Castle Hohenwald Part 16

The tempest had spent its fury in the night, and the sun shone warm and bright into Lucie's bedroom when she awaked at a rather late hour the next morning. She was habitually an early riser, but the fatigue of the previous day and evening had prevented her from sleeping until towards morning, and she did not awake until eight o'clock from her dreamless and refres.h.i.+ng slumber. She gazed around her in some bewilderment, and could not at first remember where she was; but in an instant all the past, her parting from her dear Adele, her journey hither, and last night's adventures, flashed upon her mind, and brought with them the consciousness that she was actually in Castle Hohenwald. If her room had looked pretty and comfortable by candle-light on the previous evening, it was positively charming now, with a bunch of fresh spring flowers, which she had not seen the night before, upon a little table between the windows, and the sunlight glorifying the landscape without.

Lucie hastily left her bed, and was proceeding to dress, when there came a low knock at her door. "Who is there?" she asked.

"I,--Celia. I waited until I heard you stirring, to tell you that your trunk has been brought over from Grunhagen, and is here in the next room--our morning room--with your dry dress from the Inspector's. I will come to take you to breakfast in half an hour."

When Lucie opened the door into the next room Celia had vanished, but her trunk stood near, and her travelling-dress, brushed and dry, hung across a chair. She made haste to perform her simple toilet, and then went again into the apartment which Celia had called "our morning room." This room, then, she was to share with her pupil. It was a delightful and luxurious retreat; its windows opening upon an enchanting prospect of the garden, the mighty oaks in the park, and the distant mountains; near one window was a table, upon which lay a half-finished piece of embroidery, while another table, evidently new, and prettily furnished with writing materials, was plainly destined for the new governess. Upon it was a small vase filled with flowers evidently plucked but an hour ago, the dew not yet dry upon the petals of the roses. Flowers! So little, and yet so much! They made a welcome where they stood. Lucie bent over them to inhale their cool fragrance, and when she raised her head looked into Celia's laughing eyes. "How can I thank you for placing these here, Fraulein von Hohenwald?" she said, with emotion.

"By never again calling me Fraulein, but Celia. Every one who cares for me calls me Celia, and I want you to care for me very much."

Such a request, accompanied as it was by a kiss and a caress, could not be refused. The girl's frank tenderness was inexpressibly soothing to Lucie.

"And now come with me to the garden-room," Celia went on, putting Lucie's hand within her arm. "Papa is waiting for us; he drank his morning cup of coffee long ago, but he wants us to take our breakfast in the garden-room all the same."

The Freiherr had indeed been awaiting the appearance of the ladies to breakfast in the garden-room for more than an hour. Seated in his rolling-chair in his favourite spot, he was rejoicing in the beauty of the lovely morning and inhaling the mild air of spring, while, as he sipped his coffee, he received his morning visit from his son.

Arno seated himself beside his father's chair and began, as was his wont in the early hour of talk, to discuss matters connected with the estate, agricultural schemes, etc., which did not, however, appear to have the power to interest him today as deeply as usual. It almost seemed as if he were thinking of other things as he expatiated upon the new ploughs and the building of fresh stables. He now and then paused in his talk, and seemed to lose the thread of his discourse. The case seemed the same with the Freiherr. He could think of nothing but what had already occupied his mind since he arose,--the pleasant talk of the previous evening. For years he had not conversed with a lady. Celia, Frau Kaselitz, and the servant-maids were the only women with whom he ever exchanged a word. His conversation with the governess had therefore the added charm of novelty, and he had greatly enjoyed it.

Celia's appearance to wish her father good-morning interrupted, to the Baron's satisfaction, the agricultural discussion, and gave him an opportunity to ask after Fraulein Muller. Celia announced that she had listened several times at the door of her bedroom, but that she was not yet stirring.

"Evidently accustomed to late hours," Arno observed.

