More than two months had elapsed. Midsummer had arrived, but the houses of Ettersberg and Brunneck were still, as Count Edmund expressed it, playing the Montague and Capulet game. Neither the Countess nor Rüstow had yielded an inch. They were vigorous as ever in their opposition to the projected marriage between their children, but these latter only clung the more tenaciously to their plan. In spite of prohibitions they met often, and wrote to each other still more frequently. To manage the first, it had been found necessary to include Aunt Lina in the plot, and that good lady thought it better that the meetings, which certainly would have taken place under any circumstances, should be held with her sanction and in her presence. She had long ago been won over to the young people's side, and the lovers themselves took matters very easily. It was not in the nature of either Hedwig or Edmund to take a sentimental or tragic view of their temporary separation. A love affair, the course of which had constantly run smooth, would no doubt have appeared to them excessively tame and wearisome. Parental opposition gave to this courtship the necessary spice of romance. They revelled in the situation with all the eagerness of their youthful years, and looked on themselves and their true love as intensely poetical and interesting. Neither felt any uneasiness as to the final issue; they knew too well that they, their parents' spoilt and petted darlings, would ultimately carry their point. Meanwhile the Countess posed as the inexorable mother, and the Councillor was fiercer and more prone to ire than ever. Signs, however, were not wanting that the fortresses were not quite as impregnable as they pretended to be, that they would finally succumb to the daily assaults to which they were subjected.
The dénoûment came more speedily than any of the parties concerned had expected. Fräulein Lina Rüstow had been absent for a few days staying in town, where she had purchases to make. She came back to Brunneck suspecting nothing, and prepared to find the old feud with Ettersberg raging fiercely as when she left. Rather surprised at being received on her arrival by her cousin alone, she made inquiries after Hedwig, who was nowhere to be seen.
'Hedwig?' stammered Rüstow, looking half embarrassed, half wrathful. 'She is not here just now; you will see her by-and-by.'
Aunt Lina inquired no further. There had probably been some fresh discussion on the subject of the projected marriage, a circumstance which never promoted the comfort of any member of the household, for the Councillor was in the habit of venting his anger on all about him, his daughter only excepted. On this occasion, however, the traveller felt herself to be in possession of a piece of intelligence which would scare away ill-humour. They had hardly got into the parlour when she burst forth with it.
'I have brought you some news, Erich. Your solicitor wanted to send you a telegram, but I begged him to let me convey the pleasant tidings. You have won your suit in the first instance. Dornau has been adjudged to Hedwig.'
'I am glad of it, glad of it, in spite of all that has come and gone. But I wish the judgment had been given a few weeks back; now my pleasure in it is spoiled, completely spoiled! So we have won the suit?'
'Subject to appeal, of course--though our solicitor seems confident about the final issue. No doubt the opposite party will do everything in their power to contest the victory with us.'
'They will do nothing of the kind,' grumbled Rüstow, still with the same queer, embarrassed look.
'Of course they will; there can be no doubt of that. The lawyer has already taken his measures in view of an appeal to a higher court.'
'He may save himself the trouble,' Rüstow broke forth. 'Nobody is thinking of appealing. The lawsuit is over and done with, and the end of the story is that Dornau will go to Ettersberg after all.'