Kitabı oku: «A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen», sayfa 11

"Elfrida Klausenburg maintains the contrary; the dear girl is charmed with your constant cheerfulness; she raves of the 'perpetual sunshine of your soul.' Oh, dear Otto, when that grenadier in petticoats grows sentimental – " She laughed, and her eyes seconded her laughter. "Oh, oh, is that the 'perpetual sunshine?'" she added, when Otto frowned darkly; "what would Elfrida say – "

"For heaven's sake spare me!" Otto exclaimed, crossly. "What does the Countess Klausenburg know of me? – what do we care for her?"

Again the elfish eyes glimmered strangely, but before Magelone could reply the drawing-room door opened.

"The Countesses Klausenburg and Herr von Rothkirch!" the servant announced.

Aunt Thekla started up from her nap, and the guests made their appearance, – Elfrida first, in a short white gown with blue ribbons, her hair floating over her shoulders, her face red with the heat, and her eyes beaming. Whilst Amelie and Herr von Rothkirch paid their respects to the ladies of the house, she hurried up to Otto.

"'Blest be the day that gave thee bi-i-rth,'" she chanted, attempting to toss a wreath upon his head; a misfortune which he averted by catching it in his hands. "Oh, you are a naughty man to run away from our congratulations," she went on in the midst of his confused thanks; "you wanted to pass your birthday incognito, but we are not to be cheated of our fête. Dear Fräulein Dönninghausen, dearest Magelone, we are here on behalf of our parents, to carry you off by force if needs must. 'And art thou not willing – '"

"Elfrida!" Amelie interrupted her, reprovingly, and, turning to Aunt Thekla, she continued: "Papa and mamma have arranged a little picnic in honour of the day, to which they send you a cordial invitation. The Remmingens and the Grünroda people are coming, with, of course, the usual amount of pastors, doctors, and bailiffs. Papa and mamma drove on before with Helena, and we are come in the char-à-banc to take our dear guests with us."

"The rendezvous is at the three oaks," put in Herr von Rothkirch, as he clapped his heels together and made a low bow.

"At the three oaks? Oh, now I understand your little game!" Magelone said in a low voice to Otto.

"You are mistaken," he whispered; "all this is a surprise to me – " but Elfrida did not permit him to proceed. "No whispering, no plotting," she cried. "Get your hats and gloves, and come immediately."

"But my dress," said Magelone, looking down at her blue muslin gown.

"Ah, madame, you look charming, as you always do," Herr von Rothkirch assured her. "This blue drapery seems woven by fairy hands to deck the fairy queen."

Magelone smiled graciously; coarse as the compliment was, it was better than none at all.

"Aunt Thekla, what do you say? Shall we go?" she asked, and her tone betrayed her wish to hear a 'yes' in reply.

"My child, I do not know," the old lady answered. "To celebrate a birthday outside of one's family circle, – I don't know what my brother would think – "

"The Freiherr must come too," Elfrida interposed. "Hurry, Magelone; we will go bring him. I will tell him that we Klausenburgs as good as belong to the family – "

"Elfrida!" Amelie admonished her sister in a whisper, and tried to detain her by her gown; but with a twitch she extricated herself, – rather sacrifice a flounce than a whim, – drew Magelone away with her, and sang as she hurried to the Freiherr's room, in her thin shrill soprano, 'Give me your hand, my darling.' Herr von Rothkirch expressed his belief that the Freiherr could not possibly resist twin stars of such beauty and wit.

But he did. He consented 'gruffly,' as Elfrida expressed it, that his family should take part in the festival, and even insisted that Johanna should join the rest. He himself, he said, was an old man, and not fit for such merry-makings. He made no allusion to the Klausenburgs' having arranged the party in his grandson's honour, and intimidated the overconfident young lady who had gone to him to such a degree – how, she could not herself tell – that she declared to Magelone that no power on earth should induce her ever again to cross the threshold of her grandfather's study. "How strange it is," she added, "that the most amiable of men should be the grandson of that ogre!"

'The most amiable of men' soon succeeded in dispersing Elfrida's annoyance. Her customary high spirits returned during the drive, and when they reached the forest her loud laugh echoed in shrill discord with the peaceful woodland sounds.

