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Fickle Fortune

by E. Werner · English · Gutenberg #39194 · 441,572 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Fickle Fortune

Author: E. Werner

Translator: Christina Tyrrell


        
Release date: March 18, 2012 [eBook #39194]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39194

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FICKLE FORTUNE ***




Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive




no gutcheck/jeebies/gutspell




Transcriber's Notes:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/3935129

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].





                           FICKLE FORTUNE.






                           FICKLE FORTUNE.



                                  BY
                              E. WERNER,
                              AUTHOR OF
           'UNDER A CHARM,' 'NO SURRENDER,' 'SUCCESS,' ETC.



                           From the German
                                  BY
                          CHRISTINA TYRRELL.





                           _A NEW EDITION_.



                               LONDON:
                       RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
           Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
                                1888.
                       [_All Rights Reserved_.]






                           FICKLE FORTUNE.




                              CHAPTER I.


'This is what they are pleased to call spring in these parts! The snow
drifts thicker and thicker every minute, and the delightful north-east
wind comes in vigorous blasts which threaten to carry us away into
space, post-chaise and all. It is perfectly maddening.'

The carriage, one of the occupants of which thus gave vent to his
ill-humour, was in truth working its way slowly and with difficulty
through the accumulated snow on the high-road. Notwithstanding all
their efforts, the horses could only advance at a foot-pace, so that
the patience of the two travellers seated in the interior of the
vehicle was put to a severe test.

Of these, the younger, who was attired in an elegant travelling-suit,
far too light of texture, however, for the occasion, could certainly
not be more than four-and-twenty years of age. All the hopefulness and
confidence, or rather the bright audacity of youth beamed in his frank
handsome face, in the dark eyes, which were bold and clear as though
no trace of a shadow had ever clouded them. There was something
peculiarly winning and agreeable about the young man's whole
appearance, but he seemed highly impatient of the delay which now
occurred in his journey, and gave expression to his annoyance in every
possible way.

His companion, on the other hand, appeared altogether calm and
indifferent, as he sat, wrapped in his cloak, leaning well back in the
other corner of the carriage. But a few years older than his friend,
he possessed little of the latter's attractiveness. He was of
powerful, rather than of graceful, build, and he bore himself with an
ease which was almost nonchalance. His face would have passed muster
as being, at least, full of character, though it could lay claim
neither to beauty nor regularity of outline, but it was spoiled by an
expression of stern reserve which chilled and repelled.

The deeper bitterness of life, its harsher experiences, could hardly
have come home to one so young, and yet there was a look which spoke
of these, a something not to be defined or accurately traced, which
set on the countenance its own distinctive mark, and made the man
appear much older than he really was. The abundant dark hair
harmonised with the bushy dark eyebrows, but the eyes themselves were
of that uncertain hue which is not generally approved. They made,
indeed, scant appeal to the sympathies, expressing none of the happy
vivacity, none of those passionate emotions wherein, as a rule, youth
is so rich. Their cold unmoved survey was hard, and hardness
characterised the young man's entire appearance and demeanour.

The gentleman above described had hitherto sat silent, looking out at
the hurrying, driving snow; but now he turned, and in answer to his
companion's impatient exclamation, said:

'You forget that we are no longer in Italy, Edmund. In our climate,
and especially here among the mountains, March counts among the winter
months.'

'Ah me, my beautiful Italy! There we left all bathed in sunshine and
fragrant with flowers, and here at home we are received by a snowstorm
imported direct from the North Pole, You seem, however, to find no
fault with the temperature. The whole journey has been nothing to you
but just a troublesome task to be got through. Don't deny it, Oswald.
Could you have chosen, you would rather have stayed at home with your
books.'

Oswald shrugged his shoulders.

'What I wished, or did not wish, was not taken into consideration. It
was decided that you were not to travel without a companion. I
therefore simply had to obey orders.'

'Yes, you were given to me as a Mentor,' laughed Edmund; 'charged with
the high mission of watching over me, and, at need, of applying a
salutary check.'

'In which I certainly have not succeeded. You have committed follies
innumerable.'

'Bah! of what use is it to be young and rich, if one is not to enjoy
life? I must say this, I have always had to enjoy it by myself. You
have not been a good comrade to me, Oswald, my friend. What made you
always draw back into your shell in that obstinate, sombre fashion?'

'Because I knew, and know, that what is permitted to the heir of
Ettersberg, or what, at most, will be condoned with a few tender
reproaches, would be esteemed a crime in me,' was the brusque reply.

'Nonsense!' cried Edmund. 'You know very well that I should have taken
the whole responsibility on myself. As it is, I must take all the
blame. Well, the judgment on my backslidings will not be over-severe,
I warrant, whereas, when you on our return publicly announce your
plans for the future, you may hold yourself prepared for a storm.'

'I know that,' replied Oswald laconically.

'But I shall not stand by you this time as I did before, when you so
decidedly refused to enter the army,' went on the young Count. 'I got
you through that, for I naturally thought you would go into a
Government office. We all thought so, looked upon it as a thing
decided, and now you suddenly come forward with this insane idea of
yours.'

'The idea is neither so new nor so insane as you suppose. It had
germinated and taken root in my mind when I began my University career
with you. I have directed all my studies with a view to it; but as I
wished to avoid a useless conflict lasting through years, I have been
silent until now, when the time for the decision has come.'

'I warn you, this project of yours will set the whole family in
commotion. And I must say it is a most extraordinary one. Think of an
Ettersberg turning barrister, and taking up the defence of any thief
or forger who comes in his way! My mother will never hear of it, and
she will be perfectly right. Now, if you were to enter a Government
office----'

'Years must elapse before I should have mounted the first grades, and
during that time I must be altogether dependent on you and your
mother.'

This was said in so harsh and curt a tone that Edmund drew himself up
quickly.

'Oswald, have I ever let you feel that?'

'You--never! But your very generosity makes me feel it more.'

'So here we are on the old ground again! You are capable of doing the
most idiotic thing in the world, merely to shake off this so-called
dependence. But what is the matter, I wonder? Why has the carriage
stopped? I really believe we are fast in the snow here on the
main-road.'

Oswald had already let down the window, and was looking out.

'What is up?' he asked.

'We are stuck,' was the phlegmatic reply of the post-boy, who seemed
to consider the thing as perfectly natural.

'Oh, we are stuck, are we!' repeated Edmund, with an irritated laugh.
'And the man informs us of it with that sweet philosophic calm. Well,
granted we are stuck. What is to be done?'

Oswald made no reply, but opened the carriage-door and stepped out.
The situation could be taken in at a glance; agreeable it certainly
was not. From the spot they had reached, the road descended in a steep
incline, and the narrow defile through which they must pass was
completely blocked by an enormous drift. There the snow lay several
feet high, and presented so compact a mass that to get through it
seemed impossible. The coachman and horses must have become aware of
this simultaneously, for the latter ceased all exertion, and the
former sat with drooping whip and reins, gazing at his two passengers
as though he expected from them counsel or assistance.

'This confounded post-chaise!' burst forth Edmund, who had followed
his companion's example and alighted in his turn. 'Why the deuce had
not we our own horses sent out to meet us! We shall not reach
Ettersberg now before dark. Driver, we must get on!'

'There is no getting on, sir,' replied the latter, with imperturbable
serenity. 'You, gentlemen, can see it for yourselves.'

The young Count was about to make an angry retort, when Oswald laid
his hand on his arm.

'The man is right. It really is not to be done. With these two horses
only we cannot possibly advance. There is nothing left us but to stop
here a while in the carriage, and to send the post-boy on to the next
station to procure us a relay.'

'So that we may be snowed up here meanwhile. Rather than that, I would
go on to the post-house  on foot.'

Oswald's eyes travelled with a somewhat sarcastic glance over his
comrade's dress, which was suited only to a railway _coupe_ or a
carriage.

'You propose going through the woods on foot in that attire? Along a
path where one sinks to the knee at every step? But you will take cold
standing here exposed to this sharp wind. Have my cloak.'

So saying, and without more ado, he unfastened his cloak, and placed
it about the Count's shoulders, the latter protesting violently, but
in vain.

'Do not give it to me; you will have no protection yourself against
the wind and weather.'

'Nothing hurts me. I am not delicate.'

'And, in your opinion, I am?' inquired Edmund tetchily.

'No, only spoilt. But now we must come to some decision. Either we
must stay here in the carriage and send on the post-boy, or we must
endeavour to push forwards by the footpath. Decide quickly. What is to
be done?'

'What an abominable way you have of summing up things!' said Edmund,
with a sigh. 'You are constantly setting one an alternative----choose
this or that. How do I know if the footpath is practicable?'

Here the discussion was interrupted. The snorting of horses and the
thud of hoofs on the snow were heard at some little distance, and
through the mist and falling flakes a second carriage could be seen
approaching. The powerful animals which drew it overcame with
tolerable ease the difficulties of the way, until they reached the
formidable descent. Here they, too, came to a stand. The coachman drew
rein, contemplated the block before him with an ominous shake of the
head, and then turned to speak to some one inside the carriage. His
report was evidently as unsatisfactory as that delivered by the
post-boy, and was received with a like impatience. The answer, which
came in a clear, youthful voice, was given sharply and with much
energy:

'It is all of no use, Anthony. We must get through.'

'But, Fraeulein, if it can't be done!' objected the coachman.

'Nonsense! it _must_ be done. I will just look for myself.'

No sooner were the words spoken in a most decided tone than they were
carried into effect. The carriage-door flew open, and a young lady--a
lady of whose youth there could be no possible doubt--sprang out.
She appeared to be familiar with the March temperature of this
mountainous country, and to have taken the necessary precautionary
measures, for her costume was one suited to winter. She wore a dark
travelling-dress, and over it a fur-trimmed jacket well buttoned about
her slender figure, while securely pinned about her hat was a thick
veil which covered head and face. The fact that on alighting her foot
sank into the soft snow almost to the border of her boot seemed in no
way to affect her. She advanced valiantly a few steps, then stopped on
beholding another carriage drawn up just before her own.

The attention of the two gentlemen had, of course, also been
attracted. Oswald, indeed, merely bestowed a cursory glance on the
new-comer, and then addressed his mind again to the critical situation
in which they found themselves; but Edmund, on the other hand, at once
lost all interest in it.

He left to his companion any further consideration of the difficulty.
In an instant he was at the stranger's side, and, executing a bow as
elaborate as though they had been in a drawing-room, spoke thus:

'Pardon me, Fraeulein, but I perceive we are not the only persons
surprised by this incomparable spring weather. It is always
consolatory to meet with companions in misfortune; and as we are
exposed to a like danger, that of being completely, hopelessly snowed
up, you will allow us to offer you our aid and assistance.'

In making this chivalrous offer. Count Ettersberg lost sight of the
fact that he and Oswald were as yet helpless themselves, having found
no way of overcoming the obstacle in their path. Unfortunately, he was
at once taken at his word, for the young lady, no whit abashed by a
stranger's address, replied promptly in her former decided tone:

'Well, have the kindness then to make us a way through the snow.'

'I?' asked Edmund, dismayed. 'You wish me to----'

'I wish you to make us a road through the snow--most certainly I do,
sir.'

'With the utmost pleasure, Fraeulein, if only you will be so good as to
tell me how I am to set about it.'

The toe of her little boot tapped the ground vigorously, and there was
some slight asperity in her reply.

'I fancied you might have found out that already, as you proffered
your help. Well, we must get through some way, no matter how it is
managed.'

With this, the speaker threw back her veil, and proceeded to inspect
the situation. The withdrawal of that dark blue gauze revealed
features of such unwonted loveliness that Edmund, in his surprise,
forgot to make response. A fairer sight, indeed, could hardly have
been beheld than the face of this young girl, rose-tinted by the
action of the keen mountain air. Her brown curly hair peeped and
struggled rebelliously out of the silken net which sought to confine
it. Her eyes, of the deepest, deepest blue, were not serene and calm
as blue eyes are expected to be; on the contrary, they gleamed and
sparkled with the saucy merriment which youth and happiness alone can
give. Every smile brought a charming, delicious little dimple into
either cheek, but there was an expression about the small mouth which
hinted at waywardness and defiance; and it might well be that in that
little head, beneath those rebellious locks, there lodged a child's
caprice, all a child's manifold wilful conceits. Perhaps it was
precisely this which gave to the face its own peculiar, piquant charm,
which fascinated irresistibly, and forced those who had once looked to
look again.

The young lady was by no means unaware of the impression her
appearance had created. To the consciousness of it was due, no doubt,
the involuntary smile which now chased the petulance from her
features. Edmund's silence was not of long duration. Timidity and a
want of self-confidence  were not among his failings, and he was about
to renew the attack with a well-turned compliment when Oswald came up
and spoke.

'The difficulty can be overcome,' he said, bowing slightly to the
stranger. 'If you, Fraeulein, will allow us to harness your horses
to our team, it will be possible in the first place to get the
post-chaise through the snow, and then to proceed with your carriage
in its track.'

'Uncommonly practical!' said Edmund, who was considerably annoyed at
being thus interrupted, at the check to his compliment, and to the
further development of his many delightful qualities. The young lady
appeared somewhat surprised at the curt dry tone in which the proposal
was made. The highly unpractical admiration of herself manifested by
Count Ettersberg was evidently more to her taste than the cold
commonsense of his companion.

She replied, speaking rather shortly in her turn:

'Pray do exactly as you think best.' Then she instructed the coachman
to obey the gentleman's orders, and turning to her carriage, prepared
to seek a shelter therein from the persistent, thickly-falling snow.

Edmund promptly followed. He felt it incumbent on him to help her in,
after which he took up his station on the carriage-step, in order to
keep her informed of the progress of the business which Oswald had
energetically taken in hand.

'Now the procession has started,' he began his report, the
carriage-window having been lowered to facilitate communication. 'They
can hardly advance even with the double team. Ah, there, as they go
downhill, things look serious. The ramshackle old post-chaise cracks
and shakes at every joint; the two men are as awkward in driving as
they can possibly be. It is lucky that my companion is commandant of
the troop. If there is a thing he thoroughly understands, and in which
he excels, it is the art of commanding! Upon my word, they are making
a breach in the snow-rampart! They will manage it. Oswald is over
yonder already, pointing out to them the direction they are to take.'

'While you are securely posted on my carriage-step,' remarked the
young lady, rather caustically.

'Why, Fraeulein, you would not require of me to leave you all alone
here on the highroad,' said Edmund, taking up his defence. 'Some one
must stay here to protect you.'

'I do not think there is any danger of an attack by robbers. Our
highways are safe, so far as I know. But you seem to have a fancy for
your point of vantage.'

'Whence I enjoy so charming a prospect, yes.'

This too gallant speech was evidently distasteful, for instantaneously
the dark blue veil was lowered, and the vaunted prospect disappeared
from view. Count Edmund was a little discomfited. He saw his error,
and grew more respectful.

A quarter of an hour had well-nigh elapsed before the chaise could be
got over the difficult ground. At length it stood secure on the other
side. Oswald retraced his steps, and the coachman followed with the
horses. Edmund was still on the carriage-step. He had, as it seemed,
received absolution for the impertinence of which he had been guilty,
for a most animated conversation was going on between the lady and her
self-appointed guardian. The former took, however, a certain malicious
pleasure in concealing her features from view. Her veil was still
closely drawn when Oswald again approached.

'I must beg of you to alight, Fraeulein,' he said. 'The descent is
rather precipitous, and the snow is deep. Our post-chaise was several
times within an ace of being overturned, and your carriage is much
heavier. It might be a risk for you to remain in it.'

'What an idea, Oswald!' cried Edmund. 'How can this lady pass along
such a road on foot? It is impossible!'

'Not so, only rather uncomfortable,' was the unmoved reply. 'The
carriages will have formed some sort of a track; if we follow in that,
the journey will really not be so difficult as you imagine. Of course,
if the lady is afraid to venture----'

'Afraid?' she interrupted, in an angry tone. 'Pray, sir, do not
attribute any such excessive timidity to me. I shall most certainly
venture, and that at once.'

So saying, she jumped out of the carriage, and next minute was braving
the elements on the open road. Here the wind caught the veil which had
been so persistently held down, and it fluttered high in the air.
True, the little hand clutched quickly at the truant gauze, but it had
wound itself about the hat, and the attempt to regain control of it
failed signally; to the great satisfaction of Count Edmund, who was
now able to enjoy the 'prospect' without let or hindrance.

Meanwhile the horses had been harnessed to the second carriage. Ruts
having previously been made in the snow, the journey this time was
more easily performed. Nevertheless, Oswald, who followed closely in
the wake of the vehicle, was constantly obliged to offer his guidance
and assistance. The driving snow knew no intermission, and the great
white flakes whirled round and round, chased by the wind. The high
dyke-walls on either side of the road were seen but indistinctly as
through a veil, while all further prospect was completely blotted out,
hidden in dense mist. It needed the elastic spirits of youth to
support with philosophy so severe an ordeal, to find in it food for
mirth. Fortunately, this talismanic quality was possessed by the two
younger travellers in a high degree. The difficult progress, in the
course of which they sank at each step ankle-deep into the snow, the
incessant struggle with the wind, all the difficulties, great and
small, which had to be overcome, were to them an inexhaustible source
of merriment. Their lively talk never flagged an instant. Repartees
flowed backwards and forwards rocketwise. Each joke was caught in its
passage, and sent back with interest. Neither would allow the other to
have the last word, and all this badinage went on as unrestrainedly,
in as frank and natural a manner, as though the two had been
acquainted for years.

At length the journey was performed, and the summit of the opposite
hill reached in safety. Here the road branched off in two directions,
and no further obstruction was to be apprehended. The carriages stood
side by side, and the respective teams were speedily harnessed in
their proper order.

'We shall have to part company now,' said the young lady, pointing to
the divergent routes. 'You, no doubt, will continue along the
highroad, while my destination lies in the other direction.'

'At no very great distance, I hope,' said Edmund quickly. 'I beg
pardon, but all the small misadventures of this journey have done away
with anything like etiquette. We have not even told you our names.
Under the very exceptional circumstances, you will allow me,
Fraeulein'--here a violent gust of wind blew the cape of his cloak
about his ears, and dashed a shower of wet flakes in his face--'you
will allow me to introduce myself, your humble servant. Count Edmund
von Ettersberg, who at the same time has the honour of presenting his
cousin, Oswald von Ettersberg. You will excuse the reverence which
should accompany these words. Our friend Boreas is capable of
prostrating me at your feet in the snow.'

The young lady started at the mention of his name.

'Count Edmund? The heir of Ettersberg?'

'At your service.'

The stranger's lips twitched as with a strong inclination to laughter
forcibly restrained.

'And you have acted as my protector? We have mutually helped each
other in need with our horses. Oh, that is admirable!'

'My name would appear to be familiar to you,' said Edmund. 'May I in
my turn learn----'

'Who I am? No, Count, you certainly will not learn that now. But I
would advise you not to mention this meeting of ours at Ettersberg,
for, innocent as we are in the matter, the avowal would, I think, at
once place us both beyond the pale of the law.'

Here the young lady's self-control gave way, and she broke out into
such a peal of merry laughter that Oswald looked at her in surprise.
Not a whit disconcerted, Edmund immediately adopted the same tone.

'It seems that there exists between us a certain secret connection of
which I had no idea,' he said. 'The secret, however, appears to be of
a cheerful nature, and though you decline to raise the veil of your
incognito, you will, I am sure, permit me to enjoy my share of the
joke,' whereupon he joined in her merriment, laughing as heartily and
extravagantly as herself.

'The carriages are ready,' said Oswald, breaking in upon this noisy
gaiety. 'It is time, I think, for us to be setting out again.'

The two suddenly ceased laughing, and looked as though they considered
such an interruption to be most unmannerly. The young lady threw back
her head with an angry toss, looked at the speaker from head to foot,
and then without more ado turned her back on him, and walked towards
the carriage. Edmund naturally accompanied her. He pushed aside the
coachman, who was standing by the wheel ready to assist, lifted his
beautiful _protegee_ in, and closed the door.

'And I really am not to hear whom chance has thrown in my way in this
kind, but all too transitory, manner?' he asked, with a profound bow.

'No, Count. Possibly some explanation may be given you at home--that
is, if my _signalement_ be known there. I, most certainly, shall not
solve the enigma. One question more, however. Is your cousin always as
polite and as sociable as he has shown himself to-day?

'Ah, you would say that he has not opened his lips once during the
whole of our walk. Yes, that is unfortunately his way with strangers.
As for any sense of gallantry, of deference towards ladies!' Edmund
sighed. 'Ah, you little know, Fraeulein, what efforts I have to make,
how often I have to intervene and make amends for his utter deficiency
in that respect.'

