Finally, Ilse wrote to her father. Again her thoughts became sad, anguish rose from the depth of her heart, and lay like a burning weight on her bosom. She left her writing-table, and paced hastily about the room. When she came to the window, she saw the lord of the castle coming slowly along the gravel path towards the Pavilion.

Ilse stepped back quickly. She was not unaccustomed to the short visits of the Sovereign; but to-day she felt fearful, the blood rushed to her heart, she pressed her hands over her bosom, and struggled for composure.

The door flew open.

"I come to inquire," began his Highness, "how you bear your solitude.

My house also has become empty, my children are gone from me, and it is lonely in the great building."

"I have employed my leisure in intercourse with distant friends,"

answered Ilse.

She would not on this occasion mention the children to the Sovereign.

"Are the little ones who play about in your home amongst these friends?" he asked laughing. "Have the children again expressed their wishes to you?"

He took a chair and invited Ilse to be seated. His demeanor made her more composed; his manner was that of a discreet and well-intentioned person.

"Yes, your Highness," replied Ilse; "but this time my younger sister, Luise, was the most active correspondent."

"Does she promise to become like you?" asked the Sovereign, kindly.

"She is now twelve years old," replied Ilse, with reserve; "she is sentimental upon every subject and every blade of gra.s.s excites her fancy. It appears as if she were to be the poetess of the play-room. I do not know how these fantastical ideas have come into our family. In her letter she tells me a long story, as if it had happened to herself, and yet it is only a tale which she has read somewhere. For since I have left my home, more story-books have reached it than were there in my youth."

"Probably it is only childish vanity," said the Sovereign, kindly, "that leads her to subst.i.tute an invention for truth."

"That is it exactly," answered Ilse, more cheerfully. "She pretends that she lost her way in the wood, and that when she was sitting sorrowfully among the toad-stools, the little animals whom she was in the habit of feeding in our court-yard,--the white mouse in the cage, the cats, and the shepherd's dog,--placed themselves about her and ran before her till she found her way out of the wood. The cat together with the mouse, your Highness; that was silly! This story she related boldly as if it were the truth, and expected me to think it touching.

That was too much--but I have given her my opinion of it."

The Sovereign laughed, laughed from his heart. It was a rare sound that echoed through the walls of the dark room, and the G.o.d of love above looked down with surprise on the joyous man.

"May I ask how you criticized this poetic state of mind?" asked the Sovereign. "There is a poetical idea in the tale, that the kindness shown to others will always be repaid when required. But it is unfortunately only an poetic idea; grat.i.tude is seldom met with in real life."

"One ought not, in life, to trust solely to the help of others,"

replied Ilse, firmly; "and one ought not to show kindness to others in order that it may be repaid. There is indeed a strange pleasure felt when some chord which one has struck brings back its echo to one's heart; but one should not trust to it. A child that has lost its way should make good use of its five senses in order to find its way home by itself. But, certainly, one ought not to put forth poetical ideas as if they were real incidents. I was obliged to scold her; for, your Highness, girls in these days must have right ideas taught them, or they will soon lose themselves in dreams."

The Sovereign laughed again.

Where are the wise and good animals, Lady Ilse, that will give _you_ friendly counsel in your time of need?

"You are too strict," continued the Sovereign. "The witch fancy deceives the judgment of even us grown-up people; one is fearful without reason, and one hopes and trusts without justification. The person who could ever command a true, impartial judgment of his own position, would have a freedom that would make life hardly endurable."

"Fancy confuses us," answered Ilse, looking round, "but it warns us also."

"What is warmth of feeling, and devotion to others?" continued the Sovereign, sorrowfully. "Nothing but subtle self-deceit. If I now am flattered by the joyful feeling that I have succeeded in sharing the wealth of your heart, that too is only a deception; but it is a dream which I carefully cherish, for it does me good. With a happiness which I have long been deprived of, I listen to the honest tones of your voice, and the thought is painful to me that I shall ever be without the sweet enjoyment they afford. It is of greater value to me than you imagine."

"Your Highness speaks to me as to a true friend," replied Ilse, drawing herself up; "and when I take to heart the kindly tone in which you now express your sympathy, I have to believe your honesty and sincere intentions. But this same fancy, which you blame and praise, disturbs also the confidence which I would gladly have in your Highness. I will no longer be silent about it, for it pains me after such kind words, to foster any unfounded feeling against you." She rose hastily. "It disturbs my peace of mind to feel that I dwell in a house which the feet of other women avoid."

