Oscar knitted his brows,--he could not yet believe that anything serious was in question; but in his joyous mood, he was more inclined than usual to indulge the whim of another. He therefore went into the parlor, sent the maid away on a message, and then turned back.
"Am I finally to learn what all that signifies?" he asked, impatiently. "Where in the world were you, Cecile, and what means this early morning trip to the mountains? Dernburg has already noticed it with much displeasure! You must know that Odensburg is not the place for such escapades."
Cecilia had gotten up, and said not a word in her own defense, but breathed out in a whisper:
"I have been on the Whitestone."
"On the Whitestone?" exclaimed Oscar. "What foolhardiness! What incredible rashness!"
"Let that be, the question is about something else," she interrupted him vehemently. "I met up there with--with that friend of Eric's youth, and he has said things to me,--Oscar, what happened between you two the first time that you met?"
"Nothing!" said the Baron, coldly. "Perhaps I did see him then; it is possible; one easily overlooks such people. At all events, I did not speak with him, and did not know that he was witness of a painful event that took place on that evening."
"What sort of an event was it?"
"Nothing for your ears, my dear, and therefore I should not like Runeck to talk with you on the subject. By the way, tell me exactly what he did say."
The question was apparently thrown off indifferently, and yet keen suspense was apparent in the dark eyes of the questioner.