'Well, you seem to accept the task with much self-abnegation,' replied
the young lady mischievously; 'and you have an extraordinary
predilection for mounting carriage-steps. Why, you are up there
again!'

Edmund certainly was up there, and would probably long have retained
the position, had not the coachman, who now grasped the reins, given
visible signs of impatience. The beautiful unknown graciously inclined
her head.

'Many thanks for your kindness. Adieu.'

'Adieu, for the present only, I may hope,' cried Edmund eagerly.

'For heaven's sake, hope nothing of the kind. We must forego any such
wild notion. You will see it yourself before long. Adieu, Count von
Ettersberg.'

These farewell words were followed by the musical, merry laugh. The
horses pulled with a will, and the young man had only just time to
jump from his standing-point on the step.

'Will you have the kindness to get in at last?'--this in the
remonstrant tones of Oswald's voice. 'You were in such a great hurry
to reach home, you know, and we are considerably behind time now.'

Edmund cast one more glance at the carriage which was whirling from
him his charming new acquaintance. Presently it disappeared among the
trees. Then he obeyed his cousin's summons.

'Oswald, who was the lady?' he asked quickly, as the post-chaise in
its turn began to move onwards.

'Why on earth ask me? How should I know?'

'Well, you were long enough away with the carriage. You might have
inquired of the coachman.'

'It is not my way to question coachmen. Besides, the matter possesses
little interest for me.'

'Well, it possesses a good deal for me,' said Edmund irritably. 'But
it is just like you. You don't consider it worth while to put a
question, though of course, as you are full well aware, one would
like to have the matter cleared up. I really don't quite know what to
make of the girl. She emits sparks, so to say, at the slightest
contact--she attracts and repels in a breath. One minute you feel as
if you may address her with perfect unconstraint, and the next you
find yourself scared back to the most respectful distance. A most
seductive little witch!'

'Exceedingly spoilt and wilful, I should say,' remarked Oswald drily.

'What an abominable pedant you are!' cried the young Count. 'You have
always some fault to find. It is precisely her capricious, merry
wilfulness which makes the girl so irresistible. But who in the world
can she be? I saw no crest on the carriage-panels. The coachman wore a
plain livery without any particular badge. Some middle-class family in
the neighbourhood, evidently; and yet she seemed to know us very well.
Why refuse to give her name? why that allusion to some connection
existing between us? In vain I rack my brains to find some
explanation.'

Oswald, who seemed to think such mental exertion on his cousin's part
most unnecessary, leaned back in his corner in silence, and the
journey was continued without further obstacle, but with the tedious
slowness which had characterised it throughout. To the Count's great
annoyance, instead of the four horses they desired and expected, two
only could be had at each relay. In consequence of the downfall of
snow, the available animals at each post-house  had been put into
requisition, so that the travellers had lost fully a couple of hours
on the road since they started from the railway-station at noon. It
was growing dark when the carriage at length rolled into the courtyard
of Castle Ettersberg, where their arrival had evidently long been
looked for. The portals of the spacious and brilliantly lighted hall
were thrown open, and at the sound of approaching wheels a goodly band
of servants hastened to receive their master. One of these, an old
retainer, who, like the rest, wore the handsome Ettersberg livery,
came straight up to the carriage.

'Good-evening, Everard,' cried Edmund joyfully. 'Here we are at last,
in spite of snow and stress of weather. All is well at home, I hope.'

'Quite well, the Lord be praised. Count! but her ladyship was growing
very anxious at the delay. She was afraid the young gentlemen had met
with a mishap.'

As he spoke, Everard opened the carriage-door, and at that moment a
lady of tall and imposing stature, clad in a dark silk robe, appeared
at the head of a flight of steps which led from the entrance-hall into
the interior of the castle. To spring out of the carriage, to rush
into the hall and bound up the steps, was, for Edmund, the affair of
an instant. Next minute he was fast in his mother's embrace.

'Dearest mother, what happiness to see you again at last!'

There was nothing in the young Count's exclamation of that light, airy
playfulness which had marked his every utterance hitherto. His tone
was genuine now, coming from the heart, and a like passionate
tenderness thrilled the voice and illumined the features of the
Countess as she folded her son in her arms again, and kissed him.

'My Edmund!'

'We are late, are we not? The block on the roads and the detestable
arrangements at the post-houses are to blame for it. Moreover, we had
a little adventure by the way.'

'How could you travel at all in such weather?' said the Countess, in a
tone of loving reproach. 'I was hourly expecting a telegram to say
that you would stay the night in B----, and come on here to-morrow.'

'What! Be separated from you four-and-twenty hours longer?' Edmund
broke in. 'No, mother, I certainly should not have agreed to that, and
you did not believe it of me either.'

The mother smiled. 'No; and for that very reason I have been in
distress about you for several hours. But come now, you must need some
refreshment after your long and arduous journey.'

She would have taken her son's arm to lead him away, but he stood
still, and said a little reproachfully:

'You do not see Oswald, mother.'

Oswald von Ettersberg had followed his cousin in silence. He stood a
little aside in the shadow of the great staircase, only emerging from
it now as the Countess turned towards him.

'Welcome home, Oswald.'

The greeting was very cool--cool and formal as the salute by which the
young man responded to it. He just touched his aunt's hand with his
lips, and as he did so, her glance travelled over his attire.

'Why, you are wet through!' she exclaimed in surprise. 'How came that
to be?'

'Oh, I forgot to tell you!' cried Edmund. 'When we had to alight, he
gave me his cloak, and braved the storm himself without it. Oswald,'
he went on, turning to his cousin, 'I might have given it back to you
in the carriage at least; why did you not remind me of it? Now you
have been sitting a whole hour in that wet coat. I do trust you will
take no harm from it.'

He took off the cloak hastily, and passed his hand inquiringly over
Oswald's shoulder, which certainly bore evidence of a good wetting.
The other shook him off.

'Don't. It is not worth speaking of.'

'I really think not,' said the Countess, to whom this kindly concern
on her son's part was evidently distasteful. 'You know that Oswald is
not susceptible to the influence of the weather. He must change his
clothes, that is all. Go, Oswald; but no, one word more,' she added
carelessly, and, as it were, by an afterthought: 'I have this time
given you another room, one situated over yonder, in the side-wing.'

'For what reason?' asked Edmund, surprised and annoyed. 'You know that
we have always had our rooms together.'

'I have made some alterations in your apartments, my son,' said the
Countess, in a tone of much decision; 'and they have obliged me to
take possession of Oswald's room. He will have no objection, I am
sure. He will find himself very comfortably lodged over yonder in the
tower-chamber.'

'No doubt, aunt.'

The reply sounded quiet and indifferent enough, yet there was
something in its tone which struck on the Count's ear unpleasantly.

He frowned, and would have spoken again, but glancing at the servants
standing round, he suppressed the remark he had been about to make.
Instead of pursuing the discussion, he went up to his cousin and
grasped his hand.

'Well, we can talk this over later on. Go now, Oswald, and change your
clothes at once--at once, do you hear? If you keep those wet things on
any longer, you will give me cause for serious self-reproach. Do it to
please me; we will wait dinner for you.'

'Edmund, you seem to forget that I am waiting for you.'

'One minute, mother. Everard, light Herr von Ettersberg to his room,
and see that he has dry clothes ready without delay.'

So saying, he turned to his mother, and offered his arm to lead her
away. Oswald had responded by no single syllable to all the concern on
his account so heartily expressed. He stood for a few seconds, looking
after the two as they departed; then, as the old servant approached,
he took the candelabrum from his hand.

'That will do, Everard; I can find my way alone. Look after my trunk,
will you?'

He turned into the faintly  illumined corridor which led to the
side-wing of the castle. The wax tapers he carried threw their clear
light on the young man's face, from which, now that he was alone, the
mask of indifference had dropped. The lips were tightly compressed,
the brows contracted, and an expression of bitterness, almost of hate,
distorted his features, as he murmured to himself under his breath:

'Will the day never come when I shall be free?'




                             CHAPTER II.


The house of Ettersberg had originally been great, and had boasted
many branches; but in the course of years death and the marriage of
the female descendants had lopped off one good member after another,
so that at the time of which this story treats there were, besides the
widowed Countess who lived at the patronymic castle, but two
representatives of the name, Count Edmund, the heir, and his cousin
Oswald.

The latter shared the fate common to younger sons in families where
the property is strictly entailed. Destitute of any personal fortune,
he was entirely dependent on the head of his house, or must be so, at
least, until he had carved out for himself a position in life. Things
had not always worn this aspect; on the contrary, he had at his birth
been greeted by his parents as the presumptive heir to the family
lands. The then head of the family, Edmund's father, was childless,
and already well advanced in years when he became a widower; his only
brother, a man considerably younger than himself, who held a
commission in the army, might therefore legitimately count on the
prospective inheritance. It was esteemed a special piece of good
fortune for this gentleman when, after many years of wedlock, blessed
so far only by the advent of daughters early deceased, a son was born
to him. The uncle himself gladly hailed the event as assuring the
continuance of his race, and during the first years of infancy, the
prospects of little Oswald were as brilliant as heart could desire.

Then occurred a most unlooked-for reversal of fortune. Count
Ettersberg, a sexagenarian and more, led to the altar as his second
wife a girl of twenty. The young Countess was very beautiful, but she
came of a ruined, though of a noble house. It was generally said that
the family had spared no exertions to bring about so splendid an
alliance. Splendid the match might certainly be called; but it was
ill-qualified to satisfy the needs of a youthful heart, especially as,
so it was whispered, this suit had interfered with, and roughly broken
asunder, the bonds of a previous attachment. Whether absolute
constraint, or persuasion only, had been used on the part of the
relations, no one knew; however prompted, the young lady gave her
consent to a marriage which insured her a brilliant and most enviable
position. Old Count Ettersberg succumbed so completely to the
influence of this tardily kindled passion that he forgot all else in
it, and when a scarcely hoped-for happiness befell him, when a son and
heir was placed in his arms, the dominion of his wise and beautiful
wife became absolute.

It was natural that the younger brother should feel somewhat aggrieved
at the utter destruction of all his prospects, and natural too that
his sister-in-law should entertain towards him no feelings of special
friendship. The affectionate relations formerly existing between the
brothers gave place to a coldness and estrangement which lasted until
the death of the younger. The Colonel and his wife died within but a
short interval, and the orphan boy was taken to his uncle's house and
there brought up on equal terms with the young heir.

But old Count Ettersberg did not survive his brother long. By his will
he assigned the guardianship of the two boys to Baron Heideck, his
wife's brother, and the latter justified the confidence placed in him,
standing by his sister in every circumstance where a man's aid and
assistance became necessary.

In general, however, the will assured to the Countess perfect freedom
and independence of action. She it was who, in reality, had control of
the property, and who directed the education of both son and nephew.

This latter was at length complete. Count Edmund had been absent all
the winter, travelling through France and Italy in his cousin's
company. He had now returned to make himself acquainted with the
management of his estates, which at his approaching majority he was to
take upon himself, while Oswald had to prepare to enter one of the
Government bureaux.

On the day succeeding the arrival of the two young men, the weather
cleared a little, though the outer world still presented a most wintry
aspect. The Countess was sitting with her son in her own boudoir.
Though she stood midway between forty and fifty, the lady yet in a
great measure retained the beauty which once had been dazzling. Her
appearance, albeit majestic, was still so youthful, that it was
difficult to imagine her the mother of this son of two-and-twenty,
more especially as there was no single trait of resemblance between
them. Edmund, with his dark hair and eyes, his sparkling gaiety and
mobile humour, which manifested itself in every word and gesture, was
a direct contrast to his grave, beautiful mother. Her fair tresses and
calm blue eyes harmonised with the cool serenity of mien peculiar to
her, a serenity which towards her darling alone would occasionally
yield to a warmer impulse.

The young Count had apparently been making an open breast with regard
to what Oswald termed his 'follies innumerable,' but he could not have
found it hard to obtain absolution, for his mother, though she shook
her head as she spoke, addressed him in a tone more tender than
reproachful.

'You madcap! It is time for me to take you in hand again. In the
perfect unconstraint you have enjoyed abroad, the maternal rein has
grown slack indeed. Will you bear it again, now that you have come
back to me?'

'Bear control from you?--always!' returned Edmund, pressing his lips
fervently to her white hand. Then relapsing immediately into his
former lighthearted, saucy vein, he added: 'I told Oswald beforehand
that the verdict on my misdeeds would be a merciful one. I know my
lady mother well.'

The Countess's face darkened.

'Oswald seems to have altogether neglected his duty,' she replied. 'I
could discover so much from your letters. As the elder and steadier of
the two, he should have remained at your side; instead of which he
left you to yourself, going only where he was absolutely obliged to
follow. Had your own nature not preserved you from anything worse than
folly, his counsels certainly would not have done so.'

'Oh, he preached enough,' said Edmund. 'It was my fault, you know, if
I did not listen to him. But before we say anything more, mother, let
me put one question. Why has Oswald been banished to the side-wing?'

'Banished! What an expression! You have seen the alterations I have
had made in your rooms. Are you not pleased with the new
arrangements?'

'Yes, but----'

'It was necessary for you to have your apartments distinct.' The
Countess interrupted him quickly. 'Now that you are about to take
possession of your own house, it would not be seemly for you to share
your rooms with your cousin. He will see that himself.'

'But it was not necessary to send him over to that old part of the
castle, which is only used in exceptional cases,' objected Edmund.
'There are rooms enough and to spare in the main building. Oswald was
hurt by this arrangement of yours. I could see it plainly. Have it
altered--I beg of you.'

'I cannot do that without making myself ridiculous in the eyes of all
the servants.' said the Countess, in a very decided tone. 'If you wish
to revoke the orders I have expressly given, you are, of course, at
liberty to do so.'

'Mother!' exclaimed the young Count, impatiently. 'You know very well
that I never interfere with your proceedings. But this might have
stood over for a time. Oswald will be leaving us in a few months.'

'Yes, in the autumn. By then my brother will have taken all necessary
steps to introduce him into one of the Government offices.'

Edmund looked down.

'I rather think Oswald has other plans for the future,' he said, with
some hesitation.

'Other plans?' repeated the Countess. 'I trust that we shall not
encounter disobedience from him a second time. Once, when he rebelled
against entering the army, I yielded, thanks to your persuasion and
advocacy. You were always on his side. I have not yet forgiven him his
wilful, defiant conduct on that occasion.'

'It was not defiance,' pleaded Edmund in defence. 'Only the conviction
he felt that, as an officer and the representative of an old and noble
name, he would not be able to keep up his position in the army without
permanent assistance from us.'

'Assistance you would amply have afforded him.'

'But which he would on no account accept. He possesses, as you know,
indomitable pride.'

'Say rather unbounded arrogance,' interrupted the Countess. 'I know
the quality, for I have had to battle with it since the day he first
came to this house. But for my husband's formally expressed desire
that this nephew should share your education and opportunities, I
would never have left you so exclusively to his companionship. I never
liked him. I cannot endure those cold searching eyes, which are always
on the alert, which nothing escapes, not even the best-guarded
secret.'

Edmund laughed out loud.

'Why, mother, you are making a regular detective of Oswald. He
certainly is a particularly keen observer, as may be noted from his
occasional remarks on men and things which strike no one else as
peculiar. Here, at Ettersberg, he can, however, hardly put his talents
to account. We have, thank God, no secrets for him to discover.'

The Countess bent over some papers lying on the table, and seemed to
be seeking for something among them.

'No matter,' she said. 'I never could understand your blind partiality
for him. You, with your frank, warm, open nature, and Oswald with his
icy reserve! You are about as congenial as fire and water.'

'The very contrast may be the cause of our mutual attraction,' said
Edmund, jestingly. 'Oswald is not the most amiable person in the
world, that I must admit; towards me he decidedly is not amiable at
all. Nevertheless, I feel myself drawn to him, and he in turn is
attracted to me--I know it.'

'You think so?' said the Countess, coldly. 'You are mistaken, most
mistaken. Oswald is one of the class who hate those from whom they
must accept benefits. He has never forgiven me the fact that my
marriage destroyed his own and his father's prospects, and he cannot
forgive you for standing between him and the property. I know him
better than you do.'

Edmund was silent. He was aware from experience that any advocacy from
him only made matters worse; for it surely aroused the maternal
jealousy, always prompt to ignite when he spoke openly of his
affection for this cousin, the comrade of his youth.

Moreover, the conversation was here brought to a natural end, the
subject of it at this moment appearing upon the scene.

Oswald's greeting was as formal, and the Countess's reply as cool, as
their manner had been on the preceding evening. Unfavourable as were
the lady's sentiments towards her nephew, the duty of this morning
call and of daily inquiries after her health was rigorously imposed
upon him. On the present occasion the tour so recently concluded
furnished food for discourse. Edmund related some of their adventures;
Oswald supplemented his cousin's account, putting in a finishing touch
here and there, and so it happened that the visit, which in general
was exceedingly brief, had soon passed the usual quarter of an hour's
limit.

'You have both altered during the past six months,' said the Countess,
at length. 'Your bronzed complexion especially, Edmund, gives you
quite the appearance of a Southerner.'

'I have often been taken for one,' replied Edmund. 'In the matter of
complexion I have unfortunately inherited nothing from my beautiful
fair mother.'

The Countess smiled.

'I think you may be satisfied with what Nature has done for you. You
certainly do not resemble me. There is more likeness to your father.'

'To my uncle? Hardly,' remarked Oswald.

'How can you be a judge of that?' asked the Countess, rather sharply.
'You and Edmund were mere boys when my husband died.'

'No, mother; don't trouble yourself to try and discover a likeness,'
interposed Edmund. 'I certainly have but a vague remembrance of my
father; but, you know, we possess a portrait life-size, which was
taken when he was in his prime. I have not a single feature of that
face, and it really is strange, when you come to think of it, for in
our race the family traits have usually been especially marked. Look
at Oswald, for instance. He is an Ettersberg from the crown of his
head to the sole of his foot. He is in every feature an exact copy of
the old family portraits in the gallery yonder, which from one
generation to another went on reproducing the same lines and contours.
Heaven only knows why this historical resemblance should be denied to
me alone! What are you gazing at me in that way for, Oswald?'

The young man's eyes were, indeed, fixed on his cousin's face with a
keen and searching scrutiny.

'I think you are right,' he replied. 'You have not a single Ettersberg
feature.'

'That is but another of your venturesome assertions,' said the
Countess, in a tone of sharp rebuke. 'It frequently happens that a
family likeness, absent in youth, grows striking as the person
advances in years. That will, no doubt, be the case with Edmund.'

The young Count laughed and shook his head.

'I doubt it. I am formed in altogether a different mould. Indeed, I
often wonder how I, with my hot, excitable blood, my thoughtlessness
and high spirits, for which I am always being lectured, could come of
a race so desperately wise and virtuous; in fact, rather slow and
stupid from overmuch virtue. Oswald, now, would represent the family
far better than I.'

'Edmund!' cried the Countess indignantly.

It was uncertain whether her remonstrance applied to the young man's
last assertion, or to his irreverent mention of his forefathers.

'Well, I ask pardon of the shades of my ancestors,' said Edmund,
rather abashed. 'You see, mother, I have none of their traditional
excellences, not even that of sober sense.'

'My aunt was meaning something else, I fancy,' said Oswald quietly.

The Countess pressed her lips together tightly. Her face plainly
betokened the dislike she had avowed to the cold, searching eyes now
resting upon her.

'Enough of this dispute on the subject of family likeness,' she said,
waiving the point. 'Tradition affords at least as many exceptions as
rules. Oswald, I wish you would look through these papers. You have
some legal knowledge. Our solicitor seems to consider the issue of the
affair as doubtful, but I am sanguine, and Edmund is of my opinion,
that we must follow out the matter to the end.'

So saying, she pushed the papers, which were lying on the table,
across to her nephew, who glanced at their contents.

'Ah, yes. They refer to the lawsuit against Councillor Ruestow of
Brunneck.'

'Good heavens! is not that business settled yet?' asked Edmund. 'Why,
the suit was on before we left home six months ago.'

Oswald smiled rather ironically.

'You appear to have peculiar notions as to the length of our legal
procedure. It may go on for years. If you will allow me, aunt, I will
take these papers with me to my own room to look through them, unless
Edmund would prefer to see them first.'

'Oh no, spare me all that!' cried Edmund, parrying the threatened
infliction. 'I have forgotten pretty nearly all about the business.
This Ruestow married a daughter of Uncle Francis, I know; and he raises
a claim to the Dornau estate, which my uncle bequeathed to me.'

