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HITTLDA
OR
THE DELIVERER
A ROMANCE
AFTER THE GERMAN
F: LEWALD
BY MRS. A. L. WISTER
TRANSLATOR OF "THE OLD MAM'SELLE'S SECRET" "ONLY A GIRL" ETC
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1875




TEntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.




HULDA.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT has become of solitude, now that locomotives and
steamers, careering around the globe, unite its most distant
countries, while the electric spark flashes intelligence north,
south, east, and west, confusing all ideas of time and space,
bewildering the minds of the aged, to whom the world in which
they find themselves is a strange land, unlike the home of their
youth?
But in the earlier decades of this century there was still
deep solitude to be found in many parts of Germany, and especially in the most northern parts of East Prussia: there, where
the billows of the Baltic Sea break upon the shore, it was
lonely, very lonely, in a village upon the coast, and in the
quiet parsonage of that village.
The house, or rather cottage, was small and low, and the
life led within it by the pastor and his family was as confined.
The father and the grandfather of the present occupant had
both dwelt there, and there was nothing in or around the place
in any wise changed. The pastor was as thoroughly attached
to his home as were the counts, his and his forefathers' patrons,
to their old castle, half a'league from the village and the sea,
standing upon the only eminence in all the country round, in
the midst of a wooded plain, whence there was a view both of
the eastern sea and of the Courland Bay, with the isthmus,
called the Courland Flats, that separated the two waters.
The village, too, was small, and the church was small, although large enough for the thinly-peopled neighbourhood;
and ugly though it was, built of the roughest stone from the
fields, it was accounted one of the wonders of the land and
1*'                  5




6                      HULDA.
held in high honour. Had not the holy Adalbert, converter of
heathen Prussia, built and consecrated it? There were, to be
sure, no documents extant in proof of this; but the church
was certainly very old. And what harm was there in the
poor and lonely pastor's belief, whereby he was cheered and
inspired, that it had been granted to him to declare the word
of God in a spot especially sanctified and hallowed?
The country about the village was sparsely inhabited, the
poverty of the soil not inviting cultivation, and the French and
Russian armies had successively ravaged and laid waste the
little fishing-villages along the coast.
You might have driven far without seeing a single hamlet,
-even the post-stations were many miles apart. Only twice
a week did the mail, as it was called,-it consisted of a man
driving a one-horse cart,-traverse the Courland isthmus to
establish communication between the capital and this distant
border; and there never passed either a spring or an autumn
without bringing tidings of another postilion, with his horse
and wagon, drowned in crossing those treacherous quicksands.
Under these circumstances, intercourse with the capital and
with the surrounding country was often rare enough for months
during the winter. Even the post scarcely visited the village
then, but crossed the bay upon runners; and life in the parsonage was so monotonous that it was counted an event if the
sledge of a Courland peasant or of a Polish Jew was seen
passing in the distance from the frosty window-panes of the
cottage. And if an extra post passed through the village,,which was some distance from the parsonage, or travellers
chanced to stop for rest at the little post-station, the old lame
postmaster, a retired captain, was sure to make his appearance a few days afterwards at the parsonage to relate the occurrence and to tell the news. Those were delightful evenings.
The pastor and the captain would light their pipes, and, after
the late event had been well discussed, would pass on to talk
over earlier times. The captain would tell of his campaigns,
-of Paris, whither he had gone with the allied armies and had
been detained by a wound,-and of his relatives on the Rhine;
and the pastor, who was now well on in years, would speak of
his youthful university days, and of his life as tutor in the
castle; while his wife and only daughter always listened to
these stories as if they had not heard them again and again




HULDA.                        7
before., Each evening brought fresh enjoyment to them,
transporting them, as it did, to a world so different from
their own.
CHAPTER     II.
EVERYTHING in the parsonage was old, and had been old
during the memory of man. Each day was like its predecessor. The pastor, his father, and his grandfather, a forester's
son, had all studied in Kdnigsberg,-at the expense of their
patrons, the counts of the castle. After our pastor had finished his university course, he had been attached to the family
as tutor to the eldest son, and thus the present head of the
family in whose gift was his living had been his pupil. He
held it matter for daily gratitude to Heaven, that in his connection with his patron's family and in his life in the capital
consequent upon his position as tutor, he had enjoyed many
advantages of culture from which most of those in his circumstances were excluded.
In those times the tutor to the young scion of a noble
house accompanied him on the grand tour that was considered
necessary before his education could be thought complete;
and our pastor was just about to set out upon his travels
with his noble pupil, when, as he was wont to say, Heaven
ordained it otherwise.  His father was taken ill, and a curate
became necessary for him. The count, that there might be
no diminution of the good man's income, appointed the son
to the curacy; and, although the young man had anticipated
with no little delight his foreign tour, he retired cheerfully to
the solitude of his native village. Faith in the divine ordering of every event of life was his to a remarkable degree, and
was a perpetual well-spring of cheerful content in all the trials
through wlich he passed.
In spite, however, of the incurable disease to which his
father was a victim, he lived many years, and only after his
death did the son feel able to marry, so small was the income
of the little living. He was then thirty-six years old, and his




8                      HULDA.
eyes and heart had been set upon pretty Simonena ever since he
had heard her her catechism before her confirmation, although
she was many years younger than he. She had been born of
very poor parents, on the count's estates in Lithuania, and in
her early orphanage her great beauty had attracted the notice
of some of the ladies of the family, and they had consigned
her to the care of their bailiff, who, with his sister, lived in a
comfortable house connected with the castle.
Pretty Simonena had never dreamed that the Herr Pastor,
her teacher, could so far honour her as to wish to marry her;
and even after she had become his wife she always regarded
him as a being of a superior order, in spite of the fact that his
loving counsels and teaching soon fitted her to be a true companion to him. Two children, born in the early years of their
married life, died; and when all hope was gone of ever again
hearing childish voices at the parsonage, ten years later, Simonena gave birth to a daughter. In the mother's lonely life,
and with the great difference in age between her husband and 
herself, this child was especially a blessing to her; and the
pastor, in his grateful delight, insisted that the little one's
name should be Hulda.
The peaceful existence of the parsonage was now happy
indeed, and the only child of the house grew in beauty like a
flower in perpetual spring. Whatever of joy her parents' tenderness could procure for her in their straitened circumstances
was hers without stint. The days were all alike,-she had her
study-hours with her father, and early learned to be useful to
her mother in household tasks. In summer she helped both
father and mother in the cultivation of their little garden, and
in winter, while her father studied and she sat with her
mother by the great green porcelain stove in which their soup
was cooking for supper, she would read in some of the books
which her father had collected in those early days of his tutorship when such luxuries were not forbidden him.
It was Hulda's office to keep this modest library, now and
then increased by a kind remembrance from some one of the
count's family, free from dust; and to lose herself in these
books, which even her mother opened with great veneration,
was her chief delight,-just to hold one in her hands was
a pleasure; and when the storm outside beat against the window-panes in such thick white flakes that the noonday light




HULDA.                        9
with difficulty struggled through them, and the sea beat in
hollow thunder on the frozen coast, she would often sit silent,
with a volume open upon her knee, not reading, only gazing
upon its pages, and seeing there far other visions than the
printed words. There seemed a magic hidden in those letters.
Could she but find the key, what a glorious world would be
hers!
There was an unconscious worship of culture and beauty
among the inmates of the parsonage that is known in its entire.purity only among the poor and solitary. If, after such times
of musing, the old postmaster chanced to pay one of his visits,
and to dwell, as was his wont, upon the incidents of his past
life, the young girl's fancy became filled with vague, alluring
pictures of a world as distant and strange as the stars at night,
and regarded by her as were the stars, with a longing curiosity
that despaired of gratification.
And when winter was gone, and summer was near at hand,
when the icy fetters were torn asunder by soft spring gales,
when ships floated by on the horizon like giant swans, and
the swallows and wild geese sailed through the blue air,
the storks came again upon the sacristy roof, and the village woke to new life. Then the boats could put to sea again,
and the pastor's wife and daughter would walk down to the
shore, when they came in, to hear what luck the fishermen had
had. Then those who were wealthy enough to own a horse
would drive to the capital through the clear night, to carry
thither fresh and smoked fish, and on their return would bring
many a thing needed at the parsonage; for the parson's modest income allowed of no horse, and there was nothing to
be had in the village which the sterile flats did not produce.
Save the commonest vegetables and some blackberries and
sour cherries, there was little to be procured there.
The four Scotch firs in the parsonage garden, the elder-bush
that shadowed the bench before the door, sunflowers, pansies,
and lavender, were all of greenery and bloom in which the
pastor and his family could rejoice. The two rose-bushes that
Ma'amselle Ulrika, the bailiff's sister, had brought to her
foster-child from the garden of their house, did not bloom
every year, because the pastor's garden was too much exposed
to the wind from the sea, so that Hulda could not enjoy the
triumph every summer of wearing to church a bunch of roseA*




10                     HULDA.
buds in her bosom, and thereby being wafted into a dream of
delight, which was recalled to her in winter by the perfume
of the dried rose-leaves whenever she opened the drawer
where they were laid.
CHAPTER III.
THE spring in which IHulda was confirmed seemed in its
gentle breath to herald a fruitful year, and Easter was to bring
the great event of every spring,-the day upon which the bailiff and his sister, called in all the country round Ma'amselle
Ulrika, or simply Ma'amselle, dined at the parsonage. To be
sure, the bailiff and Ma'amselle sometimes stopped at the pastor's after church on Sundays, for Ma'amselle had brought up
the pastor's wife, and Hulda was her godchild, but then it was
only for a few minutes. The bailiff's sister did not pay many
visits in the village, although she was greatly respected there
and in her brother's house kept a generous table and a ready
welcome for all guests.
The reserve thus maintained by the bailiff and his sister
was called pride in the village, and certainly they did conduct themselves as if they were at the head of affairs.  But
it was all natural enough. The count had been absent for
many years, ambassador at some foreign court, and Ma'amselle
Ulrika was quite right in saying that she did not know why
she should pay visits,-people might come to her when she
wanted them. Besides, it vexed her to be obliged to neglect
her own household, and she never found anything anywhere
else half so comfortable as at home.
She certainly had her eccentricities; and there was always
a great deal of gossip in the village concerning her, because
none of the small misfortunes that are so usual in a household ever seemed to befall her. Whatever she took in hand
succeeded; man and beast prospered beneath her care, in illness she was better than a doctor, and she knew more about
the weather than any one else in the world. The bailiff, her
brother, said it was because she knew how to keep her eyes
open, but the villagers maintained that she slept with her eyes




HULDA.                       11
open too, and saw some sights that she never spoke of, and that
it was best never to speak of. Every one who stood in need of
advice consulted her, but nevertheless she was not beloved,
and she knew it, and did not care.
For all these reasons the little household at the parsonage
was made to bring forth its best on Easter Sunday.  The
Easter feast was the result of much economy, and the pastor's
wife used to reckon time in the year to and from Easter Sunday. This year it came very late, and the weather was beautiful. The whole week had been spent in sweeping and
freshening the house; and Hulda's white gown, which was to
be put on for the first time this season on the great day, because Aunt Ulrika liked white dresses, was fluttering, perceptibly lengthened, and well washed, on the clothes-line in the
fresh spring breeze. It was towards evening on Friday, the
pastor was busy with his sermon, his wife was cutting paper
decorations for the two candlesticks that always stood upon
her table before the mirror, the candles in which were never
lighted, and Hulda, seated at her work-table, was plaiting the
muslin border of her mother's Sunday cap, when, looking up
from her work, she saw a vehicle swiftly approaching the village. The girl's quick sight recognized it in an instant. "' The
bailiffs wagon!" she cried, putting down her work. Her
mother could hardly believe her, but, as it approached, she also
recognized the bailiff's little Lithuanian pony, and Ma'amselle
Ulrika sitting in the wagon.
" Something must have happened," she exclaimed, "to bring
Ma'amselle away from home just before the holidays. What
can it mean?"
They did not have much time to wonder. The carriage noise
lessly approached the house through the soft sand, and the
pastor, roused by the artistic crack of Christian's whip, came
from his study, and went to the door with his wife and daugh
ter to see what was the matter. A glance at Ma'amselle Ulrika confirmed the pastor's wife in her suspicion that some
misfortune must have occurred. Ma'amselle-she was small
and spare, and, in spite of her years, as active as the youngest
-was out of the wagon before a hand could be extended to
help her, and the pastor's wife saw with amazement that she
was dressed in her morning gown of striped linen, and had
not even taken time to put on the high cap without which




12                     HULDA.
she never left the house, since "people must always pay a
decent respect to the bailiff's sister."
"Don't be frightened, Herr Pastor!" she cried, as soon as
she saw him; "and, Simonena, don't wonder at my driving
over just as I was. You'll be as much shocked as my brother
and I-"
" I trust no misfortune has befallen the bailiff," the pastor
interrupted her, his gentle dignity of manner always compelling Ma'amselle Ulrika to a certain corresponding repose.
"No, thank Godl no, Herr Pastor; my brother is quite
well. But you must be told,-and it will be a double shock to
you, because he was your pupil, and ten years younger than
yourself."
"The count is not dead?" asked the pastor, turning pale.
"Indeed, indeed he is, my dearest Herr Pastor! You have
guessed it!  The count is dead. Yesterday morning the
express arrived in K6nigsberg for the countess's brother, the
Baron Emanuel, and to-day he sent a courier here to us. He
wrote us all about it,-all about it. The count was only ill in
bed a few days; they could hardly tell how it happened. And
they have embalmed him, for of course he must be buried
here in the family vault. The leaden coffin is already on the
road, and the family are coming, too. The Herr Baron went
to meet them yesterday. They are every one coming,-the
countess, and the young Countess Clarissa, and the Herr Baron
Emanuel, who is, you know, the countess's youngest brother.
He hasn't been here since he was a little boy. And all the
servants are coming, too,-even the cook, and the old English
miss who has always been with the family, and always will be
with them until she dies. Only, the young countess's lover is
coming a little later, and the young count cannot get leave of
absence even to come to his father's funeral."
She might have talked on much longer, for her hearers stood
speechless with sorrow at the sudden news. Not until Ma'amselle Ulrika stopped for breath did the pastor's wife exclaim,
with a sigh, "The poor Grafin! Poor Countess Clarissa!"
" Yes, indeed!" Ma'amselle Ulrika went on, " it is too terrible! but then they can sit still in their carriages and cry as
much as they like. While I?-Everything must be arranged
and ready in the castle and the vault. In four weeks, at the
latest, they will be here. No use to say a word about Easter,




HULDA.                      13
or day after to-morrow. I cannot leave home. To-morrow I
shall have the house full of work-people."
She spoke so quickly that her thin cheeks burned and her
eyes sparkled. They begged her to come into the house and
sit down, but she would not even listen to the request; without heeding her friends' surprise or the pastor's sorrow, she
went on immediately to tell how many people she had already
engaged to work in the castle and grounds, how the underbailiff had been sent everywhere to buy all the poultry he
could find, and how much provision there was stored in the
bailiff's house, in spite of the unfavourable time of year. All
this she recounted to her former foster-child, and had mounted
into the carriage and driven off before any one had time to
reply to her.
The pastor turned and went silently into the house. When
his wife and daughter followed him, they found him in his
study, standing at the window, gazing out upon the sea, whose
waves were tipped with the gold of the setting sun. He put
his arm around his wife's waist, and held out his other hand
to his daughter. His face was calm, but sad. "I laid his
father down in his last rest," he said, as if to himself, "and
my father, his two eldest sons, and my two, and now he has
gone!"   He passed his hand across his eyes, and, slowly
shaking his head, went on,-" Our life passes like a vapour and
a dream! So it stands written, and we know it, and yet it is
always a shock and a mystery, this death. It is always a
grief, like the vanishing of that sun in the sea, sure though we
are of a brilliant sunrise and a joyful resurrection."
He sank into a long reverie, from which he roused himself
with a sigh. "I should have liked to see him here once
more. I had left you to him, to his care. But it was not
to be. God's will be done!" And then he went quietly back
to his study-table.
His wife leaned her forehead against the window-pane, and
looked out into the gathering twilight; the tears rushed to
Hulda's eyes,-she had never before seen her father so moved,
never before had distinctly felt that he was an old man,
and that the time must come when there would be an end
to her home, when she and her mother would have to wander
forth poor and alone to seek some other abiding-place. She
threw her arms around her mother, who must have guessed
2




14                     HULDA.
and shared her thoughts, for she kissed her daughter and
clasped her tightly to her breast. But she said nothing, as
if fearing that the spoken word might have power to bring
down upon their heads the grief still veiled for them in a near
or distant future.
CHAPTER IV.
NOTHING was talked of in the parsonage from this time but
the family at the castle, the counts, and the barons, brothers
of the countess, whose ancestors, like those of the count, had*
come to Prussia centuries before, as German knights, and were
of the most ancient nobility.
The pastor often spoke of the beautiful house and charming
grounds which belonged to the count in the city; of the
splendid carriage in which the deceased count's father used
to drive, with two heydukes behind, and two outriders; how
he had been a learned man, well versed in Latinity, and had
been above all things anxious that his son should be thoroughly educated; and how the late count had answered all his
hopes, and had, moreover, been so gentle and courteous in
manner that the future diplomat was very evident in him even
when he was quite young. His countess, too, of the ancient
and richly-dowered house of the lords of Falkenhorst, had
been just the wife that such a man should have.
And then they talked of the Falkenhorst family, upon
whose estates the pastor's wife had been born. The race had
been splendid and numerous, but now of the countess's five
brothers only two were alive,-the childless heir, and the
youngest, Baron Emanuel, who spent most of the time in
Italy or the South of Germany on account of his health, and
in whom were centred all the hopes for the future of the noble
line. They lived and moved at the parsonage only in thoughts
of the family at the castle, and of course nothing else occupied the bailiff and his sister, whose hands were full indeed,
with the preparations all conducted beneath Ma'amselle U1rika's eye. She never even appeared at church, and it was




HULDA.                       15
three weeks after Easter, when one day the pastor's wife
determined to go with her daughter to her foster-parents', to
see how the preparations at the castle had fared. A visit to
the bailiff's house was an extraordinary event, and usually
took place only on Sundays. It was full half a league from the
parsonage to the castle, and, truth to tell, Ma'amselle and her
former foster-child were not the best of friends. The bailiff's
sister was not fond of children, and the charge of little Simonena had been a task undertaken only at the bidding of the
countess. The child's life in her new home had not been a
happy one, and her marriage with the pastor had not made her
more dear to Ma'amselle Ulrika.  It was whispered among
the villagers that Ma'amselle had had views of her own with
regard to the young pastor, and she made no secret of her
surprise that he should burden himself with a wife so young
and poor, when he might have done so much better. What
that better was she did not say, but people availed themselves
of their usual privilege of drawing their own conclusions.
To-day, however, Ma'amselle Ulrika was evidently glad to
see her visitors. She had worked so hard and accomplished
so much in such a limited time that it was a real satisfaction
to show the result of her labours to the pastor's wife, who could
understand and appreciate it all, while the countess, after the
manner of such great ladies, would only find it extremely natural and fitting that everything should be in perfect order and
ready for her at any time that she might choose to appoint,
without giving a thought to the labour and pains it had
cost.
Hulda had never seen the inside of the castle but once,
when she was a very little child, for in all the years since her
birth it had never been opened, except to be aired and swept,
which naturally never happened upon Sunday. In her memory of it there was nothing save a vision of suites of long,
dark apartments, feebly illuminated by the daylight that entered through one or two half-closed windows. Now, indeed,
everything looked very different.
The windows were all open, and the bright sunshine and the
warm summer air penetrated everywhere. Hulda had never
seen any dwelling grander than the parsonages of one or two
of her father's brothers in office, or the houses of the wealthiest men in her father's parish, where all were poor, and to




16                     HULDA.
her this castle, which was in reality quite imposing in its way,
was like a gorgeous royal palace, and the fleeting remarks
made by Ma'amselle, as she hurried her visitors from room to
room and along the lofty corridors, completed the charm that
the castle had woven around the girl's fancy. Everything
here seemed a wonder to her, and, indeed, there was much
that possessed historical associations. The oval table in the
saloon looking out upon the garden was the very one at which
the queen and her children had breakfasted when, in her flight
from the victorious French, she sought refuge in the remotest
borders of her kingdom. She had rested upon the little sofa
in the adjoining boudoir, and had sat before the dressing-glass
there while her maid knotted up her fair hair. In the spacious apartment above, where the great state bed looked like
a throne with its gorgeous crimson silk hangings, the French
marshal, a man of very low extraction, had slept for three
nights on his way to Russia, and, hard as Ma'amselle had found
it to make all ready for such a man and to provide refreshment for the enemy, his occupation of the castle had been a
piece of good fortune, since it had preserved it from pillage.
There was some story, some event, connected with every
room and every boudoir, and although she had heard it all often
enough before, it seemed fresh and novel to Hulda, told as it
was in the midst of the very scenes where it had been enacted.
She could hardly walk on, and at last in the long hall where
the family portraits hung she stood still; there was too much
to see here.
When Ma'amselle Ulrika carried her mother off to the servants' rooms, that she might show her how well all were accommodated, the girl, unperceived, remained behind in this hall; and
yet in a few moments she wished herself away, for the grave
and stately knights in armour, the gallant counts in flowing wigs,
and the haughty dames in stiff collarets, with little crowns in
their towering structures of hair, and looking down upon her as
if in cold surprise at her presence there, made her shiver. Even
the pictures of the children seemed to regard her with amazement, and when, looking away from them, she saw her own
figure reflected on all sides from the mirrors hanging between
the portraits, such terror took possession of her that she would
have fled from the place if her attention had not been enchained
by the picture of a youth on the wall near the door.




HULDA.                      17
In contrast to all the other family portraits, which were the
size of life, this was only a small head in an oval frame. But
this head was so beautiful, the flowing black hair waved so
naturally on either side of the pale cheeks, and the large, darkblue eyes had such a fathomless depth of expression, while
the mouth was so kindly, that Hulda at first did not notice the
melancholy that sat upon the broad, low brow.
"How beautiful!" she exclaimed, involuntarily, and, as the
sound of her own voice struck upon her ear, she blushed
scarlet and looked round to see if her mother and Ma'amselle
Ulrika had not returned and heard her. She was ashamed at
having spoken aloud, but her longing desire to know who was
the original of this picture entirely conquered all her dread of
the grave dignitaries on the walls and her own reflection on every
side of her. A name was written just above the head in the
picture, but it hung rather high, and the letters were illegible
on the dark background. She went to the right and left, but
in vain, the gloss of the varnish prevented her from deciphering it. Still, she could not leave it unread, the mysterious
eyes haunted her. With the sensations of a guilty child afraid
of detection, she mounted one of the antiquated, high-backed
chairs, and then she read it easily and knew who it was,-Baron
Emanuel, the countess's youngest brother.
The name and the date of the year in which the picture had
been taken, with the age of the original at the time, were written above the head. As she stood thus so near to the handsome head, the eyes had a still more powerful effect upon her,
and she could not tell whether it was delight in the beauty of
the picture or dread lest her mother and Ma'amselle Ulrika
should return and find her there that made her heart beat so
loud and fast.
She jumped down out of the chair, and, that she might not
be found near the picture, walked to an open window at the
farther end of the hall and gazed out where the road led far
inland away from the castle. Her mother asked her what she
was looking at, but Hulda made no reply. How could she
say, "That way he will come"? Fortunately, her silence was
unnoticed, and Ma'amselle Ulrika advanced to close the windows, that the rising mist might not tarnish the gilt frames of
the mirrors and pictures. Hulda and her mother assisted her,
and the beautiful portrait soon vanished in the darkness. But
2;




18                    HULDA.
not for Hulda; she still gazed into the depths of those wondrous eyes, and they shone before her as she walked home by
her mother's side through the dewy twilight, they hovered
through her dreams in the night, and the next day she listened
eagerly in hopes that her father and mother would speak of
the baron. But, although they mentioned every other member of the family, not one word was said of Baron Emanuel.
Three or four times she made up her mind to ask some question
concerning him, and as often did the words die on her lips; for
what should she ask? His age? She had already reckoned
that in the night, and according to her ideas he was no longer
young; he had entered upon his thirtieth year. How he
looked? She knew that too,-just as she thought Tasso and
the Marquis of Posa must have looked,-different from the rest
of mankind, and so handsome. Yes, she had once heard her
father say that he had a noble heart, full of true impulses,
and those large, dark eyes could not deceive.
CHAPTER V.
THE pastor had requested the bailiff to send him word as
soon as the family arrived, and the messenger was daily expected at the parsonage; but day after day passed without
bringing him. Never before had Hulda looked forward to
anything so eagerly; and althougheach day brought its accustomed round of studies and occupations, the hours dragged
slowly for the first time in her life. One evening, as the sun
was again setting, bringing no message from the castle, her
impatience drove her from the house; she was sure tidings
must come before night.
She went into the garden, but no one was to be seen. She
opened the garden-gate and ran around to the road, thinking
that thence she should surely see one of the bailiff's servants
approaching. And it was far more delightful in the open air
than sitting expectant within the house. The evening was
so lovely!  /
The fresh breeze blowing from the sea stirred her dress




HULDA.                       l9
and tossed her curls. Her long shadow hurried on before
her so merrily that she ran after it as after some companion
whose presence prevented loneliness, and in a few moments
she found herself on the borders of the nearest field of rye.
The ears were forming, and the field was sprinkled over with
cornflowers. As if these had been the object of her walk,
she began to pluck the lovely blue blossoms and to weave a
wreath of them. Her father loved these flowers, with their
soft fragrance suggestive of the ripening grain, and at this
season of the year his study was never without a wreath or
bunch of them. She seated herself beneath a blooming hawthorn in the hedge and finished her wreath, and then, putting
it on her head that her hands might be free, she went on
plucking the flowers. With her hands full of them and some
branches of wild roses just pulled from the hedge, she was turning to go home, when she heard a loud neigh, and a rider on
a brown horse rapidly approached the spot where she was
standing.
She knew the horse,-it was the same that she had seen
exercised by a groom upon her late visit to the castle; and she
ran cowards it to ask if there was any news from thence.
But, to her astonishment, as she drew near she did not recognize the rider. It was no servant from the castle, but a
gentleman in a blue cloth riding-coat and horseman's boots,
with black crape around his hat. Hle was tall and spare, his
face, marked by the smallpox, was set in a frame of dark,
waving hair, and in spite of the pelerine that he wore, in
compliance with a fashion borrowed from England, it was
evident that one shoulder was a little higher than the other,he was slightly deformed.
Hulda, startled, stopped short at sight of the stranger,
who, reining in his horse, lifted his hat courteously and asked
whether the village close at hand were not N —. The girl
assented.  "Do you not live there, mademoiselle?" he asked
further.
"Yes, at the parsonage," she replied, and would have
turned away, for intolerable confusion suddenly possessed
her; but the words had scarcely left her lips when the rider
sprang from his horse.  "Then I will walk with you," he
said; " it is to the parsonage that I am going. Shall I find
the pastor at home?"




20                    ITULDA.
Again she replied shyly in the affirmative, and the stranger,
who could not but see that she was wellnigh unable to speak
from embarrassment, seemed desirous to put her at her ease.
"I arrived at the castle at noon," he said, " having hurried
on before the countess; it is so dreary to reach home and find
no one belonging to you to welcome you. If my sister and
my niece arrive to-morrow  "
"Are you, then, the countess's brother?" Hulda involuntarily exclaimed, looking him full in the face in her surprise.
But, ashamed of her sudden question, she became still more
painfully embarrassed, and could not tell what to say or which
way to look.
The baron saw how she was suffering, and, stepping closer
to her side, said, with a kindly glance, " For whom did you
take me?" That glance from those fine eyes, the eyes of
the picture, completed Hulda's confusion; she could not speak;
shame and distress so overcame her that she had much ado
to keep from crying. She walked on by his side, her eyes
riveted on the ground.
He had hung his horse's bridle upon his arm, and although
Hulda could not look up at him she felt that he was watching
her narrowly. Suddenly he spoke again: "I wish I could
divine your thoughts, my child. How gay you were when I
saw you first! With your wreath, and your hands full of roses,
you were like none other than Ceres's lovely daughter. You
came towards me so confidingly that I accepted it as a good
omen, here where I am a stranger; and now that you know
who I am, you turn away from me." He took her hand, and,
bending over her, said, "Do you know anything of me to
make you afraid?"
The clear, melodious tones of his voice increased instead of
soothing her agitation. "' Oh, no, nothing!" she cried, and her
eyes filled with tears. She would have withdrawn her hand
from his clasp, but he held it firmly in his own, which, with
a sense of guilt towards him for which she was unable to
ask forgiveness in words, she suddenly raised to her lips.
The baron would have prevented her. "My dear child,
what are you doing?" he cried. " What is the matter? I am
tempted to believe in magic, and that some malicious sprite
has been at work here. What can have happened to agitate
you thus? Come, tell me all about it."




HULDA.                       21
But every word that he spoke made matters worse, and
losing all power of reflection, she said, hastily, " It is nothing,
nothing, only I had seen your picture at the castle." Scarcely
had she uttered the words when she longed to recall them;
so melancholy was the smile that passed over his grave face
that she felt it as a punishment for her thoughtlessness.
" Ah, that indeed," he said, releasing her hand. "I quite
understand it. It was the same with myself. I was just as
much shocked when I looked into a mirror for the first time
after that horrible illness. I perfectly understand your surprise, my poor child!"
He was silent, and she could say nothing, she did not even
know what she wanted to say, and they quietly walked on
towards the village. Before they reached the parsonage,
however, the baron had entirely recovered himself, and, with
a friendly glance at Hulda, he said, "We have already had
an adventure together, and I do not even know your name,
my child."
She told him what it was.
" A charming name, well suited to its owner, in whose eyes
tears should never stand," he said. "At all events, I trust
I may never cause them to rise there; and if you will only
remember that I am no longer seventeen years old either in
person, mind, or heart, I dare say we may still be excellent
friends. I pray you now, tell me where I shall find some one
in whose charge to leave my horse, and then say to your father
that I am here and hope to have the pleasure of seeing him."
CHAPTER VI.
THE count's body had been consigned to the ancestral vault
with all due solemnities, and the family at the castle were
pursuing the even tenor of their way, the countess declaring that
the quiet and retirement of her home were most beneficial in
their effects upon her.
But she must have had peculiar views as to quiet and
retirement, for as soon as the numerous relatives who had




22                     HULDA.
assembled at the castle to attend the funeral had taken their
departure, others arrived to express their sympathy, and, as
the season was now at its height for watering-places and the
sea-side, there were many family friends desirous of enjoying
sea-air, to whom the countess would have thought it discourteous not to extend an invitation to visit her.
Thus the castle was constantly filled to overflowing, and
Ma'amselle Ulrika complained bitterly of the pains her old
head was put to to contrive that everything should be satisfactory, while the new servants brought by the visitors turned
all upside down, and there was as great a bustle as if the French
had come again. But it was easy to see, in spite of these complaints, that the bustle, the coming and going, the ordering
and arranging, were an immense satisfaction to Ma'amselle.
Most especially did she enjoy the private gossips with the
various lady's-maids, and the praise that was bestowed upon
her clever management. With all that there was to do, she.came much oftener than formerly to the parsonage, where
she delighted to recount to the pastor's wife the wonderful
events that took place and the stories she heard. At these
times it seemed to Hulda that the old parsonage was transported bodily into the midst of the gay world. She was never
tired of listening and admiring. The girl's vivid fancy was
filled with the images of the stately, beautiful countess, and
the fair, slender daughter, still wearing gloomy mourning
robes in spite of the warmth of the season, the servants in
black livery, and the old English governess, her gray curls
slightly tremulous with age, who had educated both the
mother and the daughter, and was still, so said Ma'amselle,
their valued friend and counsellor. Not a day passed without
bringing to her fresh matter for interest and reverie.
Sometimes the handsome Clarissa would ride past the parsonage in the cool of the evening, her veil and black plume fluttering in the wind, in company with a party of noble ladies and
gentlemen, or an officer in brilliant uniform would dash through
the village. Then again, the whole party at the castle would be
brought down in their light droschkes to the sea for a sail, and
the servants would prepare lunch on the shore for their return.
In short, the week would pass before she knew it. Sunday
seemed to come far oftener than ever before, and on Sundays the
countess never omitted coming to church with her guests.




HULDA.                       23
From her earliest childhood Hulda had looked forward
with delight all through the week to Sunday, and in summer
it had always been a double holiday. How her heart swelled
with pleasure as she sat in her place opposite the chancel
beside her mother, the bright sunshine streaming through the
low windows into the church, lighting up the golden dome
above her father's head, which caught from it a reflected glow,
while the soft plash of the sea seemed to keep time with
his words, and the sea-breeze stirred the curtain before the
church-door, and every now and then swept through the building, filling it with fresh, damp odours of the ocean! All was
just as it had always been, but the cheerful content that had
filled Hulda's heart was no longer there. She thought no
longer of her father's words, or whether she should meet this
or that young girl of her acquaintance, as she had been used
to hope when she thought of Sunday. Her thought now was,
Will he be at church? and she did not know whether she desired or feared his presence there.
She had seen him but once-at the count's funeral-since
that first meeting, and, greatly impressed as she might have
been at another time by the imposing ceremonial, it had
scarcely interested her, so entirely had her attention and sympathy been absorbed by the baron. Would he speak to her?
would he recognize her? She longed for one word from him.
She wanted to read in his eyes whether he was angry with
her. She reproached herself repeatedly for her silly exclamation. It lay heavy upon her heart that she, who had never
wittingly harmed a living creature, should have wounded, this
man who was already so far from happy.
But the funeral was over, and her hope was unfulfilled.
The castle family had exchanged a few words with the pastor
after they left the vault, and had then got into their carriages
and driven home, the countess only bowing kindly to the pastor's wife as she passed her. And after this the countess had
sent for the pastor several times to discuss parish matters with
him, the schools and the poor. She had asked him to dinner,
and had inquired for his wife and daughter, promising to come
soon to the parsonage to see them.
The presence of the family at the castle brought new life to
the pastor. The days of his youth spent in daily intercourse
with them recurred so vividly to his mind that he seemed




24                     HULDA.
years younger, and his enjoyment reacted upon his wife. The
quiet home seemed a different place: there was animation in
all its old rooms. The countess's visit was the theme of daily
expectation, and Hulda asked herself in secret the question
she dared not utter aloud, Would the baron accompany his
sister when she did come?
Her father had made special mention of the love of the
countess for this brother, and of the pleasure she took in the
improvement in his health, now so much better than formerly
that he considered himself quite robust. The pastor had had
several long talks with him in his own rooms at the castle, and
together they had gone over the collection of national songs
that the baron was at present occupied in making. There had
been some talk, too, of his coming to the parsonage to hear,
in the original, the Lithuanian melodies that Hulda and her
mother knew so well. But the visit had never yet been paid:
he had not even appeared at church with the other inmates
of the castle.
It was the fourth Sunday after the funeral, and the count's
pew, with its glass windows that screened it from the rest of
the church, was filled as usual; but as soon as the singing
after the sermon was finished, the countess and her people rose
and departed. As she passed the seats where Hulda and her
mother were sitting, she made a sign to the latter to follow her.
She obeyed, taking her daughter with her, although the pastor
was about to perform a baptismal rite. Outside the church-door
the countess said, as the pastor's wife stooped to kiss her hand,
" I want to spend a short time with you. My young people
are going for a sail, and I will await at your house the return
of the carriage. They must stop for my brother."
" Then the Herr Baron is not ill?" the pastor's wife casually remarked.
"What should make you. suppose him ill?" curtly rejoined
the countess, who, like all others of her class, was not fond
of interrogations from inferiors, among whom she reckoned
the pastor's wife, who, embarrassed by her manner, said,
by way of excuse, "I thought, as the Herr Baron has never
been to church    "
"Oh, he has entirely lost the habit of church-going," replied the countess, walking through the parsonage garden into
the house, and then into the sitting-room, where the pastor's




HULDA.                       25
wife hastily drew aside the table before the sofa, to make
room for her guest. The great lady put up her eyeglass, and,
looking around the cosy little room, said, " How very nice
you keep everything! your house really looks quite pretty.
And you yourself are very well preserved, and are perfectly
content, I hear. I am very glad of it. Your daughter, too,
looks very well," she added, directing her glass towards Hulda.
"How old is she, and what is her name?"
She spoke kindly enough, but not in a way to place either
mother or daughter at her ease. When the pastor's wife had
answered her questions, the countess continued, " The girl is
so well grown that I thought she was older. Is there any
prospect of settling her in the neighbourhood?"
" Hulda is so young!" her mother exclaimed, betraying by
her manner how foreign to her thoughts as yet was any idea
of Hulda's future settlement in life. But either the countess
did not perceive this, or she did not think it worth while to
notice it, for she replied, " Of course she is young, but your
husband is growing old, and it is your duty to think very
seriously of your own and your daughter's future. That is
the reason why I ask if there is no prospect of settling her
near you. Is there no young clergyman in the neighbourhood
to whom you could marry her? He might be your husband's
assistant, since you have no sons. My husband once spoke to
me of some such arrangement, and mentioned distinctly that
he would provide the young man's salary in such a case, and
increase the income of the living. He had a great regard for
your husband, and I should like to act in strict accordance
with his wishes. So pray have no hesitation in speaking."
This was all very just and prudent, and showed more kindness
perhaps than the pastor's wife, in her moments of anxiety, had
ever pictured to herself; but the idea of making the future
marriage of her daughter, who was little more than a child, a
subject for speculation, was contrary to every feeling of her
heart and to all her religious convictions. The countess's curs,
imperious manner terrified her, and in hopes of avoiding further discussion of such a topic, she said, gently, " The future
lies in God's hand."
The countess smiled. Resolute and decided by nature, and
accustomed to succeed in all that she undertook, in her means
to gain an end she had once proposed to herself she ruthlessly
B                     3




26                     HULDA.
disregarded any hesitation on the part of those whose wishes
and actions are influenced by their sensibilities.
"Of course it lies in God's hand," she said, " and so does
the result of the harvest or the yearly crop; nevertheless, the
seed must be sown at the right season, and the earth tilled.
You know we should like to keep this living in your family.
Hulda is quite good-looking, and when her father's salary is
increased she will be a very good match for a young clergyman.
So, if you have no other views for your daughter, look about
for some one in the circle of your acquaintances; for however
firm our faith may be in the wise designs of Providence, the
marriages that are not made in the heaven of love, but built
upon a firm basis of good sense and ripe judgment, are sure to
turn out the best in the end. Meanwhile, something might
be done to improve the girl's education. What do you know,
child?" she asked, beckoning to Hulda to approach.
It was fortunate that the pastor, his duties in the church
completed, entered just at this moment, having learned that
the countess was visiting his wife. It relieved poor Hulda
from all necessity of replying, for the lady immediately repeated
her offer to the father, and asked him the question she had
previously put to Hulda. His answer was satisfactory, for
he understood the significance of all that his patroness said
much better than did his wife or his daughter, and knew how
to testify that gratitude for kindness which is expected by the
great ones of this world when they confer unsolicited favour.
The countess arose and approached Hulda.
"Why, you have made an excellent beginning," she said.
"Knowledge is a capital sure to bring in a due amount of interest, and as it is entirely uncertain how soon we can find a
suitable settlement for you, we must try to add something to
your accomplishments in the mean while. We must see."
Again she put up her eyeglass, and, scanning the girl from
head to foot, she asked, "Is she as healthy as she looks?"
Her parents eagerly assented with a "thank God!"  "Is she
patient? not irritable?" the countess asked further. The pastor replied that she had always been treated justly and reasonably, and her conduct had never given cause for complaint.
The countess laid her hand upon his shoulder, and, with a
slow shake of her haughty and still beautiful head, said, "My
dear pastor, I am afraid she has much to learn. For justice




