“Would it offend you if I were to inquire the reason why?” pursued Conrad, now scarcely doubting who she was.
For more than a minute Walburga did not trust herself to speak. Finally she said:
“What spot, sir, can be so sad as an abandoned home? Parting with our birthplace to strangers does not tear up the deep roots whereby our heart clings to it. We feel towards it as towards a dear friend whom we have deserted. O sir! for many, many years—for centuries”—here Walburga drew herself proudly up—“my race held the castle which now is yours; and I love it so much that I cannot speak of it with calmness. A friend dies and we hide him in the earth; a dead home remains, mournfully gazing on us whenever we pass by. ’Tis why I will not go near dear, dear Loewenstein: nothing so ghostlike as an abandoned home!”
By this time tears were glistening in the dark, cavernous eyes of her listener; and when Walburga finished speaking Conrad said:
“Gracious lady, you cannot imagine how precious to me the old ruin has become. I love it, too.”
Here for the second time Walburga looked at him, but, as before, only by a swift side-glance. Then she said: “I must return you thanks, sir, for your kindness to my brother. He wrote to a young lady, his betrothed, all about it, and she told me; and I sincerely rejoice that Loewenstein has fallen into the hands of a gentleman like yourself.”
“Then you are Ulrich’s sister?” exclaimed Conrad.
“His only sister, and he my only brother. You cannot tell how I miss him.”
“Well, he accompanied me today, and is now with Miss Hofer.”
“Indeed! How delighted I am!”