What a story was this! To Egon, Storting's narrative seemed like some wild romance. Herr von Osternau and Fritzchen, the bright, intelligent little fellow, dead, Frau von Osternau the victim of a scoundrel's crime, and Lieschen forced to work hard to stave off destitution! He could hardly trust his ears, and it needed the sight of Storting's sad, earnest face, as he spoke, to confirm his words.
Egon's mind was filled with the eager desire to aid those to whom during the past few years his heart had so often turned,--those who, as he was now painfully aware, had formed part of every vision of his future life. He had resisted all impulse to revisit Castle Osternau; only when his new existence was fairly and honestly begun at Plagnitz could he hope to find there the pardon for which he thirsted for the deceit practised upon its inmates. And now this could never be, and the thought that he was possessed of superfluous wealth, while those dear to him were working for their daily bread, was positively intolerable. He sprang up, but the instant and intense pain in his head reminded him that the physician had forbidden all exertion for some days, and that he could not hasten as he longed to Lieschen's side, to shield her from all further distress. He sank back wearily in his arm-chair.
"Confound that miserable accident!" he said, angrily. "It keeps me a prisoner here when every moment is precious. Frau von Osternau must not live a day longer in such unsuitable circumstances. Storting, you must do me a favour to-morrow,--no, to-day. By the night-train you must go to Berlin. I cannot go myself, as you see, and perhaps it is better that you, Frau von Osternau's old friend, should act for me. I will give you an order on our bank. You must draw any sum necessary to provide handsomely for Frau von Osternau, and to prevent Fräulein Lieschen from taking the place of a hired servant. I will not allow it; it shall not be. Make haste, Storting! I will write to our cashier and get the order ready for you while you are preparing to set off. You must be in Berlin to-morrow."
Storting smiled, but shook his head.
"Your kind and generous intention does you honour, Herr von Ernau," he said, cordially, "but I fear it will be of no avail. My journey to Berlin, where, according to her last letter, I should no longer find Frau von Osternau, would be of no use even were the lady still there. She would thank you for your generosity, but would refuse to accept your money, as she has already refused the offers of help made her by Herr von Sastrow and others of her relatives. 'As long as I can work, we are not objects of charity,' I myself heard Fräulein Lieschen say, while her head was held as haughtily and her eyes sparkled as brightly as in the dear old times. She will work to the last, but she never will suffer her mother to receive aid from outsiders."
What had Egon been thinking of to propose to offer money to Frau von Osternau? Storting's words convinced him that Lieschen would indeed refuse such a gift. It was well that his wound had prevented his immediate departure for Berlin. How mortified he should have been to have his thoughtless gift rejected with fitting pride! And yet he could not endure the thought of Lieschen--in his heart he almost said his Lieschen--forced to labour for her daily bread, to resign her freedom and place herself at the beck and call of strangers. Oh, it was intolerable! What could he do? A happy idea suddenly suggested itself.
"Did you not once tell me, Storting," he asked, "that old Herr von Osternau had lost large sums of money through his careless generosity? was there not some story of a manufacturer in Breslau whose factory burned down, and to whom Herr von Osternau loaned a very considerable amount of money without sufficient security, and lost it all by the man's absconding?"
"Yes, that did really happen. The swindler was a paper-manufacturer by the name of Simon; he ran off to America ten years ago, and Herr von Osternau lost every penny of the twenty thousand thalers he loaned him."
"Now, perhaps the poor fellow was no swindler at all. Probably only extreme need drove him to America, and so soon as he is aware of the circumstances in which Frau von Osternau and her daughter are placed he feels it his duty to restore, both principal and interest, the loan so generously made him. As he does not know Frau von Osternau's present place of abode, he naturally makes application to Herr Storting, whom he knew formerly as the admirable Osternau inspector, and to him he sends the owing money, commissioning him to hand it over to the heirs of the late Herr von Osternau. Of course Herr Simon will require from these heirs a receipt for the sum handed them, and a quittance of all further claims. You must not be surprised, Storting, to receive a communication from Herr Simon this very evening, with an order upon the firm of A. C. Ernau & Co., in Berlin, for the sum in question; and of course I shall give you leave of absence for some time that you may arrange the matter satisfactorily. I am sure you will not refuse to undertake the affair, Storting."
"What can I say, Herr von Ernau," cried the delighted Storting, "except that I am honoured in being the instrument of such generosity?"
"After all, there is really not much honour, my dear fellow, in being made accomplice in a forgery. But we must contrive to answer all that to our consciences. Go now and get ready to start. In an hour you shall receive Herr Simon's letter. You will be obliged to suppress the envelope, which may not bear the correct stamp."
"No need even of that, for I received a letter from New Orleans yesterday, and its envelope will serve your purpose admirably. It followed me to Plagnitz from my former place of abode, and will explain my desire to leave here as soon as possible: of course I am in a hurry to hand over her property to Frau von Osternau."
