"Ah, yes. A man's boundless, passionate devotion must beget love in return--if there is no rival in the way."
Erna shivered, and the colour mounted slowly in her face, but she was silent. This change of colour did not escape Waltenberg, who was gazing at her with breathless eagerness. His dark face grew pale on a sudden, and there was something like a menace in the tone in which he said, "Erna, why have you avoided me hitherto? Why do you refuse to return my love? Tell me the truth at all hazards. Do you love another?"
A short pause ensued. Erna would fain have refused to reply. How could she confess to another that which she shrank from acknowledging even to herself? But a glance into the agitated face of the man before her decided her.
"I will be entirely frank with you," she said, firmly. "I have loved. It was a dream, followed by a bitter wakening."
"Then the man was unworthy of you?"
"He was unworthy of any pure and great affection, and when I learned this, I tore my love for him from my heart. I pray you, do not question me further. It is gone and buried."
"Ah, he is dead, then?"
There was a degree of savage triumph in the question, and still more cruel was the hatred that flashed in his eyes,--hatred for one whom he thought dead. Erna saw it, and for an instant a wave of terror overwhelmed her. Instinctively she bowed her head as before a threatened danger, and before she was conscious that by this gesture she confirmed him in his error the involuntary falsehood was told.
Ernst drew a deep breath, and the colour slowly returned to his cheek: "Well, then, it is with the dead that I must strive. I will not fear a phantom; it must yield when once I clasp you in my arms. Erna, come to me!"
She recoiled in dismay from the passion in his words: "What! you still persist? When I tell you that I have no love to bestow upon you, does not your pride stand you in stead?"