"This is, indeed, a most wonderful solution of an old riddle," he said, when Helene had finished. "But I question whether the family will think it great good fortune to belong to the von Gnadewitz race."
"Ah! you think so," Helene interrupted him quickly, "because Elizabeth has always spoken so slightingly of the name. I cannot help, however, in such cases, thinking of the fable of the fox and the grapes." She spoke these last words with cutting severity. Her passionate excitement and agitation had brought her to the point of denying her nobler nature and of attributing mean motives to one who had never injured her, and whom, in cooler moments, she knew to be all purity and honour.
An expression of intense amazement appeared upon Herr von Walde's countenance. He stooped and looked keenly into his sister's averted face, as if to convince himself that her lips had actually spoken such harsh words.
Just at this moment Hollfeld's large hound rushed up the staircase and into the room, where he made two or three playful bounds, and then vanished again at the sound of a shrill whistle from the lawn without. His master was passing by, who apparently did not know of Herr von Walde's return, or he would certainly have appeared to welcome him. He walked on quickly, and turned into the path that led up the mountain to Gnadeck. Helene's gaze followed the retreating form until it was lost to sight, and then, clasping her hands convulsively, she sank back in her chair. It seemed as if for a moment all strength failed her.
Herr von Waldo poured a little wine into a glass, and held it to her lips. She looked up gratefully, and tried to smile.
"I am not yet at the end of all I have to tell," she began again, rising from her half-reclining position. "I am like all novelists,—I reserve my most interesting facts until the last." She could not hide her struggle for firmness and composure beneath the mask of playfulness which she attempted to assume in these words. Her gaze was riveted upon the trees outside the window, as she said: "A happy event is about to take place among us,—Emil's betrothal."
She had certainly expected some instant expression of astonishment from her auditor, for, after a moment's silence, she turned around to him in surprise. His brow and eyes were covered by his hand, and the uncovered portion of his face was deadly pale. At Helene's touch he dropped his hand, arose hastily, and went to the open window, as if for a breath of fresh air.
"Are you ill, Rudolph?" she cried, with anxiety.
"A passing faintness, nothing more," he replied, again approaching her. His face looked strangely altered as he walked several times up and down the room, and then resumed his seat.
"I told you of Emil's approaching betrothal, Rudolph," Helene began again, emphasizing each word.