CHAPTER XV.
The next morning at five o'clock the inmates of Gnadeck were awakened by a discharge of artillery. "Aha!" said Ferber to his wife, "the celebration is beginning." But Elizabeth was startled from a fearful dream, in which the misfortune which she had yesterday averted seemed actually to take place. She had just seen Herr von Walde fall dying to the ground, when the cannon in the valley awoke her. It was some time before she could collect herself. For one moment she suffered fearfully. It seemed as if heaven and earth were vanishing from her as that noble figure fell; and even now, when she saw the golden light of morning falling upon the familiar objects in her room and not upon the blood-stained sward, her agitated nerves still quivered; she had never, not even the day before, when she had so fearlessly risked her life for his, felt so deeply that his death would be hers also.
Again and again the cannon thundered up from the valley. The window-panes shook slightly, and the little canary fluttered in terror from side to side in his cage. At each report Elizabeth shuddered; and when her anxious mother, who could not quite allay her fears for the result of the previous day's occurrence, although her child had seemed unharmed and well, came to her bedside to ask how she had slept, the girl threw her arms around her neck and burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears.
"Good heavens, my child!" cried Frau Ferber, much frightened, "you are ill. I knew that you would suffer from yesterday's shock, and there is that terrible shooting going on in the valley."
Elizabeth had some trouble in convincing her mother that she felt perfectly well, and that she could not be induced to lie in bed, but was resolved to take her breakfast with the family. And to put a stop to all further remonstrance, she immediately arose, bathed and dressed, and assisted her mother in preparing the simple breakfast.
The sound of the cannon suddenly ceased, and before long all traces of tears vanished from Elizabeth's eyes. The world looked brighter to her; for, although a life of renunciation lay before her, he still lived; this thought had, in consequence of her fearful dream, a soothing effect upon her restless heart. Even if he went away to distant lands, and she was forced to live years without seeing him, a time must come when he would return. And she could still love and think of him, for he belonged to no one else.
Later in the day she went with her family and Miss Mertens to the Lodge, where they had been invited to dine. There was a dark cloud upon the forester's brow as he came to meet them. Elizabeth soon discovered that he was troubled about Bertha.
"I cannot and will not bear it any longer!" he cried angrily. "Must I turn spy in my old age, and constantly be upon the watch to prevent a wayward, foolish child, who has no possible claim upon me, from making a perpetual fool of herself?"
"But remember, uncle, she is unhappy," said Elizabeth, somewhat alarmed.
"Unhappy?—she is a deceitful fool!—I am no ogre, and when I thought her really unhappy, that is, when she lost both her parents, I did all that I could to protect and guide her. But that is not what is the matter with her, for scarcely two months after her loss she went singing about and chattering like a magpie, so that I was really grieved to see such heartlessness and frivolity. What is she unhappy about, eh? But I don't want to know her state secret if she has no confidence in me;—let it alone. For all I care she may wear that die-away look upon her face for the next year; but to pretend to be dumb, to run about in the forest at night like a maniac, and perhaps one of these fine days burn down my house about my ears, it is more than I can bear, and I must have a word or two to say about the matter."