'And with perfect justice,' added the Countess; 'for that marriage
took place against his wish, expressly declared. His daughter, by her
mesalliance, broke with him and with the entire family. It was
natural, under such circumstances, that he should disinherit her
absolutely; and just as natural, there being no nearer relations, that
he should annex Dornau to the entailed family estates by leaving it to
you.'

A slight cloud gathered on Edmund's brow as he listened to this
statement.

'It may be so, but the whole subject is painful to me. What do I, the
owner of Ettersberg, want with the possession of Dornau? I seem to be
intruding on the rights of others, who, in spite of wills and family
squabbles, are the direct and proper heirs. What I should prefer would
be to see a compromise effected.'

'That is impossible,' said the Countess decidedly. 'Ruestow's attitude,
from the very commencement of the affair, has been such as to preclude
any idea of an arrangement. The way in which he attacked the will and
proceeded against you, the acknowledged heir, was downright insulting,
and would make any show of concession on our part appear as
unpardonable weakness. Besides which, you have no right to set at
nought the wishes of your relative as expressed in his will. It was
his desire to shut out this "Frau Ruestow" from any share in his
fortune.'

'But she has been dead for years,' objected Edmund. 'And her husband
would not in any case be entitled to inherit.'

'No; but he advances a claim on behalf of his daughter.'

The two young men looked up simultaneously.

'His daughter? So he has a daughter?'

'Certainly, a girl of about eighteen, I believe.'

'And this young lady and I are the hostile claimants?'

'Just so; but why this sudden interest in the matter?'

'Eureka, I have it!' cried Edmund. 'Oswald, this is our charming
acquaintance of yesterday. I see now why the meeting struck her as
being so indescribably comic--why she refused to give her name. The
allusion to a certain connection existing between us becomes
intelligible. It all fits in, word for word. There can be no possible
doubt about it.'

'Perhaps, when you have time, you will tell me the meaning of all
this,' said the Countess, who seemed to think such animation on her
son's part unnecessary and out of place.

'Certainly, mother; I will explain it to you at once. We yesterday
made the acquaintance of a young lady, or, it would be more correct to
say, _I_ made her acquaintance, for Oswald, as usual, vouchsafed her
little attention--I, however, as you may imagine, was gallant enough
for both'--and so the young Count set about relating the adventure of
the preceding day, going into all the details with much sparkling
humour, and exulting in the fact of having so soon discovered his
beautiful unknown. Nevertheless, he did not succeed in calling up a
smile to his mother's face. She listened in silence, and when he wound
up with an enthusiastic description of his heroine, she said very
coolly and deliberately:

'You seem to look on this meeting in the light of a pleasurable
occurrence. In your place I should have felt it to be a painful one.
It is never agreeable to meet face to face persons with whom we are at
strife.'

'At strife?' cried Edmund. 'I can never be at strife with a young lady
of eighteen--certainly not with this one, though she should lay claim
to Ettersberg itself. I would with pleasure lay Dornau at her feet,
could----'

'I beg you not to treat this matter with so much levity, Edmund,'
interrupted the Countess. 'I know that you have a leaning to these
follies, but when serious interests are at stake they must recede into
the background. This affair is of a serious nature. Our opponents have
imported into it a degree of bitterness, have acted with a churlish
insolence, which makes any personal contact a thing absolutely to be
deprecated. You will, I hope, see this yourself, and avoid any further
meetings with firmness and consistency.'

With these lofty words she rose, and to leave no doubt in her son's
mind as to the displeasure he had incurred, she left the room.

The young Master of Ettersberg, whose authority his mother was
constantly asserting, seemed still docile to the maternal sceptre. He
ventured no word of reply to her sharp remonstrance, though he might
have urged that, after all, the lawsuit concerned no one but himself.

'That was to be expected,' remarked Oswald, as the door closed. 'Why
did you not keep your supposition to yourself?'

'How was I to know that it would be so ungraciously received? There
appears to be a deadly feud between this Ruestow and our family. No
matter, that will not prevent my going over to Brunneck.'

Oswald looked up quickly from the papers he was turning over.

'You are not thinking of paying the Councillor a visit, are you?'

'Certainly I am. Do you think I mean to give up our charming
acquaintance because our respective lawyers are wrangling over a cause
which, in reality, is perfectly indifferent to me? On the contrary, I
shall seize the opportunity of introducing myself to my lovely
opponent as her adversary in the strife. I intend to go over very
shortly, in the course of a few days.'

'The Councillor will soon show you the door,' said Oswald drily. 'He
is known all over the country for his surly humour.'

'Well, that will only make me the more polite. I can take nothing
amiss from the father of such a daughter, and I suppose even this bear
will have some human points about him. What makes you look so solemn,
Oswald? Are you jealous, old fellow? If so, you are free to ride over
with me, and put your luck to the test.'

'Do not talk such nonsense to me,' said Oswald shortly, rising as he
spoke, and going up to the window. The rapid movement and something in
his tone told of a certain irritability with difficulty repressed.

'As you like; but I have one word more to say.' The young Count's face
grew serious, and he cast a meaning glance in the direction of the
adjoining room. 'Do not put forward your plans for the future just at
present. We are not just now in a favourable humour to receive them. I
wanted to take the lead, and make the inevitable disclosure easier to
you, but I was met by such a hurricane that I wisely resolved not to
acknowledge complicity in the business.'

'Why should I put off an explanation? The subject must of necessity be
broached shortly between my aunt and myself. I see no advantage in a
delay.'

'Well, you can hold your tongue for a week at least,' cried Edmund
testily. 'I have other things to think of just now, and no desire to
be always on guard as a mediating angel between my mother and
yourself.'

'Have I ever asked you to mediate?' said Oswald, in so sharp and
uncourteous a tone that the young Count was roused to anger.

'Oswald, this is going a little too far. I am accustomed, it is true,
to such rudeness on your part, but really I hardly see why I should
take from my cousin what I would endure from no one else.'

'Because your cousin is a dependent, one inferior in the social scale,
and you feel yourself called upon to show generosity towards--the poor
relation.'

The words breathed of such infinite bitterness of spirit that Edmund's
ill-humour vanished instantly.

'You are irritated,' he said kindly; 'and not without reason. But why
do you visit your anger on me? I am in no way responsible for
yesterday's incident. You know I cannot put myself in open opposition
to my mother, even when my views differ decidedly from hers. But in
this case she will give way, for if your own rooms next to mine are
not made ready for you to-morrow, I shall remove to the side-wing and
quarter myself upon you, spite of bats and the accumulated dust of
ages.'

The bitter expression vanished from Oswald's face, and he answered in
a gentler voice:

'You are capable of it, I believe. But no more of this, Edmund. It
really signifies little where I spend the few months of my sojourn
here. The rooms in the tower are very quiet, and admirably suited for
study. I would far rather be there than here, in this castle of
yours.'

'"This castle of yours,"' repeated Edmund, in a tone of pique. 'As
though it had not always been as much your home as mine! But I believe
you are seeking to estrange yourself from us. Oswald, I must say, if
things are not always pleasant between my mother and you, a great
share of the blame rests on your shoulders. You have never shown any
affection for her, or any ready compliance with her wishes. Cannot you
bring yourself to it, if you try?'

'I cannot comply where blind subjection is demanded of me, and where
the whole future fortune of my life is at stake--no!'

'Well, then, we may expect another family quarrel at no very distant
date,' said Edmund, evidently ill-pleased at the prospect. 'So you
will not have any alteration made in the rooms?'

'No.'

'As you like. Goodbye.'

He walked off towards the door, but had not reached it when Oswald
came quickly forth from the window-recess where he had been standing,
and followed him.

'Edmund!'

'Well?' returned the other interrogatively, and halted.

'I shall remain where I am, in the side-wing, but---- I thank you for
your kindness.'

The young Count smiled.

'Really? That sounds almost like an apology. I really did not think
you were capable of such expansiveness, Oswald;' and suddenly, with an
impulse of frank, hearty affection, he threw his arm round his
cousin's shoulder. 'Is it true that you cherish a hatred towards me,
because Fate has willed that I should be heir to the property, because
I stand between you and the Ettersberg estates?'

Oswald looked at him again with one of those strange, penetrating
glances which seemed to be searching the young heir's features for
something hidden from him. This time, however, the keen scrutiny soon
gave place to an expression of warmer, deeper feeling, to a kindlier
ray which beamed suddenly forth, melting the icy rampart of suspicion
and reserve.

'It is not true, Edmund,' was the steady, grave reply.

'I knew it,' cried Edmund. 'And now we will bury all past
misunderstandings. As regards our travelling acquaintance, however, I
warn you that I shall summon up all my talent--and you know how justly
it is esteemed--to produce an effect at Brunneck. This I shall do in
spite of your frowning visage and of my mother's high displeasure. And
I shall succeed in my endeavours, you may rely upon it.'

So saying, he caught hold of his cousin's arm, and drew him laughingly
from the room.




                             CHAPTER III.


Brunneck, the residence of Chief Councillor Ruestow, was situated only
a few miles distant from Ettersberg, and had been in the hands of its
present proprietor for a long series of years. It was a property of
considerable extent and value, comprising various farms, and furnished
with every improvement which modern science has devised. On all
agricultural subjects the Councillor was looked upon as a first-class
authority, and as, in addition to this, he owned one of the finest
seigneurial manors of the province, his position was one of great
influence. Brunneck could not, indeed, compare with the vast
Ettersberg domain, but it was generally asserted that, in point of
fortune, Ruestow was to the full as good a man as his noble neighbour.
The numerous reforms he had introduced on his estates, and to the
number of which he was with indefatigable energy constantly adding,
had in the course of time become handsomely remunerative, and were now
a source of wealth to him; whereas over at Ettersberg the management
of the land was left almost entirely to underlings, and was conducted
on so lofty and aristocratic a principle, that pecuniary interests
were overlooked, and any tangible, practical return rendered out of
the question.

As has already been stated, the two families were connected by
marriage, but this circumstance was ignored on both sides with equal
obstinacy and hostile feeling. In the position he now occupied, the
Councillor might more fitly have ventured to sue for the hand of a
Fraeulein von Ettersberg. Twenty years or more ago, the young
gentleman-farmer who had come to Dornau to pick up some knowledge of
his future vocation, and who had but a slender fortune to rely upon,
was certainly no suitable _parti_ for the daughter of the house. The
young people fell in love, however, paying little heed either to
prejudices or obstacles.

When their elders harshly interfered and separated them, when all
resistance, all entreaties, failed to move them, Ruestow persuaded his
betrothed, who meanwhile had come of age, to take a decisive step. She
left her home clandestinely, and the marriage was celebrated, without
her father's consent, it is true, but with all due formality. The
young couple hoped that, this step being once irrevocably taken,
forgiveness would follow, but this hope proved illusive. Neither the
young wife's oft-repeated overtures, nor the birth of a grandchild,
not even the rapidly ensuing change in Ruestow's circumstances--he
achieved wealth and position in a marvellously short time--could
appease the father's wrath. The old Count was too completely under the
influence of his relations, who looked on the middle-class connection
with horror and aversion, and used every means in their power to
strengthen him in his hard resolve.

Frau Ruestow died without having obtained pardon, and at her death all
chance of a reconciliation vanished. Her husband had, from the first,
openly avowed his dislike to a family which had so cruelly wounded his
pride and self-love. For his wife's sake alone had he tolerated the
former attempts at peacemaking; now that he had no longer her to
consider, he assumed towards his father-in-law and the entire clan an
attitude of hostility and surly defiance which precluded any
intercourse. As a result of these tactics came the will which passed
over the granddaughter, and, without even a mention of her or her
mother assigned Dornau to the heir of the entailed family estates.
This will was contested by Ruestow, who would not admit of his marriage
being thus altogether ignored, and was determined to have his daughter
acknowledged as her grandfather's legitimate successor and heiress.
The suit had some base to rest upon, for the deceased had not
disinherited his grandchild in so many words. He had contented himself
with treating her as nonexistent, and had proceeded to dispose of his
property in the manner which seemed to him good. This lapsus, and a
few technical errors subsequently detected, rendered the will
assailable. The issue was, however, most uncertain, and the lawyers on
both sides had full opportunity of exercising their sagacity and
judgment.

The Brunneck manor-house was neither so vast nor so imposing of aspect
as Castle Ettersberg, yet it was a stately building, spacious, and
bearing all the marks of age. The inner arrangements of the house,
though boasting no pretence at luxury, were ordered on a scale
suitable to the position and the fortune of the owner.

In the large veranda-parlour commonly used by the family, a lady was
sitting, busy with household accounts. This was an elderly relative of
Ruestow's, who, on the death of that gentleman's wife, eight years
previously, had come to preside over her cousin's establishment, and
to act as a mother to his young daughter. She was bending over her
books and making some memoranda when the door was hastily thrown open,
and the Councillor himself appeared on the scene.

'I wish all the lawsuits and parchments, the courts and everything
related to them, lawyers included, were at the deuce!' he cried,
throwing to the door with a violent bang which made his cousin jump.

'Oh, Erich, how can you startle me so! You have been absolutely
unbearable ever since that wretched suit was instituted. You seem to
think of nothing else. Cannot you wait patiently until you see what
the issue will be?'

'Patiently?' repeated Herr Ruestow, with a bitter laugh. 'I should like
to see the man who would not lose his patience over it. They go on
pulling this way and that, protesting against everything we do,
lodging one appeal after another. Every letter of that blessed will
has been discussed, evidence has been advanced, proofs have been
furnished, and yet they are no forwarder than they were six months
ago, not a whit!' And as he ended his tirade he threw himself into a
chair.

Erich Ruestow was a man still in the prime of life, who, it was plain
to see, had been handsome in his youth. Now his brow was furrowed and
his face lined with the cares of a restless, busy life. He was,
however, a stately, well-built person, whose appearance would have
been eminently agreeable, but for certain evidences of a hasty temper,
prompt to break forth on every occasion; but for, so to say, a
pugnacity of expression which considerably impaired his good looks.

'Where is Hedwig?' asked the master of the house, after a pause.

'She went out riding an hour ago,' replied her cousin, who had taken
up her memoranda again.

'Went out riding? I told her not to ride to-day. This sudden thaw has
made the roads impassable, and upon the hills the snow still lies
deep.'

'No doubt, but you are aware that Hedwig generally does the thing she
ought not to do.'

'Upon my soul, it is a strange fact, but I believe she does,' assented
her father, who seemed to consider it merely a 'strange fact,' and not
one calculated to excite his anger.

'You have let the girl grow up in too great freedom. How often have I
entreated you to send Hedwig to a boarding-school for a few years; but
no, nothing would induce you to part with her.'

'Because I did not want her to be estranged from me and from her home.
I am sure I have had masters and governesses enough here at Brunneck,
and she has learned pretty nearly everything under the sun.'

'True; one thing she has learned especially, and that is how to
tyrannise over you and the entire household.'

'Don't go on preaching in that way, Lina,' said Ruestow angrily. 'You
are always finding some fault with Hedwig. First she is thoughtless,
then she is too superficial to please you, not deep, not "feeling"
enough. I am satisfied with her as she is. I like my girl to be a
bright, merry young thing, taking some pleasure in life, and not one
of your sensitive, fashionable ladies with "feelings" and "nerves."'

As he spoke the last words, he cast a rather meaning glance at
Fraeulein Lina, who was quick to take up the gauntlet.

'One has to divest one's self of any such appurtenances here at
Brunneck, I think. You take good care of that.'

'Well, I fancy the last eight years have done something for you in the
way of getting rid of your nerves,' said Ruestow, with much apparent
satisfaction. 'But the feelings are there still. How you felt for your
_protege_, Baron Senden, the other day, when Hedwig sent him to the
rightabout!'

A pink flush of vexation mounted to the lady's cheek as she replied:

'Hedwig, at all events, showed little enough feeling in the matter.
She merely ridiculed an offer which would, at least, have brought any
other girl to a serious frame of mind. Poor Senden! He was in
despair.'

'He will get over it,' observed Ruestow. 'In the first place, I believe
that both his passion and his despair had my Brunneck, rather than my
daughter, for their object. Her dowry would have come in nicely to
rescue his estates, which are mortgaged over and over again; in the
second place, it was his own fault that he met with a refusal. A man
should know how matters stand, before he proposes definitely; and
thirdly, I should not have given my consent to the match under any
circumstances, for I won't have Hedwig marrying into the aristocracy.
I had too good experience of that with my own marriage. Of all the
grand folk who come bothering us with their visits, not one shall have
the girl--not one of them, I say. I will find a husband for her myself
when the proper time comes.'

'And you really suppose that Hedwig will wait for that?' asked the
lady, with gentle irony. 'Hitherto her suitors have all been
indifferent to her. When she has an inclination towards anyone, she
will certainly not stay to consider whether the gentleman belongs to
the aristocracy, or whether she may not be acting contrary to her
father's principles--and you, Erich, will submit, and do your
darling's bidding in this, as in all else.'

'Lina, do you wish to exasperate me?' shouted Ruestow. 'You seem to
think that where my daughter is concerned I can exercise no will of my
own.'

'None at all,' she replied emphatically. Then she gathered together
her papers and left the room.

The Master of Brunneck was furious, perhaps because he could not
altogether dispute the truth of the assertion. He paced with rapid
steps up and down the room, and turned wrathfully upon a servant who
entered, bearing a card.

'What is it now? Another visit?'

Ruestow pulled the card out of the man's hand, but nearly let it fall
in his amazement as the name upon it met his eye.

'Edmund, Count von Ettersberg? What can be the meaning of this?'

'The Count desires the favour of an interview with Councillor Ruestow.'

The latter looked down at the card again. There, clear and distinct,
stood the name of Ettersberg, and, inexplicable as the circumstance
undoubtedly was, he had no choice but to admit the strange visitor.

Orders to this effect being given to the servant, the young Count
promptly made his appearance, and greeted his neighbour, who yet was a
perfect stranger to him, with as much ease and assurance as though
this visit had been the most natural thing in the world.

'Councillor Ruestow, you will allow me to make the personal
acquaintance of so near a neighbour as yourself. I should have
endeavoured to do so long ago, but my studies and subsequent travels
have kept me so much away from Ettersberg. I have only been home on
flying visits, and this is my first opportunity of repairing previous
shortcomings.'

At the first moment Ruestow was so staggered by this complete ignoring
of the existing quarrel that he could not work himself up to anger. He
grumbled something which sounded like an invitation to be seated.
Edmund accordingly took a chair in the most unconcerned manner
possible, and as his host showed no desire to open the conversation,
he assumed the burden of it himself, and launched into praises of the
admirable system of management obtaining on the Brunneck estates, a
system with which it had long been his wish to make himself
acquainted.

Meanwhile Ruestow had minutely examined his visitor from head to foot,
and had no doubt satisfied himself that the young gentleman's
appearance did not tally with this pretended zealous interest in
matters agricultural. He therefore broke in on Edmund's enthusiasm
with the disconcerting question:

'May I ask. Count, to what I am indebted for the honour of this
visit?'

Edmund saw that he must change his tactics. The mere easy jargon of
politeness would not help him through. The Councillor's far-famed
churlishness was already roused. A low growl, betokening a storm,
might, as it were, be heard in the distance; but the young Count was
well prepared for this, and was determined to remain master of the
field.

'You will not accept me simply in my quality of neighbour?' he said,
with an affable smile.

'You appear to forget that we are something else besides neighbours,
namely, opponents in a court of justice,' retorted Ruestow, who began
now to be angry in right earnest.

Edmund examined with attention the riding-whip he held in his hand.

'Oh, ah! You are alluding to that tiresome Dornau suit.'

'Tiresome? Wearisome, endless, you mean, for endless it would appear
to be. You are as well acquainted with the pleadings, I suppose, as I
am.'

'I know nothing at all about them,' confessed Edmund, with great
ingenuousness. 'I only know that there is a dispute about my uncle's
will which assigns Dornau to me, but the validity of which you
contest. Pleadings? I have had copies of all the documents, certainly,
whole volumes of them, but I never looked over their contents.'

'But, Count, it is you who are carrying on this lawsuit!' cried
Ruestow, to whom this placid indifference was something beyond belief.

'Pardon me, my lawyer is carrying it on,' corrected Edmund. 'He is of
opinion that it is incumbent on me to uphold my uncle's will at any
cost. I do not attach any such particular value to the possession of
Dornau myself.'

'Do you suppose I do?' asked Ruestow sharply. 'My Brunneck is worth
half a dozen such places, and my daughter has really no need to
trouble herself about any inheritance from her grandfather.'

