The gate-posts stood there like a pair of black hounds on their hind legs, glowering at each other. To right and left a piece of the wall crept out into the night; the rest was hidden by the darkness. Only from the castle came one pale path of light. It was the lamp burning in the bay where Ulrich's writing-table stood. It shimmered towards him along the damp undergrowth of the park, which stood out of the darkness here and there in mirrorlike patches, as if it wished to guide him to the place which he hesitated to approach. But the further it penetrated the fainter became the light, till at last it was powerless to withstand the night-shadows which swallowed it.
Leo felt an icy shiver pass through his drenched body. "There is the priest I want," he thought; "the only one on earth who can save me."
But of what avail were these weak longings? He would only stand before him to-day, as always, biting his lips, his frightened glance wandering along the walls, a martyr to nervous fears and yearning, his ears strained to hear if a gliding step was coming along the corridor, the step of one who would sweeten his distress, and destroy his hope. What object would there be in coming here to-day, if he did not confess and repent? His whip cracked. The horse stamped as he turned round in the spluttering water, through which the wheels ploughed with a creaking sound. He gave a last look, full of impotent rage and dull, painful longing at the peaceable stream of light which, like everything else in the world, served only to reproach him, and then he drove furiously back by the way he had come, still faintly hoping for what now was hopeless.
The next morning the rain had ceased. A pale sunlight, broken up by the drifting masses of cloud for several minutes, and then gliding down on to the yellow plain, illumined the larches, and threw a sort of lantern reflection on the variegated walls of the outlying forest.
Leo drove, as he had done on the previous day, alone to church. This time he preceded instead of following his party, for he did not wish to be disturbed at the outset by Johanna's grim scrutiny. His soul was now busy with a host of happy plans and pious resolves. An old glimmer of his joyous childhood's faith had awakened in him again. He would humbly lay down the burden of his sins at the foot of God's throne, and receive the pardon which the Lord held in readiness for him, with quiet thankfulness. It pained him to think of the ferocity of his yesterday's mood. He had stretched out the greedy hand of a thief to snatch redemption, to obtain heaven's greatest blessing in an embittered and obstinate spirit. But to-day it was coming to him unbidden. The November wind was like a divine breath against his heated brow; the faint sunlight poured a wealth of gold on his head. "The miracle is beginning to work," he thought.
But at the bottom of his heart crouched still the demon of fear, and would not budge--the fear of meeting her.
If only he could have gone alone to the altar! But wherever he went she was there also. From her there was no escape. In the same way as she stood between him and his friend, she stood between him and his God.
The Uhlenfelde barouche was close in front of his dog-cart as he turned into the church square. There she was! That black-veiled graceful creature descending the steps of the carriage with a dainty swing of her rustling skirts was the woman he would have liked at that moment to take in his giant arms and crush--crush like a ball of putty. He pressed his nails deep into his flesh at the thought of how easy it would be to do it. Ulrich, slightly yellower than usual, and with more brilliant eyes than usual, came up to him on his stork-like legs.
"You left me in the lurch yesterday," he said, in mild reproach.
"It was too late to come in," apologised Leo. "I was afraid I should not get the trap over the ferry."