"Bravo! and now to business."
Two hours later Storting was on his way to the nearest railway-station, with a letter from Carl Johann Simon, New Orleans, Louisiana, U. S. A., and an order upon the banking-house of A. C. Ernau & Co., Berlin, in his pocket.
The morning after Storting's departure, Egon received a visit from the vivacious little Ostrowko doctor, who declared that he could not be responsible for the consequences if his patient persisted in neglecting his instructions. "I distinctly told you, my dear Herr von Ernau, that rest was all that you required, that rest you must have, and what has been your course? Instead of remaining where you certainly were very well off, and with a charmingchâtelaineto attend to your every wish, you jolt off over here, along an infernal road, a few hours after I leave you, and, I make no doubt, purpose to inspect your estate to-day. Not at all, not at all, my dear Herr von Ernau. You have had a shock to your system. Great as was your escape, 'tis no joke falling from the Dombrowker Pass, and you must be quiet. You've a fine library here, and a magnificent grand piano: sit still, read some trashy romance, and play Offenbach for the next week, and leave your estate in the hands of your admirable inspector,--Storting is his name? What! he has gone to Berlin for a time? Well, the younger fellow--I forget his name--is quite competent, with old Sieveking to direct. I am going to see that, now we have got you here at Plagnitz, we keep you from any ill effects of your accident, or you'll be saying that the climate does not agree with you, and you'll be running off to Berlin. Aha! I know you young fellows. I was young myself not a hundred years ago."
And he rattled on, until he had indeed fully convinced his patient that rest was an admirable remedy for many ailments.
Egon was doomed, then, to a time of inaction, and this just when he was most eager to enter upon the supervision of his affairs. Still, there might be much to interest him in these first days at home, and he resigned himself with the best grace that he could to refrain from riding, driving, or any long walks for a while, according to the doctor's orders.
The degree of order and method which prevailed everywhere at Plagnitz delighted him, and no less was he pleased, when he sauntered through the fields in the immediate vicinity of the manor-house, with the kindly courtesy of those of his people whom he met, and who greeted the master without a trace of that slavish servility so frequently to be found in the Polish-German provinces, and so odious to Egon. Day-labourers and grooms took off their hats to him, but did not, half kneeling, offer to kiss his hand, as is the invariable custom elsewhere; nor were they at all embarrassed in the intelligent replies which they made to his inquiries concerning their various occupations. To the master's great satisfaction, he perceived that there pervaded Plagnitz an air of freshness and freedom beyond what was enjoyed upon most other large estates of the province; the people were treated like human beings, not like slaves, and, in consequence, manifested an interest and vivacity almost unknown to the ordinary imbruted Polish labourer. Here old Sieveking's influence had been admirable, and all that Egon had thought lacking upon his previous visit to Plagnitz had been largely supplied by Storting's diligence and experience.
A young man presented himself as the bailiff, Hensel, and modestly asked permission to show Herr von Ernau through the farm-buildings and to give him any desired information concerning them. When Egon accepted his offer, he showed himself so intelligent and well informed in all matters pertaining to his special province, that the master of Plagnitz was even more than ever impressed with the faithful care taken of his estate during his absence by old Sieveking, who, although he could not entirely fulfil the requirements of a disciple of the modern school of agriculture, had yet prepared an excellent foundation for the new methods which Egon hoped to introduce with Storting's assistance.
Even the slight inspection which he thus made, on the first day of his residence in his home, was condemned by the little doctor on his next visit. He declared that for a week at least nothing in the way of out-of-door exercise must be attempted. "As much fresh air as you please, my dear Herr von Ernau, but taken by an open window, or seated on your terrace, whence the prospect should surely content you for a while."
This enforced repose was particularly irritating to Egon just at the present time. The delicious weather lured him into the open air; he was feverishly desirous of beginning the work for which he had been preparing for four long years, and to sit quietly gazing abroad over his fields and meadows, at the groups of labourers, among whom he longed to be, was almost intolerable.
If Storting had only been at home he could have conversed with him. But he was entirely alone; old Sieveking was too ill and feeble to be disturbed, and young Hensel, although excellent in his way, was entirely unavailable for purposes of conversation that did not bear upon his vocation.
His only consolation during these wearisome days was the fine grand piano which he had had sent to Plagnitz from Berlin. During his years of study he had rather neglected his music, and he now found in it all the delight it had formerly given him. His feverish restlessness was soothed by giving it musical expression; as of old, he was able to forget himself in the world of harmony.
He was seated thus at his instrument, on the fourth afternoon after his arrival at Plagnitz; the last chords of a wild rhapsody had just died away, and his fingers were wandering over the keys in a dreamy fantasia, half memory, half hope. Lost in his fancies, he did not hear a footman announce an arrival, or the sound of footsteps in the room behind him. He suddenly seemed aware of a soft sigh near him; he turned hastily and gazed into a pair of dark eyes. At first he saw Bertha only; but she was not alone, behind her stood Wangen and Clara.