HULDA.                       27
and reason have so little share in the world we live in.'  Just
at this moment the carriage, with the baron riding by its side,
came along the road before the parsonage, and the countess
went out to take her place in it. In the doorway she turned
and held out her hand to the young girl. Hulda stooped to
kiss it, and the lady kindly stroked her cheek. "Take heart,
child," she said, "I shall not forget you, and you shall soon
know what I have decided to do."
Countess Clarissa and the other occupants of the carriage
waved their hands towards the house in token of friendly greeting, and the baron rode up to the garden-gate. He exchanged
a few pleasant words with the pastor, asking him to come and
see him, and offering to send a carriage for him at any time he
might appoint. Then, turning to Hulda, he said, " Where is
your wreath to-day? You ought always to wear a wreath."
And he was gone; and before Hulda could collect herself,
the whole party-the countesses, their guests, and the baronhad vanished.  But she knew now that the baron was at
least not angry with her.
CHAPTER VII.
ONE afternoon soon after this, a heavy storm came on; but,
although it lasted a long while, it failed to cool the atmosphere.
The rain was still falling, the windows in the countess's boudoir
were open, but no fresh breeze penetrated into the room, and
already, an hour before sunset, it was almost dark. The plashing of the rain drowned the noise of the sea.
The countess was occupied with her netting; her brother
sat reading in one of the window-recesses.  From Clarissa's
room came the sound of music. The baron threw aside his
book.
"'Tis odd," he said, but the rhythm of Clarissa's song is so
entirely opposed to the rhythm of these verses, that I cannot
endure the discord it makes."
"And it really is too dark for your book or my work," the
countess rejoined, laying down her netting. Then, turning to




28                      HULDA.
the window, she added, "The wind comes from the southwest,
and is sultry as a sirocco. It is just the day to make one long
for our lofty, cool apartments in Italy."
" But how is it in those wretched, over-crowded Italian huts
on such a day?  Ugh! how oppressive it must be!" said the
baron.
" It is all a matter of habit; they become, as it were, acclimatized," said his sister.  "Their sensibilities are not so keen as
ours. I really believe, too, that the straitened circumstances
in which those people live contract their views and deprive
them of the power of freedom of thought. I was very much
struck with this the other day at the parsonage. Those women
are child-like, not to say childish, in their want of all forethought.
They call it trust in Heaven; and yet they must see how shortlived their families are, while ours flourish for centuries."
"With exceptions.  And we have more chance, too, than
the masses," the baron remarked, not knowing to what special
instances the countess alluded.
" Of course, melancholy exceptions there will be, if all
chances are relinquished," she rejoined, eagerly.
The baron, who had hitherto borne his part in the conversation with but indolent interest, suddenly raised his head, and,
with a smile that well became him, asked, " Are these remarks
of yours only an introduction to a new variation of the theme
so often discussed between us?"
"No, indeed!" cried the countess.  "What put that into
your head?"
"You have made me suspicious," he replied.
" Because you do yourself such injustice," said the countess;
"because you always distrust yourself. And why should you regard a sister's care for a brother as an assault upon his freedom?"
" Not as an assault upon his freedom, but as a want of confidence in his penetration; especially since the craving for happiness, innate in every man, naturally urges him to embrace
every opportunity that offers of attaining it."
The countess felt the rebuke without resenting it; for she
had, as we have already said, almost more tenderness, and far
more anxiety, for her youngest brother than for her own children; and, avoiding the pursuit of what seemed to be to him
an unwelcome topic, she explained that her remark really had
borne no reference to him, or to the arrangement of his future,




HULDA.                       29
but that she had been thinking of the pastor's family, and in
particular of his daughter. Then she told him, in a few words,
of her conversation with the father and mother of the girl,
and said that she had since formed a new plan with regard to
her. The girl was, to be sure, very young, and if her mother
was to look to her for future support, it would be well to do
something for her further education and culture, that she might
se ure an independence for herself, in case of necessity.
Emanuel asked how his sister proposed to carry out this plan.
"I should like to have her here in the castle for awhile,"
she replied.
Her brother remarked that she would thus certainly add to
his pleasure.
"To your pleasure?" she cried. " How so?"
" The girl is very beautiful!"
" A fair specimen of the beauty of her class. The mother
was very pretty, too," said the countess.
" The daughter's beauty really startled me," said the baron.
"The first time I rode over to the parsonage she suddenly
started up before me on the borders of a field of grain,-a
brilliant vision of the goddess of the fields. It was a charming
picture; and then I had a little adventure with the child that
quite touched me."
The countess asked what it was; her brother refused to tell
her, whereupon she insisted, and at last he said that he had
destroyed an illusion in the mind of the pastor's daughter,the first that had been dispelled in her young life. She had
shown so much tenderness of disposition in the matter that
he should be very glad to have any kindness shown her.
The countess pursued the subject no further, but arose from
her seat and placed herself by her brother's side, on the broad
window-seat.
His behavior towards women had frequently been matter of
remonstrance on her part. A great admirer of feminine beauty,
and keenly susceptible as he was to beauty in every shape, he
thought himself so much more disfigured by the smallpox
than was really the case, he so clearly felt the contrast between
his youthful and his present self, that he had resigned all hope
of ever winning a woman's affection for his own sake. His
convictions on this point had induced him to keep aloof
from women's society, and to oppose the wishes of his
3*




30                     HULDA.
family, who were anxious that through his marriage the
ancient family of Falkenhorst, now threatened with extinction,
might flourish anew.
It struck the countess as very odd that her brother had
never before mentioned to her an adventure that seemed to
have produced so pleasant an impression upon him, since he
usually liked to speak of such things, and she wondered still
more that, as he daily rode for a couple of hours, he had not
ridden again to the parsonage to see the girl who had so
charmed him. Did this betoken reserve consequent upon a
decided impression, or did it proceed from indifference? and
had the circumstance been recalled to his mind for the first
time by her words? She must understand this,-his state of
mind in this direction was very important to her.
I sent for the bailiff's sister yesterday," she said, " and
told her I wanted her to take the daughter in charge, as she
had taken the mother years ago, and that my good Kenney
should do what she could for the young person. Her mother did
very well with Ulrika's teaching, and, as the daughter has been
well taught by her father, and, besides, comes of a better stock
upon his side of the house, I trust something more may be
made of her."
" More? what do you call more in this case?" asked her
brother.
The countess hesitated a moment, for she did not like to
explain her plans, even in small matters, lest she should not
afterwards feel free to change them; but she departed from her
usual course on this occasion.
" I think Kenney is failing," she said: " this last journey
seemed to cause her more fatigue than her age would warrant,
and after Clarissa's marriage I may have to lead more of a
travelling life than I have led hitherto. Kenney has been with
me from my earliest childhood; she can hardly imagine life
without us, and yet I cannot answer it to my conscience to
expose her to the constant fatigue of travel.  That, and our
residence in the south, have not agreed with her health lately,
for, like all Englishwomen; she needs sea-air -"
" You do not wish to take her with you in future, but to
give her a quiet home here in the castle," her brother interrupted her.
" Don't say I do not wish to take her with me," said his




HULDA.                      31
sister.  I am afraid that, for her sake, I must sooner or later
leave her here behind me. I shall miss her greatly, for I have
never been without her, and she will think it hard at first to
stay here without me, unless I can find some occupation for
her. I have said nothing to her as yet upon the subject, for
there is plenty of time, and I learned, years ago, to wait for
the day and the hour; I acknowledge them my masters."
She leaned her head upon her hand, and seemed sunk in
melancholy reverie. The baron regarded her with a smile,she was so unlike herself.
" These reflections lead you astray from your plans for the
pastor's daughter," he said.
" Not at all," she replied, very well content to resume the
thread of the conversation; " my plans concerning Kenney
are closely connected with those for the pastor's family, but I
can decide upon nothing positively until I know the girl. Of
course it will be best that she should have a thorough knowledge of household matters; if she is capable of loftier acquirements, Kenney may be of use to her. She enjoys teaching as
we all enjoy doing what we can do well.  If Hulda pleases
her, I would arrange that she should stay here with her, and at
some future time a well-educated person, devoted to our family
from her birth, might prove a great acquisition to Clarissa, for
such a one really is a blessing to a woman much in society.
If, on the other hand, any advantageous marriage among the
pastor's friends should offer itself for the girl, it will be a satisfaction to have contributed somewhat to her education."
The baron asked if HIulda's parents, or the girl herself,
approved of these views.
The countess replied that people who, like the pastor's
family, were seldom in a position to carve out their future,
should be approached on such matters more in the way of
command than of consultation.  She had lately noticed this
especially. Every proposition startled such people, and made
them thoughtful and shy, and they delayed, to weigh and
ponder, until opportunity had passed and they had accomplished nothing, while, used as they were to subordination, if
they were placed in a certain position, without regard to their
own views in the case, they soon accommodated themselves to
circumstances and learned to appreciate their advantages.
As her brother received these remarks in silence the count



32                     HULDA.
ess grew impatient. "You do not entirely approve of my
plan," she said, " and yet you have just told me that the girl's
presence in the castle would give you pleasure."
"It was a very innocent remark, and the pleasure that the
constant sight of so beautiful a girl would give me would certainly be as innocent a pleasure," was his reply. " But those
people have only this one child; the pastor is an old man, and,
as he himself told me, she is the sole delight of their seclusion. It seems to me a bold proceeding to attempt thus to
decide the fate of a girl,-of an entire family, rather,-and
especially hard to deliver over the poor child to such adverse
teachings as Miss Kenney's and the bailiff's sister's will certainly prove."
" If that is all, I am quite content," cried the countess, "for
the right of free choice signifies very little to people born in
dependent circumstances; and although you may paint a future
for mankind in ideal colours, you must admit that obedience of
the lower to the higher is a fundamental law of nature."
"Certainly! only I cannot consider myself one of those'higher,' simply because I enjoy accidental advantages of rank
and wealth, since nature has  "
The countess would not let him finish his sentence. " I
should like to see," she said, interrupting him, "how you
would act if the desire for self-gratification should ever come
into collision with your theories."
" Be sure I would do my best to be just to the latter," the
baron maintained.
"Doubtless," rejoined the countess; "you would try, and
then console yourself, as we all do, with the thought that you
really had tried."
"Remind me of this if you ever have occasion," said
Emanuel, with quiet self-confidence.
"I shall not forget to do so," his sister assured him; " for,
with my views, I should regard it as a matter for praise if you
would emerge from your ideal world, and perceive that there
would be an end to our ancient and noble families if we were
all to determine philanthropically to lose ourselves in universal
humanity. My dear brother, your lonely life makes you unpractical.  If you were married, if you had children, you
would know how dear the preservation of one's name and race
naturally is to all of us."




HULDA.                       33
The baron gave her an odd, good-humoured glance. She
asked what he was thinking of. " Oh," answered he, " I was
only pleased to see how diplomacy has really become your
second nature, and how well you know that all roads lead to
Rome."
She took his reply in the spirit in which it was given, and
they joined the others in the best possible humour.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE countess had judged the pastor's family correctly in
one respect. Her visit and her remarks had disturbed the
calm of the parsonage, and to a certain extent troubled the
harmony hitherto subsisting among its inmates.
The pastor reproached his wife for want of gratitude to the
countess for her thought of them, and to Heaven for providing
them with so kind a benefactress; and she, while passing in
mental review all the young clergymen of her husband's acquaintance, to select from them, if possible, a fitting assistant
for her husband and a fitting husband for her daughter, rebelled
in her heart against the idea of thus making her idolized child
a means of securing her own future comfort. Her sentiments
and her prudence were in a state of constant warfare; and
Hulda was more agitated than her mother, not to say frightened,
by all that the countess had said.
The presence of the family at the castle had lent actual
shape to all the vague dreams and wishes of her youthful
mind, and converted her old desire to see something of the
life that lay beyond the limits of her father's parish into a restless longing which, like some evil spell, robbed of its interests
and charm all that had hitherto sufficed her. The thought
that, with every capacity for enjoyment, her days were to be
forever passed within the four walls that for nearly a century
had seen the cradles and the coffins of her forefathers, oppressed
her like a bad dream. The little garden, with its firs, where
she had passed such happy hours, was no longer dear to her.
She had no peace in her home; her thoughts were always at
B*




34                     HULDA.
the castle. She was ever on the watch for some of the family
there who might chance to visit the village; but they were
all absent with relatives residing much farther inland, and for
a week no one had appeared, even from the bailiff's. At last,
one evening the bailiff himself rode up to the gate of the parsonage garden, tied his horse there, and, dismounting, walked
sturdily into the house. Scarcely had he replied to the greetings of the pastor's wife and daughter when he asked to he
shown into the study where the pastor was writing. There, in
answer to the good old man's hope that he brought some good
news, he said that news, it was true, he had brought, and that
he hoped it would prove good.
" I ought to have come a week ago," he said, "and not
upon my own account either.  Hulda is to come to the
castle."
"To the castle?" three voices asked, in a breath, and the
daughter's eyes danced with delight.
"Yes, to the castle, or rather to my house," replied the
bailiff. " She was to be sent for the day after the family left
upon this visit. But you know my sister of old,-nothing
pleases her that she does not propose first herself, and so in the
beginning she was unwilling to have Hulda."
The pastor looked first at the bailiff and then at his wife in
undisguised surprise, and remarked, not without a certain degree of displeasure, that there seemed to be a plan proposed
here of which he knew nothing. At least, he was not aware
that he had ever requested the bailiff's sister to undertake such
a charge.
"Of course not, of course not," cried the bailiff; "you
have nothing to do with it. It is the countess."
This amazed the pastor. "The countess lately alluded to
other views for our daughter," said he.
The bailiff knew nothing of that. The countess had sent
for him, and told him that she wished Hulda to be instructed
in household matters by Ulrika, as her mother had been before
her, and that she desired upon her return to find the girl established in his house.
All this neither lessened the pastor's surprise nor soothed
his dislike of the proposal. He knew Ma'amselle Ulrika well.
and remembered the many bitter hours she had caused his
wife; moreover, he was perfectly aware of her superstitious




HULDA.                      35
tendencies, and that he had much ado to contend with and
suppress foolish gossip of this kind concerning herself among
his parishioners. He therefore joined in his wife's exclamation, "But what induces the countess to take such an interest
in Hulda?"
The bailiff, whose face was almost always a mirror of goodhumoured self-satisfaction, laughed at this. "What induces
her? That you must ask herself. They are all alike! Good
heavens! she is used to have something new to interest her
every day, something new to do every day.  Here in the
country she has nothing, and so she busies herself with one
thing or another, with building, with the school, with compelling others to be happy as she pleases. But she has a
clear head, and really means well. We must not take it ill
of her."
This speech of the worthy man soothed the pastor, who
had a high opinion of the countess, and had not been
able to understand her apparent change of mind. Far other
thoughts occupied the mother. She could not forget what she
had suffered in her youth from the frivolity of the young
noblemen, guests at the castle, and yet her case had been different from her daughter's. She, a poor daughter of a serf,
could never have dreamed of a marriage with a nobleman.
But what surety could she have that Hulda might not give
ear to what would awaken within her wishes and hopes
perhaps now dormant in her heart, and for which there was
no possibility of gratification? What good could it do the
child to be at the castle or with Ma'amselle Ulrika, if the
countess intended to establish her in future in the parsonage?
Not daring to give utterance to these fears, she tried to advance other objections to the project; but the bailiff answered
themi all, and, in the habit of proceeding quickly to action, he
turned to Hulda, who had been listening to the conversation
with intense interest, and said, " Come, my child, what have
you to say? Will you come with me?"  Hulda blushed for
joy. She looked from her father to her mother, and found
no encouragement in the face of either; but her longing to
see somewhat of that new life was stronger for the moment
than her filial devotion, and, carried away by a youthful love
of pleasure, she said, with a beaming countenance," Oh, how I
should like it!"




36                     HULDA.
"Well, then, Herr Pastor," said the bailiff, "we are all
agreed. To-morrow I will send for her; and every Sunday,
of course, she shall come to church. It will be just as if she
were still at home; and no one ever starved at my house,you may be sure of that." Then he arose, declaring that
he could not keep his horse standing any longer; but the pastor's wife begged him to take some refreshment, and sent
Hulda to prepare the modest luncheon. During her absence,
the time of her departure the next day was arranged, and when
the bailiff had drunk his glass of wine, he turned to her, and
said, " Come, I think you will be happy with us, for now that
Ma'amselle is used to the idea she is very glad that she is to
hlave you with her; she often needs help now-a-days, and she
thinks more of you than of any one else." And then he
mounted his horse and was gone, while parents and daughter
stood at the garden-gate looking after him.
" Then to-morrow you will go forth among strangers to begin
life upon your own responsibility," the pastor said, solemnly,
looking gravely into Hulda's eyes. But even this admonition
could not banish the delight from her face. She kissed her
father's hand and threw her arms around her mother's neck,
assuring them that she would take pains to please Aunt Ulrika;
and while her parents' hearts were full of the grief of this
first separation from their daughter, she could only repeat to
herself, in a dream of expectation, " To the castle!"
It was what she had thirsted for since the visit paid in early
spring, when she had first seen those wondrous halls, and she
could hardly wait until the conveyance sent for her should
arrive. Dread lest something might intervene to prevent her
departure, and impatience, scarcely allowed her to sleep. The
hours of the following day dragged slowly along, and when at
last she was seated in the light one-horse wagon from the
bailiff's, her joy was greater than any she had ever known before.
She kneeled upon the seat, and, looking back at her parents,
tossed them kisses and farewells with both hands, and then
seating herself again and leaning back, as she had seen the
castle ladies do, she resigned herself to the hopes and visions
that seemed to hover before her upon the background of golden
shimmering sunset clouds in the west.
How could she, in her youthful exultation, give a thought
to her father and mother sitting alone on the bench in the




HULDA.                       37
little garden? How could she know of the depth of fervour
with which her mother in her prayers that night invoked
Heaven's choicest blessings and tenderest care for her darling
child?
CHAPTEI       IX.
THE weather on the sea-coast is always variable even in the
driest season, and a rainy day often follows a clear evening.
When Hulda went to her little room after supper at the
bailiff's, the stars were shining brightly; but the next morning
the rain fell in torrents, and a week of cold, damp weather
ensued. All the windows were closed, and the bailiff, who
was vexed at the sudden change, since the grain was still in
sheaves in the meadows, went from room to room in a state of
discontent. His labourers came in dripping from stable and
barn to speak with him in his office, the shepherd stood at
the open door of his fold gazing right and left at the clouds;
and Aunt Ulrika, as she had specially requested her new inmate to call her, was much crosser than her brother, for the
rain had sadly interfered with her household arrangements.
Every one was reduced to a state of inaction, and " What is
death," said Ma'amselle, "but inaction?"
Every now and then the bailiff and his sister went to the
window and tapped the barometer in hopes of seeing it rise,
and Hulda secretly followed their example, for the castle
family had sent word home that they should not return until
the rainy weather was over. This was another interruption
to Ma'amselle's plans; but it was also a reason for more hard
work, and to the girl, accustomed to the monotonous quiet of
the parsonage, the restless life at the bailiff's, the loud orders,
and the running to and fro of the many servants in house and
court-yard, had the charm of novelty at least. True, she soon
discovered that there was much more than the long corridor
to separate from the main building the wing of the castle
appropriated to the use of the bailiff and his sister; but from
her little back-room she had an extensive view of the park
behind the castle, the windows of which she could also see, and
4




38                     HULDA.
when the family returned there would certainly be constant
change and excitement.
Not only did Hulda, with the supple facility of youth,
quickly accommodate herself to her new surroundings, but
Ulrika herself, after the first few days, was well pleased with
the addition to her household. The evident pleasure that it
had been to the girl to come to her had gratified her, for
Ma'amselle was perfectly aware that, in spite of the hospitality
which was a part of her brother's scheme of life, no one felt at
all intimate with her, and as her housekeeping had always
occupied the first place in her mind she had troubled herself
very little with the people about her, except as they came
beneath her jurisdiction, when she appointed their duties to
each and saw that these duties were well and rigidly performed.
If this were the case, they might say and think of her what
they. chose. She was perfectly convinced that she understood
everything better than any one else. It was but natural that
people should give her credit for greater wisdom than falls
to the common lot of mortals, and should even suppose her
possessed of hidden knowledge which she did not, could not,
communicate. She was content to be feared and sometimes
avoided; it had been so with all about her, even with Simonena, who had always had a shy terror of her. She was,
therefore, greatly surprised to find, as she did in a few days, that
Hulda was not one whit afraid of her, or in the least abashed
in her presence, but received a scolding with the greatest good
humour, and evidently liked to be with Aunt Ulrika, following
her about and listening with wide-eyed, eager interest to her
tales and legends, all of which related mostly to the ancient
family whom she served.
Instead of nodding over her knitting, as had lately been her
wont, when her brother retired to his office after supper to
have interviews with his work-people, she now enjoyed a
talk with Hulda; "for," said she, "you are far better company than your mother ever was. Not that I have anything
to say against your mother,-Heaven forbid! I wouldn't
have you think that; but your mother did want spirit, and,
whatever the men may say, no woman can get along well in
this world without spirit. Spirit is everything! Just look
at the countess,-there's spirit for you!  She is just like
me;. knows every morning what she means to do, and when




HULDA.                       39
evening comes it is done.  That is why she succeeds in
everything."
Hulda listened gravely.  "If you have never failed in
anything, you must be very, very happy," she said, aftel
awhile.
Ulrika gave her a searching glance out of her dark eyes, and
then replied, speaking more slowly and in more measured
tones than was her wont, " To be sure! to be sure! only -"
She paused a moment, and then, as if she must disburden
herself, went on: " Only once I did not succeed, and it would
have been better in every way and for all parties if I had succeeded; it was all because I had not the proper spirit to speak
and act at the right moment. But it was only once, and there's
no help for it now. At all events, you shall not suffer for it,
-rely upon that."
She seemed to suppose that the girl would understand her,
but Hulda only looked up at her in amazement and asked,
" Was it my fault, then, that you had not a proper spirit that
time?"
Ma'amselle grew impatient. "Just like her mother!" she
exclaimed, and fell silent.
Hulda was afraid that she was angry. "What was it you
failed in, and why did you not show a proper spirit?" she
asked, in hopes of soothing Ma'amselle and prolonging the
conversation.
" Because"-she paused-" because I have a weakness."
But even this did not explain the matter to the girl, and
Ma'amselle, aware of it, and desiring nothing better than to
talk of herself, went on: " Has not the countess a weakness
just as I have? Does not she always show it with regard to
her brother, Baron Emanuel? Can she carry out her plans
with him as she does with other people? To be sure, he is
not like other people.  Miss Kenney is right when she
declares that the baron is really holy."
Hulda was all ear. At last that name gleamed in the midst
of Aunt Ulrika's confused talk, like a star among wreaths of
mist, although the allusion to the baron was mysterious
enough. Why was he, who, of all the inmates of the castle,
never entered the church, holy?  She could not help expressing her wonder.
"Oh,' cried Ma'amselle, "when I said holy, 1 did not mean




40                     HULDA.
what your father does when he talks of'holy' in his pulpit,but holy like the family vault or some old heir-loom!" She
reflected for a moment, as if vainly searching for words in
which to explain herself, and then said, mysteriously, in a low
voice, " Did you never hear of it? Did you not see it? Tile
curse is on him!"
Hulda started in terror. "Aunt!" she cried. "Not upon
Baron Emanuel! It cannot be! What wrong has he doiLe?"
He?" Ma'amselle's look grew graver, and her tone more
solemn. " He has done no wrong,-none in the world. You
saw him in the picture-gallery. He was beautiful as an angel,
and all life and joy, when he was here as a boy with his
mother. There was nothing of it then to be seen; but it all
came, nevertheless, afterwards. It always is so with one of
his race. The little folk are neither to be defied nor laughed
at; Baron Emanuel knows that well enough, and that is the
reason that no persuasions of the countess can induce him ever
to take a wife. The family will die out with him."
Ma'amselle's voice sounded strange and afar in Hulda's ears.
A cold shudder ran through her. Aunt Ulrika, the room, the
castle, and the baron suddenly seemed weird and uncanny to
her. She had the greatest desire to know what it all meant,
and yet she did not like to ask, for now she understood her
father's meaning when he had expressly warned her, on the
eve of her departure from home, to pay no heed to Ma'amselle's superstitious tales and fancies.
But, as if Aunt Ulrika could read what was passing in the
girl's mind, she pushed her old arm-chair nearer to the footstool where Hulda was sitting, and, laying her long, skinny
hand lupon her shoulder, bent over her and almost whispered
in her ear, " You must have heard of them, although stupid
people hereabouts say they have disappeared and crossed the
sea since the churches were built, and that there are no longer
any little people here. Nonsense! they are not afraid of
churches,-they believe in God, and have their own religion.
They never cross the seas, nor do they stir from the place that
they have made their home so long as they are unmolested.
They have been here from the beginning, although they appear
only to their favourites. They are sure to be true to those who
trust them. But they must not be angered or injured, for
they never forget or forgive."




IULDA.                      41
"But, aunt," cried Hulda, incredulously, and yet so impressed, in spite of herself, by the solemnity of Ma'amselle's
words and manner, that she did not dare to laugh,-"but,
aunt, these are nursery-tales! This is superstition!"
" Do you think so?" Ma'amselle rejoined, and her gaze became fixed as she looked towards the dim corner where from
time immemorial the great green stove had stood, with the
broad bench built into the wall behind it. " Do you think
so? Yes; many believe these are nursery-tales, because they
put their faith in the stupid proverb that was born of crowded
cities-' The night is no man's friend.' But those who live
here in the country, in old castles, beneath which are still more
ancient cellars and subterranean passages, which, if they do
their duty, they often visit at night, when others are sleeping,
to see if all is as it should be, well know how diligent and
watchful the little people still are, and how they never weary
of assisting in the house in which they have taken up their
abode, provided always that the drop of milk and the morsel
of fruit or grain that they require is not begrudged them."
Hulda became more and more absorbed in the words of the
speaker. Involuntarily her eyes followed Aunt Ulrika's, which
were still riveted upon the dim corner, although she could discover nothing but the two huge yellow cats, who usually took
their evening nap there. To throw off the spell that threatened
to take her reason captive, she asked, "But what has all this
to do with Baron Emanuel?"
" Your mother could answer that question better than any one
else, if she chose, for she was born upon the estates of Falkenhorst; and every child there knows that the little people had
made the Preussenburg their home before the Falkenhorsts
came with the Germans into the country, and that they continued to dwell in the new castle that the Counts Falkenhorst
built upon the ruins of the old one. They kept upon the best
of terms with the little people for more than a hundred years, and
everything prospered with them. There were always goodly
sons and daughters of their house,-a fair race they were, renowned for strength and beauty. And the little people were
very quiet, never appearing except in the bounty and blessing
that they brought to the family. Suddenly, in the time of the
great-great-grandfather of our countess, there were strange
noises heard in the castle, both by day and by night. Some said
4*




42                     HULDA.
that the bats had grown too numerous; others that the martens had fled to the shelter of the cellars from the cold of
a hard winter. But no harm was done; and the baron, who
had, of course, his own opinions upon the subject, wisely
said nothing. And thus all went on until the day before midsummer, when the baron was sitting, at noon, in his garden,
beneath a huge linden, the oldest tree in all the country
round. There was no living soul in the garden beside himself, for every one had gone to dinner, and nothing was
to be heard but the humming of bees and the chirp of the
grasshoppers. Suddenly he seemed to hear something like
the ringing of a tiny bell, and the earth among the gnarled
roots of the old tree bunched up as if a huge mole were
working his way to the surface.  The baron watched the
spot, and in a few minutes there issued from the ground, just
as if he had grown like a blade of grass, a little man. Small
as he was, the baron could easily see that he was a king. He
had a royal crown upon his head, a golden robe about his
shoulders, and a sceptre in his hand; and his whole little person so shone and sparkled, that the baron rubbed his eyes in
surprise. The little man, however, gave him a friendly nod,
telling him to have no fear, since the little folk were no strangers in Falkenhorst, and had always been good friends with
the barons there. He had come to ask a certain friendly office
of him. His pretty young queen was dead, and it was time
for him to choose another. He had selected to share his throne
a little scullery-maid at the castle, only fifteen years old.'I
pray you, then,' he concluded,'have the girl to-morrow, midsummer-day, when the sun is highest in the heavens, in the
grand hall of the castle, where I wish to celebrate my marriage, and see that no one comes near the spot, that no human
eye may see what takes place there. Do this, and you shall
not repent it; but woe be to you if you betray me! for we are
no less implacable as foes than constant as friends.' With
these words he vanished as he had appeared, and so quickly,
that the baron was half inclined to think the noonday sun
had made him sleepy, and that he had dreamed the whole
thing. Nevertheless, as he was a prudent man, he determined
to use every precaution to guard against misfortune. He took
care that all his servants should be absent from the castle, upon
some pretext or other, the next day at the approach of noon.




HULDA.                       43
His labourers were all at dinner in their cottages, and he told
the baroness, his wife, to shut herself up with her children in
the nursery until the sun began to set; for he had a foreboding that noon would not pass on this midsummer-day without
bringing some terrible misfortune. When he had arranged
all this, he sent the little scullery-maid up to the grand hall,
locked her in there, and put the key of the door in his pocket;
after which he retired to his own apartments. The sun stood
high in the heavens, when the baroness, who was sitting
with her children, nol;cing the deathlike stillness that reigned
throughout the castle, grew first a little terrified, and then suspicious of her husband, who had hitherto never had a secret
thought that she had not shared. So she locked up her children-there were three of them, a boy and two girls; it was
just before the birth of the fourth-in the nursery, and stole
noiselessly to her husband's room, where she peeped through
the key-hole, and saw him sitting quietly alone. Nothing had
happened or was likely to happen; and so, utterly neglecting
his commands, she went on from room to room, until she came
to the door of the great hall.  This she found locked; and,
as she stooped to peep through the key-hole, she received
a sudden shock, and fell so violently to the ground that her
husband heard the noise of her fall, and came running upstairs to see what was the matter. What he then saw
and heard his lips never revealed; but there is an old parchment still existing, whereon the whole story stands written by
his own hand.   The doors of the hall were wide open; in
the middle of the large apartment the little scullery-maid,
dressed like a queen, lay cold and dead at the foot of a scarlet
throne. Upon this throne sat the king; and small as he was,
he was fearful to behold. With fiercest anger in his looks, he
threatened the baron with his flaming sceptre, saying, in a loud,
distinct voice,' Since you are not master in your own house,
we will no longer dwell beneath your roof. Since you do not
know how to rule your wife's eyes, my eyes shall never more
watch over your interests; and since your false wife has fatally
disturbed my marriage with my young queen, your race shall
never thrive as it has done hitherto, until the love of some fair
young creature, born of the people, shall free it from my curse.
The son about to be born to you shall go stooping all his life,
as your wife stooped to spy upon us. Never more shall there




44                     HULDA.
be, as at present, seven men of your name; and among those
that do exist there shall, so long as that name lasts, always be
found one whose crooked back shall keep alive the memory of
the treachery practised upon us this midsummer noon! And
that you may remember my words, take this ring! He whom
my curse deforms shall always wear it; and woe to you all if
he lay it aside!' With these words the little man, the
throne. and the scullery-maid all vanished, a sudden flash of
lightning set fire to the hall, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the flames were extinguished. The baron and his
wife, as you may suppose, told no one the truth of the matter.
It was believed in the country around that the little scullerymaid had been smothered and burned up in the fire. When
shortly afterwards the baroness gave birth to a boy, upon the
very day upon which two brothers of the baron were killed,
and when, in addition to this, it was found that the newly-born
son was slightly deformed, the baron wrote down the whole
history, all about the ring, and everything, in a huge parchment book devoted to the family records. And all of the little
man's prophecy came true. Never, since then, have there been
seven men of the House of Falkenhorst alive at the same time,
and among them there has always been one wearing the ring,
and slightly deformed. And the race has dwindled with each
succeeding generation, until now there are only two living,
the childless heir and Baron Emanuel, upon whose little finger
any one who chooses may see the ring.  He wears it on
his left hand; and his servant says that he never takes it off
even at night. It is small, and seems grown into its place on
the little finger."
Her story finished, Ma'amselle arose and began to make all
ready for the night in the pantry and sitting-room, and then
proceeded to make the rounds of her domain, as was her custom every evening before going to bed. Hulda accompanied
her as usual, but Ma'amselle never noticed the girl's unwonted
silence, nor how closely she kept by her side, avoiding being
left for one instant behind in the dim vaults of the cellars or
in the long corridors.
Hulda was ashamed of herself; but she would have given
much not to stay at the bailiff's that night, but to go quietly
to bed in the cosy parsonage, in her little room adjoining the
one where her father and mother slept. She was nervous and




HULDA.                       45
timid when she found herself alone in her bedroom. In vain
she said to herself that her terrors were idle; that Aunt Ulrika's story was really nothing more than any silly tale of her
childhood, that she had heard time and again. Everything
sounded different to-day, far more probable than ever before.
It seemed all to have happened so close at hand-hark! was
that a wing that swept across the leaded panes of her casement,
so that they rattled again?  What was it?  And that rustle
over the floor,-what was that? She drew the pins from her
thick fair hair, as she stood before the mirror, and it rippled
down almost to her knee. What if something upon the floor
should seize it? or if, raising her eyes, she should see in the
mirror the face of the little king, or the pale cheeks of the
poor dead girl?  She cowered in terror, and lookeid shyly
around her. All was quiet in the dimly-lit room; and hurrying to bed, she hid her face beneath the bedclothes. But sleep,
usually a faithful companion to healthy youth, for the first
time in her life refused its aid.  She lay listening hour after
hour, although she said to herself that, even according to Aunt,Ulrika's story, it was not this castle, but the countess's ancestral
home, many miles distant, that the little folk had haunted.
For whom, then, did Ma'amselle, usually so frugal, duly set the
little bowl of cream in the room below? For whom did she,
who hated to see even a straw upon her cleanly-swept floors,
scatter grains of wheat upon the cellar-stairs every night, if
not for the little folk? And who could tell that they did not
pursue through life those whom they had cursed, watching over
the ring that was the token of the spell they had woven?
She shuddered at the idea, and tried to banish it from her
mind; but the question would recur to her, "What will become
of him if he loses the ring?" She could not even pray; she
had no control over her thoughts. Strange, incoherent images
floated across her brain. She thought she was awake, starting
in terror from one confused dream to sink into another as
vague; and through it all she saw the baron and his ring,
until broad daylight looked in at her window, putting to flight
the ghostly visions of the night.
And yet, even in the daytime, she thought of it all, and
could not forget that an evil spell rested upon him, which he
had been innocent of bringing upon his head.




