'I was resolved to meet you, at all risks, my darling. A faith plighted—a promise made is holy, Carl—holy to God and man. I promised to be here, Carl, in a dream that I had of you; and by a strange chance I have been permitted to come—to be here, to see you, feel your strong but tender arm round me once more. Oh, Carl, kiss me once again, as you did on that day in the Hoch Munster when first you said you loved me.'
'Ernestine, what do you mean?' asked Charlie, eyeing her with some anxiety, and impressed with a strange fear by the solemnity of her manner.
'I belong no longer to myself.'
'To whom, then? Heavens!' he added, starting, 'you have not become the wife of that man!'
'Who?'
'Baron Grünthal.'
'Oh, no; how could you think of such a thing for a moment, Carl?' she said, with a bitter smile, while looking down and playing with a ring he had given her in other days.
'Then to whom do you belong?' he asked, fondly.
'My love—to you!'
She put up her little face tenderly to his, and then looked away, with the weary, wistful expression of those who have long lived in some world of their own, and can never seem to see out beyond the present.