CHAPTER VII.
[THE HARVEST-FIELD].
As Egon rode by Lieschen's side along the road leading through the fields to the Oster meadows he was more light of heart than he could remember ever being before. She pointed out to him the various villages and farms in the neighbourhood of the castle, and his eyes, it is true, followed the direction of her extended riding-whip, but his attention was not given to the rather commonplace landscape; his interest was all for his charming companion. How pure and clear was the look in the dark-blue eyes raised so confidingly to his own! Her smile was frank and free, as she made no attempt to conceal her admiration of his courage and strength in subduing Soliman. She told him how delighted she was with his success, and how her heart had seemed fairly to stand still with terror when she saw him in such peril and by her fault.
Her naïve frankness, her open avowal of whatever filled her mind, enchanted Egon. He seemed to have entered a new world. The compliments and admiration which he had received from other girls as to his music, his singing, or some other of his accomplishments had always aroused the suspicion in his mind that such words were for the wealthy Egon von Ernau, uttered to flatter his vanity, to entrap him. But as he listened to Lieschen's artless talk he paid homage to the sincerity of this girlish nature, and was refreshed and cheered even by her words of reproof. His sensations were a surprise to himself: he thought he was indifferent alike to praise and blame, but here he was positively exulting in the admiration of a mere child.
"There are the Oster meadows!" Fritz called out from the summit of a low hill, which he had gained in advance of his companions.
Egon sighed; they had nearly reached the goal of their ride, and he would gladly have ridden thus through the lovely fields for hours.
"Is not the prospect from here charming?" Lieschen asked, when she with Egon had reached the eminence.
He had to answer her, and that he might do so he looked around him, although he would far rather have continued to gaze into his companion's lovely face. As if awaking from a dream, he saw before him a picturesque landscape,--a green extensive valley, through which wound the Oster, a small river, which, making its way among low, distant hills, was lost in the mighty chain of the Riesengebirge.
The rich meadows that bordered the Oster on either side presented an animated scene. On one hand the mowers were wielding their scythes, on another women, girls, and children were turning the hay with long rakes, while from some of the fields the piled hay-wagons, each drawn by four stout horses, were beginning their slow journey to the barns of Castle Osternau. All who were able to work were busy gathering in the plentiful hay-crop of the year, for there had been warning clouds in the west at sunset for two or three days, although hitherto they had fled before the dawn. They were massing now about the descending sun. The harvesters would occasionally cast an anxious glance towards the west, and then proceed with their labour with renewed zeal.
"Is not the prospect from here charming?" Lieschen had asked, and Egon replied, "Most charming!" giving utterance to his sincere conviction. At the moment the broad, smiling valley, with the silver river winding through it, seemed to him inexpressibly attractive; but the words had scarcely left his lips before he was aware that they were at variance with all his previous ideas and sentiments. He had never found anything to admire in peaceful, smiling valleys, they had always impressed him as the ideal of tedious, commonplace rusticity; he had turned for enjoyment to the wild grandeur of rocky mountain fastnesses, to the splendour of glacier and torrent. The more savage the aspect of nature the more beautiful it had seemed to him. When he had been caught in a mountain storm, the crashing of the thunder among the giant peaks and the vivid play of the lightning had quickened his pulses. What could make this simple landscape at which he was gazing with Lieschen seem so charming in his eyes? Had he undergone a transformation in the last few hours? Could it be that a warm, sunny ray from heaven had pierced his soul and made it sensitive to the charm of a simple scene from which he would but yesterday have turned in weary disgust? He had a sense of disgrace in the consciousness that he was so hopelessly given over to the influence of the moment. Yes, he was ashamed of thus belying all his former tastes just because----yes, because a pair of sparkling, girlish eyes were beholding with rapture the petty, commonplace scene before them,--yes, it suddenly grew to be commonplace and petty, the charm that had transfigured it was broken, the ray that had penetrated his soul was extinguished.