Arno could not but laugh at himself. Had he really been in danger of proving false to his principles? He had seen through the game at the right moment, however,--the suspicion that had been aroused on the road to Hohenwald now became a certainty, and what he had written to his friend was the truth. Yes, he now felt an invincible repugnance to any closer intercourse with this intriguing stranger, who had selected Castle Hohenwald as the theatre for her schemes. The letter should be despatched just as it was. He folded and sealed it, and then betook himself to rest. The day's exertions had wearied him, and he soon slept, but the image of the lovely stranger mingled in his dreams.

The stranger herself stood at the window of the room to which Celia had shown her, and gazed out into the gloomy night; she heard the howling of the wind and the beating of the rain against the panes, but she did not heed them, for before her mind's eye rose a form that made her oblivious of the present. She shuddered as she looked back to that last terrible night spent beneath the same roof with the wretch who would have bartered his wife's honour for a release from poverty and detection. She had clung to him faithfully, had always conscientiously fulfilled her duty to him, hoping that she might perhaps in the end influence him for good. She had forgiven him for squandering her property, for plunging her into poverty, although she no longer loved him, and was bound to him only by a sense of duty; but that he could so dishonour her as actually to wish to sell her to the Russian was a sin never to be forgiven,--it separated her from him forever.

He had spoken the decisive word himself, he had restored to her her freedom, lured by false hopes perhaps, but he had done so unconditionally, and she was now her own mistress; she no longer felt the chains that had bound her to her wretched husband; they might exist for the world, but no longer for herself, for her own conscience. When on that dreadful night she had bolted herself into her bedroom, her resolution was already taken. Without hesitation she proceeded to carry it out. She exchanged her ball-dress for a simple stuff gown; she packed a few necessary articles of clothing in a travelling-bag, and hastily wrote these lines: "You have given back to me my freedom; I accept it. It is your desire that we should part; it shall be fulfilled: you will never see me again. Should you dare to persecute me, you will force me to denounce you publicly and to give to the world the reasons that justify my conduct. The detected thief, who would barter his wife's honour, has forfeited the right to control her destiny.--LUCIE."

Her hand did not tremble as she wrote these words. She folded the sheet, sealed it and placed it where its address could be plainly seen by any one entering the room.

It was done! She was parted from him forever. A shudder ran through her as she thought of his threat of suicide if she refused to accede to his wishes, but the thought did not for an instant deter her. Only the coward, whose courage is never equal to the commission of the deed, can threaten suicide; if he could have preferred death to disgrace he never would have been a detected thief.

She cautiously unbolted her door and crept through the drawing-room to the hall, upon which the door of Sorr's sleeping-room opened. Here she paused and listened,--he was wont to breathe heavily in his sleep,--but she could hear nothing: a proof that he was still awake. What if he should hear her and come from his room to prevent her departure? What then? The wonted gentleness of her look gave place to stern determination; involuntarily she clinched her hand; the struggle had begun, and should under all circ.u.mstances be carried on.

Fortunately, however, she encountered no obstacle to her progress down the stairs to the house-door, which she softly opened and as softly closed behind her. The streets were deserted; she pa.s.sed a watchman asleep on a doorstep, and walked as quickly as possible towards the President's mansion without being seen by a human being. The windows of the house were still gleaming with light, and there was a long line of carriages in the street before it. Lucie paused and hesitated for a moment. The ball was not yet over. She had hoped this would be the case; else it would have been difficult for her to obtain an entrance to the house. But how was she to pa.s.s the line of carriages? So late a wanderer would be sure to be noticed by the coachmen and lackeys, and she might be the object of coa.r.s.e jests. Perhaps the little gate leading from the garden into a side street was open: it was seldom locked; and even should it be so, she could easily climb the low garden-fence. She was not to be stopped by such an obstacle; from the garden, the wing in which was Adele's room was easily entered by a back-door, which was, of course, still open, and once in the house she could soon make her way to Adele's room.

She hurried into the side street. The garden-gate was not locked, nor was the back-door even closed. Fortune favoured her; not a servant did she encounter as she hurried up a narrow staircase and along the pa.s.sage leading to her friend's room, which she reached without being observed. Arrived here, she sank down upon the little lounge where she had so often sat conversing gayly with Adele, upon whose aid she now relied in her plan of flight.

An hour pa.s.sed slowly; the music floated in from the ball-room; but at last it ceased; there was a bustle of departing guests, servants ran to and fro in the house, and the rattle of carriages told Lucie that the ball was at an end. Another half-hour went by; the house grew quieter, the bustle entirely subsided; there were steps in the pa.s.sage, and Heinrich von Guntram's voice said, "Good-night, Adele. Shall I light your candle for you?"