46                     HULDA.
CHAPTER X.
THE hunting-season in that part of Germany begins upon
St. Bartholomew's day, and three days before then the family
returned to the castle, bringing various guests with them.
Countess Clarissa's betrothed, the young prince, was expected
on the following evening. The marriage had been postponed
on account of the death of the bride's father, and was to be
celebrated at the castle at New Year. Although their mourning prohibited the family from indulging in any great gayeties,
the countess was desirous that the prince, who had never visited
the castle by the sea before, should be agreeably impressed with
the ancestral seat of his future wife's family, and also that the
last days of girlhood spent there by her daughter should leave
only pleasant memories in her mind.
The afternoon was clear, the sun shone brightly, and the
berries of the mountain-ash, at the entrance of the park,
gleamed fiery red through the dark leaves as the countess and
her daughter waved their kerchiefs to the prince as he drove
through the huge gates, accompanied by the baron, who had
gone to meet him. Hulda was standing in the doorway of
the bailiff's house, eagerly watching the arrival. She saw how
the prince hastily sprang from the carriage and Clarissa received him on the castle terrace, how he put his arm about
her waist and conducted her into the castle, how the servants
unstrapped the luggage from the carriage, while Baron Emanuel looked around for his groom, who was not at hand. Without thinking, she hurried across the court-yard to call him;.
but in an instant the rider was by her side, and leaning towards
her, as he reined in his horse to wait for the servant, he said,
"Are you always to present yourself thus suddenly and charmingly in my path?" He dismounted, drew off his glove, and
holding out his hand to the blushing girl, walked with her
across the court-yard to the bailiff's. He asked her how long
she had been at the castle, and how she liked the change, but
her answers were vague and confused, for her eyes were looking
for the ring upon his hand. She had not long to look: the




HULDA.                       47
narrow circlet of gold, with its single blood-red stone, was the
only ring there. The sight of it affected her strangely. She
started, and looked up in time to meet a kindly glance
from the baron's fine eyes.
" How you have grown in these last months!" he said.
" When I met you first, you had to look up to me much more
than now. You will soon attain my niece's stately stature; and
you look even stronger and more blooming. Well, I hope life
here in the castle will do you no harm. But if," he added,
with so charming a smile that he looked almost as young as
herself, and quite like an old friend, "any one or anything
here should ever cause you annoyance, only give me a hint of
it-the smallest-and I shall understand and know how to
advise and arrange so that it shall cease.  I must at least
requite you for the service you would have rendered me today." He shook her kindly by the hand, and was gone before
she had even gathered courage to thank him. She listened
so intently to what he said, and paid such heed to his manner
of saying it, that she always forgot to answer him.
But while she was busy assisting Aunt Ulrika in the labour
of the day, now greatly increased by the new arrivals, she
pondered incessantly upon the baron and all that he had said.
How could he requite her? and what could happen to her
that she was not fully competent to encounter and endure
alone? She felt equal to all that the future had in store for
her, and, looking at herself in her mirror, she, too, thought
that she had grown strong and tall.
This pleased her.  She was so merry and light of heart
that she could not think of sleeping yet; the night, too, was
so warm. She opened her window wider to admit more air.
From the castle came the sound of music. It was the wild,
melancholy Polonaise that the Polish Count Oginski had dedicated to the beautiful queen of Prussia. They said he had
loved her with a silent devotion that hurried him to the
grave soon after her death. Hulda had always liked to hear
and to play this Polonaise. Her father had studied It with
her, and she knew every note of it; but never had she so
understood it as now. It went to her heart, and for the first
time she felt a melancholy emotion at the thought of the composer. The lights vanished; all was dark in the bay-windows
of the castle. But the side-windows began to glimmer, and




48                     HULDA.
candles were lit in the baron's rooms, until at last they too
were extinguished, and the waning moon rose slowly above
the trees, and began her nightly wandering through the fleecy
clouds that threw faint shadows upon the shaven lawn. Nightbirds hovered abroad from the group of giant hemlocks; a
screech-owl hooted from the tower; frogs shrilled from the
pond, and now and then; as on the previous evening, a bat,
flitted close to the casement. But there was no terror for her
now in these sounds of nature; no dread came near her to
disturb her happiness, not even a longing thought of her old
home.
For she was not alone. Her protector was close at hand;
and asking herself if the morrow would bring him again, she
closed her window just as the moon was beginning to descend
behind the castle.
CHAPTER XI.
THE next morning, before the sun had entirely dispersed
the mists which in that country rise from the sea during the
night, Clarissa, with her betrothed and the baron, rode across
the court-yard and through the gateway. They wanted to show
the prince the country along the shore before the sun grew
too hot.  Every one who was not absent at work went into
the court-yard to see the bridegroom; and indeed he was
a sight worth seeing, sitting his horse so firmly and gracefully,
and casting joyous glances all about him from his large dark
eyes. It was a pleasure to look at the party with the countess
waving a farewell to them as she stood at the window, her
old English governess by her side. As she was gazing with
pride after her daughter, her eye chanced to light upon Hulda,
and, t rning to Miss Kenney, she said, "There is the pastor's
daughter; have you seen her yet?"
Miss Kenney replied in the negative, alleging as an excuse
that really she had been miserable in health during the family's
absence.
" You were perfectly right; you are not so strong as you




HULDA.                       49
used to be," said the countess; "but since you feel better now,
pray see her as soon as possible, that we may advise together
with regard to her." And the lady withdrew to her private
room, where she was busied with matters connected with the
settlement of her husband's estate.
Miss Kenney prepared to obey her behest. As she was very
fond of being in the open air, two rooms on the ground-floor
towards the garden had been assigned to her. The windows,
looking out upon beds of flowers, reached to the ground, and
were provided with awnings, beneath which she could enjoy
the air even at high noon. Hither Hulda was bidden to
come.
Supposing that she was wanted to minister to Miss Kenney's
personal comfort in some way, the girl eagerly hastened to the
garden wing, and, with her prettiest curtsy, presented herself
before her, asking for her commands.
" I have none for you, my child; I only wished to see you.
I must always feel an interest in any proteg6e of the countess."
She spoke in the softest of tones, and her whole presence
was wonderfully in harmony with her voice, pleasing and
gentle. Neither tall nor short in stature, she was still so
slender and upright that at a slight distance her age could
hardly have been guessed. Her features were delicate, and her
color was so fresh that one scarcely noticed the many little
wrinkles that time and the experience of life had graven on her
countenance, while the profusion of little gray curls that encircled her brow and cheeks almost concealed the want of the
roundness of youth in their outline.  Her white morning
wrapper, her cap with pale-blue ribbons, and the pale-blue
India shawl that was lightly thrown about her figure, became
her well, while the modest grace that had been hers from girlhood completed the impression which she made upon Hulda's
warm heart.
Without the girl's being aware of it, the wise, experienced
governess easily formed from the artless replies and conversation of her guest a correct estimate of her knowledge and acquirements; and when Hulda remarked that under her father's
tuition she had devoted much time to music, and that she
sadly missed her piano at the bailiff's, since the guitar which
she had brought with her was but a poor substitute for it, Miss
Kenney declared that she had a special delight in the instruC                      5




50                       HULDA.
ment, and told her that she must bring her guitar and play for
her in the evenings when Ma'amselle Ulrika could spare her.
Then, rising, she conducted Hulda to the piano, and seeing
that the girl, after preluding a few moments, struck the notes
of a Lithuanian song that she loved, she asked her to sing it
to her.
Hulda scarcely waited to be asked.  In her simplicity she
knew no shyness with one who seemed so kind, and after a
slight prelude she sang,"Yes, I, poor lonely maiden,
When bright are spring's fresh bowers,
And all the air is laden
With fragrant breath of flowers,
Would these fair lilies blooming,
In pledge of true affection,
Send where my love is roaming,
Wak'ning fond recollection.
But here afar they wither,
No messenger is mine,Strong wind, ah, waft them thither,
The power not mine is thine."
The air was composed of soft minor tones, which the girl's
clear contralto rendered.with wonderful feeling; in the entreaty of the last few lines her voice grew hopeful and confident, and when, after the national fashion, she ended by
repeating the last verse two or three times, with slight variations, there ensued a loud clapping of hands, and several voices
cried, " Brava!" from outside the open window.
She started fiom her seat in confusion, for there stood the
Countess Clarissa, with Prince Severin and the baron, and
Clarissa declared that to be the loveliest Lithuanian melody
she had ever heard-Hulda must send her the notes immediately.  Prince Severin, too, praised the melody, which he
said was sweeter than the music of his home; but still more
did he admire the charming voice of the singer. They asked
her if she had ever had any instruction. Clarissa wanted to
know how long she had been at the castle, and how her parents
were. The baron alone asked no questions, and said nothing.
They were all three in their riding-dresses, and Clarissa said
they had dismounted in haste, and were come, hungry and
thirsty, directly to Miss Kenney, " for ever since I can remember," she said, turning to the prince, "I have been in the habit




HULDA.                       51
of taking lunch with my dear Kenney, and I am convinced
there is something particularly good ready for me to-day."
But this time she was disappointed. Miss Kenney had not
supposed that Clarissa would cling to her old habits after her
lover's arrival, and really had nothing to offer to her guests;
but Hulda instantly volunteered to bring from the pantry at
the bailiff's, which was much nearer at hand than the castle
kitchen, all that was wanted, and was gone before her offer
could be accepted. Shortly returning, followed by a maidservant, she quickly and invitingly arranged a cold luncheon on
the little table in the garden beneath the awning outside the
window, and then quietly took her departure.
Clarissa and her companions were really hungry from their
ride, and declared that the lunch was the best they had ever
tasted.  The young countess begged her bridegroom    to
have just such a modest little dwelling as Miss Kenney's
present quarters arranged in the home where they were to
pass most of their time in future, and to install her old friend
there,-it was so delightful to go out to lunch so near home;
and no one ever had things so nice as her dear Kenney.
The prince promised to do everything that Clarissa desired.
Miss Kenney, full of grateful affection for her pupil's devotion, and modestly wishing to divert the conversation from her
own excellencies, said, "But your highness must take care
to have a girl like the pastor's daughter to arrange the repast,
since she certainly has contributed to-day to your enjoyment."
The prince took up the idea.  " You are quite right," he
replied: " it is not and should not be a matter of indifference
to us who arranges our tables and serves our wine. The
princes and magnates of earlier times were far beyond their
successors of to-day, in that they insisted upon employing
handsome pages for such service.  There is nothing more
tiresome than the usual servants of the present time,-rough
fellows, who imitate our vices without attaining our culture;
they are too often anything but our well-wishers, while they
are, from their position, spies upon our actions. I am never
more struck with all that we suffer in this respect than when,
traveling in Switzerland, I am waited upon by the host's
pretty, well-educated daughters. The contrast is most striking.
Can we not, perhaps, secure this girl for our future household?"




52                     HULDA.
"Oh," cried Clarissa, "the pastor's daughter? Impossible 1
Besides, what good would this one girl do us?"
" We might employ her only in our own personal service,
and thus, at least, often avoid the presence of a liveried spy."
The idea pleased Clarissa, and Miss Kenney, who could
imagine no greater good fortune than to be taken into her
favourite's service, also found it a happy one. The girl, she
thought, was already possessed of culture rarely met with even
in the higher classes. Her father, an accomplished scholar,
had richly endowed her with all that he had to give; she was
well read in German literature, had a very fair knowledge of
French, was a good musician, and her beautiful voice, so soft
and full in speaking, was a great additional gift.
The young countess laughed. "Our dear, good Kenney 1"
she cried, " she is ready to fall in love again with her pupil.
She is just like Jean Paul!"
The baron, who had hitherto taken no part in this talk
about the pastor's daughter, asked what she meant.
" Jean Paul says somewhere," she replied, "'Give me one
day and night, and I will fall in love with anybody!' Our
Kenney says,'Give me any one for a pupil, and I will love
her with my whole heart.' My mother asked her to test the
girl's ability and acquirements, and the good creature, after
the first hour of trial, is ready to adore her pupil. Do you
know, dear, that you will make me jealous? You are far
more in a hurry than Pygmalion,-you don't wait until your
work is finished; you begin to adore instantly."
" Have you never seen a genuine artist regard his shapeless
block of marble or his blank canvas most lovingly?" asked the
baron, gayly. " With the eyes of the spirit he sees the beauty
that is to be, where we poor children of clay see only raw material. But this does not apply to Hulda, who impressed me
favourably the first time I saw her. I cannot approve of your
mother's delivering over so lovely a creature to the charge of
that whimsical, irritable Ma'amselle Ulrika.?'
Miss Kenney, who could see no wrong in any arrangement
made by the countess, began to defend Ulrika; but Clarissa,
who was in the gayest of humours, painted Ma'amselle's character to her bridegroom in the blackest colours, an i finally
declared that it was impossible that Hulda should stay with
her. Conscious that all around her were ready to indulge her




HULDA.                      53
every whim, she turned to her former governess, and, in a
pretty tone of entreaty, said, " Let her come here to you; she
can get lunch ready for us every day, sing us Lithuanian songs,
and become used to us generally; indeed, I think the plan of
attaching her to our household admirable,-it will be so charming to take away to my new home some one from my old one."
In spite of her wonted amiability, Miss Kenney did not
immediately agree to her favourite's request; she pleaded limited space in her apartments, saying that there really was no
space in her dressing-room where Hulda's bed could be placed.
But Clarissa was her mother's own child, in that she could not
understand opposition to her wishes; she laughingly invited
the prince into the " Temple of Vesta," as she called Miss
Kenney's modest boudoir. There her lover began to pace off
the distance from wall to wall, gayly singing, with an excellent voice and method, the opening bars of the first duet in
"Figaro" —"Ten, twenty, thirty; yes,'twill do."  Clarissa
instantly took up the part of Susanna, and the pair, together,
moved the furniture and rearranged the little room, in spite
of Miss Kenney's gentle but only half-sincere remonstrances.
The more she reproached, the more they laughed, the gayer
grew their humour, until Clarissa finished by throwing her
arms around her " darling old Kenney" and assuring her that
no one would enjoy the new arrangement of the rooms more
than their occupant; after which the young people departed
to dress for dinner.
CHAPTER XII.
THE countess was very well pleased that Clarissa had inaugurated an arrangement that she, too, had contemplated with
regard to Hulda, and good Miss Kenney was not the person to
offer serious opposition to any desire of her two countesses.
It is true she suggested several mild objections to the new
plan; but these were quickly overruled, and Clarissa's zeal for
the new favourite, who had made for her so pleasant a day, was
content with nothing less than an order dispatched on the same
5*




54                     HULDA.
evening to Ma'amselle Ulrika to have Hulda's modest belongings removed to Miss Kenney's apartments.
But Ma'amselle Ulrika took her own view of the matter.
Was it for this that she had overcome her objections to a new
inmate of her household and received Hulda beneath her roof?
Besides, in the last few weeks she had, as it were, got " used
to the girl;" in short, she really liked her, after her fashion.
Therefore she regarded it as an infringement of her rights, an
offence that could not be condoned, when she was told to yield
all title to her new charge and send her directly to Miss Kenney. Accordingly, she presented herself before the countess,
to declare that this was quite impossible. The pastor had intrusted his daughter to her care, to learn the various branches
of housekeeping, and to be an assistance to her now when she
so sorely needed help, with the castle so full of guests as it
was. And she could not answer it to her conscience to allow
Iulda to leave her without consulting the pastor, any more
than she could give away articles in the castle in her keeping,
of which she always kept a strict inventory. But she would
drive to the parsonage that very evening, and, if the pastor saw
fit, Hulda should go to the Englishwoman as soon as she
chose; although, in her humble opinion, it was much better for
a girl who had not a penny to bless herself wit1 to stay with
her own country-people and be well instructed in household
matters, than to waste her time learning fine manners, and
a foreign tongue that no one thereabouts understood, with a
person who was to stay only a limited time at the castle.
The countess quietly waited until she had said everything
that she had to say and was quite out of breath, and then,
without any irritation, remarked, coldly, "I had expected
nothing less of you, and fully appreciate your conscientiousness.  There is no cause for alarm, however; I will speak
with the pastor myself. If your duties are too heavy for you,
you can retire as soon as some one else is found to take your
place.  It is still undecided whether Miss Kenney will not
remain here longer than I shall; therefore dismiss all anxiety
with regard to the girl, and see that she goes, as I have ordered,
to Miss Kenney, to whom I have given my directions concerning her." She added a few gentle words in acknowledgment of
Ulrika's faithful service, to which the astounded Ma'amselle
felt constrained to reply gratefully; though the hint that her




HULDA.                      55
place could be supplied, and the prospect of Miss Kenney's
long stay in the castle, fairly enraged her. And whose fault
was it but Hulda's that my lady countess had shown her the
door, as it were, just put her aside as if she and she alone had
not kept everything in order for so long, year out and year in?
With tightly-compressed lips, and avoiding an encounter
with any of the servants, she reached her own dwelling, and,
throwing herself into a chair, began to cry aloud and bitterly.
Hulda and the bailiff hastened to her to know what was the
matter. The bailiff was well aware that no emotion save anger
could wring tears from her eyes; but it was long before she
could be prevailed upon to tell what had vexed her.
She roughly pushed Hulda away when the girl came up to
her, declaring that she was her mother's own child. She
maintained that never in her whole life had she known anything but deceit and treachery from Lithuanian blood, and
she bitterly reproached her brother for prevailing upon her to
do the countess's pleasure and receive beneath her honest roof
that treacherous, hypocritical Simonena and this frivolous,
ungrateful girl. All her brother's soothing speeches and
Hulda's silent distress were of no avail to console her. At
last the bailiff sent Hulda away, and then, as if some spell
had been broken, Ulrika crossed her arms before her upon the
table, and laying her head upon them as if to shut out forever
from her sight a world so unworthy of a glance, repeated angrily
from time to time, " To tell me that some one could be found
to take my place! It will be my death-blow!"
The brother had never before seen her thus. No reasoning
had any effect upon her, and the worst of the matter was that
all the wrath the countess had provoked was poured out upon
the poor pastor and his family. She declared by all that was
sacred that never again would she set foot inside the church,
even although her refusal to do so put in peril her immortal
soul, and that neither the pastor nor Simonena nor their
daughter should ever cross her threshold again. Then, as
her active habits made her present state of angry idleness
irksome in the extreme to her, she suddenly started up, saying that since Hulda was to go she should go immediately,yes, this very evening, she and all belonging to her should
be sent to the Englishwoman's, where the girl thought everything was so much better and pleasanter.




56                    IHULDA.
In vain did the bailiff and Hulda remind her that it was
not the desire of the latter, but the will of the countess, that
the change should be made. It did no good for her brother
to warn her that by sending the girl to Miss Kenney before
she was expected she might embroil herself still further with
the countess. Nothing availed to bring her to reason. She
went to Hulda's room and commanded the trembling girl instantly to pack up everything belonging to her, and there was
nothing for the poor child to do but, after a hasty consultation with the bailiff, to tell Miss Kenney the true state of
affairs and beg her to grant her for this night also the shelter
that was to be hers in future.
It was with an anxious heart that Hulda left the bailiff's.
This was the first time in her life that she had been
treated with harsh injustice, and the first bitter experience is
hard to bear. The short distance that she had to walk seemed
interminable, so long that she asked herself whether it would
not be better to turn in the other direction and go back to her
own home, where she was sure that eager affection and the
truest welcome were to be had without the asking. Was
this life in the castle?  Was this the world she had been so
desirous to enter?  Now she understood what her father
meant when he told her that there was need of a true heart
and humble mind in the new world she was about to see. She
could hardly walk, so faltering were her steps. It was terrible to be thus thrust out-of-doors; in spite of her air of girlish dignity she was still but a child, and she sat down and
cried as if her heart would break. She pitied herself so, it
seemed to her that she was pursued by an evil destiny, and
with a sigh she suddenly exclaimed, "Ah, he knew how it
would be! He told me if it was more than I could bear to
let him know and he would help me."
Scarcely had her thoughts taken this direction when she felt
cheered and encouraged, ready, as she said to herself, to endure
everything in the lot that Heaven had assigned her. She had
no conception of the fact that she had suddenly transformed
her own personality into a heroine of romance, whom she was
quite ready to admire, and no idea of the motive power newborn within her beginning to control her actions.
When she knocked at Miss Kenney's door,-when Miss
Kenney, good soul, who could not endure the sight of tears in




HULDA.                      57
any eyes, noticed that her eyes were red, and asked her what
had happened and why she had come to her at so late an hour,
the idea of herself as a lonely outcast grew more vivid than
ever in Hulda's mind, and, throwing herself into the old lady's
arms, she hid her lovely face upon her bosom and sobbed forth
an entreaty for shelter and protection with as much fervour as
if there had not been a loving, paternal home always open to
her near at hand.
Miss Kenney, too, seemed quite to forget the parsonage.
The girl's looks and entreaty went to her heart. She desired
nothing better than to lose herself in loving care of some one
else. All her weak opposition to the countess's plan, her fear
of annoyance, vanished on the instant; she folded Hulda
fondly in her arms and called her her child, her daughter, and
the girl, as she pressed her lips to the delicate, withered hand
and looked up at the kindly smile beaming in the old lady's
eyes, thought that she had never before felt such loving trust
in any one, not even in her own mother.
Thus unexpectedly the countess's plan was carried out in a
few hours. The gay humour of the lovers, and Ma'amselle
Ulrika's jealous rage, had brought Miss Kenney and Hulda
together, while the fact that the old governess, long used to
dependence upon the will of others, had at the last moment
received the girl of her own free choice, rendered her charge
doubly dear.
CHAPTER XIII.
A GOOD star must have presided over Hulda's installation
in Miss Kenney's rooms, for it was followed by a series of gay,
happy days, each pleasanter than the preceding.  As the
countess and the betrothed pair each had a different plan for
the girl's future, and as Miss Kenney regarded her as her
peculiar charge, all took special interest in her. Every one
was ready to praise her and bring her forward, and as her cleverness and sweet temper made her a desirable companion for
the ladies, while her beauty was much admired by the gentlemen, her services were in constant requisition.
c*




58                     HULDA.
To-day she would be sent for to the castle, that she might
arrange the young countess's hair as she wore her own, in
wreaths of braids about her head, after the Lithuanian fashion; to-morrow she must teach Clarissa the art of embroidering
mottoes and initials upon knots of ribbon, used as love-tokens
in Lithuania; and as, since that first morning of the prince's
visit, the lovers had adhered to the custom of lunching with
Miss Kenney, Hulda grew thoroughly accustomed to the noble
society at the castle, and they, on their part, admitted her to
an unusual degree of intimacy and friendship.
Thus several weeks passed, and wrought a great change in
Hulda. During her stay at the bailiff's she had gone to church
regularly every Sunday, and her mother had always accompanied her for the greater part of the way upon her return
to her new home, so that she had still kept up an intimate
intercourse with her parents; but now this was no longer so.
The prince was as little addicted to church-going as were many
others of the guests, and as there was no hunting on Sundays,
various means of passing the time were devised; and in preparations for these amusements, Hulda was often obliged to omit
altogether going to church or to the village. Dancing was out
of the question, as the family were in mourning, and resort
was had to dramatic readings and representations, in which the
girl's assistance was most valuable; and no one of the castle
family, accustomed as they all were to be obeyed by those
around them, hesitated to make any demand upon the time
of those who were considered in their employment.
When, after some weeks of absence, she occasionally visited
her home, she seemed like a stranger to her parents. Her
dress, which had been plain almost to poverty, had greatly
changed its character since Clarissa's lavish generosity to her
favorite had so enlarged and beautified her wardrobe. She
wore her dress with a new grace; and as she was quick to observe and imitate, she gradually adopted the manner, and even
the mode of speech, of her new associates. Her views of life,
her opinions, were of course changed; and, although she altered not one whit in her love and submissive reverence for
her parents, her mother sadly reflected that her misgivings
had not been causeless. And the pastor acknowledged to hinmself that the effect of intercourse with the castle family had
been different upon his daughter from that produced in like




HULDA.                       59
circumstances upon himself. For his self-consciousness had
always kept present in his mind a sense of dependence. He
had never been able to forget the world-wide difference between
his own social position and that of his patron. But this was
not the case with Hulda. She had no special dignity to maintain, no position to vindicate, that could cause her to be selfoccupied. She innocently accepted all the delight that the
friendliness of those around her caused her to feel; she knew
that the young men who were the countess's guests admired
and sought her for the sake of her beauty; and as the especial
protection that Clarissa extended to her precluded all thought
of any impertinent advances on their part, it was quite natural
that her mind and heart should be refreshed and enlarged by
what had served only to cramp her father's powers.
Her evident satisfaction, the cheerful gayety that won her
so many friends in the castle, disquieted her parents. Hulda
seemed entirely to forget that the countess and her family
would not always remain there, and that the delights of her
present life would soon come to an end. Even the ease with
which she endured Ma'amselle Ulrika's ill will, now that she
was no longer in daily intercourse with her, distressed her
parents, who were obliged to feel the weight of Ma'amselle's
displeasure.  Still, they were too entirely accustomed to submission to the will of the countess to venture to recall their
daughter to themselves. They had to remain content with
constantly exhorting her not to forget her father's straitened
circumstances and her own humble prospects. But what effect could such exhortations have upon the girl, filled as she
was with an exulting sense of happiness and freedom, save to
create in her a distaste for her home, and stronger attachment
to the castle and its inmates?
For if she sought the parsonage full of love and pleasure,
she was sure to leave it dispirited and anxious. If she had
not been able to go to church on Sunday, the thought that her
parents might be displeased, and think she was to blame, pursued her through the week; and since she could not endure
the idea of their displeasure, she would sometimes, when she
was not specially needed at the castle, ask and obtain leave to
visit the parsonage upon a weekday.
She was returning one afternoon from one of these visits.
Both her parents had accompanied her a part of the way, and




60                     HULDA.
before they left her had spoken to her in a tone of warning,
almost of reproach, which she felt was undeserved. She had
preserved a respectful silence, but she had rebelled against their
words in her heart; and yet, when they had turned away, she
had looked after the dear receding figures again and again;
and, overcome with remorse for even her mute rebellion, she
could scarcely refrain from hurrying after them, to throw herself into their arms and entreat their forgiveness. But she
had stayed quite late at the parsonage; daylight was beginning
to fade, and the last part of her way lay through the most
thickly-wooded portion of the castle park, where it soon grew
dark. The gray clouds hung low in the quiet air; and late
as was the time of year, it was still sultry.  Hulda felt oppressed and uneasy.
As she reached the boundary of the park it began to rain.
She threw her wrap over her head and hastened her steps.
But it grew darker and darker, and she could see no opening
in the wood before her. The rain dripped from the boughs
of the old hemlocks, while the leaves that had already fallen
from the other trees rustled with an uncanny sound beneath
her tread. Every moment she feared that some one would
come, that something would happen. She glanced timidly
around her as she hurried along, but she could see nothing
but the gloomy shadows of the coming night, and on she went,
not daring to take another look. Suddenly she started aside.
Just in her path, as if sprung from the earth at her feet, stood
the prince's valet. He had asked for leave to hunt on this
afternoon, for he was an excellent shot, and a favourite with
the prince, whose foster-brother he was. His master placed
great confidence in him, and he occupied the first position
among the servants of his household. He had been well educated, his manners were good, and he was so excellent a penman that his master often employed him as his secretary, by
which title he was politely addressed by the other servants in
his presence, however they might speak of him when he was
not by.
Hulda started with terror at sight of this man so near her.
He laughed. "What! timid? And yet out alone so late, Mademoiselle Hulda?  Where have you been?"  It struck her
unpleasantly that he did not address her by her last name, as
he had been used to do in the castle when sent by the ladies




HULDA.                        61
to her with messages. She replied that she had been to the
parsonage, and had unfortunately delayed returning until late.
"'Not unfortunately; you need have no fear," he said.
"You must not spoil great people by too much punctuality,
or they come to regard you as a mere machine, wound up to
do their bidding regularly, without any will of your own. You
will soon learn that when you are really established in our
household."
Hulda did not understand what he meant; but his familiar
manner annoyed her, and she made no reply, but hurried on,
that she might be rid of his society as soon as possible. He
was no whit abashed.
"I see," he said, "you do not share my views. Service in
a noble family is very different from life in one's own home.
So long as one cannot be master, with a perfect right to live
up to one's convictions and follow one's inclinations, one must
learn how to maintain, as a servant, some scrap, at least, of
liberty of action. I, too, was most dutiful and faithful so long
as I was only foster-brother and playfellow; but since I have
had the honour to be my noble foster-brother's valet I have
grown rather lax, I confess. There is no need to be so much
better than one's position. I do my duty as a servant and
take good care of myself, and because you are in the same
position, and seem just as full of innocent confidence as I
once was, Ma'amselle Hulda, I am really sorry for you. Upon
my honour I mean you nothing but kindness, for, for my own
part, I should like exceedingly to have you with us; but you
are the child of honest people, and I advise you to consider
well before you decide."
Hulda hardly knew what to do. The idea of having any
conversation regarding her future with this stranger, a servant,
too, alone and in the gathering darkness, was entirely repugnant to her. But then he must have some foundation for his
seeming knowledge of the intentions of the castle family concerning her, and she at last decided to tell him that there had
been no talk of her leaving her parents or entering any noble
household.
"If you' know nothing of it, then," the secretary rejoined,
"you are the only one in the castle ignorant of the fact that
the prince is perfectly enamoured of your beauty, and has
encouraged Countess Clarissa to take you into their personal
6




62                     HULDA.
service. Do you really not know that it is for this that you are
to learn all that you can with the Englishwoman, that you are
so often sent for to the castle to learn all -that is necessary to
fit you for your future position about the young countess?
Whether or not other service maybe required of you the
future will show. But I know, and you know too, well enough,
that ladies' maids or companions-it's all the same thingpretty girls, in short-who are greatly admired by the husband
do not long stand very high in favour with the wife; and if
you have no good friend at hand to trust to, Ma'amselle Hulda,
your lot will not be very enviable. I tell you this beforehand,
and I advise you to believe me."
Every word that he spoke stabbed Hulda like a dagger.
All that she could understand of the secretary's malicious
hints terrified and outraged her. Such ideas, such thoughts,
had never occurred to her, had never been alluded to in her
presence. It was therefore impossible for her to reply to him,
or even to tell him how insulted she felt. She was silent, and
reproached herself for being so. She could find no words in
which to express herself; she could not but listen involuntarily
to her companion's words, which fell thick and fast upon her,
like the rain that steadily increased. All she could do was
to hasten forward in the direction of that wing of the castle
where were Miss Kenney's apartments. At last, with an
indescribable sense of relief, she reached the door of the gardener's house; but just as her foot was upon the threshold
and her hand upon the latch, the secretary came close to her
side, seized her hand, and said, "I see by your terror that my
friendly warning has fallen upon fruitful soil.'Tis strange at
first, and the light is hard to bear, even for the strongest of us,
when we have been sitting long in the dark. But consider
the matter well, Ma'amselle Hulda, and if you want advice I
am ready to give it. Everything can be arranged. If you
want to come with us, just tell me. For my part, I should be
delighted. It would be easy to find ways and means to make
some arrangement, if you come, that would be for the advantage of both of us, if your sentiments for me correspond with
mine for you, charming Hulda."
She tried to escape from him; he held her tightly by both
hands, and she did not dare to call, for not for worlds would
she have been found with him. But when he followed up his




IIULDA.                      63
words with an attempt to press her hand to his lips, while he
passed his arm around her waist, she thrust him away from
her, and, with a slight scream, pushed open the door, and hurried into the house.
In the quiet evening, in spite of the falling rain, the gardener's wife heard the low cry and the opening of the door,
and came running with a candle in her hand to see what was
the matter. In answer to her inquiries, Hulda said she had
been running to get out of the rain, and had slipped and almost
fallen at the threshold of the door. The good woman, was
shocked to see how pale she was when she took off her wrap,
and would have had her take off her wet clothes then and there
and have them dried, but Hulda rejected her kindly proffers.
She was ashamed, and imagined that all who looked in her
face could see that she had told an untruth, and what had
happened to her. She wanted nothing but to find herself once
more in the quiet parsonage, where, in solitude and prayer, she
might cleanse her soul from the memory of the last half-hour.
CHAPTER XIV.
MIss KENNEY was not yet in her apartments. It was her
custom, when the countess was not engaged, to go to the castle
at dusk, and to spend the evening there, if her presence was
desired by the ladies.  The gardener's wife, however, had
kindled a fire in the sitting-room, on account of the dampness
that was apt to invade the rooms on the ground-floor, and, after
placing lights on the table, she left Hulda to herself. As soon
as she had taken off her wet clothes and knew herself alone, she
was overcome by a sensation of terror. She took up a candle
and examined both the little rooms. She looked into the closets
and, although she reproached herself for childishness, behind
the window-curtains. She closed the back window-shutters,
and would gladly have done the same with those looking towards
the castle, if it had not been the custom to leave them open
until Miss Kenney's return. All sense of comfort, and even




64                     HULDA.
of security, had deserted her,-she was a prey to an agitation
that left her no repose.
To compose her mind, she took up a piece of embroidery
that Miss Kenney had designed as a wedding-present for
Clarissa. Hulda had assisted her with it before, but now she
could not sew: she could neither count the stitches nor make
a correct choice of colours; there was but one thought in her
mind: to whom should she go to declare that she could no
longer remain in the castle? She longed to tell her parents
frankly all that had occurred; but they had warned her so
repeatedly, and her mother especially had so often represented
to her that she, a girl of good family, and a pastor's daughter,
could be subjected to no insult that she did not invite by her
own conduct, that, blameless though she felt herself to be, she
feared their reproaches. To turn to the young countess and her
mother in her trouble, and beg them to allow her to go back to
her parents, seemed to her quite as impracticable, for the content and enjoyment of life which she had manifested hitherto
would make such a request seem unworthy of attention. And
although Baron Emanuel had offered her his protection, in this
case she could not ask it; for to tell him of what had been
said to her was simply impossible. There was no one left to
go to but Miss Kenney, and this day of all others it seemed as
if Miss Kenney would never come. Poor Hulda's distress and
impatience waxed greater with every slow-moving quarter of
an hour.
She walked several times to the window and looked out, but
the evening was very dark, and the spark of light in the little
hand-lantern that Miss Kenney used to light her way from the
castle was nowhere to be seen. Something must be done to
while away the weary time. Suddenly she remembered that
her father had given her the translations of a couple of Lithuanian songs to copy for the baron, and since they must be done
before she left the castle, she determined to finish them now.
She seated herself at her task, but everything turned to melancholy this evening; these songs that she had heard her mother
sing times without number, and that she herself had often
sung with a light heart, seemed utterly changed. The verse,
" Gaily in my own dear home
I sprang to life a flow'ret fair;
But now in stranger lands I roam,
A withered leaf tossed on the air,"




HULDA.                       65
had fallen upon her ear from childhood like some old cradlesong, without much meaning; now, when she tried to write it
down, it touched her very heart. Before she could prevent it,
a couple of tears fell upon the paper, effacing the last word
she had written; and as the young delight to foster grief, since
it possesses for them the charm of novelty, she painted to herself, in the most vivid colours, the contrast between the Hulda
of yesterday and the Hulda of to-day, until, as she pictured
her unhappiness when she should have left these pretty little
rooms, and all those about her who had treated her with such
kindness, her misery again overcame her and her tears flowed
afresh.
Just then she heard footsteps upon the path outside. She
arose, quickly dried her eyes, and opened the door to admit
her protectress.  But instead of her whom  she expected,
Baron Emanuel stood before her, and, throwing aside the
cloak he had used to shield him from the rain, said, "Shut
the door, that Miss Kenney may not feel the draught. I am
coming in for a minute."
Hulda, greatly surprised at his unexpected appearance, since
he had never before been there in the evening, rejoined that
Miss Kenney had not yet returned from the castle.
"Am I too early, then?" asked the baron, taking out his
watch as he entered. " She told me she would be here at
seven o'clock to look through some letters and papers with me
that belonged to my mother, in which frequent allusion is made
to her children's education."
He sat down in an arm-chair beside the table; and as the
light fell upon Hulda's face, he noticed the traces of tears upon
it and the dejection that was expressed in her features. She
saw she was observed, and turned away from him. But that
did no good.
" Is anything the matter?" he asked. She replied in the
negative, but that did not content him. "-I have not seen
you," he said, "for some time; you were not at the castle
yesterday, nor have you been there to-day."
"Miss Kenney was not well yesterday," she replied.
"And to-day?" he asked.
" To-day I have been at my father's," was her answer.
He inquired after her father's health, and she answered his
questions, but her heart was so heavy that the unwonted
6*




66                    IIULDA.
brevity and languor of her replies still further struck the
baron. He leaned forward on the table towards her, and asked,
looking her full in the face with his kindly eyes, "What has
been done to annoy you? Has Ma'amselle Ulrika vexed you?
Something has happened, I know, or else what have you done
with your merry voice and laughing eyes?"
She hesitated, seeming to wish to tell him something, and
then, suppressing it with an effort, sat down at the table, and
leaned her head upon her hand.
Emanuel had never seen her thus, and did not know what
it meant. Afraid to question her further, since what he had
said had seemed only to deepen her melancholy, he arose from
his chair, and, bending over her, looked down at the paper
upon which she was writing, saying, in order to help her to
compose herself, " Oh, you were busy in my service.  I am
very grateful to you." He took up the sheet of paper, and
read the verse aloud.
"' How simple and pretty it is in the adoption of the similes
nearest at hand!" he remarked, again repeating the verse. " If
the melody equals the words, it is a very model of a popular
song. Was your father kind enough to write down the air
for me, too?"
She shook her head, saying, however, that she knew the air,
and that it was very soft and plaintive. He asked if he might
hear it, and brought her her guitar from the corner where it
hung.
It seemed hard to her to be asked to sing the very song
that had already moved her so deeply; but the habit of obedience prevented any hesitation in complying with the baron's
request, and, after a few chords by way of prelude, she sang
the little song through. But the agitation which she had
endeavoured to suppress now broke forth in the true expression
of the words and music. Her voice trembled; all her grief
-and the first grief of a young heart is always deeper and
more passionate than its cause warrants-found utterance in
the simple melody. Emanuel, quite carried away by the music
and her singing, would have expressed his admiration of her
her thoroughly artistic rendering of the air, but she suddenly
arose, and, laying down her guitar, made as if she would leave
the room.
He too arose, to bar her going. He did not understand her




HULDA.                       61
behaviour, and, in spite of his knowledge of the world, he was
not so much at his ease as usual. In the girl's entire freedom
from affectation, in her maidenly reserve, there had always
seemed hidden a passionate fervour which if it once broke
forth would carry all before it. She had always seemed to him
the embodied spirit of the poetry of her country. Her whole
nature harmonized wonderfully, he thought, with the rare
quality of her beauty; and all youthful beauty was doubly
dear to him since he had so painfully lost his own. He could
not suppress the sympathy he had felt for Hulda ever since
the countess had brought her hither from the parsonage, and,
involuntarily giving utterance to his thoughts, he said, " This
is no place for you."
That was more than she could bear. "No, no!" she cried,
and, seating herself, she hid her face in her hands. "I must
go, I must go back to my father and mother! To-morrow,
to-morrow I And you, oh, you will be kind and tell the countess?" She could say no more.
" What shall I tell my sister?"
"That I must go home," she said, almost inaudibly.
He shook his head doubtfully. " If you would only confide
in me," he said, after a pause; adding, " How can I help you
when I do not even know what troubles you?" He had taken
her hand in one of his, and with the other he gently lifted up
her bowed head. As she gazed up at him from out her beautiful, melancholy, child-like eyes, a sudden rush of tenderness,
such as he had never known before, overcame him, and, bending over her, he kissed her brow.
At this moment Miss Kenney entered. "I have kept you
waiting, baron, but it was not my fault."  Then, noticing
Hulda's agitation and Emanuel's emotion, she paused. She
was too wise to ask any question the answer to which she
would rather delay for the present, and Emanuel gave her no
chance to say more.
" How glad I am you are come at last!" he cried, with a
frank emphasis that dispelled her anxiety. "I have been impatient for your return. Something must have happened to
grieve this poor child, and I could not make up my mind to leave
her alone. You will understand far better than I how to discover the wound and apply the remedy."
He smiled, and gave his hand to his old friend, then said




68                     HULDA.
a few kind words to Hulda, and added, as he left the room, " I
will come to-morrow about my mother's letters, and then, my
dear Kenney, you will tell me all about this matter, and whether
I can be of any assistance."
CHAPTER XV.
THE countess had not been well for a few days, and had
kept her room in the forenoon. Then no one was admitted
but her old governess, unless upon special business.
On the morrow after Hulda's adventure, Miss Kenney appeared earlier than usual in her patroness's presence, and, with
all due regard for the countess's peculiarities of disposition, recounted to her all that had occurred on the previous evening.
The countess listened, without either by word or by sign expressing any displeasure; but, before Miss Kenney had time to
ask her opinion as to-granting Hulda's request to return to
her parents, she cried, " Then I was not deceived in that man.
There is something sly in his look, something equivocal in his
manner. I disliked him from the beginning. He must be
got rid of. Not that I believe one word of his slander about
his master," she added, hastily. "The prince sincerely loves
Clarissa, and is a man of honour. He knows well what is due
to himself and his position. I do not doubt him for an instant.
But even an intimate friend always present in the house is a
doubtful ingredient in the happiness of a young couple; and
such a creature, half friend and half servant, is quite detestable.
Besides, this fellow is too much of a Scapin for the peace of
any household. He must go, and forever, as soon as possible."
Miss Kenney agreed with her. " And," said she, " the position that the young people intend to assign Hulda in her
future home is matter for grave consideration, I think."
The countess looked up in surprise. "You did not think
that I really meant to have her go with Clarissa?" she said.
" Why, both your grace and Clarissa have spoken to me of
such an arrangement," the governess rejoined.




