"How dare she compare my life with hers? How does she know whether the lord of this house attends to my words?"

Mrs. Rollmaus endeavored in vain to tranquilize her, by sensible observations upon the worthlessness of these female vagabonds. Ilse looked down, with her hands folded, and the consolatory speeches of her worthy friend were spoken in vain.

Strange voices were heard in the house; Gabriel opened the door, and announced the Intendant. The old man entered the room officiously and begged to be excused for the interruption.

"My most gracious master has commanded me to inquire whether a strolling woman has been begging here. She has slipped into the castle, obtained access to the Princess, and frightened her, just when her Highness was departing for the country. His Highness wishes to warn you against the stranger--she is a dangerous person."

"She was here," replied Ilse, "and talked wildly; she showed that she knew the house."

The Intendant looked disturbed, as he continued:

"A long time ago, her Highness, the deceased Princess, took compa.s.sion on a gipsy girl whose mother had died on the high road. She had the creature instructed, and, as she was amusing, and seemed to promise well, she was at last taken into the castle and employed in small services; but she has badly repaid this generous treatment. At a time of heavy affliction in the castle, this person fell back into the habits of her childhood; she took to stealing, and disappeared. To-day, one of the servants recognized the maiden in this strange woman. His Highness, the gracious Prince, who is ailing, was informed of this by his valet and was much excited by it. Search is being made through all the streets and roads for the stranger."

The old man took leave. Ilse looked gloomily after him; but she said with more composure to Mrs. Rollmaus:

"This accounts for the language of the stroller, which sounded different to that of begging people in general, and it accounts for her wish to receive the pardon of the Prince."

But now Mrs. Rollmaus in her turn became depressed and sad.

"Ah, dear Ilse! if the witch has really lived here among these distinguished people, she may know many things that have happened in this house; for people do not speak well of it, and they say that in former times princely mistresses lived here. The house is not to blame, nor are we; it is only because the Hereditary Prince has gone to your father, and you knew him at the University, that people shake their heads at it; it is idle gossip."

"What gossip?" exclaimed Ilse, in a hoa.r.s.e voice, seizing the hand of Mrs. Rollmaus.

"They say that you are the cause of the Hereditary Prince coming into our country. We should all rejoice if you were to visit your father before you journey, as was intended; but I really believe, as long as the Prince is there, it would be better for you to remain here, or anywhere else. It is only for the sake of prudence," she continued, soothingly, "and you must not take it to heart."

Ilse stood silent and motionless; Mrs. Rollmaus continuing her comforting words, but Ilse scarcely seemed conscious of them.

It is not safe, Ilse, to teach young princes to use agricultural machines, and to fight duels; the tuition fee will be paid you doubly, and in new coin, as is the custom of the courts.

There was a long and uneasy silence in the room. Ilse looked wildly about; then she took a cane chair, and placed herself opposite to Mrs.

Rollmaus, and her fingers flew over her work. "Do not let us talk any more of such calumnies," she said. "What is your son Karl doing? are you satisfied with his progress? and how does he get on with the pianoforte? It would be a good thing for him to understand something about music."

Mrs. Rollmaus recovered her spirits talking over the dances that her son Karl played; she chattered on, and Ilse listened silently, counting over the st.i.tches in her colored wool-work.

The Professor returned, and shortly after the carriage drove up. Mrs.

Rollmaus disappeared into the next room to pack up her cap in the band-box, and then took an eloquent leave of her dear friend, the Professor. Her last words to Ilse were:

"It may be long before we meet again; preserve your friendship for me even though I am far from you."

"What is the meaning of these solemn words of parting our neighbor has spoken?" asked the Professor, astonished.

"They mean that we are in a house, to be within the walls of which fills an honest woman with horror and dread," answered Ilse, with flashing eyes; "and they mean that I wish to go away from here, and that it is time for you to take away your wife from unwholesome surroundings."

She told him breathlessly what Mrs. Rollmaus had related, and what the beggar-woman had suggested.

"I am ensnared, Felix," she exclaimed, "by my own fault, I am sorry to say. G.o.d knows that in my conduct towards the young Prince I had no thought of bringing your wife into disrepute, but I have been imprudent, and I am suffering for it horribly, horribly! Now I understand the forebodings which have tormented me for weeks past. If you love me take me away quickly from here, the ground burns beneath my feet."

A sharp pang seized the Professor as he saw his wife struggling with agony, bitter enough to stun the strongest soul of woman, and to crush the n.o.blest powers for years.

"It is as repugnant and humiliating to me as to you to look openly upon wickedness. I am ready to do all that I can to deliver you from this trouble. Let us calmly consider how this can be done. You cannot, in such a state of pa.s.sionate feeling, decide what would be good for you, for your judgment is not unbiased enough to choose your own course. To what old house that a tenant rents or a landlord opens, do not painful recollections attach? Even he who lives a simple life in a strange neighborhood, cannot escape the attacks of idle gossip. Turn away your thoughts from that common woman. It would not become either you or me to depart like fugitives on her account. What have we done, Ilse, to lose our self-respect? There is only one wise method of dealing with the evil work of foolish and perverse accidents, to go forward firmly and to care little for it. Then the dissonance will pa.s.s away and perish of itself in the noise of daily life. Those who allow themselves to be disturbed by it, increase it by their own sorrow. Suppose that we were suddenly to leave this house, you would carry away with you the feeling of having left like one who had been conquered, and you would be incessantly pursued by the consciousness of a discordant murmur behind us which would not be silenced."

"You speak coldly and wisely," exclaimed Ilse, deeply incensed; "in spite of what you say, though, you little feel the injury your wife suffers."