'Well, what are we fighting for, then? If the matter stands so, some
compromise might surely be arrived at, some arrangement which would
satisfy both parties----'

'I will hear of no compromise,' exclaimed the Councillor. 'To me it is
not a question of money, but of principle, and I will fight it out to
the last. If my father-in-law had chosen to disinherit us in so many
words, well and good. We set him at defiance; he had the right to
retaliate. I don't deny it. It is the fact of his ignoring our
marriage in that insulting manner, as though it had not been legally
and duly celebrated--the fact of his passing over the child of the
marriage, and declining to recognise her as his granddaughter--this is
what I cannot forgive him, even in his grave, and this is what makes
me determined to assert my right. The marriage shall be established,
in the face of those who wish to repudiate it; my daughter shall be
acknowledged as her grandfather's sole and legitimate heiress. Then,
when the verdict of the court has once placed this beyond all doubt,
Dornau and all belonging to it may go to the family estates, or to the
devil, for what I care.'

'Ah, now we are getting rude,' thought Count Edmund, who had long been
expecting some such outbreak, and who was highly amused by the whole
affair.

He had come with the settled resolve to take nothing amiss from the
Master of Brunneck, who was looked on as an original in his way, so he
chose to view this tirade from its humorous side, and replied, with
undiminished good-humour:

'Well, Councillor, the association is, I am sure, a very flattering
one. It does not seem particularly probable that Dornau will lapse to
the devil--whether it be adjudged to Brunneck or to Ettersberg, we
must wait to see. But that is the court's business, and not ours. I
frankly confess that I am curious to hear what all the wisdom of these
learned counsel will ultimately bring forth.'

'I must say it has not occurred to me to look at the case in that
light,' admitted Ruestow, whose amazement grew with every minute.

'No, why not? You are contending, you say yourself, for a principle
only. I am actuated by a pious regard for my relative's expressed
wishes. We are most enviably placed, being simply objective in the
matter. So, for heaven's sake, let the lawyers wrangle on. Their
squabbles need not prevent our meeting as good neighbours on friendly
terms.'

Ruestow was about to protest against the possibility of any friendly
intercourse when the door opened, and his daughter appeared on the
threshold. The young lady, whose cheeks were brightly tinted with the
rapid exercise she had taken, looked even more charming to-day in her
dark closely-fitting riding-habit than she had looked on a previous
occasion when wrapped in furs and attired in winter clothing--so, at
least, thought Count Edmund, who had sprung up with great alacrity,
with more alacrity, indeed, than politeness called for, to greet her
on her entrance. Hedwig had, no doubt, already heard from the servants
who was with her father, for she betrayed no surprise, returning the
Count's bow as formally as though he had been a complete stranger to
her. The merry sparkle in her eye, however, told him that she had no
more forgotten their first meeting than he himself. The Councillor,
whether he liked it or not, was forced to condescend to an
introduction; and the manner in which he pronounced the name of
Ettersberg, a name heretofore prohibited in that house, proved that
the bearer of it, despite the great prejudice against him, had already
gained some ground.'

'Fraeulein,' said Edmund, turning to the young lady, 'but the other day
I learned whom Fate had assigned me as an opponent in the Dornau
lawsuit. I therefore seize this, the first opportunity, to present
myself in due form as your adversary in the strife.'

'And you have come to Brunneck to reconnoitre the enemy's territory, I
suppose?' replied Hedwig, entering at once into the spirit of the
joke.

'Certainly. It was my evident duty, under the circumstances. Your
father has already pardoned this invasion of the hostile camp. I may
trust for a like clemency from you, though you once showed yourself
inexorable, refusing even to disclose your name.'

'What is all this?' broke in Ruestow. 'You have met the Count before
to-day?'

'Yes, papa,' said Hedwig serenely. 'You know that when I was returning
from the town the other day with the carriage and Anthony, we very
nearly stuck in the snow, and I think I told you of the two gentlemen
by whose assistance we managed to get home.'

A light appeared to dawn on the Councillor, revealing the source of
this sudden and extreme friendliness on his young neighbour's part. He
had hitherto racked his brains in vain to find a reason for it, and
the discovery now made did not seem to afford him any particular
satisfaction; the tone of his voice was exceedingly sharp as he
replied:

'So it was Count Ettersberg, was it? Why did you conceal the name from
me?'

Hedwig laughed: 'Because I knew your prejudice against it, papa. I
believe if an avalanche had come down upon us and swallowed us up,
your first feeling would have been one of anger at my being caught and
buried in company of an Ettersberg.'

'Avalanches do not occur on our highroads,' growled Ruestow, to whom
this merry humour did not commend itself.

'Well, Councillor, something of the sort seemed really to have taken
place where the road descends into the valley,' joined in Edmund. 'I
assure you, the journey was both difficult and dangerous. I esteem
myself happy to have been able to offer your daughter my assistance.'

'Now, Count, you remained almost all the time on the carriage-step,'
laughed Hedwig. 'It was your silent companion who really helped us in
our need. He'--the question came rather hesitatingly--'he did not come
over with you to-day, of course?'

'Oswald was not aware that I intended riding over to Brunneck this
afternoon,' confessed Edmund. 'He will, I know, reproach me with
having thus deprived him of the pleasure----'

'Oh, pray, do not trouble yourself to make pretty speeches,'
interrupted the young lady, throwing back her head with an angry
little toss, and looking as ungracious as possible--much as she had
looked in the carriage on that previous occasion. 'I have had
experience of your cousin's politeness, and, for my part, I certainly
have no wish to renew the acquaintance.'

Edmund did not notice the pique expressed in these words. He thought
it natural that the sombre, unsociable Oswald should not be missed
when he, Count Ettersberg, was present, and, moreover, using his best
efforts to make himself agreeable. This he did with so much zeal and
perseverance, that even Ruestow yielded to the charm. True, he
struggled against it manfully, endeavouring by sundry barbed and
sardonic remarks to impart a hostile tone to the conversation. But he
was foiled at all points. His visitor's captivating manners and
appearance won upon him more and more. The young Count was evidently
bent on doing away with the prejudice which existed against him. He
fascinated his hearers with his bright and sparkling talk, seducing
them by its easy flow, and charming even by his saucy humour. The
enemy, as personified in the master of the house, was overthrown and
bound hand and foot before either side was well aware of the fact.
Ruestow, at length, altogether forgot with whom he was dealing, and
when after a protracted visit Edmund rose to go, his host actually
accompanied him to the door, and even shook him cordially by the hand
on parting.

It was only when the Councillor returned to the sitting-room that a
full consciousness of what had occurred loomed upon him. Then his
anger revived in full force. As he came in, Hedwig was standing out on
the balcony, looking after the young Count, who turned and waved her
an adieu as he galloped away. This gave the signal for the storm to
break forth.

'Well, upon my word, this passes all belief! I don't know that I ever
heard of such a piece of impudence! Count von Ettersberg to come
riding over here, doing the agreeable, treating the whole affair of
the lawsuit as a mere bagatelle. He talked of a compromise, begad! of
meeting on friendly terms, of the Lord knows what; fairly addling one,
taking one's breath away with his audacity. But I will not put up with
it a second time. If he really shows himself here again, I will have
him told--politely, of course--that I am not at home.'

'You will do nothing of the kind, papa,' said Hedwig, who had gone up
to him and laid her arm caressingly about his neck. 'You were too
pleased with him yourself for that.'

'Ah, and you still more so, I suppose, my young lady?' said the
father, with a highly critical, scrutinizing look. 'Do you imagine I
can't guess what brought the young gentleman over to Brunneck? Do you
think I did not see him kiss your hand as he took leave of you? But I
will put a stop to this, once and for all. I will have nothing to
do with any Ettersberg; I know the set by experience. Arrogance,
selfishness, stupid obstinacy--those are the characteristics of the
race. They are all alike, all cut out on the same pattern.'

'That is not true, papa,' said Hedwig decidedly. 'My mother was an
Ettersberg, and you were very happy with her.'

The remark was so telling, that it quite disconcerted Ruestow.

'That--that was an exception,' he stammered at length.

'I believe Count Edmund is an exception too,' declared Hedwig
confidently.

'Oh, you believe that, do you? You seem to have a great knowledge of
character for a girl of eighteen,' cried the Councillor, and forthwith
delivered a lecture to his daughter, in which the before-mentioned
'principles' were much insisted on. Fraeulein Hedwig listened with an
expression of countenance which said plainly enough that the said
'principles' were highly indifferent to her, and if her father could
have read her thoughts, he would again have had the 'strange fact'
forced upon him that, on this occasion as on most others, she proposed
to adopt a contrary course to that enjoined upon her.




                             CHAPTER IV.


March and the greater part of April had gone by; snowstorms and sharp
frosts were things of the past. Nevertheless, spring came but tardily.
The country, which at this season of the year is usually decked in
vernal bloom, looked bare and desolate. Warmth and sunshine were
well-nigh unknown, and for weeks together the weather continued as
ungenial as it well could be.

To all outward appearance, the hostile relations between Ettersberg
and Brunneck remained unmodified. The lawsuit dragged its weary length
along, both parties maintaining their original position, and no
attempt at a compromise was, or seemed likely to be, made. The
Countess furnished all instructions in her son's name, that young
gentleman taking not the smallest interest in the affair; and the
Councillor represented his daughter, a minor, who naturally could have
no opinion in the matter.

It had been so from the beginning, therefore the delegation of
authority was accepted as a thing of course.

But the principal persons concerned, the real opponents in this legal
warfare, were by no means so passive as they appeared to be; and the
parents, while pursuing their own determined course, upholding their
'principles' with the utmost persistency, little guessed what was
preparing for them in secret.

Ruestow himself had been absent from Brunneck during the last few
weeks. Some business connected with a great industrial enterprise of
which he was one of the promoters had called him to the capital. His
counsel and aid were needed and sought in high quarters; unlooked-for
delays occurred, and his stay, which was to have been a short one, had
extended over an entire month.

When Count Ettersberg, after an interval of a week, repeated his visit
to Brunneck, he found the master of the house absent. Fraeulein Hedwig
and her aunt were at home, however, and Edmund naturally made the most
of his opportunity and ingratiated himself with the two ladies. This
second visit was promptly succeeded by a third and a fourth; and from
this time forward, by some remarkable accident, it invariably happened
that when the ladies drove out, took a walk, or paid a visit in the
neighbourhood, the young Count would be found at the same hour on the
same road. By this fortunate chance, greetings were frequently
exchanged, and meetings of varying duration occurred. In short, the
friendly intercourse proposed some time before was thriving and
prospering exceedingly.

The Councillor knew nothing of all this. His daughter did not consider
it necessary to mention the matter in her letters, and Edmund pursued
the same tactics with regard to his mother. To his cousin he had,
indeed, imparted with triumphant glee the fact of that first invasion
of the enemy's camp; but as Oswald made some rather sharp observations
on the subject, describing any intercourse with Brunneck during the
progress of the lawsuit as improper in the highest degree, no further
communications were vouchsafed him.

On a rather cool and cloudy morning towards the end of April, Count
Edmund and Oswald sallied out into the woods together. The Ettersberg
forests were of great extent, stretching away to, and partly clothing,
the low chain of hills which acted as advanced sentinels to the
mountain-range beyond. The two gentlemen bent their steps in the
direction of the rising ground. They had evidently something more than
a pleasant walk in view, for they carefully surveyed the trees and the
land as they advanced, and Oswald frequently addressed his cousin in
terms of urgent appeal.

'Now just look at these woods! It really is astounding to see how
things have been mismanaged here during the last few years. Why, they
have cut down half your timber for you. I cannot understand how you
were not at once struck by the fact yourself. You have been riding
about all over the place nearly every day.'

'Oh, I did not think about it,' said Edmund. 'But you are right, it
does look rather queer. The steward declares, I believe, that he had
no other way of covering the deficit in the receipts.'

'The steward declares just what seems good to him, and as he stands
high in favour with your mother, she accepts it all and gives him full
tether, allowing him to act as he sees fit.'

'I will talk to my mother about it,' declared the young Count. 'It
would be a great deal better, though, if you would do it yourself. You
can explain these matters much more clearly and cogently than I can.'

'You know that I never offer advice to your mother on any subject. She
would consider it an unjustifiable piece of impertinence on my part,
and would reject it accordingly.'

Edmund made no reply to this last observation, the truth of which he
no doubt recognised.

'Are you of opinion that the steward is dealing unfairly by us?' he
asked, after a short pause.

'Not that precisely, but I consider him to be incompetent, wholly
unfitted for the position of trust he occupies. He has no initiative,
no method or power of keeping things together. As it is with the
forests, so is it with all under his rule. Each man on the place does
what seemeth best in his own eyes. If matters are allowed to go on in
this way, I tell you they will absolutely ruin your property. Look at
Brunneck; see the order that reigns there. Councillor Ruestow draws as
much from that one estate as you from the whole Ettersberg domain,
though the resources here are incomparably greater. Hitherto you have
had to confide in others. You have been absent for years, first at the
University, then abroad; but now you are on the spot--you are here
expressly to look after your property for yourself. Energetic measures
must at once be taken.'

'Good heavens! what discoveries you have made during the six weeks we
have spent at home!' said Edmund, in a tone of sincere admiration. 'If
it is all as you say, I certainly shall have to take some steps; but
I'll be hanged if I know how I ought to begin!'

'First of all, dismiss those employes who have proved themselves
incapable; put men of more power and intelligence in their place. I
almost fear that you will have to change the entire staff.'

'Not for the world! Why, that would give rise to perplexities and
disagreeables without end. It is painful to me to see all new faces
about me, and it would take months before they settled down into
harness, and got used to their work. Meanwhile, all the burden would
fall upon me. I should have to do everything myself.'

'That is what you are master for. You can at least command those
beneath you.'

Edmund laughed.

'Ah, if I had your special liking and talent for command! In a month
you would have metamorphosed Ettersberg, and in three years you would
make of it a model establishment after the pattern of Brunneck. Now,
if you were going to stay by me, Oswald, it would be different. I
should have some one to back and support me then; but you are
determined to go away in the autumn, and here shall I be all alone
with unreliable or strange new servants to deal with. Pretty prospect,
I must say! I have not formally taken possession yet, and the whole
concern has become a worry to me already.'

'As Fate has willed that you should be heir to the estates, you must
perforce bear the heavy burden laid upon you,' said Oswald
sarcastically. 'But once more, Edmund, it is high time something
should be done. Promise me that you will proceed to action without
delay.'

'Certainly, certainly,' assented the young Count, who had visibly had
enough of the subject. 'As soon as I can find time--just now I have so
many other things to think of.'

'Things of more importance than the welfare of your estates?'

'Possibly. But I must be off now. Are you going straight back home?'

The question was a particularly pointed one. Oswald did not notice
this; he had turned away in evident displeasure.

'Certainly. Are not you coming with me?'

'No, I am going over to the lodge. The forester has my Diana in
training, and I must go over and have a look at her.'

'Must your visit be made now?' asked Oswald, in surprise. 'You know
that the lawyer is coming over from town at twelve o'clock to-day, to
hold a conference with you and your mother on the subject of the
lawsuit, and that you have promised to be punctual?'

'Oh! I shall be back long before then,' said Edmund lightly. 'Good
bye for the present, Oswald. Don't look so black at me. I give you my
word that I will have a thorough good talk with the steward to-morrow,
or the day after. Any way, I will have it out with him, you may depend
upon it.'

So saying, he struck into a side-path, and soon disappeared among the
trees.

Oswald looked after him with a frowning brow.

'Neither to-morrow, nor the next day, nor, in fact, ever, will a
change be made. He has some fresh folly in his head, and Ettersberg
may go to the dogs for anything he cares. But, after all'--and an
expression of profound bitterness flitted like a spasm across the
young man's face--'after all, what is it to me? I am but a stranger on
this soil, and shall always remain so. If Edmund will not listen to
reason, he must take the consequences. I will trouble myself no
further about the matter.'

But this was more easily said than done; Oswald's gaze constantly
wandered back to the mutilated forest, where such cruel gaps were to
be seen. His anger and indignation at the senseless, purposeless work
of devastation he beheld on all sides grew too strong to be subdued,
and instead of returning home, as he had intended, he continued on his
way uphill, to inspect the state of the woods on the higher ground.
What he there saw was not of a consoling nature. Everywhere the axe
had been at its work of destruction, and not until he reached the
summit could a change be noted. Here, on the heights, began the
Brunneck territory, where a different and a better order of things
prevailed.

A wish to draw a comparison first drew Oswald on to the neighbour's
land, but his anger swelled high within him as he paced on through the
noble woods and carefully preserved plantations, with which, in their
present maimed condition, the Ettersberg forests could certainly not
compare. What a great work the energy and activity of one man had
effected here at Brunneck, and how, on the other hand, had Ettersberg
fallen! Since the old Count's death, the care of the estates had been
left almost entirely in the hands of employes. The Countess, an
exalted lady who from the day of her marriage had known nothing, seen
nothing but wealth and splendour, considered it a matter of course
that the administration of affairs should be conducted by
subordinates, and that the family should be troubled on such subjects
as little as possible. Moreover, the establishment was kept up on a
costly footing; the sums for its maintenance had to be found, and, of
course, the estates must be made to provide them--it signified little
how. The Countess's brother, Edmund's guardian, lived in the capital.
He filled a high office under the State, and was much taken up by the
duties and claims of his position. He interfered but rarely; never
except in special cases when his sister desired his counsel and
assistance. Her husband's testamentary arrangements had vested all
real authority in her. There would, of course, be an end to all this
now that Edmund was of age; but proof had just been forthcoming of
what might be expected from the young heir's energy and concern for
the welfare of his estates. Oswald told himself, with bitter vexation
of spirit, that he should see one of the finest properties of the
country drift on to certain ruin, owing entirely to the heedlessness
and indifference of its owner; and the thought was the more galling to
him that he felt assured a swift and energetic course of action might
still repair the mischief that had been done. There was yet time. Two
short years hence it might possibly be too late.

Absorbed by these reflections, the young man had plunged deeper and
deeper into the woods. Presently he stopped and looked at his watch.
More than an hour had passed since he had parted with Edmund--the
young Count must long ere this have turned his face homewards. Oswald
determined that he also would go back, but for his return he chose
another and a somewhat longer route. No duty called him home. His
presence at the conference to be held that day was neither necessary
nor desired. He was therefore free to extend his walk according to his
fancy.

Those must have been singular meditations which occupied the young
man's mind as he paced slowly on. The forests and the steward's
mismanagement had long ago passed from his thoughts. It was some other
hidden trouble which knit his brow with that menacing frown, and lent
to his face that harsh, implacable expression--an expression that
seemed to say he was ready to do battle with the whole world. Dark and
troubled musings were they, revolving incessantly about one haunting
subject from which he strove in vain to tear himself free, but which,
nevertheless, held him more and more captive.

'I will not think of it any more,' he said at length, half aloud. 'It
is always the same thing, always the old wretched suspicion which I
cannot put from me. I have nothing--absolutely nothing to confirm it,
or to base it upon, and yet it embitters my every hour, poisons every
thought--away with it!'

He passed his hand across his brow, as though to scare away all
tormenting fancies, and walked on more quickly along the road, which
now took a sharp turn and suddenly emerged from the forest. Oswald
stepped out on to an open hill-summit, but stopped suddenly, rooted to
the ground in astonishment at the unlooked-for spectacle which
presented itself.

Not twenty paces from him, on the grassy slope close to the border of
the forest, a young lady was seated. She had taken off her hat, so a
full view of her face could be obtained--and he who had once looked on
that charming face, with its dark beaming eyes so full of light, could
not readily forget it.

The young lady was Hedwig Ruestow, and close by her, in most suggestive
proximity, lounged Count Edmund, who certainly could not have paid his
visit to the forester in the interval. The two were engaged in an
animated conversation, which did not, however, appear to turn on
serious or very important topics. It was rather the old war of
repartee which they had waged with so much satisfaction to themselves
on the occasion of their first meeting, the same exchange of banter,
of merry jests accompanied by gleeful laughter; but to-day their
manner told of much familiarity. Presently Edmund took the hat from
the girl's hand and threw it on to the grass; after which, lifting the
little palms to his lips, he imprinted on them one fervid kiss after
the other, Hedwig offering no opposition, but accepting it all as the
most natural thing in the world.

For some moments the amazed spectator stood motionless, watching the
pair. Then he turned and would have stepped back among the trees
unnoticed, but a dry bough crackled beneath his feet and betrayed him.

