“Your wife,” said Anna, calmly. And before any one could speak she went on: “I have helped to circulate the lie about you, Herr Graf”—she spoke to Eugen—“for I disliked you; I disliked your family, and I disliked, or rather wished to punish, Miss Wedderburn for her behavior to me. But I firmly believed the story I circulated. The moment I knew the truth I determined to set you right. Perhaps I was pleased to be able to circumvent your plans. I considered that if I told the truth to Friedhelm Helfen he would be as silent as yourself, because you chose to be silent. The same with May Wedderburn, therefore I decided to come to head-quarters at once. It is useless for you to try to appear guilty any longer,” she added, mockingly. “You can tell them all the rest, and I will wish you good-afternoon.”
She was gone. From that day to this I have never seen her nor heard of her again. Probably with her power over us her interest in us ceased.
Meanwhile I had released myself from the spell which held me, and gone to the countess. Something very like fear held me from approaching Eugen.
Count Bruno had gone to his brother, and touched his shoulder. Eugen looked up. Their eyes met. It just flashed into my mind that after six years of separation the first words were—must be—words of reconciliation, of forgiveness asked on the one side, eagerly extended on the other.
“Eugen!” in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive sob, “canst thou forgive?”
“My brother—I have not resented. I could not. Honor in thee, as honor in me—”
“But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak—”
But another had asserted herself. The countess had come to herself again, and going up to him, looked him full in the face and kissed him.
“Now I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly like none but thine. I might have known—”