It was still noisier beneath the three oaks; there was the rattle of cups and plates, and the talking and laughter of the various groups seated at their ease in the shade. On one side the deep bass of the Forstmeister von Grünroda resounded, and on the other the cackling laugh of Colonel von Remmingen arose amid the droning monotone of Countess Klausenburg, and the commanding tones of the stout wife of the bailiff, to whom the arrangement of the feast was intrusted, and who was assisted by her nephew and niece, and by the Remmingen nursery, as Elfrida called the colonel's three fair rosy daughters, aged respectively sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, while loud shouts from another group greeted the anecdotes of the jovial doctor of the village.

Then came the welcome of the new arrivals, with question and reply as to the Freiherr's absence. Suddenly, at a sign from Count Klausenburg, a horn sounded from the neighbouring shrubbery, and the younger portion of the assembly hastily grouped themselves together, and sang a birthday carol to the air of 'Ye shining stars above us,' with an obligato on the horn.

Under the disguise of intentional exaggeration the song paid to the hero of the hour every compliment which he could possibly accept, and which Otto certainly seemed to accept as he listened with sparkling eyes and a self-satisfied smile. When the last tones had died away, and singers and audience thronged around him to shake hands with him and wish him joy, he expressed his pleasure in the charming surprise, and declared that he never could forget this most delightful birthday fête.

"Is he speaking truth, or playing a part?" Johanna asked herself. She had listened with downcast eyes in painful confusion while she heard Otto's chanted praise for having in early youth supplemented the glory of the soldier with the pursuit of serious labour, for which field and grove offered him their best gifts, and the grateful soil promised to bind him in imperishable fetters of fairest flowers.

"A charming poem, is it not? What a delightful talent is that of the poet!" Herr von Rothkirch repeated again and again, as he passed from group to group.

"Indescribably stupid and out of taste, – actually insufferable!" Magelone whispered to Aunt Thekla.

The old lady drew her aside in terror. "Pray, pray, child, take care!" she said. "Countess Klausenburg has just confided to me that Elfrida composed the poem!"

"Of course; who but she?" Magelone pouted. "She personates the 'grateful soil'; the fair Elfrida is shamelessly throwing herself at his head. Just look! Just look!"

Otto was just then bowing before her; she held out both hands to him, and she looked around triumphantly as he kissed them.

"He cannot but thank her," Aunt Thekla said, by way of excuse. Magelone clinched her little fists in angry disgust. Herr Rothkirch approached her with his unlucky question, "Charming poem, is it not?"

Aunt Thekla looked anxiously at Magelone, who, however, had collected herself, and with a laugh, in which Herr Rothkirch did not notice the mockery, she took his arm and followed him to where the younger portion of the assembly were engaged in earnest consultation. Otto and Elfrida came towards them from the other side.

"At last!" Otto whispered to Magelone.

She shrugged her shoulders, scarce perceptibly. "Take care that Elfrida does not hear you," she whispered in return; and then she turned to Herr von Rothkirch with her gayest air. "Yes, with pleasure. Puss-in-the-corner is delightful," she replied to his question, and in an instant she had flitted to the nearest tree and clasped its trunk with a burst of silvery laughter.

Elfrida seized Otto's hand. "Here, here! there are two trees left," she cried, and dragged him away with her. He was her property to-day, – the captive of her bow and spear.

Somewhat apart in the deep shade, unnoticed and unmissed, Johanna sat gazing about her with veiled eyes, and feeling separated as by invisible barriers from all this merry-making.

"Am I, then, so much older than my years?" she asked herself, "or is it really so long since I enjoyed my youth and the summer-time in Lindenbad? Or does my father's grave still lie between me and life?"

She looked towards the players. Otto, who had lost his tree, was looking about for another, amid the mocking shouts and laughter of those who flitted past him exchanging places. Suddenly Elfrida came leaping along, more like a Valkyria than ever. He tried to catch her; she sprang aside, tripped and fell, and was clasped the next moment in Otto's arms. Only for an instant; in the next she extricated herself, and laughed in her careless fashion, unmindful of the looks and shrugs of the lookers-on, whilst Otto contemplated her with a triumphant smile.

"Is it possible that all this clumsy homage can gratify him?" thought Johanna, "or has he, perhaps, found the all-delivering love which he sought awhile ago from me? Elfrida's light clasp of his hand before she left him certainly looked like an understanding between them."