Hedwig and Edmund looked up simultaneously, and the latter sprang
quickly to his feet.

'Oswald!'

His cousin saw that a retreat was now impossible. He therefore
reluctantly left his position and advanced towards the young people.

'So it is you, is it?' said Edmund, in a tone which vacillated between
annoyance and embarrassment. 'Where do you come from?'

'From the woods,' was the laconic reply.

'I thought you said you were going straight home.'

'I thought you were going over to the forester's lodge, which lies in
the opposite direction.'

The young Count bit his lips. He was, no doubt, conscious that he
could not pass off this meeting as an accidental one. Moreover, those
fervent kisses must have been witnessed--so he resolved to put as good
a face upon it as possible.

'You know Fraeulein Ruestow, having been present at our first meeting; I
therefore need not introduce you,' he said lightly.

Oswald bowed to the young lady with all a stranger's frigid courtesy.

'I must apologize for intruding,' he said. 'The interruption was most
involuntary on my part. I could have no idea that my cousin was here.
Allow me to take my leave at once, Fraeulein.'

Hedwig had risen in her turn. She evidently was more keenly alive to
the awkwardness of the situation than Edmund, for her cheeks were
suffused by a flaming blush, and her eyes sought the ground.
Something, however, in the tone of this address, which, though polite,
was icy in its reserve, struck her disagreeably, and she looked up.
Her glance met Oswald's, and there must have been that in the
expression of his face which wounded her and called her pride into
arms; for suddenly the dark blue eyes kindled with indignant fire, and
the voice, which so lately had rung out in merry jest and silver-clear
laughter, shook with emotion and anger as she cried:

'Herr von Ettersberg, I beg of you to remain.'

Oswald, on the point of departure, halted. Hedwig went up to the young
Count, and laid her hand on his.

'Edmund, you will not let your cousin go from us in this manner. You
will give him the necessary explanation--immediately, on the spot. You
must see that he--that he misunderstands.'

Oswald, involuntarily, had drawn back a step, as the familiar 'Edmund'
met his ears. The Count himself seemed somewhat taken aback by the
determined, almost authoritative tone which he now heard probably for
the first time from those lips.

'Why, Hedwig, it was you yourself who imposed silence on me,' he said.
'Otherwise I should certainly not have kept the fact of our attachment
secret from Oswald. You are right. We must take him into our
confidence now. My severe Mentor is capable else of preaching us both
a long sermon, setting forth our iniquity. We will therefore go
through the introduction in due form. Oswald, you see before you my
affianced wife and your future relation, whom I herewith commend to
your cousinly esteem and affection.'

This introduction, though decidedly meant in earnest, was performed in
the Count's old light, jesting tone; but the gay humour, which Hedwig
was usually so prompt to echo, seemed to jar upon her now almost
painfully. She stood quite silent by her lover's side, watching with
strange intensity the new relative opposite, who was mute as herself.

'Well?' said Edmund, surprised and rather hurt at this silence. 'Have
you no congratulations to offer us?'

'I must in the first place sue for pardon,' said Oswald, turning to
the young girl. 'For such a piece of news, I certainly was not
prepared.'

'That is entirely your own fault,' laughed Edmund. 'Why did you
receive my communication so ungraciously when I told you about my
first visit to Brunneck? There was every prospect for you then of
filling the post of confidant. But I must say, Hedwig, we are not
lucky as regards our rendezvous. This is the first time we have met
alone, unsheltered by Aunt Lina's protecting wing--and behold, we are
overtaken by this Cato! The philosopher's face is so eloquent of
horror at witnessing an act of homage on my part that we are obliged
at once to soothe him back into calm by notifying to him our
engagement. You may recall your little pleasantry about the
"intrusion," my dear fellow, and proceed to express--rather
tardily--your wishes for our happiness.'

'I congratulate you,' said Oswald, taking his cousin's proffered hand;
'and you too, Fraeulein.'

'How very monosyllabic! Can it be that we are to have a foe in you?
That would be the drop too much. It will be quite enough for us to
meet the opposition which our beloved parents will in all probability
offer to our plans. We shall be between two fires, and I hope, at
least, to be able to count on you as an ally.'

'You are aware that I have no influence with my aunt,' said Oswald
quietly. 'In that quarter you must trust to your own powers of
persuasion alone. But precisely for this reason you should avoid
giving your mother any extra cause for offence, and offend her you
certainly will, if you are not present at to-day's conference. Your
lawyer must be waiting at Ettersberg at the present moment, and you
have a good hour's walk before you. Excuse me, Fraeulein, but I am
forced to remind my cousin of a duty which he appears to have entirely
lost sight of.'

'Is there a conference at the castle to-day?' asked Hedwig, who had
remained wonderfully quiet during the last few minutes.

'Yes, about the Dornau business,' said Edmund, laughing. 'We are still
at open feud--irreconcilable enemies, you know. In your company I had
certainly forgotten all about lawsuits and appointments. It is
fortunate that Oswald has reminded me of them. I must perforce be
present to-day, and concoct plans with my mother and the lawyer for
snatching Dornau from the enemy. They little dream that we settled the
matter in dispute long ago by the unusual, but highly practical,
compromise of a betrothal.'

'And when will they hear this?' inquired Oswald.

'As soon as I know how Hedwig's father takes the affair. He came back
yesterday, and that is why we wanted some quiet talk together, to draw
up the plan of the campaign. Ettersberg and Brunneck will thrill with
horror at the news, no doubt, and do the Montague and Capulet business
yet a little longer; but we shall take care there is no tragic ending
to the drama. It will wind up to the tune of wedding-bells.'

He spoke with such gay confidence, and the smile with which Hedwig
answered him was so superb and assured of victory, that it was evident
the parents' opposition was not looked upon by the young people as a
real obstacle, likely to involve any serious conflict. They were fully
conscious of their power and influence where father and mother were
concerned.

'But now I really must go home,' cried Edmund, making a start. 'It is
true that I should not rouse my lady-mother's displeasure just now,
and nothing displeases her more than to be kept waiting. Excuse me,
Hedwig, if I leave you here. Oswald will replace me, and will
accompany you back through the wood. As you are so soon to be related,
you must become better acquainted with him. He is not always so
taciturn as he appears at a first meeting. Oswald, I solemnly entrust
my affianced wife to your protection and knightly conduct. So
farewell, my charming Hedwig!'

He carried the girl's hand tenderly to his lips, waved an adieu to his
cousin, and hurried away.

The two who were left were, it seemed, not agreeably surprised by the
Count's sudden arrangement. They certainly did not fall into the tone
of cousinly familiarity so promptly as he had wished. A cloud rested
on the young girl's brow, and Oswald's manner showed as yet little of
the chivalrous gallantry which had been enjoined upon him. At length
he spoke:

'My cousin has kept his acquaintance with you so secret, that the
disclosure he has just made took me altogether by surprise.'

'You made that sufficiently evident, Herr von Ettersberg,' replied
Hedwig. It was strange how lofty and decided a tone she could adopt
when really serious and in earnest.

Oswald approached slowly. 'You are offended Fraeulein, and justly
offended, but the greater blame rests with Edmund. He ought never to
have exposed his betrothed, his future wife, to such misconceptions as
that of which I was guilty.'

At this allusion a crimson flush again mounted to Hedwig's cheek.

'The reproach you address in words to Edmund is in reality aimed at
me, for I was a consenting party. My imprudence was only made manifest
to me just now by your look and tone.'

'I have already apologized, and now once more I pray to be forgiven,'
said Oswald earnestly. 'But ask yourself, Fraeulein, what a stranger,
to whom a frank, straightforward explanation could not have been
given, would have thought of this meeting? I say again, my cousin
should not have induced you to agree to it.'

'Edmund always speaks of you as his Mentor,' exclaimed Hedwig, with
unmistakable annoyance. 'It seems that, as I am engaged to be married
to him, I also am to enjoy the privilege of being ... educated by
you.'

'I merely wished to warn, and by no means to offend you. It is for you
to judge in what spirit you should take the warning.'

She made no reply. The grave earnestness of his words was not without
effect upon her, though it did not altogether calm her ruffled spirit.

Hedwig picked up her hat, which lay neglected on the ground, and sat
down in her former place to rearrange the crushed flowers. The fresh
and dainty spring headgear had suffered a little from its contact with
the grass, still damp with mist and rime; such a hat was, indeed,
hardly suited to the inclement April day. Spring comes tardily among
the mountains, and this year especially she showed no smiling
countenance. Her advent was heralded by rain and tempest. To frosty
nights succeeded days of mist, through which the pale sunshine gleamed
but fitfully.

On this day the sky was as usual shrouded in masses of gray cloud. A
wall of fog shut out the distant horizon, and the air was close and
laden with moisture. The woods were still bare and leafless; in the
undergrowth alone signs of the first tender green could be seen
sprouting timidly forth. Each leaflet, each bud, had to struggle for
existence, with difficulty holding its own in that raw, keen
temperature. The scene altogether was cheerless and desolate.

Oswald made no attempt to renew the conversation, and Hedwig, for her
part, showed but little inclination to pursue it. After a while,
however, the silence became oppressive to her, and she ventured the
first remark that suggested itself.

'What a miserable April! Anyone would think we were in cold, foggy
autumn, with winter closing in upon us. We are to be cheated this year
of all our spring delights.'

'Are you so fond of spring?' asked Oswald.

'I should like to know who is not fond of it? When one is young,
flowers and sunshine seem necessary as the air we breathe. One cannot
do without them. But perhaps you are of a different opinion.'

'It all depends. Flowers and sunshine do not come with every spring;
nor are they given to everyone in their youth.'

'Were they not given to you?'

'No.'

The negative was very harsh and decided. Hedwig glanced up at the
speaker; it occurred to her, perhaps, that he was austere and
undelightful as the spring day which excited her displeasure. What a
contrast was there between this conversation and the sparkling,
playful babble in which the young engaged pair had so recently
indulged here, on the self-same spot! Even the 'plan of campaign' to
be undertaken against their parents had been sketched out in a spirit
of drollery, amid endless pleasantries, and any lurking anxiety as to
the issue had been chased away by jests and laughter. But now, with
Oswald von Ettersberg standing before her in his cold unyielding
attitude, not only all the merriment, but all desire for it, had
vanished as by enchantment. This solemn strain of talk seemed to come
as a matter of course, and the young girl even experienced a certain
attraction in it and desire to pursue it.

'You lost your parents early? Edmund has told me so; but at Ettersberg
you found a second home and a second mother.'

The stern, aggressive look, which for a while had disappeared, showed
itself again in the young man's face, and his lips twitched almost
imperceptibly.

'You mean my aunt, the Countess?'

'Yes. Has she not been a mother to you?' Again there came that slight
spasmodic working about the corners of the mouth, which was anything
rather than a smile, but his voice was perfectly calm, as he replied:

'Oh, certainly. Still, there is a difference between being the only
child of the house--beloved as you and Edmund have been--and a
stranger admitted by favour.'

'Edmund looks on you exactly as a brother,' interrupted the young
girl. 'It is a great grief to him that you are meaning to leave him so
soon.'

'Edmund appears to have been very communicative with regard to me,'
said Oswald coldly. 'So he has told you of that already, has he?'

Hedwig flushed a little at this remark.

'It is natural, I think, that he should make me acquainted with the
affairs of the family I am likely to enter. He mentioned this fact to
me, lamenting that all his efforts to induce you to remain at
Ettersberg had failed.'

'To remain at Ettersberg?' repeated Oswald, with unfeigned
astonishment. 'My cousin could not possibly have been in earnest. In
what capacity would he have me remain there?'

'In your present capacity of a friend and near relation, I suppose.'

The young man smiled bitterly.

'Fraeulein, you have probably no idea of the position occupied by so
superfluous a member of a family, or you would not expect me to hold
out in it longer than necessity compels. There may be men who,
accepting the convenient and pleasant side of such a life, could shut
their eyes to its true significance; I have been absolutely unable to
do so. Truly, it never was my intention to remain at Ettersberg and
now I would not stay, no, not for the whole world!'

He spoke the last words with fire. His eyes kindled with a strange
lightning-like gleam, of which one would not have supposed those cold
orbs capable. It flashed on the young girl and was gone, and who
should determine the true meaning of it?

To Hedwig, accustomed to read in other glances a tender homage and
admiration, which this certainly did not convey, the look remained
problematical.

'Why not now?' she asked in surprise. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing! I was alluding to family affairs which are
unknown to you as yet.'

Evidently he repented his hasty error; as though in anger at himself,
he fiercely snapped to pieces a branch which he had torn from a
neighbouring bush.

Hedwig was silent, but the explanation did not suffice her. She felt
there must have been other grounds for the sudden vehemence and bitter
emphasis with which he had spoken those words. Was it the thought of
her entering the family which had roused him thus? Did this new
relation intend to take up a hostile attitude towards her from the
very first? And what did that strange, that enigmatic glance portend?
She sat thinking over all this, while Oswald, who had turned away,
looked persistently over in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, from the higher ground, a low, far-off sound was wafted
down. It was like the chirping of many birds, and yet consisted in a
single note, long drawn out.

Hedwig and Oswald looked up simultaneously. High in the air above them
hovered a swallow. As they looked, it directed its course downwards,
shooting by them so close that it almost brushed their foreheads in
its arrow-like swiftness. Quickly following the first came a second
and a third, and presently out of the misty distance a whole flight
was seen emerging. On they came, nearer and still nearer, winging
their way rapidly through the moist, heavy air. Then, circling above
the woods and hilltops, they dispersed fluttering about in all
directions, joyfully greeting, as it were, the old home they had found
again. Here, with their gracious, hopeful message, were the first
harbingers of spring.

The lonely hill-side  had suddenly grown animated, a scene of movement
and of life. Restlessly, incessantly, the swallows darted hither and
thither, sometimes high overhead at an unattainable distance, then
quite low to the ground, almost touching the soil. Backwards and
forwards shot the pretty slender creatures on facile wings, so swiftly
that the eye could hardly follow them; and all the while the air was
resonant with that low happy piping which has nothing in common with
the nightingale's trill or the lark's ecstasy of song, and which yet
is sweeter to man's ears than either, because it is the herald's note,
proclaiming the approach of Spring, and bearing her first message to
fair nature, fresh from the long winter trance.

Hedwig had started from her reverie. All else was suddenly forgotten.
Bending eagerly forwards, with a glad radiance in her eyes, she
watched the tiny newcomers; then, with all the delight, the joyful
excitement of a child, she cried:

'Oh, the swallows, the swallows!'

'Truly, they are here,' assented her companion, 'and fortunate they
may consider themselves in receiving so hearty a welcome.'

The cool observation fell like a chilling hoarfrost on the girl's
innocent joy. She turned and measured the sober spectator at her side
with an indignant glance.

'To you, Herr von Ettersberg, it appears inconceivable how one can
rejoice over anything. It is not one of your failings, and I dare say
the poor swallows to you signify nothing--you have never bestowed the
smallest attention on them.'

'Oh, pardon me! I have always envied them for their distant
journeyings, their free powers of flight, which nothing shackles or
restrains. Ah, liberty! there is nothing better, no higher good in
life than liberty!'

'No higher good?'

The question was put in a tone of anger and indignation, making the
answer seem all the colder and more decided.

'None, in my estimation, at least.'

'Really, one would think you had hitherto been languishing in chains,'
said Hedwig, with unconcealed irony.

'Must one breathe dungeon-air in order to long for freedom?' asked
Oswald in the same tone, only that his irony amounted to scathing
sarcasm. 'The accidents of life often forge fetters which weigh more
heavily than the real iron chains of a captive.'

'Then the fetters must be shaken off.'

'Quite true, they must be shaken off. Only that is much more easily
said than done. They who have never been otherwise than free, hardly
prize their liberty, looking upon it as a thing of course. They cannot
understand how others will strive and struggle for years, will stake
life itself to secure that precious guerdon. But, after all, the
efforts matter little, if the end be but attained.'

He turned away, and seemed to be attentively watching the swallows in
their rapid flittings to and fro. A fresh silence ensued, lasting
longer, and putting Hedwig's patience to a still severer test than
those which had previously occurred. These lapses in the conversation
were strange and intolerable to her. Really, this Oswald von
Ettersberg was an audacious personage. In the first place he presumed
to reprimand her with regard to her meeting with Edmund; then he
declared sharply, and with an emphasis which was almost insulting,
that nothing should now induce him to remain on in his cousin's house;
then he began to talk of dungeons and all sorts of disagreeable
things, and finally lapsed into absolute silence, giving himself up to
his meditations as completely as though a young lady, his cousin's
promised wife, were not in his company. Hedwig thought the measure of
his rudeness was filled, and she rose to go.

'It is time for me to be returning,' she remarked shortly.

'I am at your service.'

Oswald moved forward, intending to escort her, but she waved him back
with an ungracious gesture.

'Thank you, Herr von Ettersberg. I know the way perfectly.'

'Edmund expressly charged me to see you home,' objected Oswald.

'And I release you from the obligation,' rejoined the young lady, in a
tone which plainly said the young Count's wishes were not as law to
her when opposed to her own will. 'I came alone, and will go back
alone.'

Oswald retreated at once.

'Then you must make haste to reach Brunneck,' he said coolly. 'The
clouds are gathering yonder, and in half an hour we shall have rain.'

Hedwig looked inquiringly at the threatening clouds. 'I shall be home
long before then; and if it comes to the worst, I think nothing of
being caught in a spring shower. The swallows have reappeared, you
know--have told us that spring is coming at last.'

The words were spoken almost in a tone of challenge, but the gauntlet
was not taken up. Oswald merely bowed with an air of constrained
politeness, thereby forfeiting the young lady's last remnant of
indulgence. She, in return, strove to infuse the utmost chilliness
into her parting salutation, after which she hastened away, light and
swift of foot as a roe.

This haste was not induced by fear of rain, for when she had left the
hill-side  well behind her, Hedwig slackened her pace. She only wished
to get out of the neighbourhood of this unbearable 'Mentor,' who had
tried to extend his system of education to her, and had been guilty of
considerable rudeness in the attempt. He had not even raised any
serious objection when she declined his escort. She had fully meant
it, but the merest politeness demanded some words of regret at her
decision. Yet there had been nothing of this; he was visibly delighted
at being relieved of a troublesome office. This spoilt young lady,
whose beauty, and perhaps also whose wealth, had won for her on all
sides attention and lavish homage, looked on such indifference almost
in the light of an insult, and she had not fully recovered from the
vexation it caused her when she issued from the forest and saw
Brunneck lying before her in close vicinity.

Oswald, remaining behind alone, seemed altogether to forget the rain
he had prophesied. He stood motionless, with folded arms, leaning
against the trunk of a tree, and made no sign of setting out
homewards.

The clouds grew heavier and more lowering; the whole forest was now
shrouded in mist, and the swallows almost swept the ground with their
wings as they shot by to and fro. Patches of white might here and
there be seen bearing witness still to the night's hoarfrost; but
beneath, amidst all this mist and rime, a great work was going on. The
life-germs hidden away in a thousand unsuspected buds and leafless
branches were secretly, silently stirring; it wanted but the first
balmy breath, the first glow of sunshine, to awaken all Nature from
her long slumber. Ungenial as the air might be, there was in it just a
touch, a faint suggestion of spring, and a whisper of spring ran
through the bare forest. All around mysterious powers were active,
weaving their chains, arraying their forces, unseen, unheard, yet felt
and understood even by the lonely self-absorbed man who stood gazing
dreamily out into the cloudy distance.

A while ago, as he pursued his solitary way through the woods, all had
been void and desolate. Not a sound had reached his ears of the
language which was now so distinct and eloquent to him. He knew not,
or would not know, what had so suddenly opened his understanding; but
the harsh, aggressive look died out of his face, and with it faded
away the remembrance of a dreary, joyless youth--faded away the
rancour and bitterness of spirit which dependence and neglect had
engendered in a proud, strong nature. The soft, half-unconscious
dreams, which visit others so frequently, had spun their magic web
around the cold, impenetrable Oswald. It was, perhaps, his first
experience of them, but the spell was therefore the more irresistible.
Overhead the swallows were still busy, flitting incessantly to and fro
through the heavy, rain-charged air. The happy chirping of their tiny
throats, the wonderful whisperings about him, the low voice in his own
breast, all repeated in constant refrain that message which other lips
had so triumphantly proclaimed: 'Spring is coming, really coming to us
at last.'




                              CHAPTER V.