"If the mountain will not come to us, we must come to the mountain," Wangen said, with a laugh, holding out his hand. "You must not think us too eager to thrust ourselves upon you, Herr von Ernau, in coming thus soon to see how the patient is faring, since the doctor tells us that he may receive visits, although he can pay none."
Involuntarily Egon passed his hand across his eyes, as if to banish the vision of the moment. Yes, this was reality. Here was no Bertha von Massenburg, but Frau von Wangen, with her husband, and the charming child with whom he had exchanged a few words at Linau; and he was the lord of Plagnitz, whose duty it was to welcome his guests and pray pardon for having at first been unaware of their entrance.
Hugo von Wangen laughed in his good-humoured way. "We stood behind you listening for a minute," he said. "I do not think anything short of an earthquake would have aroused you when we first came in, you were so absorbed. We ought to ask pardon for disturbing you. My wife would not let me come alone, as I thought of doing. She was too anxious, she said, to see how the patient was getting on."
What was there for Egon to do but to express his gratitude to madame, and to kiss the fair hand extended to him, while declaring his pleasure in welcoming beneath his roof both Frau and Fräulein von Wangen?
These formalities concluded, the visitors took seats, and a very lively talk ensued. Bertha was positively charming; she dwelt just long enough upon her anxiety lest the drive from Linau should have proved too much for Herr von Ernau, and was so easy and cordial that she banished all feeling of restraint from the conversation, which soon turned to Herr von Wangen's favourite theme, agriculture. All the party regretted Egon's inability to act as their guide in an inspection of so famous an estate as Plagnitz, which Wangen had never before visited. In especial was he desirous to see a certain wonderful breed of sheep. Of course, Egon proposed that his bailiff, Herr Hensel, should act as his guest's cicerone in default of his own companionship, and Wangen eagerly accepted the proposal, after consulting his wife by a glance.
Herr Hensel was summoned, and was much honoured by the office intrusted to him. He asked whether the ladies also might not perhaps be interested in the sheepstalls, which were constructed upon an entirely new plan. Frau von Wangen declined to accompany her husband, but Clara gladly arose to go with her brother and Herr Hensel: she took all a country girl's interest in sheep and cows.
Wangen seemed a little disconcerted by this arrangement; he was in his heart reluctant to leave his wife alone to the fascinations of her old admirer. He could not possibly let this be known, however,--Bertha would have laughed at his foolish jealousy. Nevertheless, he felt far from comfortable when Bertha added her approval of Clara's intention, saying, "Do go, my dear Clara, and take note of all the improvements, which we may be able to introduce at Linau." He could not, without making himself ridiculous, insist upon Clara's staying behind; she was already hanging upon his arm, and he quietly followed Herr Hensel.
For the first time in his life Egon was alone with Bertha. Even at Castle Osternau they had never met except in the presence of some member of the family, and there was a vague sense in his mind of wrong done to his ideal by thistête-à-tête, although he had done nothing to bring it about; it was purely accidental. In fact, the young man's mind had been, during the past four days, so continually filled with thoughts of Lieschen, he had so constantly recalled her every look and word of former years, the restlessness that possessed him had been so largely caused by his anxiety to hear from Storting, and had been so much more keenly felt since he was forbidden to allay it by physical exertion or hard mental effort, that he was not as open as it was his wont to be to the impression of the moment; it cost him some pains to prevent his imagination from driving present realities from his mind. Therefore, for some time after they were thus left alone, the conversation was of a quite indifferent character; and yet how exquisitely lovely she was as she sat opposite him, with a gentle smile hovering upon her charming mouth! How sweet and tender was her voice as, at last, after a pause, she leaned towards him, her eyes seeking and holding his, and asked, softly, "Herr von Ernau, are you still angry with me?"
Honestly, Egon did not understand why she should ever have thought him angry, and honestly he rejoined, "Why should I be angry with you, madame?"
She blushed slightly as she said, sadly, "Ah, yes, I see you are still angry. You persist in dwelling upon the past, although I begged you to forget it. Yet can we forget? I cannot practise what I would enjoin upon you. The consciousness of the wrong I did you has robbed me of rest since I last saw you. I long to hear you say that you forgive me. I came to-day with Herr von Wangen, hoping for this opportunity, which accident has given me, to entreat you not to add to all that is hard and cruel in my lot by withholding your forgiveness for the past. Believe me, I have suffered in listening to the dictates of prudence, rather than to the voice of my heart."
She would have gone on, quite charmed with her own eloquence, absolutely fancying herself thrown away upon her idolizing husband, playing a part which had presented itself as most attractive to the shallow imaginings of her idle hours, but that something in Egon's face arrested the words upon her lips; she paused and waited for his reply.