Involuntarily she arose, to flee from a sight that so pained her. Otto, who was hastening to the tree that Elfrida had left, saw her, and was at her side in an instant. "Where are you going, Johanna?" he asked. "Come, join our game – "

"I cannot," she whispered, withdrew the hand he would have taken, and hurried away, for Elfrida came rushing up to take possession of Otto's tree, and her peals of laughter rang in Johanna's ears as she slowly sauntered along the woodland path.

For a moment Otto looked after her, and was conscious of a sensation of annoyance; he ought to have paid her some attention before; she had a right to expect it of him. But ought she not, just because she had laid him under obligations, to be doubly careful to avoid everything that could remind him of these obligations? Ought she not, if she really liked him, to take pleasure in his cheerfulness? Instead of which she adopted a tragic, sentimental air. He did not feel at all disposed to sympathize with it at present.

With a shrug he put a stop to such reflections, and was soon, apparently, entirely appropriated by Elfrida; in fact, however, not a gesture, not a look, not a laugh, of Magelone's escaped him. Her graceful coquetry asserted its charm more than ever to-day with old and young, men and women alike; Otto alone seemed excluded from her magic circle. He was possessed by an ardent desire to force her to pay heed to him, and, finding himself alone for an instant, he hurriedly tore a leaf from his note-book, scribbled a couple of lines upon it, folded the paper tightly, and awaited an opportunity to thrust it into Magelone's hand. The childish games that were the order of the day would surely give him the occasion he sought.

He waited, however, in vain. As often as he met her, Magelone evaded him like a breeze or a wave. The game was almost over; the voices no longer sounded so merry, the movements were no longer so elastic. The summons by the horn to supper beneath the three oaks was obeyed willingly and without delay.

Magelone, who seemed the most fatigued, had taken Herr von Rothkirch's arm, and was walking slowly along behind the rest. Suddenly she remembered that she had left her parasol where they had been playing. Rothkirch went back to look for it; she stood still awaiting him.

In an instant Otto was beside her.

"Read it, pray," he entreated, thrusting his note into her hand.

She looked round startled, frowned when she recognized him, dropped his note on the ground, saying, "Don't be ridiculous!" and hastened after the others, while Otto, mortified and angry, picked up the despised note and followed her.

Beneath the oaks he found an unusual stir. The Freiherr von Dönninghausen had appeared unexpectedly, and was making his way, amid all kinds of friendly greetings, and accompanied by his inseparable escort, Leo, to where the tables were spread. As Otto appeared, his grandfather, looking around the circle, asked after Johanna.

No one could answer him; she had not been seen for an hour. Aunt Thekla had supposed that Johanna was with the younger people; Magelone thought she had stayed with the older ones; the rest seemed to be reminded of her for the first time.

The Freiherr knitted his brows; this was not the degree of consideration his grand-daughter had a right to expect.

"It is a pity that she is not here," he said, his head erect, and with a look that was almost a menace around the circle. "I bring her a letter – "

"From Dr. Werner?" Aunt Thekla asked, interrupting him. "Have you had one from Johann Leopold?"

"Yes; he sends you his love," the Freiherr replied. "I will tell you about it by and by; at present I wish particularly for Johanna."

"I will call her," said Elfrida; and to the horror of her mother and sister she yelled, "Johanna!" at the top of her voice several times.

At the first call Leo pricked his ears, and the second had not died away before he began to bark, and plunged into the thicket, whence he soon appeared, carrying his head proudly and wagging his tail, followed by Johanna.

"Aha, there she is!" said the Freiherr. "Thank you, Countess; pray don't trouble yourself any further."

As Johanna emerged from the thicket and saw her grandfather and the eyes of all present surveying her with curious, annoyed, and searching glances, she hesitated for a moment and blushed. Quickly recovering herself, however, she advanced, and begged pardon for having yielded to an old propensity and strayed so far into the forest that it had taken her a long time to find her way back.

As she spoke, the Freiherr looked at her with angry surprise. Although her brow was smooth and her eyes bright, he fancied that she had been weeping, – she whom he had always found so brave. How they must have neglected and insulted her! But he would show them that disrespect of her was disrespect of himself; he would not stay here a moment longer.

"Here, Johanna, take your letter," he said, kindly. "Feed your eyes with the sight of the sugar-plum for a while, and then call Magelone; we must go home. You are ready, my dear Thekla?"