"Oh, no; there are matches on the table Good-night, Heinrich."

"Good-night."

The door opened. Adele entered, bolted it behind her, and then, going to the table in front of the sofa, lighted a match, by the flickering light of which she distinguished a dark figure sitting on the sofa. She gasped with terror and ran towards the door, but was instantly arrested in her flight by the gentle tones of a familiar voice, whispering, "Don't be frightened, dearest Adele; it is I,--Lucie!"

"You--you here at this hour?"

"I need your help, Adele. In my extremest misery I seek refuge with you, my dearest friend."

In an instant Adele's arms were about her, and the tenderest a.s.surances of sympathy and aid were poured into her friend's ear. Then she drew the curtains close and lighted the candles, before seating herself beside Lucie and entreating her to tell her all.

Lucie complied; she told her of her wretched past with her worthless husband, and of the incidents of the last few hours, remaining perfectly calm amid the storm of indignation with which her friend greeted her narrative. Anger was dead within her, slain by the thorough contempt she now felt for Sorr.

"And now, dear Adele," she concluded, "I come to claim your aid. Your last words to me this evening when I left the ball-room were, 'Trust in me; whatever happens, I will stand by you.' This has given me courage to take this decided step to break the fetters that bound me to one so unworthy. I knew I should not be quite alone, that you would not desert me, and therefore I come to you."

"Never, Lucie dear, never; and not only I,--there is another whose aid will be of more use to you than that of a poor weak girl. My cousin Karl told me every detail of the miserable scene in Heinrich's room; he suspected you would soon need protection and a.s.sistance, and is ready to give it to you. You may trust him; he is a n.o.ble, true-hearted man, and has promised me to befriend you at your need. Be sure he will keep his promise. He will advise us what is best to be done."

"I do not need any advice," Lucie gravely rejoined; "my resolution is taken, my plans for the future are arranged. I need the help of faithful friends only in their execution. I shall be grateful for Count Styrum's help; but later, when I am no longer here."

"What do you propose to do?"

"Herr von Sorr has given me my freedom. I will employ it in beginning a new life. For years I have foreseen that I should one day be obliged to turn to account for my support the accomplishments acquired during my girlhood, and I have continued to study with this end in view. I am perfectly qualified to fill a position as governess. Such a position I shall endeavour to find in some retired country-seat, but in order to obtain it I need testimonials, with which so young a man as Count Styrum cannot furnish me. I have therefore thought of writing to our dear old teacher, Frau von Adelung, in Dresden. I remember that she was constantly applied to for governesses. But I am afraid to confide wholly in her. With the best intentions she is something of a gossip, and would find it difficult to keep my secret, and yet her recommendation I must obtain. When Herr von Sorr finds my letter to-morrow and discovers that I am fled, he will, I know, together with Count Repuin, leave no stone unturned to discover my retreat. He will not be deterred even by the threat in my letter, and he must learn nothing, and therefore I cannot confide in good Frau von Adelung. You must write to her and bespeak her good offices for a friend of yours; you were always one of her favourites, and she will not hesitate to comply with your request. I am sure, dearest Adele, you will do this for me."

Lucie's scheme seemed to her friend admirable, and she declared herself ready to do all that she could to further it: but when Lucie went on to state that she intended to leave M---- the next morning by the five o'clock train, to await in some retired village the result of her friend's action, Adele reused to entertain any such idea. Nowhere, she said, could Lucie be so safe from Sorr's persecution as in M----, where he certainly would never expect to find her. The arrival of a lady alone and unattended in any little village would surely excite remark, while Lucie might stay for weeks in Adele's room and her presence beneath the President's roof never be suspected. Adele never received her friends in her bedroom or dressing-room, and neither her father nor her brother ever came to her there. All that was to be done was to take Lina, Adele's special maid, into their confidence,--she had lived in the house for years, and a more faithful, trustworthy creature there could not be. Adele's representations overcame her friend's scruples, and it was agreed to admit the maid to a full knowledge of the state of the case. And when the dawn was at hand the two friends retired to bed, Adele happier with regard to Lucie than she had been for a long while.

The next morning when Lina came to call her young mistress her surprise was great at finding a new inmate in the room, of whose coming no one had been aware. Adele told her the true reason for Frau von Sorr's flight from her husband's roof, and Lina, flattered by the confidence shown her, promised to keep such guard over the fugitive that no one should dream of her whereabouts, while she should daily fare like an honoured guest, without arousing the suspicions of the other servants.