In truth, while she had been speaking, Egon's thoughts had been hardly such as it would have pleased her to divine. Yes, she was incomparably lovely; he saw it all,--the dark, pleading glance, the wonderful grace of every movement; but how, he was asking himself, had he ever thought it possible to find his other self in this woman? How well he had known her kind in days gone by! Fate had been only too good to her in bringing her the devotion of so honest and single-hearted a man as Hugo von Wangen. He had surrounded her life with luxury and affection, and she had neither the heart to return his love, nor the mind to appreciate it. How false, how shallow she was! And his memory conjured up another face and another voice. 'There is nothing which I so detest as false words and false seeming.' His mind wandered from the present for an instant; but Bertha was silent, he must answer her, and, little fitted as he felt himself to play the part of a moralist, the thought of Wangen, so cordial in his kindness to his new neighbour, lent an additional coolness to his words:
"I assure you, madame, that I never imagined that I had the smallest right to feel myself in any way aggrieved by your conduct. All who know Hugo von Wangen can well understand how happy a woman she must be upon whom he bestows the treasure of his devotion. Let me repeat your kind advice to me when first I met you at Linau: Forget the past; we have to do with the present and the future."
The expression of Bertha's face as he spoke was not pleasant to see; the pathetic lines about her mouth vanished, her eyes lost their gentle, pleading look. The change was so sudden that it rather disconcerted Egon, who was immensely relieved by hearing footsteps in the corridor and by the rather hurried entrance of Clara, eager to tell her sister-in-law of all she had lost in not joining Hugo and herself. The girl was followed immediately by her brother, whose first glance, always for his wife, took note of her embarrassment, and then sought Egon's face, where also, he thought, he discerned signs of confusion. All his jealous suspicions, vague as they were, and therefore all the more tormenting, sprang to life. He tried his best to follow the lead of his host and talk with interest of the Plagnitz cattle and the various improvements in stalls and stables. It was of no use; conversation would no longer run in easy grooves, and all were rather glad than otherwise when the time for the departure of the guests arrived.
When their carriage was announced, Egon would have escorted them to it, but this Wangen would in no wise permit. The doctor had expressly told him, he said, that Herr von Ernau must avoid all exertion for a while and keep his room. Bertha added her words to his to prevent their host's accompanying them down into the hall, and even Clara sagely observed that if Herr von Ernau were not careful he never would be able to come to Linau shortly as he had promised.
Egon went to the window to wave a farewell to his guests, when he observed the young girl, who had taken her place on the back seat of the barouche, suddenly spring out of it again. "I have forgotten my parasol!" she called up to Egon.
The footman, who had been helping the visitors to get into their carriage, would have gone back for it, but with a "Never mind, I will get it myself," she ran into the house and up the stairs. The next instant she stood, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, beside Egon, and said hurriedly, in a low voice, "I left it on purpose, because I wanted to say something to you, Herr von Ernau. The doctor, I know, told Hugo yesterday that you could not drive to Linau before Monday, but you must come before. You are perfectly well, promise me to come on Saturday at the farthest,--to-day is Monday. Oh, you can easily come before, or on, Saturday, if you drive slowly."
"Why must I promise you to come 'before, or on, Saturday,' little Clara?"
"Oh, because I want you to come so much that I can hardly wait for the time to pass."
"Oh, I am not vain enough to believe that."
The girl laughed merrily.
"Indeed! Well, there is somebody, at all events, who does want to see you, I know, and I must not tell you who it is, because I promised not to. But I did not promise not to beg you to come before Sunday. Oh, you must, or it will be too late. Adieu, Herr von Ernau! Here is my parasol; they are waiting for me. Remember, before Sunday!"
She hurried away, and waved her hand, flourishing her parasol, from the carriage, as it drove out of the court-yard.
Egon stood a long while at the window, gazing after the carriage as it disappeared. What had he just heard? Had Bertha made that innocent child her messenger, her tool, in the idle flirtation with which she would fain employ her empty hours? Yes, she was indeed false and shallow; and good, kindly Wangen deserved a better fate. What had become of the magical charm which Bertha von Massenburg's beauty had exercised over the Egon of former days? He thought of her almost with aversion. Nevertheless, he must return the visit that had been paid him; kindly relations with Linau must be preserved.
The afternoon was delightful, the setting sun glorious in the crimson splendour of the west, but the elder members of the party driving home to Linau through the warm summer air were scarcely in the mood to enjoy it. Wangen was annoyed at what he declared to himself were groundless suspicions of his beautiful wife; he tried to atone for them by redoubled tenderness in his manner when he addressed her, and this very tenderness irritated Bertha, in her consciousness of failure in her first attempt to vary the monotony of her existence by what she assured herself should be but an innocent flirtation,--merely a piece of feminine vengeance upon the man who had so insulted her vanity in years gone by. Clara, indeed, rattled away about the various delights of Plagnitz, winding up her eulogium of its lord, however, with a heavy sigh.
