CHAPTER XIV.
For a few moments after leaving Lucie Werner's features wore a smile of triumph; he thought the proud beauty subdued and terrified by his threats; but when he reached his own apartment, and had time for reflection, he felt by no means so sure of his victory. As his excitement subsided he became greatly discontented with himself, and bitterly regretted having yielded to one of the outbursts of passion which had cost him dear in his boyish years, but which he had lately learned to control. Pacing his room to and fro, he pondered upon the occurrences of the past hour. While in Lucie's presence, rage at the thought of his brother's successful rivalry had bewildered his understanding; he could not think clearly. Reason had returned, and he confessed to himself that he had played the part of a jealous fool. His brother was no intriguer, his ways were never those of a schemer. But whence, if not from Arno, could Fräulein Müller have received her information? She saw no one but the inmates of the castle, and she had lately received no letters, as no one knew better than Werner, who distributed the letters from the post-bag every morning. He grew very uncomfortable; Lucie had known of his acquaintance with Repuin, and she had now learned of what nature this acquaintance was; she still maintained a correspondence with influential people in Prussia, Adèle von Guntram, President von Guntram's daughter, was her most intimate friend, and any information forwarded to them would soon reach the Chancellor's office.
The longer the Finanzrath reflected the more grave did the situation appear to him. Vague pictures of an examination of his papers, of an arrest, and possible trial for high treason presented themselves to his imagination. Finally, he seated himself at his writing-table, and thought he would write to inform Repuin of what he had heard. This, however, proved to be by no means an easy task; he could scarcely do it without implicating Lucie, and should he mention her relations with Adèle von Guntram the Russian's suspicions would surely be aroused; he would make his appearance at the castle with Sorr, who would enforce his marital rights. Should this occur, Lucie would be restrained by no considerations from betraying him. At present she would feel obliged to have some regard for the man who knew her secret and held her fate in his hands. He tore up his letter to Repuin, and decided to attempt to avert in another way the danger that menaced him. Lucie was not implacable; she had no reason for bringing distress upon the Hohenwald family by betraying him; only a desire for revenge or to defend herself from attack could prompt her to do this; he would ask her pardon for expressions used in the heat of passion, and would not allow his love for the beautiful woman or his jealousy to carry him so far again. Soothed by these reflections, Werner began to look to the future with confidence.
What now? Lucie had asked herself, when left alone in the castle garden. To answer this question was not easy. Suppose that Werner, impelled by anger and jealousy, should discover her retreat to Count Repuin, would not her best course be to leave the castle immediately, and await in some secluded village the result of Adèle's efforts to procure her another situation? The thought of the consequences of Werner's betrayal of her secret filled her with horror. What if Sorr, summoned by the Finanzrath, should appear at the castle and require her to return to him! She felt sure that the old Freiherr would grant her his protection, but what would it avail her against her husband! And Arno? Lucie's heart died within her as she thought of the pain that a knowledge of her secret would cause him. Nothing was left her but a hurried flight. But no, she would not leave Hohenwald; had she not promised Kurt and Celia to use her influence with the old Freiherr to induce him to forget the wretched feud with the Posenecks? Could she disappoint Celia's confidence in her by forsaking her at her need, in selfish care for her own safety? Would not Kurt in that case have a right to recall the promise he had given her? And what mischief might ensue! No, it was her sacred duty to watch over Celia; she would not leave the castle for some time yet. But she had written to Adèle begging her to procure another situation for her as soon as possible. The letter had gone; should she not write another and revoke her request?
In the midst of her uncertainty, Celia, who had seen from her window that Werner had returned to the castle, joined her again, eager to know the result of the interview with her eldest brother. "Well?" she asked.
"You were right, I ought not to have spoken to your brother," Anna replied; "he does not believe me. I cannot tell you more, Celia; it is enough that my appeal to him was quite in vain."
