CHAPTER XII.
Lucie's resolve was a hard one. Castle Hohenwald was to her as a home. The thought of leaving Celia and the old Freiherr gave her intense pain, but it must be done,--she could not stay. She had written her letter to Adèle with feverish haste, almost immediately after Arno had left her; but now that it lay before her sealed and addressed she hesitated to despatch it. She shrank from so decisive a step.
Did stern duty really require of her to leave this loved asylum and brave the world again and the danger of Repuin's persecution? Here she was safe both from the Russian and from Sorr; both the old Freiherr and Arno would extend protection to her, and must she give it all up just because Arno loved her? No; not for that. Had she been sure of her own heart she might have remained. She had not felt the need of fleeing from Werner's distasteful devotion.
But Arno! She had summoned up strength to utter the words that annihilated his hopes; but she felt that in so doing she had almost exhausted her self-control. Could she have withstood his pleading a moment longer? Even while writing to Adèle the thought would not be banished from her mind that she was actually free, bound by no obligation to the wretch who himself on that terrible night had sundered the tie that had linked her to him!
But could he sunder it? No; it must still remain a brazen fetter chaining her to her unworthy husband, although she were forever parted from him. As she had herself said, her marriage could not be dissolved; she was free only in spirit,--only the death of the dishonoured thief could make it possible for her to form another tie.
Her heart rebelled against so unnatural a chain; but cool reason told her that she could not disregard it without dishonour. Sorr's wife must not listen to Arno's words of affection; if she could not slay within her the love she now knew that he had awakened there, he must never know it.
The sealed letter trembled in her hand; if it were to be sent it must go instantly. From her window Lucie saw already saddled and standing in the court-yard the horse upon which the groom was to take the daily mail from the castle to A----. Frau Kaselitz stood upon the steps just about to close the post-bag. One minute more and it would be too late. A day at least would be gained, a day for reflection, and a day, too, of imminent peril, a day in which Arno might repeat his protestations, his entreaties!
She hastily threw open the window. "Wait one moment, Frau Kaselitz; I have a letter to go!" she called out into the court-yard, and then hurried down the great staircase to the hall-door. She could not trust herself, and it was only when she had seen the groom gallop away bearing her letter with him that she breathed freely again.
The die was cast, and she could think clearly and calmly. Her strength of will returned, and she knew that she could brave any struggle which the next few days might bring her. She had regained the calm self-control that would enable her to fulfil her duties towards the Freiherr and Celia during the time she should yet remain in the castle, and this fulfilment should instantly be put into action. Celia should suspect nothing during lesson-hours of the mental agony that had so tortured her teacher.
But where was Celia? She had not made her appearance, although the time had long passed at which she usually returned from her afternoon ride. Lucie inquired of old John, who was on his way to the stables, and learned that Fräulein Celia was still out in the forest. She never had stayed so late before, the old man added; indeed, she had had time to ride up and down the broad forest road to Grünhagen at least twenty times. Of course that was where she was; she always rode there. John could not see why she never tired of that road. Lucie was not ill pleased to hear that the girl was still in the forest: she longed for its cool depths; and since John assured her that she could not fail to meet Fräulein Celia, she determined to go in search of her. She declined John's attendance, for she felt perfectly secure in the vicinity of the castle. Quickly tying on her hat she sallied forth.
Her walks hitherto had never extended beyond the castle garden and the park. This was her first flight into the "forest depths," from which the castle took its name. She gazed in wonder at the mighty oaks and beeches. Around her brooded the mystery of the primeval forest; in the vicinity of the castle no axe had rung a discord in the poetry of woodland life. The deep silence, broken only by the low notes of the woodland birds, harmonized with Lucie's mood; she sauntered dreamily along the path, passing in mental review the events of the day, and particularly the struggle with herself, in which--and there was a measure of content in the consciousness--she had come off conqueror.
Lost in thought, she almost forgot that she had come out to look for Celia; her gaze wandered unconsciously over the wealth of foliage on every side of her. She did not observe, when she had reached the loneliest part of the forest, a solitary stranger walking towards her, and hastening his steps with every sign of amazement upon seeing her. Not until he had approached her very nearly did she look up and start in terror. Could she believe her eyes? The Assessor von Hahn, whose element was fashionable society, here alone in the woodland solitude? She could not be deceived; the Assessor stood before her as elegant as if bound upon a round of morning visits, staring at her out of his wide blue eyes, and twirling, as was his wont when startled or surprised, his flaxen moustache; it was indeed Herr von Hahn as large as life.
