"Who are you?" he asked, at last.
"I'm from the freehold farm. Walpurga's my niece--"
"Very well; go outside and wait for me. I'll be there directly."
The little pitchman went out, and Gunther summoned all his self-command, in order to return to the card-room to excuse himself, and say that he had been summoned to the bedside of one who was dangerously ill. He scarcely knew how he could, without betraying his emotion, mention this to those who were so directly concerned, but he hoped to do so, nevertheless.
At that moment, he fortunately met Paula and Bronnen, who had been walking in the garden and were just about to enter the house.
"The very thing!" exclaimed Gunther, addressing them. "Paula, send me my hat; and you, dear Bronnen, present my excuses to their majesties, and tell them I am required instantly, by one who is dangerously ill. Pray do this without exciting attention; and, Paula, don't mention it to your mother until you're on the way home. I shall be gone all night."
"Can't Dr. Sixtus go?" asked Bronnen.
"No. Pray ask me no more. I shall be home early to-morrow morning; but if I don't come, I will meet you by the waterfall, at dinner-time."
Bronnen and Paula went into the house, and, a few moments later, a lackey brought Gunther his hat.
Gunther hurried off with the little pitchman. Only once did he turn back to look at the brilliantly lighted windows, and to think of those who were sitting within, void of care and foreboding naught. How startled they would be if they had heard the tidings that affected him so powerfully. On the way to his house, he had but little to say to the little pitchman. He did not care to question him more closely, for he feared lest some answer might be overheard, and thus prematurely betray the secret. He was still, in his own mind, endeavoring to devise some plan by which all could be arranged and adjusted.