Helena involuntarily caught her father's hand with a hasty movement, and pressed it to her lips. The old gentleman felt a tear upon his hand. With a gentle smile, he said,--
"You too, my good child, feel for the sorrows of our friends. I know it must be so; you have grown up amongst them."
Helena covered her face for a moment with her handkerchief and sobbed.
The candidate flashed an evil, malicious side glance upon her, whilst a cold, scornful smile played around his lips.
"I am going to the president," said the pastor; "there they must have the earliest reliable news, and they will be most anxious about the lieutenant. Poor Madame von Wendenstein! Come with me to the castle, children."
And they took the road to the hill upon which the old house stood amidst high dark woods.
Helena took her father's arm, and involuntarily hastened her steps.
They climbed the hill and entered the hall by the open door. The great oak chests stood there as still and solemn as ever, and the old paintings looked down from their frames as gravely and quietly as if there were no changes, no cares nor sorrows in the world of living men.
In the large garden drawing-room Herr von Wendenstein paced up and down with measured step, Madame von Wendenstein sat in her accustomed place before the large round table, and her daughters were beside her; all was as usual, yet a heavy cloud of care weighed on each brow, on each heart.
The president held out his hand to the pastor in silence, silently Madame von Wendenstein greeted her visitors, and the young girls embraced without speaking a word.