One evening--it was in the beginning of the winter--the doctor came to the inn parlour and told the gentlemen who were sitting there over their wine that he had just come from the castle, where matters looked badly; the child was seriously ill. He could not yet say what was the matter with it, but he thought it had the smallpox.
The gentlemen were greatly surprised at this intelligence. There had been one or two cases of smallpox in the neighbouring valleys, but none in Tausens or its immediate vicinity. It seemed impossible that the child should have taken it, living as he did in one part of the castle and seeing no one but his nurse and the doctor. But nevertheless it was the case, for a few days afterwards he proved to have the smallpox in its most malignant form, and within a week he was dead.
He was buried the day he died. The doctor ordered this for fear of contagion. Herr von Heydeck spared no expense. The child had a splendid funeral, and the master paid a lot of money for masses for his soul, besides giving the priest a large sum to distribute among the poor. But for all that he could not stop people's mouths. There were strange tales told in the village. No one spoke out loud; they only whispered among themselves. But one and all, gentlemen as well as peasants, thought that all had not been right at the castle. They did not believe in the smallpox. The child had died some other way, of which the master, who was his heir, would know nothing. That was why no one had been allowed to see the little corpse. This which was whispered at first was soon talked of loudly, and the doctor confirmed the tale, for he married the nurse. The wedding was celebrated scarcely two months after the child's death. The doctor bought the house in Tausens where he still lives with his wife. Where he got the money no one knew, for until the boy died he had more debts than hairs on his head; and when Herr von Heydeck furnished and fitted up the house for the newly-married pair as if a count and countess were going to live there, every one in the village said plainly that the master had good reasons for doing so. He had to show his gratitude to the doctor and his wife, who had made him a wealthy man.
In the inn parlour the matter was thoroughly discussed in the doctor's absence. The forester boldly declared his belief that the doctor had poisoned the poor little boy; but the district judge took him sharply to account for his words. He had no right to accuse the doctor of what would warrant the interference of the law; the gossip of the villagers was unworthy of repetition, and the doctor would be justified in dealing hardly with whoever did repeat it.
After this warning from the judge, which was soon known throughout the village, no one dared to utter a suspicion aloud, but the peasants thought that if a poor labouring man, and not a rich gentleman and a Herr Doctor, had been suspected of such a crime, the district judge would have spoken differently.
Herr von Heydeck was a very wealthy man after the death of the boy, but he altered nothing in his manner of life. He lived just as solitary as before in the old castle, only leaving it for a few weeks in the year to visit the baths, for the sake of his health, the doctor said. Then occurred what surprised every one. Many years had passed since the boy's death, when, just nineteen years ago, Herr von Heydeck returned from one of his summer excursions that had lasted longer than usual; and this time he was not alone. In the carriage beside him sat a lovely young wife, looking like an angel with her blue eyes and golden curls. "The gentlemen can see now how she looked," the postmaster remarked, "for our Fräulein Hilda is very like her."
And the young mistress of Reifenstein was an angel. The village priest acknowledged that, although she was a heretic. No one in the village believed it when the doctor told them so until the Herr Pastor had confirmed it.
At first the people shook their heads and declared that such a thing had never been heard of in the Tyrol,--that a heretic should be mistress of Reifenstein. But the Herr Pastor himself comforted them, and he had good reasons for doing so, for a golden time had come for the poor in Tausens with the new mistress's arrival. Before long the people had forgotten that madame was a heretic. Although she never went to mass or to confession, she used often to go to church to listen to the sermon, and no one there could be more devout than she.
She never was haughty to any one, but had a kind word for the poorest. The only people she could not endure were the doctor and his wife. She made the first visit herself to the wife of the district judge, and begged her to come often to the castle, but although the doctor's wife went up to the castle the day after the bride arrived there, Madame von Heydeck could not have liked the former nurse from the first, for she never asked her to repeat her visit; and never as long as she lived did she set foot beneath the doctor's roof. She could not endure the doctor himself either. She told the judge's wife that she was afraid of his cunning gray eyes, but since there was no other physician in the country for miles round, she had to send for him whenever there was sickness at the castle. He never went there at other times, although they said he was still good friends with Herr von Heydeck, else how could he live as he did? He could hardly buy the wine that he drank with the couple of hundred guilders that he got from the peasants yearly; and certainly they would not have paid for the silk dresses and ornaments that his wife wore even on weekdays, not to speak of the show she made when she went to church on Sundays, or took a journey to Vienna, which she did two or three times every year.
All the villagers loved the mistress, and the master perfectly idolized her; he had become another man. There never were again such doings at the castle as there had been during the first mistress's reign. Herr and Madame von Heydeck lived for the most part a very quiet retired life, but they were not entirely without society. The judge and the collector, with their wives, were often invited to the castle, and sometimes there were grand visitors from Germany, relatives of madame, who was a countess.
But this happy life in the castle lasted only a few years. The second wife began to sicken: she lost her fresh colour; the doctor said the keen mountain-air did not agree with her, but she would not leave the beautiful country where she was so happy. At last, one autumn, she had to follow the doctor's advice. It is just twelve years ago now; her cough grew so bad that she herself saw that she could not spend another winter in the castle, around which the cold northern blasts swept continually. She went away with her husband and her little daughter, then six years old.
When the carriage drove through Tausens, all the villagers crowded about it to have a last word from the lovely lady, and she spoke to every one as kindly as she did to the judge himself.
She never came back. The doctor said she followed his advice too late. In Italy, at Nizza, they buried her. She died there hardly a year after she took leave of Tausens.
In a short time the master and his little girl returned. He brought a governess with him for his daughter, but she found it too lonely at the old castle. She soon went away again, and the master lived on alone, and the poor child would have had no woman to speak to if the judge's wife had not taken pity on it. She talked seriously to the Herr about his duty to his child, and told him how wrong it was to pay no attention to her education. And so the Herr took the little girl to Vienna to school. After that he led a more solitary life than ever at Castle Reifenstein, never leaving it except to go to Vienna three or four times a year to see his child; the rest of the time he spent without one human being to speak to: even the doctor was not allowed to go often to the castle.
And thus it has gone on until the present day, for even when a year ago Fräulein Hilda came home from Vienna, her father never altered his way of life. He sits up there in his gloomy old room with his books and plants and worms; he has grown old and feeble, so that he cannot take long walks among the mountains, but only in the castle garden, and he studies all day long,--his daughter is with him only at dinner and in the evenings.
But if he is not changed, the Fräulein's return has brought back the golden time for the poor people in Tausens; the same time that there was while her mother was alive. Fräulein Hilda is the image of her mother; just as lovely, but fresher healthier and stronger; just as kind, but merrier and a wee hit wild,--no rock is too steep and no mountain too high for her. Not a boy in the village can outstrip her in a mountain walk, and she clambers about everywhere by herself, looking for the plants which she thinks will give her father pleasure. If any one is ill, she is upon the spot to aid wherever help is necessary. She is a heretic to be sure like her mother, but every one loves her, and the poorest most of all.