"If my darling Elise could but have been with us!" she exclaimed. "And now she may never see it! Oh, Bertha, how could you be so unkind to her? I know that it is all because of your bitter speeches that she is going to leave us on Sunday. Why do you not love her? Why can we not all be happy together?"
To this question Bertha deigned no reply, and Hugo said, rather sadly,--
"I too, dearest Bertha, should have been glad to have kept Fräulein Elise with us. But perhaps she is right. You two are like fire and water, and since she has so advantageous an offer, and can be so near her poor mother, I have nothing to say, only I am greatly mistaken if you do not wish for her many a time after she has left us."
"You know, Hugo, I cannot agree with you in your estimate of Elise. She has always disliked me, and of course I see her from my point of view. Before she came, everything that I did was right in your eyes; her presence irritates me, and leads you to criticise and object to what I do and say; in short, I cannot be sorry that she leaves us on Sunday."
The sun was just disappearing as Linau was reached. Hugo and Bertha betook themselves to the balcony, and Clara went in search of her dear Elise, guessing correctly where she should find her. At the farthest end of the extensive garden at the back of the old manor-house of Linau, just where it was separated from the road that divided it from the meadows beyond by an old-fashioned picket-fence, there stood, concealed among the luxuriant shrubbery, a shady arbour, which was reached by a narrow pathway among the tall bushes bounding the garden on one side. This arbour had formerly been a favourite retreat of old Herr von Wangen; from it he could see far over his meadows and fields; here he was wont to sit with his pipe and book through the long summer hours, overlooking his people at work; and hence it had come to be called 'the master's arbour.' After his death the shrubs and bushes about it were allowed to grow more rankly, so as almost entirely to conceal it, for his son did not like to sit here; he preferred to ride out over his estate, to visit his labourers; and his young wife would have thought it excessively tiresome to spend any time on a wooden bench in this lonely spot, when she might be lounging in a luxurious chair on her favourite balcony.
But for Elise this arbour was a delightful retreat,--she liked to teach Clara here, sure of freedom from all interruption,--and here Clara found her after the wonderful visit to Plagnitz. She was in the midst of writing a long letter, and the child's presence might have been more welcome at another time, but she responded affectionately to her pupil's enthusiastic caress; not for the world would she have grieved, by any show of a desire to be alone, the girl whom she had grown to love dearly.
Clara's talkative gaiety, however, seemed to have exhausted itself upon the homeward drive. She sat down beside her governess, and gazed thoughtfully from the leafy opening of the window in the little arbour abroad over the fields and meadows in the direction where in the unseen distance lay Castle Plagnitz. She was silent for a long while, and then, suddenly turning to Elise, she exclaimed,--
"You do not know how dearly I love you!"
"Oh, yes, I do, dear child; I know your warm little heart very well."
"But indeed you cannot dream how much I care for you. I did not know it myself. And how can I bear to have you leave us forever on Sunday?"
"I must go, Clara."
"I suppose you must, for Bertha does not love you; she does not know you. But, oh! Elise, why would you not let me tell Herr von Ernau that you are here, and that you are going away on Sunday?"
"Clara!"
"Yes, Elise; it grieves me to the very heart that you have no confidence in me. I am not such a child that I do not see and understand a great deal more than you think I do. You might confide in me."
"What could I confide in you, Clara?"
"You might have told me how much you cared for Herr von Ernau."
Elise blushed crimson and uttered another indignant "Clara!" but the girl threw her arms around her, and, undeterred, continued, "Oh, your blush betrays you! You need tell me nothing; I knew it all before. I love you so much that I saw it in your dear, beautiful face,--in your eyes. I knew it when you recognized him as he lay, pale and bleeding, in the hall. I saw it in your happy look when Hugo told us that his wound was not dangerous. And then I asked Hugo, and begged him to tell me when he and you had known Herr von Ernau, and he told me all about how he had been in disguise at Castle Osternau, and had given you music-lessons. Oh, I know it all, and a great deal more!"
"Much more than it is right that you should," Elise said, gravely.
"No, just enough to let me show you that I am not such a child as you think me, and that, at all events, I am old enough to have plans and schemes of my own. I was very glad to go to Plagnitz to-day, and I enjoyed my visit there very much."
"Clara, you did not forget----"
"No, you need not be anxious. I promised you that I would not even mention your name, and I shall keep my promise, although I cannot see why you made me give it. But I shall find some way to let Herr von Ernau know that you are here without breaking my word. My mind is made up, and I tell you so, because I never mean to deceive you."
"Clara, promise me, if you love me, to do nothing."
"Oh, it is just because I love you that I will make you no more promises. I have learned wisdom."
From the manor-house came the clear tones of the bell ringing for the evening meal.
"There goes the bell!" Clara exclaimed. "We must hurry to be in time. I am glad we can stay here no longer, for I do not wish to say another word. My mind is made up, and I feel much pleased with myself."
