‘No—neither I nor my husband, and I had hoped that as all has turned out happily we might never know. It would have been far better, far better!’
‘Yes, far better,’ echoed Berbel, whose simple calculations had been upset by the news, and who began to wish that the coat had fallen into other hands.
Hilda sat quite still, thinking what she should do. The situation was painful from its very simplicity, for it was assuredly her duty to go to her husband and give him the letter, telling him the whole truth at once. He had a right to receive the message from his dead father without a moment’s delay, and she knew it, though she hesitated at the thought of what might follow. Her beautiful young face was pale with anxiety, and her bright eyes were veiled by sad thoughts. Poor Berbel was terribly distressed at the result of her discovery and tried to imagine some means of improving the situation.
‘If you would let me,’ she said, at last, ‘I would take the letter to the baron and explain—if it would hurt you—’
‘You? I?’ cried Hilda almost fiercely. ‘It is of him I am thinking, and of what he will suffer. What does it matter for me? It is my duty, and I must do it—am I his wife only when the sun shines and we are happy? Ah, Berbel, you should know better than that!’
‘I only wanted to spare you,’ said Berbel humbly.
Hilda looked up quickly and then took the old servant’s hand kindly in hers.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘But you must think first of him, always—if you love me. Berbel—are you perfectly sure that all this is true and real, that no wicked person is trying to do us some harm?’
‘I am as sure as I can be—Wastei said I might ask the Jew, if I pleased.’
‘It is true—it is Wastei. Unless he is mistaken himself there can be no doubt, then. But it is all so strange!’