She was always ready to do his bidding, and instantly began to take leave, for she knew but too well from her brother's erect bearing and forced smile that the entreaties and remonstrances with which he was besieged on all sides would be of no avail. With a cold "Sorry to say no, Countess! No, thank you, my dear colonel," he refused all invitations to supper, and to put an end to the tiresome entreaties, slowly set out for home. Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister walked part of the way with him. Aunt Thekla, detained by loud regrets, waited for her niece. Everything seemed so usual and commonplace, – no one dreamed what the consequences of the next few moments would be.

Magelone was standing, bathed in the golden light of evening, in the midst of the forest meadow, talking with some of her friends, when Otto, who was contemplating her with ardent eyes, heard his grandfather's words. All the spirit of bravado of his race stirred within him, – she must not and should not escape him without having heard or read his request; and, hoping in some way to force her to listen, he joined Johanna.

Magelone saw the pair approaching; she guessed what were Otto's intentions, and a wayward smile played about her delicate lips. Just then Leo pushed between Johanna and Otto; a wild idea occurred to the young man.

"Laugh on; you shall heed me!" he said to himself; and restraining the dog with his left hand, he took his note in his right, and held it up for an instant. A flash in Magelone's eyes betrayed that she had seen it, and she then saw him slip the folded paper under the leather lining of Leo's brass collar. Now she would be forced to take it, and once in her possession, Otto was quite certain she would read it. Sure of his victory, he joined Amelie Klausenburg, who just then approached him.

But Magelone, too, was a Dönninghausen, – she was not to be compelled. Paying no heed to Leo, she listened to Johanna's report of her grandfather's message.

"I should like to stay," she replied, to the entreaties of her companion, "but grandpapa must not be kept waiting." And bidding a hasty farewell, she accompanied Johanna, passing Otto with a little mocking nod. Immediately afterwards Aunt Thekla joined them, and they all three followed the Freiherr by a side-path, Leo running at some distance in front of them.

"She will take the note when I am not in sight," thought Otto, as he looked after her.

But, as he ran, a twig caught in Leo's collar. He twitched his head away: something white fell on the ground; the dog picked it up in his mouth and trotted on, wagging his tail in high glee at the opportunity for exhibiting his talent as a messenger.

Magelone paused, fairly paralyzed by terror, and even Otto's heart beat fast.

Leo went up to the Freiherr, who, engaged in conversation with his companions, did not at first notice the animal. But the dog thrust his nose into his master's hand. How clearly it all stood out against the evening sky! And finally the Freiherr took the paper, probably supposing it some message sent him by Leo, opened it, and put it in his pocket. Then he walked on, Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister on either side of him. What would Magelone not have given for a glimpse of his face!

She could not follow him in this uncertainty. A sign brought Otto to her side, and stepping into the thicket, so as not to be seen if the Freiherr turned round, she asked, "What did you write to me?"

"Do not be worried," he made answer, but his tone betrayed that he was far from easy in his own mind; "the note was not addressed; there is no name in it. I wanted to speak to you. I asked for an interview – "

"Of me!" she interrupted him; "of me, Johann Leopold's betrothed!" She clasped her hands. "Think again," she continued, after a pause; "did you really not mention my name? You must have addressed me by some title. Tell me the truth."

"Some title, yes, – just at the end," he said, hesitating.

"What – what was it?" she cried, quivering with impatience.

"My only love!" he whispered, and tried to take her hand. She thrust him from her.

"You called me that?" she exclaimed; "me – Johann Leopold's betrothed? How can I dare to look grandpapa in the face!" Suddenly her eyes flashed like lightning. She stepped up close to Otto, laid both hands on his arm, and said, almost inaudibly, "There is only one way out of this. You wrote that note to Johanna. If grandpapa asks, it was for Johanna. You must say so, – you must!" And without waiting for his reply she hurried after the others.

CHAPTER XVI
A BETROTHAL

The evening passed without any mention by the Freiherr of Otto's note; Johann Leopold's letter was the absorbing topic. Magelone breathed more freely; perhaps, after all, her grandfather had not recognized Otto's handwriting. The note was forgotten, and all danger was over.

She was mistaken. The Freiherr had seen at a glance that the scrawl was from Otto, and as soon as he found himself alone in his room after supper he took the note from his pocket to read it again, and decide what course to take in the matter.