"I knew how it would be," the girl said, sadly; "I wish you had taken my advice, but it is not yet too late. Let me call Arno; he is in his room, I saw him go to it; he will be here in a few minutes. Indeed, dear Anna, Arno has the best heart in the world. He is not so amiable and agreeable as Werner, he cannot pay compliments, but you can rely upon him. I have often watched him when he thought no one was observing him, and I am quite sure that he likes you very much. He will believe you, and soon devise some way of shielding our dear old father from danger. Do speak with Arno, dearest Anna. Let me call him. May I?"
"Yes; I will await him here."
Celia's gratitude was shown by a fervent kiss, and she flew towards the castle, returning in a few moments with Arno, whose hand she held in hers.
"Here he is!" she exclaimed as she approached Anna. "Only think, the miserable fellow refused to come at first. Scold him well, Anna dear; although he does look so grim, he is really dear and good. There, he is smiling; now you need not be afraid of him. Adieu!"
And she was gone, tossing a kiss to her friend as she vanished in the shrubbery.
The smile which her merry talk had called forth faded from Arno's grave face as he bowed formally to Lucie. "I await your commands, Fräulein Müller," he said. "You must forgive my momentary hesitation to follow my sister. I thought her jesting when she told me you wished to speak with me."
"Celia was not jesting, Herr Baron. I requested an interview with you, and I thank you for complying with my wishes."
A low bow was Arno's only reply.
Lucie had thought it would be easier to begin a conversation with Arno. As he now walked beside her, grave and serious, without smoothing the way for the opening of their talk by a single word, she felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Her last words to him in the library had deeply offended him, as was evident from the formality of his manner. She had determined to make no allusion to their previous interview; but how could she help it? And she longed to say one kind word to him.
"You are angry with me, Herr Baron," she began, and her fair face flushed slightly; she could not look up at him as she spoke,--her eyes sought the ground. "I regret deeply if what I was forced to say to you offended you. I did not mean that it should. It was my duty to tell you the perfect truth; if I did this too harshly, I pray you not to be angry with me. I told you to-day that your words would drive me from Castle Hohenwald; I was overhasty. After calm consideration, I have decided not to go away. I know that Baron Arno von Hohenwald is too proud and too noble to repeat words that could pain me; I know that although I was forced to offend him, he will still be my friend. May I not cherish this conviction, Herr Baron?"
As she spoke the last words Lucie looked up at Arno and held out her hand, but he did not take it. He replied, coldly and with a low bow, "You are very kind, Fräulein Müller. I am glad that you do me justice; I am, indeed, too proud ever again to intrude upon you after the harsh rejection I have experienced. I assure you that you shall never hear from me a word that could cause you to leave Hohenwald sooner than you would otherwise intend. May I hope that this assurance is satisfactory to you, and that you will inform me to what I owe the honour of this interview?"
Lucie slowly let fall her hand; Arno's cold refusal to take it, and his measured politeness, convinced her that she had nothing to fear from him, and yet she was not glad that he was thus able to command his feelings; his cold words grieved her. But he must not suspect this; she forced her composure to equal his own as she explained to him that she had a duty to fulfil towards the Freiherr and himself in telling him of the warning sent to them from a perfectly trustworthy source. His brother's plots were discovered, Castle Hohenwald was under surveillance, and such suspicion rested upon his father and himself of sharing in the Finanzrath's schemes that they were threatened with arrest. "I trust you, Herr Baron," Lucie concluded, "to devise means for averting the threatened danger. I had hoped that the immediate departure of the Finanzrath would effect this, and therefore I first appealed to him, told him what I have told you, and begged him to leave the castle, but he would not believe in my information, refused to be guided by it, and thus forced me to turn to you, Herr Baron."
"Which you would not otherwise have done," Arno rejoined, bitterly. "Nevertheless I am grateful to you for your warning; but you must excuse me for putting one question to you. You tell me that Werner refused to believe in your information. Did he tell you his reason for doubting it?"
Lucie hesitated to reply. She had not expected this question, and yet it was a very natural one. How could Arno expect to induce his brother to depart if he were not informed of the entire state of the case? He must know that the Finanzrath mistrusted him, and this Lucie could tell him only by letting him know of Werner's jealousy. It offended her sense of delicacy to inform Arno of this; but it was her duty to overcome her scruples and let him know what insane folly possessed Werner.
