Two days had passed since the morning upon which Helene had, as she thought, won such a victory over herself, and had been convinced that the conflict within her would be quieted by absolute certainty. But she had been far from fathoming the depths of her sentiments; she had snatched at a straw in the whirling flood, and it had afforded her not one instant's support. Only two days!—but they outweighed in suffering her whole previous life. She constantly repeated to herself that the long desired repose that she had dreamed of was close at hand, and yet she shuddered at the thought of the time that must intervene before death should bring her release, with the same horror with which the sceptic looks forward to the moment of dissolution. She became distinctly aware that her promise to pass her days at Odenberg converted her remaining years into a period of superhuman self-sacrifice, and yet, for worlds, she would not have retracted one iota of all that she had vowed to Hollfeld. She would be worthy of his love. No sacrifice was too great that was rewarded by his esteem. Poor dupe!
Her nerves suffered intensely during this protracted mental conflict. She had constant fever, and could scarcely sleep at all. The subject that occupied her whole mind was constantly hovering upon her lips, but she refrained from all mention of it in accordance with Hollfeld's request. He had also entreated her to forego Elizabeth's society for a few days; he feared that, in her agitation, she might stand in the way of his wishes. He himself had already taken the first steps towards a continuation of his pursuit of Elizabeth. He had twice presented himself at Gnadeck at the gate in the wall, to make inquiries after the health of the "von Gnadewitzes," but although he had nearly pulled off the bell-handle the door had not been opened. The first time no one had been in the house, and upon the last occasion Elizabeth had observed him coming. Her parents had gone with little Ernst to the Lodge, and Miss Mertens had agreed to Elizabeth's idea of not admitting the unwelcome visitor. They sat together in the dwelling-room, laughing, while the little bell rang till it was quite hoarse. Of the conspiracy against his admission the visitor of course had no suspicion.
It was seven o'clock in the morning; Helene was already lying dressed upon her lounge, she had passed a restless, sleepless night. The baroness was still in bed, and Hollfeld had not yet made his appearance; but the little lady could not be alone, and therefore her maid was sitting sewing in the room. Her replies to Helena's remarks were unheard by the poor sufferer, but there was something soothing in the mere sound of a human voice after her wretched, lonely night.
The noise of an approaching carriage was heard. Helene opened the window and leaned out. Her brother's travelling carriage was just driving up the sweep, its wheels sinking deep in the smooth gravel; but it was empty.
"Where is your master?" Helene cried out to the coachman, as the vehicle passed beneath her window.
"My master got out at the entrance of the park road," the old man replied, taking off his hat, "and is coming home on foot over the mountain, past Castle Gnadeck."
The little lady shut the window, and shivered as though she were cold; the single word "Gnadeck" had acted upon her nerves like an electric shock. Every word that brought Elizabeth to her mind produced the same effect upon her that one's imagination would experience from some sudden apparition.
She arose, and leaning upon the arm of her maid, went down to her brother's apartments. She ordered breakfast to be served in the room opening with glass doors upon the grand staircase, and seated herself in an armchair to await the traveller's return. She took up one of the gorgeously bound books that were lying about, and mechanically turned over the leaves; but, although her eyes rested upon the engravings that filled its pages, she could not have told whether it were portrait or landscape that lay open before her.
After she had waited half an hour, her brother's tall form appeared behind the glass door. The book slipped from her lap as she held out her hands to welcome him. He seemed surprised at this reception; but he was evidently much pleased at finding his sister alone and glad to see him. He hurried towards her, but started in alarm at a nearer view of her face.
"Do you feel worse, Helene?" he asked with anxious tenderness, as he seated himself beside her. He put his arm around her and raised her head a little, that he might see her face more closely. There was so much kindness and caressing sympathy in his accent and manner that suddenly it was as if the warm air of spring breathed over her heart, that had been as it were congealed with pain. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks as she leaned her head upon her brother's shoulder.