HULDA.                       69
"Clarissa always talked very seriously of her plans even
when she was a child, and very soon grew tired of them if no
one opposed her," replied the mother. "You know that as
well as I do. And the prince? He has at present but one
desire-to call Clarissa wife. And for this reason he is bent
upon gratifying every whim of hers. I certainly shall not
quarrel with him for that. But I have no idea of allowing
Hulda to go with them. She will remain under your charge,
and she must not leave the castle at present; for I will not
have the question asked, why, when we seemed pleased to have
her, we so soon sent her away."
The countess's decision of character was always the object
of her old governess's proud admiration, and she never dreamed
of opposing her. Still, she seemed to have something on her
mind of which she wished and yet hesitated to speak.
The countess had risen, and seated herself at her writingdesk. As her old friend did not withdraw, she turned to her
again. " Do you want anything, dear?" she asked, "or what
are you waiting for?"
" I am waiting," Miss Kenney answered, " because I cannot make up my mind whether it is best to speak or be
silent."
The countess's clear eyes looked at her searchingly.  "I
thought," said she, "that you and I had known each other
long enough to make any such doubt impossible. If it is
anything I ought to know, tell me the worst at once. If it is
anything that you or some one else can arrange without my
assistance, leave me out of the matter entirely."
" It is only a suspicion of my own, which I will make known
to you lest you should hereafter hold me responsible," said
Miss Kenney. And then she added, in a voice even softer than
usual, "I think Baron Emanuel feels more than a common
interest in Hulda."
A smile flitted across the countess's grave features. "I toe
have noticed," she said, "that my brother treats her very
kindly, and that he frequently watches her with apparent
pleasure; and certainly it is well that it is so. With his views
and the resolution he has unfortunately formed as to his future
life, not to mention his cold reception of all feminine advances,
let us rejoice that his fancy can be touched, and perhaps his
heart warmed. We shall not stay here long."  With these




70                     HULDA.
words she as it were dismissed her old friend; but before the
door was closed behind her she recalled her.
"I trust the girl is not given to idle fancies," she said,
gravely.  "Remind her that there is no possibility of her
remaining with us, whatever Clarissa may have hinted to
the contrary."  She paused a moment, and then added, "I
did think that perhaps we might retain her in our household, but she is far too beautiful.  All the men notice her.
They pay her too much attention now; and Clarissa's affection
for her would only make matters worse. She had better stay
with her parents. So long as they live, her place is with them,
if no suitable husband can be found for her. For the present,
keep her with you. It would never do to send her away suddenly. She must learn to be more discreet-she and her
parents also. Give her and them to understand this." Then,
as if struck by a sudden idea, she asked, "Did you not tell
me my brother was coming to you to see some letters of our
mother's, and to hear what had happened to the girl?"
Miss Kenney assented. "Well, then," said the countess,
"send him the letters, and sit down and write him just what
you told me. But don't let him suspect that I know anything
of the matter. He is the prince's friend; he presented him
to us first, and Severin has a real respect and affection for
Emanuel. Point out to my brother the mischief such a servant
as Michael may do in a household. Tell him in your own
name everything I have said to you upon the subject. You can
do it all the more easily since Hulda is under your care and
you are responsible to her parents. Add'that you have taken
him into confidence to spare me annoyance. I am to know
nothing of the business. It is best left to the two gentlemen
for settlement."
It was not the first time that the faithful old governess had
been intrusted with a like secret commission, and she had a
great degree of satisfaction in fulfilling all such, since to adjust,
smooth, and arrange matters, without any violent collision of
tempers or temperaments, was the work in which her soul
delighted. Then, too, although the two countesses and their
interests were the sun of her horizon, she was not without her
own modest share of self-appreciation, and had not forgotten
her own youth and the experiences of her first years of dependence. She had grown fond of Hulda. To keep her by her




HULDA.                      71
side, to caress and protect, was what she desired; and she was
not at all doubtful, when she sat down to write, as to the tone
she should take with Baron Emanuel.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE gentlemen had just finished a game of billiards, and
were about to betake themselves to their rooms for awhile in
the gathering twilight, when a letter was brought to Emanuel.
The prince remarked that it must contain something special,
since it was not post-day; but Emanuel, wh6 recognized the
handwriting of the address, quietly put it in his pocket. Then
they ascended the staircase together, and separated in the corridor above.
Upon reaching his rooms, Emanuel opened the thick envelope, and scarcely had he cast his eye upon the first page of
the enclosure and seen Hulda's name there, when he threw
aside his mother's letters, and eagerly read through Miss
Kenney's from beginning to end.
1" That was the matter, then!" he cried, with an angry stamp
of his foot. "This must be mended immediately."  And,
without waiting an instant, he hastily crossed the little antechamber that separated his room from the prince's, knocked
at the door of the latter, and announced himself.
It was dark in the room, but candles were lighted in the
adjoining bedroom, where the valet was engaged in some
trifling service. When the prince heard the baron's voice, he
arose to receive him, telling Michael to bring the candles. As
it was the custom at the castle not to intrude upon its inmates
when they were in their private apartments, Emanuel excused
his visit. "' But a most vexatious occurrence," he said, "has
compelled my coming to you this afternoon."
Michael heard these words as he was placing the candles
upon the table. He also saw the letter in the baron's hand;
and some guilty misgiving may have arisen within him, for
he asked whether the prince needed his further services, or if




72                     HULDA.
he might retire. The baron forestalled the master's reply.
" Let him wait," he said. " We may have need of him."'" Wait, then," said the prince, rather surprised by Emanuel's words. Michael retired to the adjoining room; the prince
begged his guest to be seated, and the baron, who noticed his
friend's surprise, explained that it was on this man's account
that lie had come to him.
" I am in a very painful position with regard to you," said
he. "I am forced to ask questions that do not become me,
and of the answers to which I am perfectly sure. And yet
I must hear those answers from your own lips."
This seemed still more mysterious to the prince. He grew
grave, as every man will do who finds another, uninvited, on
the eve of an inquiry into his personal affairs; but he looked
frankly and firmly into the face of the uncle of his bride. " I
am ready," said he, "to give you any satisfaction you can
ask."
" Well, then, Severin, have you perfect confidence in your
valet?"
" The question is comprehensive, and not to be answered
by a plain'yes' or'no.' I have entire confidence in his honesty. For the rest-he is a servant. I use him with a due
regard to his faults and failings. He likes to take airs upon
himself, and I am forced to use the curb; but he is useful.
But what can all this matter to you? I really cannot understand you."
"Another question. Has your valet ever heard mention
made of Clarissa's plan of carrying away our pastor's daughter
as one of your household?"
"Very possibly he has heard us speak of it," the prince
replied, with difficulty restraining his impatience.
"And is it possible that you may have expressed in his
presence your admiration for Hulda's beauty?  Have you
ever made use of an expression which could lead him to believe "-the words were sharply emphasized-" that you had
a personal interest in the fulfilment of Clarissa's project?"
The prince started to his feet. "That question touches my
honour!" he cried. Then, controlling himself by an effort, he
added, "And you, Clarissa's uncle, you, my friend, can ask
me such a question, knowing how I love her and her only?"
Emanuel grasped his hand.  "Forgive me, Severin," he




HULDA.                      73
said.  "I told you expressly that I must hear the answer
from your lips, although I knew perfectly beforehand what
that answer would be. I was forced to put the question to
you before I could show you this letter that I have just received from our good Kenney. Read it now, I pray you, and
then do as you think best." They exchanged a few more explanatory words, and then Emanuel left the room, leaving the
letter with his friend.
The prince stepped to the table and began to read. As he did
so his colour came and went angrily, and when he had finished,
he threw the sheet upon the ground and strode towards the
door of the adjoining room. But he paused before he reached
it; his dignity would not suffer his servant to know that it
had been in his power thus to irritate and wound his master.
He paced the room to and fro, perfectly clear in his mind as
to what was to be done, but deciding how it should be done;
and it was not long before he called his servant by name, in a
voice from which all trace of irritation had vanished.
One glance at his master's countenance sufficed to tell
Michael that he was called to judgment. He paused on the
threshold to ask what were his highness's orders.
"Come here and read that letter!" was the stern command.
Michael would have taken it to a side-table; but such was
not his master's pleasure. "Come here, and read aloud and
distinctly," he ordered.
The blood left Michael's cheeks. He saw from a glance at
the letter the nature of its contents, and he knew his master.
It was easy to encounter his sudden bursts of irritation, but
from this cold resolve there was no appeal. He knew that he
must obey. Still, although his voice faltered as he felt the
prince's cold glance resting upon him as he read, he did not
give up all for lost. But when he reached that part of the
letter that told of his allusion to his master's secret and unworthy designs upon Hulda, he ceased, and the hand that held
the sheet of paper fell at his side.
"Go on! go on!" cried the prince, with a smile that boded
ill to the culprit. "You can surely repeat to me what you
were so ready to tell the girl yesterday."
" Your highness, it was only a jest of mine with the girl,"
the man stammered.
"Do you dare, you scoundrel, to jest with your master's
D                      7




74                     HULDA.
honour?" cried the prince. "You dare to coin lies for your
miserable amusement? You dare to presume even to approach
a girl who is under the protection of  "
A ray of intelligence shot across the servant's face. One
bold stroke might yet set all to rights for him, and interrupting the prince, he exclaimed, "Oh, I did not know that the
Herr Baron had appropriated the girl."
Before the words were well out of his mouth his master's
muscular hand had forced him to his knees, while with the
other he seized a riding-whip from the table, and the lash went
stinging across Michael's face. Then, spurning him as he
would have spurned a dog, the prince pointed to the door,
saying, "Begone! and never show your face in my presence
again. Johann will pay you what is due you. You leave the
castle within the hour."
The prince turned away and entered his bedroom. Michael
sprang from the ground, and made as if he would have followed him, then paused.   The look that he cast after his
master was full of hatred; but he controlled himself, stood
erect before the mirror, and, passing his fingers through
his curling black hair, "Free at last!" he murmured.  "Dismissed, to be sure, after the brutal fashion that such men love.
One day this distinguished foster-brother of mine, so ready
with his whip, shall wonder indeed that I ever condescended
to serve him. And there is one other who shall remember mo
and this hour."
CHAPTER XVII.
THE supper-table was already spread at the bailiff's when
Michael entered. It was a habit of his when released fiom
service to spend an hour or two in Ma'amselle Ulrika's comfortable room, although his visits were by no means desired by
the bailiff. It was the bailiff's sister who was always ready
with her welcome to one who answered all her ideas of what
a "proper man" should be. " He knew how to talk and how
to be silent," said she; "he had eyes in his head, and was
ready to use them in the service of a friend."




HULDA.                       75
But on this evening he declined her hospitable offers, replying to her invitation to sit down and rest, that he had come
only for a moment to request her brother to place a conveyance
of some kind at his disposal, as the prince, his master, desired
him to fulfil a commission for him in the nearest post-town.
The bailiff grumbled at the lateness of the hour, to which
Michael replied, with a shrug, " You know they're all alike,
bailiff. What difference can the lateness of the hour make to
his highness, if the gratification of his whim is at stake?"
When the bailiff left the room to give his orders, Ma'amselle
Ulrika again urgently repeated her invitation to her guest to
take at least a glass of wine before his departure, inquiring at
the same time about the nature of his errand and the time of
his return.
Michael, glancing around the room, as if he did not wish to
be overheard, and carefully wiping his moustache after emptying the glass she handed to him, replied, mysteriously, "I
have always regarded you as my friend, Ma'amselle Ulrika, and
I have the greatest respect for you as a woman who knows the
world and what it is worth. I don't mind telling you that it
is all over between the prince and myself"
"Impossible, Herr Secretary!" cried Ulrika. "What can
you mean?"
"And, in fact," he continued, without heeding her surprise,
" I am very glad of it. I have long been tired of playing the
servant. I was born for something better, but habit is second
nature, and I might have dragged on awhile longer, for he is
my foster-brother; but really he has gone too far. I cannot
stand everything."
He seemed to wish to say no more; but Ulrika had no idea
of allowing him to depart without satisfying her curiosity, and
was so emphatic in declaring that her secrecy could be relied
on, that at last Michael determined, as he said, to confide in her.
" You were young yourself once, Ma'amselle," said he, " and
there's no denying that the girl is pretty, and, one would suppose from her looks, innocence itself. So you will not wonder
when you hear that I thought Hulda would make just the wife
for me."
"Not Hulda?" Ma'amselle interrupted him. "Why, she is
the merest child, and not worth --   "
"Child or not," Michael broke in in his turn, for he wanted




76                     HULDA.
to come to the end of the matter before the bailiff's return,"child or not, she is a confounded pretty girl. And since I
wanted to change my condition, and really cared for her, and
saw that there were others whose intentions with regard to her
were not so honest as mine-   "
" Others? " cried Ma'amselle, and her eyes sparkled. "What
others? Tell me, Herr Secretary." And in her eagerness she
laid her lean hand upon his arm. "Who are the others?  I
promise you their names shall never pass my lips."
"Nor mine either," was the reply; "for I shall have left
his service before an hour is past. And he is not the only
one. But I wish," he suddenly interrupted himself, "that
the wagon would come. I fairly long to be where there is no
danger of ever seeing her again." And he walked to the
window.
Ma'amselle's malicious curiosity was fully aroused. "You
owe it to me, Herr Secretary," said she, "as Hulda's guardian
here, to tell me all that has occurred between you. I trust
you more than I would the girl herself, for she is as hypocritical as her mother used to be."
Michael pretended to be annoyed by Ulrika's urgency.
"What can I tell you?" he said. " I was walking in the park
at dusk yesterday evening, when I came upon the girl as she
was returning from her parents'. I was surprised to see her
abroad so late, and offered to escort her to the castle; she
said neither yes nor no to me. And as we walked through the
park together, I-well, you know how it is, Ma'amselle Ullrika,
when a man's heart is full —I told her how I felt, and then I
warned her about-but there is no need to say whom."
"Well!" cried Ulrika, breathless with eagerness. " And what
did she say?"
" Say? Why, she behaved as if I had insulted her. She
fairly ran home, and I was fool enough to think it maidenly
modesty. I soon found out what it all meant. She was not
long alone when she did get home, and a pretty return she
made me for my affection and well-meant warning. The
hypocrite!"
His face grew so dark and angry that Ma'amselle Ulrika
was-delighted. This was the most interesting tale she had
ever listened to. All that she understood was so touching,
and what was hinted at seemed still more interesting.




HULDA.                      77
"Poor fellow, poor fellow, you must have suffered indeed!"
she said; "but tell me who was with her. I must know
from you who it was, for I have long noticed his sly admiration for her, and of course, if she told him how you felt
towards her, it is no wonder he should want you out of the
way."
Michael, who had been gazing out into the night, now turned
round, and asked, as if he did not understand her, whom she
alluded to and what she meant.
His surprise was so well feigned that it embarrassed her.
"I thought," she stammered, " that his highness —"
" What in the world put his highness into your head?" he
cried, in the same tone of amazement. "Who told you that
the prince had anything to do with it? I'm sure I never
hinted at such a thing, nor even mentioned his name, except
perhaps to say that he had had something of a quarrel with
the baron this afternoon; after which, as I happened to overhear it, and could not help coming forward to declare that,
however humble my station, I was a man, and a man of
honour    "
Ulrika, utterly bewildered, and yet struck with a new idea,
could not help interposing, " Then it was the baron? Did the
baron tell her?"
But this seemed too much for Michael. He broke away
from her, and, with a bitter laugh, said, " One of us must be
dreaming. Do you ask if the baron told Hulda of my love
for her? Hardly; I told her myself. But it is all the same,
since she has other plans in her head and does not want to be
an honest man's wife.'Tis all for the best. She would have
been only a drag upon me in the future life I propose for myself. I see clearly that Heaven arranges matters for us better
than we could if left to ourselves.'"
Then, going into the bailiff's private room, he employed himself in various inquiries as to the route he was about to follow
to the capital, until the conveyance ordered for him drove up
to the door. After seeing that his luggage was all carefully
disposed within it, he again approached Ulrika, and in a tone
loud enough to be overheard by her brother, he thanked her
for her great kindness to him, adding, " And pray forget what
I have just told you. It is best that all should enjoy themselves after their own fashion; and it certainly will be none of
7*




78                     HULDA.
my business in the future to meddle or mar in any of the
castle affairs."
When the carriage was gone, Ma'amselle Ulrika turned to
her brother, and, in a tone of triumph, cried, " Who was right
now, pray, about Hulda?  Who saw that she was just as false
as her mother? Just think of that poor, good fellow! And
the young countess to suffer so on the shameless creature's
account; and our lady, too!"
Her brother's exclamations and interrogations were unheeded
by her in the full flow of her gratified spite. One accusation
of Iulda followed fast upon another. Her excited fancy had
free play among all that Michael had said or hinted, and she
went on weaving a web of calumny around the girl who had
innocently incurred her ill will, until her breath fairly failed
her, and she wound up with, "It is just incredible! I cannot
believe it of the girl!"
"Well, then, don't believe it!" said the bailiff, settling himself comfortably in his arm-chair and lighting his pipe.
"Don't believe it. It is the best thing you can do. I don't
believe a word of it."
" You don't believe it?" cried his sister, as if he had charged
her with falsehood.
"Not one word do I believe of what that scoundrel has to
say," replied her brother. " And you, at your years, ought to
know better than to swallow all the lies that come from beneath
that waxed moustache of his."
But Ulrika was not to be thus vanquished. She went on,
finding confirmation of her worst suspicions in slight incidents
that had almost escaped her observation at the time of their
occurrence. She exhausted her eloquence in lamentations
over the want of morality among men, and the depravity of
certain young women. Her brother said nothing more. He
leaned back in his chair and gazed placidly at the face of the
huge clock that was ticking upon the opposite wall. At last
this seeming indifference was more than Ma'amselle could bear.
"You look as if you did not hear a word I say," she cried,
in an offended tone.
"Oh, yes, I hear you," replied the bailiff. "Take time."
And then rising and planting his burly figure just before her,
he pointed to the clock, and said, " You have one quarter of
an hour more in which to say and to believe whatever nonsense




HULDA.                       79
you choose. But when the men come in to supper, at seven
o'clock, if you utter another syllable of all those lies that rogue
has told you about that poor thing and our ladies at the castle,one syllable,-mind what I say,-I shall take the matter in
hand. And when I am in earnest you know there's no joking
with me."
He turned and went into his office. At the door he turned
again: " If I ever hear one word of all this from any other
quarter, I shall hold you responsible. To-morrow I will speak
further with you. And to-night you do not stir from this
house. There shall be no running to the castle to gossip with
Ma'amselle Babette and the rest."
And going out, he shut the door behind him with a bang.
Ulrika looked angrily after him. "All alike," she muttered between her teeth. " She has bewitched him, old as he
is. She is just like her mother!"  But she knew she could
do nothing with her brother when anything had roused him
from his usual phlegmatic humour. So, after allowing herself
the relief of tears, she swallowed her anger as best she might,
and seated herself in her corner behind the stove, to wonder
what really was the truth concerning Hulda, and to confirm
herself in her own evil suspicions.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE world below-stairs at the castle was greatly agitated by
the news of Michael's departure. No one knew the cause of
his sudden dismissal; but there were wise shakings of heads,
and much gossiping of maids and men in corners-some insisting that they had always known that the Herr Secretary's
airs would lead to his downfall, and others, that some especial
neglect of duty must have irritated beyond endurance so kind
a master as the prince.
Of course the matter was scarcely alluded to among the
family themselves. The prince cursorily mentioned that he
had sent Michael to town; and if his hearers bestowed any
thought upon his remark, they probably supposed he had been
despatched upon some confidential errand.




80                    IIULDA.
The matter was more annoying, however, to the prince than
}he cared to confess: he regretted that he had not dismissed
Michael while Emanuel was present: it would have been a
satisfaction to his own feeling of honour; and he could not help,
besides, reverting to Michael's last insulting words with regard
to the baron, and wondering whether they might not have
contained a spice of truth. He remembered now that Emanuel
had never cordially approved Clarissa's plan for transferring
Hulda to her household, or even of the girl's leaving the
parsonage, although he evidently liked her and wished that
she should be made happy. And once or twice lately the
baron had alluded to the possibility of his passing a winter in
his sister's castle; the sea-air, he said, seemed to invigorate
him. In addition to these uncomfortable thoughts, Severin
was obliged now to discountenance what he had hitherto
favoured, Clarissa's pet project for carrying Hulda away with
them.
Emanuel was not, for his part, one whit more comfortable.
The two men were firm friends, and neither would have suspected the other of baseness or treachery; and yet Emanuel
was not sure that in the buoyancy of his youth Severin might
not have permitted himself a certain degree of familiarity with
Michael, which would have made expressions possible from his
lips that the man might have misconstrued and cunningly
misinterpreted. The world was not Paradise, and mortals were
but mortals still, and he had no right to exact from others the
life of rigid self-sacrifice to which he thought himself condemned by his sad destiny and the impossibility of his ever
inspiring a disinterested affection.
The prince had immediately informed him of Michael's dismissal, and the two men had exchanged all the friendly phrases
due to the occasion, but there was a constraint between them.
All was not precisely as it had been; each was conscious of
this, and yet was powerless to restore matters to their old
footing. The baron was surprised to find that the annoyance
caused him by Miss Kenney's letter did not wear off. He
disliked the thought that a servant had ventured to find
Hulda attractive, that he had spoken to her with such unwarrantable familiarity; he was infinitely annoyed that she
should have been the subject of discussion between the prince
and himself, and between the prince and his servant; and




HULDA.                       81
while Severin reproached himself for not discharging Michael
in the baron's presence, the baron regretted that he had not
ridden directly to the parsonage and advised the instant recall
of the daughter of the house. Why, indeed, had he not opposed with more decision his sister's ever bringing her to the
castle? Suddenly he asked himself why all this interested
him so deeply; and finding no reply to this question, he cast
about in his mind for some one upon whom to lay the blame
of all the annoyance he had suffered. He had not far to look:
his sister's love of rule was at the foundation of it all; he
remembered now how she had resented his warning, on the
afternoon when she confided her plans to him.
He was irritated against her, and when, in a by no means
placid frame of mind, he presented himself rather late at the teatable, he took amiss, and showed that he did so, some innocent
remark that the countess made upon his tardiness. And
although well-bred apologies followed, there still remained a
slight estrangement between them that the guests did not fail
to observe.
The prince, too, was not in the best of humours, and when
his betrothed, desirous of restoring the usual cheerful tone of
the party, proposed that Hulda should be sent for to sing with
them a quartette they had been practising, he shook his head,
and said, in a voice that betokened displeasure, "Is it not
possible for you to live through one evening without that
girl?" To be sure, he agreed instantly when he saw how surprised Clarissa was by his manner; but it was the first unpleasant evening that had been passed at the castle. The
countess, as well as the prince and the baron, privately decided
that Hulda could no longer occupy her present position among
them; but all entertained their peculiar opinions of the whole
affair.
There was one, however, who was determined to do the duty
which lay nearest him, and that was the bailiff. The next
morning, after his hour in his office was over, he. put on his
rough great-coat, drew his fur cap over his grizzled curls, and,
stout walking-stick in hand, presented his burly figure in
Miss Kenney's sitting-room.
The large embroidering-frame stood before the window, and
Hulda and her preceptress were both working at it. A cheery
fire was burning in the stove; the myrtle and monthly roses
D*




82                     HULDA.
in the flower-stand were in full bloom; the little room looked
like the abode of peace and comfort. But when Hulda arose
to welcome the unwonted guest, he saw that her eyes were
red with weeping.
" I beg pardon, Ma'amselle Kenney," the worthy man began
-he had never been able to bring himself to pronounce the
English " miss"-" I beg pardon, but I did not come for
pleasure this morning, and those swollen eyelids tell me I was
right in coming. To cut the matter short, do you know what
occurred yesterday between Michael and Hulda?"
Hulda shrank at this question, and the tears rushed to her
eyes as she cried, " Indeed, it was not my fault; and I will
thank you on my knees if you will only send me home to my
father and mother to-day. I have been begging Miss Kenney
to do so, but —"
" But," the old lady interrupted the weeping girl, " Miss
Kenney told you, my child, that you would only make matters
worse by going home just at this timne. What would people
think of you if you should leave the castle simultaneously with
that insolent man, especially since, as we see from this visit
of the Herr Bailiff's, he has already said or done something
that might call attention to you? The prompt kindness of
Baron Emanuel, and the strict justice of the prince, have relieved you from any danger of further annoyance, and it is
your bounden duty to allow no hint of what was in itself an
insignificant incident to pass your lips, or to reach the ears of
your noble benefactresses, whose refined natures it might well
shock." 
She spoke with her usual gentle dignity. Hulda stood by
the embroidery-frame a pale image of submission. But the
bailiff understood not one word of the whole affair. He raised
the thick stick, that he held in both hands between his knees,
once or twice an inch or two from the floor, and then gently
dropped it again. He had much ado to keep from bringing
it down with a bang; but the old Englishwoman spoke in
" such a confoundedly soft voice."  However, his silence did
not last long.
"That is all very fine, and doubtless correct, from a certain
point of view, but I must know the short and the long of it.
What was it that happened yesterday? for that scoundrel's
words in my house to my sister last evening, Ma'amselle




HULDA.                       83
Kenney, had an evil flavour about them." He then proceeded
to question Hulda, who replied frankly, assisted now and then
by Miss Kenney; and the epithets with which the bailiff
interrupted their account from time to time, always begging
Miss Kenney's pardon for using such terms in her presence,
testified to his faith in all that was told him. But Hulda was
disappointed if she had hoped he would advise her return to
the parsonage. He agreed with the governess, in saying that
such a plan must not be thought of,-she must remain quietly
where she was, never breathing a word, even to her father and
mother, of what had annoyed her, never allowing the baron
to perceive that she knew of the influence he had exerted in
her behalf. Her calm continuance in her accustomed duties
would effectually put a stop to any slanderous whispers that
Michael might have put in circulation concerning her. After
giving'this advice to the girl, the good man arose, excused
his visit once more to Miss Kenney, and then, patting Hulda
upon the cheek, said, "Aha, my little fledgeling! you were ready
enough to leave the nest; now persevere,-it cannot last forever,-and the nest will be ready to receive you after this trial
is over."
Then he paused before the flower-stand, felt the earth in the
pots, to see if it were moist enough, for his eyes were everywhere, and then took his way to the fields.
When he returned home to dinner, however, he was whistling.
His whistle was like the moor-fowl's cry,-it betokened stormy
weather. His sister was standing at the cupboard in the
corner of the sitting-room when he entered, and she never
looked round, or bade him good-day,-the previous evening
was too fresh in her mind.
Suddenly he spoke: "Sister, what I thought was quite
right; all that that cast-off scoundrel told you was just a pack
of lies. I know all about it now, and mean what I say: if
one word of it comes to the ears of the pastor or his wife, I
shall hold you responsible."
"As if I were the only person to be found with ears and
tongue in my head," she muttered.
"I don't care for that; I mean what I say," said the bailiff,
who was immovable in such cases.
"I can'thelp it if the poor man has told his sad tale to others."
" But you can help calling such a rogue a poor man in that




84                     HULDA.
tender tone. If he has talked with any others, it is your part
to let them know he has lied. Enough! If I see one suspicious glance cast at Hulda, I have determined to take her
home here to keep house for me, and you may retire to a
single room in the village. It would not cost me much pain
to make such an arrangement."
And again, as on the evening before, he left the room
angrily; but Ulrika did not burst into tears to-night. The
smile that took the place of tears on her face boded ill to poor
Hulda.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN every summer there is sure to be an hour when something in the air strongly suggests the approach of autumn,
even although the sun is shining brightly and the flowers are
in full bloom; and something like this hour had interrupted
the summer-like serenity of the social life at the castle. Every
one felt its influence more or less, but no one looked for its
cause where alone it was to be found.
Matters had hitherto pursued such a smooth and even
course that small obstacles were all the more perceptible.
Michael's services were by no means indispensable to the
prince, but he missed the man's readiness and ability in a
thousand ways. He knew that he could not have retained
him much longer about his person, but he did not like to
be thus forced, as it were, to dismiss him suddenly. With
all his follies, the man had known how to make his services
valuable to his master. He had a decided talent for dramatic
representation, and could transform  the most unpromising
material into all that was needed for an evening's entertainment of this kind. Whenever tableaux vivants, charades, etc.,
were the order of the day, Michael had always filled the post
of director with great ability; and in a thousand ways he was
now missed. And Clarissa, who had accustomed herself to depend greatly upon Hulda's society and her musical knowledge
and talent, was annoyed to find that Miss Kenney's demands
upon the girl's time made it impossible for her to spend




HULDA.                       85
many moments daily in the castle proper. Miss Kenney now
found it but fitting that Hulda should attend church regularly
and pay strict attention to her lessons and hours of instruction.
Clarissa was obliged to acknowledge that her old governess was
in the right, but none the less did she miss the entertainment
that the girl had afforded her. Hulda, too, felt that every
hour she passed with Miss Kenney was for her advantage, and
yet there had come a break in the summer of content. The
lovers no longer came to take lunch with their old friend.
They had first been prevented by a slight cold that the young
countess had taken, and then there had been several days of
stormy weather; and, as Miss Kenney had never been heard
to regret their absence or suggest the renewal of their daily
visits, the custom died a natural death. Nor had Miss
Kenney apparently observed the discontinuance of the baron's
frequent visits.
Formerly he never passed through the garden, upon one of
his long walks, without stopping at Miss Kenney's open
window to exchange a few words with her, to ask about Hulda's
progress, and what news she had from the parsonage. Later,
when the luncheons were abolished and the weather had grown
colder, he came from time to time, both in the morning and in
the evening; but, although on the evening when he had found
Hulda alone and in distress he had promised to return to hear
how matters stood, and the girl knew that Michael's dismissal
was due to his influence, he had not made his appearance
since in Miss Kenney's room.
At first Hulda had hourly expected him, and sitting quietly
at her work, had meditated upon how she should thank him.
She had decided that it would be impossible to do so in Miss
Kenney's presence, since her old friend would surely expect
her to utter her gratitude in stiff, formal phrase. But why
trouble herself to say anything, since the baron always divined
what was in her heart before she spoke? How often had he
guessed her thoughts, and kindly anticipated some wish to
which she would never have dared to give utterance! In all
the embarrassment and shyness that she had felt in her early
intercourse with the great ladies at the castle, how had he
alwayscome to her assistance with words and looks that placed
her at her ease! The protection that he had once laughingly
offered had been accorded her without her asking. She
8




86                     HULDA.
had relied upon his presence in all that she had done; his
approval had been the looked-for reward of all her services.
She had often told herself that God had sent him to aid and
encourage her: his existence was a blessing to her; and then
Ma'amselle Ulrika's weird legend would recur to her, and the
thought that he believed himself under the influence of a spell,
-he, the kindliest of men, burdened with a curse! But the
spell could be dissolved by love, and surely that must be his
in richest measure.
It did no good to try to regard all such thoughts as folly,an idle nursery-tale. There are certain things against which
reason is powerless, so firm is their hold upon the human mind;
and this fact she was learning to acknowledge. She herself
seemed entangled in some mysterious spell, and everything
around her was as if strangely transformed. "What does it
mean?" she repeatedly asked herself. The castle still stood
just where it had always been standing, but an invisible wall
had arisen between it and her. The countess's maid brought
no more messages to her, desiring her presence or her services.
She only went there once a day, in the afternoon, to braid the
Countess Clarissa's hair, and she too seemed to have lost her
former merry humour. She was unaccustomed to the northern
winter,-the mist, snow, and rain affected her voice, confined
her within-doors, and depressed her spirits. Then, too, there
were tidings with regard to the health of the prince's father
which made it likely that the young man would have to curtail
his visit; and if he should gO away, the time of his return was
uncertain; it was not decided whether it would not be better
for the family to follow him to the capital. In short, everything
suddenly grew uncertain, the old familiar aspect of the household was changed.
The maids nudged one another when they met Hulda on
the stairs or in the passages, and once, as she passed through the
dining-hall, the servants loudly regretted that Michael should
have been dismissed so summarily, while others, who were slyer,
had retained their places. The gardener's wife, a kindly-intentioned woman, asked the girl one day if it were true that she was
to remain at the castle after the family had left, even although
Miss Kenney went with them. And when Hulda, with a look
of surprise, asked why she should stay, and said that of course
she should return to her parents, the good woman begged her




HULDA.                       87
not to take the inquiry amiss, and declared that she had not
herself believed the report.
If Hulda went upon an errand to the bailiff's, Ma'amselle
Ulrika hardly deigned to look at her, and would always supplement the bailiff's kind words with some bitter remark.
On one such occasion, when Hulda, wounded to the soul,
burst into tears, and asked what she had done to provoke such
anger, Ulrika replied, with a scornful laugh, " Such a beautiful
young lady ought never to cry,-tears bring wrinkles and
make your eyes red, and gentlemen don't like red eyes."
Even in church, and as she walked home, all seemed to regard her oddly. It was true that, owing to Clarissa's generous
kindness, she wore much better clothes than formerly; the
young countess had lately presented her with a pretty brooch
and ear-rings, and of course it was natural that the farmer's
daughters should ask her where she had got these new adornments. But there was something in their manner of asking
that pained and embarrassed her, she could not tell why,something that sent the blood to her cheeks and choked the
words in her throat. And yet she had done no possible wrong,
and it surely had not been her fault that the countess had
brought her to the castle.
Her gayety and happy disposition could not keep ground
against the ill-will that she encountered. She could not explain what distressed her; there was no one to whom she could
tell how heavy-hearted she had grown, and how weary and
spiritless.
As the season' advanced, the weather grew more gloomy.
Rain fell steadily day after day, with now and then a flurry
of snow that did not yet lie long on the ground. The sun
seldom appeared, except, perhaps, among heavy clouds at sunset, when with its pale-yellow light it illumined the dead
leaves upon the bare earth, the stripped boughs dripping with
rain, or the white wax berries upon the leafless spirea-stalks,
and the gloomy groups of firs and hemlocks, above whose tall
tops long trains of wild geese screamed their shrill farewells
as they sailed away to the sunnier south. Thus several weeks
passed. The number of guests at the castle had greatly
diminished, visitors from the surrounding country were rare,
on account of the bad roads, and within the castle, as without,
all joyous song was at an end. The old prince's illness occa



88                     HULDA.
sioned great anxiety; the time was occupied in looking for
letters, and preparations were made for any sudden emergency.
The travelling-carriages were taken from their sheds and
repaired. The morrow seemed uncertain; even Miss Kenney
spoke of packing her trunks, and from time to time gave
Hulda directions as to how she was to pursue her studies
if the family should leave the castle and she return to the
parsonage sooner than had been anticipated.
Hulda saw and heard it all like some dreamer who knows
that the terror he is suffering is all a dream, and who yet
finds it impossible to awaken, impossible to escape from the
distress that oppresses him. For, with all her thinking, she
never could discover the answer to the questions she perpetually asked herself, " What have I done to put an end to
my happiness? Why should the baron, hitherto so kind,
have ceased to interest himself for me?" She could not sleep
at night or sit quietly during the day. Her eyes ached, and
her heart beat all the while as if she were expecting some
strange event. A spirit of unrest possessed her and drove her
on to constant exertion only to add to her weariness.
" How pale you look!" said Clarissa, always kindly disposed towards her, one afternoon when Hulda brought her a
little piece of work she had just finished. " What has become
of your lovely colour? I trust you are not ill?"
" She grows so fast," said Miss Kenney, before Hulda could
answer;'" and perhaps the change in her whole manner of life
has been a little trying to her. You are quite right; Hulda
does not look well."
" It may be," said the countess, " that with the best will in
the world on our part, it was not well for her to come to us
when she did. She needed perfect rest while she continued
to grow, but I thought she had attained her full growth when
I first saw her. The repose of her father's house will restore
her perfectly, I trust. If you do not feel very well to-day,
child, and would like to pay a visit to the parsonage, you have
but to say the word."
" Oh, I am perfectly well," Hulda replied. And yet her
heart had never throbbed so painfully; for the baron, who was
seated at the chess-board with the prince, turned slowly round,
and, riveting his dark eyes upon her, said, "Do you remember
our conversation, Adelheid, and the objection that I made to




HULDA.                       89
your plans? Horace was wise when he said, Let what is
quiet stay so.'"
The countess apparently took heed only of his last words
"An excellent and genuinely conservative saying, that: it
should be engraved upon our crests and set up over our gateways," she said, " because it so admirably contradicts all those
modern ideas that'one hears so much of, and notably your own.
I assure you I will take your admonition to heart, and try to
be more prudent in future."
"I am sure of it," he replied. "'Tis a pity that our good
resolutions cannot work backwards, and that for the most part
they only benefit ourselves, whilst others suffer from our
earlier errors."
He said this without looking up from his game-fortunately,
the countess thought, since he must else have remarked Hulda's
agitation. Her colour came and went rapidly, her lips quivered,
and her eyes had a look of eager entreaty as she turned them
towards the baron, as if to ask what significance his remark
contained for her, and in what way he had, without her knowledge, influenced her destiny.
The countess looked at her keenly.  What she detected
was the reverse of welcome to her; but she concealed her
annoyance, and kindly patting Hulda's burning cheek, she
said, " You are too warm; the heat in my rooms is greater
than you are accustomed to. Go back, child, and take some
rest. To-morrow we will see what can be done for you."
Hulda would have obeyed, but Clarissa detained her. She
put her own shawl around her, that she might not catch cold
in going through the garden, and the baron, whose physical
suffering had made him  compassionate for that of others,
arose, and, coming towards her, took her hand and asked
whether she was in pain or had fever.
" There is nothing whatever the matter with me," she cried;
but again her cheeks flushed and there was a strange glitter in
her eyes. " I am perfectly well," she added, and tried to
smile; but her emotion was too great, and, drawing her hand
away from the baron's, she hurried out of the room.
Emanuel looked after her with anxiety.   "The girl is
ill!-very ill, I am afraid."  And he proposed to send his
groom to the village in the morning to fetch the pastor's
wife and a physician. But the countess and Miss Kcnney.
8*




90                     HULDA.
easily alarmed though the latter was usually, did not share his
anxiety.
"Do not increase the evil that you have all occasioned,"
said the countess, with a degree of sternness. " Emanuel gave
me to understand just now that I should have done better to
leave Hulda in her father's house, and I could not explain
myself in her presence. But if you had not transferred her
from the sphere in which she belongs, and where I had placed
her,-had not Clarissa, and you too, Emanuel, pleased with
Hulda's pretty face, drawn her into our circle, where all is
foreign to her, and where it is impossible she should be in
future, her imagination and her nerves would not have been so
excited, and she would have been as strong and well as at home.
I will send for her mother to-morrow, and let her take the child
home for a few days; then this little nervous attack will pass
over, and she will remember her stay among us as a bright ray
of sunshine, or some pleasant dream. Do not be unnecessarily
alarmed about the girl. Life has enough of serious care
without —"
"An express!" All interrupted her here as with one voice,
for through the quiet of the darkening twilight the sound of
a post-horn was heard in the distance, followed by the rapid
galloping of a horse. The prince hastened to the door, and
Clarissa accompanied him.
"Was I not right," said the countess, "in saying that we
should not seek out unnecessary cares? Care is seeking us.
What is it?" she asked, as the lovers returned with pale faces
and anxious looks.
" We rely upon you, and your help, dearest friend," said
the prince. " We must go this very evening-I and Clarissa,
and yourself also."
"Since you ask this,"' replied the countess, "something
very serious must have happened. Tell me what it is."
" My father writes himself. He has insisted upon hearing
the truth from his physicians, and they have told him that his
recovery is impossible, and that he may not live many days.
He therefore wishes to see Clarissa my wife before his dear
eyes are closed forever." He said this with calm self-control,
but at the last his voice trembled, and Clarissa, turning, threw
her arms around him and hid her face upon his breast.
The countess looked at her watch. "It is five o'clock now;




HULDA.                       91
we will be ready to start by eight. Will that be in time for
you, Severin?"
The prince and Clarissa gratefully kissed her hand; and the
former was about to leave the room, that he might himself
give orders to the postilion to have horses ready at the next
station, when a sudden thought struck him.
"Fill the measure of your kindness to overflowing, dear
lady," he said, " and let me go with you in your carriage. It
will be much the quicker way to let my carriage follow to-morrow with the luggage, and thus not need all our horses to-night"'
The countess pondered for a moment.    It had always
been resolved that the baron should supply the place of father
at Clarissa's marriage, and give her away, and the young
countess could not forego this arrangement. But there was
some fear lest the hurried journey in a full carriage might be
too fatiguing for Emanuel. He however, refused to be considered any longer as an invalid, and entirely approved of
Severin's plan. The countess agreed to it all the more willingly
as it necessitated leaving Miss Kenney at the castle, and made
easy what she had some time since decided must be done.
CHAPTER XX.
THE arrival of the express and the sudden departure of the
family created great bustle and activity among the castle servants. The corridors and passages were instantly alive with
ladies' maids and valets; trunks were brought out and packed,
and it was plain that eight o'clock would find the party ready
to start.
The countess sent for the bailiff to give him her last orders.
Ulrika busied herself in her store-room in packing hampers
and baskets. Even Miss Kenney exerted herself to the best
of her capacity; but she was far from strong, and, as she sank
fatigued into a chair, she said, " What a pity it is that Hulda
should be of no use on this evening of all others!"
" I must run across to her, at all events," said Clarissa;




92                     HULDA.
"and you must tell me in your first letter how she is. I
thought her greatly changed to-day."
"As you are to be left alone, my dear Kenney, and the
castle will be very quiet, do not send her home, but keep her
with you. Rest will do you both good," said the countess,
who was quite content with the turn things had taken. " Make
yourself perfectly comfortable, and order what you please,
until I know what our future plans must be."
These words seemed to bring up for the first time in Miss
Kenney's mind a vivid sense of her coming separation from
the two people to whom she had hitherto devoted her life, and,
in spite of her habit of unmurmuring submission, she could
not suppress her sorrow at being left alone at so unfriendly
a season of the year in a country quite strange to her. But,
exclusively occupied with other matters that circumstances
forced upon her attention, the countess paid her little heed.
Clarissa, however, said, soothingly, "Have Hulda with you all
the time; she has so much talent, and is so sweet-tempered,
and I will not be jealous even if she supplant me in your heart.
I love her as if she belonged to us, and she does not even
know that we are going."
The countess thought that the arrival of the express and
the bustle in the court-yard could hardly have been unperceived by her, and wondered that she had not come to offer
her services, since she really could not be very ill. She might
be sent for, or they could stop in the carriage as they passed
Miss Kenney's quarters, if Clarissa had set her heart upon
bidding her good-bye.
But there was another besides Clarissa who had remembered that Hulda knew nothing of their departure, and that
separation from those within whose circle she had been drawn
through no desire of her own would be hard for her to bear.
This was a double grief to him, since he reproached himself
for not having seen so much of her lately as formerly, so
disagreeable had been the impression made upon him by the
affair with the prince's servant.
He thought of her continually while he was ordering and
arranging what of his belongings was to be taken with him
and what to be sent after him. He took out a couple of books
that he meant to leave her as a remembrance, and was just
about to write a few kind words of farewell in one of them,




HULDA.                       93
when he was seized with an invincible desire to see her. Yes,
he must see her alone before he parted from her,-this girl
whom he had first met in the perfect solitude of the fields,
where she had arisen upon his sight like a vision of grace
and beauty, and whose loveliness of character had so impressed
him; he must see her once more, that her image might be
stamped upon his memory; he must tell her that whatever
lot the future held in store for her, she should always find in
him a firm friend.
He threw his travelling-cloak around him and went into the
garden. The evening was cloudy, but no sound yet stirred the
air. The light from the window of Miss Kenney's little sitting-room sent out its peaceful glimmer into the darkness,
and, as it grew more and more distinct, he hurried towards
it. He reminded himself that he must not delay, that he
must return immediately to the castle, that the moment of
departure was at hand, and in the haste he made his heart
throbbed fast, and a mysterious emotion possessed him. Why
had he come out upon so silly an errand? Still, he could not
turn back, for now her window was close at hand, and the
girl's tall, graceful figure was visible through the thin muslin
curtains. The old pang shot through his breast.
"So young! so fair!" he said aloud, and then started as
if the words were not the utterance of his old doubts of himself; still, he must see her, speak with her once more.
In the profound silence she had heard the sound of approaching footsteps,-footsteps that she knew. As he opened
the outer door and the gardener's dog began to bark, Hulda
opened the door of the room. The gardener and his wife
came from their room to see who was coming at so late an
hour, but quickly withdrew when they recognized the baron.
He observed this; but Hulda, in her agitation, saw nothing
of it.
"Am I to come over?" she cried, as he entered and closed
the door after him. " I have waited and waited for some one
to come for me. I could not come else, since I was told to
stay here. Is it true that they are all going to-night?"
"We go in accordance with the prince's desire," Emanuel
replied.  "In an hour we shall be gone."
" All?" asked Hulda, her eyes gazing into his. "All, Herr
Baron?   And you?"