The good Assessor was no less startled than was Lucie. "Is it possible?" he exclaimed; "am I awake or dreaming? Frau von Sorr here in the forest! This is a surprise indeed,--a most agreeable surprise of course. I am enchanted to meet you, madame."
As he spoke he held out his hand, and Lucie was obliged to place her own within it and to allow him to kiss it; she could not show him how unwelcome was his presence here. Of all her former acquaintances she would have preferred to have almost any one invade her retirement rather than the gossiping Assessor, but she could not let him perceive this; she banished all surprise and terror from her face and said, not unkindly, "A most unforeseen meeting. I never should have expected to find you in this remote corner of Saxony, Herr von Hahn."
"My presence here is easily explained, madame. I have been transferred to A----, and, as there is scarcely any society in the tiresome little town, I beguile my leisure by visits to the neighbouring gentry. I am at present enjoying the Amtsrath Friese's hospitality, in Grünhagen, and was just taking a woodland walk. But you, madame,--how happens it that I meet you here? You must be living either at Grünhagen or in Castle Hohenwald. Oh, I see, I see. My cousin, the old Freiherr, has overcome his antipathy to your charming sex and has admitted into his household a governess for my lovely cousin Celia. You are this governess of course. This is why you vanished so suddenly from the face of the earth. It must be so; my keen perception has penetrated the mystery. I do not boast, for keenness of perception is one of the gifts of nature, and her gifts are variously bestowed, but I possess it. Confess, madame, that I am right."
The Assessor, who had now succeeded in twirling the ends of his moustache into two long thin points, stayed the torrent of his words for a moment to regard Lucie with a triumphant look of inquiry.
What should she reply? Chance had revealed to him her retreat in Castle Hohenwald; he now knew too much to admit of his not being told more. She dreaded his loquacity, but perhaps he might be induced to curb it if she appealed to his honour. And, besides, he need keep silence only for a short time; in a few days she hoped her friend Adèle would have provided another refuge for her, and then the good Assessor's love of gossip could do no harm. "Your keen perception has not been at fault, Herr Assessor," she replied. "I live in Castle Hohenwald as governess to Fräulein Celia von Hohenwald, but I need hardly tell you that in order to obtain such a situation I have been obliged to change my name. The consequences would be disastrous to me if any one in Castle Hohenwald should learn my real name, and still more so if any one save yourself, Herr Assessor, whom I trust implicitly, should suspect that I have taken refuge in Castle Hohenwald. Your perceptions are too keen to make any explanations necessary as to the painful circumstances that have driven me thus to change my name and to take refuge in the deepest seclusion. I rely upon your honour, and am convinced that you will not abuse the knowledge you have gained by accident, and that you will mention to no one our meeting to-day."
The Assessor bowed profoundly, feeling immensely flattered. He seized Lucie's hand and kissed it with fervour, "Your gratifying confidence is not misplaced. I swear it by my honour!" he exclaimed, his hand on his heart. "I will be torn limb from limb sooner than that Herr von Sorr or Count Repuin or any enemy of yours, dear madame, shall learn where you have found an asylum. Rely upon me, madame, and if you should need counsel or aid I am always at your service."
"Thank you, Herr von Hahn. I knew I could trust you, and therefore I have bestowed upon you my entire confidence. If I need your assistance I shall certainly apply to you, but at present I ask only your silence and your forgiveness for concluding this interview; I must not be seen in your society."
"I understand and respect your wishes, madame; I am discreet; I make no boast of it, but----"
"I know it, Herr Assessor, and I thank you for it. But before we part let me ask one question. Have you encountered upon this road a young lady on horseback?"
"Ah, you mean my fair cousin, Celia von Hohenwald."
"Do you know Celia?"
"Certainly; that is, I have seen her."
"Did you meet her?"
The question was a simple one, and yet it confused the Assessor. He remembered Herr von Poseneck's words and felt very uncomfortable. True, he had not been told not to mention meeting Celia. Kurt's prohibition had borne reference only to his betrothal, but he had expressly declared that he should call the Assessor personally to account for any indiscretion, and Herr von Poseneck seemed to be a man very likely to keep his word. Would he not consider it an indiscretion to direct Frau von Sorr to where she would find the lovers together? He would not run any risk, and so answered with some hesitation, "I really do not know, madame; I hardly remember----"
"Whether you have met Celia in the forest? You can hardly have forgotten it."
