On the day previous, Kurt had told of his adventures in the war and his life in America; to-day he begged Celia to describe to him her life in Castle Hohenwald, and she did so willingly. She was glad that Kurt should have in his mind a true picture of her dear old father, whom strangers could never portray truly, for no one knew how dear and good he was. Arno too, Frau Kaselitz and Pastor Quandt had often told her, was just as little known or appreciated as his father. She had seen yesterday, from the compassionate way in which Kurt had spoken of her solitude at Castle Hohenwald, how false was his conception of the life there; now, strangers might think what they pleased of it, but Kurt von Poseneck must know what happy days she led there with her kind papa and her dear Arno.
And so she described it to him, beginning with her father, so truly kind, although a little hasty perhaps now and then, bearing pain so patiently, never requiring any sacrifice of his people, but always ready to befriend them. All who knew him loved him. The old servants declared that there never was a better master; even the Herr Pastor had a great respect for him, and only regretted that he had withdrawn from the world, and was in consequence so misjudged. Arno, too, was as kind as he could be. He might look stern and gloomy, but he was not so,--only very sad,--and for this he had good cause. He had been betrothed, and had lost his love, of whom he was inexpressibly fond. Celia did not know how it had happened. Frau Kaselitz would not tell her anything about it, and she could not ask Arno, for when the engagement had been broken some years before, her father had forbidden her ever mentioning the subject to her brother. He had travelled for a long time, but travel could not make him forget his grief; that was why he seemed so stern and gloomy, although he was always gentle and kind to his father, to her, and to the servants and villagers. If any of them were in trouble they always came to Arno for help; and even when it was impossible to help them he always had a kind word for them.
Celia's praise of her eldest brother was by no means so enthusiastic. He was a very good fellow, but then he was not Arno; still, he was very wise, and could always persuade his father to do as he chose. She had been told that in his boyhood Werner was very irritable and passionate, but he had quite conquered this fault. Now he rarely allowed himself to be carried away by anger; his self-control was so great that even when he was deeply irritated he could preserve a perfect calmness of manner, and this was why he had such influence with his father, that whatever he wished to have done at Hohenwald was done. If he did not succeed in one way he tried another. Thus he had contrived that in spite of his father's dislike of having a stranger in the house he had consented to the engagement of a governess.
As she said this Celia could not suppress a little sigh, although she instantly laughed, and added, "Well, it may be best,--you think so, and I will do what I can, and receive Fräulein Müller as kindly as possible."
Werner, she went on to say, came but seldom to Hohenwald, usually only once a year, to be present on his father's birthday, when he stayed only two, or at most three weeks. He was always very good and kind, but she could not love him as she did papa and Arno; she could not tell why, but so it was, and she could not deny that she was always a little glad when he went away again. She was quite sure that papa and Arno felt just as she did, although neither of them had ever said one word to that effect, but she had observed that papa breathed more freely after the carriage had rolled away with Werner.
Then Celia described the few people, not her relatives, with whom she had daily intercourse--Pastor Quandt, her tutor, an old bachelor nearly eighty years of age, but still hale and hearty, and dear and good, and Dr. Bruhn, the village physician, also an amiable old bachelor, and Frau Kaselitz, the housekeeper, who could not do enough to show her love for her darling Fräulein Celia. She, Frau Kaselitz, was the childless widow of one of the former stewards of Hohenwald, and had passed her entire life either in the village or at the castle. She was as good as gold; far too kind; she, Celia, knew that Frau Kaselitz spoiled her and made a governess so desirable--as he had thought it, the girl added, with an arch glance at her companion. She could not deny herself the pleasure of this little thrust.
Celia's lively description soon made it possible for Kurt to have in his mind a vivid picture of the simple life at Castle Hohenwald, and his admiration for the lovely speaker was increased tenfold. What a treasure of simple content she must possess, to preserve such a cheerful gayety of mind with so little in her surroundings to induce it!
A long conversation followed upon Celia's narrative; she required, in her turn, to be told of Grünhagen and its inmates. She asked about his uncle Friese, and was amazed to learn that he was an amiable, kindly old man, who only desired to live at peace with all men. According to Frau Kaselitz and the Hohenwald servants, he was a cross, quarrelsome, purse-proud old person.
In such mutual explanations the time sped rapidly, and Celia, as well as Kurt, was surprised to find that they had reached the Grünhagen woods and the end of the broad road that led through the Hohenwald estate.
"It is time for me to turn back," said Celia, with a slight sigh.