Elise did not speak, but her sobs ceased; she let her lover wipe away her tears, and read her answer in her eyes.
CHAPTER XXX.
[CONCLUSION].
Meanwhile, on this particular day, Hugo von Wangen had been taking a long ride to a distant part of his estate. He had asked Clara to accompany him, quite despairing of inducing Bertha to leave her luxurious balcony and mount a horse, but, to his surprise, his young sister had declared that she was far too busy, and that a short ride across the fields with Jost was all she should allow herself. His expedition had been a successful one. The improvements which he had set on foot in the way of drainage of outlying meadows answered his expectations fully, and it was in a very satisfied and peaceful frame of mind that he dismounted at a short distance from his home, and, ordering the groom who had accompanied him to ride to the stables with his horse, undertook a short ramble on foot through the fields bounding his garden. The sun was hot overhead, and he gladly sought the cool shade of the strip of forest on the hither side of these fields, where, throwing himself on the soft moss, he resigned himself to reflection, which ended in a pleasant noonday nap. He was wakened by what seemed to him the stamping of horses. Yes, his ears did not deceive him, that was an unmistakable neigh; there must be horses near, but how they came here he was at a loss to divine. There was but a narrow driving road along the edge of this bit of woodland, and it led abroad into the fields in one direction and in the other--yes, in the other out on the road to Plagnitz.
Why should he think of Plagnitz? The road was a highway, and led to other estates likewise, but the fact was that the jealousy lately born of his self-depreciation, and of his immense appreciation of his wife's personal charms and intellectual capacity, was never quite at rest in his mind.
He arose and walked in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Sure enough, on the edge of the forest, drawn up in the shade beside the narrow roadway, stood a light, elegant vehicle, and harnessed to it were two fine horses, which he well remembered to have seen in the Plagnitz stalls. The coachman, too, who had made himself as comfortable as possible on his high seat, was the same fellow whom he remembered to have noticed about the stables at Plagnitz.
But where was the master of this equipage? and why had Herr von Ernau transgressed the physician's orders by this early visit? The answer to the latter question was plain: Herr von Ernau had never forgotten his former love for Bertha von Massenburg, and he was willing to run all risks to enjoy the society of Frau von Wangen. Poor Hugo! his jealousy was no melodramatic passion, but a very uncomfortable, uneasy sensation that quite poisoned his morning's enjoyment. He had entire confidence in his wife's honour, but was not so sure of her discretion; at all events, it 'was confoundedly irritating to think of Von Ernau spending his idle time at Linau, singing his songs and discussing with my wife all the books, in which I never could take the smallest interest. We were very happy before the fellow came.' These were Von Wangen's thoughts as he tried to find some reason for Egon's leaving his equipage at this point, if he had really come to pay a visit at Linau. He walked on to the road, and was about to jump the picket-fence at the bottom of the garden, when he perceived that the key was in the lock of the little gate. It puzzled him to know how it came there. Had it anything to do with Ernau's visit? He opened the gate, and then remembered the winding path to 'the master's arbour.' Surely the lord of Plagnitz was not being received there by the fair lady of Linau. The idea was ridiculous, and yet, instead of taking the left-hand path leading to the house, he walked slowly along that on the right, at the end of which stood the rustic structure. As he approached it, the door, which had partly closed again after Egon's entrance, prevented any view of the interior, but surely those were the tones of a man's voice that struck upon his ear; he advanced more quickly, his steps quite inaudible on the soft moss of the path, when, just as he was about to enter the half-closed door, the same voice, which he had continued to hear, said, in a tone of fervent affection, "Lieschen, dearest Lieschen----" Wangen turned and positively fled, quite dazzled and confused by the light that suddenly dawned upon him, and yet filled with a sense of relief for which he could hardly have accounted to himself. But what would Bertha say? She must have been mistaken in that idea of hers with regard to Ernau's affection for herself; yes, entirely mistaken. And affairs at Osternau must have gone further between the Candidate and his pupil than any one suspected. Now he came to think of it, all the evidence of Ernau's sudden passion for Bertha had been given by Werner von Massenburg, whose word, as his son-in-law had had frequent opportunities of discovering, was not always to be received with implicit faith. Really this was a delightful ending of affairs, for, as for Bertha's opinion of Fräulein Lieschen, it was all the consequence of those old Osternau misunderstandings. Never could he, Hugo von Wangen, believe that the daughter of his kind old friend was any other than she seemed,--a dear, gentle, unselfish girl. Oh, Bertha would see it all now, and she could not but rejoice, for the sake of Clara, for whom she certainly was beginning to care as a sister should, that Fräulein Lieschen was to be their neighbour at Plagnitz.
Filled with these thoughts, he reached his home, and sought his wife where he was sure to find her,--not however, so much bored as usual, for she was engaged in reading a long letter from her father, which contained an enclosure for her husband, the contents of which Hugo was at no loss to divine.
"What have you to tell me, Hugo? your smile is positively beatific. Has your last purchase of cattle turned out a wonderful bargain, or is the wheat crop on the east meadow twice as heavy as you supposed it would be?"
Hugo laughed good-humouredly; he cared nothing for the pin-pricks of his wife's ridicule. "Oh, better than all that, my darling, although both your suppositions are correct. Circe has gained possession of her victim."