"You come too late, gentlemen, to prevent what must cover those under your charge with shame," said Johannes with severity. "I supposed such scenes impossible in our day. You, gentlemen, have taken care that I should be better informed, and have prepared a rich page in the history of our civilization. I am well aware from what source the insults heaped by these misguided people upon Fräulein Hartwich draw their inspiration, and I consider you, gentlemen, responsible for the restoration of order and the safety of this lady." He drew Ernestine's arm more firmly within his own, and walked on without waiting for a reply from the reverend gentlemen, who stood there speechless with alarm and embarrassment, looking after him with a degree of respect that they could not control.
In silence the pair reached the castle and entered the garden. Ernestine passively allowed herself to be led through the shady walks. Involuntarily Johannes turned towards the little eminence where he had seen her for the first time. He had resolved not to leave Ernestine here, but to place her that very evening beneath his mother's protection. How should he persuade her to such a step? This was the question that he propounded to himself, breathlessly searching for the answer.
Ernestine was for the time incapable of speech. She could not raise her eyes to her protector. Mortification, profound mortification, overpowered her. How thoroughly she had recognized his position as a man, and her own as a woman! She admired him,--she was ashamed of herself. What a feeling it was!--yes, it was the same self-humiliation that she had felt once before, beneath the oak tree where, when flying as to-day from insults and sneers, she had met the handsome lad who had given her the prophetic book. But when would the prophecy in the fairy-tale be fulfilled? When should she cease to be laughed at, despised, and insulted? When should the lonely, persecuted, weary swan unfold its plumage upon calm waters in sunshine and peace? And in an access of pain she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. She sank down upon the mound and sobbed like a child. Johannes stood silent before her. His mind was filled with the same thoughts, the same memories, and, like an answer to her mute soliloquy, there came from his lips, in tones of melting tenderness, the words, "Poor swan!" Ernestine's hands dropped from her face, she stared at him with wide-open eyes,--then sprang up, and, while her pale cheeks flushed, and her whole frame trembled, gazed at him still, as if she would look him through, her agitation increasing every moment. "There--there is only one person on earth who knows that," she faltered.
"What?" asked Johannes with a beating heart.
"What I was thinking of--about the swan!" she articulated with difficulty, for her voice failed her.
Johannes, who stood somewhat below Ernestine, looked up at her expectantly. "And who is that person?" he asked gently.
Ernestine could not reply,--a strange thrill passed through her, and she awaited the issue of the miracle of the moment.
"Ernestine, do you remember the lad who once rescued a wild, timid girl from mortal peril?"
She bowed her head in assent. "Ernestine, did you ever then for one moment in your childish heart think of him with love?"
She raised her eyes to the twilight skies, and was silent for a moment; then she breathed a scarcely audible "Yes."