"My Dear Herr Von Ernau,--Your admirable plan has been successfully carried out, as I am most glad to inform you. I did well in going to Osternau, where I learned from the pastor that Frau von Osternau had established herself at Hirschberg. I instantly travelled thither, and found the dear lady in excellent health. She was no less pleased than amazed to see me, and when I told her the story of Herr Carl Johann Simon and showed her his letter, she was at first quite speechless with surprise, and then burst into tears of joy and grat.i.tude. Evidently it never occurred to her to doubt my account. She blessed her husband's memory, remembered his lending the money perfectly, and that she had remonstrated with him for his ready confidence in every one's honesty.

And then she broke forth in exclamations of delight at knowing that she could now bring her daughter home to live with her, and that Fraulein Lieschen need no longer sacrifice herself for her mother's sake. I only wish that you could have witnessed the joy of which you were the source.

"Frau von Osternau is to go with me to Berlin to take possession of her property and have the receipt for the same duly made out and signed.

This we do to-morrow; the result of our expedition I shall tell you by word of mouth, but I write to-day to let you know of my success, and of a fact which you ought to know immediately. Fraulein Lieschen is at present your neighbour; you have, without knowing it, pa.s.sed a night in the same house with her. Herr von w.a.n.gen engaged her as governess for his young sister. In order, however, to be near her mother, she has accepted another situation in the vicinity of Hirschberg, and is to leave Linau next Sunday. Fortunately, there is now no need of her accepting any situation whatever, as her mother joyfully declared. It seems rather odd--does it not?--that you should neither have seen Fraulein Lieschen nor heard of her presence in Linau when you were there; but then your accident probably chased everything else from the minds of your hosts. I thought it my duty to let you know immediately that Fraulein Lieschen leaves Linau on Sunday, thinking that you may be able to drive over and see her on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, if this reaches you, as it should do, on the morning of that day."

Egon dropped the letter; he could not read further; the last lines danced before his eyes. Lieschen was in Linau! for only one day longer, it is true, but this day was his own. What did he care for the physician's prohibition? He must drive to Linau; every moment of delay was an opportunity lost.

Lieschen in Linau! She had been his nurse that night; it was her lovely face of which he had been aware in his semi-consciousness; her cool, gentle hand had been laid upon his forehead; she had leaned over him in anxious hope for his return to life. His dream, had been no dream, after all.

And he had supposed that Bertha had cared for him so kindly! He rejoiced that he owed nothing to her nursing. He could not think of her save with a sensation akin to dislike. Her charm was utterly gone. Why had she concealed from him that Lieschen was beneath her roof? No one had even hinted at her presence there. But yes, Clara! Egon suddenly comprehended the child's parting words to him, words which he had understood falsely: 'There's somebody, at all events, who does want to see you.' She had flown back to say this to him unheard by her sister-in-law.

Oh, he understood it all,--the _ennui_ of the woman trained to live in the whirl of society and stranded in her quiet home, knowing 'so ill to deal with time' as to turn for excitement to an idle flirtation with the first man available, and dreading lest another should interfere with her schemes. But it was not too late to baffle them.

To Linau then! He went himself to the stables to order the horses put to a light hunting-wagon. The coachman could not obey his orders quickly enough. Anton shook his head over his master's impatience, while to Egon every moment that pa.s.sed seemed an irreparable loss.

At last he found himself seated behind his spirited horses; but Anton did not drive fast enough; his master took the reins from him, and urged the pair to their quickest speed. To him they seemed to travel at a snail's pace. On they flew; not until Anton ventured to call his attention to their condition did he bethink himself that there really was no need for such urgent haste. The servant's words recalled his resolve to exercise self-control, to curb the impulse of the moment, and he gave back the reins to his coachman's hands.

The way seemed to stretch out infinitely, but at last Linau appeared, half hidden in trees, on the summit of a gentle incline. A quarter of an hour would bring them to its court-yard, but Egon was forced to curb his impatience and to order the coachman to rein in his horses. This he did in obedience to the flutter of a white kerchief waved by a graceful horsewoman who came galloping across-country towards him. It was Clara, who had seen him from a distance and thus signalled him to await her approach. The high-road was separated from the meadows bounding it on one side by a tolerably wide and deep ditch, but this was no obstacle for Clara; her pretty little mare took it at a leap, and in a minute its rider drew up beside the light wagon. With sparkling eyes she greeted Egon, saying, with a confidential nod, "You have come at last, Herr von Ernau! I expected you yesterday and the day before, as poor old Jost knows to his cost," and she pointed with her riding-whip to the old groom, who had followed her and was riding about on the other side of the ditch, looking for a narrow place at which to cross it.