"You do not answer," Arno continued, after a short pause, "and yet my question is a very simple one."
"It shall be answered, Herr Baron. The Herr Finanzrath thinks that I have been induced by you to acquaint him with a fictitious tale of danger, in hopes that terror may drive him from Castle Hohenwald."
"Indeed? The suspicion is like him!" Arno exclaimed, indignantly. "And why should I wish to drive him from the castle, and why should you lend yourself to second me by a falsehood? I do not perceive the connection here."
Lucie's cheeks were crimson; but, hard as it was to reply, she did it bravely. "The Herr Finanzrath explained this in a manner very insulting to me. He thinks that it is my desire as well as yours to banish him from Castle Hohenwald, that we may escape his observation. You will not require me to explain further the disgraceful suspicions aroused in his mind by an unfortunate passion."
"Shameful!" Arno exclaimed. "I have long known of his passion for you,--his cold, calculating nature is incapable of a genuine affection; his love is an insult to you. I did not believe that he would dare to offend you by such unworthy suspicions; he is more worthless than I thought him. I thank you from my heart for bestowing your confidence upon me; rest assured you shall not repent it."
For a few minutes they walked on in silence, Arno thinking of Werner's silly suspicion that he was the author of Anna's warning. Who was its author? The answer that instantly occurred to him to this question disturbed the satisfaction that Anna's frankness had afforded him. Her information could proceed from but one person, from him with whom he had so lately seen her in earnest conversation; from Kurt von Poseneck.
But a moment ago he had regarded with profound contempt Werner's groundless jealousy, and yet now he suddenly felt a like sensation with regard to the rival who had robbed him of Anna's love. Her warning lost all credibility in his eyes; he rebelled against receiving it from a man whom he hated, and felt inclined, as Werner had done, to believe that it had been given with some unworthy aim. He must have certainty upon this point.
All that was genial vanished from his manner as he turned to Lucie, and with the same icy courtesy that had characterized his first address to her, said, "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Fräulein Müller, but let me pray you to complete your information. It is very important that I should know the source of your warning. Tell me frankly, do I owe it to Herr Kurt von Poseneck?"
"How did you know? What made you think of him?" Lucie asked, greatly surprised.
"Thank you, Fräulein Müller; I am answered. You do not deny, then, that Herr von Poseneck has commissioned you to communicate with me?"
"Why should I deny it? But I really cannot understand how----"
"How I arrived at the knowledge of your intimate relations with Herr von Poseneck? Chance revealed to me your secret. I saw you to-day in the forest engaged in confidential discourse with him. I now know why you refused me all hope in the future."
"Herr Baron!----"
"Say no more! Why should you blush because I allude to your relations with Herr von Poseneck and to our interview? You never gave me a right to hope for your love; it was my fault if in my conceit I cherished hopes which you crushed as they deserved. I reproach myself, not you. I deserved the harsh repulse which I received, but I did not deserve that you should deceive me at the very time when my heart was laid bare before you. Had you but told me frankly that you loved another it would have pained me deeply, it is true, but my confidence in you would have been unshaken. At such a time you should not have told me a falsehood."
"Herr Baron, I assure you----"
"Would you still deceive me? That first falsehood was enough, and more than enough. Let us break off this conversation. Let me give you one last piece of advice in return for your warning. You know the dislike that my father entertains for the Posenecks. For this reason, perhaps, you have refrained from any mention of your intimacy with thus gentleman, and you certainly are right, for even your powerful influence would hardly avail, I fear, to conquer the hereditary hatred of a Hohenwald for a Poseneck; but if you would keep your secret, let me advise both you and Herr von Poseneck to be more circumspect in future. The people on this estate have noticed his daily visits to a certain part of the Hohenwald forest, and will shortly discover to whom these visits are paid unless you are more careful."