"Certainly not, but--some one is coming. You desire that we should not be seen together; I hasten to comply with your wishes. Adieu, madame!"
He bowed very low, glad to have any pretext for his flight, and walked away so quickly that he was in danger of overlooking the group of mighty oaks near which was the by-path to which Kurt had directed him. Fortunately, he discovered it in time and was soon lost to sight.
Lucie looked after him, at a loss to understand his conduct. Why should he find such difficulty in answering her simple question with regard to Celia, and hurry away in such confusion? He must have seen Celia; why not say so? She quickened her pace and soon reached a turning-point in the road that opened a long vista before her. Here her glance instantly encountered Celia, who was riding slowly towards her, attended by Kurt, whom Lucie instantly recognized, having seen him upon the evening of her arrival at Castle Hohenwald. Celia held her bridle negligently in her left hand; her right was clasped in that of Kurt, towards whom she was leaning, talking so earnestly that at first she did not perceive Lucie, who stood still transfixed with astonishment.
This, then, was the reason of the Assessor's mysterious behaviour; this was the explanation of Celia's devotion to her daily rides in the forest.
Pluto was the first to become aware of Lucie's presence; he tossed his head and neighed; this attracted Celia's attention, and she perceived her friend. "Anna!" she exclaimed in a tone of delighted surprise, in which there was not the slightest trace of terror. She withdrew her hand from Kurt's and urged her horse to where her friend stood. "Anna, my darling Anna!" she said, tenderly. "I am so rejoiced to see you! Now you shall learn all. Kurt himself can tell you all about it. Yes, Kurt, tell Anna everything,--how we first came to know each other, that we are betrothed, and that nothing now can separate us; tell her, too, what you told me awhile ago of Werner. Ah, how glad I am that chance has brought you two together! Now, Kurt, you will know my dearest Anna, and will see how wise it is to confide in her absolutely. Adieu, my darling Anna! Au revoir, dear Kurt!"
She kissed her hand to Lucie and Kurt, then gathered up her reins and galloped towards the castle.
Lucie looked after her very gravely. She was inexpressibly pained by the discovery she had so unexpectedly made. It had never occurred to her that Celia, gay, innocent, frank child that she seemed, could be engaged in any secret love-affair; she would have rejected any such idea with indignation.
And yet here was the proof. She felt grieved and ashamed; grieved because she had believed herself possessed of Celia's entire confidence, and ashamed that her care of her pupil had been so negligent that the girl had been able to deceive her from the first day of her arrival at Hohenwald.
Her anger, however, was not for Celia, but for Kurt; Celia was an inexperienced child, who did not and could not know the peril of such secret entanglements; Kurt's was all the blame.
It was therefore a very stern and forbidding look with which she received Kurt, who approached her with some embarrassment in his greeting. He knew that her judgment of him could hardly be a favourable one. She had seen him but once, when his courtesy in proffering assistance and his whole air and manner had made a very pleasant impression upon her, an impression in which she had been strengthened by what she had learned of him from the Finanzrath and from Adèle's letters. Even now, as she looked at him with severe scrutiny, she could not but admit to herself that his appearance was greatly in his favour. He was not, strictly speaking, handsome, his features were not perfectly regular; but his countenance was frank and manly in expression, his fine eyes were honest and true, and about the firm mouth there were lines that betokened great gentleness and kindliness of nature. Lucie easily understood how a young man of so pleasing an exterior could win the heart of the inexperienced Celia, who was debarred all society, and her indignation was the deeper that Kurt should have so unscrupulously used his power over an innocent child.
"You will have the goodness, Herr von Poseneck, to give me the explanation to which Celia has just alluded," she said, gravely and sternly.
Kurt bowed, and not without some confusion, for his conscience was not quite clear, he replied: "You have a right, Fräulein Müller, to ask this explanation of me, and I give it you the more readily, since my betrothed was about to give you her entire confidence this very evening. Even without this chance meeting you would have learned from her what you are now to learn from me."
"Your betrothed?" Lucie repeated the words with sharp emphasis. "Your betrothed? Are you not aware, Herr von Poseneck, that a child of sixteen cannot be betrothed without her father's consent? So far as I know, the Freiherr von Hohenwald has not given his paternal consent to your betrothal to his daughter, nor will he, for reasons with which you doubtless are familiar, ever be likely to do so."