During his narrative the postmaster had emptied many a glass, and when he described the fair Hilda, her golden curls, her frank blue eyes that looked for all the world like those of the Holy Mother in the picture over the altar in church, he grew very earnest, and would have gone on expatiating upon a theme so dear to him had he not been called away.
His wife had several times timidly opened the door of the parlour a little way and peeped through the crack, but had quickly withdrawn when she saw Paul turn and look at her. She did not dare to call her husband while he was talking so earnestly with the stranger gentlemen, but at last she lost patience, and sent the maid into the room for him.
"What do you want, Loisel?" the postmaster asked his wife, impatiently; he would have liked to talk longer with the gentlemen who listened so attentively to what he had to say; he had quite forgotten that the post-bag was not yet locked, and that the wagon was waiting that carried the mail to town once a day.
Quite vexed Hansel set about this duty,--almost the only one which his office of postmaster imposed upon him,--and in a quarter of an hour it was concluded. His wife stood quietly by his side while he clumsily made the necessary entries in the books, then counted over the letters and locked them up in the old leather bag, which he handed over to the driver of the wagon. She waited patiently until the crack of the whip was heard and the wagon rolled off, and then she said to her husband, "Did you take a good look at the stranger gentlemen, Hansel?"
"I did."
"At the one with the black beard and the yellow face? My mind misgives me I've seen his face before!"
This remark of his wife's made Hansel very thoughtful. He too when Delmar first spoke to him had thought his face and figure familiar, and yet he could not remember ever having seen the stranger before. And when in the course of conversation it appeared that neither of the three gentlemen had ever been in the Tyrol, it was plain that he never could have seen Delmar, since he himself had never been farther from home than Linz, Bozen, and Innspruck.
During the long conversation Paul had been the principal speaker; the others had listened in silence. It was Paul who by a timely remark now and then had recalled mine host, when he was disposed to be discursive, to the interesting story which was thus related quite connectedly. Therefore to Delmar Hansel had always addressed himself, and again and again he found himself wondering why this peculiarly keen face seemed so strangely familiar to him. Now that his wife had remarked the same thing, he once more puzzled his brains to remember where he could have seen the stranger before; but in vain, and Loisel could not help him.
Meanwhile the three friends had taken counsel together in the postmaster's absence; his recital had given them food for reflection.
"My poor Leo!" said Paul, as soon as the door had closed upon Hansel's sturdy figure. "Fine stories these! Your uncle appears possessed of even less honour and courage than your father gave him credit for; but then on the other hand the fairy Hilda seems worthy of a trial,--she spurs us on to conquest. What shall we do?"
"Yes, what is to be done?" said Leo. "I am more irresolute than ever. After what we have just heard of my uncle I am very unwilling to present myself at the castle."
"But you promised your father."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Your visit to the castle is settled, and you will soon see what next ought to be done. Be sure matters are not so bad as they seem from the gossip of the bare-kneed postmaster. The noble Herr von Heydeck, it is true, does not appear to suffer from an excess of amiability, but the devil is never so black as he is painted."
"Do you forget the suspicion that rests upon him with regard to the death of his child?" said Herwarth.
"Nonsense, my noble knight! mad inane nonsense, such as is only conceived in the superstitious stupid heads of Tyrolean peasants. That suspicion of murder is of a piece with the ghost-stories which every old ass in Tausens--our worthy postmaster among them--believes firmly, and with the highly probable explanation of the death of the old tenant when 'his time was up.' The judge and the doctor seem to be the only sensible men in the village. We must try, and I suppose it will not be very difficult, to make their acquaintance."
"You take the suspicion of murder confoundedly coolly," Kuno rejoined.
"I take it as such nonsense must be taken,--not coolly. I attach a certain significance to it as showing the low estimation in which uncle monster is held. It is certainly significant that he should be suspected of murder; but this may be only a consequence of his misanthropy and his tastes for herbs, worms, and poisonous reptiles. Nothing is essentially changed by the postmaster's narrative; therefore I think we had best adhere to our plans. I, as quartermaster of the party, will inspect the accommodations of the house and select our rooms. We will then remove as far as is possible the traces of our glacier tour, so that Leo at least may present a respectable appearance to his uncle and the golden-haired Hilda. The Knight Kuno and I will accompany him as far as the castle, and then leave him to his fate for a while and return here to rest upon the laurels which we have won upon our wanderings. Are you agreed?"
Leo and Herwarth had no objection to make, and Paul proceeded to carry out his plan. He went to the postmaster, whom he found in conversation with his wife. Both greeted him with a gaze of keen scrutiny, to which he paid no heed, informing Hansel that he with his friends was minded to spend some time at the inn if they liked their quarters.
The postmaster highly delighted displayed the accommodations that his house afforded, and Delmar found the rooms far more numerous and spacious than he could have anticipated. He engaged the largest and finest with a glorious view from the windows, of the castle and the snowy peaks in the background, for a sitting-room, and also a huge room adjoining with three beds in it, and then, after a short conversation with Hansel, returned with him to the inn parlour and informed his friends that they might inspect and approve his choice.
"So everything is arranged," said Paul, rubbing his hands, "except the price we have to pay. What do you want for the two rooms, Herr Postmaster? Don't ask too much; be reasonable, and we shall stay here all the longer."
The postmaster regarded him with a sly smile. "Would two guilders a day be too much for the two rooms?"
"Two guilders a day! Man, do you think we are made of money? One guilder is enough, and I will not give more."
"But, Delmar, pray----" Herwarth interposed, but Paul would not let him speak.
"I am quartermaster, and allow no interference in my affairs. Are you satisfied, postmaster, with one guilder?"
"'Tis not much, but it will do," Hansel replied, apparently not greatly disappointed at this reduction in the rent of his rooms. In fact he laughed when Paul explained that he would have no money transactions with an underling, but would settle with the postmaster himself daily. He assured the gentlemen that they should be well provided for and not overcharged, and then he went off grinning to the kitchen, and told Loisel that he had rented his two best rooms, and that the gentleman with the black beard had offered him four guilders a day for them, but the others were not to know it, to suppose he was only paid one guilder.
The gentlemen's portmanteaus were carried up to their rooms, and half an hour later the three friends, having changed their dress, appeared, and inquired the way to the castle. Hansel advised them to go by the road, which--although it ran circuitously around the base of the mountain--would take them to the castle in an hour, and upon which there was no danger of their losing their way, rather than by the much shorter foot-path which led from the last house in the village, and upon which they might easily go astray. He described the foot-path to them, but counselled them, if they should decide to go by it, to hire some lad in the village to act as guide.
"Thanks, we will," Paul rejoined; and then the three walked briskly off up the valley in the direction of the castle.
Hansel gazed thoughtfully after them. "I have seen the black-bearded one somewhere!" he exclaimed to Loisel, "but I cannot for the life of me remember where."