It was not addressed, but the Freiherr was as sure that it was destined for Johanna as he was that it was written by Otto. It ran thus:

"You torture me, and misunderstand me. I can bear it no longer. Grant me, I conjure you, one-quarter of an hour's explanation, but not with Aunt Thekla's eyes looking on; they strike me dumb. Will you await me at half past ten in the birchen hut? I will come so soon as I have escorted the Klausenburgs back to K – . Or would you rather it should be to-morrow morning early, between five and six? Tell me, when will you hear what I have to say? My only love, you must hear me."

"'Only love,'" the Freiherr repeated, and his brow clouded. How could Johanna, with her earnest and profound nature, have given this superficial creature the right to address her thus? and why had pride and gratitude not prevented her from bringing a new mésalliance upon Dönninghausen? But what was Dönninghausen to her? She was the child of her mother, and Agnes, proud, pure, unselfish though she was, had outraged family honour, duty, and conscience when beguiled by that scoundrel's whisper of love.

The Freiherr arose and began to pace to and fro. The soft breath of the summer night wafted in through the open window gradually soothed him. He told himself that he must hear what Johanna had to say before he condemned her. It was plain from the note that she was displeased with Otto. Perhaps he persecuted her, in spite of her efforts to prevent it, with an affection which she regarded as unjustifiable and misplaced. At all events, Otto must be brought to reason, and an end put to this fresh nonsense.

Suddenly the Freiherr stood still; his glance was attracted by a letter lying beside the lamp on the table, – the letter that he had received to-day from Johann Leopold, – and the scales seemed to fall from his eyes. "No, there need be no end," he murmured, continuing his walk. "If they love each other it might make all things right!"

Johann Leopold's letter had increased the Freiherr's anxiety with regard to his successor and heir. The strength and improvement which the sick man had hoped for from his travels had not yet resulted from them.

He regretted that the novelty of his daily impressions so exhausted him as to leave little room for enjoyment, adding that he had resigned all hope of ever being able to fill any important position in life, and that he begged his grandfather no longer to cherish any illusions with regard to him. If it really should happen that Johann Leopold resigned the heirship, it must devolve upon Waldemar, since Otto, the next in line of precedence, had proved only too clearly that he was utterly incapable of bearing the responsibility of so large an estate. But would he recognize this fact himself, and join with his grandfather in cutting off the entail? Endless lawsuits, family dissensions, deterioration of the property, might be the result of the change; and, moreover, the Freiherr would thus lay hands upon the right of inheritance, to defend which he had always held to be the sacred duty of the nobility. But here, in Otto's attachment to Johanna, a way presented itself out of all his perplexities. If Otto contracted a mésalliance, by so doing he voluntarily relinquished Dönninghausen, which would devolve of right to Waldemar and Waldemar's children; Johanna would take the position in the family which her grandfather desired for her, and – better than all – if she loved Otto she was the one woman to give him firmness and steadiness of character. The lovely legend of the redeeming power of love, which has beguiled so many a youthful heart, was here a siren song in the ears of an old man, singing his doubts and cares to sleep.

The next morning early the Freiherr sent to Klausenburg for Otto, who made his appearance without delay.

"It is terrible to be persecuted by misfortune as I am," he said to himself, as he went up-stairs. "Every stupidity I commit comes to the old man's ears, and he instantly falls foul of me. And what have I done, after all? I should like to know whether Johann Leopold and Waldemar have not had their escapades too? But everything always goes smoothly and calmly for them, while I am just like that wretched animal – I think it was a goat – which the Phœnicians, or Assyrians, or somebody, loaded with all their sins and drove into the wilderness."

Thus conscious of his martyrdom, he presented himself before his grandfather, who was seated at his study-table awaiting him.

After the first salutations the Freiherr requested him to take a chair beside him. His face was stern, but did not wear the expression of annihilating contempt which Otto had seen upon it more than once.

"This note, which an odd chance has put into my hands, was written by you," the old Herr began, holding out the unlucky scrap of paper. "I should like to know to whom?"

Otto looked down. Could he betray Magelone? Impossible! But it was just as impossible to do as she wished and mention Johanna.

"Pardon me, I cannot tell you," the young man replied.

The Freiherr knitted his brows. "In this matter your discretion is the merest make-believe. The note was written to Johanna, – that is clear. Has she seen it?"

