In the dining-room the tea kettle was boiling, by my sister's orders before she left.
"Suppose you send for her?" flashed through my mind. "One carriage hurried off to Krakowitz, another to Gorowen--and she might be here inside of an hour."
But I, poor old blade, was ashamed to admit my helplessness. Besides, there was Lothar for me to cling to in my desperation.
Thank God, Lothar was still with us.
"Well, be seated, children." I assumed the air of being wonderfully at ease.
I can still see the whole scene. The snowy white tablecloth, the Meissen china, the old silver sugar bowl, the hanging lamp of copper overhead and in its hard light, to my right, Iolanthe, pale, stiff, with half-closed eyes, like a somnambulist; to my left, Lothar with his bushy hair and firm brown cheeks and the sombre fold between his brows, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
Seeing that evidently the boy felt de trop and would much rather have run away, I laid my hands affectionately on his shoulders and thanked him from the bottom of my heart for the torture he was imposing upon himself.
"Take a good look at him, Iolanthe," I said. "We three shall be sitting here like this many a time again, enjoying each other's company."
She nodded very slowly and closed her eyes altogether.
Poor thing! Poor thing! And the dread almost took my breath away.