After both had departed, peace and silence reigned once more in the church. It was a pretty little church, dainty and not too gay—a rich benefactor had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was painted blue with gold stars. The pulpit displayed some artistic carving and among the tablets on the floor, which covered the tombs of former pastors, there were even two or three of bronze. The pews were kept very tidy and clean, and to that end the Justice had exerted his strong influence. A beautiful cloth adorned the altar, above which rose a twisted column painted to resemble marble.
The light fell brightly into the little church, the trees outside were rustling, and now and then a gentle breeze coming in by a broken window-pane stirred the white scarf with which the angel above the baptismal font was decked, or the tinsel of the wreaths which, having been taken from the coffins of the maidens who had died, were used to decorate the surrounding pillars.
Bride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was gone, but still the peaceful little church was not yet entirely deserted. Two young people had remained inside of it, without knowing of each other's presence; and this is how it happened. The Hunter, when the wedding-party entered the church, had separated from them and quietly gone up a flight of stairs to a gallery. There, unseen by the rest, he sat down on a stool all alone by himself, his back to the people and to the altar. He buried his face in his hands, but that he could not long endure to do; his cheek and brow were too hot. The hymn with its solemn tones cooled the heat like falling dew; he thanked God that finally, finally the supreme happiness had been granted to him:
In thy sadness, in thy laughter,
Thou art thine own by law of love! * * *
A little child had crept up to him out of curiosity; he gently grasped his hand and caressed it. Then he started to give him money, did not do it, but pressed him against his breast and kissed his forehead. And when the boy, a bit frightened by his hot caress, moved toward the stairs, he slowly led him down lest he should fall. Then he returned to his seat and heard nothing of the sermon, nothing of the noise which followed it. He was sunk in deep and blissful dreams which revealed to him his beautiful mother and his white castle on the green hillside and himself and somebody else in the castle.
Lisbeth, embarrassed in her strange attire, had bashfully walked along behind the bride. Oh, she thought, just when the good man thinks I am always natural I must wear borrowed clothes. She longed to have back her own. She heard the peasants behind her talking about her in a whisper. The aristocratic gentleman, who met the procession in front of the church, looked at her critically for a long time through his lorgnette. All that she was obliged to endure, when she had just been so beautifully extolled in verse, when her heart was overflowing with joyful delight. Half dazed she entered the church, where she made up her mind to desert the procession on the way back, in order to avoid becoming again the object of conversation or facetious remarks, which now for a quarter of an hour had been far from her thoughts. She too heard but little of the sermon, earnestly as she strove to follow the discourse of her respected clerical friend. And when the rings were exchanged, the matter-of-course expression on the faces of the bridal pair aroused a peculiar emotion in her—a mixture of sadness, envy, and quiet resentment that so heavenly a moment should pass by two such stolid souls.
Then came the tumult, and she fled involuntarily behind the altar. When it grew quiet again, she drew a deep breath, adjusted her apron, gently stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over on her brow, and took courage. She was anxious to see how she could make her way back to the Oberhof unnoticed and get rid of the disagreeable clothes. With short steps and eyes cast down she walked along a side passage toward the door.
Having finally awakened from his dreams, the Hunter was descending the stairs. He too was anxious to quit the church, but where to go he did not know. His heart throbbed when he saw Lisbeth; she lifted her eyes and stood still, shy and artless. Then, without looking at each other, they went in silence to the door, and the Hunter laid his hand on the latch to open it.
"It is locked!" he cried in a tone of delight, as if the best luck in the world had befallen him. "We are locked in the church!"
"Locked in?" she said, filled with sweet horror.