With a laugh she left the arbour and tripped along the path towards the house. Elise slowly followed her; she needed a few moments of solitude to evoke some order in the wild confusion of thought caused by Clara's words. She trembled as she reflected upon the possibility of seeing again him upon whom her mind had dwelt for four long years, and who had occupied her thoughts ceaselessly during these last days and nights. How she dreaded meeting him! and yet, in thinking of such a meeting, a strange, sweet hope stirred within her which she herself refused to recognize.
Never during the past four years had Egon been so lonely, never had he felt so deserted, so miserable and dissatisfied, as during the first ten days of his residence at Plagnitz. Everything combined to make his mood of the gloomiest. He was not ill, and yet he was not perfectly well. The doctor now permitted him to take short walks, but had exacted from him a promise that he would curb his impatience to take more exercise until the next week. There was nothing for him to do, after walking through a field or two, but to return to his room and take up a book or sit down at the piano.
Could he only have given entire attention to his book, or have become absorbed in his music,--but this was impossible. After he had determinedly read a page or two his rebellious thoughts would wander back to old times at Castle Osternau, or fly after Storting in his travels, or try to peer into the future. And it was just the same when he sat down at his piano: before long his hands would drop listlessly from the keys, and he would resign himself to profitless and cheerless musings.
After the visit of the Wangens he was, if possible, more uncomfortable than before; he was annoyed to feel any restraint in his intercourse with Linau. Bertha's presence, too, had made old memories more vivid than ever. Where, where was Lieschen? He had received only one brief letter from Storting, in Berlin. Frau von Osternau had left the capital a couple of weeks previously; the mistress of the house where she had lodged could not tell him whither she had gone, and Herr von Sastrow and his wife were unfortunately absent, travelling. Storting could do nothing save go to Osternau, where he hoped that the pastor might tell him what he wished to know; if this hope were disappointed, he was resolved to apply directly to Herr Albrecht von Osternau, who would certainly know the address to which the quarterly payment of the widow's legal income was to be sent.
After this letter, which had been dispatched immediately before Storting's departure for Osternau, no further news had been received from him. His silence filled Egon with restless anxiety; he sent a mounted messenger to the post-office three times every day, but on Friday evening he had not yet heard that Frau von Osternau had been found.
At last, on Saturday morning, Egon's eager expectations were gratified,--the post-bag contained a letter addressed in Storting's handwriting. Egon tore it open with a hand trembling with anxiety, and read,--
"My Dear Herr Von Ernau,--Your admirable plan has been successfully carried out, as I am most glad to inform you. I did well in going to Osternau, where I learned from the pastor that Frau von Osternau had established herself at Hirschberg. I instantly travelled thither, and found the dear lady in excellent health. She was no less pleased than amazed to see me, and when I told her the story of Herr Carl Johann Simon and showed her his letter, she was at first quite speechless with surprise, and then burst into tears of joy and gratitude. Evidently it never occurred to her to doubt my account. She blessed her husband's memory, remembered his lending the money perfectly, and that she had remonstrated with him for his ready confidence in every one's honesty. And then she broke forth in exclamations of delight at knowing that she could now bring her daughter home to live with her, and that Fräulein Lieschen need no longer sacrifice herself for her mother's sake. I only wish that you could have witnessed the joy of which you were the source.
"Frau von Osternau is to go with me to Berlin to take possession of her property and have the receipt for the same duly made out and signed. This we do to-morrow; the result of our expedition I shall tell you by word of mouth, but I write to-day to let you know of my success, and of a fact which you ought to know immediately. Fräulein Lieschen is at present your neighbour; you have, without knowing it, passed a night in the same house with her. Herr von Wangen engaged her as governess for his young sister. In order, however, to be near her mother, she has accepted another situation in the vicinity of Hirschberg, and is to leave Linau next Sunday. Fortunately, there is now no need of her accepting any situation whatever, as her mother joyfully declared. It seems rather odd--does it not?--that you should neither have seen Fräulein Lieschen nor heard of her presence in Linau when you were there; but then your accident probably chased everything else from the minds of your hosts. I thought it my duty to let you know immediately that Fräulein Lieschen leaves Linau on Sunday, thinking that you may be able to drive over and see her on Saturday afternoon, if this reaches you, as it should do, on the morning of that day."
Egon dropped the letter; he could not read further; the last lines danced before his eyes. Lieschen was in Linau! for only one day longer, it is true, but this day was his own. What did he care for the physician's prohibition? He must drive to Linau; every moment of delay was an opportunity lost.
Lieschen in Linau! She had been his nurse that night; it was her lovely face of which he had been aware in his semi-consciousness; her cool, gentle hand had been laid upon his forehead; she had leaned over him in anxious hope for his return to life. His dream, had been no dream, after all.