This eleventh of July was an eventful day for the Post inn at Tausens, and certainly merited to be underscored with a red pencil, as it was that very evening by Hansel in the almanac.
The postmaster was still standing at his inn-door looking up the valley after the three friends, when, just as a winding in the road hid them from sight, he rubbed his eyes which he had lazily turned in another direction, and thought he must be dreaming. No, it was no dream, he saw advancing upon the high-road towards the village the realization of his most extravagant hopes. Two equipages, each drawn by four horses, were coming rapidly along the highway.
Since the death of the first madame, for more than a quarter of a century no four-horse equipage had been seen upon the road to Tausens, and here were two, one behind the other, and each, as Hansel's sharp eyes discerned even at a distance, laden with large trunks, while the light dresses of ladies were visible inside the carriages. These were certainly grand and wealthy travellers, and that they meant to stay in Tausens was plain from the quantity of luggage.
With intense eagerness Hansel awaited their arrival; he did not have to wait long,--the first carriage was close at hand; all right: it turned aside from the road, and with a sharp turn the coachman reined in his four fiery steeds before the door of the Post.
A servant in rich livery sprang from the box to open the door and assist the occupants of the carriage to descend. They consisted of a very stout elderly lady, a gentleman also elderly, and a young gentleman who had been sitting on the back seat.
The young man refused the footman's proffered aid; he sprang out, and turned to assist his elderly companions. With the greatest care and attention he helped out the stout lady, who descended from her seat with difficulty, and then he gave his hand to her companion. The lady thanked him with a pleasant smile, the gentleman in words. "Thanks, my dear Guido. Here we are at last; my legs are positively stiff, and my clothes are sticking to me with the heat. There comes the other carriage. Eva looks as red as a cherry."
The second carriage now drove up; two young ladies were sitting inside, and on the box beside the driver sat a third, much more showily dressed than the others. The liveried footman hastened to help this last to descend from her high perch, and his aid was accepted most willingly, the young person leaning on his arm as if loth to leave his support.
The young gentleman who offered his aid to the occupants of the carriage was not as fortunate as the footman; one of the young ladies said, coldly, "Thank you, Herr von Bertram, I do not need any help," and the other said nothing, but the glance of her dark eyes spoke plainly enough,--his assistance was rejected.
"Why will you not allow me to render you even the small service you would accept from your servant?" Bertram whispered, quite aggrieved by his repulse.
"Because I do not wish services forced upon me which I do not require. When I need your aid I shall certainly request it," was Eva's sharp reply, as she swept past him towards her Uncle Balthasar, who was in eager consultation with the postmaster.
Poor Hansel! He stood there like some convicted criminal. He had taken his short pipe from his mouth out of respect for the grand arrivals, and in the other hand he held his black cap, with which he repeatedly slapped his bare knee in his embarrassment. For the stranger gentleman had demanded three rooms with five beds, with two smaller rooms for the servants, the one for the lady's-maid near her young mistress, and two sitting-rooms besides; and with the best will in the world Hansel could not accommodate him, for the entire inn did not contain so many rooms.
If the three 'Bergfaxes' had not already been in possession! Hansel had three unoccupied rooms, and beds enough. The servants could also be taken care of, but that was all the accommodation the house could afford, since the two best rooms were already occupied by the three 'Bergfaxes.' This Hansel told the stranger gentleman, who was in great consternation at the intelligence.
Uncle Balthasar gazed in despair at the various huge trunks which the coachman was taking from the carriages; where could they all find room in the two apartments? for one of the three must be given up to Bertram. And what in the world would become of Aunt Minni if she had no sitting-room where she could recline comfortably all day on the sofa? And was Eva to be cramped up in one room with Fräulein Aline? The thing was impossible!
Poor Uncle Balthasar contemplated with horror the tedious drive back to the town,--five long hours of jolting,--for he thought he foresaw that Eva would never consent to remain here a single night. He imparted to her the sad intelligence that the two best rooms had been appropriated by three gentlemen, who were going to remain some time, so that only three sleeping-rooms were to be had.
"Only three rooms? That is not very pleasant, to be sure," Eva said, much less alarmed than Uncle Balthasar had supposed she would be. "What can be done with Wilhelm and Nanette?"
There was room for the servants. The maid could sleep in the same room with Nannerl, and the footman in the garret, the postmaster said.
At this arrangement, and at the word 'maid' from worthy Hansel's lips, Nanette made a wry face, and her anger was great when Eva said quietly, "That might be arranged. If the rooms are clean and neat we might manage to stay here for a while."
For a while! The postmaster's face shone at the prospect of a visit of some duration from such grand guests, while a corresponding gloom settled upon Uncle Balthazar's countenance. "Well, yes, my dearest Eva," he assented with a resigned air, "if you say so we will try it. It will be a little crowded, but just as you say, my dear."
"We will contrive to make ourselves comfortable. The country is enchanting, and I hope we shall be able to spend some weeks here very pleasantly and quietly in the enjoyment of nature in this retired valley, undisturbed by the hordes of detestable tourists that make so much of the Tyrol odious at this season of the year. First of all let us see the rooms; the largest and most convenient will of course be yours and Aunt Minni's, uncle dear. Aunt Minni must be comfortable. There will surely be a place in her room where we can put a nice sofa; and if there is no sofa here, Wilhelm must drive to the town before night and buy one."
"Oh, we have a sofa," the postmaster declared.
At this joyful intelligence every cloud disappeared from Aunt Minni's face. If she could have a good sofa, where she could doze away most of the day, and if the cooking was good, she was abundantly content.
"There is another thing that can be done," Bertram remarked. "The host might ask the three gentlemen to give up one of their rooms. Men do not need a special sitting-room in an inn; they can make use of the inn parlour in the daytime. If the host insists, they will consent to vacate one room, and if they do not, they must be forced to do so!"
Eva cast a look of great disapprobation upon the speaker. "We are not so selfish as to wish to interfere with the rights of others," she said. "We shall certainly confine ourselves to our three rooms."
"I don't think Herr Delmar would give up the room," the postmaster remarked.
The name of Delmar produced an electric effect upon Eva and Bertram. Guido's face suddenly became leaden in hue, and across Eva's there flitted a crimson flush, but she quickly recovered herself. "Is one of the gentlemen who have taken the other rooms called Delmar?" she asked the postmaster.
"Yes, one of them."
"Is he a northern German?"
"I think so."
"A young man about thirty years old, with dark eyes, black hair and beard, and an olive complexion?"
"Just so; I think I knew him once somewhere, but I can't tell where."
"And the two other gentlemen? Do you know their names?"
"One I do; they call him Leo. I didn't hear the other's name at all."
"Herr Paul Delmar and his friend Herr von Heydeck!" Eva exclaimed in some agitation. "What an unfortunate encounter!"