94                     HULDA.
Her look, the tremor in her voice, agitated Emanuel more
than he had conceived possible. His habit of self-control
stood him in stead, however, and he was able to reply quietly
and kindly that he was going too, that he might give away
his niece at her marriage.
The girl's face flushed and glowed. Stretching out her hands
towards him with the gesture of one impelled by the instinct
of self-preservation, she cried, " No, no, you will not go!"
Emanuel feared to trust his senses. " Child, child, what
does this mean?" he asked, preserving his self-mastery with
the greatest difficulty, while a sense of bewildering joy was
stealing over him.  "What does this mean?" he repeated,
looking into her eyes as if to read her soul.
" I shall die if you go!" she gasped, and, utterly overcome
by the violence of her emotion, she fell upon his breast.
" My darling, tell me-speak-do you love me, Hulda?" he
cried. His face shone as in the days of his youth, and the
eyes that she had seen in the picture gazed down upon her;
but she could not speak. She was terrified at what she had
done, and could not collect herself. Her head was leaning
upon his breast; his arm was around her; he felt her heart
beat against his own.
"And can you love me-me-changed as I am?" he asked.
Still, she could not reply; but she raised her eyes to his in
mute adoration.
"Yes, yes!" he cried; "this is love, love pure and disinterested, for which I have longed, but never dared to hope.
What I never dreamed of winning or possessing in my wanderings over the world you bring me here in my native country    "
" Deliverance!" she whispered. "Love delivers!"
He heard it, and it touched him, although he did not understand it as she had meant it. " Yes, it delivers and enslaves!"
he cried. And their lips met in a long, first kiss. "It binds
me in fairest fetters to my country and my home; for now I
belong to you, and my place is here 1"




HULDA.                       95
CHAPTER XXI.
THE heavy travelling-carriage was packed and standing
before the hall-door; the lady's maid was arranging the
cushions for the ladies; the outrider had consigned his horse
-to a groom, and was assisting the coachman in harnessing
the four huge bays. The coach-dogs, released from their
kennel, were careering wildly about, rejoicing in their freedom
and adding greatly to the general confusion. The family were
assembled in the great hall above the entrance, ready for departure; cloaks and furs were all provided, and the countess's
casket of valuables was on the table before her. Miss Kenney, with difficulty controlling her emotion, kept near Clarissa,
attending to the arrangement of her wraps, and giving her,
meanwhile, many a silent caress.
Clarissa was much agitated.  For her more than for the
others the future seemed all untried; she could not tell when
she should see this home of her fathers again. It was the first
time, too, that her mother had ever left it except in her husband's company. Painful as her thoughts were, however, she
gave no utterance to them; but now that the hour for starting had arrived, did all she could to accelerate departure. The
baron alone was missing; and yet the servants reported that
his preparations for the journey had been concluded for some
time.
At last the countess gave orders that he should be informed
that they were waiting for him. The servant who received
her commands stated that he had seen the baron going through
the garden towards the left wing of the castle; his portmanteau was already in the carriage.
"Then we will start," said Clarissa, "and take him up from
there, and I can say good-bye to poor Hulda."
The proposal was not quite agreeable to the countess, whose
face betrayed her annoyance at the servant's words; but, as
she was chiefly bent upon getting away as soon as possible,
she assented to it; and the wraps had just been gathered up,
and the bailiff and Ma'amselle Ulrika admitted to say farewell,
when the baron entered.




96                     HULDA.
"We have been waiting for you, and had just determined
to stop and take you up," said the countess.
" I am sorry to have kept you waiting," he said; " doubly
so, since I must detain you a few moments longer to tell
you why I cannot go with you to-night, but will follow you
to-morrow or the day afterwards."  Then turning to the
bailiff and his sister, he requested them to leave them for
awhile.
They obeyed; the servants followed; and Miss Kenney
would have left the hall also, but Emanuel detained her.
"You, dear friend," said he, "are perhaps the only one
who will be less surprised than I am myself at what I am
about to say. For, in the hasty review that I have made
of the past in these last few moments, it seems to me you
must have divined the joy there was in store for me,-a
joy so intense that I can yet hardly believe in its reality."
He paused, and then added, in a firm, decided tone, " I have
loved Hulda from the first moment that I beheld her, and she
loves me: therefore I shall remain here until I can see her
father and obtain his consent to our marriage."
The effort to be calm gave to his words and his voice a
dryness and stiffness that were in strong contrast to the matter
of his announcement, and that added greatly to the strange
impression it produced.
"Impossible!" cried the countess; while the prince's surprise kept him silent; and even Clarissa, accustomed to regard
her uncle's marriage as something beyond the range of possibility, joined in her mother's exclamation. She would have
been delighted to appropriate Hulda as a dependent companion; but to regard the pastor's daughter as her uncle's
bride, as her aunt, was repugnant to her.
The baron resented his sistdr's exclamation and the silence
of the prince; and the self-distrust that was the morbid part
of his character stirred within him and sent the blood to his
cheeks.
"To what does your exclamation refer, Adelheid?" he
asked. " Do you find it impossible to believe that I should
yield to my inclinations and marry?"
At this the countess did as persons who are usually calm and
self-controlled always do when taken by surprise: she lost
her temper, and replied, " I find it impossible to believe that




HULDA.                       97
you should forget what is due to yourself and your ancient
name, and that you are not alone in the world!"
" Certainly that last fact is not one I am in any danger of
forgetting at this moment," he rejoined; "for I am most
sensible how entirely alone I am, and how differently we feel.
This, however, we can discuss at some future time."
A pause ensued that was by no means oil upon the waters.
All had something to say, and all restrained it. At last the
prince remarked that the time appointed for departure was
already past. This was a relief to the countess, and yet she
would gladly have said a few words alone to her brother. She
signified this to him; but he would not understand her.
When she made it a direct request, he declined.
" We are both agitated, and there is no time to lose," said
he: " therefore neither of us is in a frame for a discussion
which could in no case be productive of good."
This decided refusal offended the countess still more. She
was used to plume herself upon her influence over her younger
brother; and the step he was about to take wounded her pride
and opposed all her convictions. That this disagreeable announcement should be made and discussed before her future
son-in-law and Clarissa; that he should betroth himself to
the daughter of a pastor,-a girl whose mother was born a
serf,-just when he was about to give away his niece at the
altar to her high-born bridegroom,-all this was intolerable.
Wavering between the irritation that would have now sealed
her lips on the subject and the desire to prevent, or at least
avert for awhile, the threatened calamity, the countess, after
the lovers, followed by Miss Kenney, had left the room, turned
back to Emanuel, who was standing leaning against the chimney-piece.' Do you really mean to stay here?  You will
not come with us?" she asked, in a voice that testified to her
desire for his compliance with her wishes.
" No!" he replied, in a decided tone; "but I trust I shall
not long abuse your hospitality here."
" Then Michael was right, after all!" she exclaimed, scarcely
knowing, in her irritation, what she said, and speaking so loudly
that the bailiff and his sister, who were just outside the halldoor, heard her distinctly. Then, following the rest, she descended the broad flight of steps and got into the carriage.
The baron remained behind, entirely alone. His sister's
}I~~E            9




98                     HULDA.
words had been daggers to him. They betrayed the fact that
Miss Kenney had made him the instrument of a concerted
plot. He had learned much within the last hour.
The doors were wide open, and the draught made the flame
of the candles sway and flicker. Emanuel heard the closing of
the carriage-door, the loud crack of the coachman's whip, and
the adieux interchanged by the travellers and those remaining
behind, soon drowned by the noise of the horses' hoofs and
the rolling of the wheels. Then the gates were shut, and all
was still, save for the wind that had risen and that went howling around the old castle and clattering at the windows. The
soot blew down the huge chimney, and the owl that had its
nest in the tower perched upon the balcony outside and hooted
drearily into the night.
As the baron looked around and found himself thus alone
in the hall, a feeling of pain stole over him. At the moment
when a woman's love-a joy to which he had resigned all
claim-became his own, his nearest of kin had turned from
him; and the woman who had been to him more than a sister,
whom he had regarded as his dearest friend, had wounded
and grieved him. She, knowing well how the misfortune of
his youth had oppressed and burdened him, calling him to resign all bright anticipations, should not have treated him thus.
Was he not capable of directing his own actions? should he
not carve out his life as he pleased?
Tender-hearted as he was in his affection for his sister, he
could do nothing now but arm himself with anger against her.
He was justly irritated that, as they were about to separate,
she had hurled in his teeth the slanderous words of a dismissed lackey,-attainting not only his honor, but also that of
the girl so soon to bear a name that the countess had been
proud to call her own. It was true that he himself had
never approved when representatives of ancient noble names
had allied themselves with the bourgeoisie, thus sullying the
purity of the noble blood which he, as well as his sister, had
so highly prized.
He had never contemplated the possibility of choosing a
wife not of noble blood. But had he chosen here?  The
love of this divine creature, who had been to him a presage
of joy, had fallen upon him unsought, unhoped for, a gift
of the gods. He had never been so reconciled with his lot




HULDA.                       99
as since the day when first he saw Hulda.     She had
seemed to him then a vision of the daughter of the blessingbringing goddess; and what a blessing she had brought him,
and would always bring him in ever-increasing measure, as
her lovely nature developed beneath the fostering care with
which his love would surround her I
Again he saw her in all the glory of her youthful beauty.
Her soft arms were around him, her head rested upon his
breast; the thought of her impelled him to seek her again,
that in her presence he might forget the painful impressions
of the past half-hour.
In the anteroom his servant met him, and asked for orders
as to the unpacking of his portmanteau, and whether he
would sup in the dining-hall or in his own room. Two maids
were busy in the passage under Ma'amselle Ulrika's supervision. Everything reminded him that the life of the last
few months was at an end, and he reflected that on the morrow at this time he should have left the castle. Well, he had
passed delightful days here with his sister, the prince, and
Clarissa, but, after what had passed, those days never could return. As he opened the door into the garden, the storm and
wind from the sea came driving in his face and beat against
him during his short walk. The boughs of the firs swayed
to and fro with the violence of the wind that moaned through
them,-while their tall tops creaked and groaned, and there was
a flurry of rustling leaves along the pathway. He was glad
when his foot was upon the threshold of a protecting roof,
and rejoiced in the prospect of so soon forgetting all save
the new joy of being beloved. But here, too, disappointment
awaited him.  He had hoped that a fair girl would come
towards him, her beautiful face beaming with the reflection
of youthful love. Instead of this he found Miss Kenney
sunk in silent grief in her corner of the sofa, while Hulda
rose from her seat at the table and stood quiet and shy, without even looking at him.
" What is the matter? What has happened, my darling?"
he asked, although he could well divine what the matter was.
He took her hand, and threw his arm around her. She withdrew from his embrace, and, stooping to press a kiss upon his
hand, she said, with an effort that was painfully evident in the
trembling of her lips, "' Forgive me, Herr Barop."




100                    HULDA.
"I forgive you, dearest love?  What words are these?
Forgive you for making me happy, for loving me?  What
folly, what evil enchantment, is this? What could I have to
forgive in you who are purity and love incarnate?"
"Forgive me for daring to raise my eyes to you, for bringing discord where I had received kindness,-for-for   "
She could say no more, but hid her face in her hands.
"And is it thus my good Kenney has employed the time
of my absence?   Is this the lesson she has tried to teach
you?" Emanuel said, with a laugh that ill concealed his
annoyance. "It is lucky for me that your memory will
prove a short one; you can never learn this incomparable
lesson by heart. But I see clearly this is no place for you, or
for me either. To-morrow morning early I will myself take
you to your home. Till then, my dearest, farewell."
" Excuse me, Herr Baron," Miss Kenney interposed, in her
softest voice and with her kindest look, "if I venture for
the first time to oppose your commands. Hulda has been
entrusted to my guardianship by her parents, and by the
countess, from whom I have received directions to accompany
her to-morrow to the parsonage. Until then she remains in
my charge alone."
Emanuel winced. This opposition at every turn was intolerable. " The countess is exceedingly attentive to my future
wife," he said; "but really she must allow me to adjust my own
affairs as I think best. Wrap yourself up warm, my darling.
I will return in half an hour, and you shall sleep this night
beneath your father's roof: you never would have left its
shelter if the countess had paid heed to me."
He went towards the door. Hulda stood in the middle
of the little room, irresolute as a child.  Her helplessness
and the baron's annoyance went to Miss Kenney's heart.
She knew not what she wished, or what to do. She had
once been young and fair herself, and beloved by the son
of the wealthy nobleman whose intendant her father was.
Meekly resigning her love, she had left her home that she
might ensure the peace and prosperity of her family, and had
found repose and a new home with those to whose service she
had ever since been devoted. Why should not this girl follow her example? Should she not once more by her advice
and exhortations try to play the part of an angel of peace in




HULDA.                      101
a noble household? Submission and self-sacrifice were so
much a part of her nature that she could hardly understand
why every one could not find the most profound content in
utter self-abnegation.
She rose and laid her hand upon Emanuel's arm to detain
him. "Do not let me plead in vain," she said; "do not
force me to transgress the countess's orders for the first time
in my life. Does the thoughtless fancy of a child weigh more
with you than do the sacred claims of a sister's affection?
For-you know the countess as well as I do-she will
sacrifice everything sooner than her convictions."
The soft, quavering voice of the old lady, and Hulda's-evident helplessness, rasped Emanuel's high-strung nerves, and
the last words made everything worse. "Then," he cried,
"the countess will the more readily understand my acting
according to my conviction. Be ready as soon as you can,
my child; the carriage will be here in a few moments."
He hastily left the room, and Hulda sank into a chair,
utterly stupefied. Good old Kenney wavered irresolute between kindness of heart and conscientiousness, between fidelity
to duty and sensibility, between her regard for rank and her
delight in making others happy. She told Hulda that the
whole trouble was entirely owing to her want of a sense of
decorum, while she tenderly and anxiously felt her pulse,
fearing that she was really ill. She declared that Hulda
should never go out into the stormy night with the baron,
and demanded that she should herself refuse to accompany
him, and should wait until the next day before she went
home; and yet her very heart ached with pity for the girl,
and for Emanuel, whose sensations she could well divine.
But nothing that she said had any effect upon Hulda.
"I must go with him, and I must go home,-this very
night," she said again and again, as if there were no room in
her mind for any other thought. Then suddenly starting to
her feet, as in positive terror, she added, " Oh, if he would
only come   Something at my heart is drawing me to my
home." She went into the adjoining room and dressed for
the drive; then she stood at the window, looking out into the
night, and then went to look at the clock. Her restlessness
increased; Miss Kenney feared she was seriously ill.
"No, no!" she replied to her old friend's expressions of
9*




102                   HULDA.
anxiety; "but I am in dread,-in utter dread. I should
have to walk home if I could not go otherwise; I never felt
so before.  Oh, if he would only come!"  Suddenly she
hastened again to the window and opened the casement. The
wind flapped it wide open and extinguished one of the candles upon the table. Miss Kenney, chilled by the draught of
air, inquired what she meant.
"Did you not hear it?" asked Hulda, looking wildly
around. "I surely heard my mother call me! It pierced
my very heart! Oh, such a wild, despairing cry for help!"
Miss Kenney closed the window, and drew her away from,it. She was very anxious; she feared the girl was slightly
delirious, so feverish was her desire to go home, her longing
for her mother.
The baron, too, stood at the window of his room in the
castle, and waited for the horses, with a devouring impatience
which the surrounding loneliness increased to an intolerable
pitch. He had ordered his carriage to be ready as soon as
possible, and an outrider to be provided, since the storm and
pitchy darkness made caution necessary even for so short a
distance as that between the castle and the parsonage. His
old valet had asked whether he should attend him, and when
Emanuel replied curtly in the negative, the faithful fellow,
who could not but see that matters were all wrong, and who
was troubled that his master had not left with the rest of the
family, still lingered in the room in hopes of some change
occurring in the baron's plans.
Emanuel scarcely noticed his presence; his mind was in a
turmoil. Left to himself for a few moments, he distinctly
saw for the first time that the last hour had been a turningpoint in his existence, and that he had chosen a future in
direct contradiction to all his previous ideas and convictions.
He scarcely recognized himself. The joy of knowing that
he was beloved had conquered his self-distrust; but the alienation from his family that threatened him cooled the rapture
with which he dwelt upon the thought of Hulda, and it added
to the annoyance occasioned him by the manner he had been
obliged to adopt of securing his happiness, used as he was
to a dignified and calm progress of events in his daily life,
that he could not be for a moment in doubt as to how the
step he had taken would be regarded in those circles forming




HULDA.                      103
his society, whose opinions he had been accustomed to regard
with some deference.
His agitation increased with every moment of delay. He
was relieved, indeed, when the carriage drove to the door, and
Hulda, as he entered Miss Kenney's room, flew to him as if to
a liberator, with a "Thank God, you are come!"
He scarcely knew how he put her into the carriage, or how
Miss Kenney, carried away by her tenderness of heart and
her love for Hulda, embraced and blessed them both. All
else was forgotten in the sense of ecstasy with which he
clasped his new-found treasure to his heart.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE night was profoundly dark, the wind coming from the
sea swept, roaring, across the wide level, and the horses
breasted the storm with difficulty, while the lantern carried
by the outrider gave but a flickering gleam in the blackness.
But Emanuel heeded neither the storm nor the darkness.
He was supremely happy.
Innocent and confiding as a child, tender and submissive as
a loving wife, Hulda nestled at his side. Her head rested
upon his shoulder; he had thrown his large cloak around her
as he clasped her in his arms and pressed his lips repeatedly
upon her hair, brow, and lips. The gentle reserve with which
she replied to his words of love, the child-like longing with
which she spoke of her parents, and the quiet joy with which
she pressed his hand as he told her that at her side he was
young again-won to new life-so engrossed him that he
hardly noticed that snow had begun to fall thickly, and that
it was only with great care and caution that his people were
able to keep their onward way. Suddenly Hulda started from
his side.
"That is Pluto, our dog!" she cried. And pressing her
face against the carriage-window, she asked if they could be
at home already. The baron put down the window. They
were still in the open fields. Hulda recognized by the light




104                    HULDA.
of the lantern the old sign-post pointing in three directions,
towards the castle, the sea, and the village. Yet true enough
it was the pastor's dog barking loudly that she had heard,
and that now, when she called him, came leaping up wildly at
the side of the carriage.
" Where can he have come from?" said Hulda, when the
baron had closed the window again. " He is never unchained
at this hour! And," she added, as they drove past the first
houses in the village, " what is the matter here?  The houses
are all lighted up, and the people are standing out-of-doors!
Oh, I hope there are no boats out in the storm!"
Just then the carriage stopped; some one was speaking
with the outrider. "What is it?" the baron called to the
men.
" They are asking," was the reply, " whether we have met
the postmaster's chaise; but we came from the opposite
direction."
"i Why are they in search of it?" asked the baron.
Before his question could be answered, an old man wrapped
in a huge cloak, his fur cap drawn over his forehead, and a
stable-lantern in his hand, came up to the carriage-door, and
without, in his agitation, seeming in the least surprised by the
appearance of the baron and Hulda in such weather and at
such an hour, exclaimed, as he recognized the latter, " Thank
God, you are here at last! There is some one for the Herr
Pastor to talk to!"
A deadly pang shot through Hulda's heart as she heard
these words of the old sexton's.
"But where, then, is my mother?" she cried. "Herr
Falk, where is my mother?   She is not sick?  Who was
coming in the postmaster's chaise?"
"' The pastor's wife was coming in it," said the sexton.
"The postmistress is ill, and sent for your mother, Friulein
Hulda, this morning, and she drove away from the post-house
at noon to return in time for supper at the parsonage, and she
has not come yet."
" Perhaps she was detained at the post-house by the storm,"
said the baron, hoping to soothe Hulda's anxiety, although he
himself was possessed by a gloomy foreboding.
" No," said the sexton; "she started long before the mail
that drove by here at five o'clock."




IHULDA.                    105
Hulda uttered a cry of horror. In spite of the cold, her
hands were burning hot. The baron ordered the coachman
to drive on, and in a few minutes they drew up before the
parsonage.
The garden-gate and the house-door were open. At the
noise of the carriage, the pastor, the maid-servant, and a couple
of neighbours hurried out of the house.
"Then you know it already?" cried the pastor, as Hulda
threw herself into his arms; "you know it already?"
"No, we know nothing!" replied Emanuel, leading the
father and daughter into the house.
"She started at three o'clock in broad daylight," wailed the
pastor. "There is no hope; they got upon the quicksands.
She is gone!"
Hulda uttered an agonized shriek. The whole force of the
blow that her father had gradually experienced in the last six
hours came upon her with a sudden shock and utterly prostrated
her. Emanuel tried in vain to arouse some glimmer of hope
in the two mourners; but his words of comfort fell upon unheeding ears. He would send out his groom-would send
people in every direction upon the four carriage-horses-to
search for the missing ones; but he knew perfectly well that
the pastor was right in saying that until the sea gave up its
dead they never would be found.
"The postilion who drove the mail," the pastor said, with
the calmness of despair, "followed the track of their wheels
for half a league, and then it ceased, just where the shore
seemed to him strangely altered,-the sea came higher up, and
he immediately altered his course and drove farther inland."
" The wind may have heaped up the sand and obliterated
their traces," said Emanuel, soothingly, distressed by the
rigidity in Hulda's features, knowing, as only he could know,
how doubly hard it was for her to endure this shock at the
present time.
The pastor shook his weary head incredulously. "The
wind drive wet sand? Impossible! And where could they
go to? We have searched every foot of land from here to
the post-house. None could lose their way here." Then,
bowing his pale forehead upon his folded hands, he cried,
" God has so ordered it. His will be done I but it is hard foi
me and for the child. Such a mother! My poor, poor child!"




106                    HULDA
Tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks as he laid his hands
upon Hulda's head; she had sunk upon the floor at his feet.
Emanuel stood beside them, wrung to the soul.
" I am here, old friend. Hulda, am I not beside you?"
he said, bending over her. But she turned from him and
clasped her father's knees, crying, " Here, here is my place!
I can never leave it!"
He did not venture to speak to her again, given over as
she was to natural sorrow, and to have asked the father for
the daughter's hand at such a time, to have mingled his hope
with their despair, would have been a double desecration.
The villagers, whose sensibilities, however dulled by the
frequency of such disasters among themselves, were aroused
in behalf of their pastor, gathered about him; but he paid
little heed to their rude attempts at consolation, and not
until the baron's servant appeared to ask his master's orders
with regard to the carriage did the poor man awake to the
fact that there must have been some extraordinary cause for
the appearance of Emanuel with Hulda at the parsonage so
late at night.
He asked the baron for an explanation of his visit, and
received from him the intelligence of the arrival of the express, and the sudden breaking up and departure of the family
at the castle, leaving no one behind but Miss Kenney and
himself. This the pastor heard with sorrow; and, when
Emanuel saw that it seemed to do him good to have his mind
diverted from his own grief even for a moment, he said, " I
will tell you to-morrow, when we are not so bewildered by this
sudden misfortune as at present, why I have brought home
Hulda, who is as dear to me as to you."
" Then you really did not know of it?" asked the pastor,
to whom Emanuel's presence seemed more of a riddle than
ever.
"Yes," cried Hulda, before he could speak in reply; "yes,
father, yes, I knew it. She called me once, twice, and so
loud that I ran to the window and opened it; but I did not
see her. But now, now I see her! There! there! Oh,
mother! dear mother!" And with outstretched arms, and
beseeching agony in her voice, she arose and was hurrying to
the window, when she fell to the ground in a dead faint.
Her father, Emanuel, and the old maid-servant ran to her




HULDA.                     107
assistance. They carried her to her little room and laid her
on the bed. When she revived from her fainting-fit, she
was perfectly delirious, and in her feverish ravings she soon
betrayed to her father all that Emanuel would have told him
on the morrow, all that could explain the baron's anxiety on
her behalf. Any further confidence on Emanuel's part the
pastor quietly declined to receive.
"God has sent the angel of death to my dwelling," he
said, submissively. "How can we contemplate life and its
demands whilst the dark wings are outspread above our heads?
Why should we decide before the Lord has decided? Why
should I listen to you before we know whether the mother
will not call her child to follow her? It was hard enough for
her to part with her here on earth. God will be merciful, I
think, to her and to me. He will not long put asunder those
whom he has once joined together."
Without, the storm had begun to subside. The windowshutters were open, so that the light streaming from them
might signal the missing ones, if by some miracle they were
still alive. Gradually the villagers withdrew,-nothing more
could be done to-night in the way of search. They could not
console their pastor, and they must take some rest to prepare
for the ordinary duties of the following day. At last even the
faithful old sexton went sadly to his home. But the housedoor was not locked, and the faithful dog kept watch upon the
threshold.
Emanuel had sent for the physician; but it was impossible
that he should arrive before daybreak. Overwhelmed by grief,
the poor old father wandered from the window to the door,
and then into the open air. He looked around him, but his
weary eyes saw not what he sought. The wind was slowly
driving the clouds from the land to the sea; the weathercock
upon the church-tower creaked and turned as was its wont;
and when the moon broke through the clouds it illumined
the garden and the pebbly pathway and the little house as
brightly as if the faithful wife were still by her husband's
side instead of far down in the depths of the heaving sea.
He could not bear to see everything thus wearing its usual
aspect; he wandered back to the house, where all was so
changed.
Hulda was not aware of either his coming or his going. Her




108                    HULDA.
thoughts were busy in the world of fancy, where they had so
often lingered of late. She believed herself to be the little
scullery-maid whom the king of the fairy-folk wished to
marry, and she implored Emanuel not to allow it, nor to let
her leave him. She had delivered him by her love from the
curse; he was once more young and handsome as the picture
in the castle. She would marry him and be his queen. All
this she would say in short, broken sentences but too well
comprehended by her father and by Emanuel, both of whom
knew the old legend, and then in heart-breaking tones she
would cry that her mother was coming, rising pale and dead
from the deep, deep sea, whither she would carry her poor child
back with her, since an evil eye had been cast upon her love
and her happiness. It was a terrible night; it seemed as if
day would never come, and when it did come, what could it
bring but a sad certainty?
No traces were found of the pastor's wife, or of the horse,
vehicle, or driver. They were gone forever. The physician
pronounced Hulda to be suffering from a severe attack of
nervous fever, and time alone, he said, would show whether
youth and a good constitution would come off conquerors. In
such days of suspense, what but the tender hand of a mother
could truly minister to the stricken daughter?
Whilst the two helpless men were discussing what was
best to be done-Emanuel talking of taking up his abode at
the parsonage, and the pastor representing to him that in his
present forlorn condition it was impossible that such a guest
could be made'comfortable beneath his roof-a messenger
from the castle arrived, bringing a letter from the countess to
her brother, and another to the pastor. A third had been
sent to Miss Kenney. The countess had written them at the
first station, where they stopped to change horses, and all three
were quite short.
" I must entreat you, my dear brother," she wrote to the
baron, "to forgive my hasty, unkind words, which nothing but
the sudden shock of your announcement could excuse. You
know that to see you married has long been my most fervent
desire. But the girl whom you have selected for a wife is
very young and in every way your inferior. Is the affection
that you feel for her strong enough to outlast the years that
must be devoted to her education, and to neutralize the in



HULDA.                     109
evitable embarrassment you will have in presenting her, nameless as she is, to our circle of friends? And do you not shrink
from the thought that your children, their mother not being
of rank, will be obliged to resign the entailed estates of the
ancient family whose name we bear? You see, I am really
disinterested, since those estates would in that case fall to my
son as the next heir. - These lines have no other purpose than
to beg your forgiveness and entreat you to pause and reflect
before you bind yourself further. At the same time I will
not deny that the prospect of welcoming as my brother's wife
a girl whom I had proposed to take into my own service is
anything but agreeable to me."
She spoke still more plainly in her note to Hulda's father.
Since he knew her, he would not be surprised, she said, to
learn that her brother's intention had not met with her approval.  She thought it owing on his part to a transient
emotion, for which, doubtless, Hulda's ingenuous naivete was
somewhat to blame. For her own part, she acknowledged
with regret how grave a matter it was to attempt, even in the
interest of education, to remove a girl from the sphere of life
in which she was born. Still, in this instance she relied upon
the pastor's knowledge of the world, as well as upon his devotion to her family, and upon the gratitude of Simonena. She
was quite sure that both parents would see the entire unsuitability of -this connection, and do what in them lay to prevent
their daughter's entrance into a family from which they themselves had received nothing but benefits, but which could never
admit her gladly within its circle.
After a kindly fashion, but quite clearly, she gave Miss
Kenney to understand that she held her partly responsible for
what had already occurred and for what might happen in
future. She added that she need not say how utterly distasteful to her, and how unsuitable in every respect, this intended
marriage of Emanuel's was, and that she trusted that Miss
Kenney would use her utmost efforts to open his eyes to his
infatuation, and to remind the pastor and his wife of the duty
they owed the noble family which had conferred so many benefits upon them.
Emanuel and the pastor read their letters, but while the
dread struggle between life and death was going on there was
no time to contemplate any possibilities save those of the
10




1O                    HULDA.
present moment. It was clear that the baron could not stav
at the parsonage, and that some one must be installed there
to take charge of poor Hulda. Emanuel drove to the castle
to seek what assistance could be found there. Upon his
arrival he found every one filled with dismay and grief over
the intelligence of the loss of the pastor's wife.  Even
Ma'amselle Ulrika had forgotten her long-cherished grudge
against " poor Simonena." She was always to be relied upon
in any misfortune or distress,-always ready then to aid and
sympathize.  The sunshine of others' happiness scared away
her sympathies and aroused the antagonism of her nature.
She and her brother were all ready to drive over to the
parsonage when Emanuel reached the castle. Every one
crowded around the baron and his servants, with expressions
of sorrow, to learn all that could be told of the poor woman
whose unassuming loveliness of character had made her universally beloved.
Emanuel went directly to Miss Kenney, whose kind heart
instantly decided what was best to be done. One of the
younger maid-servants at the castle had shown herself especially capable and sweet-tempered, and Miss Kenney declared
that she would take this girl with her and establish herself at
the parsonage, to undertake the entire charge of her dear
pupil until she was restored to health,-a consummation that
might surely be expected, in view of her youth and strength.
It was far more suitable that she should be at the parsonage
than that the baron should attempt to stay there; she could be
of more use in every way, both with regard to Hulda and as
a companion to the poor old pastor, who would feel the charge
of her entertainment far less than that of the baron. She
would immediately report to Emanuel any change in Hulda's
condition, and, if she should shortly recover, it would surely
be best that in the first stage of her recovery any agitating interviews with her lover should be avoided. The quiet influence
of a teacher to whom she had been accustomed, and of whom'she was fond, would surely be best for the girl at present.
All this was so sensible and kind that Emanuel accepted
her offer with gratitude. Even Ma'amselle Ulrika remarked
that it was odd that any one who had had so little to do with
household affairs should understand so well the practical part
of a matter; " not that Hulda," she added, " is worth all this




HULDA.                      111
fuss and worry; every one can see clearly now that matters
had come to a pretty pass between the baron and the girl, and
must acknowledge that poor Michael was treated with the
greatest injustice."
Still, she packed up a large hamper of everything that was
necessary for Miss Kenney or the invalid, and was soon on the
way with her brother to inquire after the poor widowed pastor
and to offer her services in the emergency.
CHAPTER XXIII.
DAYS of wearing anxiety in the castle, as well as in the
parsonage, followed these hours of anguish and dread. Letters
from his sister were the only interruptions of the baron's life.
The great affection, strengthened by custom, that existed between the brother and the sister, made a superficial reconciliation easy, especially since the dangerous and continued illness
of the girl whom he loved kept him at the castle and postponed
the formal announcement of his engagement, at least until she
could be pronounced out of danger.
In the mean time the weather, of course, grew rougher and
more stormy; the roads were almost impassable. The noble
proprietors of estates in the neighbourhood had almost all
retired from them to enjoy the comforts of the capital; and
the two or three who remained, with whom the baron had
some acquaintance, lived so far across the country that it was
too great an undertaking to seek them out. Even his daily
drives to the parsonage occupied double the time they had
formerly taken, but they were never omitted. Often during
these drives, as he sat wrapped in furs in his carriage, from
the windows of which nothing could be seen for the driving
snow and. sleet, he asked himself, " What am I doing here at
this season of the year?"
Since his early youth he had never before spent a winter in
the north,-had never lived in such profound solitude. He
was as thoroughly used to southern skies, and to nature in her
most luxuriant aspect, as to intercourse with men distinguished




112                    HULDA.
either by birth or by breeding. Suddenly he was deprived of
both, and sometimes, while sitting at Hulda's bedside, watching
her pale, worn face, and listening to her delirious cries to him to
save her from dangers by which she believed herself surrounded,
he seemed to himself to be wandering among the deceptive joys
and sorrows of dream-land, or to be really a part of the wild
legend to which Hulda perpetually alluded.
Without a thought of himself, without a hope for the future,
he had, for his sister's sake, returned, after years of absence,
to his home. Here, where he had least expected it, the flower
of love had blossomed in his path, only to wither at his touch.
Was this the curse that had rested for centuries upon his race,
-this deceptive glow of happiness that mocked him, threatening to snatch from his grasp what he had so coveted, to
bestow grief and desolation where he had looked for peace and
repose?
The knowledge, too, that no one took pleasure in the love
that he had gained pained him and made him silent. Even
the girl's father, upon whom he could bestow all worldly prosperity, disapproved. He could, to be sure, scarcely blame the
sense of honor that prevented the father from contemplating
with satisfaction his daughter's entrance into a family whose
aristocratic prejudices he was not only aware of but approved.
And he could not disagree with Miss Kenney when she reminded him, with regard to Hulda, how prone youth is to give
undue weight to sudden violent emotion, and how often such
emotion fades or is overcome.
But when Hulda called him by name, when in her delirium
she would have arisen from her couch in search of him if she
had not been forcibly detained there, his heart was filled only
with an unutterable longing to see her restored to health.
Tender memories would arise of the moments when a dim
suspicion of her love for him had arisen before his mind like
a beacon-light.  To himself he called her his deliverer; there
was a sweet satisfaction in his care of her, although he had as
yet known none of that familiar intercourse with Hulda which
makes the presence of one whom we love a necessary part of
our existence. He loved her fondly, and yet his own former
ill health, during which he had been an object of tender solicitude to all around him, had produced in him a certain amount
of egotism that unfitted him for any enduring, unselfish self




HULDA.                      113
sacrifice.  He really suffered more than any one suspected
from the inclemency of the climate during his daily visits to
the parsonage; but when his sister entreated him to leave the
north, and the pastor and Miss Kenney proposed that he
should go south before midwinter was upon them, and there
await Hulda's recovery, he refused to listen from distrust of
the motives of his advisers, as well as from a desire to be
present to catch the first gleam of his darling's returning
reason.
Thus Christmas passed by, after a melancholy fashion. The
letters the baron received from his sister contained little to
cheer him. The old prince had died shortly after his son's
arrival and marriage; and the young people passed the first
months of their wedded life in deep mourning. The countess
had left them; she thought it best to withdraw to the capital,
where she. was awaiting her son's arrival. His recent appointment to a new diplomatic post facilitated his stay for some time
with his mother, who was anxious for his assistance in the final
winding up of the late count's affairs. But his coming, she
wrote, had been delayed; he was not yet with her, and deprived
as she was, for the first time in her life, of the society of all
who were dearest to her, and even of her faithful old governess,
her letters were full of sad reflections upon the solitude that
age brings, the helplessness of mortals in carrying out their
plans for the future, and the folly of expecting to reap where we
have sown, or of receiving affection where we have bestowed it.
To rid himself of the depression caused by the arrival of
such a letter from his sister, the baron drove over to the parsonage, the day before the first of the year, earlier than was his
wont. For months now there had been no change for the
better; there had been months of grief and illness, and for
weeks no ray of sunlight had penetrated the heavy clouds that
obscured the face of nature. He was unhappy, and, what was
worse, out of harmony with himself. For the first time it had
seemed to him a question whether, after all, he had not committed an act of folly in yielding to his passion for Hulda.
He was certainly playing a very extraordinary part here, that
of unwelcomed suitor to a dying girl of low birth; yes, his was
Ro strange a position that he wished himself away, and'yet
there was something in his heart that held him here, in spite
of all such thoughts and every argument against it.
10*




114                    HULDA.
"If I could see her standing before me once more as on
that first spring evening," he cried, involuntarily, "how gladly
would I wait!" Then suddenly as his carriage approached the
beach, a bright sunbeam stole out through the clouds; the cold
breakers glimmered and shone, and a huge flock of sea-mews
soared up from the water, shrilly screaming and flying before
him, circled around the church-tower and the parsonage, and
back again over the sea, where they soon vanished on the
horizon.
His gaze followed their flight. How gladly would he have
soared aloft like them, far above himself! An indescribable
longing for light and warmth and happiness possessed him.
His heart was full as he entered the quiet little room, now
illuminated by the sunlight, where the pastor and Miss Kenney
received him, and he seated himself by the sick girl's couch.
Did the rare sunlight deceive him thus at the close of the
year with a ray of hope? or had the rest of the previous night,
the best since her illness, wrought a miracle of healing in
Hulda? Emanuel had scarcely reached her side when she
opened her eyes and riveted them upon him. Miss Kenney
signed to him to be perfectly quiet. The girl gazed at him as
if she could not trust her senses. Suddenly a smile flitted
across her pale lips. The baron could keep silence no longer:
he softly uttered her name. She listened, and held out a weak,
weary hand.
" Ah, you are come! you are come!" she said, with a caressing tenderness that found an echo, in his own heart. He
kneeled at her bedside and lavished terms of endearment
upon her, calling her his dearest child, his Hulda, his darling.
He kissed her hands, her brow, her lips. She tried to raise
herself from her couch, but she was too weak. It had been
too much for her, and as the sunbeam outside vanished behind the dark clouds, she relapsed into insensibility.