In the course of a few days the plan of campaign devised by Edmund and
Hedwig was carried into execution. The young people made their
important disclosure, declaring their sentiments in most unambiguous
terms, and the effects produced were precisely those expected. First
came a simultaneous outburst of indignation at Brunneck and at
Ettersberg; then followed reproaches, prayers, threats; finally an
irrevocable fiat was issued on either side. The Countess solemnly
announced to her son, the heir, that she once for all refused her
consent to such a marriage; and Fraeulein Hedwig Ruestow, on making her
avowal, encountered a small hurricane, before which she was fain for a
while to bow her head. The Councillor grew fairly distracted with
wrath when he heard that an Ettersberg, a member of the family he
hated, and his adversary in the Dornau suit, was to be presented to
him as a son-in-law.

The parental displeasure, though most pointedly expressed,
unfortunately made but small impression on the young people.
Prohibited, as a matter of course, from holding any further
communication, they calmly within the hour sat down to write to each
other, having, with a wise prevision of coming events, already fixed
on a plan for the safe conveyance of their letters.

Councillor Ruestow was striding angrily up and down the family
sitting-room at the Brunneck manor-house. Hedwig had thought it wise
to retire and leave her infuriated parent to himself for a while. The
worthy gentleman, finding his daughter beyond his reach, turned
fiercely upon his unhappy cousin, whom he bitterly accused of having,
by her unpardonable weakness and folly in favouring the acquaintance,
paved the way for all that had occurred.

Fraeulein Lina Ruestow sat in her accustomed place by the window and
listened, going on steadily with the needlework she had in hand. She
waited patiently for a pause to supervene. When at length her
exasperated cousin was compelled to stop and take breath, she
inquired, with perfect imperturbability:

'Tell me, in the first place, Erich, what objection you really have to
offer to this marriage?'

The master of the house came to a sudden stand. This was a little too
much! For the last half-hour he had been giving expression in every
possible way to his anger, his fury, his indignation, and now he was
coolly asked what objection he really had to offer to the marriage.
The question so amazed and upset him that for a moment he could find
no fitting answer.

'Upon my word, I do not understand why you should be so angry,' went
on the lady, in the same tone. 'There is evidently a sincere and
mutual attachment. Count Ettersberg, in himself, is a most charming
person. That unhappy lawsuit, which has so tried your temper during
the whole of the winter, will be brought to the simplest conclusion;
while, in a worldly point of view, the match is in every respect a
brilliant one for Hedwig. Why do you set yourself so strongly against
it?'

'Why--why?' cried Ruestow, more and more incensed by this calm,
argumentative tone of hers. 'Because I will not suffer my daughter to
marry an Ettersberg. Because, once for all, I forbid it--that is why!'

Aunt Lina shrugged her shoulders.

'I do not think Hedwig will surrender to such reasons as those. She
will simply appeal to the example of her parents, who married without
the father's consent----'

'That was a very different matter,' interrupted Ruestow hotly. 'A very
different matter indeed.'

'It was a precisely similar case, only that in that instance all the
circumstances were far more unfavourable than they are now, when
really prejudice and obstinacy alone stand in the way of the young
people's happiness.'

'Well, these are nice compliments you are heaping upon me, I must
say,' cried the Councillor, breaking forth anew. 'Prejudice!
obstinacy! Have you any more flattering epithets to bestow on me?
Don't hesitate, pray. I am waiting to hear.'

'There is no speaking sensibly to you to-day, I see,' observed the
lady, tranquilly resuming the work which for a few minutes had been
discontinued. 'We will talk of this another time, when you have grown
calmer.'

'Lina, you will drive me mad with that abominable composure of yours,
which is nothing but affectation. Put that confounded sewing stuff
away, do. I can't endure to see you drawing your thread in and out as
primly as though there were nothing amiss, while I--I----'

'Feel inclined to pull the whole house about our ears. Don't take the
trouble; it will stand after all, you know, just as firm on its
foundations as ever.'

'Yes, it will stand, though everyone prove rebellious, though even you
set yourself in open opposition to me, the master. Thank God, I have
an ally, and a strong one, in the Countess-mother over at Ettersberg.
She will show more obstinacy even than I, you may depend upon it. We
can't endure each other; we are doing our very best to harass and
torment each other by raising fresh quibbles in the lawsuit; but on
this point we shall, for once, be agreed. She will soon bring her son
to reason, and I am glad of it. It meets my views exactly. I shall act
in the same way by my daughter.'

'I do not suppose that the Countess will give her consent very
readily,' said Aunt Lina, in a pensive tone. 'To obtain that from her
must be Edmund's business.'

'Edmund!' repeated Ruestow, whose indignation was constantly being
roused afresh. 'Dear, dear! how very familiar we are, quite like
relations already! You regard him altogether in the light of a nephew,
I suppose. But you will find yourself mistaken. I say no, and I mean
no, so that is all about it.'

With these words he stormed out of the room, banging the door to
behind him with a crash which set all the windows jarring. Aunt Lina
must indeed have conquered 'her nerves,' for she did not start at the
noise, but merely looked after the angry man with a shake of the head,
and murmured to herself:

'I wonder how long it will be before he gives in!'

There was certainly less noise and bluster at Ettersberg, but the
prospects of the young pair were not on that account more hopeful. The
Countess thought the matter serious enough to warrant her in sending
for her brother, Baron Heideck, who, in all cases of difficulty, was
her stay and counsellor. He answered her summons in person, so Count
Edmund had now to contend with the allied forces of mother and
guardian.

The latter, who had arrived from the capital a few hours previously,
was closeted with the Countess in her own boudoir. He was several
years older than his sister, and while she had preserved an almost
youthful appearance, a premature look of age, on the contrary, was to
be remarked in him. Cold, grave, and methodical in speech and bearing,
his outward man at once denoted the bureaucrat of high standing. He
listened attentively and in silence to the Countess as she made her
report, which concluded in rather desponding terms.

'As I told you in my letter, there is nothing whatever to be done with
Edmund. He persists stubbornly in this marriage-scheme, and is
constantly urging me to give my consent to it. I really did not know
what better course to take than to send for you.'

'You did quite right,' said the Baron; 'for I fear that, left to
yourself, you would not have the necessary firmness to resist your
darling, and refuse him his heart's desire. I think, however, we are
agreed in this--the alliance in question must be prevented at any
pains or any cost.'

'Certainly we are,' assented the Countess. 'The only point to be
discussed is _how_ we are to prevent it. Edmund will shortly come of
age, and he will then be absolute master, free to follow his own
will.'

'Hitherto he has submitted to yours,' remarked the Count. 'His love
for you is paramount.'

'Has been hitherto!' said the Countess, with a rush of bitter feeling.
'But now another shares his love. It remains to be seen whether his
mother will retain her old place in his affections.'

'Ah, this maternal sensitiveness of yours has been the cause of all
the trouble, Constance,' remonstrated her brother. 'You have loved
your son with a jealous exclusiveness which has made you shrink from
the thought of his marriage. That was why you refused to entertain the
proposal I made to you last year. An alliance suitable in point of
rank and in every other respect could then easily have been secured.
You see the result of your conduct on that occasion. But let us to the
matter in hand. This Ruestow is wealthy?'

'He passes, at least, for wealthy in this part of the country.'

'And in town also. Not long ago he contributed funds towards one of
our great industrial undertakings to a surprisingly large amount.
Moreover, he is looked upon as an authority in his own particular
line. Even at the Ministry his opinion on all subjects connected with
agriculture carries weight with it. Add to this his connection by
marriage with the Ettersberg family, which, say what you will, exists,
and must be taken into account, and it becomes evident that we cannot
treat this intended marriage as we would an unworthy mesalliance.'

'No, and I think Edmund builds on that fact.'

'He builds simply on your unbounded affection for him, from which he
hopes to obtain all he desires--perhaps would have obtained it, had I
not stepped in in time. You owe it to your husband's memory and to the
name you bear to resist this marriage, which, as you know, he never
would have allowed. Remember how he condemned his cousin for
contracting a union with Ruestow. You are bound to act according to his
wishes.'

'I have done so in all respects,' said the Countess, a little piqued;
'but if Edmund will not listen----'

'It is for you to exact obedience from him, no matter by what means.
This plebeian blood must not again be infused into the Ettersberg
race. One such taint was sufficient.'

He spoke slowly and meaningly, and the Countess grew pale beneath the
menace of his look.

'Armand, what do you mean? I----'

'I am alluding to Ruestow's marriage with your husband's cousin,' the
Baron interrupted coldly. 'The reminder was, I think, necessary to
warn you that there must be no weakness now. You are not wanting in
energy generally, but to Edmund you have always been far too indulgent
a mother.'

'Possibly,' said the Countess, with sad and bitter emphasis. 'I have
had no one but him to love since you compelled me to accept the Count
as my husband.'

'It was not I, but circumstances, that compelled you. I should have
thought you had in your youth sufficient experience of poverty and
privations to make you bless your brother's hand, which delivered you
from that wretched life and placed you in a high position.'

'Bless?' repeated the Countess, in a low, half-stifled voice. 'No,
Armand, I have never blessed your action in the matter.'

Baron Heideck frowned.

'I acted according to my conscience and sense of duty. It was my
desire to procure for my father one last satisfaction on this side the
grave, to free my mother from anxiety as to the future, and to secure
for yourself a brilliant and much-envied position. If I used some
pressure--some force to deliver you from the trammels of a first and
foolish attachment, I did so with the firm conviction that for the
Countess Ettersberg the past would be as though it had not been. I
could not possibly foresee that my sister would not justify the
confidence I placed in her.'

The Countess shuddered as he spoke these words, and turned away.

'Enough of these reminiscences, Armand; I cannot bear them.'

'You are right,' said Heideck, changing his tone. 'We will leave the
past, and turn our attention to the present. Edmund must not be
allowed to commit this act of youthful folly. I hardly touched on the
subject as we drove here from the station--I purposely avoided any
discussion of it until I had spoken to you; but a very decided
impression was left on my mind that we have not to do with a very deep
or serious passion, capable of breaking down all barriers and setting
all at defiance in order to obtain its end. He has merely fallen in
love with a young and, as I hear, beautiful girl, and is naturally in
a great hurry to be married at once. We must take care that this does
not occur. We have weapons enough in our armoury to combat any such
juvenile sentiment.'

'I hope so,' said the Countess, making a visible effort to regain her
composure, and speak in an ordinary conversational tone. 'That is why
I asked you to come. You are his guardian, you know.'

Heideck shook his head.

'My guardianship has never been more than a barren legal fact, and in
a few months it will lapse altogether. Edmund will hardly bow to its
authority but to you he will yield, for he is accustomed to be guided
by you. Place before him the choice between this new fancy of his and
yourself. Threaten that you will leave Ettersberg if he brings this
bride home to the castle. He worships you, and will take no step which
would estrange his mother from him.'

'No; he would not do that,' said the Countess in a tone of absolute
conviction; 'I am still sure of his love.'

'And you may continue to feel sure of it, if you know how to use your
influence over him, as I doubt not you will, to the fullest extent.
You are well aware, Constance, that in your son's case, in his case
especially, the traditions of the family must be maintained. Remember
this, I beg of you.'

'I know it,' said the Countess, drawing a deep breath. 'You may set
your mind at rest.'

A long pause ensued. Then Baron Heideck spoke again:

'And now to the other disagreeable matter! Will you send for Oswald? I
should like to have some talk with him about this wonderful new
project of his.'

The Countess rang the bell.

'Let Herr von Ettersberg know that Baron Heideck wishes to speak to
him, and is waiting for him here,' she said to the servant who
answered the summons.

The man withdrew with his instructions, and Heideck continued, in a
sarcastic vein:

'It must be admitted that Edmund and Oswald are outvying each other
just now in their endeavours to add lustre to the family name. One is
bent on marrying the daughter of a ci-devant farmer, and the other
means to set up as a lawyer. Oswald cannot, I fancy, have conceived
this idea quite suddenly.'

'I think he has cherished the project for years, but he has never
committed himself by a word,' said the Countess. 'It is only now, just
when he is on the point of passing his examination, that he thinks fit
to publish his plan. I have declared to him, however, in the most
decided manner, that he must give up all notion of the law, and
prepare to enter a Government office.'

'And what reply did he make to you?'

'He made none--as usual. You know the moody, obstinate silence with
which, even as a boy, he received reproof and punishment, the look of
insufferable defiance which he always has in readiness, though his
lips remain closed. I am persuaded that my opposition only makes him
cling the more pertinaciously to his absurd plan.'

'Precisely what I should expect from him, but in this case he will
have to give way. A young man who, like Oswald, is absolutely without
resources of his own, must, no matter in what position, be for a time
dependent on his relations. Disobedience would cost him too dearly.'

The conversation had undergone a marked change. Previously, when
Edmund's conduct had been under debate, the Countess and her brother
had spoken gravely and with a certain anxiety, but every word
testified to the consideration in which the wilful young son and
nephew was held. They merely wished to lead, to guide him back into
the paths of prudence, and the love he bore his mother was the only
constraining influence suggested. But from the moment Oswald's name
was mentioned, another and a very different tone prevailed. His sins
were reported with harshness, and condemned with great severity;
measures of compulsion were at once discussed. Baron Heideck evidently
shared in an eminent degree his sister's dislike to this young
relation.

The offender now came in. He greeted his aunt and his guardian, whom
he had seen only for a few minutes on arrival, with his accustomed
calm composure; but a keen observer might have detected the fact that
he had armed himself for the coming scene. He stood before them in the
'sombre, obstinate silence' to which allusion had been made, with his
ever-ready look of 'insufferable defiance,' and waited for what should
be made known to him.

'You have prepared a singular surprise for us,' began Baron Heideck,
addressing Oswald. 'For me especially, as I was just about to move in
your interest. What are these absurd ideas you are so suddenly
disclosing? You refused formerly to enter the army, and now you object
to a Government office. Let me tell you that, situated as you are, you
have no right to vacillate thus between the only professions which are
open to you.'

'I have never vacillated, for no choice has ever been offered me,'
replied Oswald quietly. 'I was destined first for the army and then
for a Government clerkship, but my inclination was never consulted.'

'And why did you never inform us by a single word that it would please
you in the last instance to set yourself against this second plan?'
asked the Countess.

'That is easily divined,' interposed Heideck. 'He wished to avoid a
long struggle against you and myself, a struggle in which he was sure
to succumb, and hoped that by taking us unawares he might paralyse our
resistance. But you are mistaken, Oswald. My sister has already
informed you that we consider the name and rank of a Count von
Ettersberg to be incompatible with the calling of the law, and I
repeat to you that you will never receive our consent to your present
scheme.'

'I am sorry for that,' was the steady reply. 'For I shall thus be
obliged to pursue the course I have determined on without the approval
of my nearest relatives.'

The Countess would have started up in anger, but her brother signed to
her to be calm.

'Say nothing, Constance. We shall see if he can carry out this famous
plan. I really do not understand you, Oswald,' he continued, with
withering sarcasm. 'You have been long enough away from home to form
some idea of the world and its ways. Have you never said to yourself
that without some assured means of existence you can neither pass the
examination in the capital, nor live on for years until an income of
your own be forthcoming? Have you not reflected that these means may
be withdrawn, if you push matters so far as to provoke a rupture with
your family? You probably rely on Edmund's good-nature and on his
affection for yourself, but in this case my sister will take care that
he does not second and support you in your wilful obstinacy.'

'I rely on no one but myself,' declared Oswald. 'Edmund knows that I
shall make no claim on him for assistance.'

'Well, perhaps you will allow me, as your ex-guardian, to inquire how
you propose to live during the next few years?' said Heideck, in his
former scornful tone.

'I think of going to town to stay with Councillor Braun, a lawyer of
eminence, whose name is probably known to you.'

'Certainly I know him. He has a considerable reputation at the bar.'

'He was my father's legal adviser, and the intimate friend of our
house. I called on him and renewed our acquaintance when Edmund and I
were in town together, and he has been good enough to transfer the old
friendship from the father to the son. During the time I was at the
university, he gave me many hints how best to direct my studies with a
view to the career I had already chosen, and since then we have
remained in constant correspondence. He wishes now for some assistance
in his really overgrown practice, and the assistant of to-day may,
very probably will, be his successor in the future. The berth will be
held open for me until I shall have passed my examination. He has
asked me to stay at his house during the period of that examination,
and this offer I have thankfully accepted.'

Oswald delivered this speech with imperturbable calm, but the
astonishment of his hearers knew no bounds. They had supposed that a
simple assertion of authority on their part would extinguish all
'absurd ideas,' and quell the rebellious nephew whose dependent
position placed him so completely at their mercy. Instead of this,
they were met by a steady resolve, a practical, matured plan, every
detail of which had been considered and provided for, and which
withdrew the young man altogether from their influence and control.
The disagreeable surprise this discovery caused them was expressed in
the look they now exchanged.

'Really, this is remarkable news,' said the Countess, who could no
longer suppress her anger. 'So you have been conspiring against us
with a stranger in secret--and this conspiracy has been going on for
years!'

'And with what an aim in view!' added Heideck. 'Either in the army or
in a Government office your ancient and noble name would have been of
service to you; it would have assured you a career. But the advantages
you possess you deliberately put from you in order to embrace the law
as a profession. I really thought your ambition would soar higher. Are
you so wedded--so enthusiastically attached to this new vocation of
yours?'

'No,' said Oswald coldly; 'not in the least. But in any other
profession I should have been compelled to go on for years
accepting--accepting benefits I have hitherto enjoyed; and to this I
will not consent. The path I have chosen is the only one that leads to
freedom and independence, and to gain these I willingly sacrifice all
else.'

The words told of a resolve which was not to be shaken, but at the
same time they were barbed with a reproach which the Countess
understood but too well.

'You have accepted these benefits so long that you can now
conveniently do without them,' she remarked.

The tone of this observation was even more insulting than the words.
Oswald's composure seemed to be giving way at length. His quick, short
breathing betrayed his emotion, as he replied in accents to the full
as biting as hers had been:

'If I have hitherto been held fettered by the chain of my dependence,
that assuredly has not been my fault. It was not considered fitting
for an Ettersberg to go out into the world and seek his fortune, as a
man of humbler origin might have done. I could but yield to the
traditional prejudices of my family. I have had to wait on and on for
this hour when at length--at length I can take my future into my own
hands!'

'Which you seem inclined to do in the most offensive manner possible,'
said the Countess, with increasing warmth. 'With the utmost
indifference to those family traditions of which you speak, in open
opposition to the friends to whom you owe everything. Could my husband
have foreseen this, he never would have directed that you should be
brought up with his own son, and treated as a child of the house you
now disown in this manner. But, indeed, gratitude is a word which
seems to have no meaning for you.'

A dangerous light kindled in Oswald's eyes, and they flashed upon the
speaker a glance of menace and evil portent.

'I know, aunt, what a heavy burden my uncle laid on you by those
directions, but, believe me, I have suffered beneath it even more
severely than yourself. It would have been better for me to have been
driven out into the world and brought up among strangers, than to pass
my life amid splendid surroundings, in a sphere where I have daily,
hourly been reminded of my nothingness, where the proud Ettersberg
blood in my veins had but to show itself to be instantly repressed. My
uncle carried his point, and had me received into this house; beyond
that, he made no attempt to shield or protect me. To you I was, from
the first, simply a troublesome legacy left by an unfriendly and
detested brother-in-law. I was accepted with disinclination, and
endured with absolute dislike, and the consciousness of this has
sometimes well-nigh driven me desperate. But for Edmund, the one
person who showed me any affection, the one who held faithfully by me,
in spite of all that was done to estrange us, I could not have borne
the life. Gratitude! You require gratitude at my hands? I have never
felt any, I never shall feel any towards you; for there is a voice
within me which says I am not benefited, but injured. I need not
thank, but might ... accuse!'

He flung the last word at her with loud and threatening emphasis. The
dykes were broken down, and all the hatred, the bitterness he had
secretly borne within him for years flowed out in a stream of fierce
rebellion against this woman who, outwardly at least, had been as a
mother to him. She had risen in her turn, and they now stood face to
face. So might two deadly enemies have measured each other's strength
before the fray; the next word would perhaps have led to an
irreparable breach, had not Heideck intervened.

'Oswald, you forget yourself!' he cried. 'How can you venture to
address such language to your aunt?'

The keen, cold tones of his voice brought reflection to both at the
same moment. The Countess sank slowly back into her seat, and her
nephew retreated a step. For a few seconds a painful silence reigned.
Then Oswald spoke in a changed voice, in a tone freezing as ice:

'You are right; I have to apologize. But at the same time I must beg
of you to allow me henceforth to go my own way unhindered. The path I
shall follow will, in all probability, take me from Ettersberg for
ever, and all further connection may cease between us. I think this is
what we all should wish, and it will certainly be best for the family,
collectively and individually.'

