"It frightened my horse, at least," Erna interposed, with ready presence of mind. "It shied and ran; I could not control it."
The fiction was a plausible one and gained instant credence from the bystanders, explaining as it did the sudden appearance of the young lady and her evident terror and emotion. It was fortunate that the frightened animal had been brought under control in time.
There were two men, however, who were not thus deceived,--Wolfgang, to whom those few instants of alarm had revealed a certainty which came, indeed, too late, but which he would not for worlds have relinquished, and Ernst, who still maintained his place, closely observing the pair. There was a contemptuous emphasis in his voice as he remarked,--
"We have been fortunately spared another catastrophe. Have you recovered from your alarm, Erna?"
"Yes."
"Then we will continue our ride. Au revoir, Herr Elmhorst."
Wolfgang bowed formally, perfectly comprehending the significance of that 'Au revoir;' then he turned to see after the wounds of the two men, which were in fact very slight, as was his own. A fragment of stone had, as he said, merely grazed his forehead. The entire occurrence seemed to have ended very fortunately.
But this was only seeming, as might have been clearly seen in Waltenberg's countenance. He rode beside his betrothed in silence, without even turning towards her; this went on for a quarter of an hour, until Erna could bear it no longer.
"Ernst," she said, softly.
"Beg pardon?"