Bertram was not less moved; he bit his lips and did his best to preserve his composure and not betray the dismay that he felt in discovering that his two hated enemies, Delmar and Leo von Heydeck, were in Tausens, and that he might at any moment be brought face to face with them.
What terrible consequences might ensue from such a meeting if any explanations should be made! If Delmar should ever give Eva an account of the odious scene beneath Büchner's awning; if she should learn by what means Bertram had been forced to make his disgraceful apology,--that it had not been made in compliance with her wish but for fear of ruinous revelations,--all would be lost!
He breathed more freely when Aline took Eva's hand and said in a voice full of tenderness, "We cannot stay here, Eva dear; such a meeting, such unavoidable encounters in this retired place would be too painful for you and for all."
"I must say, Eva my dear, that I think Fräulein Aline is right. Let the trunks be taken out again to the carriages, landlord; we shall not stay here."
Uncle Balthasar gave this order, quite convinced that Eva would immediately desire, as he did himself, to leave Tausens; and it almost seemed as if she agreed with him, for she did not object to his directions to poor Hansel, when suddenly Bertram, by an imprudent word, prevented what he himself most desired. He meant to reinforce Aline's words and Uncle Balthasar's remark, and to confirm Eva's wavering resolution. "We must go, go instantly, my dear Eva," he said. "We cannot possibly expose ourselves to a meeting with that man and his friend Delmar. We cannot subject ourselves to fresh insults, which I must not even avenge. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to me, to avoid such an encounter!"
His remark was most unfortunate. It decided Eva to act in direct opposition to his wishes. "I am the best judge of what I owe to myself," she said, proudly. "I will not have Herr von Heydeck believe that I avoid meeting him because I am afraid of him. We shall certainly remain here for the present."
"Eva, I entreat you not to be headstrong," Aline interposed. "Herr von Bertram is quite right in this instance. You owe it to him and to all of us to avoid all chance of a meeting which might have disastrous consequences. Let us leave here, if we only go as far as the next village. We can rest there and then continue our tour. Do it for my sake, Eva!"
Eva would certainly have yielded to Aline's entreaty if coward fear of an encounter with Delmar and Heydeck had not been plainly imprinted upon Bertram's pale face. This fear seemed to her so pitiable, so despicable, that her pride revolted at the idea of flight. No, she would not retreat; she would not grant such a triumph to the man who had insulted her.
"I cannot comply with your request, Aline," she said firmly. "Do not urge it: my resolution is fixed; I shall stay. Come, dear, let us see the rooms; the landlord will show us to them." She followed the postmaster into the hall, and the others could do no less than imitate her example. Guido alone was left standing in front of the house. His portmanteau was not yet taken from the foot-board of the carriage, and one of the men was busied in untying the rope that bound it there. Should he order it to be left where it was? It was not easy to decide. Like a flash of lightning all that had lately occurred passed through his mind. Eva had indeed thanked him when he brought her the intelligence that the duel had been made impossible, but then she had asked for particulars with regard to what had occurred at Büchner's, and he had been forced to give her an account that had some similitude to the truth lest she should hear of it elsewhere.
He told her that after an interview with Count Waldheim he had awaited Leo von Heydeck at Büchner's, to make him the apology which he had promised Eva should be made, but that the execution of his design had been hastened by the intervention of the old colonel and Delmar. He had skilfully interwoven truth and falsehood in his narrative, but it had not escaped him that Eva's countenance betrayed a certain distrust of him while he spoke. He had begged her to allow him to accompany her upon her tour, and she had not refused, but this journey had been to him a daily source of the greatest humiliation. He would have liked nothing better than to withdraw, but he could not leave the field to his enemies; he must stay.
"Take the small leather trunk to my room," he gave orders to the man, and then followed the servant into the house.
Meanwhile, Eva had subjected the three vacant rooms to a thorough inspection, and had found that their neatness and comfort far exceeded her expectations. One was very spacious; besides two beds it contained a sofa, wardrobe, bureau, washstands, and two cushioned easy-chairs. It would be easy to be comfortable here for a while. The second was considerably smaller, and contained neither sofa nor wardrobe, but then the prospect from the windows was perfectly enchanting. They looked out upon the picturesque ruins of Castle Reifenstein, which here intervened between the eye and the inhabited part of the building. In the background the view was bounded by the snowy peaks of the Weisshorn and the Drei Maidelspitz, with the blue shimmering glaciers of the Schiechhorn between them. The third room, between the first and third, and connected with each by a door, was small enough, with only one window; a bed, washstand, and two chairs were all it could contain.
Such were the apartments which the postmaster placed at the command of the travellers; in addition they could have the exclusive use of a balcony, upon which a door opened from the wide hall. The magnificent view from it of Castle Reifenstein and the glacier background made it seem a most attractive resort, and even in bad weather it might be used, since it was protected by a broad roof.
Eva's arrangements, after she had seen the three rooms and the balcony, were soon made. "We will stay here," she said; "we can make ourselves very comfortable here for a while. The large room with the sofa is yours and uncle's of course, Aunt Minni; Aline and I shall do very well in this next largest room, and Nanette can have the one with one window if Herr von Bertram leaves us."
"Which he certainly will not do," Guido rejoined, having overheard the last words.
"Then Nanette will sleep in Nannerl's room, and the little room is yours."
Guido made no reply.
"Come, Aline," Eva said to her friend, "let us arrange our room." With these words she left the spacious hall in which the conversation had been held and entered her apartment. Then, while Aline closed the door after them, she examined the door leading to the room she had assigned to Bertram. To her satisfaction she found it provided with a heavy iron bolt, which she pushed home, and then turned to her friend.
Hitherto she had exerted herself to preserve an appearance of quiet composure, while all the while her heart was beating so violently that she could scarcely bear it. Now that she was at last alone with her friend and there was no need longer to control her emotion, she threw her arms around her and leaned her weary head upon her bosom.
"My poor, poor Eva!" said Aline, with tender sympathy.
"Oh, Aline, I am so wretchedly unhappy!"
With a gentle hand Aline stroked the dark curls from her friend's brow and kissed her. "Cry, my poor Eva, as much as you want to," she said lovingly; "the tears which you have so long restrained will soothe your pain. And then you shall bathe your eyes and compose yourself. Your betrothed must not see that you have been weeping."
"My betrothed! Why do you torture me with that word? You know how from the very depths of my soul I hate it!"
"Then it is your duty to break this miserable engagement," Aline rejoined gravely. "You would not listen to me when you gave your hasty promise, and therefore I have been silent until now, but I cannot bear to see you so unhappy. It is my duty as your friend to advise and to warn you even although I should offend you by doing so. I will not quietly look on when I see you obstinately determined to seal your unhappiness forever!"
"But what shall I do, Aline?"
"You must make up your mind to break the fetters which you yourself forged."
"But I have promised."