"You expected me, Fraulein Clara?"

"Of course. I considered that you promised me to come before Sunday, and therefore on the day before yesterday and yesterday I rode about the fields here at the time when I thought you would appear, looking out for you. If you had not come now, I was going to send my old Jost to Plagnitz to remind you to keep your promise this afternoon, and, if the worst came to the worst, I should have gone and brought you over myself, for I was determined that come you must to-day."

"If I am right in my conjecture," Egon said, very gravely, "you wished me to come to Linau to-day because Fraulein von Osternau leaves it to-morrow."

Clara dropped her bridle and clapped her hands. "Oh, this is delightful!" she exclaimed. "You know that Elise is here! I have never told you, and now my silly promise not to tell you binds me no longer."

"To whom did you make this promise?"

"Why, to Elise, of course. But you need not look so cast down, Herr von Ernau. I'm sure she felt sorry that she allowed herself to be so influenced by Bertha's ill-natured words as to make me promise. I was determined that you should know that my darling Elise is here, for if you knew her long ago at Castle Osternau, I am sure you must want to see her again."

"Does Fraulein von Osternau know that you expect me?"

"Of course not. That would have spoiled it all. I took good care not to tell her. It is all a little plan of my own. Elise never tells me anything; she thinks me nothing but a child, but I can see in her eyes how glad she would be to see Herr von Ernau again. But indeed there is no time to go on talking. Tell me, honestly and frankly, Herr von Ernau, do you come to Linau to-day to see Elise?"

"Honestly and frankly then, my dear little Clara, yes."

"And for that only?"

"Yes."

"And would you like to see her now, just when she is alone and expecting n.o.body?"

"That is just what I desire beyond all else."

"Then you must not drive on to Linau, but follow me on foot. We will let your carriage wait, lest it should betray us. Get out, Herr von Ernau, and I will show your coachman a spot where he can wait for you without exciting any one's attention. Let him drive along that path that skirts the fields, and he will find a cool, shady place on the edge of the forest, where the horses will not tire of standing."

Egon did as he was bidden; and, while his coachman obeyed the young girl's directions, his master walked beside Clara's horse as she slowly rode along the highway towards Linau. Old Jost, who had managed to cross the ditch, followed at a respectful distance.

Clara was in the gayest mood, enchanted that her charming plan, which she had contrived entirely by herself, was on the eve of being so successfully carried out, without any necessity on her part of breaking the promise made to Elise. She never asked what happy chance had informed Egon of Elise's presence at Linau; it was enough for her that he knew of it, and that she had not been forced to reveal it herself.

There was no longer any secret to keep, and she ran on with a long description of how Elise had taken such care of Herr von Ernau on the dreadful night of the accident, and how her eyes had filled with tears of joy when she heard the next morning that his wound was not dangerous. Nor did she fail to dwell upon her own insight in making sure from Elise's face, without hearing one word from her lips, that nothing would please her more than to renew her acquaintance with Herr von Ernau. It was so sad, too, that Bertha did not seem to care for Elise, and that made it easier for her, Clara, to part with her. Did Herr von Ernau know that Elise had found another situation near her mother? For her part, Clara wished that Frau von Osternau lived near Linau, and then, perhaps, if Bertha would only be as sweet and kind as she was sometimes, Elise might be persuaded to stay with them. Did not Herr von Ernau think it a real misfortune to lose so charming a person from the neighbourhood?

In truth, Egon's mind and heart were in such a turmoil of hope and fear that he heard but vaguely his young guide's talk. He was absolutely conscious of but one fact, that along this road, led by this charming child, he was on his way to see once again the fairy of Castle Osternau, the girl who had held him captive all these years, whose influence, established in a few short weeks, had transformed him from an idle, weary, useless creature to a man who felt that he had a part to play in the world, and who meant to play it to the best of his ability. And yet, if she should refuse to stand by his side to aid him in this new life, how dark the future looked! Could she ever pardon the falsehood he had practised upon her and those dear to her? Clara was obliged, to her dismay, to repeat her question before Herr von Ernau heeded it and looked up with, "The greatest misfortune that could befall us, my little Clara."