And he had supposed that Bertha had cared for him so kindly! He rejoiced that he owed nothing to her nursing. He could not think of her save with a sensation akin to dislike. Her charm was utterly gone. Why had she concealed from him that Lieschen was beneath her roof? No one had even hinted at her presence there. But yes, Clara! Egon suddenly comprehended the child's parting words to him, words which he had understood falsely: 'There's somebody, at all events, who does want to see you.' She had flown back to say this to him unheard by her sister-in-law.
Oh, he understood it all,--theennuiof the woman trained to live in the whirl of society and stranded in her quiet home, knowing 'so ill to deal with time' as to turn for excitement to an idle flirtation with the first man available, and dreading lest another should interfere with her schemes. But it was not too late to baffle them.
To Linau then! He went himself to the stables to order the horses put to a light hunting-wagon. The coachman could not obey his orders quickly enough. Anton shook his head over his master's impatience, while to Egon every moment that passed seemed an irreparable loss.
At last he found himself seated behind his spirited horses; but Anton did not drive fast enough; his master took the reins from him, and urged the pair to their quickest speed. To him they seemed to travel at a snail's pace. On they flew; not until Anton ventured to call his attention to their condition did he bethink himself that there really was no need for such urgent haste. The servant's words recalled his resolve to exercise self-control, to curb the impulse of the moment, and he gave back the reins to his coachman's hands.
The way seemed to stretch out infinitely, but at last Linau appeared, half hidden in trees, on the summit of a gentle incline. A quarter of an hour would bring them to its court-yard, but Egon was forced to curb his impatience and to order the coachman to rein in his horses. This he did in obedience to the flutter of a white kerchief waved by a graceful horsewoman who came galloping across-country towards him. It was Clara, who had seen him from a distance and thus signalled him to await her approach. The high-road was separated from the meadows bounding it on one side by a tolerably wide and deep ditch, but this was no obstacle for Clara; her pretty little mare took it at a leap, and in a minute its rider drew up beside the light wagon. With sparkling eyes she greeted Egon, saying, with a confidential nod, "You have come at last, Herr von Ernau! I expected you yesterday and the day before, as poor old Jost knows to his cost," and she pointed with her riding-whip to the old groom, who had followed her and was riding about on the other side of the ditch, looking for a narrow place at which to cross it.
"You expected me, Fräulein Clara?"
"Of course. I considered that you promised me to come before Sunday, and therefore on the day before yesterday and yesterday I rode about the fields here at the time when I thought you would appear, looking out for you. If you had not come now, I was going to send my old Jost to Plagnitz to remind you to keep your promise this afternoon, and, if the worst came to the worst, I should have gone and brought you over myself, for I was determined that come you must to-day."
"If I am right in my conjecture," Egon said, very gravely, "you wished me to come to Linau to-day because Fräulein von Osternau leaves it to-morrow."
Clara dropped her bridle and clapped her hands. "Oh, this is delightful!" she exclaimed. "You know that Elise is here! I have never told you, and now my silly promise not to tell you binds me no longer."
"To whom did you make this promise?"
"Why, to Elise, of course. But you need not look so cast down, Herr von Ernau. I'm sure she felt sorry that she allowed herself to be so influenced by Bertha's ill-natured words as to make me promise. I was determined that you should know that my darling Elise is here, for if you knew her long ago at Castle Osternau, I am sure you must want to see her again."
"Does Fräulein von Osternau know that you expect me?"
"Of course not. That would have spoiled it all. I took good care not to tell her. It is all a little plan of my own. Elise never tells me anything; she thinks me nothing but a child, but I can see in her eyes how glad she would be to see Herr von Ernau again. But indeed there is no time to go on talking. Tell me, honestly and frankly, Herr von Ernau, do you come to Linau to-day to see Elise?"
"Honestly and frankly then, my dear little Clara, yes."
"And for that only?"
"Yes."
"And would you like to see her now, just when she is alone and expecting nobody?"
"That is just what I desire beyond all else."
"Then you must not drive on to Linau, but follow me on foot. We will let your carriage wait, lest it should betray us. Get out, Herr von Ernau, and I will show your coachman a spot where he can wait for you without exciting any one's attention. Let him drive along that path that skirts the fields, and he will find a cool, shady place on the edge of the forest, where the horses will not tire of standing."
Egon did as he was bidden; and, while his coachman obeyed the young girl's directions, his master walked beside Clara's horse as she slowly rode along the highway towards Linau. Old Jost, who had managed to cross the ditch, followed at a respectful distance.