HULDA.                      15
CHAPTER XXIV.
IT was late in the evening. The year had but a few more
hours to live. Emanuel tried to occupy his mind with the
studies and occupations in which his days were passed, but
his efforts were vain. He longed for some friend to whom
he could confide the hopes and fears that agitated him. But
whence could such a guest arrive in this solitude and in the
depth of winter?
All was quiet in the castle. The fire crackled in the huge
chimney, down which the wind roared in fitful gusts that now
and then sent a shower of sparks into the room. The antique
clock upon the old oak cabinet ticked audibly, marking the
last moments of the dying year, as it had done for so many of
its predecessors, while without the snow was falling steadily.
How great a contrast this evening presented to the New
Year's eve that had preceded it! That had been spent in Italy,
in his sister's villa there, in the midst of a gay and brilliant
circle, his brother-in-law then in robust health, Prince Severin
lately betrothed to Clarissa, the old prince delighting in his
son's happiness, and a number of noble Germans spending the
winter in Italy, with some Russians from the provinces on
the Baltic, who still proudly preserved the ancient traditions
of their German origin. All in the little circle had been in
harmony with themselves and one another. Two from among
them were dead, and where were the others? Where was the
lovely Konradine, who, in her pretty disguise of a youthful postilion, had bestowed upon every one present some charming
gift, the value of which was enhanced by the sparkling verses,
written by her mother, that accompanied it?
Emanuel had scarcely bestowed a thought upon those two
people during the last few months, although they were among
the friends with whom his life had very frequently brought
him in contact. The mother was an early friend of the countess, had been married very young, and well deserved her
reputation as a clever, brilliant woman.
Upon her husband's death, shortly after her marriage, she




116                    HULDA.
devoted her time to travelling with her only child, a daughter,
in various European countries, and was widely known at the
several courts that she had visited. In spite of the gossip
that inevitably attends the mode of life of a young, handsome,
rather dashing widow given to eccentricities, she had preserved
her reputation intact; and although, as she laughingly asserted,
she made no claims to be considered the model of a Roman
mother, the relations between herself and her daughter, now
grown up, seemed to be of the pleasantest. Konradine was
thought rather an original, especially since with all her beauty'and wit, even now when she was nearer thirty than twenty
years of age, she declared that she preferred freedom to the
gilded bondage of matrimony.
It was these ladies who some years previously had first interested the baron in collecting the popular songs of Lithuania and Northeastern Germany. He had once heard Frau
von Wildenau and her daughter speaking together in a language which, although not yielding one whit in melody or
delicacy to a southern tongue, yet retained enough of northern
vigour to indicate its origin, and in answer to his inquiries
they told him it was the language spoken upon their estates in
Esthland. He remembered distinctly the melancholy little
love-song that Konradine had then sung for him:
" Tio was so good and dear,
Tio I loved above all here;
Tio grew ill, my dearest bride,
Tio faded, Tio died."
The simple words had a very different significance for him
to-day from what they had when he heard them first, upon a
sunny afternoon in Venice, in a balcony above the waters of
the Grand Canal. Who could tell but that his Tio, grown so
ill, might not also fade and sink into the grave? He went to
the piano to try and recall the melody, when suddenly he
thought he heard the sound of a post-horn. He could hardly
trust his ears; what could be coming to the castle at this
hour? The sound was repeated, now much nearer, and following upon it came the ringing of the huge gateway bell and
the opening of the court-yard gate.  In the stillness that
reigned around, every sound was audible; the hoofs of a
horse echoed upon the stone-paved court-yard, and the rider
reined in his steed just below the windows of Emanuel's room.




HULDA.                      117
With his mind full of the memory of the last evening
upon which an unexpected express had arrived at the castle,
his thoughts as he opened the letter handed to him by the
servant were none of the pleasantest. It bore his address, in
a feminine handwriting that seemed familiar to him, and its
contents ran thus:
" Every bitter brings its sweet. Two of your friends entreat a welcome and shelter for the night at your hands. All
else, with cordial good wishes for the new year, shall be said
viva voce, provided always that the postilion who carries you
this prove stronger and stouter than the one who was the
bearer of good wishes to you last New Year's eve."
The note was signed with Frau von Wildenau's name, and
was dated from the, nearest post-station. The baron could not
understand how the two friends who had just been present in
his mind could possibly be at such an out-of-the-way place; but
the prospect of welcoming them to the castle on this evening
above all others was certainly very pleasant. Upon inquiry, he
learned that the ladies' carriage had been overturned and seriously damaged a short distance from the station, whither they
had retired to pass the night and wait until another conveyance could be prepared. Hearing, however, that the countess's
castle was but two or three miles distant, they had changed
their minds, had sent this letter on before, and were following
it with their maid in one of the vehicles belonging to the
postmaster.
Emanuel looked' at the clock; the travellers, according to
the postilion, would arrive in an hour, somewhat before midnight. Of course, all the servants in the castle and at the
bailiff's were up and stirring on New Year's eve, and the
baron knew Ma'amselle Ulrika well enough to be certain that
nothing would be wanting for the comfort of the unexpected
visitors.
He therefore ordered a horseman with a lantern to be sent
to meet them, while Ma'amselle was told of the tidings he had
received.
She was in her element in an emergency like the present.
Here was a chance for bringing to light and use some of the
delicacies stored away in anticipation of the Countess Clarissa's wedding and the lengthened stay of the family at the
castle. She was quite tired of only packing up a few things




118                    HULDA.
every week to be taken to the parsonage, where she felt that
very inferior fare would have answered the purpose quite as
well.
It was easy to see how much she enjoyed thus proving herself equal to the occasion. Fires were soon lighted throughout the castle, and one of the smaller drawing-rooms was
decorated with flowers. The supper was prepared, and the
New Year's bowl brewed, with which, after northern fashion,
Emanuel resolved to welcome his guests.
The last hour of the old year had not struck when their
carriage entered the castle court-yard.  Emanuel hurried
down to meet the ladies in the hall, and their gay laughter at
sight of him was a refreshing sound. It was so long since
he had heard any one laugh; of late his days had been passed
amid mourning and tears.
Exchanging expressions of pleasure at this unlooked-for
meeting, they passed up the wide staircase to the supperroom, the cheerful aspect of which called forth renewed ex-'
clamations of delight from the ladies. They would not hear
of retiring to the apartments provided especially for them to
make any alteration in their dress.
"How can we change our dress, my dear baron," cried
Frau von Wildenau, " when all our trunks are in our carriage,
and that is at this moment lying in a ditch three miles off,
and Heaven only knows how it can be got out and put in
order again? We left our servant with it, and came to you
all forlorn as we are, ready as you see to act the proverbe,'Man proposes, Heaven disposes,' for your New Year's eve
entertainment."
As she spoke, they had thrown off their furs and wraps,
and both mother and daughter, each so like the other that
they were continually taken for sisters, seemed to him more
blooming and lovely than ever. Frau von Wildenau had
grown stouter, and looked younger; and Konradine, in her
heavy black cloth travelling-dress and velvet jacket, a manycoloured silk scarf wound about her head, after a Lithuanian
fashion, concealing her hair and forming a frame for her lovely
features, was a dazzling picture of perfect symmetry of face
and form. She went to the mirror to take off the scarf, and
as she unwound it the comb that confined the coils of her
hair fell out, and the mass of golden " rippled ringlets" was




HULDA.                      119
shaken down over her shoulders, while her mother hurried to
her assistance in coiling it up again.
Emanuel could not refrain from admiring the beauty of her
hair. Konradine called it the trial of her life. "I cannot
lean my head back or sleep if it is braided," said she, " and
therefore I am obliged to wear it unbraided when I am travelling, and am always in danger of just such annoyances as the
present."
But when, a few minutes later, they were all seated at the
supper-table and the first glasses of wine had been tasted,
Frau von Wildenau, looking around at the blooming flowers,
the blazing candles, and the cheerful fire, declared that this
was the most charming adventure that could be imagined.
"Who would have thought, when we suddenly found ourselves
frightened out of our wits at the bottom of that ditch whence
we extricated ourselves with difficulty, that we should celebrate so delightful a New Year's eve?"
The baron, pleased at her evident satisfaction, asked how
she had known of his residence at the castle; and she gaily
related how they had no sooner found themselves beneath the
sheltering roof of the post-house than she summoned the postmaster to her presence to learn from him whether there was
any mechanic in the neighbourhood who could undertake the
repair of their carriage, how the man had declared that such
repair would certainly occupy a couple of days, and that then
she had suddenly remembered how near the castle of her
friend the countess must be. She told of her joy upon learning that the baron was at present in possession there, and
described with much comic effect the consternation of the
postmaster upon hearing that they should immediately betake
themselves thither, regardless of the entertainment provided
for their refreshment, and which would now doubtless form a
New Year's eve banquet for the inmates of the post-house,
worthy people who she was glad should be feasted at her
expense; and she concluded with, "And now that you know
all about us, pray solve me the riddle of your presence here
in the north alone. Were you not at Clarissa's marriage? I
thought you spent every winter in your villa upon the Lake
of Geneva."
"More questions, dear lady, than I shall be able to answer
this year," Emanuel replied, as the clock began to strike




120                    HULDA.
twelve. Then, raising his glass, he said, "May this unexpected meeting be an omen of good for the coming year, a
sign that it will bring fulfilment to our desires!"
"So far as those desires are reasonable and consistent,"
Frau von Wildenau lightly remarked, as they touched glasses.
The words were commonplace enough, but they arrested
Emanuel's attention as coming from one not prone to remarks
of the kind; and, looking at Konradine, he imagined that a
change passed over her countenance,-the thanks that she uttered for the bouquet which he handed to her as a New Year's
token were spoken in a constrained voice; nay, he even fancied that he could detect tears upon her long eyelashes as she
bent her face over her flowers to inhale their fragrance.
Frau von Wildenau, with all her vivacity, was not to be
lightly turned from pursuing her inquiries; and again she
asked what miracle had been the cause of Emanuel's stay in
this northern castle.
"A miracle it may be called," Emanuel replied, "if by
miracle we understand something lying beyond the range of
human probability. I am an engaged man; but my future
bride is very ill, and I am here to await her recovery in her
near neighbourhood."
"Why, everything delightful and-unexpected is happening
at once!" cried Frau von Wildenau, and Konradine's lovely
4hce brightened and her eyes beamed as she held out. her
hand to congratulate him. " What an admirable step you
have taken!" continued the baroness; " one, too, that will rejoice your family, and especially the countess,-how pleased
she must be!"
"Much less so than you imagine," Emanuel rejoined; " for
my choice, unfortunately, does not accord with my sister's
desires.  I am betrothed to a girl of no rank; sle is the
daughter of our pastor, and — "
" But what becomes of your family estate, my dear baron?"
Frau von Wildenau interrupted him.  "Can you make up
your mind to relinquish, by your marriage, all claim upon
that?"
He did not allow his annoyance at her question and tone to
become apparent.  " Can you blame me," he said, " if I admit that in the choice I have made I think more of my future
happiness than of a family estate, by which some remote an



HULDA.                      121
cestor of mine entailed upon his posterity the curse of a
slavish conformity to his own prejudices and to those of his
time?"
" Oh, I think I could support the curse of an income like
that from your family estate,' replied the baroness; "and
that without considering myself an object of pity."
"But I never desired the possession of this estate, which
is at present my brother's," was his answer. " On the contrary, I have always regretted thathe had no children to inherit it."
"Of course," cried Frau von Wildenau, "your own independent fortune is so very great; but your brother has no
children, and your views would alter if you should ever have
children of your own. An ancient name, handed down to us
through centuries, is a very fine thing, and its importance is
daily on the increase among all these parvenus, who, with
their huge and too often visionary fortunes, think themselves
entitled to all our privileges. I have always believed that
the peace of a household must be greatly endangered when
the sons learn that their bourgeoise mother stands in the way
of their inheritance; and their father, too, must sometimes
regret his sacrifice of real, enduring interests for the sake of
a fleeting satisfaction.  For what reasonable being imagines
that at the end of ten, or even five, years a man cannot reconcile
himself to the loss of a bride, or a girl of a bridegroom, without whom life at one time seemed worthless, and be infinitely
content with another choice? Say what you will, baron, one
is either fit or unfit for matrimony. If you are fit, that is, of
an easy disposition, patient and unselfish, you will be content
however you may marry. If you are unfit," and she laughed,
"why, then, if your choice is the Venus of Milo, with the
moral qualities of a saint and the wit of a Corinne, at the end
of three years you will have found your dear perfection full
of faults and failings. You will tire utterly of your ideal,
and find any commonplace Maritorna more fascinating than
your once-adored idol. There is nothing so deceptive as what
we call love, and nothing less worth examination than the one
whom we marry. It is ourselves that we must examine carefully to discover our fitness for matrimony, or the reverse, and
then let our choice be made with regard to solid advantages.
Whoever acts otherwise must suffer from disastrous conseF                       11'




122                    HULDA.
quences. The time is not far distant when the world will
laugh at what we call love-matches, as at some child's plaything, and no one will believe in the possibility of pining or
dying for love."
She said all this lightly, and in a fashion peculiarly her
own of uttering on the instant her sudden conceits. But
Emanuel could not understand how she could talk thus to him
just at the moment when he had announced his own intention
of making a " love-match." Nothing could excuse her want
of consideration for him except her warm friendship and sympathy for the countess, especially since she was very fond of
saying flattering, pleasant things to every one. There must
be some reason for her severity; and Konradine's remark,
following her mother's, equalled it in this respect. " It is a
pity," she said, "' that enjoyment of life and careless gaiety
do not suffice to content every one; some natures require
something more."
Then she suddenly changed the topic of conversation,
warmly expressing her interest in Emanuel's betrothal. Her
mother joined her in inquiries as to his future bride, her
name, her present invalid condition, and declared that he was
a man fitted by disposition and nature to make a wife supremely happy. Their interest warmed his heart; he felt as
if the spell of silence lately woven around him were broken.
He gladly expatiated upon Hulda's beauty, and her musical
talent, telling of how charmingly she sang the national airs of
Lithuania. Naturally enough, Konradine went to the piano
to sing for him the little verse about poor Tio, which had
recurred to his memory with such sad significance an hour or
two before. He thought it prettier than ever; the voice of
the singer had gained in tenderness since last he had heard
it; the tones were softer, the rendering more natural.
Once at the piano, song followed song-French and Spanish
romances, Italian ritornelle and canzonette, and German and
Russian national airs, so that the first hours of the new year
passed gaily and happily.
Emanuel conducted the ladies to the antechamber when
they retired. Here Konradine gave him her hand. "Goodnight, dear friend," she said; "for you, at least, I trust the
coming year may be a happy one!"
Her grave words, and the firm grasp of her hand, did him




HULDA.                     123
good. But what had happened, that she should thus seem to
have resigned, in her own case, the happiness she trusted
would be his?  What significance for the daughter had there
been in the mother's words? The relation between the two
had.always been peculiar, and now the daughter's independence of the mother was more striking than ever. Had any
love-experience so changed Konradine, lent such tenderness
to her voice, such new lustre to her eyes? He could not
answer this question, and he pondered upon the lovely Konradine until he fell asleep.
CHAPTER XXV.
BEFORE parting for the night, it had been agreed that the
ladies were not to be disturbed the next morning until they
were thoroughly rested and their luggage had arrived at the
castle. The baron, therefore, would be left to himself during
the forenoon.  Bright sunshine and the finest sleighing
ushered in the new year, and the sleigh was ordered to the
door that he might drive to the parsonage.
In passing through the antechamber, to his surprise he
encountered Konradine. She looked quite rested, and as brilliant as the morning, as she assured him that she had been up
a long while, and had been calling herself and the new year
to account. Noticing that he was prepared for a drive, she
asked if he was not going to the parsonage, and if she might
accompany him. He assented gladly. Her furs were brought,
and in a few moments they were gliding along the avenue,
where the snow-laden trees looked more majestic than ever
beneath their white burden, and the glittering boughs scattered sparkling powder along the path.
" How splendid it all is!" said Konradine; " how glittering
and shining, and yet so cold, and melting to nothing at a
touch! But we live only in appearances, and they suffice us
until some rude reality opens our eyes. Then indeed we are
to be pitied."
Emanuel could not help connecting these words with what




124                    HULDA.
her mother had said on the previous evening, and so framed
his reply as to give his companion an opportunity, if she desired it, to disburden herself of what evidently lay heavy on
her mind.
" Perhaps we sometimes stigmatize as mere show what is
actual reality,-some genuine characteristic. Beauty, for instance, is so necessary to me that I cannot forego even its
semblance. I ask you, frankly, could you be yourself without
the beauty that we so much admire, or the semblance of constant gaiety which we find so attractive, even although this
last quality be a habit formed only by education?"
She made no answer to his flattering words, strange to say,
for she had a ready wit; but, waiving the making herself the
subject of conversation, said, "Your betrothed is beautiful,
then, and sweet in disposition?"
" Yes, she is beautiful," he replied; " and her chief charm
lies in her child-like and entire naturalness. She is the very'wild rose' of the poet."
"And you will break it from its stem," said Konradine.
Both the words and the tone grated upon Emanuel. " What
do you mean?" he asked.
" Nothing, and everything I" she replied. "I spoke without consideration."
"But you must have had some meaning?"
"Nothing but that I cannot believe in the happy issue of a
love in which a sacrifice is required of the man; and you
might have learned from my mother yesterday evening that
even women think that love should be subordinate to the possession of rank and wealth."
As she spoke, she threw back her head haughtily, and her
lip curled so with contempt that her forced smile was as bitter
and defiant as a man's. Emanuel had never seen her thus, or
believed her capable of such strong emotion. The change in
her that he had remarked the evening previous was more
apparent than ever.
" You speak in riddles that distress me," he said; " give me
the key for which friendship seeks in vain. Since we saw each
other you have passed through some painful experience. I fear
you are no longer happy, Konradine."
" Happy?" she cried, throwing back her dark veil from her
face. "Is any one happy?  Are you happy?  I cannot be



HULDA.                     125
lieve so. But I will lay bare my heart to you. It seemed to
me last night that Heaven itself, at the close of this last
wretched year, had guided me hither`o you,-to you, a betrothed man; for I must tell some human being how intolerable is my burden. I must talk with some one who will not
despise me because I gave my whole heart to a man who,
simply because he stood upon the steps of a throne, felt himself justified in playing with the poor toy and tossing it back
to me. It was no more to him than the'wild rose' that
Schiller's boy broke from its stem." And she laughed, while
her lip trembled. "That I could not wound him with my
thorns, that even now I cannot hate him, that I am laughed
at, that my own mother blames me for believing I could be
preferred to a woman of royal birth, all this crushes me and
makes my life wretched. I am weighed down by my own
splendid, humiliated pride; I bend beneath the burden of it;
I cry shame upon myself; I hate myself for loving so like a
child and a fool, and every one passes me with a shrug. No one
holds out a hand to me and bids me rise and walk. I could
worship the human being who would give me even a hope
that to arise and walk would ever be possible ror me again."
Her face flushed; she suddenly broke off, and, in a tone of
indifference shocking by its contrast with her former burst of
feeling, said, " How useless to heat one's self in all this cold I
It is really quite ridiculous!"
" What a word to use!" cried Emanuel. "No word for
either you or me. Volcanic fires bursting forth to heaven from
the midst of a snowy plain are terrible, but never ridiculous.
Do not add to your suffering by cruelty to yourself. Respect
your own grief, as I respect your confidence. You will tell me
more, you will tell me all, Konradine,-you know how thankful I should be to help you to endure, to offer you any consolation."
"I know it," she said, and then both were silent, for they
had reached the village, and Emanuel drew rein before the
parsonage. But as he handed his companion into the house
he regretted her presence. She was a stranger, and to present her to the pastor in the only sitting-room, adjoining the
one where the invalid lay, the door of which was always open,
was neither desirable nor fitting. Chance, however, came to
the reseae.
I 1




[26                    HULDA.
The pastor was still detained in church by the New Year's
service, and Miss Kenney had known Konradine from a
child. The old governess's joy at seeing her, the mutual asking and answering of questions, helped Konradine to regain her
self-possession, and the announcement that Hulda was much
better, that she had for the first time alluded to her mother's
death intelligently, and had expressed her desire to see the
baron, was cheering news for Emanuel, who went into the
chamber of the invalid, leaving Miss Kenney with her guest.
The window-curtain opposite the sick girl's bed was slightly
open, admitting a ray of light through the frosty panes to play
upon Hulda's small white hands, that held a freshly-blown
monthly rose, which she held out to him as he approached
her, with a softly-breathed wish for his happiness in the new
year.
" Is it not enough of happiness," he said, taking both her
hands in his, " that you still live; and that you know me once
more?"
"Yes," she answered; "but my poor mother has gGoe I"
He did what he could to soothe her. At last he took from
his pocket a small box, and, opening it, he held it towards her.
It contained a simple hoop of gold, like the one he always
wore, except that in the place of the ruby there was a turquoise
set in diamonds. On the inside were clearly engraved the
words" Thee and me shall no one sever."
A happy smile flitted over Hulda's pale face as he repeated
the words to her; she had often sung them to him in the
little Lithuanian song:' Firmly bound, my darling, now,
As unto the tree the bough,
As to the ring the diamond ever,
Thee and me shall no one sever."
"No one! no one!" she said, tenderly, as he put the ring
upon her finger; "but," she added, "I cannot go away from
here. Who will stay with my father? He is all alone."
Emanuel comforted her by the assurance that her father
should not be left,-he should always live with them. She
scarce y heeded him, and seemed to be searching her memory
for sol lething. Suddenly she said, " I must have dreamed it,




HULDA.                      127
but, oh, so vividly! I was kneeling before the altar, as ifas if-for my marriage; but I was alone in the church. I
heard the words of the service, but I saw no one. When the
rite was ended, I looked up, and my father was standing by
me, while my sainted mother hovered above us and blessed
us, whom she had just united."
She shuddered, and Emanuel was sensibly impressed by
what she said, although he tried to divert her mind from such
sad thoughts. Slowly and gently he spoke to her of the
coming spring and her recovery; how he would take both her
father and herself to his home in the south by the blue waters
of the mountain-lake; and she listened to his words with a
smile until she fell asleep with her hands clasped in his.
He sat perfectly still, that he might not waken her. There
she lay, white, lovely, motionless, as if carved in stone. He,
too, had passed the winter beneath a benumbing spell, and it
was high time to break it. He must deliver Hulda, who had
already been his deliverer. As soon as possible he would carry
her away from this place, where everything reminded her of
her mother's tragic fate, from these contracted surroundings
which her vivid fancy informed with ghostly, legendary creations. But some time must yet elapse before she could be
moved with safety.
He looked at the ring that he had just given her in pledge
of his love and fidelity, and his thoughts grew so restless and
wandering that to sit still became most irksome. He took
out his watch. Was it so early?  He had supposed it was
much later. He looked at Hulda's calm sleep, and thought
of Konradine's passionate words. At last he gently rose from
the bedside.  He could not let Konradine wait any longer,
and, as he emerged with her into the open air and the bright
sunshine, he seemed lightened of a load and breathed more
freely.
The horses neighed and tossed their heads as they sped like
the wind upon the homeward way; and Emanuel himself felt
the exhilarating influence of the sunny day and the glittering
landscape. It was a pleasant return to the old castle.




128                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XXVI.
FRAU VON WILDENAU was sitting at the breakfast-table,
while Ma'amselle Ulrika herself waited upon her, regarding
such deference to the countess's guests as her special province
in the absence of the mistress of the castle. Certainly the
majestic appearance she presented in her flowered chintz
gown, massive gold chain, and high cap with broad yellow
ribbons, was by no means lost upon Frau von Wildenau, who
was not at all averse to whiling away a lonely hour in half
listening to the talk of an old family retainer, evidently an
original.
A few complimentary expressions from the lady as to the
great comfort of everything about her was enough to place
Ma'amselle upon a pinnacle of serene self-complacency and
unlock her tongue, so that before breakfast was ended the
countess had heard the history of the castle from the time
of the French occupation until the day when the express had
arrived with tidings of the old prince's serious illness.
" They were gone in three hours after the news came," said
Ulrika; "but indeed your ladyship is quite right in saying
that those who live in the world must not be taken too much
by surprise either by deaths, births, or marriages. It is the
will of God,-no one can gainsay that. Still, when we heard
that the baron was not going away, but would stay here, and
his reason for staying, and when the pastor's wife disappeared
that very night, so that every one saw that matters were not
as they should be, it did seem as if I could not tell which way
to look."
"Yes," said Frau von Wildenau, the manner of the poor
woman's death must, indeed, have filled every one with horror."
"To be sure, to be sure,' Ma'amselle interposed, hastily;
" but, good heavens! that often happens here. I didn't mean
exactly that. God calls us when he pleases, and many a one
has perished in the quicksands. But that the baron should
betroth himself as he did, after having given up all idea of
marriage,-depend upon it there was something wrong there.




HULDA.                      129
Your ladyship of course knows all about the baron's family
and the ruby ring and its history?"
Frau von Wildenau, more fatigued by the adventures of
the previous day than she had at first been aware of, had
thrown herself upon a lounge, and was idly listening to U1rika's words, when the last sentence attracted her attention.
She had often heard the countess allude to her brother's
determined opposition to all idea of marriage, and had sympathized with the grief it caused her, all the more since, in
spite of the disfigurements which he himself so exaggerated
in imagination, he was well fitted by birth, culture, and address to gain a woman's favour.  Only the evening before,
both she and her daughter had spoken of the charm of
his manner and conversation, and it was real interest, not
idle curiosity, that now prompted her to ask Ulrika what she
meant.
Ma'amselle shrugged her shoulders. "Mean, my lady?
Only what every one in all the country round means, with the
exception perhaps of my brother, who always thinks himself
wiser than all the world beside, and whom she has in her toils
like all the rest of the men." Thereupon followed a long and
involved narrative, in Ma'amselle's peculiar vein, a perverted
account of Michael's departure from the castle, and of the
baron's interference, all strongly tinged with Ulrika's superstitious fancies, ascribing the attractions of Hulda to some
dark art which she had inherited from her mother, who
years before had played just such a game with the poor
Herr Pastor.
Long before she had ended, the lady was wearied with
what had at first amused her; but nevertheless she gathered
from it enough to increase greatly her sympathy with the
grief of her friend the countess in seeing her brother bent
upon marriage with a girl not only vastly his inferior by birth
and education, but of a low, designing character, and whose conduct seemed to have made her the common talk of the country
around. All her own pride of rank and position was enlisted
against such a mesalliance; all her own influence should be
brought to bear upon its postponement, at least for awhile.
Pity for Emanuel soon mingled with her affectionate sympathy
for her friend the countess, as she reflected how powerless he
had been, gifted though he was, to escape from the crafty toils
F*




130                    HULDA.
of this village beauty. She really was as much interested in
the whole affair as if he had been her own brother.
She had just dismissed Ulrika when Konradine and the
baron returned from their drive; and the bailiff almost immediately afterwards requested an interview.
By the baron's orders, he had visited the post-station, and
the news he brought thence was very unfavourable as to the
possibility of the ladies' speedy departure. The carriage had
been found to be much more injured than was at first supposed; and although the village smith declared that he could
make it fit for use in a couple of days, it would be much better,
the bailiff thought, to send it on a sledge to the nearest town,
where it could be thoroughly repaired, although at a cost of
the loss of five or six days.
Konradine exclaimed that this delay would cause the breaking of several engagements with friends; and her mother
was inclining to trust to the skill of the village smith, when
the baron said, " You put my unselfishness to the proof, dear
lady; but, in truth, my travelling-carriage is at your disposal,
if you must be in such haste. Can you not possibly decide
to lighten my solitude by your presence here for a few days
longer?"" Permit me also to suggest to your ladyships," said the
bailiff, "that, as the barometer is rising higher than I have
scarcely ever seen it before, the cold for the next few days
will be intense; and, if your ladyships are not accustomed to
travelling in such weather, it would be wise to wait here until
the bitter cold abates. And," he added, " the Herr Baron also
must allow me to warn him against exposing himself to this
northeast wind; it is especially injurious here on the coast to
those who are accustomed to pass their winters in the south."
Frau von Wildenau agreed with him there; and, laying
aside the consideration of her own plans for a moment, she
said to Emanuel, " I have regretted all the morning, my dear
baron, that you drove Konradine to the village in an open
sleigh. It was unpardonable. For your own sake, for the
sake of your friends, you should long since have departed for
your winter home on Lake Geneva."
She knew, he replied, what anxiety, what duty, had detained
him in the north, although he was by no means insensible to
the severity of the climate.




HULDA.                      131
"But," persisted the lady, "the preservation of your life
is your first duty, which, as well as charity, here begins at
home. And since I am determined not to be one of those
who have so unnecessarily kept you here-  "
"Pardon me,"' interrupted Emanuel, quick to resent the
implied reproach to Hulda and the pastor; " no one thought
even of keeping me here. Quite the contrary, I assure you."
"As you please! In that case I must protect you against
yourself, my dear friend," she said, gaily; " I will try to compromise matters in a way that will please us, and that I
hope you will not oppose. We will stay here by your bright
fires until our carriage is thoroughly repaired, and keep you
within-doors, if you will consent, when we go, to accompany
us to the city, where the blasts are certainly not so biting,
and where we will leave you, unless you decide to go south
with us."
Emanuel thanked her for her kindness in consenting to
stay with him, promised to take care of himself, since he
was certainly vulnerable to the cold, but waived all further
decision for the next few days as to his movements, only
engaging that the injured carriage should be put in complete
order.
The lady was satisfied, and in the gayest humour gave her
directions concerning the carriage to the bailiff, who, seriously
alarmed as he had been for the baron's health, was relieved
by the turn matters had taken, and showed great alacrity in
Frau von Wildenau's service.
The luggage arrived from the broken carriage, and the
guests established themselves for some days, taking evident
delight in the comfort and beauty of the castle and its
appointments. They talked of erecting an altar to the god
of chance, who had decreed this romantic adventure; and,
as they sat at luncheon, Konradine declared that, if they
appreciated their advantages, they certainly should keep the
whole matter a profound secret, since the charm of mystery was all that was needed to make the meeting a perfect
success.
Her mother, evidently pleased to see her in good spirits,
declared that the proposal was quite characteristic. "From
her earliest childhood," said she, "Konradine has always
shown a desire to conceal and suppress everything of her




132                    HULDA.
own,-personal possessions or mental gratifications. She is
in a certain sense very exclusive."
"And," Konradine rejoined, " life has punished me severely
for it, by dragging into the garish light of publicity all my
most sacred emotions." And she tossed back the long golden
curl that fell upon her shoulder, and busied herself with the
clasp of her bracelet.
Emanuel saw that her whole manner was painful to her
mother. He, too, disliked her sudden exclamation, which, in
its ruthless want of reserve, impressed him as indelicate,unfeminine,-even while it interested him. To break the
silence which ensued, and which might have been embarrassing,
he said, "The truth is that every one likes to possess something that is especially, exclusively, his own. I really think
it is this that makes diplomacy so attractive: there is the
constant charm of mystery, wherein those who walk gainthere is no doubt of it-a degree of consideration in society.
It is an easy way of obtaining the respect of the crowd."
In support of his assertion of this charm in mystery, Frau
von Wildenau told of one of her friends, who, owing to an
entirely unfounded mysterious report that she had forsworn
matrimony in consequence of an unfortunate love-affair, was
so sought after and admired that it ended in her contracting
an advantageous and happy marriage.
And so the talk went on happily enough, until Frau von
Wildenau thoughtlessly remarked that she had a horror of
affection in excess, a positive dread of those powerful emotions that constitute a grand passion.
"Yes," Konradine said, with bitter emphasis, " my mother
is perfectly right; they are terrible, these grand passions, with
their' Le jeu est fait, rien ne va plus!' when one has risked
all and is left with absolutely nothing. But a small venture of
love, risking but little, neither winning much nor losing much,
is certainly a capital pastime. Now that I think of it, you
and I, my dear baron, ought to bring this adventure of
ours to perfection, by immediately falling in love with each
other.  Think how delightful it would be! We have known
each other for years, and our friendship has been of the
calmest, but now that we are thrown together as if wrecked
upon a desert island-why, the situation is all that a poet could
desire. And, to tell you the truth, I think my fervent grati



HULDA.                     133
tude for your amiable care of us must have made a certain
impression upon you already."
He declared that the impression had been made upon him
long since, but that he had never ventured to claim a place in
the glittering ranks of her adorers. She gracefully acknowledged and returned his flattery, and thus they were gaily
tossing to and fro the shuttlecock of social gallantry, when
Frau von Wildenau shook a warning finger at them, bidding
them be careful how they played with fire.  "For," said
she, "I am superstitious about challenging our fate,-it is
dangerous to jest thus with the unknown."
Emanuel refused to heed her warning. He had for so long
been deprived of all society but that of his books, with now and
then a few words with the grief-stricken pastor or kindly old
Kenney. Now Konradine gaily threw down the barrier that
had been interposed between him and the world, and he was
surprised to find how strongly, in spite of his disapproval of
much to be found in general society, the habit of years had
attached him to the great world from which he had lately
withdrawn himself.
The light from it was garish, and the tone that sounded in
his ears shrill, but they excited him pleasurably, like the taste
of wine to one to whom it has long been denied.
Konradine's nature and opinions were by no means similar
to his own, but their social position had always been the same,
they had developed themselves individually within the same
limits. The rules of what is called society concerning decorum
and indecorum, manners and morals, in the full significance of
the words, were to them a native tongue,-here they were perfectly at home together. Emanuel could easily distinguish in all
the exaggeration that Konradine allowed herself how much was
conventional, coloured by what she had seen and heard, and how
much the result of her own individual character. What was
borrowed displeased him less, therefore, and what was native
to her interested him and piqued his curiosity more, than ever
before. He could even understand the sudden exercise of
self-control that enabled her to follow up some remark of her
own which betrayed bitterness of soul with an easy, indifferent
observation, for not only did he know that such concealment of
all genuine emotion was one of the first requisites of societylife, but he had frequently practised it himself.
12




134                    HULDA.
He would never have begun this conversation; but since
it seemed to afford her a momentary diversion, he found
pleasure in continuing it, mingled with a certain satisfaction
that he had not lost in his retirement all power to bear his
part in the gay world.
"Everything is dangerous and serious for the unskilled,"
he said, gaily. " Fire and powder are dangerous things in a
child's hands; but how charming are the rockets and balls of
fire that soar into the air from a grand display of pyrotechnics! And the Carnival is just at hand, and I can have no
merry masks here, as in the streets of Rome or upon San
Marco. Therefore Fraulein Konradine's idea seems to me an
especially happy one. We will improvise a little comedy for
the few days that we are to pass together. She is mistress
of the part she has chosen. I will do my best in my novel
position. You; my dear friend, are our public, and when the
curtain falls you both leave the theatre and I pay the cost, if
there be any, of our play, for I am the only one who can possibly be exposed to any danger."
" You?" cried Konradine. " As if you were not cased in the
armour of your love, your betrothal. You may think all the
while of your lovely suffering bride and of your marriage,
and I will think of the cross of the order that is to be offered
me, for the worthy wearing of which I am already practising
daily a dignified carriage before my mirror, and thus, as we are
both preoccupied with entirely foreign thoughts, our play will
be a genuine and perfectly harmless farce.  But really we
ought to dress in costume."
" Which will you have, Watteau or Renaissance?" asked
Emanuel.   "Both are ready in the castle."
The ladies were incredulous. Ma'amselle was ordered to
bring the antique costumes from the old robing-room. They
very shortly made their appearance, and were much admired in their ancient splendour, which had been well preserved, especially since they had only lately been brought into
requisition for charades and tableaux.  Comparisons were
made between them and the fashions of the present day.
Frau von Wildenau told amusing anecdotes that she had
heard of the inconvenience which had been caused in the beginning of the century by a close adherence in the cold northern
courts to the Greek fashions introduced into France in the time