The warmth of the reply when it came soothed Clara's fears lest Herr von Ernau did not fully appreciate her services in thus procuring him an interview with her adored Elise. She went on to tell him that at this hour on Sat.u.r.day Elise was sure to be in the 'master's arbour,'

which he might now see, half hidden among the trees on their left. "And there is a gate in the picket-fence," she added, "always kept locked; no one goes out of the garden by it now that poor papa is dead. He always went to the meadows that way, but I knew perfectly well where the key was kept, and I have had it in my pocket since the day before yesterday, all ready for just this moment. Here we are, Herr von Ernau, and here is the key," she said, handing it down to him. "Let it stay in the lock. I will go off with Jost for a ride, and then, after about half an hour, when you have talked enough with Elise, I will come back and take you to the house. I want to see how surprised they'll be when they know that you have found Elise. Good-by, Herr von Ernau! Do not miss the path,--the one on the left leads directly to the house, and the one on the right to 'the master's arbour.' Good-by! I shall see you again in half an hour."

With a merry laugh and a wave of the hand she was off at a pace at which old Jost found it hard to follow her.

Egon unlocked the little gate, and with a beating heart struck into the winding right-hand path. The moment that was to decide his future was at hand; he was to see Lieschen again. Had she really, as Clara would have given him to understand, cherished his memory kindly? Was it not more likely that the child's insight had been utterly at fault, and that his image had long since been banished from the mind and heart of one go pare, so true, to whom all disguise was hateful?

And now the little arbour, about which the vines hung heavily, making the closing of its rustic door quite impossible, was just before him.

How quiet it all was! Suppose Clara was wrong, and that upon pushing wide that door he should find nothing but solitude. He paused for a moment, half afraid to go on, and as he did so there fell on his ear the low tones of the voice which he knew so well, singing softly the words of the old Folksong--

"In Olden forest stands a tree."

It was the first he had ever sung at Castle Osternau. He saw it all again,--the good old Herr in his arm-chair, the sweet face of his wife as she sat beside him knitting, and Lieschen's eyes gazing in rapture at the singer. For an instant memory wellnigh unmanned him, but that she should be singing just that song gave him for encouragement than he was himself aware of; he gently pushed open the door. Yes it was she.

She sat half turned from him, her hands resting in her lap upon the embroidery with which she had been occupied, her gaze fixed upon the distant landscape, visible through an opening in the vines and shrubbery. The door had swung noiselessly, she did not look towards it.

"Lieschen!" It was all. She started and turned towards him a face from which all colour departed, only to return in an instant and mantle neck, cheeks, and brow in crimson. "Herr von Ernau!--I--" Then, burying her face in her hands, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping.

In an instant Egon was beside her, at her feet, pouring forth protestations, vows, entreaties for pardon.

"My love, my darling, can you ever forgive me for deceiving you as I did? I have no right to ask it, still less to hope that you can, and yet I do hope. Your memory has been the light of my life since I left Berlin, four years ago; the though of you and of your words spurred me on to begin a new existence, it gave me strength in all my struggles with self, and, oh! Lieschen, take pity upon me. The future will be so cheerless without you. Complete your work, dear. Try to make me of some use in the world. You have suffered, my darling; I know it all. Let me shield you in future, at least from suffering alone. Can you forgive me and heed my pleadings, for the sake of the love I bear you, which will always be yours, and yours only, whatever may be your answer to me now?"

Elise did not speak, but her sobs ceased; she let her lover wipe away her tears, and read her answer in her eyes.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

CONCLUSION.

Meanwhile, on this particular day, Hugo von w.a.n.gen had been taking a long ride to a distant part of his estate. He had asked Clara to accompany him, quite despairing of inducing Bertha to leave her luxurious balcony and mount a horse, but, to his surprise, his young sister had declared that she was far too busy, and that a short ride across the fields with Jost was all she should allow herself. His expedition had been a successful one. The improvements which he had set on foot in the way of drainage of outlying meadows answered his expectations fully, and it was in a very satisfied and peaceful frame of mind that he dismounted at a short distance from his home, and, ordering the groom who had accompanied him to ride to the stables with his horse, undertook a short ramble on foot through the fields bounding his garden. The sun was hot overhead, and he gladly sought the cool shade of the strip of forest on the hither side of these fields, where, throwing himself on the soft moss, he resigned himself to reflection, which ended in a pleasant noonday nap. He was wakened by what seemed to him the stamping of horses. Yes, his ears did not deceive him, that was an unmistakable neigh; there must be horses near, but how they came here he was at a loss to divine. There was but a narrow driving road along the edge of this bit of woodland, and it led abroad into the fields in one direction and in the other--yes, in the other out on the road to Plagnitz.

