The peak of the Wolkenstein, on the contrary, was plainly visible; the mists that had been hovering around it seemed to melt in the moonlight, and the ice-crowned summit stood forth distinct and glistening. She had unveiled herself, the haughty sovereign of the mountain-range, and sat enthroned aloft in her phantom-like beauty, while above her realm brooded the silent mystery of the midsummer night, with its ghostly hint of buried treasures ascending from hidden depths and awaiting discovery,--the ancient, solemn midsummer-eve of St. John.
CHAPTER XIII.
[AN OUTRAGED WIFE.]
The Sunday following St. John's day had always been a great holiday in Oberstein. The little mountain-village where Dr. Reinsfeld lived had, it is true, lost somewhat of its secluded character by the invasion of the railway in the vicinity. The labourers on the road frequented it, and some of the young engineers had their quarters in the little inn, but the place was still very humble in appearance.
The doctor's house was in no contrast to its surroundings; it was a small cottage, scantily furnished,--indeed barely provided with the necessities of life. The sexton's widow acted as the young physician's housekeeper, and her ideas of the duties of her position were primitive in the extreme. Only a nature as content and unassuming as Benno's could have long endured existence here. His predecessors had never remained long, while this was the fifth year that he had passed in this place, undaunted by its hardships, and with no present prospect of leaving it.
His study was indeed a contrast to the charming, comfortable apartments inhabited by Superintendent Elmhorst. The whitewashed walls were destitute of decoration save for a couple of portraits of Reinsfeld's parents. An old worm-eaten writing-table, with an arm-chair covered with leather which had once been black, a very hard sofa with a coarse linen cover, and a table and chairs of equal antiquity,--such was the furniture, all purchased from the former occupant, of the room in which the doctor lived, and laboured, and gave advice, and even, as on the present occasion, received visits. His cousin Albert Gersdorf was with him.
The lawyer had come from Heilborn the day before, and had found a guest already installed here, Veit Gronau, whom he also knew, and who was recovering here from the effects of his disaster on the Vulture Cliff. The painful sprain from which he was suffering was not serious, but prevented his walking. He had been with some difficulty brought as far down the mountain as Oberstein, and here Reinsfeld had offered to take charge of the patient until the sprain was cured; an offer which had been gratefully accepted.
The two cousins had not met for years, and their interchange of letters had been infrequent, so that Benno's joyful surprise was natural when Gersdorf made his unexpected appearance. He had just persuaded him to protract his stay somewhat, and said, delightedly, "So, then, that is all arranged: you will stay until the day after to-morrow; that's right; and your young wife will have no objection to being left so long with her parents in Heilborn."
"Oh, she is extremely content there," Gersdorf explained; but there was an unusual gravity in his voice and manner.
The doctor gave him a keen glance: "See here, Albert: when you arrived yesterday it struck me that something was wrong. I thought you would bring your wife. Surely you have not quarrelled?"