HULDA.                      135
of the First Empire. This led to an account of the interviews
she had had when very young with the mother of the reigning Emperor of Austria; and thence both ladies passed to a
discussion of the present customs of the court of Russia, at
which for the second time they had resided during the preceding autumn. Thus, when they rose from table, the costumes were forgotten, as well as the proposed comedy, with
which the conversation had begun, although its discussion,
like a rocket blazing for an instant in the air, had revealed
here and there much hidden thought and feeling. All was
quiet now; but the impression left upon Emanuel's mind was
that either he had not rightly understood Konradine formerly
or that her unfortunate love had produced a radical change in
her.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE barometer and the bailiff proved to be true prophets,the cold became intense. Emanuel could not possibly visit
his betrothed the next day, and it cost him a pang as the
usual hour for seeing her drew near, especially as he had been
guilty of a slight neglect on the previous day which he feared
might have wounded her sensitive nature. He had left the
rose she had given him for a New Year's token lying upon
her bed, and he would have given much to be able to recall
this act of forgetfulness. There was nothing to be done, however, but to express his sorrow in the note that he wrote her
to tell of his inability to come to her, and to dwell upon the
bright future that was in store for them. He added that his
guests prevented his solitude from becoming intolerable, and he
proposed to send a covered sleigh to the parsonage every afternoon to bring the pastor or Miss Kenney to take coffee at the
castle. Then he prayed her to send him the rose he had left,
for which he offered her in exchange a basket of rare exotics;
and although as he despatched his note and gift he knew how
his presence would be missed, he was not perhaps very much
disappointed at being obliged to omit one of his visits. Just today he was not exactly in the mood to sit still by the bedside




136                    HULDA.
of a sick girl who must be petted and caressed like a child,
and he knew that he should hear tidings of her state of convalescence from his returning messenger, and from her father or
faithful nurse later in the day.
When he had seen his groom depart, he sought the society
of his guests. Frau von Wildenau was busy with letters in
her own room; but Konradine received him in their little
morning-room. She was in a charming toilette, and had a
lace kerchief thrown over her head and tied beneath her chin,
showing to great advantage the pure outline of her face.
Emanuel excused his early visit by declaring that his long
solitude had made him positively thirsty for such delightful
society, and perhaps unreasonable in determining not to lose,
if possible, one moment of the short days of their stay.
"If you can call yourself unreasonable, what must you
have thought of me all day yesterday and in our last evening's
conversation?" she said. " I was hardly my own mistress, I
confess, and my remorse kept me from sleeping well, and yet
it was the only way in which I could banish the thoughts that
would arise on seeing you once more and remembering our
happy, innocent gaiety together last year with the countess.
What a contrast were the terrible months that followed! My
health has suffered. I should be utterly overcome-lie prostrate sometimes-if I did not boldly leap the abysses that
yawn before me whenever I permit myself to dwell upon the
past year. You must find me greatly changed."
As he had admitted this to her on the previous day, he
answered without hesitation. " You are not what you were,"
he said; " but you are far more attractive. I am only afraid
that you have paid dearly for the depth of character that you
have gained."
"Very dearly," was her reply; "and it does not atone for
the loss of that self-complacency that formerly made life dear
and easy." They sat on opposite sides of the fireplace. Konradine, leaning back in her arm-chair and gazing into the leaping flame in the chimney, seemed lost in thought. Emanuel
did not venture to disturb her.
"One comfort there is," she suddenly began; "everything
is transitory,-everything fades and dies out like those flames,
and we lose interest in ourselves, since, if we are not wilfully
blind, we must admit that even suffering and anger and




HULDA.                      137
despair cannot last in their original intensity.  And what
does it matter if so perishable a being as man be happy or
miserable?"
She would have fallen again into reverie if Emanuel had
not said, "You permit me to follow your train of thought,
you show me your wound, but I do not know whence you
received it, although you intimated yesterday evening that it
was no secret from the world."
" I see in what retirement you must have lived," she replied,
"not to have heard of it. The story is very commonplace,
very human, and as pitiable as is much else that is human.
I need not tell you that I was never a coquette. You have
known me long, and can well believe that the exchange of
the small coin of affection that passes current for love in
society was never to my taste. It made the whole matter
one that I considered beneath my attention.  Matrimony,
too, as I saw it among my friends, had no attraction for me.
I shared the freedom of which my mother was so fond, and
ordered my life as I pleased. I had admirers, suitors,-lovers,
if you will,-and contrived to retain them as friends even
while proving that I did not consider them irresistible. I
should have thought it folly to sacrifice my freedom except
at the imperative bidding of my heart.
" So I lived on, and enjoyed existence, until we decided last
autumn to leave our estates and spend a few weeks at St.
Petersburg, since the emperor encourages those families of
rank who live in the southern provinces to present themselves at court from time to time. Upon our arrival, we were
graciously received. Several Germans of princely birth were
guests at the court, and the'season' began earlier than usual,
and most brilliantly.
"Among the German guests was Prince Frederick von."
And she mentioned a name of far greater importance in those
days than would be credited at present. " The rest," she
said, with a bitter smile, " is soon told. It might be taken
from a popular romance. My fault was that I imagined that
Prince Frederick differed from all other princes, and that I
overestimated the power of love,-of my love.
" The prince was not the direct heir to the throne; he enjoyed the privileges of his rank without enduring its burdens,
and this liberty he greatly prized. He used to declare that
12*




138                      ULDA.
his chief delight lay in the fact that he should never, like
an Atlas in shako and uniform, bear upon his shoulders the
cares of government. Such a declaration became him well,
proud as he was and as he knew himself to be. I never saw
a handsomer man, and never a man whose every word and
look seemed to bear so much the impress of truth.  He is
more than attractive: he is convincing and irresistible when
he chooses to be so.
" He was a great favorite with the emperor, and women
sought to attract his attention. I acknowledged his incomparable merit, and from the first he singled me out. A sympathy in all intellectual pursuits attracted each to the other.
We were no novices, ignorant of our own hearts. I was entirely free, and he said he was master of his actions. There
was no reason therefore why we should conceal from each other
the sudden passion that sprang into life between us. Oh,
what a delicious, glorious time it was!"
She had told it all as if it were the story of some third
person, nothing betraying her emotion except now and then a
slight tremor in her voice. At the last words she paused. 
Emanuel was fascinated by her self-control,-her beauty.
He had never accorded any woman credit for such capacity to sit
in judgment upon herself, and, giving involuntary expression
to his thought, he exclaimed, " Enviable man!"
Konradine looked at him with flashing eyes. "Yes," she
said, "he was to be envied." Then she arose, and Emanuel
followed her example. Together they went into the adjoining
saloon, where it was cooler, and there they walked to and fro
for a few minutes in silence.
" The prince," Konradine then began again, " could not
contract a marriage without the consent of his family, especially with a woman not his equal in rank; but, as the succession to the government was assured in the direct line; his
desire to form a connection where there was no danger that
his possible heirs might have to be supported from the ducal
treasury, met with no opposition. He signed the usual act of
relinquishment for himself and any children that he might
have, and on the same evening our private betrothal was celebrated in an assemblage of our intimate friends. A few days
afterwards we were to be publicly presented at court as a betrothed pair. The emperor, who had always been extremely




HULDA.                      139
gracious to my mother and myself, approved the prince's
choice, and the future seemed a paradise. There seemed no
end to my happiness.
"On the day before our presentation was to take place, a
courier arrived from the prince's uncle, the reigning duke.
Brilliant prospects had suddenly opened for Frederick, and
his uncle wrote that whatever had taken place with regard
to our betrothal might be considered null and void. The
daughter of one of the foremost of the reigning houses
of Germany was of an age to marry. She, with her mother,
had met the prince the previous summer at a celebrated watering-place, and the young princess had had the eyes and the
wit to find him superior to every one else, a preference which
her mother had regarded with approval. The thought of a
marriage of affection upon the steps of a throne possessed a
double charm for the mother, who had been unhappy in a
marriage contracted in defiance of her own inclination.  Her
desire that her only daughter should lead a happier life was
natural enough, and Frederick, as well as the house to which
he belonged, could not view her preference in any other light
than as a distinguished honor.
"He himself brought me his uncle's letter. I read it perfectly calmly and handed it back to him. This surprised him,
and he expressed his surprise.' You do not seem to rate very
highly the advantages that I am about to sacrifice to you,'
he said; and his whole manner, as well as his words, betrayed
that the possibility of an alliance with that powerful house
had aroused his ambition. His words were a blow to my love
and to my pride.'Yesterday you called yourself the happiest of men,' I said;'if to-day can offer you anything more
desirable than all that we hoped to enjoy together, our hopes
are proved an illusion, and my love for you is too great to be
any obstacle to the attainment of what is at present apparently more precious to you.'
" I had thought thus to recall him to a sense of what we
were to each other; but he reproached me for indulging in
sarcasm, for want of depth of feeling.
"'A woman who truly loved,' he said,'would be incapable
of such a thought; but I really believe that in your case ambition might easily outweigh love.' I could scarcely trust my
ears. He accused me of ambition, while his own was already




140                    HULDA.
causing him to repent that he was no longer free. He seemed
to forget all that we were to each other, all our mutual vows.
I tried to control myself, but in vain. In reproaching him,
I revealed to him how deeply he had wounded me. He was
cold and calm.'Can you not see,' he said,'that I share
all your feelings? Do you not know that I came to you just
now with a bleeding heart? But I am not able, unfortunately,
to think only of myself and of my love. My family and my
country have claims upon me to which I must pay some heed.
A connection with this powerful royal line is of the greatest
importance to us. I have no right to consider myself where
much more important interests are at stake. It is no trifle to
reject the overtures of this princess. She is the niece and
granddaughter of kings. She is-' I could bear it no
longer.'She is younger than I, and one of the wealthiest
heiresses upon the thrones of Germany,' I cried. He made
me no answer. After a long pause he resumed.'I came to
advise with you how to conduct myself in this matter. I had
hoped that you would understand the delicate and difficult
question that I am called upon to solve. I relied upon your
understanding, your love and friendship for me, and your
worldly wisdom.  Yes, I thought so highly of you that I
trusted to find in you a support for my own weakness. But your
violence is deaf even to the most reasonable claims of justice
and forbearance.' I could not endure this farce any longer.
He and his love were both lost to me; there was but one thing
to.be done: to take the loftiest possible stand, and at one cast
return to him all that he contemplated recalling from me-and
I did it. This was what he had hoped for, but had scarcely
expected. He stood there in my presence, in all the pride of
his manhood, as if he had not just deeply injured me, and
received, in return, a most humiliating reply. But I saw he
was undecided whether he should give the reins to his vanity,
and betray what he could not help feeling as a man, or
whether, as a prince, he should soar above all human feeling,
above any consideration for my heart or his own,-for I know
he loved me as he can never love again,-and forgive me for
the treachery and breach of faith of which he himself was
guilty.  At last he took another, a still loftier tone.  He
threw himself on his knees before me, and seemed overcome
with grief. He begged me to forget that he had for one mod




HULDA.                     141
ment failed to appreciate me, to doubt my magnanimity. He
praised the admirable strength of mind that had enabled me
to point out the path of duty to him, and so convincing is the
illusive frankness with which nature has gifted him, that I
parted from him in a burst of sympathetic grief, and almost
forgot for the moment, my own sufferings."
She suddenly paused in her narrative, and walked on silently,
with her hands clasped in front of her, at Emanuel's side.
"Now I understand you," he said, after some moments of
silence.
She seemed scarcely to hear him. " That very evening the
prince had an interview with the emperor, and the next day
he left the court. My mother and I were invited to the royal
table, and treated with distinguished consideration. The report of my generous renunciation," and she laughed as she
said these words, " was freely circulated, and met with the
belief that it merited. I had been greatly envied. There was
a certain amount of satisfaction in pitying and consoling me.
The ground upon which I stood seemed unstable; the air of
the rooms where I had so continually seen him stifled me.
I could not look at the objects he had touched, upon which
his eyes had rested. I was possessed by the single desire to
get away, but for decorum's sake I was obliged to remain.
All the world flocked around me. They wished to see me
play my part, drape myself in my veil of forced self-abnegation.
The prince was thought to have strictly obeyed the dictates
of duty. Even my mother agreed in this view, and pitied
him quite as much as she did her child. All understood his
ambition, and thought it perfectly natural. No one understood
me or my love. The prince's uncle offered me the position
of canoness in one of the richly-endowed sisterhoods of his
realm. To my mother this was a great satisfaction. She
actually almost believed in my magnanimity, since the empress
had praised it and the reigning duke admired it in his letter
to me. All that was wanting was that I should believe in it
myself, that I should forget in how cowardly and cruel a manner I had been treated, how I had been forced to summon up
all my courage to avoid being trodden under foot. Oh, what
a farce it was! And now, now, my dear friend, I think you
no longer wonder that I am not the same Konradine you knew
last year."




142                   HULDA.
She threw herself upon a lounge, and took the kerchief
from her head; her cheeks glowed; even her brow was flushed.
Emanuel pitied her; but he admired her more. She saw this,
and held out her hand. He grasped it cordially, and she'returned the grasp.
" Do not look back any longer. Konradine. Look forward t'
he cried, not daring to say any more at present, while she was
so much. moved; and just then a servant brought the news
from the parsonage.
Miss Kenney promised to come to the castle in the afternoon. She sent word that Hulda was better, and rejoiced that
the baron had not risked coming into the cold. Also the sick
girl sent him his rose, with her morning greeting. He opened
the little package, but the rose was faded and almost without
fragrance. Konradine looked on as he put it into his pocketbook.
"It is late, and time to dress," she said; "but you owe me
a long account of yourself, my dear friend, and I shall ask for
it in the first quiet hour that we have together again."
" It will be soon given," he replied. " I never dreamed of
the possibility of creating an interest in any woman, and I
will not deny that I resigned with pain all hope of doing so.
Hulda's innocence and artlessness betrayed to me that she
loved me, and   "
"As if there were anything wonderful in that!" Konradine
exclaimed; and then she repented the exclamation, for Emanuel's pale face flushed crimson, and she could not understand
his confusion, or why he suddenly broke off his communication.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
EMANUEL was occupied with letters that must go by the
next day's post, when Miss Kenney arrived in the afternoon
at the castle to visit the guests so unexpectedly established
there. But his absence was hardly noticed. So much had
occurred in the time that had elapsed since the good old governess had seen her friends, so much about which she was




HULDA.                      143
better fitted than any one else to answer questions and give
information, that there was no lack of interesting conversation,
and, naturally enough, the baron's betrothal was the grand
interest of the hour.
Concerning this matter, however, Miss Kenney was in a
state of ever-increasing doubt and uncertainty. Hulda had
become far dearer and more precious to her during her illness.
She delighted in expatiating to the ladies upon her darling's
fine qualities of mind and soul, in thoroughly obliterating from
their minds any bad impression produced by Ma'amselle
Ulrika's malicious speeches. She told how, in her estimation,
there was something infinitely touching and lovely in the confiding, humble affection that the girl entertained for Emanuel.
And yet all this only increased her sorrow at the undeniable
unsuitability of the marriage; she saw it all,-although she
was half disappointed when Frau von Wildenau, and Konradine too, entirely agreed with her in this respect.
"Indeed," said Konradine, "in my opinion the difference
of social position is by no means the chief objection to this
marriage. If a man chooses to resign for himself and his children certain privileges to which he is entitled by birth, it is
his own affair. His native egotism will usually prove his best
adviser in the matter. But Miss Kenney praises the poetic
tendencies, the vivid fancy, of the pastor's daughter, and these
are just the qualities in contact with which a man's vanity
makes him thoughtless, and even blind. They are the most
dangerous dowry that a woman can have. How can any man
answer the demands made upon him by an imagination that
regards him in the light of a fairy prince, as it were? She
dreams of a paradise in the future, where she will dwell
with her lover in the freshness of an eternal youth, whereas
the year really is made up of four seasons, liable to sultry
heats and dreary tempests, as the case may be, and each year
makes us all older and more disagreeable; and poor human
beings are held responsible for what is a simple consequence
of the prosaic laws of life. Your poetic feminine nature weeps
bitter tears when it finds itself disenchanted, and that we live
not in heaven, but upon the earth, where the reigning deity is
not love, but selfishness. And Baron Emanuel is the very
man to disappoint the inexperienced fancy of such a girl,the very man!"




144                    HULDA.
Miss Kenney remarked that Baron Emanuel himself was
an idealist.
" So much the worse I" said Konradine.
"And," Miss Kenney added, driven by Konradine's plainness of speech to defend what she herself had declared unsuitable, " Baron Emanuel is not selfish."
" Then he should be exhibited as a lusus naturse," laughed
Konradine. "A man, and not selfish! To be sure, he is no
coarse egotist. But the refined egotism of such a man is all
the more dangerous since it deceives both himself and us.
Can you not see, can you not hear in his every word, that it
is the divine delight of conferring happiness that attracts
Emanuel to this girl? What can so elevate him above all
prosaic reality as the constant companionship of a being who
owes him everything, adoring in him, as does the Greek Church
in the apostle John, her enlightener and illuminator?  But
who can warrant the baron that it will always be so, that he
will continue to be the girl's ideal after she has seen, in the
world of which she now knows nothing, men far more brilliant
and attractive than he? And what man is patient enough
not to be impatient when he sees that all the sacrifice he
has made is of no avail, that the happiness he has intended to
confer does not exist? Why," she cried, "those who know
what life is ought to vow before the altar not to look for special happiness in marriage, ought to adopt as their motto
Dante's'Leave all hope behind,' if they wish to attain a
contented future. But what content can ever spring from the
marriage of two idealists?"
Her mother remarked with disapproval that Konradine appeared to delight in extravagant assertions, and Miss Kenney,
who of course knew nothing of the events of Konradine's life
during the last year, observed that she judged far more harshly
of matrimony than she had done formerly.
"Formerly, formerly!" Konradine repeated, "long ago, indeed. And do you suppose that I do not often long for those
old times, when I trusted, believed, and hoped like a child?
But I cannot reverse the wheels of my experience. I cannot
command my penetration not to see, not to understand. Nor
can I condemn myself to dwell in an illusion sooner than
undeceive others. If Baron Emanuel were to ask me my
opinion, I would not refuse to give it to him; indeed, he is far




HULDA.                     145
too clever not to feel the ground beneath him somewhat
unsafe."
This Miss Kenney would not admit. She declared that he
had refused to listen to anything that could be urged in opposition to this marriage, and had, indeed, resented as an insult
the idea that he could possibly break his word. Nevertheless,
she had often wondered what would be the effect upon Hulda's
sensitive nature if she should ever feel that she was no longer
a necessity to the baron. To prevent him from fulfilling his
engagement would be utterly impossible.
"Of course it would be impossible by open dissuasion,"
Frau von Wildenau remarked.   " But it would be worth
while to try what effect separation from the girl would have.
Many a tie has been severed by absence, and the baron has half
promised to accompany us a part of our way when we leave here."
" He will not go!" sighed Miss Kenney, hovering between
her convictions and her desires.
"A woman who loved him would be very foolish not to keep
him!" Konradine remarked.
" Hulda keep him?" cried Miss Kenney, and her tone indicated the entire confidence she had in the girl's character,-" keep him, if she thought his leaving her would be of
service to him?  You do not know Hulda!"
" You make me long to know her!" said Konradine. Miss
Kenney looked grave, but Konradine persisted, and again expressed her desire when the baron had joined them. Emanuel
replied that he wished he could show her Hulda as he himself
first saw her, but she was now only the shadow of her former
self, although illness could not destroy the delicacy and purity
of the outlines of her face. He hoped to be able before very
long to present her to his friends in all her youthful freshness.
But to this postponement Konradine would not listen.
"Who knows," she said, "when we may meet again? A
little distraction is good for every invalid, and Hulda will be
pleased that a life-long friend of the baron's wishes to see her.
Tell her, my dear Kenney, that since the cold must prevent
him from coming to her for a few days, I will be his messenger
on some bright morning."
Emanuel was pleased with her persistence, and Miss Kenney was inclined to consent to the interview, upon which
she founded some vague hope.   The pastor was to bring
G                   13




146                   ITULDA.
word the next afternoon whether his daughter felt strong
enough to receive the visit of the baron's friend.
But the cold, unusually severe even for those northern latitudes, kept both the pastor and Miss Kenney housed for the
next few days. The daily messenger sent from the castle,
however, brought back good news, and Miss Kenney wrote
that Hulda would gladly receive Konradine's visit. The latter, with her usual vivacity, was ready to go at any moment,
but Emanuel advised delay, and thus several more days passed,
until news arrived from the neighbouring town that the travelling-carriage was once more ready for use.
Although during the stay of his guests at the castle some
allusion to their departure had been made every day, Emanuel felt quite a shock when Frau von Wildenau announced the
day and hour when they must leave. The time had passed so
pleasantly, he had found the mother so much more serious
and thoughtful than ever before, and the daughter's misfortune, her anger at her own inability to conquer the grief that
a fate she had been so powerless to prevent had caused her,
aroused in him such a sympathy for her, that he did all he
could to induce their longer stay, without, however, effecting
anything except a renewal of their entreaties to him to leave
the castle as soon as possible for a warmer climate.
" I have never in my life paid much heed to the opinion of
the world," Frau von Wildenau said to him when they were
alone together, " but just at present it behooves us to be somewhat upon our guard. The breaking of Konradine's engagement has made a good deal of noise, and, although many of
the kindly-disposed pity her, there are others who always envied her and would be very glad now to have any excuse for
declaring that she was only suffering from disappointed ambition. Who can tell what plans might not be ascribed to me
if we were to accept for a longer time than is absolutely necessary the hospitality of an unmarried man, who is not even
master of the house where he receives us? There are people
who would discredit our ignorance of your presence here, or
that an accident was the cause of our detention, and of all the
silly and unworthy parts ever played in this world by women,
I hold that of a match-making mamma to be the most detestable. In this direction I would guard from even the shadow
of suspicion both myself and Konradine. For the rest, they




HULDA.                     147
may think what thy please of me and my daughter. We
must act as we think fit, and whatever each may wish different,
perhaps, in the other, we mutually rely upon each other; and
that is a great deal, in this world that we live in."
Frau von Wildenau's frankness so astounded Emanuel that
at first he could hardly reply to her.  That she should
regard him as a man whom the world might suppose capable
of indemnifying her daughter for all she had suffered flattered his vanity, although he was unconscious that it did so.
Involuntarily he recalled Konradine's exclamation when he
told her of Hulda's affection for him, "As if that were anything wonderful 1"
Was it possible that he had overrated the disadvantages
under which he laboured? Could he interest and awaken
affection, and was it really nothing wonderful that youth and
beauty were attracted by him?
These thoughts shot like lightning through his mind, and
at the same time he reproached himself for trusting to the
judgment of superficial people in his former estimate of
Frau von Wildenau. He had misjudged her, had refused
to perceive that what prejudiced others against her was her
vast superiority to commonplace mediocrity. His relations to
his guests underwent a change, as it were: he no longer urged
their further stay; he simply expressed with much warmth
his pleasure in their presence, and the regret that their departure would cause him.  Frau von Wildenau replied by
hoping that they should soon meet again. The baron said
that he was, as she knew, not the master of his own movements in the immediate future.
The baroness was silent for awhile, and then said, "I have
spoken so frankly to you, my dear friend, with regard to ourselves, that I am emboldened to go on and entreat you more
seriously than before to leave here as soon as possible. You
should upon no account brave the stormy spring of this climate;
and, since the impulse of a moment-a mere accident, I might
almost say-was the cause of your betrothal, it seems to me
imperative that you should put to the proof, amidst old, accustomed scenes and modes of life, the actual importance to yourself
of this girl's affection and the tie so suddenly formed. In the
joy of meeting you again, I proposed that you should accompany us upon our departure; but the same reasons that prevent




148                    HULDA.
our longer stay here make it impossible that this plan should
be carried out, and I can only pray you So go away from here
as soon as you can. Do not be too anxious about Hulda.
Even Miss Kenney, who certainly is a sympathetic soul
and devoted to the girl, has begged us to persuade you not to
stay here longer for the present. You can come back whenever you please; and if you do not please?-Well, no one dies
for love, whatever you men would like to think. But many
of the truest and best have been destroyed by an unsuitable
marriage. Nothing truer was ever said, never was better advice
given, than in Schiller's'See ye who join in endless unionFor Fancy's brief, Repentance long.'
In my opinion, there are no sadder marriages than those into
which men have been hurried by some ebullition of child-like
enthusiasm; and-pardon me, dear friend-this is a little your
case."
She smiled as she said these last words, but she had gone a
little too far, and they offended Emanuel and destroyed the
impression she had begun to make upon him. He put restraint upon himself to prevent his annoyance from becoming
evident'; and whereas he had shown very little interest hitherto in the visit that Konradine had proposed paying to Hulda,
he suddenly felt anxious that it should be made, and sent to
know whether she would not take advantage of this sunny
noon to drive to the parsonage.
Konradine was soon ready to go. To her surprise, when she
descended to the hall she found Emanuel equipped to accompany her. To her remonstrances he replied that as there was
no knowing when the intense cold would subside, he could not
restrain his desire to see Hulda; indeed, he reproached himself for having allowed a selfish consideration for his own
health to keep him so long absent from her.
Frau von Wildenau understood the significance of this remark, which she received with great composure. Conscious
of having spoken with the best intentions, she could not reproach herself, except for too great zeal in her friend's service;
and she never confided, even to her daughter, the reproof that
she felt was conveyed in Emanuel's words. But the conversation had disturbed Emanuel, and as they skimmed along




HULDA.                      149
over the white, level plain, as on the morning after the arrival
of the ladies at the castle, he felt that a gulf of time had
opened between then and now, and as though he were on the
eve of some unavoidable suffering.
The sensation confused him, and he took himself to account
for the weakness that from his boyhood had made every leavetaking so painful to him. Then, thinking that he owed his
companion some apology for his silence, he frankly acknowledged its cause, telling her cordially how much he had enjoyed
her society.
Her fine eyes looked gravely at him. "I am very glad
to hear you say so," she said, "for when one has ceased to
interest one's self, it is some satisfaction to know that one
is not equally uninteresting to others, and I will not deny that
I regret to leave here. In order to enjoy a wandering life like
ours, one must have desires, love of life, and hope; and all have
failed me. Nothing is left but suffering. Rest here with you
has so refreshed me that I long for a settled home where I
can really remain; I am so tired, that the sisterhood, which
seemed to present but a dreary prospect a few weeks since, is
gradually becoming attractive to me."
When they arrived at the parsonage, the pastor was absent,
called away to the next parish, and Miss Kenney received
Konradine, while Emanuel went directly to the invalid's room.
He found Hulda expecting him. She had heard the approach of the sleigh, and recognized his voice. "Ah, how I
have longed for you!" she cried, as he entered; " but it is so
cold, you should not have come!"
He held out his hand, and she pressed it to her lips, then,
with a shy smile, offered him her lovely mouth.
He kissed her gently, told her how it rejoiced him to see
her so much stronger, and then asked her how she was.
" How shall I tell you?" she replied; " I cannot understand
it all. Now that I can collect my thoughts, I seem to be dreaming. But I trust the cold will do you no harm. What should
I do if you were ill and I had to lie here and leave you to
strangers?"
Her whole soul was in her words. Emanuel assured her
that he was perfectly well, the cold had done him no harm,
and that he hoped now to see her every day again. But what
had been said during his drive with Konradine still filled his
13*




150                    HULDA.
thoughts; he could not make the response to Hulda's tenderness which it merited; and to conceal the wandering of his
thoughts, he replied by a question, asking her if she were
jealous.
"Yes," she replied, with her accustomed ingenuousness.
"They are all so much more than I." Her simple words
cut him to the soul, but he made her no rejoinder. This
troubled her, and she asked if she had offended him by her
avowal.
" No, no," he replied, " but I am sorry you give way to such
emotions, for it makes me uncertain whether you really would
like to see the lady who has come here with me to-day."
"Why, I have looked for her every day," said Hulda,
raising herself in bed, as Emanuel opened the door, and Konradine, accompanied by Miss Kenney, approached her. A.burning blush crimsoned Hulda's pale cheeks; she looked first at
the stranger, and from her to Emanuel, who sat by her bedside;
then, suddenly throwing her arms around his neck, she cried,
" Emanuel, I cannot see any one but you-only you I Send
her away! send her away I" And she hid her face upon his
breast.
Both the baron and the ladies were much alarmed. Miss
Kenney withdrew, and Konradine followed her. Emanuel
held the agitated girl in his arms, trying in vain to soothe her.
She wept, and entreated him to forgive her. She called him
Emanuel, and lavished upon him such terms of endearment as
she had never used towards him before, even kissing him
passionately. Again she desired to see Konradine, asking
when the strangers were to leave the castle, and then with a
fresh burst of tears she cried, "They all wish to tear me
from you, the countess, and my father, and Miss Kenney, and
now the strangers too. I have no one in the world but youonly you. You must not forsake me, and I will not give you
up; is there not written in the ring'Thee and me shall no
one sever'?"
She seemed beside herself, and Emanuel was deeply moved.
He did all that he could to compose her, and Miss Kenney
offered to assist him, but Hulda repulsed her.
"No, no one but you! no one but you!" she continued to
repeat passionately. She scarcely heeded his soothing words,
and finally swooned from exhaustion.




HULDA.                     151
There was no doubt that it had been a great mistake to
yield to Konradine's wish to see the baron's betrothed.
Emanuel could not forgive himself.
The homeward drive from the parsonage was by no means
so gay and cheerful as it had been upon New Year's day. Konradine made a few remarks concerning Hulda's beauty, they
exchanged a few words with regard to the error they had committed, and when they arrived at the castle separated in
silence.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THERE was but one day more to be spent by the ladies with
the baron at the castle, and to all outward appearance matters
were precisely as they had been. They assembled at the
usual times in the usual places, but there was no longer the
cheerful ease and freedom from restraint that they had hitherto
enjoyed. Frau von Wildenau had taken pleasure in imagining the pleasure of her friend the countess when she should
have succeeded in influencing the baron to take his departure
from the castle, thus inaugurating, she hoped, the breaking of
his engagement to Hulda; and, accustomed as she was to succeed in her attempts to influence others, particularly those of
the opposite sex, she was by no means pleased at the failure
of her attempt. Konradine, on her part, was reluctant to
return to the world, and regretted the loss of the baron's
sympathy and companionship; while Emanuel was profoundly
preoccupied.
The depth of Hulda's passionate affection, the recklessness
she had shown in testifying it, the native enthusiasm of
her nature-all this, that had always so powerfully attracted
him, had again asserted its power. Her jealousy had enabled
her to read his very soul and to divine what he had never even
confessed to himself. Still, he felt that he loved her with an
unaltered affection, although Konradine's fate had enlisted his
warmest sympathy. Hulda's incapacity to feign or to suppress
the expression of her emotions belonged to the image of her
that was stamped upon his mind, and yet there was something




152                     HULDA.
startling, almost terrifying, for him in this wild self-assertion,
as there is for us all in every untamed force of nature, and
he could not conceal from himself that Hulda's peculiarities,
constituted as society was, might be in their future life a
fruitful source of suffering both for herself and for him.
He thought continually of Hulda even when he was with
Konradine and her mother. He was content that his guests
should depart on the morrow, and nevertheless he was sorry
to be separated from the possibility of seeing Konradine and
aiding her to the extent of his power.
It was hard for him to play his part of attentive host on
this last day. Conversations were begun and dropped; nothing seemed to interest. They tried to form plans for future
meetings, but this was impossible, since the baron's movements
were so uncertain. In the evening they attempted some music,
but Konradine did not feel like singing, and it was soon given
up, and they retired earlier than they had ever done before,
excusing themselves on the plea of the early hour at which
they were obliged to breakfast on the following morning.
Emanuel slept little; the rude north wind rattling his windows made him envy his friends going south. In the morning when they met at the breakfast-table it was still perfectly
dark. Fortunately, Frau von Wildenau had recovered her
good humour in the prospect of shortly finding herself
beneath warmer skies and amid more congenial society. The
pleasant little episode at the castle had lasted long enough,
and since she knew that the last hours of all such episodes are
those that dwell longest in the memory, she strove to make
those last hours as agreeable as possible. But her efforts were
hardly crowned with success. Neither Konradine nor Emanuel spoke much, only the latter exerted himself to make such
provisions for the comfort of his parting guests that they
could not but be grateful. By no word from any one was
allusion made to Hulda.
As the baron handed the ladies into their coach he was far
more depressed than upon the occasion of the departure of his
sister's family. Then he had been exhilarated by the novel
consciousness that he was beloved; to-day he was weighed
down by many anxieties.
The stars were still sparkling in the heavens; it was bitterly cold; the snow crackled beneath the tread of those busy




HULDA.                     153
with the last preparations for departure. The bailiff was there
in his fur coat, and Ma'amselle in her black velvet hood. The
kindness of the strangers, so unlike the haughty reserve of
the countess, had pleased the bailiff; and the costly gifts presented by them to Ma'amselle had greatly increased her admiration for them. Quite as if she had been the mistress of
the castle she entreated them to honour her by their presence
if ever they came that way again.
She was out of breath in her zeal to serve them as Emanuel
handed the baroness into the carriage and Konradine held
out her hand to him from the window.
" Farewell, my friend! do not forget me," Konradine said.
" How could I?" he replied, and the carriage rolled away.
He went silently back to his apartments. Ulrika looked
after him and shook her head.
"That lovely Fraulein Konradine," she said, "would make
a very different wife from the pastor's Hulda for our baron."
She said it to her brother in a low voice; but Emanuel
heard every word distinctly, to his annoyance; for he was
already taking himself to task for finding this parting so hard
to bear, that he found himself wishing either that he had
known Konradine as well as he knew her now, before her life
had been so blighted, or that he had not met her again.
He walked through the empty apartments, so lately enlivened by her presence. How lonely it all looked! He sat
down at his writing-table and began to arrange his papers, but
he could not sit still. He was depressed and sad; and the
day dawned so slowly.
Lost in reverie, he looked out into the glimmering daybreak.
Thoughts flitted through his brain like shadows; he was conscious of them all, but could not retain any single one; and
if he could, he did not wish to.
When the cocks began to crow, when the wind lulled and
the pale-yellow streak on the horizon began to flush and crimson, while the sea beneath it grew aflame, he breathed more
freely. He must pause before beginning a new day; and, as
he threw himself upon his couch, to snatch, if possible, an
hour of repose, he said, involuntarily, "That is over " and
then started at the sound of his own voice.
- *




154                    HULDA.
C1APTER XXX.
As the previous day's drive had done him no harm, Emanuel was anxious to go to Hulda again as soon as possible. He
was sure that she must long to see him; and he earnestly
desired to efface their last painful interview from her and his
mind by a quiet hour with her. Now that she was fairly
convalescent, he had much to say to her; and he was also
very anxious to obtain her father's consent to her betrothal, a
consent that had hitherto been withheld; since, as the pastor
said, human decision was useless until Heaven had decided.
Contrary to all precedent, however, the pastor arrived at the
castle quite early in the morning. He said that he had availed
himself of the postmaster's offer of a seat in his vehicle in
order to speak with Emanuel, to come to an understanding
with him that might save both him and Hulda from new cause
for agitation.
Many days had passed since Emanuel had seen the pastor,
and he found him sensibly altered. He looked bent and old,
and the former clear light of his eyes was dimmed and sad.
Emanuel could not but see that he was oppressed by other
cares besides grief for the loss of his wife; nor could he forbear
telling him of the change that he noticed, and of his hope that
repose from the duties of his office, and a removal for a time
to a warmer climate, might restore to him the health of which
his grief had robbed him.
The pastor looked at him kindly. "Yes," he said, "I know
that to stand such a shock as I have had requires youth and
strength.' It was too hard for an old man. But Heaven has
sustained me. I have as yet omitted none of the duties of
my office, in which I hope to have the strength to continue
until the end, which cannot be far off."
Emanuel refused to entertain this view. " Let us hope, my
dear old friend," he said, "that you deceive yourself with regard to your strength, although you surely must see that it is
best to give up work for awhile, and live quietly with us; thus
sparing your daughter the pain of separation from you."




