heart full of fervent, passionate love."
* * * * *
Let us pass over a space of two years, and once more enter the old Gnadeck ruins. We shall ascend the mountain by a broad well-kept road, leading to the castle gate, which has exchanged its rusty bolts and bars for more convenient fastenings.
We remember with a shiver the cold, damp court-yard behind this gate, shut in by gloomy colonnades on three sides, while the crumbling buildings threatened to bury us beneath their ruins. We remember the lonely basin in the centre, that, surrounded by the lions of stone, has waited in vain during so many years for the silver stream that should fill it.
Remembering all this, we ring the bell. At its clear sound, a fresh, trim maiden opens the massive gate, and invites us to enter. But we start back almost dazzled, for from the open gate what a flood of light and colour greets us! The ruins have vanished, the high wall that surrounded them alone remains, and we are for the first time aware how extensive is the space which it encloses.
We do not tread upon the echoing pavement of a courtyard, a smooth gravel-walk is beneath our feet; before us stretches a level, well-kept lawn. In its centre stands the granite basin, and from the threatening jaws of the lions are pouring four powerful streams of water. The chestnuts still remain the faithful guardians of the fountain, but since their boughs have been bathed in heaven's air and light they have grown strong and young again, and are now covered with a wealth of fan-like blossoms. We wind among the gravel paths that intersect the lawn, delight our eyes with the groups of shrubbery, still very young, that are so tastefully scattered here and there, and with the gay beds of carefully tended flowers.
Before us lies the home. Its four walls are free now to the air and light, and have put on a fresh bright garment; but its front is far more stately than it used to be. New windows are seen on every side. Ferber has had four rooms added to it; for when the forester retires to private life, he and Sabina are to live there also. In the family dwelling-room,—from whose two high windows can now be seen the same view formerly seen only from Elizabeth's room above,—Herr von Walde has had the trees thinned so that her parents might always have the home of their darling before their eyes,—stands the young Frau von Walde. She has been kept in the house for several weeks, and her first expedition has been to carry her first-born to her parents' home. There he lies in her arms. Miss Mertens, or rather the happily married Frau Reinhard, has just removed the veil from the little thing. The minute, plump, red face shows, in the eyes of the mother, an unmistakable resemblance to Herr von Walde. Ernst is laughing loudly at the vague movements of the fat little fists, which are stretching out in all directions. But the forester stands with his own powerful hands behind him, and an expression of great anxiety, as if he feared that if he moved he might do the frail atom an injury. He is no less delighted with his grand-nephew than are Elizabeth's parents with their grandchild. He has outlived his distress concerning Bertha, and basks in Elizabeth's happiness, which was a great surprise to him at first, and which he maintained he was obliged to become accustomed to anew every morning. Not, indeed, that he thought such good fortune one whit too great for his darling,—he would have thought the richest of earthly crowns well placed upon Elizabeth's head; but it was so strange to him to see his sunny Gold Elsie by the side of her grave, thoughtful husband.
Elizabeth is happy in the fullest sense of the word. Her husband adores her, and his words have proved true,—the expression of stern melancholy has faded forever from his brow.
Just now the young wife is looking tenderly at the little creature in her arms, and then down into the valley, whence Herr von Walde will soon appear to conduct her to her home. Her glance grows sad for a moment, and tears fill her eyes, as they rest upon a lofty gilded cross, glimmering among the trees upon the shore of the lake,—beneath those rustling boughs Helene has slept for a year. She died in Elizabeth's arms, praying God to bless the dear sister who had so helped her to bear her burden of woe until her spirit could soar away from its frail mortal tenement.
Hollfeld has sold Odenberg, and no one knows in what corner of the earth he hides his discontent at the overthrow of all his plots.
THE END.
* * * * * * * *
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