"Promised? And is this wretched promise to annihilate your happiness for life? You used to be indifferent to Bertram, and that was bad enough; but now I can read in your eyes as in an open book, he becomes more odious to you every hour of every day, and you would give yourself--swear love and fidelity before the altar--to this man whose very touch inspires you with loathing. Will it not be perjury and a far greater wrong to Bertram than if you should break your hasty promise?"
"He knows well that I do not love him."
"So much the worse. If he does not wish for your heart, for your love, he is speculating upon your money. Give him a share of your fortune,--you are rich enough,--but do not sacrifice yourself!"
"How gladly would I do so, but he will not release me. Do not urge me further. Aline, you only make me more unhappy. I have had a hard struggle with myself; indeed the fulfilment of the duty I have undertaken demands all the strength I am mistress of, but it must be fulfilled. Bertram has sacrificed his future to me. Can money requite him for the honour he has lost? I cannot retreat. My destiny must be fulfilled!"
The road to Castle Reifenstein, upon which the three friends had started, ran through the village of Tausens and the isolated dwellings of the peasants on the bank of the Schwarzenbach. After passing the last of these it left the broad beaten valley road, turned to the right, and passed around the mountain crowned by the castle, gradually ascending on the northern more gentle slope until, after many windings, it reached a bridge leading across a broad, deep chasm in the rocks to the ancient portals of the castle.
Before the invention of gunpowder Castle Reifenstein had been an impregnable fortress, although it owed little of its impregnability to art. Nature had provided for the discomfiture of any possible besiegers by the inaccessibility of the steep rocks that formed its base on the southern side.
If the ancient Counts of Tausens, whose nest it was, raised the drawbridge they were secure from any attack, for on one side it was as impossible to climb the smooth, straight wall of rock, on the summit of which stood the castle, as it was to spring across the broad and ugly chasm, several hundred feet deep, across which the bridge was flung, and which cut off the rock from the gentle declivity of the mountain on its northern side. Thus a few archers, placed behind the walls and in the round tower, could command the entire road up from the valley.
On the eastern side alone the rock was connected with the mountain. A green meadow, which had latterly been converted into a garden, extended from the forest upwards to the wall. Art had here contributed towards rendering the fortress impregnable. A single huge door opened out of the castle courtyard upon this garden. At either end of the wall had stood a huge round tower; of one of these nothing remained but the base in ruins, while the other, in good preservation, stood proudly erect in close vicinity to the inhabited wing of the castle.
The two towers and the wall of the court-yard formed a more than sufficient protection for this eastern side of the castle, for only a few besiegers at a time could approach it through the irregular and broken masses of rock that covered this part of the mountain. Even the peasants seldom ventured to approach the castle on this side. They used the broad road from Tausens almost exclusively, and only a few stout mountaineers preferred the narrow foot-path that left the broad road just behind the last house in Tausens and led straight up the mountain, then turning to the left cut off many of the windings of the road until it joined it again on the summit at the bridge.
Paul paused at the spot where this foot-path left the road. "Is there anything more tiresome in the world than a broad, well-kept road like this?" he said. "All the world can use it,--any fool may walk along it and go dreaming on to his destination. I hate the smooth white dusty thing! Look at this inviting foot-path, Leo; it is wonderfully attractive. Suppose we leave the stupid road?"
"The landlord warned us against it," Leo replied. "He said we should surely lose our way if we took it."
"Bah, nonsense! These peasants always think that city men will lose their way; we have the castle always in sight, how can we go astray? Noble Knight von Herwarth, what do you think?"
"I am for the foot-path."
"Forwards, then! The majority carries the day."
Paul struck into the foot-path which, leading through thick alders, was too narrow to allow of the friends walking abreast. Leo followed Paul, and Herwarth came last, but he had hardly gone a few steps before he stepped upon a loose stone and almost fell. He recovered himself instantly, but when he attempted to proceed he felt a violent pain in his ankle. He stood still for a moment and then tried again to walk, but the pain was too severe: he could not go on.
"What is the matter, noble knight?" Delmar called back to him.
"I do not know: I must stop a moment; my foot pains me. I hope it will pass away in a moment."
But it did not pass away. The pain, on the contrary, increased with every attempt to walk. Herwarth had to sit down upon a fallen tree: he could not go on.
This was a most unpleasant interruption to their expedition. They consulted what had best be done. Paul proposed to go back immediately to the village to procure surgical aid, but this Kuno would not listen to; he was sure that rest would bring him relief; it would be quite time enough to consult a Tyrolean village doctor when the hurt was proved to be serious, which he was quite certain was not the case. He begged his friends to proceed quietly without him, and he would wait here a couple of hours until Paul should return, after having accompanied Leo to the castle-gate. By that time the pain would have abated sufficiently to allow of his walking back the short distance they had come. It certainly was no misfortune to lie on the soft moss for a couple of hours and enjoy the lovely landscape.
At first Paul and Leo refused to agree to Kuno's plan, but after they had examined his ankle, and convinced themselves as far as was possible for the uninitiated in the science of surgery that the leg was neither broken nor seriously injured, they consented to do as he desired. They left him lying comfortably on the grass lighting a cigar, and once more Leo advised Paul to pursue the road where they could not go wrong. This, however, the latter was less inclined to do than before.
"Can I leave our wounded knight alone in the desert for so long?" he asked. "The foot-path is much shorter than the worthy postmaster said. As soon as I have delivered you safely to your uncle I shall return by the same path to Kuno."
The shortest road! Many a one among the mountains has found that the shortest road to his destination has proved the longest for him in the end. Thus it was with Delmar and Leo.
As long as the foot-path led through the bushes it was easy to trace; it was evidently not much frequented, but the grass was worn upon it and it could not be missed; the case, however, was different when it emerged upon a steep, stony waste,--here it suddenly vanished, and even Leo's practised eye could find no signs of it over the stones.
"I think it would be better to go back to the road," said Leo, after vainly searching about.
"Then we must retrace our steps, for we cannot turn to the left, where it lies, because of that deep chasm."
"Better go all the way back than lose our time and our way, as the landlord warned us we should among these stones."
"We have come a quarter of a mile at least, and as we have been always ascending we must be half-way up. I cannot see how we can go wrong,--there is the castle always before us to point the way. The nearest way is the best. Let us scramble directly up over these stones, and we must reach the castle."
Leo was not convinced, but he yielded and followed Paul, who began to clamber sturdily over the stones.
It was a wearisome ascent. At first the stones were small, often slipping and turning beneath the feet; but gradually they grew larger, until they became huge blocks, between which it was often very difficult to find a way.
It was no longer a stony waste which they were trying to traverse, but a chaos of immense masses of rock piled one upon another. There was not the slightest trace of a path; and Delmar, who went first, had to turn to the right and left continually to advance a single step upwards. "Leo," he said at last, stopping to wipe his heated brow, "I see now that you were right, and that I am an ass,--a discovery, by the way, which I have made frequently during my life. This climbing is the very devil!"
"If it only led somewhere!" Leo replied; "but I am afraid we are among the rocks against which our host warned us. I cannot see the castle any longer."
