The Baroness got out of the carriage and came towards the lovers. Elsa dropped Reinhold’s arm and hastened towards her aunt. Her impetuous embrace told all that was necessary. As Reinhold stepped forward, the Baroness held out her hand to him, and said in an agitated voice, “You bring me my dear child—and yourself. I thank you doubly.”
Reinhold kissed the trembling hand. “There is no time to make speeches,” he said, “and your kind heart knows what I feel. God bless you!”
“And you also, my Reinhold,” cried Elsa, throwing her arms round him; “God bless you! Good luck and joy be with you!”
He had helped the ladies into the carriage, one more pressure of the loved hand, and the vehicle started off, preceded by the servant. In spite of the hilly nature of the ground, it was possible to go quickly, as the soil was firm and the road good, even up here on the top, and Reinhold had urged the utmost speed. Only a few minutes had passed, therefore, before the carriage disappeared behind the hill, and half an hour must elapse before it again came in sight on the plain. He had no time to wait for that. He dared not lose another moment. The beacons were already lighted below in Wissow. At that moment a light shone over the sea, it was the signal for a pilot. It would be instantly obeyed, he knew; but at any moment some new arrangements might be necessary which would require his presence. He would take a quarter of an hour to get there at his quickest pace. He sprang in great bounds down the hill, when a horseman rose up right before him out of a dip in the ground which lay in the direction of the hills to the right, and remained standing on the path. He appeared so suddenly that Reinhold nearly ran against the horse.
“You are in a great hurry now, it seems,” said the Count,
“I am in a great hurry,” answered Reinhold, breathless from his quick run, as he tried to pass the horse. The Count turned it round so that he now faced Reinhold.
“Make way!” cried Reinhold.
“I am on my own land,” answered the Count.
“The road is free!”
“And you are for freedom in all things!”
“Once more! Make way!”
“When it suits me.”
Reinhold seized the bridle, and the horse, struck sharply by the spurs on either side, reared up. Reinhold started back.
The next moment he had drawn a long dirk, which, sailor-like, was always at his side.
“I should be sorry for the horse,” he cried, “but if you will have it—”
“I only wished to say good evening to you, Captain; I forgot it before. Good evening.”
The Count took off his hat with a sneering laugh, turned his horse round again, and rode off down into the hollow out of which he had come.
“Such people never learn,” murmured Reinhold, as he put up his knife. It was a speech he had often heard from his uncle Ernst. His uncle Ernst, who must have felt as he now did, in the terrible moment when the sword descended upon him. Her father’s sword. Good God! is it really true that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children? That this strife will last forever, from generation to generation? That we, who are blameless, must take it up against our will and our convictions?
A clap of thunder, still in the distance, but coming nearer, rolled through the heavy air, louder and more threatening than the last, followed again by a tremendous gust of wind, not this time in the upper strata of clouds, but already descending upon the heights and slopes, and wailing and groaning as it died away in the hollows. The next gust might strike the sea, and let loose the storm which would come up with the tide.
Another struggle was impending before which human malice would seem as child’s play, and human hatred an offence, and only one feeling would remain victorious—Love!
Reinhold felt this in the lowest depths of his heart, as he now tried to make up for the moments lost in so painfully trifling a way, and hastened down in spite of all to risk his life if necessary for the lives of other men.
IV
Few words passed between the ladies until they reached home. The aunt appeared to be suffering from extreme exhaustion that was increased by the rough drive over the bad road, which, as Reinhold had foretold, they could hardly distinguish from the heath in the rapidly approaching darkness; and to all this was added the oppressive sultriness of the thick damp atmosphere, in which even Elsa herself found breathing difficult. She also was silent though her heart was full, for she had thankfully perceived that, come what might, her aunt would be on her side. Had she not answered the announcement of Elsa’s engagement to Reinhold, startling as it must have been to her, unhesitatingly, with a warm embrace which was more eloquent than any words? And now she scarcely once let go her hand, or if she did so for a moment it was only to seize it again immediately as if she wished at least to assure her of her sympathy and love, though in her weakness she could do no more for her.
They reached the castle at last. The Baroness sank almost fainting into her maid’s arms, and was immediately conducted by her, with the help of Elsa, to her own apartments. “Thank you a thousand, thousand times,” said Elsa, as she wished her aunt good night.
She was the less inclined to look for Carla in the drawing-room where she would probably be, as she heard that Frau von Wallbach had already gone to her room—to read, as she always gave out herself—to sleep, as Carla