She kept her word, which she would have done out of her faithful devotion to Adele alone, even if Frau von Sorr's gentleness and misfortunes had not excited her sympathy and spurred her on to redoubled watchfulness. The scheme was eminently successful. Neither the President nor Heinrich nor any of the other inmates of the house ever suspected that Lucie von Sorr, whose sudden disappearance was the town-talk of M----, was concealed in Adele's room.

The President, at the dinner-table, expressed his surprise that so beautiful a woman could have contrived to vanish utterly without a trace. He told how Herr von Sorr had applied to the police for a.s.sistance in his search for his wife; that inquiry had been made of all the hack-drivers of the town and the porters at the railway stations. No one could remember having seen the fugitive; an extraordinary fact in view of the lady's remarkable beauty. Herr von Sorr was beside himself, and feared that his wife might have been driven to suicide by the strange reports circulating in the town.

Adele listened to all this in silence, and reported it to her friend afterwards.

In a few days many visitors made their appearance at the President's, in hopes of learning something satisfactory from Adele, who was well known to be Frau von Sorr's nearest friend. Among them were Madame Gansauge and Frau von Rose, the Messrs. von Saldern and von Arnim, a.s.sessor von Hahn, and others, all craving information.

Adele listened to all that they had to say, but had nothing to tell them. She could not imagine why her friend had left M---- so suddenly; she could not look upon her disappearance as a flight, and she feigned a fresh interest in every repet.i.tion of the reports circulating in M----.

It was positively certain, the wife of Major Gansauge a.s.serted, that Frau von Sorr had destroyed herself,--a peasant had seen her at five o'clock in the morning near the Marble Gate, close by the large pond.

The body had not yet been found, but doubtless would be shortly. Count Repuin was quite inconsolable, far more so than Herr von Sorr, who bore his trial with more equanimity.

Frau von Rose knew from the very best authority--she was not at liberty to mention names--that Count Repuin and Herr von Sorr had a violent quarrel. The Count would not believe that Sorr was ignorant of his wife's whereabouts. The affair was certainly very odd, for the Count behaved precisely as though his wife, and not Herr von Sorr's, had run away, and had threatened the husband with some dire revenge if the fugitive were not shortly discovered.

The a.s.sessor von Hahn was more cautious in his expressions; he hinted that Frau von Sorr had made a profound impression upon Count Styrum, and that the Count had perhaps been willing to shield her from Count Repuin's persecutions. The a.s.sessor remarked that he was too discreet to say more; he did not boast of it, for discretion was a gift of nature, and her bounties were variously distributed; discretion was one of his natural endowments, therefore he would be silent.

All these contradictory reports which Adele heard from the gossiping friends of the family she faithfully recounted to Lucie, and the friends congratulated themselves that no attempt had been made by Frau von Sorr to leave M----.

Adele had written immediately to Frau von Adelung, telling her that one of her dearest friends, a Fraulein Anna Muller, was very desirous to procure a situation in the country as governess. She expatiated upon the talents, acquirements, and culture of the young lady, who regretted that, never having dreamed of being obliged to support herself, she possessed no testimonials to her ability. Now, however, she was in great distress; her father had died brokenhearted at the loss of his large fortune, and Fraulein Muller had been very unfortunate also in other ways, so that she craved retirement from the world, and would prefer a situation in the solitude of the country.

An answer to this letter arrived by return of mail. Frau von Adelung expressed her pleasure at being able to do anything for her dear Adele, whose friendship for Fraulein Muller was a sufficient recommendation in her eyes. At present she knew of no situation for her, although there was no doubt that one could shortly be found, and she promised to write again as soon as this was the case.

More than a week elapsed before Frau von Adelung was again heard from.

Lucie continued to live in her concealment in her friend's room, hearing from her all that was going on in M----. Count Repuin and Sorr had both suddenly left town, the latter deeply in debt. Whither they had gone no one knew. Count Repuin had left orders that his letters should be sent to Berlin _poste restante_.

At last, when Lucie was beginning to chafe under her enforced idleness, a second letter arrived from Frau von Adelung, asking whether Fraulein Muller would be willing to accept the position of governess to the Baroness Cecilia von Hohenwald, or rather, as the young lady was sixteen years old, that of companion and teacher. Lucie and Adele were greatly surprised by this letter; they well remembered the description given by Count Styrum on the evening of the ball of the secluded life at Castle Hohenwald, and this remembrance decided Lucie at once to accept the offered position. In the solitude of Castle Hohenwald, where no guest ever found admission, surely she might look for the seclusion she so earnestly desired.

