Egon did as he was bidden; and, while his coachman obeyed the young girl's directions, his master walked beside Clara's horse as she slowly rode along the highway towards Linau. Old Jost, who had managed to cross the ditch, followed at a respectful distance.
Clara was in the gayest mood, enchanted that her charming plan, which she had contrived entirely by herself, was on the eve of being so successfully carried out, without any necessity on her part of breaking the promise made to Elise. She never asked what happy chance had informed Egon of Elise's presence at Linau; it was enough for her that he knew of it, and that she had not been forced to reveal it herself. There was no longer any secret to keep, and she ran on with a long description of how Elise had taken such care of Herr von Ernau on the dreadful night of the accident, and how her eyes had filled with tears of joy when she heard the next morning that his wound was not dangerous. Nor did she fail to dwell upon her own insight in making sure from Elise's face, without hearing one word from her lips, that nothing would please her more than to renew her acquaintance with Herr von Ernau. It was so sad, too, that Bertha did not seem to care for Elise, and that made it easier for her, Clara, to part with her. Did Herr von Ernau know that Elise had found another situation near her mother? For her part, Clara wished that Frau von Osternau lived near Linau, and then, perhaps, if Bertha would only be as sweet and kind as she was sometimes, Elise might be persuaded to stay with them. Did not Herr von Ernau think it a real misfortune to lose so charming a person from the neighbourhood?
In truth, Egon's mind and heart were in such a turmoil of hope and fear that he heard but vaguely his young guide's talk. He was absolutely conscious of but one fact, that along this road, led by this charming child, he was on his way to see once again the fairy of Castle Osternau, the girl who had held him captive all these years, whose influence, established in a few short weeks, had transformed him from an idle, weary, useless creature to a man who felt that he had a part to play in the world, and who meant to play it to the best of his ability. And yet, if she should refuse to stand by his side to aid him in this new life, how dark the future looked! Could she ever pardon the falsehood he had practised upon her and those dear to her? Clara was obliged, to her dismay, to repeat her question before Herr von Ernau heeded it and looked up with, "The greatest misfortune that could befall us, my little Clara."
The warmth of the reply when it came soothed Clara's fears lest Herr von Ernau did not fully appreciate her services in thus procuring him an interview with her adored Elise. She went on to tell him that at this hour on Saturday Elise was sure to be in the 'master's arbour,' which he might now see, half hidden among the trees on their left. "And there is a gate in the picket-fence," she added, "always kept locked; no one goes out of the garden by it now that poor papa is dead. He always went to the meadows that way, but I knew perfectly well where the key was kept, and I have had it in my pocket since the day before yesterday, all ready for just this moment. Here we are, Herr von Ernau, and here is the key," she said, handing it down to him. "Let it stay in the lock. I will go off with Jost for a ride, and then, after about half an hour, when you have talked enough with Elise, I will come back and take you to the house. I want to see how surprised they'll be when they know that you have found Elise. Good-by, Herr von Ernau! Do not miss the path,--the one on the left leads directly to the house, and the one on the right to 'the master's arbour.' Good-by! I shall see you again in half an hour."
With a merry laugh and a wave of the hand she was off at a pace at which old Jost found it hard to follow her.
Egon unlocked the little gate, and with a beating heart struck into the winding right-hand path. The moment that was to decide his future was at hand; he was to see Lieschen again. Had she really, as Clara would have given him to understand, cherished his memory kindly? Was it not more likely that the child's insight had been utterly at fault, and that his image had long since been banished from the mind and heart of one go pare, so true, to whom all disguise was hateful?
And now the little arbour, about which the vines hung heavily, making the closing of its rustic door quite impossible, was just before him. How quiet it all was! Suppose Clara was wrong, and that upon pushing wide that door he should find nothing but solitude. He paused for a moment, half afraid to go on, and as he did so there fell on his ear the low tones of the voice which he knew so well, singing softly the words of the old Folksong--
"In Olden forest stands a tree."
It was the first he had ever sung at Castle Osternau. He saw it all again,--the good old Herr in his arm-chair, the sweet face of his wife as she sat beside him knitting, and Lieschen's eyes gazing in rapture at the singer. For an instant memory wellnigh unmanned him, but that she should be singing just that song gave him for encouragement than he was himself aware of; he gently pushed open the door. Yes it was she. She sat half turned from him, her hands resting in her lap upon the embroidery with which she had been occupied, her gaze fixed upon the distant landscape, visible through an opening in the vines and shrubbery. The door had swung noiselessly, she did not look towards it. "Lieschen!" It was all. She started and turned towards him a face from which all colour departed, only to return in an instant and mantle neck, cheeks, and brow in crimson. "Herr von Ernau!--I--" Then, burying her face in her hands, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. In an instant Egon was beside her, at her feet, pouring forth protestations, vows, entreaties for pardon.
"My love, my darling, can you ever forgive me for deceiving you as I did? I have no right to ask it, still less to hope that you can, and yet I do hope. Your memory has been the light of my life since I left Berlin, four years ago; the though of you and of your words spurred me on to begin a new existence, it gave me strength in all my struggles with self, and, oh! Lieschen, take pity upon me. The future will be so cheerless without you. Complete your work, dear. Try to make me of some use in the world. You have suffered, my darling; I know it all. Let me shield you in future, at least from suffering alone. Can you forgive me and heed my pleadings, for the sake of the love I bear you, which will always be yours, and yours only, whatever may be your answer to me now?"