"Not for me," he cried. "Natural simplicity of heart and intellect has a charm for me. A man wishes to form, to educate his wife, not to find her opinions already fixed," he cried, his voice a.s.suming a sudden tenderness of expression.

Her eyes were raised to his for a moment, and then lowered. They walked on for a time in silence.

"Helena," he said, "it is true that the idea of quiet, simple usefulness in the country attracts me more and more; and it is also true that your society has greatly influenced me."

She walked on in silence.

"When a man relinquishes the intellectual pleasures of the great world," he added, "he naturally seeks some equivalent; and this equivalent I find in my family, my home. I shall remain here to a.s.sist your father in his spiritual office. I shall experience double happiness in my labours, if my own heart finds a lovely flower to reward my una.s.suming industry. Helena," he continued, with animation, "shall you find no satisfaction in uniting with me to support and cheer the evening of your father's life, and in a.s.sisting me in my holy calling? Will you not stand at my side as a help-mate, such as your mother was to your father?"

The young girl walked on, her eyes fixed on the ground. A deep sigh heaved her breast.

"Cousin----"

"It does not become me, a servant of the Church," he interrupted, "to speak to you in the manner and the tone in which a man of the world might declare his love; pure and bright must be the flame which holds a place in the heart of a minister. But such a flame my heart offers you, Helena; and I ask you, plainly and candidly, will you accept what my heart can give, and do you believe you can thus find the quiet happiness of your life?"

She stood still, and looked at him calmly and honestly.

"Your words surprise me, cousin. I did not expect to hear this, and so suddenly----"

"The relations between us must be made clear," he said. "For this reason I have told you the feelings of my heart. A minister cannot woo as a man of the world; you cannot be surprised at that, being yourself the daughter of a minister."

"But consider," she said hesitatingly, "we scarcely know each other."

"Have you no confidence in me?" he asked. "Could you not accept me as your support through life?"

She looked on the ground. A deep blush spread over her face.

"But one must also----"

"Well, what?" he asked, and with piercing glance he gazed at her anxiously.

"Love," she whispered.

"And that you believe you could not feel for me?" he enquired.

Again she looked up at him. Again she sighed deeply, and her eyes were for a moment turned dreamily to the distance. Then a slight, half roguish smile came to her lips, and she whispered,--

"One cannot tell beforehand!"

"Beforehand?" he said, and a darker expression pa.s.sed over his face.

"Cousin," she said, with sweetness and candour, as she held out her hand to him, "your words mean well, and it is flattering to me that you should think I can be anything to your life. Let me then tell you honestly, I think you are mistaken. Perhaps," she added kindly, "it is not needful to pursue this conversation, that has so surprised me, just now. Give me time. I promise to think of what you have said; and when we know each other better, I will tell you."

He looked down gloomily.

"Oh," he said bitterly, "your heart answers already; it does not respond to the simple language of my feelings. I truly do not know how to raise excitement and restless emotion. The servant of the Church cannot hope to cause the fiery pa.s.sion that a--young officer----"

She stood still. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were fixed upon him with a proud look.

He stopped suddenly, as if displeased with himself, and his excited features resumed their usual smooth and calm expression.

"Cousin," she said coldly, "I must beg you not to continue this conversation now. Examine your own feelings, and give me time. My father----"

"Your father's wishes are my own," he said.

She bent her head, and a melancholy look pa.s.sed over her face.

"My father," she then said, "cannot wish me to make any promise without examining my own heart."

"And you will tell me your decision, when you have made this examination?"

"Yes," said she. "Now leave me, I beg."

A deep breath pa.s.sed through his thin lips; he cast his eyes to the ground, and walked by her silently and gravely.

"Here comes my father," cried Helena, and hastened to meet the pastor, who was returning by a side road leading to some of the scattered cottages of the village.

The candidate followed in silence.

"This is well," said the old gentlemen, "my children, that you come together to meet me; it is better in these troubled times not to be alone. Throughout the village there is sorrow and anxiety about the absent, the more so that a rumour is flying through the country of a most exciting nature."

"What is the rumour, papa?" cried Helena; "nothing disastrous?"

"Glorious, yet disastrous," said the pastor; "there has been a great battle, so it is said from village to village, from house to house. Our army has won a great victory; but much, much blood has been shed."

"Oh, how horrible!" cried Helena, with great emotion, as she folded her hands. The candidate's quick eyes regarded her with curiosity; but she did not remark it, her looks were fixed on s.p.a.ce.

"People scarcely know which they feel," continued the pastor quietly, "joy at the victory, or anxiety lost sons and brothers should have fallen."

"How happy are those," said the candidate, "who have no relative in the army; then there is no anxiety, no care."

"You have not, like myself, lived here for years," replied the pastor gravely. "Every member of my flock is as dear to me as if he were my relation. I feel each grief that affects them as if I myself were smitten."

Helena involuntarily caught her father's hand with a hasty movement, and pressed it to her lips. The old gentleman felt a tear upon his hand. With a gentle smile, he said,--

"You too, my good child, feel for the sorrows of our friends. I know it must be so; you have grown up amongst them."

Helena covered her face for a moment with her handkerchief and sobbed.

The candidate flashed an evil, malicious side glance upon her, whilst a cold, scornful smile played around his lips.

"I am going to the president," said the pastor; "there they must have the earliest reliable news, and they will be most anxious about the lieutenant. Poor Madame von Wendenstein! Come with me to the castle, children."

And they took the road to the hill upon which the old house stood amidst high dark woods.

Helena took her father's arm, and involuntarily hastened her steps.

They climbed the hill and entered the hall by the open door. The great oak chests stood there as still and solemn as ever, and the old paintings looked down from their frames as gravely and quietly as if there were no changes, no cares nor sorrows in the world of living men.