That night--he did not know how late it was, for he had lain there fully dressed, with throbbing temples, awake, and yet as if in some wild dream, falling from the heights of more than earthly bliss into the depths of helpless anxiety and dread--that very night Gotthold heard above the rustling of the foliage before his window, and the plashing of the rain against the panes, a sound which made him start from his bed, and, holding his breath, listen intently. The noise was like a scream, a woman's scream, and could only have come from the chamber below him, where Cecilia slept alone with her child. He reached the window at a single bound. The wind and rain beat into his face, but above the wind and rain he distinctly heard Brandow's voice, now louder and now lower, as a man speaks who is carried away by passion, and then violently forces himself to be calm. At intervals he thought he distinguished her voice; but perhaps it was only his fancy, excited to madness, which filled the pauses in which he did not hear the voice of the man he hated. A conjugal scene in the chamber of the wife, who cannot, must not lock her door; who must hear the wild words of the furious drunken husband, and has nothing to oppose to his fury save her tears!
"And she bears it, must bear it! Must wring her hands helplessly! This is bitterer than death!" 'murmured Gotthold. "Why didn't I speak? All might now have been decided! Is not keeping silence when one ought to speak also a lie, a cruel, horrible lie, and must falsehood be spoken by the good as well as the bad? To-morrow, if to-morrow were only here, if such a night can have a morrow."
He threw himself on his bed, moaning and sobbing, and buried his head in the pillows, then started up again. Was not that a step moving slowly and cautiously over the floor? Was any one coming to him with a murderous weapon? Thank God!
Gotthold sprang to the door and tore it open. Everything was silent--silent and dark. The stairs from below led directly up the middle of the entry, between the two gables; the cautious step he had heard was not on his side, and had undoubtedly gone towards the other, where, opposite to his room, were two smaller chambers, one of which, on the left, stood empty, and the other was occupied by pretty Rieke; for a faint light, which was quickly extinguished, now gleamed through a crack in the door of the right-hand room, and through the deep stillness came a laugh, instantly hushed, as if a hand had been suddenly placed over the laughing lips.
Gotthold shut the door; he wished to see and hear no more.
CHAPTER XV.
A gray dreary morning followed the dark rainy night. Endless masses of vapor, now and then piled into thick clouds, rolled in from the sea,--masses so deep that they almost covered the lofty tops of the poplars, which now bent before the rude wind over the drenched straw roofs of the barns, and then rebounded defiantly, shaking their branches indignantly.
Gotthold stood at the window of the sitting room, gazing gloomily at the dreary scene. He had slept an hour towards morning, almost against his will; but anxiety for what might be coming weighed upon his soul more heavily than physical exhaustion upon his body. Terrible as the night had been, stars of hope ever and anon had sparkled cheeringly through the darkness; now it seemed as if this dreary day had only dawned to say: This solitary, hideous drifting is life, reality; what have I to do with your dreams? As he came down the staircase, he had seen almost with an emotion of horror that preparations for the reception of guests were being made in the large hall looking out upon the garden, which was generally unused; the clattering of pots and pans, and the loud voices of maid-servants came from the kitchen at the end of the long hall; and a groom was just pushing from the stable the carriage which was to bring the guests from Prora. Everything was going on as usual, as if to-day would be like yesterday, and to-morrow like to day; as if nothing could happen which would make the old world young again as it was on the first day that dawned on Paradise. And yet, and yet, it surely was no dream; it had certainly happened. It could not blow away like formless mist! It must assume some shape, emerge from the chaos, perhaps be worked out by a hot conflict; it was all the same! Only it could not be lost!
But this dreary inactive waiting was terrible! She must know that he had been standing here half an hour already, waiting for her, for one word from her lips, even one look, to say to him: I am yours, as you are mine; trust me as I trust you. Why did she not come? The moment was more favorable than any which might occur again all day. Brandow had just crossed the courtyard to the stables, as he did every morning; the breakfast was on the table; they had always spent half an hour together at this time undisturbed--and to-day, to-day she must needs leave him alone!
A boundless impatience took possession of him; he paced up and down the room, glancing every moment towards the door through which that other had come and gone last night, and which was closed upon him, listening with straining ears that he might distinguish some sound, but heard nothing except the sleepy buzzing of a fly; even the house clock in the tall old-fashioned wooden case did not tick to-day; the hands had stopped during the night.