"This Herr Paul Delmar is your friend?" he asked Leo, with a keen, suspicious glance.
"My dearest friend from my childhood."
"Ah? from your childhood? You have known him, then, a long while?"
"We were playmates and schoolfellows; we grew up together. He is a few years older than I, but the slight difference in our ages never interfered with our friendship."
Again the old man shot a sharp glance of suspicion at his nephew; but seeing that Leo met his gaze freely and frankly, he shyly averted his eyes. Lost in thought, he walked silently by Leo's side, forgetting that the duties of hospitality demanded that he should conduct his nephew to the castle; he was lost to the present and buried in recollection of a time long past. Tormenting memories which he had long laboured to forget, but which would not be forgotten, arose within him more distinctly and more tormentingly than ever: they filled his mind; his nephew was forgotten.
Leo did not disturb his uncle's revery, and was very glad not to be expected to converse. He watched keenly the varying expression in the features of the old man, who was all unconscious that a scrutinizing eye was endeavouring to read his very soul. He would else have put a force upon himself; his hand would not have been clenched, nor would so gloomy a frown have appeared upon his brow. And certainly he would have controlled the angry twitching of the thin lips that gave so hateful an expression to the wrinkled face.
What was going on in this man's soul? Leo asked himself. He no longer inclined, as he had hitherto, to excuse his uncle's faults, to think more kindly of him than his knowledge of the past would warrant. Although he could not divine the mystery that enveloped the old man's reception of Paul, although he had no conception of what cause his uncle had to hate Delmar, Leo nevertheless felt that he did hate him with a fierce hatred that he strove in vain to conceal. The ugly face was animated by an expression of such savage malice, that Leo could no longer be in doubt as to the character of this his nearest relative. The man had no heart; he could not love: he could only hate,--hate with all his soul!
But no; Leo was wrong! Suddenly there flitted over the sullen, wrinkled face a smile like a ray of sunshine,--a gentle, loving smile that transfigured it. Leo, startled by such a contradiction to his thoughts, looked up to see what had caused such a transformation. The cause was plain: Hilda was coming quickly towards them.
"But, dearest papa," she called out from some distance, "why are you and Leo still in the garden? I could not believe you were here when old Melcher told me. Cousin Leo must be hungry and tired, and you keep him walking in the garden!"
Herr von Heydeck passed his hand across his forehead as if to smooth away the ugly frown, and really he almost succeeded in doing so. He could hardly look kind, but he looked far less sullen and angry, as he said, in a tone meant to be amiable and gay, "Forgive me, Leo; the child reminds me of my duty; I was wrong not to take you into the castle to your room. I am a feeble old man and very forgetful. I have so much sometimes to confuse me, you must not take it amiss if I have sinned against hospitality; my Hilda will atone for my omissions."