"If you now had the self-possession for which I always admired you, you would not allow such unjust complaints to pa.s.s your lips," replied her husband, gloomily. "You must know that if I saw you in danger, I would this very hour take you away. Must I now waste words with you to tell you that. But even against the gossip of the weak, this residence is the best defense, for the Prince is away and you remain behind with your husband."

"I know the cause of this indifference," murmured Ilse.

"You know what binds me here," exclaimed the Professor, "and if you were to me what you ought to be, the sharer of my hopes, and if you had the same feeling for the value of the treasure which I seek, you would, like me, feel that I should not needlessly turn away. Bear with this residence, dear Ilse, however irksome it may appear to you," he continued encouragingly, "the longest period is past. I am invited to pursue my quest in the country-chateau of the Princess; there I antic.i.p.ate that I shall find what will set us free."

"Do not go," exclaimed Ilse, approaching him; "do not leave me in this dreadful insecurity, in a terror that makes me shudder at myself and every strange sound that I hear in these rooms."

"Terror," exclaimed the Professor, displeased, "terror of spirits.

Rarely is life among strangers so easy and comfortable as this residence is to us; there may be discord everywhere, and it is our own fault if we allow it to master us."

"Do not go," cried Ilse again. "Yes, there are spirits that pursue me, they hang day and night above my head. Do not go, Felix," she exclaimed, raising her hand; "it is not the ma.n.u.script alone that allures you, but the woman who awaits you there. This I have known ever since the first day we came to this town. I see how the magic of her superficial soul ensnares you. I have until to-day struggled against this fear, from the confidence I had in my loved husband. If you go now, Felix, when I would like to cling to you, when I seek every moment for comfort from your voice, I shall begin to doubt you and to have the fearful thought that my trouble is indifferent to you, because you have become cold to me."

"What are you thinking of, Ilse?" cried the scholar, horrified; "is it my wife that speaks thus? when have I ever concealed my feelings from you? and can you not read in my soul as in an open book? Then, was it this that lay so heavy on your mind? Just what I should not have considered possible," he said, frankly and sorrowfully.

"No, no," cried Ilse, beside herself; "I am unjust, I know it; do not attend to my words. I trust you; I cling to you. Oh! Felix, I should be driven to despair if this support breaks under me."

She threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed. Her husband embraced her, and tears came into his eyes at the grief of his wife.

"Remain with me, my Felix," continued Ilse, weeping. "Do not leave me alone just now. I have still a childish, simple heart. Have patience with me. I have been ill at ease here; I do not know why. I cling to you, and I tremble lest you should be alienated from me. I know that you are mine, and I struggle with the fearful foreboding that I shall lose you here. When you go out of the house, it seems to me as if I must take an eternal farewell, and when you return, I look doubtfully at you, as if you had changed towards me in a few hours. I am unhappy, Felix, and unhappiness makes one distrustful. I have become weak and faint-hearted, and I am afraid of telling you, because I fear that you will on that account have less respect for me. Remain here, my beloved; do not go to the Princess--at least, not to-morrow."

"If not to-morrow," he said, cheerfully, "then the next day, or some other day. I cannot forego this short journey. To give it up would be a wrong that we must not take upon ourselves. The longer I delay. Ilse, the longer you will be kept within these walls. Even from your point of view, is it not prudent to do quickly what would make us free?"

Ilse released herself from his embrace.

"You speak sensibly at a moment when I had hoped for a far different tone from your heart," she said quietly. "I know, Felix, that you do not wish to give me pain, and I hope that you are true in what you now say, and conceal nothing from me. But I feel in the depths of my heart a long-accustomed pang that has often come over me in sorrowful days since I have known you. You think differently from what I do, and you feel differently in many things. The individual and his sufferings signify little to you in comparison to the great thoughts that you carry about with you. You stand on a height, in a clear atmosphere, and have no sympathy with the anguish and trouble in the valley at your feet. Clear is the air, but cold, and a chill seizes me, when I see it."

"It is the nature of a man," said the Professor, more deeply moved by the restrained grief of his wife than by her loud complaints.

"No," answered Ilse, gazing fixedly before her, "it is only the nature of a scholar."

In the night, when the scholar had been long sleeping, his wife rose by his side and gazed, in the subdued light, on the countenance of her loved husband. She got up, and held the night-lamp so that the yellow light fell on his peaceful countenance, and large tears dropped from her eyes on his head. Then she placed herself before him, wringing her hands, and striving to restrain the weeping and convulsions which shook her body.

_CHAPTER x.x.xV_.

IN THE PRINCESS'S TOWER.

When the Princess, at the urgent desire of her father, had returned to her home, the ill.u.s.trious family whose name she now bore made it a condition, not only that she should pa.s.s some months of the year at the residence of her deceased husband, but that she should have a special establishment arranged for her in her father's capital. A compact to this effect was concluded, the object of which was undoubtedly to secure to the young Princess a certain degree of independence. In order to fulfil the agreement in appearance, a princely castle in the country was a.s.signed to the Princess for a dwelling, as there was no suitable building in the capital. The castle was half a day's journey from the city, at the foot of a woody hill, surrounded by fields and villages--a pleasant summer residence. The Princess had already spent some of the months of her mourning there.

It was a warm day on which the Professor set off to go to the castle.

The air had not yet become cool after the storm of the night. There were fleeting shadows and bright sunshine on the sky and earth; the thick clouds sometimes cast a grey covering over the straight road along which the learned man pa.s.sed; but then again it lay before him like a golden path, leading to the longed-for goal.