A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen

by Claire von Glümer

"Why, then, are you still here?" Magelone interrupted him again, and her eyes flashed. "Make haste, make haste, and cast yourself into the arms of this magnanimous, unselfish being! At her feet, if need be." With a laugh, she turned and would have left him.

He barred her way. "Stay!" he said, with decision. She obeyed involuntarily. And as she stood before him with downcast eyes, and hands loosely clasped in front of her, he went on, in a hard, stern tone: "You know perfectly well that your revelations with regard to the reason for my betrothal have made my marriage impossible. But have you also reflected that I lose at the same time my means of subsistence, and that after this scandal you also will find it impossible to live on at Dönninghausen as you have done? Therefore I ask, What is to be done?"

Magelone mutely shrugged her shoulders. After a pause, Otto went on: "For us both you may be sure there remains open only one of two courses: either we must together escape immediately out into the wide world, and, unfortunately, we have no means to enable us to do so, or we must go to our grandfather like repentant sinners, throw ourselves upon his mercy, and ask his aid. The quicker we do this the better. Come, let us go instantly!"

With these words he would have taken her hand, but she recoiled from him. "No, I thank you!" she cried, in her old mocking way. "I am not yet sunk so low as to accept this sacrifice at your hands. Good heavens, what have I done? Allowed a cousin to flirt rather too desperately with me! Why, grandpapa and Johann Leopold will both easily forgive me this 'momentary madness.' Do you not think so?"

Otto changed colour. "Possibly," he replied, with forced composure. "Attempt your own rescue. Your skilful hands will be doubly skilful in the recapture of the heir——"

"And your magnanimous Johanna's heart doubly unselfish when her possession of the name of Dönninghausen is at stake," Magelone interposed. And, with an easy inclination, she gathered up her skirts and walked past Otto towards the rocky incline which led from this spot down to Castle Klausenburg. Her slender figure was poised for a second on the edge of the cliffs, then glided into the thicket; once more there was a glimpse of a fluttering blue ribbon, then it, too, vanished in the depths of green, and Otto was left alone with his shame, his indecision, his futile anger, his vague emotions.

At first it seemed intolerable to him to allow her to depart thus. He would have hurried after her; at least she should know how he loathed and despised her. But he reflected that in her vanity she would look upon his anger as an outbreak of despair at her loss, while in reality he regarded it as a deliverance that she had rejected the aid he felt bound in honour to offer her.

Instead of following her, he turned in the opposite direction, and as he hurried back along the path which had so often led him of late to meet her, memory recalled with torturing distinctness the coquettish arts by which she had sought to enslave him. And for the sake of this vain, heartless, calculating creature he had trifled away his own and Johanna's happiness! Everything about his betrothed which had previously displeased him was forgotten by him. She now seemed the embodiment of all goodness and loveliness.

Was she really lost to him? If he went to her with a frank confession of his folly and an appeal for forgiveness, would she not forgive and forget? Would she not be all the more likely to do so, knowing that his very means of existence depended upon it? There was some satisfaction in the fact to which Magelone had so scornfully referred, that he had his name to bestow in exchange. He greatly preferred giving to receiving. The longer he reflected upon the state of affairs the more he was persuaded that Johanna would lose more than himself by breaking off their engagement. And in this conviction he felt not only that he was justified in rejecting all proposals to terminate it, but that it was his duty to do so. When he reached the cross-roads leading respectively to Tannhagen and Dönninghausen, he turned without hesitation into the latter, that the 'wretched affair' might be arranged as soon as possible. He had even gone so far as to resolve upon exercising the greatest patience and moderation should Johanna, after the fashion of womankind, attach an exaggerated importance to his desperate flirtation.

But when, penetrated by the convincing force of his contemplated entreaties and representations, he reached Dönninghausen and asked for Johanna, he learned that she had not yet returned from her morning ride. What should he do,—go to meet her? No; a rider always had a pedestrian at a disadvantage. He determined to wait for her. After giving orders that he should immediately be informed of the Fräulein's return, he went into the park, to avoid any conversation with Aunt Thekla. He had never before found waiting so difficult. He tried to smoke, but after a couple of whiffs he threw his cigar away. He paced up and down the avenue in growing impatience, and, what was worst of all, his confidence diminished with every minute that passed.