In fact the castle had vanished. In vain did Paul look in all directions for its massive proportions. He had forgotten to keep it in view lately, absorbed as he had been in the difficulties that beset their progress, and now he noticed for the first time that it was nowhere to be seen.
In the direction in which Delmar had thought to find it there arose perpendicularly from among the chaos of rough blocks of stone, a smooth wall of rock. It might be that the castle was upon its summit, but they were too near to it to decide this question.
"We're in a deuce of a scrape!" Delmar exclaimed in irritation. "We are positively lost. I can see no way forwards or backwards. The enchanted castle has vanished, and I have no idea where it is. I believe the evil fairy Hilda has conjured it away."
A clear, merry laugh answered this outburst of irritation. Leo and Paul looked startled in the direction whence it proceeded; but in vain: no human being was to be seen. So melodious a peal of laughter could have come only from the throat of a young girl, and she must be hidden by some one of the giant masses of rock that barred both way and vision on every side.
Paul thought he knew exactly whence the sound came. His curiosity was strongly excited, and without reflecting he left the spot where he was standing with Leo and began forthwith to climb a huge rock upon his right, from the top of which he hoped to have a more extended view. It was a difficult undertaking, and not without peril; but Paul's frame was lithe and his muscles steeled by constant gymnastic exercise. He succeeded in gaining the summit, and the result amply rewarded his exertions; for not only could he see far and wide over the chaos of rocks, but he found himself face to face with the girl whose gleeful laughter had just resounded in his ears,--she was sitting on this very rock, a little beneath the summit, on the other side. As she looked up at the young man there was evident in her eyes an admiration of his strength and agility which did not escape him and which flattered his vanity.
"Excellently done. Cousin Leo!" she said, laughing. "You have atoned for your blunder in losing your way among the Reifenstein rocks by your agility in climbing them."
Paul was startled by the frank, fearless tone of this address. 'Cousin Leo!' Hilda von Heydeck then was sitting at his feet, and she took him for the expected cousin whom she thus familiarly accosted. Even had she not spoken he would have recognized her, remembering the postmaster's description, by the masses of golden curls beneath her picturesque straw hat, only she was far more charming and lovely than he had anticipated. He had smiled when Hansel, in his enthusiasm, had compared Hilda to an angel; now he thought the comparison admirable. There was a rare and wondrous charm in the expression that animated the young girl's lovely features; and nevertheless the merry, unrestrained laughter became her well, and did not disturb the truly feminine grace of her whole bearing.
For the first moment Paul was so surprised by the girl's extraordinary beauty that he, usually so ready with an answer, could not find a word to say in reply. His amazement, so evident in his face, increased Hilda's merriment. She sprang up lightly from where she was sitting and made a profound courtesy, saying, "I see I must introduce myself, or my cousin Leo will not deign to say one word to me. Fräulein Hilda von Heydeck has the honour to receive her cousin among the Reifenstein rocks. In her own distinguished person she has descended from the enchanted castle to guide her bewildered cousin into the right path. And now give me your hand, Leo; we shall soon be the best of friends, if you are only half as delightful as papa says you are."
She held out her hand to Paul, who took it and kissed it, whereupon she withdrew it hastily, saying, with a blush, "That is not the custom with us, cousin!"
"In Germany a man has a right to kiss his lovely cousin's cheek," Paul replied, having quickly recovered from his first surprise; "but I dare not lay claim to such a privilege, since I am not the happy man you think me, but only his poor friend, Paul Delmar."
Hilda blushed crimson. "You are not my cousin Leo?" she asked, in great confusion.
"No, unfortunately not; I wish I were. My friend Leo is down below somewhere trying to find a path out of this rocky labyrinth. Leo! Leo! where are you?"
"Here!" Leo's voice replied, from a considerable distance. He had mistaken the direction whence the sound of Hilda's laugh was heard, and had consequently plunged more deeply into the bewildering labyrinth. Paul's repeated call told him where his friend was to be found; he scrambled over several rocks and finally reached the foot of the huge mass upon which Paul and Hilda were standing.
"Most fortunate of mortals!" Delmar called down to him, "come up here. I will give you a hand, that you may display all the grace you are master of in ascending. Here you will find the lovely fairy who reigns in the enchanted Castle Reifenstein, and who has descended to aid us miserable mortals."
With no less astonishment than Delmar had experienced Leo now looked up at Hilda, who was standing beside his friend; he, too, recognized her from the postmaster's description, and he, too, thought her extremely beautiful. Still her beauty made no extraordinary impression upon him; he thought the worthy innkeeper's enthusiastic comparison of her to an angel rather exaggerated; nevertheless he was most pleasantly surprised by this encounter with his cousin.
Before Paul could hold out a hand to help her she sprang lightly down from rock to rock until she stood beside Leo, to whom she held out her hand with the same easy grace with which she had offered it to his friend. This time, however, although it was grasped cordially, it was not kissed, and was instantly relinquished.
Leo had anticipated with a certain anxiety his first meeting with the cousin whose hand had been destined by the will of her father and of his own to be bestowed upon him. He now stood face to face with the destined bride whom he had made up his mind never to marry, without any of the embarrassment he had expected to feel when he should first see her. No; any uncomfortable sensation of the kind was entirely dispelled by Hilda's easy frank reception of him as a near relative. She evidently saw in him, not a future lover, but simply her cousin Leo, to whom she was ready and pleased to show all the familiar kindness warranted by their close relationship, and he was instantly as much at his ease with her as if they had known each other for years.
"It is a very extraordinary but none the less delightful chance. Cousin Hilda, that led you here to us in the midst of this rocky waste, where, of all places in the world, I least expected to meet you."
"It is no chance," she replied, looking with a smile at Delmar, who had just made his descent from the rock. "Papa and I have been expecting you for some days; a letter from your father told us that you and one of your friends were coming to the Tyrol. When a little while ago I saw from my window two strangers coming up to the castle, I instantly divined that you were one of them, and when I saw you go astray among the Reifenstein rocks I made haste to join you to show you the path, which it is impossible that any stranger should find. I had just climbed this rock to see where you were when I heard voices close by. I sat down instantly I confess to play the part of eavesdropper, and when I heard that the 'evil fairy Hilda' had 'conjured away' the castle I could not help laughing aloud."
As she spoke Hilda gave Paul an arch smile. "To be sure, the 'evil fairy' afterwards became a 'lovely fairy,' but she will always remember the first adjective bestowed upon her."
"Be merciful to a poor sinner," Paul begged, "and do not reckon against him words wrung from his despair in finding himself lost in such a labyrinth."
"We shall see hereafter whether I can exercise mercy for justice; first of all I must guide these two erring wanderers up the mountain and into the foot-path."
"Did you not come down from the castle by some other way, Fräulein Hilda?" Delmar asked.
