CHAPTER XIX.
When the servant from Lindhof rang the bell at the gate in the wall, Elizabeth was sitting in the hall. She was weaving a long garland of evergreens and ivy, and Miss Mertens, sitting beside her, had in her hand a half-finished wreath of asters. The grave had been made ready in the Lindhof church-yard, and in the afternoon, between five and six o'clock, the leaden coffin containing the mortal remains of the beautiful Lila was to be consigned to the earth. If Jost's dreaded eyes could have gazed upon his lovely descendant, they would certainly have beamed with a mild and tender light to see her engaged in preparing an offering of fresh flowers and green vines with which to adorn the bier of his idolized love.
After consulting her mother, Elizabeth accepted the invitation, all the more willingly as it referred only to "an hour's talk." Soon after the servant's departure, Reinhard appeared. He looked very grave, and told Miss Mertens that his master had returned from Thalleben in the strangest state of mind.
"He must have been greatly shocked by the misery that he witnessed in the desolate home," he remarked, "for I really do not recognize my kind master. I had several unavoidable communications to make to him, but I saw that I spoke in vain; he did not listen, but sat opposite me, looking utterly crushed, evidently lost in the most painful reflections. He started up hastily when I began at last to tell him of our discovery up here in the ruins, and interrupted me angrily with 'I have heard all about that matter already; I pray you leave me alone.'"
Miss Mertens plainly perceived that Reinhard was really wounded by Herr von Walde's manner towards him.
"Dear friend," she said soothingly, "in moments of great mental suffering we either are not aware of the external world, or the consciousness of it increases our pain; we cannot endure that all around us should pursue its customary course while all within has received such a shock, a shock that we cannot recover from. Herr von Walde was doubtless warmly attached to his unfortunate friend, and—but, good Heavens! Elizabeth, what are you doing?" she interrupted herself, "do you really think that looks well?"
She pointed to the garland. In fact, whilst Reinhard had been speaking Elizabeth had, with trembling hands, picked up two or three large dahlias and woven them into her graceful green wreath. She now looked down, and was aware for the first time of what she had been doing. The poor flowers were instantly torn from the soft green pillow where they had laid their heavy heads so comfortably, and treated with as much severity as if they had insisted on going where they were not wanted.
Three o'clock had long since struck in the Lindhof church-tower when Elizabeth hurried down the mountain. Her uncle had detained her in conversation; he was provoked that she had accepted the invitation. "For," he said, and with some justice, "surely the poor creature whom we consign to her resting-place to-day deserves that we should consecrate at least one day to her memory." He had no idea of what was passing in the heart of his niece. He did not dream that for the last few days his darling had counted the hours which must pass before she could think, "He is at home again;" and, to his vexation, his usually obedient child slipped from him and vanished through the garden gate.
Her feet scarcely touched the ground. She hoped by walking quickly to overtake the time which she had lost, and could have cried, when her thin dress caught upon a bramble, and could only be extricated by patience and skill. At last, almost out of breath, she reached the pavilion. Both of the folding-doors were open; the room was still empty. Upon the table stood a salver of refreshments, and Helene's corner of the sofa was arranged for her.
Much relieved, Elizabeth entered, and was leaning against one of the opposite windows which looked out upon some tall shrubbery, when she heard, a slight noise behind her. Hollfeld had hitherto been concealed by one of the open folding-doors, and he now approached her. She turned to leave the apartment without even honouring the object of her aversion by a look; but he placed himself in her path, although his manner was no longer insolent,—on the contrary, it was respectful and even submissive, as he assured her that the ladies would appear directly. Elizabeth looked up surprised; there was not in his voice the faintest trace of that impertinent tone that had so irritated and outraged her.