His words sounded like sarcasm, and instantly aroused Celia's combativeness. "Do you suppose," she said, indignantly, "that a delicately-framed woman, not used like you to hunting all night long, can endure without fatigue such a walk through the storm as Fraulein Muller took last evening? It was almost three o'clock when we went to bed, and it is now just seven. Four hours' sleep is not much after such fatigue, although you may think it sufficient for yourself. Besides, you are used to such early rising that you should not judge for others."

"Don't quarrel, children," the old Freiherr interposed; "although you are quite right, child, to take up the cudgels for your governess; she certainly has well earned a few hours of sleep. Even you, Arno, expressed your wonder last evening at her quiet endurance of so much fatigue."

"Yes, papa; is it not odious of Arno to be so unjust to Fraulein Muller, when she is so charming, so divinely beautiful, and so amiable?"

"The child is all fire and flame!" Arno remarked. "Well, well, it is nothing to me; believe that your governess is an angel of light and a miracle of amiability if you choose, only do not require me to agree with you. Your enthusiasm lightens the duty with which my friend Styrum has charged me. I found a letter from him among my papers last night announcing his betrothal to his cousin, Adele von Guntram, and telling me that Fraulein Muller is his betrothed's most intimate friend. Here is his letter; read aloud to my father what he says of Fraulein Muller, Celia, if you like."

This Celia did most willingly. As she returned it to Arno she said reproachfully to her brother, "You do not deserve the confidence, Arno, that Count Styrum reposes in your friends.h.i.+p. I cannot conceive how you can judge Fraulein Muller so harshly and unjustly after such a recommendation from your dearest friend."

"Bah! his recommendation is utterly worthless; he sees with the fair Adele's eyes, and would recommend the devil's grandmother to us if his betrothed desired it. What I did promise him was that the lady shall be annoyed by no inquiries or allusions to her past. In this respect Karl's word is all-sufficient, for not even the entreaties of his betrothed could induce him to vouch for Fraulein Muller's purity of character if the slightest blame attached to her. I know my promise will be kept by all."

"Most certainly it shall," the old Freiherr rejoined. "Styrum's word is quite enough for me; he is a man of honour, as was his father, once my intimate friend. I respect the young fellow, although I do not know him personally. You remember, Arno, how well he conducted himself upon a former occasion, with what tact and delicacy----"

"Let the past be forgotten, father!" Arno interrupted him; and, turning to his sister, he added, "I hope you will be discreet, Celia, and not ask any idle questions of Fraulein Muller."

"I am not curious, and I certainly will be careful," Celia replied, as she left the room.

The Freiherr called after her, "Beg Fraulein Muller, if she is up, to take her breakfast here in the garden-room. I am expecting her."

It was not long before his darling reappeared with the governess, whose cheerful good-morning the old man returned after his most genial fas.h.i.+on. Then, ringing the bell, he desired Franz to have Fraulein Muller's breakfast served immediately, and to roll his chair nearer to the table that he might take part in the conversation.

This he found exceedingly entertaining. Whatever was the subject under discussion Fraulein Muller bore her part charmingly. The Baron found her possessed of a far higher degree of culture than he had thought possible in a woman, and he was specially pleased to find her at home in his beloved cla.s.sical literature.

When the meal was ended she seated herself, at his request, at the fine grand piano, which had been his last gift to Celia, and, after a lovely prelude, sang a little national melody, in a rich, deep contralto, with such pathos that Celia embraced her enthusiastically with eyes swimming in tears, and the old Freiherr was inexpressibly delighted. It certainly was a fact that Werner had found a treasure; his advice, after all, had been worthy of all grat.i.tude. The old man was in an admirable humour, as was plainly shown when his sons unexpectedly entered the room together. He had intended on the previous evening to greet the elder upon his return from Grunhagen with a thunder-blast; but he was now half inclined to condone his transgression of the family traditions. "Why, here we have the Herr Finanzrath," he said, as Werner approached him. "Have you had a comfortable night at Grunhagen with the Posenecks? I am pleased to see that your broken leg is mended again. I certainly should not imagine from your walk that anything had ailed it."