"I did, it is true, come by another and a much shorter way," Hilda replied; "but it is fit only for the feet of the evil mountain-fairy of an enchanted castle, and not for two fashionable men from the city; I cannot show you that way."
"Do you suppose that a path you can use will be too difficult for us? You show very little confidence in our powers. Pray show us the nearest path."
"I will do so in punishment for your presumption, but upon one condition. Promise me that the instant you are dizzy you will say so, that we may turn back; the path lies along the very brink of an abyss."
"I promise; but I shall not have to redeem my word."
"Will you promise too, Cousin Leo?"
"Yes; but you need have no fear, neither Delmar nor I know what it is to have vertigo."
"Then follow me."
Hilda walked on before. In perfect security, and with an airy grace that enchanted Delmar, she sprang from stone to stone, and in a few minutes they had reached the base of the wall of rock, which here ascended nearly perpendicularly several hundred feet. Here she paused. "There is still time to turn back," she said, seriously, "and I beg you, Herr Delmar, and you, Cousin Leo, to do so; I ought not to show you the path up the rock, an accident might so easily happen for which I never should forgive myself."
"You shall have no cause for self-reproach," Paul replied, "for I see the path clearly now. You do not show it to me, I choose it myself. It leads up the rock just here; it has been worn by the goats, and is just what I like,--perfectly easy to follow."
The path was certainly plain to be seen by any one who chose to follow it. It was scarcely a foot broad, and went directly up the side of the mountain; on one hand was the perpendicular wall of rock, and on the other the abyss, and the higher it went the steeper and dizzier the path became.
Paul had taken in at a glance the difficulty and danger of the ascent; but he did not hesitate a moment to begin it, nor would he have done so had the path been twice as steep and giddy as it was.
"Herr Delmar, I pray you turn back!" Hilda exclaimed, anxiously; but he continued to advance fearlessly.
"Let us follow him, cousin," Leo said, with a smile. "Make your mind easy about Paul; he will carry through whatever he attempts; no power on earth can stay him. I am convinced that he would take that path even although he knew that he should fall into the abyss. But he will not fall; he has no fear, and he is never dizzy."
"And you, Cousin Leo?"
"I? Why should I fear? Only those who love life fear to lose it."
"What can you mean, cousin?" There was a genuine compassion and ready sympathy in her words that soothed Leo. Hilda looked at him very reproachfully. Did she know that her father had destined her to be his bride, and was she wounded that he could speak thus?
"Well, Leo, are you going to stay down there?" asked Paul, who had already ascended about fifty feet of the path, and who now turned and looked down at the two cousins. As he looked he leaned forwards so far over the abyss that Hilda experienced a sudden vertigo. Hitherto she had never known the sensation even when looking from the dizziest heights; but when she saw how carelessly Delmar leaned forwards so far that it seemed as if he must fall, she fairly trembled. "For God's sake, Herr Delmar, turn away!" she exclaimed.
"Have no fear, lovely fairy!" was the reply. "'Tis true that a magic power draws me towards you, but I will not choose the direct way to reach you at present. Indeed, you have calumniated this path,--it is as easy as possible, and commands a glorious view. Well, Leo, are you not coming? Do you not like it?"
"I am coming," Leo cried, and quietly walked on after his friend.
Hilda followed him up the height. How often she had ascended the rock by this path! how often, when, only the hardiest mountaineer could follow her, had she descended by it into the valley, and never before to day had she thought of its danger! Now she was fairly tormented by anxiety.
Not upon Leo's account; he walked on before her with as firm and even a step as if he had been upon level ground. He, however, neglected no necessary precaution, testing the firmness of the stony soil, as Hilda saw, at every step; for him the path had no danger, but it was full of peril for Delmar, who seemed to challenge it in the wildest fashion.
Where the path was so narrow that there was almost none at all, and the greatest caution was necessary at every step, Delmar walked as carelessly as if he were upon a broad road, and at the very most perilous point he stopped, coolly relighted his cigar, and then walked on, not even looking down to pick his way, but with his gaze riveted upon the distant view.
Hilda's heart throbbed as she observed his careless demeanour; she had warned him, but she did not venture to call to him again. The ascent of the rocks had never seemed to her half so long, and only when she saw that Paul had reached in safety the small but secure strip of meadowland that intervened between the old castle-wall and the edge of the precipice, did she once more breathe freely and with an easy mind follow Leo, with whom she soon joined his friend.
Paul received her with a laugh. "Thanks, charming fairy," he said, again advancing to the edge of the precipice and leaning forwards so as to overlook the entire path up the rock; "thanks for the greatest enjoyment I have had in our mountain tour. I delight in a path like this; it is inspiriting to climb the rocks by it. One false step is certain death. Life is the meed only of strength and sureness of foot. Let fear once assail the climber, vertigo is sure to follow and he is lost; but for a steady brain and strong muscles there is no danger; and what a glorious prospect we have had over the fertile valleys to the snowy peaks that bound the horizon on the south! If I lived at Castle Reifenstein I should choose no other path save this by which to reach the valley, and I am sure that you also. Leo, will visit us in Tausens by no other."
"You are much mistaken," Leo quietly replied. "I have come once by this path, and I shall not again pass over it, least of all in descending to the valley. I shall take the safer footpath or the road, even although it be somewhat longer."
"How can an artist be so terrible a Philistine!" Paul exclaimed, indignantly.
"If not to run into unnecessary peril is to be a Philistine, I certainly am one. You will admit, I know, that I am not backward in facing danger when any good end is to be gained thereby."
"I should be the last to dispute that. Do I not know that you, my unattainable model and example, are all compact of the strongest and loftiest principles? Do I even try to emulate you? I should be the most tiresome fellow in the world if but the half of your virtues were mine, although I confess that they suit you remarkably well; so keep them all, I pray. Trust one who knows, lovely fairy; your excellent cousin is the embodiment of pure principles and strong good sense; he has only one fault: he chooses his friends very foolishly."
"Are you not one of them?" asked Hilda.
"Exactly; that is just it. His reputation suffers from my friendship. I am principled against principle. My aim in life is to do what I like. I am a thorough egotist, who has no idol but self. Now is such a man a fit companion for Leo von Heydeck? He should blush to own such a friend, by whom he may be judged by others. But here we are safely arrived at the castle, and I will take my leave. I must bid you farewell, Fräulein von Heydeck, only asking permission to return and visit my friend Leo at Castle Reifenstein."
They had, in fact, reached the garden, which lay on the eastern declivity of the mountain, and before them was the colossal old pile.
"You are not going to leave us, Herr Delmar?" Hilda asked, in surprise. "You cannot be in earnest. Rooms were arranged for you and Leo two days ago. Of course you will stay at Castle Reifenstein with my cousin?"
"A most kind and amiable invitation, and so tempting from such lovely lips that I should not perhaps be able to refuse it had I not promised to return immediately to Tausens. As, unfortunately, I have so promised, there is nothing for me to do except to thank you most sincerely for the hospitality, which, to my regret, I cannot accept."
