"Now see," said Ernst, "you have been running too quickly up the mountain. I could not keep up with you. What would uncle say if he knew it?"
She walked slowly on, like one in a dream. She scarcely heard the child's reproof. What then was this strange half-consciousness which had yesterday mingled itself with her melodies, causing them to mourn and to rejoice at the same moment? Again she felt it take possession of her soul more mightily and intoxicatingly than before, but it was just as mysterious and incomprehensible.
"But, Elsie," cried Ernst, impatiently, "what is the matter with you? You are walking so slowly that it will be dark before we reach home."
He took hold of her dress, and tried to pull her on. This call from the outer world was too energetic to be any longer withstood,—Elizabeth roused herself and walked on quickly, to the child's entire content.
When they reached the castle Elizabeth laid Bertha's hat, which was still hanging upon her arm, upon the table. She was unwilling to mention her meeting with the girl to her parents, for she rightly judged that it would make them anxious, and that they would relate the occurrence to her uncle, who had been so angry and bitter of late whenever Bertha was alluded to, that Elizabeth feared that if he heard of the meeting in the wood he would put a stop to the annoyance by immediately dismissing the cause of it from the Lodge. Ernst had noticed neither the hat nor her desire to conceal it, so there was no danger that he would betray her.
After supper Elizabeth walked down to the Lodge. She met Sabina in the garden, and heard to her satisfaction that her uncle had gone to Lindhof. She gave the hat to the old housekeeper, and told her of Bertha's extraordinary behaviour, asking in conclusion whether she were at home yet. Sabina was indignant.
"Indeed I think, child, that if you had been alone she would have scratched your eyes out. I don't know what will become of her. These last few days she has been worse than ever. She does not sleep at nights, but walks up and down in her room, talking again—but only to herself. If I had but the courage to open her door just when she is at the worst,—but I could not do it though you would give me heaps of gold. You will laugh at me, I know; but she's not right. Look at her eyes—they sparkle and glow as though all the fire of the Blocksberg were burning in them. No, I shall hold my tongue; the Herr Forester sleeps soundly, and so do the rest,—but I wake at the slightest noise, and I know perfectly well that Bertha is up and away many a night, and when she goes the great watch-dog is gone too from his kennel. He is the only one in the house that loves her; and, fierce as he is, he never touches her."
"Does my uncle know this?" asked Elizabeth with surprise.
"Not for the world! I wouldn't for my life tell him, for who knows what mischief would come of it?"
"But, Sabina, only think. You may do great harm to my uncle by remaining silent. The house is so lonely if there is no dog in the yard——"