Clara was in the gayest mood, enchanted that her charming plan, which she had contrived entirely by herself, was on the eve of being so successfully carried out, without any necessity on her part of breaking the promise made to Elise. She never asked what happy chance had informed Egon of Elise's presence at Linau; it was enough for her that he knew of it, and that she had not been forced to reveal it herself. There was no longer any secret to keep, and she ran on with a long description of how Elise had taken such care of Herr von Ernau on the dreadful night of the accident, and how her eyes had filled with tears of joy when she heard the next morning that his wound was not dangerous. Nor did she fail to dwell upon her own insight in making sure from Elise's face, without hearing one word from her lips, that nothing would please her more than to renew her acquaintance with Herr von Ernau. It was so sad, too, that Bertha did not seem to care for Elise, and that made it easier for her, Clara, to part with her. Did Herr von Ernau know that Elise had found another situation near her mother? For her part, Clara wished that Frau von Osternau lived near Linau, and then, perhaps, if Bertha would only be as sweet and kind as she was sometimes, Elise might be persuaded to stay with them. Did not Herr von Ernau think it a real misfortune to lose so charming a person from the neighbourhood?
In truth, Egon's mind and heart were in such a turmoil of hope and fear that he heard but vaguely his young guide's talk. He was absolutely conscious of but one fact, that along this road, led by this charming child, he was on his way to see once again the fairy of Castle Osternau, the girl who had held him captive all these years, whose influence, established in a few short weeks, had transformed him from an idle, weary, useless creature to a man who felt that he had a part to play in the world, and who meant to play it to the best of his ability. And yet, if she should refuse to stand by his side to aid him in this new life, how dark the future looked! Could she ever pardon the falsehood he had practised upon her and those dear to her? Clara was obliged, to her dismay, to repeat her question before Herr von Ernau heeded it and looked up with, "The greatest misfortune that could befall us, my little Clara."
The warmth of the reply when it came soothed Clara's fears lest Herr von Ernau did not fully appreciate her services in thus procuring him an interview with her adored Elise. She went on to tell him that at this hour on Saturday Elise was sure to be in the 'master's arbour,' which he might now see, half hidden among the trees on their left. "And there is a gate in the picket-fence," she added, "always kept locked; no one goes out of the garden by it now that poor papa is dead. He always went to the meadows that way, but I knew perfectly well where the key was kept, and I have had it in my pocket since the day before yesterday, all ready for just this moment. Here we are, Herr von Ernau, and here is the key," she said, handing it down to him. "Let it stay in the lock. I will go off with Jost for a ride, and then, after about half an hour, when you have talked enough with Elise, I will come back and take you to the house. I want to see how surprised they'll be when they know that you have found Elise. Good-by, Herr von Ernau! Do not miss the path,--the one on the left leads directly to the house, and the one on the right to 'the master's arbour.' Good-by! I shall see you again in half an hour."
With a merry laugh and a wave of the hand she was off at a pace at which old Jost found it hard to follow her.
Egon unlocked the little gate, and with a beating heart struck into the winding right-hand path. The moment that was to decide his future was at hand; he was to see Lieschen again. Had she really, as Clara would have given him to understand, cherished his memory kindly? Was it not more likely that the child's insight had been utterly at fault, and that his image had long since been banished from the mind and heart of one go pare, so true, to whom all disguise was hateful?
And now the little arbour, about which the vines hung heavily, making the closing of its rustic door quite impossible, was just before him. How quiet it all was! Suppose Clara was wrong, and that upon pushing wide that door he should find nothing but solitude. He paused for a moment, half afraid to go on, and as he did so there fell on his ear the low tones of the voice which he knew so well, singing softly the words of the old Folksong--
"In Olden forest stands a tree."
It was the first he had ever sung at Castle Osternau. He saw it all again,--the good old Herr in his arm-chair, the sweet face of his wife as she sat beside him knitting, and Lieschen's eyes gazing in rapture at the singer. For an instant memory wellnigh unmanned him, but that she should be singing just that song gave him for encouragement than he was himself aware of; he gently pushed open the door. Yes it was she. She sat half turned from him, her hands resting in her lap upon the embroidery with which she had been occupied, her gaze fixed upon the distant landscape, visible through an opening in the vines and shrubbery. The door had swung noiselessly, she did not look towards it. "Lieschen!" It was all. She started and turned towards him a face from which all colour departed, only to return in an instant and mantle neck, cheeks, and brow in crimson. "Herr von Ernau!--I--" Then, burying her face in her hands, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. In an instant Egon was beside her, at her feet, pouring forth protestations, vows, entreaties for pardon.
"My love, my darling, can you ever forgive me for deceiving you as I did? I have no right to ask it, still less to hope that you can, and yet I do hope. Your memory has been the light of my life since I left Berlin, four years ago; the though of you and of your words spurred me on to begin a new existence, it gave me strength in all my struggles with self, and, oh! Lieschen, take pity upon me. The future will be so cheerless without you. Complete your work, dear. Try to make me of some use in the world. You have suffered, my darling; I know it all. Let me shield you in future, at least from suffering alone. Can you forgive me and heed my pleadings, for the sake of the love I bear you, which will always be yours, and yours only, whatever may be your answer to me now?"
Elise did not speak, but her sobs ceased; she let her lover wipe away her tears, and read her answer in her eyes.