"To whom can you possibly have made such a promise?"
"To a third friend, the noble knight Kuno von Herwarth, who, but for a slight accident upon the way, would have accompanied us to the castle. I promised him that I would return to him as soon as possible, and hard as it is, I must keep my word."
"Paul is right," Leo added. "Kuno expects him, and I know that his peculiar egotism would make all persuasion to stay useless. His selfishness will not permit him to allow Herwarth to wait for him longer than is absolutely necessary."
"Not at all; you have no comprehension of good sensible selfishness. I don't trouble myself about Herwarth one whit; but it gives me an uncomfortable sensation to know that he is lying down below there upon the grass, looking up at the castle, pulling out his watch every few minutes, and thinking I might have returned long since. And so for my own sake--what is Herwarth to me?--I shall hurry back to him."
"Exactly; that is the very kind of egotism in which you excel particularly."
"If you suppose your sneer will have any effect in detaining me, you are mistaken. It only confirms my purpose. The delightful goat's track will take me to our unfortunate friend in half an hour."
Hilda's heart beat afresh as she heard Delmar announce this intention; she knew how much more dangerous was the descent than the ascent of the steep path. True, she had fearlessly tripped up and down by it many a time; but then she knew every stone, every dangerous spot, and was, besides, accustomed to mountain-climbing. The peril was twice as great for a stranger, and she trembled at the thought that if his foot should slip he was lost. She had known Delmar but one half-hour; but his odd talk and manner interested her much, and he was her cousin's friend. Surely she might treat him with some degree of familiarity. So when Paul lifted his hat by way of farewell, she held out her hand to him with a slight blush at the remembrance of the kiss bestowed upon it half an hour before. The blush made her look lovelier than ever, and Paul absolutely lost his heart as he slightly pressed the little hand thus graciously offered.
"I cannot ask you to break your promise to your friend, Herr Delmar," the girl said, not without a shade of embarrassment. "I can only hope that both you and my cousin Leo's other friend will consent to be my father's guests at Castle Reifenstein. This I trust my cousin will arrange with you and your friend to-morrow morning. In the mean time I have a request to make of you. Perhaps your selfishness will allow you to grant it."
"Oh, my selfishness is a very convenient selfishness; of course it allows me to do whatever gives me pleasure, and nothing, I am sure, could give me greater pleasure than to fulfil any request of yours, Fräulein von Heydeck."
"It is certainly a most courteous selfishness," Hilda said, with such a bewitchingly merry glance that Paul registered a silent vow upon the spot to bring her the moon from the skies if she asked for it.
"Only tell me what you desire, Fräulein von Heydeck," he exclaimed, "and I will make impossibilities easy!"
"I am not quite so exacting," Hilda replied. "My desire can be easily complied with: it is only that you should return to Tausens by the usual way. Since you are such an admirable mountaineer, I will allow you to take the common foot-path, and show you myself where it is; you cannot miss your way by it in descending the mountain. Will you do as I ask, Herr Delmar?"
"Ah, here I recognize the lovely but evil fairy who has already cast her spells upon me! Nevertheless, a promise is a promise, and must be kept."
Hilda thanked him merrily, especially for the title of "evil fairy," and declared herself quite ready to act as his guide to the foot-path down the mountain, the shortest way to which was through the garden and court-yard of the castle. She went first, Leo and Paul following.
Paul could see nothing but his lovely guide; he had no eyes for the beauty of the garden through which they were passing, and he scarcely noticed that as they entered a shady walk an old gentleman appeared walking towards them. Only when Hilda paused and, addressing the old man, cried joyously, "Papa! here is Cousin Leo with his friend!" did he turn to scrutinize with a certain curiosity the man of whom he had heard so much.
The old gentleman was evidently not prepared for the encounter: he had a book in his hand, and was walking in the garden, reading; apparently he never would have noticed the strangers if Hilda's exclamation had not called his attention to them.
When he heard the name of Leo a smile passed over his withered face, but it vanished in an instant as, with an expression of positive horror, his eyes opened to their utmost extent, he gazed at Paul, who approached and, lifting his hat, bowed courteously.
This was an extraordinary reception. For a minute the old man seemed incapable of speech; he gazed silently at Delmar, whom he waved off with his hand, retreating a step at his approach. He never even looked at Leo: Paul absorbed his entire attention.
"Oh, papa, what is the matter?" Hilda asked, in surprise.
But her father did not seem to hear her; the longer he looked at Paul the more intense was the expression of terror upon his face and in his eyes; several seconds passed before he could so far control himself as to stammer in broken words, "What do you want of me?--How did you come here?--Who are you?"
Delmar had, it is true, cherished no expectation of any particularly kind or courteous reception at the hands of "uncle monster," and the picture formed of him in his imagination had not been very flattering, but what he now saw and heard transcended his expectations: he had not believed in such a monster as this.
Herr von Heydeck, once tall and handsome, was now a sickly, emaciated old man, his tall figure was bent, his withered features showed no trace of their former beauty, and were entirely wanting in the expression of dignified repose which makes an aged face attractive. The working of the lips, the protruding light-gray eyes the uncertain glance of which always avoided your own, made the spare wrinkled countenance positively ugly.
Paul experienced actual repulsion at first sight of this old man, and the sensation was heightened by the strange broken questions addressed to him.
It was not Delmar's habit to show much consideration towards those whom he disliked, and a sharp reply to the inhospitable queries was upon his lips, when his glance fell upon Hilda; he saw in her face the terror and surprise which her father's reception of him was causing her. Could he wound her? However ugly and unpleasant this old man might be, he was nevertheless the father of the lovely fairy, and Leo's uncle. In consideration of this he suppressed the angry retort upon his lips and replied quietly, "My name is Delmar; I am a friend of your nephew Leo, whom I have accompanied upon his journey to the Tyrol. I do not know what further particulars I can give you with regard to myself at present, Herr von Heydeck."
The old man did not hear his last words, the name alone riveted his attention. "Delmar! Paul Delmar!" he muttered to himself "I knew it must be he! What do you want of me?" he continued, aloud. "I must know what you want. Do not imagine that I am afraid of you! It was only the first shock of surprise; but I am not in the least afraid of you, not in the least. Speak! what do you want of me?"
Paul listened with increasing astonishment to these unconnected, unmeaning words. Had the old man a sudden attack of insanity? It must be so, else how could he thus receive his nephew's friend? Such a reception was utterly inexplicable, and least of all could Paul conceive how Herr von Heydeck had got hold of the name Paul, which he had muttered to himself. He did not trouble himself, however, to ponder this, but, seeing Hilda's distress, resolved to cut short so disagreeable a scene.
"I want nothing of you, Herr von Heydeck," he replied, courteously; "on the contrary, I bring you something in the person of your nephew Leo,--my dearest friend. And now I must beg your permission to leave you, as I must immediately return to Tausens to a friend who awaits me there."