The young girl tottered out of the church with Severinus without casting another glance behind.
Both reached Cornelia's house in silence. Severinus paused. "Command me, Fräulein. Shall I leave you alone, or can I be of any further service to you? A young girl doubtless needs protection against such a man as Ottmar."
"Do you know him?" asked Cornelia.
"I do."
"May I ask you to come in with me?"
"Most joyfully."
The servants, on their return, had found the house open, and were in the greatest anxiety about Cornelia. Her maid came to meet her, crying, "Oh, heavens, how you look!"
They entered the drawing-room, the apartment so short a time ago the scene of peace and joy; whose atmosphere was still pervaded with Henri's glowing breath. There lay the gloves he had forgotten in his haste. Her tears burst forth afresh. It seemed as if she had just come from his funeral, and could not part from these last sad tokens of his life. She mutely motioned Severinus to be seated; she could not speak,--could not express her emotions in words. Severinus understood her thoroughly, and watched her in silence. She sat with bowed bead, speechless and pale; her hands resting on her lap; her loosened tresses falling around her, wet with tears. She still saw the impression made on the soft carpet where he had knelt before her; there lay a velvet ribbon he had torn from her arm; with a deep blush she looked up at the priest, as if he could read her thoughts. Now, for the first time, she noticed his delicate features, the melancholy expression of his large dark eyes, and gazed at him more earnestly. With an involuntary motion he pushed the hair from his brow, and a broad scar became visible.
"You are Severinus!" she exclaimed, starting up and seizing both his hands.
"Did you not know it?" he asked, in astonishment.