Why should he think of Plagnitz? The road was a highway, and led to other estates likewise, but the fact was that the jealousy lately born of his self-depreciation, and of his immense appreciation of his wife's personal charms and intellectual capacity, was never quite at rest in his mind.

He arose and walked in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Sure enough, on the edge of the forest, drawn up in the shade beside the narrow roadway, stood a light, elegant vehicle, and harnessed to it were two fine horses, which he well remembered to have seen in the Plagnitz stalls. The coachman, too, who had made himself as comfortable as possible on his high seat, was the same fellow whom he remembered to have noticed about the stables at Plagnitz.

But where was the master of this equipage? and why had Herr von Ernau transgressed the physician's orders by this early visit? The answer to the latter question was plain: Herr von Ernau had never forgotten his former love for Bertha von Ma.s.senburg, and he was willing to run all risks to enjoy the society of Frau von w.a.n.gen. Poor Hugo! his jealousy was no melodramatic pa.s.sion, but a very uncomfortable, uneasy sensation that quite poisoned his morning's enjoyment. He had entire confidence in his wife's honour, but was not so sure of her discretion; at all events, it 'was confoundedly irritating to think of Von Ernau spending his idle time at Linau, singing his songs and discussing with my wife all the books, in which I never could take the smallest interest. We were very happy before the fellow came.' These were Von w.a.n.gen's thoughts as he tried to find some reason for Egon's leaving his equipage at this point, if he had really come to pay a visit at Linau.

He walked on to the road, and was about to jump the picket-fence at the bottom of the garden, when he perceived that the key was in the lock of the little gate. It puzzled him to know how it came there. Had it anything to do with Ernau's visit? He opened the gate, and then remembered the winding path to 'the master's arbour.' Surely the lord of Plagnitz was not being received there by the fair lady of Linau. The idea was ridiculous, and yet, instead of taking the left-hand path leading to the house, he walked slowly along that on the right, at the end of which stood the rustic structure. As he approached it, the door, which had partly closed again after Egon's entrance, prevented any view of the interior, but surely those were the tones of a man's voice that struck upon his ear; he advanced more quickly, his steps quite inaudible on the soft moss of the path, when, just as he was about to enter the half-closed door, the same voice, which he had continued to hear, said, in a tone of fervent affection, "Lieschen, dearest Lieschen----" w.a.n.gen turned and positively fled, quite dazzled and confused by the light that suddenly dawned upon him, and yet filled with a sense of relief for which he could hardly have accounted to himself. But what would Bertha say? She must have been mistaken in that idea of hers with regard to Ernau's affection for herself; yes, entirely mistaken. And affairs at Osternau must have gone further between the Candidate and his pupil than any one suspected. Now he came to think of it, all the evidence of Ernau's sudden pa.s.sion for Bertha had been given by Werner von Ma.s.senburg, whose word, as his son-in-law had had frequent opportunities of discovering, was not always to be received with implicit faith. Really this was a delightful ending of affairs, for, as for Bertha's opinion of Fraulein Lieschen, it was all the consequence of those old Osternau misunderstandings. Never could he, Hugo von w.a.n.gen, believe that the daughter of his kind old friend was any other than she seemed,--a dear, gentle, unselfish girl. Oh, Bertha would see it all now, and she could not but rejoice, for the sake of Clara, for whom she certainly was beginning to care as a sister should, that Fraulein Lieschen was to be their neighbour at Plagnitz.

Filled with these thoughts, he reached his home, and sought his wife where he was sure to find her,--not however, so much bored as usual, for she was engaged in reading a long letter from her father, which contained an enclosure for her husband, the contents of which Hugo was at no loss to divine.

"What have you to tell me, Hugo? your smile is positively beatific. Has your last purchase of cattle turned out a wonderful bargain, or is the wheat crop on the east meadow twice as heavy as you supposed it would be?"

Hugo laughed good-humouredly; he cared nothing for the pin-p.r.i.c.ks of his wife's ridicule. "Oh, better than all that, my darling, although both your suppositions are correct. Circe has gained possession of her victim."