It was positive torture to Lucie to hear Arno's icy tone as he gave her this advice. She perceived how he suffered; he had betrayed his pain when he showed her how deeply he felt the suspicion of her untruth. This wretched mistake! But could she undeceive him without betraying Celia? And if she did,--if she proved to him that it was solely upon Celia's account that Kurt came daily to the Hohenwald forest, might there not be danger of reviving hopes which he had resigned? Still, she could not bear that he should leave her with a doubt in his mind of her integrity.
As he turned to go, with a formal bow, she lightly touched his arm. "We must not part thus, Herr Baron," she said, gravely. "You owe it to me at least to listen to me."
"What can you have to say, Fräulein Müller?" Arno asked as he paused.
"You have brought a grave accusation against me," Lucie continued, "and you have done so deceived by appearances."
"Was I deceived when I saw you scarcely an hour ago in the forest with Herr von Poseneck?"
"No; you saw correctly."
"Is it not true that Herr von Poseneck has, since your arrival at Castle Hohenwald, daily sought a certain spot in the Hohenwald forest?"
"This, too, is true."
"Is it not true that in the forest he sought the seat hidden in shrubbery near the lake, where you are so fond of dreaming away a solitary hour?"
"That is not true, at least so far as I know."
Arno's face expressed doubt and amazement, but Lucie's eyes flashed. "I have never given you cause to doubt my truth," she said, more sternly than he had ever heard her speak. "My word must suffice; I assure you that I have seen Herr von Poseneck but twice in my life, once upon the night of my arrival here, and this afternoon for the second time. I stand in no relation whatsoever with him, and our meeting to-day was entirely accidental."
"But you were talking to him so earnestly."
"And about most important matters. I esteem Herr von Poseneck very highly, I do not deny. He, inspired by the purest friendship for the Hohenwalds, begged me to warn you as I have done."
"Was this all you were talking of?"
"This and something else no less important. What it was is my secret, and I feel under no obligation to give you farther information, as you, Herr Baron, have no right to doubt my truth. This is all I wished to say; I will no longer detain you."
Arno was dismissed; he bowed in some confusion as Lucie left him, and yet, in spite of the severity of her words and manner, his heart felt lighter than before, and hope began to stir within him. "She does not love him," he repeated to himself. "There is no falsehood in those eyes."
Lucie hurried to her room before joining the family circle, according to daily custom, in the garden-room, where the old Freiherr was already looking for her,--she wished to write a few lines to Adèle. This she did hastily, delivering her letter herself to the Inspector when it was sealed, and begging him to see that it was put into the bag for the next morning's post.
A few moments after Lucie had left the Inspector's room Werner entered it. He had watched her from his window, had seen the letter in her hand, and had been filled with vague misgivings. "That letter I must see!" he had said to himself.
"Can a messenger be sent on horseback to A---- to catch the evening mail?" he asked of the Inspector, who was just putting Lucie's letter into the bag.
"Certainly, Herr Finanzrath, very easily," Hauk replied. "Old John can go on Fräulein Celia's Pluto; there is plenty of time."
"Give me the post-bag then,--I have an important letter to send; and tell John to saddle Pluto, and I will have it ready for him."
The Inspector handed him the bag, which Werner instantly carried with him to his room and opened. With a triumphant smile he took from it Lucie's letter addressed to Fräulein Adèle von Guntram. "I thought so," he muttered to himself. "I am just in time." Then tearing off the envelope he read:
"What will you think of me, dear Adèle, if a few hours after writing my last letter I tell you not to heed the request it contained? I hope soon to be able to let you know why I do this, but I cannot tell you to-day. I cannot leave Castle Hohenwald, and so you are relieved of the burden of looking for another situation for me. Farewell, dear; you will soon hear further from your Lucie."
Werner dropped the letter disappointed. "Nothing more?" he muttered. "I need not have opened this letter, although I had better know what she intends to do." He tried to put the letter in its envelope again, but it could not be done, the latter was too much torn. There was nothing for it but to destroy it. He tore it up therefore, and threw it into his waste-paper basket. Then putting several unimportant letters into the post-bag, he took it out to John, and despatched the old man upon his useless errand.