In a short time a third letter was received from Frau von Adelung, enclosing the one addressed to Fraulein Muller by the Finanzrath, of which we have already heard. His dreary picture of the castle and its inmates, far from deterring Lucie from accepting the post offered her there, only made her the more desirous to accept it, and she acceded instantly to the Finanzrath's request that she would, if she could, return a favourable reply and inform him of the day of her arrival at the station A----.

Thus the die was cast. Two days more were all that she could spend with the dear friend who had so aided and sheltered her. Adele now wished to intrust Lucie's secret to her cousin, that he might write and insure her a friendly reception at Castle Hohenwald, but this Lucie permitted her to do only upon condition that she should wait until she had actually departed from M---- before she spoke to Count Styrum upon the subject.

The day of departure arrived,--an agitating day for Lucie. Hitherto Lina's fidelity and caution had made concealment possible; not one of the household even dreamed that the vanished Frau von Sorr was quietly living in Adele's apartments; but how could she steal away un.o.bserved?

The gossiping a.s.sessor had reported that Count Repuin had bribed all the railroad officials, who were to give him immediate notice of the appearance at any one of the M---- stations of the well-known Frau von Sorr. The police also were in his pay, and it seemed to Lucie almost impossible to leave the President's house without discovery.

Here, too, the faithful Lina rendered most efficient aid. She had come to seek service in M---- years before from an Altenburg village, and the ugly national dress of the Altenburg peasantry, although long since discarded by her, was still reposing neatly folded in her trunk. She was about Lucie's height, and, with a few alterations, the peasant's dress was made to fit the lady perfectly, so that when, one morning towards four o'clock, a neatly-dressed Altenburg peasant-girl walked out from the President's garden into the side street, the most experienced detective would hardly have suspected her of being the admired Frau von Sorr.

At the Marble Gate Lina was awaiting her in a covered wagon, driven by one of her cousins, an Altenburg peasant lad, whom she had sent for to take her to her native village, where she had received permission from her master to spend a week's holiday. The peasant lad was rather surprised that his cousin Lina should have stopped him, when they had driven no farther than the Marble Grate, to wait for a young girl, who shortly arrived and got into the vehicle. Still greater was his surprise when, at a little wayside inn some miles from M----, Lina made him wait much longer, while she went into the house with the young girl, who must have remained there, for when Lina got into the wagon again it was in company with a very fine lady, who paid him for driving her to the nearest railroad station, where she took a kind leave of his cousin.

Once in the railway carriage bound for A---- Lucie had no farther fear of discovery, and we have already heard of her safe arrival there, and of her adventurous drive with the Finanzrath.

How different her reception at the castle had been from any she had antic.i.p.ated! She had looked forward with a heavy heart to meeting the old Baron; but he had welcomed her so kindly, so cordially, that she felt sure that in him she should find a friend.

But Arno? Even if Count Styrum had written to him beseeching his kind offices for the new governess, this morning, after his visit at the President's, he could not have received the letter; his conduct had been characterized only by the coldest courtesy. Still, she was prepared for this; she knew his sentiments with regard to women. He had behaved precisely as she had expected him to do, and his manner was certainly far preferable to the Finanzrath's. As she called him to mind a burning blush overspread her cheek, and she leaned her forehead against the cool gla.s.s window-pane. She could not tell what it was in his behaviour to her that so aroused her repugnance. He had been all that he should be, and no more, and yet his courtesy inspired her with dread; this man was antipathetic to her. But why trouble herself about him in any way? He was but a guest at the castle, where everything seemed so much more encouraging than she had hoped to find it; he would be gone in a few days, and Celia, this charming, lovely Celia, who had evidently conceived a sudden affection for her new companion, would still be with her. How entirely unnecessary had been Lucie's fear of the "wayward, spoiled child"! Celia could not feign; in her clear, honest eyes the genuine welcome she had given to her new governess was plainly to be read. How happy she had seemed upon noting the pleasant impression produced by the pretty and luxurious bedroom and dressing-room to which she had shown Lucie! How cordially she as well as Frau Kaselitz had begged to know if anything were wanting for the comfort of the new inmate! and how caressing had been the kiss with which she had said good-night!

Yes, everything was far, far more pleasant than Lucie had expected; surely she could find repose and forgetfulness amid these surroundings, and in the fulfilment of a duty so interesting as the instruction of this sweet young girl; and yet she could not look forward into the future with any degree of buoyancy; the driving rain, the dark night, the moaning wind, seemed to her to symbolize her destiny.

CHAPTER IX.