"On my honour, she neither has seen it nor ever would have seen it – "

"Prevarication – forever!" the Freiherr interrupted, impatiently. "Whether she has seen it or not, you wrote it to her, and I ask you what right you have to entreat her for an interview and to call her what you do here?"

The Freiherr handed him the note. Otto, who remembered its contents imperfectly, saw clearly that there was no way to save Magelone except by acting upon his grandfather's unconscious hint; but the falsehood would not come glibly. He looked down mute, while the Freiherr arose and paced to and fro in increasing impatience. Suddenly he paused in front of his grandson. "Is there an understanding between you?" he asked.

"No," Otto replied, in a tone that carried conviction with it.

After a pause his grandfather asked again, "Do you think your affection is reciprocated?"

"I – I do not know," Otto stammered.

"Nonsense! You must know!" the Freiherr roared, now thoroughly indignant. "You're not so over-modest, and when it is a question of your whole future life – or, can it be?" – and his eyes flashed fire from beneath his bushy brows, – "have you dared to trifle with Johanna? In that case, my boy, you will answer it to me. Johanna is my daughter's child, and a Dönninghausen, even although she does not bear the name."

Otto sat as if spell-bound by his grandfather's angry eyes. "I assure you – " he began at last.

"No fine phrases!" the Freiherr interrupted him again, but far more gently. "Prove that you are in earnest. Put an end to misunderstandings, and you shall have my blessing."

Otto started up. He had prepared himself to endure violent reproaches and perhaps temporary banishment from Dönninghausen, but to be obliged to betroth himself – to Johanna! What would his former comrades, what would the Klausenburg sisters, above all, what would Magelone say?

"My dear sir," he stammered, as all this flashed through his brain like lightning, "how is this possible? My affairs – "

"Are certainly not in a condition to make you a very brilliant match," the Freiherr sarcastically completed his sentence. "But Johanna is magnanimous. If she loves you, she will not be calculating. Her maternal inheritance is not large, but it will suffice to make you modestly independent – "

"My dear sir, neither am I calculating," Otto interposed.

The Freiherr laughed contemptuously. "I scarcely need to be told that; but all these are secondary considerations. The point at issue is whether Johanna feels sufficient affection and esteem for you to allow of her intrusting to you her future, and to this question you must ask the answer yourself. You can do it immediately. I have nothing more to say to you."

Otto arose. "The affair is not so easily disposed of as you seem to think," he rejoined, with a forced smile. "I must first make my peace with Johanna – "

"What is the quarrel between you? Yesterday you thought a quarter of an hour enough – " The Freiherr broke off, and added, frowning, "Stay here. I will send for Johanna. I must see myself how matters stand between you. She shall not be sacrificed." He rang the bell, desired the servant to ask Fräulein Johanna to come to him, and then continued to pace the apartment.

Otto went to the window. He was indignant. His cheeks glowed, his pulses throbbed. "Magelone is right," he thought. "My grandfather is infatuated with regard to Johanna. Sacrificed, indeed – to me! And to have to listen and submit, – bind myself for life!" But perhaps it would not come to that. Johanna might refuse him. The actor's daughter refuse a Freiherr von Dönninghausen! He bit his lips to keep from laughing aloud in scorn and anger.

Then he heard the door open, and as involuntarily he looked round, Johanna entered the room. She glanced in some distress from her grandfather to Otto. It was plain that there had been a tempest here.

The Freiherr requested her to sit down, and then walked once or twice to and fro in silence. He suddenly found what had seemed before so simple difficult to put into words. At last his eye fell upon Otto's note on the table, and he gave it to her. "This note," he said, with a frown, "which was destined for you, has fallen into my hands and acquainted me with matters of which I had not the faintest suspicion, – a state of affairs that must be arranged without delay. I hope you will lighten my task for me by perfect frankness. First, read it."

She did so. He saw her astonishment turn to painful embarrassment, and as she dropped the note in her lap he felt sorry for her and wished to help her. "Do not think, my child, that I am angry with you," he said more kindly, taking a seat opposite her. "I only want a frank confession of how matters stand between Otto and yourself, and what you have done to put such nonsense into his head, – meetings at night in the garden when you might talk together all day long. What does it mean? Speak!"

His voice had grown more angry, and his eyes flashed. "Speak! speak!" he repeated, while she struggled for composure, which, however, she attained.

"My dear grandfather," she said, "I assure you that I do not myself understand – "