‘Hilda, a very terrible thing has happened, and I must explain it to you, in order that you may comprehend what I must do. Will you promise me to listen patiently and to forgive me beforehand for all I am going to say?’
‘Yes,’ answered the young girl rather faintly. The strong presentiment of evil had come upon her again, as it had come that day when he was leaving Greifenstein. She bent her head and covered her eyes with her hand, as though not to see the blow that was to descend, though she must feel its weight. It was all instinctive, for not the faintest thought of what he was going to say could ever have suggested itself to her mind.
‘Yes,’ said Greif, ‘it is very terrible. But I have come here to say it and I must say it all. You know what has happened. My poor mother is dead, and those who murdered her, have killed themselves—my father and his half-brother. You did not know that I had an uncle?’
Hilda shook her head, looking up for a moment.
‘He was a bad man, too,’ continued Greif. ‘He had been an officer and had betrayed his trust in the times of revolution, was sentenced and imprisoned; he escaped from the fortress, made his way to South America, and lived there for forty years in exile, until the amnesty was proclaimed. He was not Greifenstein, he was Rieseneck, half-brother to my father by the mother’s side and younger than he. That was bad enough, however. It was the reason why my father lived here in the forest so quietly. He was afraid that people would remember he was Rieseneck’s brother. You see, the affair made a great noise at the time. Your mother knows all about it. Well, it was hard enough, as I say, to have such a disgrace in the family. We did not know that Rieseneck had a son—I found that my best friend—his name is Rex—is he.’
‘How strange!’ exclaimed Hilda. ‘Why is his name Rex?’
‘It is not, exactly. He and his father called themselves so in order not to be identified. It was almost necessary for them—as it may be for me now.’
‘For you?’ asked Hilda in the utmost astonishment. ‘You would change your name—why?’
Greif stared at her. She seemed not to understand at all, and yet he had gone into Rieseneck’s story merely to make his own seem more terrible by comparison.
‘You must know that, in the world, such calamities as have befallen me leave a mark, a stain even upon the innocent,’ said Greif. ‘The world looks askance at the sons of murderers.’