'Ernestine?' said Charlie, grasping the hand of his friend.
'She is in the church. We have not been here three minutes. Do not detain her long, Carl, as I would not have suspicion excited. Meantime, I shall smoke a cigar.'
Charlie hastened into the edifice, for the Herr Pastor of which, in happier times, Ernestine and Herminia had worked many altar-cloths, pen-wipers, slippers, and smoking-caps. It was a plain, whitewashed edifice, ancient Gothic in some parts, patched with modern brickwork elsewhere; and a subdued light stole through the windows on the portraits of certain defunct Herr Pastors hung upon the pillars, the oaken pews, and the rows of black iron spittoons in some, with kneeling hassocks in others. Before the rail of the altar, Ernestine was kneeling, in prayer apparently.
There was no one else in the church, and on hearing Charlie approach, she threw herself into his arms, and for some time could but sob passionately and utter his name in a choking voice, while he patted her cheek and kissed away her tears. Then she became more composed, and taking Charlie's face between her soft and ungloved hands, gazed into his eyes with a tender smile.
'You will yet love me, Carl, in spite of all that mamma has said?' she whispered.
'Love you!' he exclaimed, 'what on earth could make me cease to love you?'
'How enchanting it is to be with you again, my own Carl! You will write to me from—from France, when Heinrich writes to me or Herminia, and I can reply in the same manner.'
'Thank you, darling, for the delightful promise.'
'No power on earth must separate us, Carl. I have resolved that such cannot, shall not be.'
'The Baron——'