Then, without waiting for an answer, or any sign of dismissal, he
turned and left the room.

'What did that mean?' asked the Countess in a low voice, when the door
had closed upon him.

'It meant a threat,' said Heideck. 'Could you not understand it,
Constance? It was, I think, plainly enough expressed.'

He sprang up, and paced several times uneasily up and down the room.
Even the bureaucrat's cold and measured calm was not proof against
such a scene as this. Presently he halted before his sister.

'We must give way. The matter has now assumed a different aspect--a
very different aspect. Active resistance on our part might lead to
serious trouble--the last few moments have made that evident to me.'

'You really think so?'

The Countess spoke these words almost mechanically. She was still
gazing fixedly over at the door through which Oswald had departed.

'Decidedly I think so,' said Heideck, in a determined tone. 'The
fellow suspects more than is good for any of us. It would be dangerous
to irritate him--besides which, we have no longer any power to control
his acts. By this masterly scheme of his, he has secured for himself
an unassailable position. I certainly was not prepared for it, but at
least we now know what lies hidden beneath that calm, indifferent
exterior.'

'I have long known it,' declared the Countess, who seemed only now to
be recovering the full use of her faculties. 'Not without reason have
I feared those cold, searching eyes. From the very first time I saw
that boy's face and met his look, a sort of presentiment awoke within
me that he would work ruin to me and to my son.'

'Folly!' said Heideck. 'Whatever Oswald may suspect, it never can or
will be more than a suspicion; and he will take good care not to put
it into words. It was only in the great excitement of the moment that
he allowed that hint to escape him; but no matter, there must not be a
renewal of this scene. He is right in one thing at least--it will be
better for him in future to avoid Ettersberg; thus the connection with
Edmund will cease. In our own interest, we must let him pursue the
career he has chosen.'

Meanwhile Oswald had passed rapidly through the Countess's apartments,
and was about to turn from them into the corridor, where he met Edmund
on his way to his mother. Gay, lighthearted, and careless as usual,
the young Count stopped at once, caught his cousin by the arm, and
proceeded to interrogate him.

'Well, Oswald, how did the judgment-scene in there go off? We must
hold firmly together now, you know, for we are both in the same
boat--only my case smacks of romance, whereas yours has a dry legal
savour. I underwent a sort of preliminary examination in the carriage
just now, and am about to appear before the high tribunal of justice.
Is my uncle in a very ungracious humour?'

'He will hardly be ungracious to you,' was the laconic reply.

'Oh, I am not in the least afraid!' cried Edmund, laughing. 'I should
have won my mother over long ago, if I had had her alone. She knows
it, and that is why she summoned my uncle to her aid. He is just a
trifle more difficult to manage, though I don't suppose even he will
bear too hardly on me. But you, Oswald'--he came close up to his
cousin, and looked him searchingly in the face--'you have that frown
on your brow again, that bitter expression of countenance I dislike so
much. They have been tormenting you, I am afraid.'

'You know these things cannot be settled without some rather warm
discussion,' replied Oswald evasively. 'But I have gained my end,
notwithstanding. One word more, Edmund. I shall probably leave
Ettersberg sooner than I at first intended--perhaps in the course of a
few days.'

'Why?' exclaimed the young Count. 'What has happened? You had
determined to stay until the autumn. Has my uncle offended you, that
you now talk of leaving at once? I shall stand no nonsense of that
sort, as I shall let him know on the spot----'

'I tell you everything is arranged and settled,' Oswald interrupted.
'Nothing whatever has happened. My aunt and her brother are naturally
rather incensed against me, but they will place no further obstacles
in my way.'

'Do you mean it in earnest?' asked Edmund in surprise. He evidently
could not understand this sudden strange compliance.

'In right good earnest. You will hear it from themselves by-and-by.
Now go and stand your trial. They will not be too hard on you. You
have only to appeal to your mother's love--whereas I had to invoke
fear to my aid.'

Edmund stared at him in amazement.

'Fear? Fear of what--of whom? You really do sometimes use the most
extraordinary expressions.'

'Never mind, go now,' insisted Oswald. 'I can give you an account of
our interview later on.'

'All right.' Edmund turned to the door, but paused again on the
threshold. 'I must say one thing more, though, Oswald. I will not hear
of this sudden departure of yours. You promised to stay until the
autumn, and nothing shall induce me to let you go before. It will be
bad enough for me to have to do without you then for months--for you
will hardly get to Ettersberg before that abominable examination is
over. I know that beforehand.'

With these words he departed. Oswald looked after him moodily. 'For
months? Ah, we must learn to do without each other for good and for
all,' he said. Then in a lower voice he added, 'I did not think I
should have felt it so keenly.'




                             CHAPTER VI.


More than two months had elapsed. Midsummer had arrived, but the
houses of Ettersberg and Brunneck were still, as Count Edmund
expressed it, playing the Montague and Capulet game. Neither the
Countess nor Ruestow had yielded an inch. They were vigorous as ever in
their opposition to the projected marriage between their children, but
these latter only clung the more tenaciously to their plan. In spite
of prohibitions they met often, and wrote to each other still more
frequently. To manage the first, it had been found necessary to
include Aunt Lina in the plot, and that good lady thought it better
that the meetings, which certainly would have taken place under any
circumstances, should be held with her sanction and in her presence.
She had long ago been won over to the young people's side, and the
lovers themselves took matters very easily. It was not in the nature
of either Hedwig or Edmund to take a sentimental or tragic view of
their temporary separation. A love affair, the course of which had
constantly run smooth, would no doubt have appeared to them
excessively tame and wearisome. Parental opposition gave to this
courtship the necessary spice of romance. They revelled in the
situation with all the eagerness of their youthful years, and looked
on themselves and their true love as intensely poetical and
interesting. Neither felt any uneasiness as to the final issue; they
knew too well that they, their parents' spoilt and petted darlings,
would ultimately carry their point. Meanwhile the Countess posed as
the inexorable mother, and the Councillor was fiercer and more prone
to ire than ever. Signs, however, were not wanting that the fortresses
were not quite as impregnable as they pretended to be, that they would
finally succumb to the daily assaults to which they were subjected.

The _denoument_ came more speedily than any of the parties concerned
had expected. Fraeulein Lina Ruestow had been absent for a few days
staying in town, where she had purchases to make. She came back to
Brunneck suspecting nothing, and prepared to find the old feud with
Ettersberg raging fiercely as when she left. Rather surprised at being
received on her arrival by her cousin alone, she made inquiries after
Hedwig, who was nowhere to be seen.

'Hedwig?' stammered Ruestow, looking half embarrassed, half wrathful.
'She is not here just now; you will see her by-and-by.'

Aunt Lina inquired no further. There had probably been some fresh
discussion on the subject of the projected marriage, a circumstance
which never promoted the comfort of any member of the household, for
the Councillor was in the habit of venting his anger on all about him,
his daughter only excepted. On this occasion, however, the traveller
felt herself to be in possession of a piece of intelligence which
would scare away ill-humour. They had hardly got into the parlour when
she burst forth with it.

'I have brought you some news, Erich. Your solicitor wanted to send
you a telegram, but I begged him to let me convey the pleasant
tidings. You have won your suit in the first instance. Dornau has been
adjudged to Hedwig.'

'I am glad of it, glad of it, in spite of all that has come and gone.
But I wish the judgment had been given a few weeks back; now my
pleasure in it is spoiled, completely spoiled! So we have won the
suit?'

'Subject to appeal, of course--though our solicitor seems confident
about the final issue. No doubt the opposite party will do everything
in their power to contest the victory with us.'

'They will do nothing of the kind,' grumbled Ruestow, still with the
same queer, embarrassed look.

'Of course they will; there can be no doubt of that. The lawyer has
already taken his measures in view of an appeal to a higher court.'

'He may save himself the trouble,' Ruestow broke forth. 'Nobody is
thinking of appealing. The lawsuit is over and done with, and the end
of the story is that Dornau will go to Ettersberg after all.'

'To Ettersberg? Why, don't I tell you ... But, good heavens, Erich,
what makes you look so black and miserable, and why is Hedwig out of
the way? What has happened? Is she ill, or----'

'Now, don't get excited,' said Ruestow, interrupting the flow of
questions. 'Hedwig is quite well and in excellent spirits, and at
the present moment is staying over at Ettersberg with her future
mother-in-law. That is right, Lina, sit down. I shan't take it amiss
if you show some surprise. I showed and felt not a little myself at
first.'

Aunt Lina had indeed dropped on to a seat, and was staring at her
cousin in speechless, petrified amazement. He went on again:

'These young people have really had the most wonderful luck! You were
within a hair's-breadth of finding us all dead and gone, Lina. The
Countess was as nearly drowned as could be, and we were within an ace
of having our necks broken.'

'Merciful powers! And you call that luck?' exclaimed the old lady, in
a tone expressive of horror.

'I said "nearly" and "within an ace," did not I? Well, the upshot of
it all was a betrothal on the spot. The whole business went upon
wheels; deadly peril, consequent emotion, embracing of the lovers! We
were in the midst of it all, and found ourselves giving our parental
benediction almost before we knew what had happened. Oh, those
confounded black Ettersberg beasts! Why do my horses never run away, I
wonder?'

'What in the world are your horses to me at this moment?' broke in his
cousin, half desperate with the prolonged suspense. 'If you go on in
this way, I shall never hear what has happened. Do try and tell the
story rationally.'

'Yes, yes, you are right. I must tell you all about it calmly and
quietly,' said the Councillor, inaugurating the promised calm by
pacing violently up and down the room, as was his wont when much
excited. 'Well, then, the day before yesterday I drove over with
Hedwig to pay a visit to Neuenfeld. You will remember that the road
lies over that steep Stag's Hill, where just at the summit the path is
so narrow that great caution is required for two vehicles to pass side
by side. Precisely at this spot, what should we meet but the
Ettersberg carriage with the Countess in it! We, of course, took no
notice, pretended not to know each other; but our coachmen, instead of
not noticing, rushed together like mad. I shouted to Anthony to stop,
but the other idiot came tearing on, until the animals brushed against
each other. The high-spirited Ettersberg steeds took this amiss. They
reared and plunged and kicked, and finally set off at furious speed,
almost smashing our wheels for us as they passed. The coachman tried
all sorts of foolish man[oe]uvres in the hope of checking them, upon
which they took to their heels and ran away with him in good earnest.
Springing out of the carriage, I saw at a glance that it was too
late--they were spinning down the hill as fast as a top. The coachman
flew off the box; the footman, instead of seizing the reins, clung to
his seat with might and main. The Countess screamed for help, and so
they went on, straight down towards the pond which lies at the foot of
the hill, and is so admirably situated for drowning purposes.'

Aunt Lina was listening in breathless suspense.

'Frightful! Horrible! Was there no help at hand?'

'Certainly; I was at hand,' said Ruestow drily; 'and at need I can play
the angel of rescue, though it is not my habitual occupation. There
was not time for much reflection, and I soon gave up running after the
carriage. Happily we had halted close to that steep footpath which
shortens the way down by one half. How I got to the bottom I don't
know. Anyhow, I was there as soon as the carriage, and just contrived
to stop it as it reached the pond.'

'Thank God!' cried the old lady, with a sigh of relief.

'So said I, a little later on--just at that moment I was furious.
There I stood with the Countess in my arms, and no one to give me any
assistance. She had gone off into a swoon, and that fool of a man was
so bewildered and scared, that he was nearly as unconscious as his
mistress. Now, a pair of restive horses I can manage at a pinch, but
fainting ladies are altogether out of my line. Presently, however,
Hedwig came flying down the footpath, and then Anthony, and then the
man who had been thrown--he was limping terribly, and had a famous
bump on his forehead, but that served him right. It was his folly and
reckless driving which had caused all the mischief.'

'And the Countess?' interposed his listener eagerly.

'Well, happily the Countess had escaped uninjured. We carried her into
a neighbouring house belonging to one of the rural police, and here
she partly recovered from her fright. The gentle, well-mannered
horses, besides running away, had accorded to themselves the special
pleasure of breaking their carriage-pole and of so injuring our wheels
in the rencontre, that we could not move the landau from the spot. So
I sent the footman over to Ettersberg to fetch another vehicle,
despatched Anthony and the policeman, who happened to be at home,
to the scene of the disaster, and dismissed the coachman with his
black monsters, which he conducted home in safety. We three remained
alone--it was a pleasing moment, as you may suppose.'

'I do hope and trust, Erich, that you did not behave with rudeness,'
said Aunt Lina reproachfully.

'No, rudeness was out of the question--unfortunately!' replied Ruestow,
in a tone of sincere regret. 'The Countess was still as pale as death
and half fainting. I had received a slight memorial of the affair
myself, a mere scratch on the arm, which, however, bled rather
profusely; and the poor child, Hedwig, ran from one to the other, not
knowing whom she should help first. In such a situation politeness
comes as a thing of course. We were therefore intensely polite to each
other, and intensely anxious about each other's welfare. I hoped the
matter would blow over with an expression of thanks and a courteous
farewell, and I was looking out, longing for the arrival of the
Ettersberg carriage, when suddenly, instead of it. Count Edmund came
up at a tearing gallop. From the footman's confused report he had
thought that his mother was injured or half dead, and he had not
waited for the carriage to be got ready, but had jumped on the first
horse that came to hand and had ridden over as though his own life had
been at stake. I should not have believed the young jackanapes had so
much heart. He rushed into the house and into his mother's arms like a
madman, and for the first moment or so he evidently saw and thought of
no one but her. I must say that pleased me--pleased me much. He seems
to be passionately attached to his mother.'

At this point the narrator's voice softened a little. Unfortunately
his cousin took it into her head to produce her handkerchief and press
it to her eyes, which at once roused the Councillor to a contrary
humour.

'I do believe you are going to cry,' he said, turning upon her
sharply. 'Let us have no nonsense of that sort, pray. There has been
emotion enough and to spare. Well, of course there now ensued a string
of questions and explanations,' he went on, taking up again the thread
of his narrative; 'a lively description, in which, in spite of my
protests, I was made to figure as a sort of hero and knight-errant.
The Countess overflowed with gratitude, and all at once Edmund threw
his arms round my neck, declaring I had saved his mother's life, and
that he would rather owe such a debt to me, the father of his Hedwig,
than to anyone in the world.' Here Ruestow's strides grew longer and
his countenance more wrathful. 'Yes, that is what he had the coolness
to say, "the father of his Hedwig"! I tried to shake him off; then
Hedwig got the other side of me, and began the same story about the
mother of her Edmund. Presently the Countess stepped up, and held out
her hand to me--well, you can imagine the rest. As I said before, a
general embracing and reconciliation went on, and we only came to our
senses when the carriage, which had followed the Count, drove up to
the door. As it further appeared that ours was totally disabled, we
had no alternative but to mount all together and drive over to
Ettersberg. It was agreed ultimately that Hedwig should remain with
the Countess, who was really much upset by the fright she had had, and
I ... well, here I am, left by myself in my own house, without a soul
to keep me company.'

'Please to remember I count as somebody,' said Aunt Lina, a little
piqued. 'You don't seem to reckon me at all.'

Ruestow grumbled something that was unintelligible. At this moment a
servant came in, and announced the pastor of Brunneck, who was a
friend of the house.

'There!' cried the master, in a tone of desperation. 'There! he has
come over to congratulate us on the approaching marriage--he has, as
sure as I stand here. The story is going the round of the
neighbourhood already. Each time I have shown my nose outside the door
to-day, somebody has come up to me with a smirk and a smile, and some
hint about the "happy event." But I can't stand it yet. I must collect
my thoughts and get used to the idea first. Lina, you'll do me the
favour to receive the parson. In my present frame of mind, I tell you,
I am capable of chucking anyone out of the window who should come to
me with his congratulations!'

So saying, the Councillor ran out of one door just as the pastor was
admitted by the other. This was fortunate, for the worthy man had no
sooner entered than he proceeded solemnly and with much unction to
offer to the old lady his heartfelt congratulations on the coming
'happy event,' the news of which had, he said, filled him with genuine
delight.




                             CHAPTER VII.


The day on which the young Lord of Ettersberg attained his majority
had come and gone, being celebrated with much splendour. The Countess
judged this a fitting occasion for the display of all the grandeur of
which Ettersberg was capable, and displayed it accordingly was in
fullest measure. In the spacious, brilliantly lighted apartments of
the castle there gathered a gay and numerous throng, for whom the
fete, besides its more immediate cause, had yet another and a special
interest. The young couple, who had been quietly betrothed at Brunneck
some weeks previously, in the presence only of members of the two
families, now made their first appearance together in public, and were
accordingly overwhelmed by the congratulations of their friends. The
news of the engagement had, as may be supposed, created a considerable
stir in the neighbourhood; but the astounding fact was in some small
degree explained by a report of the incident which had brought it
about. It was easy to understand how the Countess, carried away by her
gratitude, had held out the hand of reconciliation to a man whose
courage and presence of mind had saved her life, how in such a moment
her class-prejudices had given way, and she had consented to an
alliance which, so it was said, she had at first vehemently opposed.
Equally intelligible was it that after such an episode the Councillor
should have yielded up his long-cherished grudge against the
Ettersberg family; especially as the Dornau lawsuit had been decided
in his favour, and his stubborn pride had thus received satisfaction.
On the whole, Count Edmund's choice provoked envy rather than hostile
attack, particularly among his younger compeers. The heiress of
Brunneck and Dornau was no unfitting consort, even for a Count von
Ettersberg. Similar marriages were constantly arranged where no such
romantic inclination prevailed, where the rich heiress was not, as in
this case, a youthful, beautiful, and accomplished lady.

But whatever might be the judgment passed on them in private, the
young engaged couple were, of course, met on all sides by flattering
speeches and the most amiable expressions of interest.

Baron Heideck did not honour the castle with his presence on the
occasion, though, in his quality of guardian to the heir, he had been
confidently expected. He did not surrender his point so easily as the
Countess, but persisted in his exclusive views. Fortunately, Edmund
had wisely arranged that the news of his engagement should reach his
uncle in the capital precisely at the time it was made generally
public. The Countess could not possibly recede now, and any
interference on her brother's part would come too late. Nevertheless,
the Baron wrote a stern letter, reproaching his sister with her weak
and foolish compliance, and would not understand how anyone could be
so carried away by the emotion of the moment as to offer up their
'principles.' He did not know how the mother's love had secretly been
at work, undermining her stern resolve, and paving the way for the
sudden concession. It so angered him that he went the length of
refusing to be present at the coming festivities. By his mother's
express wish, Edmund wrote to him, begging him to reconsider this
decision, but he merely sent a short cool note in reply, declaring
that his official duties would not permit him to leave town just then;
all the formalities attendant on the coming of age should be settled
by writing.

Edmund bore the blow with much philosophy, but the Countess was
greatly annoyed. She had always been guided by her brother's opinion,
and now felt his displeasure the more keenly that in her heart she
shared his way of thinking. She saw, however, that having gone so far,
the position she had taken up must be maintained before the world. So
she set herself to the task before her, and with much tact and
charming affability of manner convinced everyone that the consent,
which in truth circumstances had wrung from her, had been
spontaneously and freely given.

Supported by her son and his promised bride, the Countess received the
guests as they arrived. Her toilette was sumptuous and in finest
taste, and the fact that she was still a very beautiful woman had
never made itself so triumphantly manifest as on this occasion. At her
side stood her future daughter-in-law, radiant in all the bloom and
grace of early youth; yet the elder lady's beauty shone undimmed by
the contrast. Edmund's eyes rested now and again with loving
admiration on his handsome, proud mother, who seemed to claim his
attention in almost equal degree with his affianced bride.

'The Countess looks magnificent to-day,' said the Councillor, going up
to his cousin. 'Magnificent, upon my word! and she knows how to do
this sort of thing--that, one must admit. It is all proportionate and
on a grand scale, and the lady has a wonderful talent of making
herself the life and centre of the whole affair. She sees everything,
has something pleasant to say to everyone. Hedwig may learn much from
her in this respect.'

'You seem fond of extremes,' remarked Aunt Lina, who had retired to a
quiet corner seat, whence she could observe at ease all that was going
on. 'From a most unreasonable dislike you have gone over to boundless
admiration of the Countess. Why, I noticed you even kissed her hand
just now.'

'What, don't I please you even yet?' asked Ruestow, in a tone of
offence. 'You wrung from me a solemn promise that I would make myself
agreeable tonight, and now that I am doing everything in my power to
keep my word--making extraordinary efforts, in fact--you won't even
acknowledge it.'