"You condemn me without hearing me!" Kurt said, sadly.
"I have heard from Celia and from you that you are betrothed to my pupil, although you know that the Freiherr is hostile to your family, and that you can never hope for his consent. Was it right, was it honorable, that you, a man of ripe knowledge of the world, should induce a young, innocent girl, almost a child, to grant you private meetings in the forest, and finally to betroth herself to you against her father's will?"
"You are right, Fräulein Müller; I cannot deny it; I have often said just the same thing to myself; but my heart was stronger than my head. I hope, however, that you will judge me less severely when you have heard that I came to know Celia by chance, and that my love for her soon grew to a consuming passion that was beyond heeding the sage suggestions of reason. Only grant me a short interview; I promise you that I will be absolutely frank with you. Will you not hear me?"
Lucie consented, and the short interview ended in a long conversation between the two as they slowly paced to and fro in the woodland road.
Kurt kept his promise to be entirely frank and candid; he began with his first accidental meeting with Celia, who had won his heart at once, although he had determined that he would entertain for her only brotherly friendship. He described eloquently how this love had grown within him, until he had been carried away by it so far as to reveal it to Celia, and how he had been, as it were, forced by the Assessor's intrusion to utter the decisive word that betrothed them on this very day. He went on to tell Lucie how he had agreed with Celia that she was to acquaint her dearest friend with their secret, and ask her for aid and counsel; that he had at first been resolved to go to the old Freiherr and confess everything to him, but that he had been deterred from doing so by Celia's entreaties and representations. He informed Lucie of all that he had heard with regard to Werner's schemes, and of the danger threatening the Freiherr, adding that Celia looked to her to aid in averting it. "And now," he said, in conclusion, "you know everything. Judge for yourself whether I am as culpable as you thought me at first. I confess that my only excuse is my passionate affection for my darling Celia."
Lucie did not reply immediately,--she pondered well upon all that Kurt had said; his candour and integrity she could not doubt,--truth shone in his eyes; she could not help believing him. "I cannot approve your conduct," she said, after a long silence, "but neither will I judge you too harshly. What is done cannot be undone; we can do nothing with the past, but I demand that you atone in the future, as far as in you lies, for the wrong you have committed. There must be an end to these meetings with Celia; this you must promise me,--this duty you must fulfil, however hard it may seem to you. Do not answer me immediately, but reflect. I know that at this moment you think it impossible to comply with my demand; nevertheless it must be done. You must have sufficient self-control to enable you to resign a fleeting moment of happiness. If you love Celia truly and honestly, and would not separate her from her father, you must sacrifice thus much for her sake. You ought not to see Celia again unless by the Freiherr's consent. If you promise me this, Herr von Poseneck, I will promise you to do all that I can to influence the Freiherr in your favour. I will try to combat his unjustifiable hatred of you; I will be silent with regard to what I have seen to-day, although it is perhaps my duty to put him on his guard. Will you make me the promise that I ask, Herr von Poseneck?"
"Can I make it? Would not Celia doubt my faith and affection if she should not find me in the forest at the accustomed hour?"
"Celia will never again, while I am at Castle Hohenwald, ride in the forest alone, and she shall learn from me with what a heavy heart you make the sacrifice to your love which I have asked of you. It is very likely that she, too, will rebel against this sacrifice, and will blame both you and me; but this consideration ought not to deter you from doing your duty; thus only can you enable me to keep silence to the Freiherr, who, if he should learn now, without any preparation, that his daughter is secretly betrothed to a Poseneck, never would forgive you!"
"You demand an impossibility!" Kurt replied. "I cannot make a promise which I may be forced to break. If Celia should call me, should need my help, should I not hasten to her aid? And how easily this might happen! Am I not Celia's natural protector? You know what danger threatens the Freiherr through the Finanzrath's intrigues; if he, with his two sons, should be placed under arrest, to whom could Celia turn for aid and counsel? Ought I then, bound by a promise, to refuse her this aid? I could not!"
"Nor do I ask this. Your promise is not to be held binding in so extreme a case. Give it me with this condition."
"You are very cruel."
"I am only doing my duty, and requiring that you should do yours."
Lucie's firmness conquered, and Kurt submitted after much hesitation. He could not but admit to himself that Lucie was right, and that in her influence with the Freiherr lay his only hope for the future. He gave the required promise.