"You know it will come before the courts. Frank refuses to recognize the claims of the fellow Wolff."

She shook her head.

"He will not refuse," she answered, calmly, "but I wish you would take the matter in hand, uncle, and pay Wolff for his trouble."

Her eyes filled suddenly with angry tears.

"Oh, ta, ta! Why should I meddle with the matter?"

The old gentleman was deeply moved.

"I ask it of you, uncle, before it becomes the talk of the town."

A sob choked her words.

"Ah, do you think, my child, it is not already whispered about?

Hm!--Well I will do it, but entirely from selfish motives, you know. Do you think it isn't disagreeable to me, too? Oh, ta, ta! What big drops those were! But will you promise me then to let well enough alone!

What? You cannot leave him!"

The tears seemed frozen in her eyes.

"No," she replied, "but we shall agree upon a separation."

"Are you mad, child?" cried the old gentleman with a crimson face.

She turned her eyes slowly away.

"He only wanted my money; let him keep it," was her murmured reply, "_I_ was only a necessary inc.u.mbrance,--_I_!"

"Oh, that is only your sensitiveness," said her uncle soothingly.

"Do you know me so little?" she inquired, drawing herself up to her full height. Her swollen eyes looked into his with an expression of cold decision.

The little man hastily shut the door behind him. It was exactly as if his dead brother were looking at him. In a most uncomfortable frame of mind, he got into his carriage. Confound it! here he was plunged into difficulties again by his good nature.

Gertrude remained alone. For one moment she looked after him and then she covered her face with her hands despairingly, threw herself on the little sofa and wept.

CHAPTER XVI.

It was towards evening. Frank Linden mounted the steps, stood on the terrace and whistled shrilly out into the garden. He waited awhile and then shook his head. "The brute has gone with her," he said in a low voice; "even an animal like that takes part against me." He went back into the dining-room and stumbled over Johanna, who was busy at the side-board.

"You will go over to 'Waldruhe' in an hour," he said, looking past her.

"Take what clothes are necessary for my wife with you. Whatever else she may desire is at her disposal at any moment."

Johanna glanced at him shyly, the face that was usually so glowing looked so ashy pale in the evening light.

"If I could have half an hour more, Mr. Linden--I want to show the young lady something about the milk cellar."

"The young lady? ah--yes--"

"Yes, the young lady who came to visit Miss Rosa yesterday. She offered her services, sir, when she heard that Mrs. Linden had gone away. I don't know how I can manage without her either, Dora is so stupid and she has so much to do besides."

Before he could reply, the door opened softly and behind Aunt Rosa's wonderful figure appeared a dark girl with red cheeks and shining eyes, who when she perceived him made a rather awkward curtsy, and was at once introduced as Addie Strom.

Frank bowed to the ladies, stammered out a few civil words, and asked to be excused for leaving them as he had letters to write.

"I am so sorry," said Aunt. Rosa, "that Mrs. Linden is not at home."

He nodded impatiently.

"She will soon be back," he replied as he went out.

"If Addie can help about the house a little--" sounded the shrill tones of the old lady behind him.

"Don't give yourself any trouble," was his reply.

"I should be glad to do it," said Adelaide, timidly.

Another silent bow from him and then he went out with great strides.

That too!

He ran hastily down the steps into the garden. He took the letter out of his pocket once more which he had found lying on his writing-table that morning, and read it through. The writing was not as dainty as usual--the letters were hard and firm and large and yet unsteady, as if written, in great excitement.

The blood rushed in a hot wave to his heart. "It will come right." He put away the letter and took another from his pocketbook which had been brought half an hour before by an express messenger.

"I have just come from Wolff, with whom I intended to make an arrangement of this fatal affair. The scoundrel, unfortunately, was taken ill of typhus fever yesterday, and nothing is to be done with him at present. I can only regret that you should have consulted this man of all others, and I do not understand why you have not satisfied him.

As soon as the gentleman is _au fait_ again I shall take the liberty, in the interest of my family and especially of my niece, to settle the matter quietly, and beg you not to make the matter worse by any imprudence on your part. You must have some consideration for the family.

"May an old man give you a little advice? I am a very tolerant judge in this matter, but a woman thinks differently about it. Acknowledge the truth openly to your insulted little wife--with a person of her character it is the only way to gain her pardon. I will gladly do all in my power to set this foolish affair before her in the mildest light--"

"Consideration!" he murmured, "consideration for the family!"

Then he laughed aloud and went on more quickly into the deepening twilight. What should he do in the house, in the empty rooms, at the inhospitable table with his heart full of bitterness? Childish, foolish obstinacy it was in her--and no trust in him! How had he deserved that she should give him up at once without even hearing him? Well, she would get over it, she would come again, but--the spell was broken, the bloom, the freshness was gone.

He must have his rights without regard to the Baumhagen family, or to her on whom he would not have permitted the winds of heaven to blow too roughly. She could not have hurt him more, than by giving more credence to that scoundrel than to him--she who usually was so calm--calm?

He could see her eyes before him now, those eyes in which strong pa.s.sion glowed. He had seen them blaze with anger more than once, he had heard her agitating sobs, her voice husky with emotion as she spoke of her father. He saw her again as she had been the evening before their marriage when she pressed his hands pa.s.sionately to her lips, a mute eloquent gesture, a thanksgiving for the refuge of his breast. And now? It had already burned out this pa.s.sionate love, had failed before the first trial.

It was already dark when he returned from his walk. Johanna was gone.

The maid whom he met in the corridor told him she had taken her child and a trunk full of clothing and the books which had been sent to Mrs.

Linden yesterday.

He went to her room; the sweet scent of violets of which she was so fond pervaded the atmosphere, the afghan on the lounge lay just as it had fallen when she threw it off as she rose. He could not stay---a longing for her seized upon him so powerfully that it well-nigh unmanned him, and he went back to the dining-room. He opened the door half-unconsciously--there sat the judge at the table, dusty and dishevelled from his Brocken tour, but contented to his inmost soul.

But--how came this stranger here doing the honors?