She had made up her mind to accept the pastor's hand. What could she, the solitary, homeless one, do better, than to take the home and hearth offered to her, the love of an honourable man, and the perhaps heavy, but still blessed cares connected with his children. Truly, he had been right, there was an element in Gertrud's nature which strove against this future in the isolation of the little village, and monotonous round of household duties, so far from the busy world with its many centres of interest--but Gertrud was tired of ever moving aimlessly and with no settled future, from one place of dependence to another; she longed for some sure, calm haven, though she knew that it would be the grave of all that she called life.
The snow storm had begun once more, Gertrud opened the windows and looked out, without regarding the cold--was it not the last free hour of her life--the next would bind it for ever. Over there on the distant country road, the sound of a post horn came through the falling snow. Noiselessly and thickly fell the soft flakes from the grey winter sky upon the hard earth. Everything around, the fields and valleys, the boughs of the trees, and the roofs of the houses bore the cold, shapeless garment of snow, and still and solitary lay the village, like death, covered with a white robe.
But this calm was suddenly broken by an unusual event, the post horn did not die away as usual in the distance, it came nearer and nearer, loud and merry, and was presently joined by the rattle of wheels. Drawn by four steaming horses, a post chaise worked itself with difficulty through the snow, till it stopped before the pastor's door. A gentleman, wrapped in furs, sprang out, and with a cry, half consternation, half joy, Gertrud flew from the window.
"Hermann!"
Meanwhile this unexpected event, the arrival of a guest in an extra post chaise with four horses, had alarmed the whole household below. The flock of children rushed into the hall, the pastor's study-door was hurriedly opened, voices were heard on all sides, till finally, a firm voice, making itself heard above all the tumult, said--
"Do not trouble yourself, Herr Pastor. Fräulein Walter will excuse me if I present myself without being formally announced. I have important news for her."
Steps were heard on the stairs, the door flew open, and Count Arnau stood upon the threshold.
Gertrud could not utter a word of greeting; trembling in every limb, she still stood on the same spot. He closed the door and approached her.
"So you have flown from me to this distant, isolated village? Gertrud, did you really think I should not find you?"
His eyes rested gravely and reproachfully on her face.