Aunt Lina smiled rather mischievously.

'Oh, but indeed I do! I admire the "extraordinary efforts" quite as
much as the rest of the company, who really do not know what to make
of it. People are accustomed to see you shrouded in a sort of
thundercloud, and this sudden sunshine puzzles them. But I have one
question to ask, Erich. What has gone wrong between Hedwig and Oswald
von Ettersberg? They avoid each other openly in a manner which almost
courts attention.'

'Gone wrong? Nothing, so far as I know. Hedwig cannot endure this
cousin, and I fancy he does not care much for her.'

The last words betrayed some little pique. Evidently the Councillor
could not understand anyone not caring much for his daughter.

'But there must be some grounds for this mutual dislike. Young
Ettersberg's manners are not particularly agreeable, I must say.'

'Ah, but he has a real genius for farming and agriculture generally.
Now, if _he_ were the heir coming into his own, things would wear a
very different aspect here. He sees clearly how the estates are being
mismanaged; and the other day, when he was over at Brunneck, he gave
me some hints and information which will lead me to take serious steps
myself, if Edmund will not act. We talked the matter over thoroughly.'

'Yes, and at great length,' rejoined the lady. 'It almost seemed to me
as if Herr von Ettersberg held you to the conversation purposely, that
he might not have to listen to all Edmund's tender speeches to his
beloved.'

'I am afraid he has some nonsensical high-flying notions in his head,'
said Ruestow. 'The marriage does not meet with his high approval. I saw
that the very day of the accident. He received us here at Ettersberg,
and when Edmund lifted his future wife out of the carriage, my young
gentleman looked as if the skies had fallen upon him; he darted a
glance at the pair which by no means pleased me. However, he recovered
himself in a minute, and was very polite, expressing regret at his
aunt's accident, and wishes for his cousin's happiness, but in a cool,
half-hearted sort of way which showed that both were forced. He does
not appear to possess much heart, but a genius for farming he has, and
no mistake.'

'Did that flattering compliment refer to me?' asked Edmund, who just
then drew near with Hedwig, and overheard the last words.

Ruestow turned.

'To you, no! We were talking of your cousin. You, I am sorry to say,
have no practical gifts that I have been able to discover.'

'None in the world,' Edmund laughingly assured him. 'That was made
plain to me the other day when I was over at Brunneck, and you were
engrossed in one of your endless debates about forest-culture and
drainage. Hedwig and I only caught a word here and there, but that was
enough to make us yawn.'

'These are views which promise well for a landed proprietor, I must
say,' remarked the Councillor tartly. 'So our conversation made you
yawn, did it? Why, you and Hedwig had not a sensible word to say to
each other. I heard nothing but jokes and laughter. Yet you had every
cause to listen with attention. The state of the timber on your----'

'Oh, for Heaven's sake, spare me all that to-day,' broke in Edmund.
'If you really must talk on these subjects, I will bring you over the
genius you admire so much. Oswald is capable of discussing timber all
the evening. But where is he, I wonder? I have missed him for the last
quarter of an hour or so. Everard, have you seen Herr von Ettersberg?
Perhaps he is over in the ballroom.'

'No, Count, I have just come from there,' replied the old servant, who
was passing with a tray.

'Well, I shall have to go and look him up myself. One can never reckon
on Oswald on such occasions as this. He leaves the entire burden on
me. Come, Hedwig, dancing will begin soon; we ought to go and see that
all the necessary arrangements are made.'

So saying, the young Count placed Hedwig's hand within his arm, and
led her away to the ballroom, which lay at the other extremity of the
long and glittering suite of apartments.

The spacious ballroom was for the moment quite empty, as also was the
adjoining conservatory, and this fact probably had beguiled Oswald
into seeking a refuge there. The intention he had expressed of leaving
Ettersberg at once had been combated on all sides, and especially by
Edmund, who warmly insisted on his cousin remaining at the castle, and
besieged him perpetually with entreaties and reproaches. The Countess
even, and Baron Heideck, after due reflection, had decided that it
might be a serious matter to provoke an open rupture with this
rebellious nephew, and to launch him forth into the world in hostile
mood. They therefore also opposed his departure. The family
differences, which could not be healed, must at least be hidden from
others. No further opposition should thwart the young man's plans.

It was agreed that his future should be left altogether in his own
hands; so he had yielded to the pressure put upon him, and consented
to stay on until the autumn, according to his original intention.

Oswald was standing before a group of camellias, apparently absorbed
in the contemplation of their wealth of bloom. In reality he was
insensible to it, as to all else around him. The expression of his
countenance had little in common with the general rejoicing of the
day, which placed the young Lord of Ettersberg in full possession of
his own. An ominous frown contracted his brow, which had been smooth
enough as he mixed in the ranks of the company. It was one of those
moments when the mask of calm, imperturbable indifference was dropped.
This mask the habit of years and the young man's self-control had
enabled him to assume, but how foreign to his real nature was the
indifference he feigned might be seen from his heaving breast and
clenched teeth as he now stood alone, battling with himself. It had
been impossible to him to remain amid the brilliant throng. He felt he
must seek solitude, that he might draw breath freely, that he might
not stifle beneath the crowd of thoughts which surged wildly through
his mind. Was this really but the mean, bitter envy of an ingrate, who
repaid benefits received with hate, and could not forgive the Fortune
which favoured his cousin more highly than himself? Oswald's attitude
implied more than this. There was in it something of the proud
defiance with which a subdued and downtrodden right may at times
assert itself, something of unspoken yet menacing protest against all
the gay, splendid doings of the day.

'So here you are!' Edmund's voice broke in upon the stillness.

Oswald started and turned round, to behold the young Count standing in
the doorway. Edmund went up to him now quickly, and continued, in a
reproachful tone:

'You seem to look upon yourself quite in the light of a guest to-day!
You turn your back on the company and devote yourself to a quiet
inspection of these camellias, instead of helping me to do the honours
of the house.'

A moment had sufficed to restore to Oswald his wonted calm, but there
was a lurking bitterness in his tone as he replied:

'That, I imagine, is your business exclusively. Are you not the hero
of the day?'

'No doubt, in a double capacity,' replied Edmund lightly. 'As a man
coming into his property, and a man about to be married. In this last
quality, I have to read you a lecture. You have omitted to ask Hedwig
for a dance; yet you might have foreseen that she would be besieged by
petitions on all sides. Luckily, I interfered in your behalf, and have
secured for you the only waltz that was left at her disposal. I hope
you will duly appreciate my self-abnegation.'

It hardly seemed to be appreciated, or at least not in the measure
expected. Oswald's answer betrayed a marked coldness.

'You are very kind. To tell you the truth, it had been my intention
not to dance this evening.'

'Now this is too bad!' exclaimed his cousin angrily. 'It would be
shameful if you were to refuse now. Why should you? you used to dance
formerly.'

'Because my aunt would not excuse me. The duty was always an onerous
one. You know how little taste I have for dancing.'

Edmund shrugged his shoulders.

'No matter; this waltz you will have to undertake, whether you like it
or not. I have expressly retained it for you.'

'If Fraeulein Ruestow has consented----'

'"Fraeulein Ruestow"! Just the tone in which Hedwig said, "If Herr von
Ettersberg desires it"! How often have I asked you both to give up
this stiff form of address, and to behave towards each other as
relations should? But it seems to me that every time you meet you grow
more formal and freezing. This is getting quite unbearable.'

'I was not aware that I had been wanting in proper respect towards the
lady of your choice.'

'Oh no, certainly not. You are, on the contrary, so exceedingly
reverential to each other, that it chills the very blood in my veins
to listen to you. I really do not understand you, Oswald. The reserve
you affect towards Hedwig is so patent, so obvious, you positively
cannot complain if she is occasionally a little ... a little brusque
in her manner towards you.'

Oswald accepted the rebuke with perfect equanimity. His hand toyed,
absently as it were, with one of the flowering branches as he
replied:'

'Say no more about it, Edmund--be very sure that this reserve of mine
meets the lady's wishes exactly. As you have asked for a waltz in my
name, I shall claim it, of course, but you must not force me to take
any further part in the ball. It really was my intention not to dance
tonight at all.'

'All right,' said Edmund, who was as easily appeased as ruffled, and
whose anger never lasted long. 'If you are bent on depriving the
ladies of a partner, I cannot compel you to favour them, and nothing
shall induce me to put myself out of temper tonight. It really would
be thankless of me on such a day as this, a day which fulfils my
every wish. You see, Hedwig and I were right not to take a tragic
view of the situation, though Ruestow's deed of heroism settled the
matter more quickly than we had ventured to hope. The feud between the
houses is at an end, and our romance winds up to the merry tune of
wedding-bells. I knew it would be so!'

The fearless, happy confidence which marked the young Count's bearing,
and was to-day more strikingly expressed than ever, formed a strong
contrast to his cousin's almost gloomy gravity. Oswald's eyes rested
with a dark and moody gaze on the other's bright face.

'You are Fortune's favoured child,' he said slowly. 'All the good
things of this life fall to your share.'

'All?' repeated Edmund jestingly. 'No; you are in error there. My
future father-in-law's genuine admiration, for instance, is given to
you. He declares you are a heaven-born genius, extols your practical
notions, and no doubt in his heart regrets that you are not destined
to be his son-in-law in my stead.'

Harmless as was the jest, and lightly as the words were spoken, they
produced a visible and painful effect. Oswald's brow contracted
darkly, and he replied with much irritation:

'How often have I begged you to spare me this perpetual banter? Cannot
you desist from it for once, if it be only for a moment?'

Count Edmund, who greatly enjoyed the spectacle of his cousin's wrath,
broke into a fit of laughter.

'Make your mind easy,' he said. 'I should be the first to protest
against an exchange, and I hardly think Hedwig would be disposed to
agree to it. I have no intention of abdicating in your favour. But now
come. It is high time for us to return to the guests.'

Oswald, who had no further pretext for lingering behind,
obeyed the summons, and the two young men returned together to the
reception-rooms. Here the heir's absence had already been remarked.
The Countess's eyes were roving in impatient quest of her son, for she
was waiting to give the signal for the dancing to begin, and a cloud
lay on fair Hedwig's brow as the two gentlemen entered. The young lady
thought it most unnecessary that Edmund should go off in search of his
unsociable cousin, and could not excuse him for deserting her side for
such an object. She did not like this particular new relation, with
his icy hauteur and reserve, which never condescended to a word of
flattery or admiration, and therefore gave herself little trouble to
conceal from him the fact that the promise of a waltz had been almost
wrested from her. Oswald was constrained to utter some words of
thanks, but even in so doing he let it be seen that he was in reality
little moved by the high distinction conferred on him. No special
attention was vouchsafed his speech. Hedwig made a brief reply, cold
as the address had been, diligently studying the design of her fan as
she spoke, and then turned at once to her affianced husband. Poor
Edmund saw that his efforts to establish a friendship between his
cousin and future wife were worse than useless; they invariably
produced an effect contrary to that desired. He had to confess to
himself that this, his latest half-playful, half-serious attempt to
bring the two together, had resulted in a complete fiasco.

The ball now began in earnest, and soon all the younger members of the
company were taking part in its revels. Oswald von Ettersberg was the
one exception. He remained true to his resolution, and abstained from
dancing, to the great displeasure of the Countess. Since their last
interview, however, that lady had refrained from any attempt to
control her nephew, and she now allowed him to have his way in
silence. Edmund and Hedwig, on the other hand, gave themselves up
heart and soul to the pleasure of the hour. They both danced well, and
were passionately fond of the exercise. It would have been difficult
to find a handsomer couple than the young heir and his promised bride
as they floated through the room, radiant with youth, happiness, and
beauty, surrounded by the aureole of wealth and Fortune's fairest
gifts. Not a cloud dimmed the broad, sunshiny horizon of their future.

Baron Heideck himself must that evening have given in his adhesion,
have become reconciled to his nephew's choice, so charming did the
young girl appear in her dress of pale pink silk adorned with airy
white laces and roses strewn, as it seemed, with a random hand. Her
luxuriant curly hair, restrained by no net, but held together simply
by a flowering spray, waved over her shoulders in all its rich
abundance. A happy light shone in the dark-blue eyes, and the
beautiful face, slightly flushed by the rapid movement of the dance,
beamed with youthful excitement and delight--perhaps a little also
with gratified vanity, for it could not be doubtful that the young
lady was conscious of her all-conquering charms and of the triumph she
had that evening achieved.

To this triumph Edmund was by no means insensible. The evident
admiration which his betrothed excited on all sides flattered him most
agreeably. He was unremitting in his attentions to Hedwig, and
perfectly captivating in his general efforts to please. Oswald was
right. The Count was indeed the favoured child of Fortune--of Fortune,
which, in addition to all that had been his from birth, now set him
free to follow the dictates of his heart. Truly, all the good things
of this life fell to his share.

Three or four dances had gone by, and now came the waltz which Edmund
had solicited in his cousin's name. Oswald approached his fair
partner, and offered his arm with his accustomed cold politeness.

'You have not danced at all this evening, Herr von Ettersberg,' said
Hedwig, a little ironically. 'It seems that an exception is to be made
in my honour alone. Is it really true, as I heard a lady asserting
just now, that you positively detest dancing?'

'I may say, at least, that I am not fond of it,' he replied.

'Oh, then I am sincerely sorry that you should impose such a penance
on yourself on my account. It was Edmund's wish, I imagine, that we
should fulfil the demands of etiquette by going through this waltz
together?'

The sarcasm failed in its effect, for Oswald remained perfectly cool.
He evaded any direct reply to her rather captious remark, and answered
ambiguously:

'I hardly knew whether I was to accept Edmund's promise as sufficient.
I thought it advisable to assure myself personally of your consent,
Fraeulein.'

Hedwig bit her lip. Her supposition was confirmed. This most ungallant
new relation made no attempt to disguise from her that the arrangement
had been a master-stroke of Edmund's diplomacy, but coolly allowed her
to divine the fact. It almost seemed as though the young Count might
have to pay some penalty for this, for the young lady's lip curled
with a defiance of which he had already had some slight experience.
The promise she had given could not, however, be recalled without
absolute offence, especially as the dance had already commenced.

'I await your bidding,' said Oswald, pointing to the couples flying
past.

Hedwig made no reply, but placed her hand on his arm with an air of
resignation, and next moment they, too, were whirling through the
room.

That was a strange waltz, danced merely in satisfaction of
'etiquette.' Hedwig had purposed to make it as short and as formal as
possible, and yet something like confusion overcame her when her
partner placed his arm about her waist. Hitherto they had not even
shaken hands, but had restricted themselves to the severest outward
forms of politeness, and now suddenly they were so near, so near each
other! Up to this time Oswald had hardly noticed the girl's loveliness
by a glance. He had, almost purposely, abstained from looking at her,
and she had resented this as a sort of affront. But now his eyes were
riveted on her face, fascinated, as it seemed, by some spell he could
not break, and those eyes spoke quite another language from the
sternly-set lips. His breast heaved with a quick tempestuous movement,
and the arm which encircled the girl's slender figure trembled
perceptibly.

Hedwig felt this. She raised her eyes in surprised inquiry to his
face, and there met again that enigmatic expression which had so
startled her on a previous occasion when they had been left together
alone on the hill-side. She had not understood then the sudden, ardent
flash, the kindling gaze--often had she pondered over it, wondering
what it could purport--oftener than she cared to confess to herself;
now some notion of its meaning dawned upon her. No clear recognition
of the truth as yet, only a dim vague foreshadowing, which gradually,
very gradually, took form and substance. Vague as was the feeling, it
harassed and agitated her. Though the danger it seemed to imply as yet
menaced only from afar, it already exercised a magnetic influence,
which slowly, irresistibly drew her on and on towards the fatal orbit.

Mechanically, half as in a dream, the girl followed the windings of
the dance. The brightly lighted ballroom, the sparkling music, the gay
couples revolving round her--this all grew misty and unreal to her
dulled senses, receding, as it were, to an illimitable distance.

It seemed to Hedwig that a great gap separated her from these
surroundings, that she was alone with the man who held her in
his arms, alone beneath the spell of those eyes, from which she
strove to escape, but which held her ever inexorably fast. Suddenly,
in the midst of all these surging emotions, indefinite and most
unintelligible, a clear, strong ray of light streamed in upon her, a
prescience, as it were, of some hitherto unknown, but infinite,
amazing bliss.

The dance came to an end. It had hardly lasted ten minutes, and
yet had been too long for either of them. Once again their eyes
met--resting for a second or more, then Oswald bowed and stepped back.

'I thank you, Fraeulein,' he murmured.

Hedwig replied not a syllable. She merely inclined her head in
acknowledgment. No time could she have found, indeed, to answer, for
Edmund was already at her side, triumphing in the thought that he had
successfully carried out his plan, and much disposed to venture some
bantering remarks in consequence. But for once his mirth-loving humour
had to be restrained; for at the conclusion of the dance the couples
dispersed, and many ladies and gentlemen drew near their host. The
Count and his betrothed were quickly surrounded; their attention was
claimed on all sides, and a lively chatter soon set in about them.

Edmund was in brilliant vein, and soon became the soul and centre of
the group. Hedwig smiled too, and made reply when appealed to, but her
replies were faint, her smiles strangely forced. The radiant gaiety
she had shown throughout the evening had suddenly faded away, died
out. But a little while ago she had entered with the heartiest spirit
into all the animation and the pleasure, luxuriating in it as in her
true element; had moved through the bright and merry throng,
brightest, merriest of all; but now it had all grown strange and
indifferent to her. The light jests and flattering speeches that
buzzed about her ears seemed to her quite meaningless and inane. A
veil had fallen upon her soul, as it were, obscuring all the
brightness and splendour of the scene. It was only by a great effort
that she forced herself to play her part in it.

Oswald had taken advantage of the approach of strangers to beat a
retreat unnoticed, and to leave the ballroom. Count Edmund would have
been wiser not so pertinaciously to have insisted on having his own
way. He little guessed, indeed, that his cousin had refrained from
dancing simply and solely to avoid the duty which 'etiquette' marked
out for him, and which he could hope to escape in no other manner. And
now, after all, it had been forced upon him! Oswald could not but feel
that he had in some measure betrayed himself, and it availed little
that anger and self-reproach burned hot and fierce within him. That
which he had denied to his own thoughts, which nothing would induce
him to admit even to himself, had through that unhappy waltz become
clear to him as the noonday. He knew now how matters stood with him.

The solitude the young man so longed for was not yet to be accorded
him; for in one of the adjacent rooms he came upon Councillor Ruestow,
who was resting there, seeking to recruit, after his unusual and
amazing efforts at urbanity. He had surpassed himself this evening,
and had been almost knightly in his behaviour towards the Countess;
but the duty had become irksome to him after awhile, and he now
joyfully seized the opportunity which offered of having a little
sensible conversation. In an instant he had buttonholed Oswald, who
was of necessity compelled to stand and surrender.

'You were right, I am sorry to say,' remarked Ruestow, in the course of
their talk. 'In consequence of what you said to me, I have been
looking into the state of affairs here on the Ettersberg estates.
Things are, indeed, in a deplorable condition. I don't see one person
employed on the place who is worth his salt. The bailiff is totally
inefficient, and my lady, the Countess, has trusted to him entirely
for years. Well, I suppose one could not expect her to exercise much
supervision, but I shall take my son-in-law to task, I can tell you.
There has been no doing anything with him at present--his head is so
full of his marriage and all sorts of nonsense--but there must be an
end to this at last. He has to-day become the actual and sole master
here. With the possession comes the responsibility, and it is for him
now to see that all is set in order.'

'Edmund will not move a finger in the matter,' said Oswald. 'He will
promise anything you like, and will seriously intend to do as he
promises, but nothing will come of it. You may rely on what I say.'

Ruestow started at this strong assertion, which was made with much
decision of manner.

'You mean that Edmund is not equal to the task before him?' he asked
anxiously.

'No; his nature is excellent, most amiable, but he lacks energy, and
energy is here imperatively needed. You will have to take steps
yourself, Councillor, if you wish to save the property.'

'And how is it you have not done so before this? You must have seen on
your return how matters were going.'

'I have no right to interfere with other people's concerns.'

'Other people's concerns? Have not you been treated in all respects as
the son of the house whose name you bear?'

Oswald was silent. He could not explain to this gentleman the terms on
which he stood towards his aunt, or how little she would have brooked
any interference on his part; so after a moment he replied evasively:

'Early in the spring I spoke to my cousin about the mismanagement
reigning here, told him without any reticence whatever all I had
observed, and called upon him to take some active steps. I met with no

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