Werner had expected a much harsher reception, therefore he quietly accepted the raillery. "It was not so very bad," he replied, with a smile, "although it certainly pained me so much last evening that I could not have undertaken the long walk to the village."

"Which Fraulein Muller courageously accomplished, in spite of her evident fatigue," Arno interposed.

"I admire Fraulein Muller's courage," the Finanzrath continued, with a courteous bow to Lucie; "but she would hardly have been able to walk so far had her injury been of the foot instead of the temple. I positively could not, and, as Herr von Poseneck was polite enough to invite me to Grunhagen, I saw no reason for declining his kindness; it might have offended him."

"So you preferred to offend your father by accepting it," the old Baron said, angrily, his good humour already disturbed by Werner's words.

"I knew of no reasonable grounds why you should be offended by my doing so. Young Herr von Poseneck, who has only lately come to reside at Grunhagen, has certainly never insulted you, nor had any desire to insult you. He a.s.sured me that he had the highest respect for you, and that only your express refusal to receive visits at Hohenwald had prevented him from paying his respects to you."

"Let him try it! let him try it!" the old Baron said crossly.

"I hope, father, that calm reflection will induce you to change your mind," the Finanzrath quietly rejoined. "I can a.s.sure you that young Kurt von Poseneck in no wise deserves the dislike which you have transferred to him from his late father, and that he really desires to testify his respect for you. I cannot sufficiently extol the cordial hospitality extended to me at Grunhagen, and which can be ascribed only to the fact of my being your son."

"Nonsense!" growled the Freiherr.

"The Amtsrath Friese, as well as Herr Kurt von Poseneck, repeatedly expressed his pleasure in being able to render any little service to a Hohenwald. Both lamented your seclusion, and wished they might convince you of their friendly regard. Both treated me with distinguished hospitality, for which I am greatly obliged to them. Herr von Poseneck, after he had conducted me to Grunhagen, went back with horses and men to the quarry to extricate the carriage and horses and get them under shelter; he sent over Fraulein Muller's trunk at daybreak this morning, and when I expressed a wish to return home, the Amtsrath placed his own carriage at my disposal. Common courtesy requires that I should drive to Grunhagen to-morrow to call, and to tell Herr Kurt von Poseneck that he will gratify me by visiting me in return at Hohenwald."

Celia's eyes sparkled as she heard the Finanzrath thus announce his intentions, but her joy quickly fled as she looked at her father, upon whose forehead the frown had deepened as Werner spoke, and whose rage now burst forth with, "I'll have the dogs set on him if he dares to enter the court-yard! No Poseneck shall show his face in Hohenwald so long as I am master here!"

"Papa, that is very disagreeable of you," Celia ventured to say; "you do yourself great injustice!"

"Is the girl out of her senses?" the Freiherr asked, angrily. "What are the Posenecks to you, that you should defend them against your own father?"

Celia flushed crimson; she could not answer this question.

Fortunately, Werner came to her a.s.sistance, saying, "Celia's words, although they are perhaps to be reprehended, are prompted by her innate sense of justice. She could not help exclaiming against your threat of requiting the courtesy of a visit by setting the dogs on the visitor. I think, upon calmer consideration, you will find her conduct but natural. I am very sorry, sir, that I should so have provoked you, and will try to avoid doing so again. Of course I am not to be deterred by the unfortunate prejudice entertained by you against the Posenecks from fulfilling the duty enjoined upon me by common politeness. I must call at Grunhagen, but I will not invite Herr von Poseneck to Hohenwald. I will convey to him your thanks, and tell him you regret your inability to receive him at Hohenwald, since your health does not admit of your receiving visitors."

"Then you will tell him a lie; my health admits of my receiving any visitors whom I care to see."