The Sovereign looked astonished at the woman who, with such firmness, controlled her inward excitement.

"The fortune-teller," he murmured.

"Your Highness knows well what fancy does," continued Ilse, sorrowfully. "It has tormented my soul, and made it difficult for me in this place to believe in the esteem of which your Highness a.s.sures me."

"What have they been telling you?" asked the Sovereign, in a sharp tone.

"What your Highness ought not to desire to hear from my lips," replied Ilse, proudly. "It is possible that the master of a Court considers such things with indifference. I say that to myself. But it is a misfortune to me to have been here: it is a stain on a spotless robe, and I fix my eyes wildly upon it; I wash it away with my hand, and yet it always lies before me, for it is a shadow that falls from without."

The Sovereign looked gloomily before him.

"I shall not use the subterfuges that you put into the mouth of a master of a Court, for I feel at this moment, deeply and pa.s.sionately like you, that an injury has been done your honor. I have only one excuse," he continued, with pa.s.sion: "you came here as stranger to us, and I little thought what a treasure lay concealed near me. Since that, in our slight intercourse, you have awakened in me a feeling to which I yield irresistibly. It is seldom permitted me by fate to say undisguisedly what I feel. I disdain to use the impa.s.sioned language of a youth, for I do not wish to disquiet you. But do not think that I feel less strongly towards you because I know how to conceal my emotion."

Ilse stood in the middle of the room, and a burning color rose to her cheeks.

"I beg your Highness not to say another word, for it is not right that I should listen to you."

The Sovereign laughed bitterly.

"I have already wounded you, and you quickly make it plain that I labored under an illusion when I hoped for your affection. And yet I am so completely your slave, that I beg of you not to refuse your sympathy to a pa.s.sion which glows so warmly within me, that it has at this moment entirely deprived me of my self-control."

Ilse gasped:

"I must away from here."

"Renounce that idea," cried the Sovereign, beside himself. "I cannot be deprived of your presence or of the sound of your voice. However slightly it may gladden me, it is the happiness of my days--the one great feeling in a life without pleasure or love. The knowledge that you are near me maintains me in my struggle against thoughts that stupefy me in gloomy hours. Like the devout pilgrim who listens to the bell of the hermitage, I listen to the slightest chord that vibrates from your life into mine. Consent to accept the devotion of a lonely man," he continued, more tranquilly. "I vow never more to wound your delicate feelings. I vow to be contented with that share of your life which you will freely give me."

"I repent of every word that I have spoken to your Highness, and I repent of every hour in which I have thought with reverence of you,"

exclaimed Ilse, with kindling anger. "I was a poor trusting child," she continued, excitedly. "I bowed submissively to my Sovereign before I saw him as he is; now that I know him, he excites abhorrence in me, and I gather up my garment and say. Monster, begone from me!"

The Sovereign fell back in his chair.

"It is an old curse that echoes in my ears from these walls; it is not your own heart that drives me from you. From your lips should only come words of love and compa.s.sion. I am not a tempter, I am myself a wanderer in the wilderness, with nothing about me but desert sand and towering rocks. I hear the laughter of children; I see the fair-haired group pa.s.sing by me; I see two eyes fixed on me with kindly greeting, and a hand, with the filled cup, which beckons to the weary one; and, like a vision of mist, it has all disappeared. I remain alone, and I sink to my destruction."

He closed his hands over his eyes. Ilse did not reply. She stood, turned from him, looking through the window at the clouds which flitted across the heaven.

All was quiet in the room. Nothing moved, and no one spoke. At last the Sovereign rose slowly: he approached Ilse. There was a gla.s.sy look in his eye, and he moved with effort.

"If I have wounded you by what I have said in a moment of overwhelming pa.s.sion, forget it. I have proved to you that I am not yet free from the weakness that hopes to gain a heart which would beat in unison with mine. Remember only that I am an erring one who sought comfort from you. It was an humiliating request: if you cannot respond to it, do not be angry with the wretched one who asks."

He gazed on her with a long, protracted look of burning pa.s.sion, deadly, wounded pride, and something more, that inspired her with terror, but she looked him firmly and rigidly in the face. He raised a warning finger, and left the room.

She listened to his tread as he went away, marked every step as he descended, and when he closed the house-door, pulled the bell.

Gabriel, who was standing in the anteroom, entered quickly.

"I wish to go away from here," exclaimed Ilse.

"Whereto, Mrs. Werner?" asked the frightened servant.

"Where to?" echoed in Ilse's ears.