"I think my conscience can endure the weight of a lie of that kind,"

the Finanzrath rejoined, with a smile.

"Do as you please, but let me hear no more of the Posenecks!" growled the old Baron. His relations with his eldest son were peculiar; he constantly disputed with him, but in spite of his father's angry vehemence Werner usually gained his end, because he never lost his temper. The old Baron felt now that he had been wrong, and, although he did not frankly admit this, he yielded.

Werner seemed not to notice this; he was too wise to insist upon his father's acknowledging himself in error. To change the conversation he turned to Lucie, who, still seated at the piano, had been an involuntary listener to the dispute between father and son. Approaching her, the Finanzrath took her hand, and saying, with the air of protection which had so annoyed her on the previous evening, "Permit me, dear Fraulein Muller, to bid you cordially welcome to Castle Hohenwald," would have carried it to his lips had she not hastily withdrawn it.

Why she did so she could not herself have told. She had frequently allowed her hand to be kissed by way of greeting; it was a received custom in the society to which she had belonged, and yet she could not endure that this man should avail himself of it; it seemed to her an unbecoming familiarity on his part. She acted upon an impulse, and she did not observe the fleeting smile that pa.s.sed over Arno's face as he noticed the intentional withdrawal of her hand. She replied to the Finanzrath's courtesy by a simple inclination of her head.

Celia, too, had seen that Werner's salutation was not received with favour, and with ready tact came to her new friend's aid. "You must reserve all your fine speeches for another time, Werner," she said, stepping to Lucie's side; "Fraulein Muller belongs entirely to me to-day. I am burning with desire to take my first lessons of her, to show her what a good scholar I can be."

Lucie's grateful glance as she arose and followed Celia from the room showed the young girl that she had done right.

From this time Celia devoted herself to her studies with ardour.

Lucie's hardest task was to induce her to moderate her zeal. The "will-o'-the-wisp" quite forgot its errant nature; for hours the girl would sit at the piano practising wearisome exercises, and at other times she would bury herself in a book,--an entirely new experience for Celia. It needed but a few weeks of intercourse with her new friend to arouse within her a genuine literary taste. The old Baron and Arno were astounded at the change; the former feared that his darling, whom he saw thus tamed, might perhaps become too tame; he shook his head as he reminded Celia that she must not study too hard, lest her health should suffer; she ought to continue to take her daily exercise in the open air.

To such admonitions the girl was not at all deaf. True, she no longer roamed about the garden as she had done: it took too much time; she confined herself to a morning's walk there with Fraulein Muller to visit the green-houses and the shrubberies; but her afternoon ride was never omitted. When the hour for this arrived she could no longer fix her attention upon her book: her thoughts flew forth to the forest.

Fraulein Muller smiled at her enthusiasm for her daily ride, ascribing it in great part to the force of habit, since no weather was too stormy to keep her at home.

Celia always rode alone. Formerly, old John had sometimes accompanied her, but, although he soon recovered from the effects of his fall, his young mistress never now desired his attendance. She could not so easily have declined Lucie's companions.h.i.+p, but Fraulein Muller had never been a horsewoman, and did not care to learn to ride.

Thus, then, Celia rode alone. A happy smile illumined her features and her dark eyes sparkled as she daily caught the first glimpse of the light straw hat among the trees, and found Kurt at the appointed place in the forest waiting to walk along the woodland road by her side. Then the girl would drop the bridle on her horse's neck, and Pluto, who was now on the best of terms with Kurt, knew perfectly well that before he was urged to greater speed than a leisurely walk an hour would elapse.

An hour! How quickly it flew by! how much had both Celia and Kurt to say in that brief s.p.a.ce of time! Celia told of her studies, of the delightful hours she now owed to her friend Anna, whose beauty and loveliness, clearness of head and goodness of heart, she described in such glowing terms that Kurt could not at times suppress a smile, for which Celia would instantly reprove him as implying a doubt of the accuracy of her descriptions.