HULDA.                      155
The pastor shook his head. "I pray you, Herr Baron," he
begged, "do not compel me to refuse in set phrase the magnanimous offer that you make me for Hulda and for myself.
Do not tempt me in the weakness of paternal affection to
forget the gratitude which we have owed for three generations
to the countess's family, or, in obedience to my child's desire,
to forsake my post of duty before Heaven calls me hence. I
cannot consent that my daughter should be your wife; and I
cannot possibly retire from my office while I have strength, as
at present, to perform its duties."
"But your daughter loves me," Emanuel interposed, "and
you have known of my hopes and wishes since first they were
formed."
"Your reproach is just," the pastor gently replied, "and I
have come to you to-day to declare my resolution and entreat
your forgiveness for my weakness. I was overpowered by
the blow that had just fallen upon me when you brought
Hulda to me. At such times we cannot look beyond the
present moment. Then my child fell ill, and looked to you
in her bitter woe, calling for you perpetually; and because I
doubted her recovery, because, too, it was a consolation to me
to have your sympathy in the care for her young life,-I
frankly acknowledge my weakness,-I allowed your visits, and
let matters go on as I ought not to have done, for which the
countess, in her New Year's letter, which she did not withhold this year, in the face of all that has occurred, justly reproached me, seeing that she had already made known to me
her pleasure upon the subject of this connection, and that she
could never approve it."
In spite of the pastor's humility, his words offended the
baron; and the certainty that his sister had secretly endeavoured to thwart his desires, irritated and annoyed him yet
more. "You seem in your devotion to your patroness, my
friend," he said, hastily, "entirely to overlook that all this is
my affair, and not the countess's."
"I know that, Herr Baron. But how can I preach to my
flock self-denial, self-control, humility- "
"Your humility is not, apparently, inconsistent with a very
proud self-assertion," Emanuel interrupted him.
The pastor's pale cheek was slightly flushed, and he said,
"Can you grudge this pride to one who possesses nothing beside




156                    HULDA.
it? Or would you have me force my child upon those who
have been my benefactors all my life long, when they are unwilling to receive her?"
"Rest assured," cried Emanuel, his annoyance increasing
every moment, " that my wife shall never cross the threshold
of a house where she is not received with open arms and
hearts."
"I know that, Herr Baron; and there is where the difficulty
lies. Shall your marriage be solemnized upon the ruins of
brotherly and sisterly love, of united family affection? You
do not separate yourself from the countess only, but from your
brother also. You resign large estates and great advantages,
that might be made instruments in your hands for the benefit
of others; and all this for the sake of a child who has no way
of indemnifying you for such a sacrifice. What Hulda instinctively felt yesterday, in a moment of passionate emotion,
she will always feel in future, when confronted with women
of rank and social position."
" I knew what I was doing," replied Emanuel, "when I entrusted my future to Hulda. I know what my choice entails
upon me, but I also know Hulda, and how she will develop
in my hands. You had the same experience in your own
marriage."
The pastor shook his head. "Not the same. I stood entirely alone. I had no relatives to object to my choice and
whom I was obliged to sacrifice. The ties of relationship are
never severed without terrible suffering. And therefore, a few
days ago, I informed the countess, voluntarily, that I was convinced that your marriage with my child was most undesirable,
and that I should never consent to it. Surely, standing as I
do on the brink of the grave, you cannot ask me to break a
voluntary promise made to my benefactress."
"Would you rather destroy the happiness of your child?
Would you rather play the traitor to the man who trusted you
like a friend and offered you the affection of a son?" Emanuel
cried, angrily, irritated beyond endurance by the old man's
meek persistence; and strengthened by opposition, his love
for Hulda asserted its full power over him, and all the
vague doubts and wandering desires of the last few days vanished.
The pastor bowed his head at these words. " I was prepared




HULDA.                      157
for your reproaches, for your anger; I deserve it all for my
weakness." Emanuel was thoroughly disarmed. He held out
his hand to the old man, who grasped it firmly. " Let this be
a pledge," he said, " that you will give heed to what I say.
Trust to my care for my child. I shall know how to lead her
gently back to the life she never would have left had I not followed the suggestions of my own worldly wisdom and her
childish love of change, rather than the counsels of her sainted
mother."
Emanuel withdrew his hand. "That pledge I cannot give
you, and you should not ask it," he said. "You must not
force Hulda, force us,"-and he paused for a moment,-" to
look forward with hope to the time when you will leave us.
Do not force upon the dear girl a choice between her filial
duty and her love-between me and you. Indeed, it would be
wrong."
"No," replied the father, " I would not put her to such a
proof. I have not done so." Emanuel looked at him inquiringly. "Early this morning she sent for me, to pour out her
heart to me-to tell me of the passionate outbreak of yesterday. She wished to write to you, and to your friend, begging
for forgiveness. I talked long and earnestly with her, and
Heaven gave effect to my words."
" Ah!" cried the baron, agonized by the confidence expressed
in the old man's look and tone. " You have persuaded Hulda
to renounce me."
" I simply reminded her that my office would make this
place my home as long as I lived, and that I was old and
lonely. I begged her not to leave her old father; and she
promised not to do so."
Bitter words of reproach trembled upon the baron's lips; but
respect for the old man suppressed them. He stood up, and
turned away to collect and clear his thoughts, which one moment dwelt with respect upon the pastor's conduct, and then
stigmatized it as treacherous and jesuitical, prompted by his
sister, the countess. Sympathy for Hulda, of whose love
for him he felt convinced, mistrust of her father and Miss
Kenney, and irritation with his sister, strove within him for
the mastery. One thing only was clear,-as Hulda had delivered him from the spell of loneliness that he believed, had
been cast around him, he must now deliver her from this %elf.
14




158                    HULDA.
imposed renunciation, in which, he was sure, her heart had no
share.
He told the pastor that he must speak with Hulda, that he
must see her, before discussing the matter further. The old
man replied that Hulda desired much to see him, and begged
him to come to her on the morrow, since her conversation
with her father had left her too weak for farther exertion on
the same day.
As the pastor was about to take his departure, Emanuel detained him for one moment. "I had hoped," he said, "that
after to-day's interview we should be fast friends, never long
separated for the future. Together we would have trained
and developed Hulda's rare nature. But your entire subjection
to my sister's wishes forces me to a conflict, in which I do not
struggle for my own sake only, and I must trust to your
honour. Your daughter's heart is in your hand. You will
see her to-day, while I am away from her. Promise me that
you will not seek to influence her, until to-morrow, when I
can see her and speak with her myself."
The pastor readily promised, and Emanuel declared himself
content until the morrow.
CHAPTER XXXI.
TWENTY-POUR hours spent in solitude and meditation drag
their "length along" very slowly, and Emanuel was glad
when he found himself, the next morning, on the way to
the parsonage. The day was bright, and the air exceedingly
clear; and as he pondered upon the time passed here at the
castle, and upon his relation to Hulda, he shook off the depression that had weighed upon him, and looked forward to
seeing her, and dissipating, by his presence and words, all her
gloomy prognostications for the future, much as one looks
forward to the happy ending of a book or poem of absorbing
interest.
Upon his arrival at the parsonage, the pastor and Miss
Kenney came forward to receive him.   There was a kind




IULDA.                     159
of Sabbath calm in the bearing of each; they looked more
cheerful than ttley had done for some time, as they told him
that Hulda was much better and perfectly calm. Still, there
was something in their ease of manner that made him uncomfortable.
Her father led him to Hulda's room, and left him alone
with her. She lay propped up by pillows, her eyes full of
expectation. Her voice had its old melodious sound as she
bade him welcome; but she did not, as was her wont, hold
out her hand to him; there was something strange in her manner. As he looked at her, he could not but think of Shakespeare's words,-" She sat like Patience on a monument."
He told her how rejoiced he was to hear that she was really
better, and he would have pressed his lips, as usual, upon her
brow, but she gently repulsed him.
"Yes, I am well again," she said. "I have not been able
to pray for so long; all those last weeks in the castle I could
not. And then came my poor mother's death and my illness.
I have not been myself; least of all was I myself the day before
yesterday."  And she timidly looked up at him.
He begged her to think no more of it. It had been all his
fault. He was wrong to let Konradine come to her: Konradine herself had been convinced of that. " And do not,"
he added, " repent that outbreak, my darling, since it revealed
to me the strength of your love for me."
"No," she replied; "Heaven permitted it that I might
really understand myself." She paused in thought for a moment, and then continued: "I told you the other day how
like a dream it all was; and when I saw Fraulein Konradine
with you, so beautiful, so dignified,-like Countess Clarissa, —
and thought of myself, then-then" —she brought out the
words with an effort-" I knew it could not be, and for a moment I could not bear it."
"Hulda!" cried Emanuel, with emotion, "think what you
are doing! You are speaking to me,-to your lover; your
heart has no part in what you say. Look, I am here beside
you!" And he threw his arm around her. " Have you forgotten that you are my love, my bride? Have you forgotten
everything?"
" Yes!" she answered, " I had forgotten everything! But
that is all past, for my father's words have recalled me to my



160                   HULDA.
self. I have been thinking only of my own happiness, not of
him, and of my duty and his. I cannot leave him."
She passed her hand across her eyes; her voice grew feebler.
Emanuel gently but earnestly attempted to win her to his
views without agitating her. She listened to him with a
smile, but when he thought he had convinced her, she shook
her lovely head sadly and decidedly.
"It cannot be," she said.. It must not be. I have had
no peace since my mother called me once, twice, just as she
was dying. Through these long nights she has called me
again and again, and when you left me the day before yesterday, she came to me in my dreams. She never wished me to
leave the parsonage, and she wishes it now less than ever,
and my father, too, does not wish me to go."
" Your father is old!" Emanuel interposed.
"All the more reason why I should stay with him, now that
he has no one but me. When he told me this, and I remembered how my mother had united me to him in my dream, I
felt that I could never leave him."
" And will you, then, leave me?" asked Emanuel, convinced
that Hulda must obey the voice of her love. " Have you not
given me your heart? Have you not delivered me from the
curse of want of faith in myself? Do you love me no longer,
then?"
"Oh!" she cried, in accents that cut him to the heart, as
she snatched his hands and pressed them close to her breast,
"do not make it harder for me; indeed, it is hard enough. If
he were to die, and to call me in his last moments as my mother
called me, and I could not be with him, now that he has no
one but me in the world, I could never be happy again, —no,
not even in heaven. I took the sacrament this morning,-I
begged my father, and he gave it to me,-and I vowed to God
and myself, with my father's hand in mine, that I would never
leave him, but would live for him alone," and there were tears
in her voice, "and not for myself, while his life lasted."
She leaned back, and closed her eyes. Emanuel knew not
what to do. His love for her had never been greater, but he
dared not urge her further at present. He felt the deepest
sympathy for her.
He saw her spending day after day, it might be year after
year, in this desert, in voluntary self-renunciation, at he.




HULDA.                      161
father's side, and he looked forward into his own future, and
it was gray and colourless, as the visions with which he had
peopled it faded away.
As he still sat there with her hands in his, the pastor entered. Emanuel half arose, and Hulda, thinking he was preparing to leave, cried, in terror, "Are you going, Emanuel?"
" Tell me that you will follow me, and I will stay," he said,
tenderly.
"Be merciful," said her father; "do not put her to the
sharp test that you yourself called cruel. She found peace
when she looked for it this morning, and it will be hers and
dwell with her when all agitating causes are removed."
Hulda had folded her hands, and her eyes were fixed in
entreaty upon her lover. It was almost more than he could
bear. He rose to go. With a trembling hand Hulda drew
from her finger the ring that he had given her. That was too
much.
"No!" he cried, " this parting is not forever! The ring is
yours,-a pledge that we shall meet again!" And, imprinting a
kiss upon her brow, he hurried away.
He never heard the pastor's words as he accompanied him
to his carriage, or Miss Kenney's promises that she would
"tenderly cherish the dear girl."  He reached the castle and
his own apartments, and still his mind was filled with the
image of his darling, her eyes heavy with tears, and her lovely
mouth quivering, yet firm. He was profoundly sad. The fair
vision of hope that had hovered before him had faded, and his
confidence in those nearest to him was destroyed. His sister,
the pastor, Miss Kenney, seemed leagued against him, and it
appeared to him that a true love-a genuine affection, like
that which he had hoped Hulda felt for him-would have
heeded no oath, no parent's bidding, would never have hesitated between a father, and a lover who had entreated as he had
done. And when these thoughts assailed him, he was heavierhearted than ever.
He rang for his servant, and had all things prepared for his
departure. Why should he linger here a moment longer, now
that there was nothing more to hope or to expect?
In a few hours everything was ready, and towards evening
his carriage stood waiting for him. Once more he walked
through the long suites of rooms as he had done on the day
14*




162                    HULDA.
when he had awaited there his sister and Clarissa. What
length of years seemed to have passed since that summer day
and this dreary nightfall! How different his present pain
from the calm self-abnegation of that former time! To-day'
he could understand the antipathy that Konradine had expressed for society and the world, and yet it would be torture
to remain in this solitude.
The bailiff and Ma'amselle Ulrika duly made their appearance to bid him farewell. They were greatly surprised at his
departure, since nothing that they knew of had happened, and
no letter had arrived to warrant so sudden a resolve. Ma'amselle
declared that it made one feel like a fool to have such things
happen without any reason, and the bailiff remarked that he
should surely not busy himself about what did not concern
him, but it was a pity that the Herr Baron should start off in
such terribly cold weather.
Before the baron got into his carriage he called Ulrika, and
reiterated his injunctions as to the attention that was to be
paid to Hulda's every want.
"To be sure, Herr Baron," Ma'amselle eagerly interposed,
glad of any excuse to ask a question. "You shall certainly
find on your return that everything has been done that I could
do. But when do you intend to return, Herr Baron?"
" I shall give you due notice," was the reply.
" They will know, at all events, at the parsonage, when you
write to them, Herr Baron," she persisted; but to this last
attempt Emanuel made no answer whatever, to her great disgust.
" A poor enough office it is," she grumbled, when the courtyard gate was closed upon the carriage, " this shutting up and
putting away after every one has gone. Lonely enough it will
be, and time enough I shall have on my hands. But," she
added quickly, and her tone was far brisker, " everything is at
an end between the baron and your Ma'amselle Hulda, brother.
The pastor here the first thing in the morning yesterday, the
baron at the parsonage the first thing in the morning to-day,
and then up and away in this freezing weather, and not a word
out of his mouth when I speak of his writing; not even a'certainly!' or'yes, indeed!' There is a screw loose somewhere! It is all up with the grand marriage!"
" For Heaven's sake, sister, keep your wisdom to yourself




HULDA.                     163
until it is wanted!" growled the bailiff, and she judged it wise
to go her ways and be silent.
Meanwhile Emanuel drove through the night, lost in melancholy reverie, across the white, dreary plain, and poor Hulda
waked and watched in the parsonage, striving in vain to think
only of the duty that lay nearest her, and to look her future
life, now colourless and blank, bravely in the face.




PART II.
CHAPTER I.
EMANUEL, travelling by slow stages, did not arrive at his
villa until the early spring had begun to burst into bloom;
but the balmy air, and all the witchery of his southern home,
failed to cheer him or to lighten his heart of the load that
weighed down his spirits.
He avoided a meeting with his sister, only notifying her
that he had left the castle, and adding a few words of bitter
reproach for her unjustifiable interference with his plans and
hopes. She attempted some explanation and justification of
her conduct, but Emanuel refused to pay any heed to her, and
the pastor's heroic design of restoring peace and affection between the brother and the sister at the cost of his child's happiness was utterly foiled for the present. His child's sacrifice
had benefited no one but the countess, who saw not only the
odious engagement broken off, but all her plans with regard
to Hulda and Miss Kenney carried out, since the latter declared of her own accord that her charge had grown so dear
to her that she could not think of leaving her until her health
should be perfectly restored.
But what a dull, joyless existence was that to which Hulda
awoke in the parsonage upon her recovery! Spring returned,
and the cherry-trees were once more in full blossom; but
Hulda's white dress no more fluttered gaily from the line as
on the Easter gone by,-there was no preparation for the
yearly visit from the bailiff's. Hulda sat quietly at her work,
in deep mourning, and although the roundness and bloom had
returned to her cheek, her eyes had lost their eager, hopeful,
child-like expression. It was upon the past that she pondered
now,-memory had superseded hope. Every day she asked her164




HULDA.                      165
self, " Was all that really so? and if it were, why has it passed
like such a fleeting dream? How can he stay away from me
when my heart is crying after him every hour, and his ring
tells me over and over again,'Thee and me shall no one
sever'?"
The bailiff's visits were continued the same as ever, although
there was no Easter invitation extended to his sister, who
annoyed both the pastor and Hulda with her questions and
remarks. Miss Kenney had returned to her old apartments in
the castle, but often visited the parsonage, especially since, by
the countess's desire, a light carriage and pair had been placed
at her disposal.
Hulda never went to the castle unless at her old friend's
particular request. She did not like to leave her father or to
meet Ma'amselle Ulrika, and the place was full of associations
that she would fain have forgotten. Unless some errand called
her to the village, the week would pass without seeing her beyond
the boundaries of the little parsonage garden. There was
nothing to hope or to expect in the world beyond it. And yet
she waited and watched day after day, and each was so like
its fellow that she wondered, when the church-bells tolled,
whether a week had really passed since the previous Sunday
and without bringing her a sign from him who was all the
world to her.
The countess had written to the pastor after the baron's departure, commending the old man's ready compliance with her
wishes, and assuring him that both he and his daughter might
rely upon her patronage and protection; asking that she might
be made acquainted with any of Hulda's plans for the future,
and declaring her readiness to further them. But Hulda had
no plans, no hopes, except the one which the countess would
have been the last to sympathize with. Even the feverish
longing that sometimes possessed her to see something of the
world in which he moved was suppressed by her as sinful; indeed, what could throw down the barrier between her and that
world except her father's death? And she shuddered at the idea
of looking forward to that, or of founding any hopes upon his
grave.
Work, hard work, was the only prop left her, and her
father's learning and Miss Kenney's accomplishments stood
her in good stead. Study kept her from absolute despair,




166                    HULDA.
although it could not lend her wings to soar aloft into the
atmosphere of eager hope that is the birthright of youth,
and which the changing chances of the world may restore to
the young even when they think it gone forever.
CHAPTER II.
KONRADINE was happier than HuIda.
Her appointment to the sisterhood, which had been graciously granted her by the grand duke, was awaiting her upon
her arrival at the capital. It was undoubtedly a great honour.
The order was a noble and wealthy one; and she immediately
retired to its cloisters, where she donned the habit that betokened her separation from the world during the few months of
the year that its inmates were expected to pass within its quiet
walls. She could not deny, as she surveyed herself in her
mirror, clad in the black, flowing woollen robes, the white facecloth, black veil, and cross of the order, that the dress added
a grace and dignity to the pure outlines of her face and form;
and since it clearly testified to her departure from the world
where she had so suffered, she could not but hope that her
resignation for a time of the life she had hitherto led might
add strength and force to her power of self-control and renunciation. Of course, in the little community in which she now
found herself, there were no secrets as to the motives or circumstances that had influenced its various members to adopt
their present mode of life. Konradine's previous history made
her an object of eager interest and admiration to old and young;
and her efforts to comport herself with gracious kindliness to
all called forth willing homage from her associates. The praise
and high esteem that might have fostered self-conceit in a shallow, frivolous character aroused a noble ambition in Konradine,
who found it much more consonant with her dignity to endure
her fate with content and cheerfulness, than to present to the
world the spectacle of a deserted and inconsolable mourner.
It was a satisfaction to her that none of her present associ



HULDA.                      167
ates were familiar with the details of her past. No one could
surround her with the anxious care by which her mother had
sometimes annoyed her, or care to know whether she had slept
well, or had passed the night in tears; and before long she even
began to regret that she had so unveiled her inmost heart to
Emanuel. What good had it done her? What good could it do
her? She wished she could make him forget all she had told him
when she was in such an agitated state of mind. She could
not understand why she should so have craved sympathy; and
now that all around her were disposed to revere and look up
to her, it was irksome to reflect that Emanuel was thinking
of her as deserving of pity and compassion.
There had been no special agreement between them to write
to each other; but it had been the natural consequence of their
mutual confidences that they should do so, and their letters
were free and unconstrained. Emanuel, in the quiet of his
home, had an increasing sense of disappointment in the failure of his hopes and plans; and, however he might strive
against it, a dawning consciousness that he had been in fault
oppressed him at times.
Often, as he paced his broad terrace in melancholy mood,
the thought of how he had hoped to see Hulda wandering
here by his side, of the joy it would have been to him to see
her delight in the beauty and majesty of nature in his southern home, would arouse a yearning for her that was not to be
stifled, until overborne by the painful thought that her love
for him had not been strong enough to overcome her sense of
filial duty. But should not he, the experienced man of the
world, have known how, in spite of all her scruples, to persuade her to be his, convinced that her father, in the end,
would find his own happiness in the happiness of his child?
But here again his old mistrust of himself asserted itself,
and his pride of birth would prompt him to ask whether
it were fitting that he should persistently sue a village maiden
to accept a name that the proudest in Europe might be glad
to bear.  Thus he was tortured and,torn by doubts and
longings, until time and the constant interchange of letters
with Konradine brought him a degree of calmness and content.
Scarcely a week passed without bringing him news from his
friend and confidante, and her letters all told him of the re



168                    IIULDA.
pose that she enjoyed, a quiet contentment of which she had
hardly believed her nature capable. She spoke of her attachment to the prince as of a thing of the past, which time and
an altered mode of life had enabled her to regard as the experience of a third person, and she congratulated herself upon
her power to think of him now without anger, or even irritation; her present satisfaction proving to her that the highest
happiness lay, not in being beloved, but in loving, and, above
all, in reliance upon one's self.
These statements and assurances might perhaps at first have
been the result only of her desire that they should be true.
They were perhaps only a picture of the state of mind that
she hoped to attain. If so, they certainly conduced to bring
about the desired change. She became thoroughly mistress
of herself once more, and delighted, as she said, to find the
former Konradine awake to life again.
Prizing, as did both she and her mother, the advantages of
birth, she had always protested in her heart against the baron's
choice; but, herself a victim to the prejudices of rank, she
had never declared her disapproval. Hulda's conduct on the
only occasion of her seeing her had hardly prepossessed her
in her favour; and now she no longer refrained from expressing her aversion to such a mesalliance.
In her letters to Emanuel she openly avowed that she
thought his pity and grief upon Hulda's account exaggerated.
She herself-so she wrote-attached no special importance to
what was called first love. Love was the highest expression
of a fully-developed nature, and the heart must first learn to
test and prove its force before it could become capable of a love
so great as to absorb the entire being. Let him honestly ask
himself whether he believed that young girl, scarcely more
than a child, capable of such a love, or if he imagined that
Hulda's life might not, in time, be truly happy and contented
without him. And did he believe that such a child could
find it impossible to forget what had been to her a bright
morning dream, when she herself, Konradine, a woman ripe
in knowledge of the world, had found peace and repose after
the shattering of her hopes?
To these questions Emanuel made no reply even to himself.
For him, with his knowledge of her, there was a difference
between Hulda and all other young girls. He could not judge




HULDA.                      169
her by the common standard. But he continued to keep up
a lively correspondence with Konradine, and Hulda became
more and more a vision of the past.
A letter that he had addressed to her shortly after his departure from the castle had been returned to him by her father,
unopened, with a request that he would spare his daughter; and
Aliss Kenney, to whom he applied some time afterward for news
of Hulda, assured him that she was improving every day, and
that youth and a good constitution were fully asserting their
power in her restoration to health. She informed him that
Hulda had accompanied her upon a visit of a week to the
capital, and that she had been wonderfully impressed, quite
carried away, in short, by the musical and theatrical entertainments she had there enjoyed. The baron would certainly be
glad to know that the girl in whom he had taken such an interest was again restored to life and health. Doubtless, a little
more time, with suitable amusements and distractions, would
suffice to cause her to forget the hopes that had flattered her
youth for awhile; but she must be allowed to forget them,-to
which end Miss Kenney entreated Emanuel not to write to
her.
He read and re-read this letter, and it shook his faith; especially as the bailiff, who wrote to him upon business at midsummer, added his testimony to Miss Kenney's, by mentioning
at the end of his letter that all were well at the parsonage,
and his god-child was as blooming as a rose again. The good
man had his own ends to answer in this intelligence. He was
very fond of Hulda, and could not allow the baron to believe
that she was grieving or pining for his sake.
It did not need much to persuade Emanuel that a young
and beautiful girl could forget both himself and his love. It
pained him, but it relieved him of a great care, and of a certain amount of remorse. It quieted his conscience.
H                      15




170                    HULDA.
CHAPTER III.
THUS the summer glided by; and after harvest, when
autumn had set in, Miss Kenney began to declare that care
for her health, and her frequent need of the advice of a physician, would prevent her from spending another winter in
the retired castle. The countess, who was visiting her daughter
in her new home, proposed to her old friend to take possession
for the present of her town-house, where she might possibly
join her before the close of the winter.
To this Miss Kenney agreed, and she made haste to communicate her plans to her friends at the parsonage.  The
pastor, and even Hulda, appeared to think her departure but
natural, since they could not hope to retain her forever in their
solitude; and, besides, Hulda was beginning to be absorbed by
a fresh anxiety.
Her father's health was failing, and there had lately appeared
a weakness of his eyes that filled her with alarm. The physician advised his removal, if possible, for a time to town, that
he might place himself under the care of an eminent oculist.
But how was this to be done? A substitute for his office
must be secured, and their limited means made any stay in
the capital a matter of grave consideration. The countess,
however, as soon as Miss Kenney informed her how matters
stood, smoothed away all obstacles in the way of a change so
desirable.
She begged the pastor to accompany Miss Kenney to town,
and, of course, to take Hulda with him. There he could establish himself in the same rooms in her house that he had long ago
occupied as her husband's tutor, and remain there as her guest
for so long as seemed to him best. She furthermore insisted
that it was her right, as well as her desire, to provide a substitute during his absence from his parish, and to defray all
extra expenses consequent upon the residence in town, since
she was certainly more interested than any one else in preserving the health and life of so admirable a pastor for her
tenants, so valued a friend of her family.




HULDA.                     171
All difficulties were thus removed, and the good old man,
accustomed from his earliest years to dependence, was glad to
know that the patronage that had never yet failed him was
still extended towards him in fullest measure, and would
probably be his daughter's after his death. But the countess's
benefactions produced a very different effect upon Hulda.
She knew well that the countess's offer should be gratefully accepted, but yet, frequently as she recurred to the fact
that her father's eyesight, perhaps his life, was at stake, she
could not conquer her aversion to partake of the great lady's
hospitality. During the few days that she had spent in town
with Miss Kenney, she had reluctantly visited those spacious
apartments, and even the prospect of delights and novel experiences, of which the mere thought was intoxicating, could
not soothe her wounded pride.
The leaves, however, had hardly fallen from the trees before
the pastor found himself once more amid the scenes of former
years, and, from the windows of the rooms he had occupied as
a young man, looking out into the gardens, along the formal
alleys of which Miss Kenney took her daily morning walk
with Hulda by her side. Exemption from duty and change
of scene had a beneficial effect upon the old man. Miss
Kenney, too, was glad to visit the capital once more, where
she was greatly valued by the countess's circle of friends, who
showed her much kind attention; and the pastor did not shun
society.  The old governess was very fond of dramatic
representations, and Hulda had an opportunity, under her
es6ort, of becoming acquainted with the best theatrical performances.
At such times the girl forgot everything, the danger that
threatened her father, and her own wretchedness. She was no
longer herself; she lived and suffered in the persons of those
who moved upon the stage. She envied great actresses, who
might utter and express what she was doomed to suffer and
feel in silence. She could not help reading aloud to her father
such parts as affected her most deeply, and he took delight in
the enthusiasm that noble thoughts and emotions awakened in
his child, and was glad to see her relinquish, even for a few
hours, all saddening memories.
They had passed a couple of months in town, when every
lover of the drama was filled with joyful expectation by the




172                     HULDA.
announcement of the appearance of one of the greatest actresses
of the day. All who had ever seen the celebrated Gabrielle
upon the stage remembered the occasion as one of the great
enjoyments of their lives. Not only was she incomparable in
tragedy, but her success was equally great in comedy, for she
was still young and beautiful. And those who had seen her
in private could not sufficiently praise her natural grace, her
talent, her noble pride in her art. Among these was Miss
Kenney, who had first admired her upon the stage, and afterwards had had frequent opportunity of seeing her at the
countess's Italian residence, where she had been, during one
of her rests from work, an almost daily visitor.
One evening, in a small gathering of friends in Miss Kenney's room, Gabrielle formed the subject of discussion, and
some one present, after alluding to her age, said to be considerably past thirty, mentioned the various stories afloat
concerning her.
She had seen, so ran the rumour, the most distinguished
men, artists, authors, and princes, at her feet. A gifted young
actor had committed suicide for her sake. Then she had
been jilted and forsaken by a famous artist, for whom she
had made immense sacrifices; and, after all these reports had
been discussed, it was firmly maintained that she had been
privately married for some years to a reigning prince, and that
this morganatic marriage was kept a secret, because Gabrielle
loved her art beyond all else, and had expressly stipulated that
she should remain upon the stage as long as she felt herself
called upon to do so.
Forbearance to judge harshly, and the aversion that wellconducted mediocrity always thinks fit to display to anything
out of the usual way, worldly-wise liberality, and a severe
sense of decorum, all found their advocates in the small circle
here assembled. There was, however, one lady, an elderly
relative of the countess, who did not unite with the rest in
admiring the great artiste's qualities of mind and heart, but
condemned her unsparingly, denouncing as demoralizing the
latitude in manners and morals which is generally allowed to
actresses.
The severity with which she maintained her views irritated
to determined opposition the admirers of the artiste; and since
in such an argument as now arose the extremest opinions are




HULDA.                     173
apt to be advocated, the old lady soon declared emphatically
that in her estimation every woman who went upon the stage
lost, by such a step, all claim to be received in good society.
She, for her part, would never condescend to personal intercourse with a woman at whom every one could take public
exception who had purchased the right to do so by paying for
a ticket. This called forth extravagant opposition, and some
of the disputants were almost in danger of transcending the
bounds of good breeding, when the pastor put in his word.
He had been listening to the discussion, his eyes shaded
from the light by a screen, without taking any part in it.
Although his ill-health prevented him from visiting the
theatres, he was remarkably fond of dramatic representations,
and his recollections of the great histrionic stars, with whose
performances he had been familiar in his youth, had made
many a lonely evening delightful for his wife and daughter.
His liberal culture, no less than his gentle, kindly heart,
rebelled against any denunciation of the great actress like that
to which he had just listened.
" I need not tell you," he said, at last, " that I share the
usual prejudice, if prejudice it be, against a woman's seeking
notoriety of any kind. It seems to me that a woman's sphere
is home, and this not because I would limit her influence and
power, but rather increase it. Doubtless, every woman who
goes upon the stage, and is obliged continually to give expression to emotions and passions that she would otherwise suppress, loses what constitutes one of her chief charms, one of
her most feminine attributes.  But — "
" Really, Herr Pastor, I cannot see how we differ in the
slightest degree," Gabrielle's accuser here interrupted him.
"You apply to a class what I have declared with regard to a
single person."
"No!" replied the old man, "I should never condemn, but
rather pity, those women who, in obedience to a call too mighty
to resist, have chosen a path in life where they must of necessity lay aside a woman's chief ornament and surest safeguard.
And I would doubly honour those who, like the great actress
of whom you have been speaking, have known how, amid all
the temptations and pitfalls of a dramatic career, to preserve
in unblemished purity the jewel of their reputation."
The conversation continued for some time to be occupied
15*




174                    I ULDA.
with the theatres and dramatic performances; but Hulda
scarcely heard anything more. She was pondering her father's
words, which, gentle though they were, had seemed hard and
unfeeling to her. Surely he, too, was prejudiced. What could
there be unwomanly in the representation of emotions that
could only ennoble?  All actresses need not of necessity become hardened and unsexed. She was convinced that there
were many exceptions to what her father considered the rule
in this case, and surely Gabrielle must be one of them.
She had seen the actress's portrait in the shop-windows, and
had been greatly impressed with her noble cast of countenance.
The large eyes seemed to look abroad into the world in consciousness of a power to overcome it. Even the smile upon
her lips was full of a proud security. Such a majestic carriage,
in Hulda's opinion, could be the result only of genuine selfreliance and a good conscience.
With the warm enthusiasm of youth she had created for
herself an ideal, and the more it was attacked the closer did
she clasp it. Young and inexperienced though she was, she
knew already how entirely unprovoked may be the assaults
of envy and ill will, and how easily they may touch a woman's
reputation.
All that had been said around Miss Kenney's tea-table had
but heightened her intense desire to see the great actress; and
with delight greater than any she had experienced for a long
time, she heard that she was to accompany her kind old friend
to the theatre on the night of Gabrielle's first performance,
when she was to appear in Goethe's " Tasso."
CHAPTER IV.
IT was a dark, cold winter evening when Miss Kenney and
Hulda, wrapped in furs, drove to the theatre that appeared to
absorb within the charmed circle of its brilliant lights all the
life and bustle that had forsaken the gloomy, deserted streets.
The first notes of the overture greeted their ears as they entered their box.
The house was crowded; and when the curtain rose, when




HULDA.                      175
the bright sunshine of an Italian landscape effaced the remembrance of the northern storm without, and the figure of Gabrielle, who personated the princess, advanced from the terrace,
she was greeted with enthusiastic applause. Her appearance
justified all that had been said in her praise. Walking forward, as if unconscious of the presence of the audience, she
addressed her companion.
Surely there was magic in the words to transport one far
away from every-day life. One breathed another atmosphere.
All that could distress or annoy was banished from this ideal
realm.
Even those among the audience who had supposed themselves thoroughly familiar with the drama, found it invested
with a beauty of which they had not dreamed. This was the
Princess Leonora that had inspired the poet. So full of noble
grace, of lofty and yet simple dignity, was every gesture and
tone of the actress, that the applause of those who hung upon
her accents was tempered by a kind of awe. And the confidence that Hulda had reposed in Gabrielle as a woman before
seeing her, grew into affectionate regard with every moment.
For the first time since her parting from Emanuel her heart
beat light and free, inspired as it was with a desire that bore/
no relation to him. She wished to speak to Gabrielle, although she hardly knew what she should say to her. She
felt as if she must give expression to her reverence for her,
which was akin to the emotion with which a devotee regards
some wonder-working picture or image; and vague hopes arose
within her when Miss Kenney, who had been greatly delighted
by the performance, proposed to write to the artiste thanking
her for the pleasure she had received, reminding her of their
former intercourse, and expressing a hope that it might be
renewed.
The note was instantly answered.   Gabrielle cordially
thanked Miss Kenney for her kind expressions, and, since
she could not possibly, among her numerous engagements, appoint any time when she should be at leisure to receive a visit
at her hotel, proposed, when opportunity should offer, to present herself in Miss Kenney's rooms, to renew an acquaintance
mutually so agreeable.
Miss Kenney did not fail to be present at all her performances, each of which was a fresh triumph for the actress.




176                    HULDA.
Upon her return from the theatre the governess would seek
the pastor's room, and there delight her friends with a description of what she had enjoyed,-for Hulda spent these evenings
reading to her father,-until at last the old man's eager desire
to see this star in the dramatic world was almost as great as
his daughter's.
One evening when Gabrielle did not play, Hulda and her
father were seated at Miss Kenney's tea-table, when a carriage
drove into the court-yard; and before they had had time to
wonder at the unaccustomed sound, the door opened to admit
a brilliant visitor indeed, —Gabrielle herself.
"I am sure you must have thought I was never coming,"
she said, advancing with inimitable grace, and taking both
Miss Kenney's hands in her own; "but upon these theatrical
tours my time is never my own; and it is rarely indeed that I
can do what would please me most. To-night, however, I
dressed early for a ball, where I must go to be stared at and
questioned, and for which I shall indemnify myself by a quiet
hour with you. Pray give me a cup of tea, and tell me where
the countess is; and how Clarissa and the young count are;
and why you are here without them."
She said it all perfectly naturally, and yet with the air of a
princess who involuntarily feels that her presence and sympathy confer pleasure.  Then turning to the pastor and his
daughter, she expressed her satisfaction at finding that her old
friend was not alone.
Miss Kenney presented them to her guest; and while the
pastor joined in the conversation that ensued, Hulda, as she
silently made the tea, gazed at Gabrielle in a kind of rapture.
She seemed to her even younger than when she had seen her
upon the stage; and, although she could hardly believe that
this charming creature in her modern ball-dress, with jewels
sparkling on her neck and arms, who was going to dance at a
ball, was the Leonora whom she remembered, she was completely fascinated by her; every look and gesture seemed full
of artistic beauty.
As Hulda handed her a cup of tea, her eyes for the first
time rested full upon the young girl. A look of surprise
passed over her features; and, turning to Miss Kenney, she
said, " You knew me ten, twelve years ago. Do you not think
this child resembles me as I was then?"




HULDA.                      177
Miss Keiney could hardly admit this, although there certainly was a similarity in the colouring of the two faces. But
Gabrielle liked to justify her assertions; and, rising and taking
Hulda's hand, she led her up to a tall mirror, and standing side
by side with her there, said, " Indeed, you are strikingly like
me, my dear child. But don't cast down your eyes and look so
distressed; you need not let the resemblance terrify you."
Then, leaning towards her, she kissed her brow, and added,
kindly, "Now that I find you so like me, I shall not be able
to say that I admire you."
Returning to the tea-table, she asked the pastor, who was
pleased by the notice taken of his child by the great actress,
whether he had educated Hulda in the country; and Miss
Kenney, who was always true to her governess instincts,
thinking that more attention was paid to Hulda than was
quite good for her, led the conversation away from her by
declaring that Gabrielle herself had done much to arouse a
love of the beautiful in the child, who had lately enjoyed the
delight of seeing her in her r6le of Leonora.
"And in what other parts have you seen me play?" asked
the artiste, turning to Hulda, who answered that she had been
to the theatre but once, great as had been her desire to see her
as Juliet. The pastor here expressed his regret that the state
of his health prevented his enjoying so great a pleasure; and
Miss Kenney was eloquent in her admiration of the artiste's
rendering of certain passages of Romeo and Juliet.
Gabrielle was gratified by such genuine homage, and turning
again to Hulda, who evidently prepossessed her greatly, she
said, " I am sorry that I shall not play Juliet here again, for
I consider it one of my best parts, and am always pleased
when others agree with me. Meanwhile, since you wished
to see it, and since I would gladly atone to the Herr Pastor
for depriving him of his reader during this hour, if you have
a Shakespeare at hand,"-and she looked at her watch,-" I
still have half an hour to spare, and I shall be glad to read
you a few scenes, if you will take a part with me."
"I? For you? Oh, how can I?" cried Hulda, who seemed
to be living in some improbable dream.
"Only try; it can do you no harm," said Gabrielle, with a
smile; "and get the book quickly, for really there is no time
to lose."
He




178                    HULDA.
The tragedy was soon produced. lHulda had been reading
it lately, on the day when Gabrielle was to perform it.  Gabrielle opened it at the first scene between Romeo and Juliet,
telling Hulda to read Romeo's part, while she recited her own,
of course, from memory. She was in her happiest mood.
Through scene after scene she led her hearers entranced; and
in the soliloquy, before Juliet drinks the sleeping-potion, both
Miss Kenney and the pastor were in tears. As for Hulda, her
emotion was too deep to be thus expressed.
Her heart had throbbed loudly at the first words that she
was obliged to read, but by degrees she had entirely forgotten
herself: her whole soul was lost in admiration of Juliet. As
in a dream one performs actions that seem impossible even
to the dreamer, so she resigned herself to the poetry and its
representative. She read on and on, until she sat gazing, absorbed, at the actress, as she spoke the final words:
" 0 happy dagger!
This is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die."
Then Gabrielle rose quickly, with a smile, and turning to
Hulda, with an evident desire to break the spell of silence
cast over her hearers by her matchless rendering of the part,
held out her hand, saying, "Well, did you like it, dear child?"
" Yes," was the reply; but even that one word was difficult
of utterance; and while her father and Miss Kenney were expressing their thanks, she bent down and kissed Gabrielle's
hand, tears streaming from her eyes.
"You feel deeply," said Gabrielle, pleased with the girl's
passionate admiration. " Your daughter reads extremely well,
Herr Pastor," she added; "really, uncommonly well. She
did not annoy me by one false tone, and sometimes she surprised me. As a reward, she shall see me to-morrow night
in my farewell part, Donna Diana. You are a country girl,"
she said to Hulda, with a smile, "and can rise early. Come
to me to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and I will give you
tickets of admission for Miss Kenney and yourself."
Then she wrapped herself in her fur cloak, and left her
grateful friends, assuring them that their enjoyment had been
a greater satisfaction to her than the applause of a large
audience.




HUDLA.                      179
CHAPTER V.
THE sun had not even peeped over the tall roofs of the old
houses in the narrow streets the next morning when Hulda, in
her picturesque fur jacket and close velvet cap, betook herself
to Gabrielle's hotel. A carriage stood before the door, and the
lights were still burning in- the lower story. The concierge
to whom she addressed her modest inquiries told her that
Mademoiselle was up and at breakfast, and that she had given
orders that if a young girl inquired for her she should be
shown up to her rooms immediately.
As Hulda entered, Gabrielle, attired in a dark silk'morning dress, was sitting at the breakfast-table before a bright fire,
while candles burning in silver candelabra lit up the breakfast
equipage with a cheerful glow that was still wanting in the
tardy day. In spite of the frosty panes, flowers were blooming in the windows, and vases filled with flowers were abundant in the room. Books, papers, and a variety of graceful
trifles lay about on the tables; and a maid was just carrying
into the next room a gorgeous crimson velvet robe embroidered with gold.
Hulda had been accustomed in the castle to all the appliances of wealth; but everything here had a different air. It
was freer, more romantic. The impression it made was pleasanter, in the hasty glance the young girl cast around her, as
Gabrielle greeted her kindly and insisted upon her laying
aside her furs and breakfasting with her. She poured out a
cup of chocolate and handed it to her, saying, as she looked
her full in the face, " Now that you have such rosy cheeks
from your early walk, I can see how very young you are.
Your mature figure deceived me yesterday.  How old are
you, my child?"
IHulda replied that she was in her eighteenth year.
"And have you always lived in the country, and with your
father? Where, then, did you get those deep tones in your
voice,-tones that are not learned in the nursery?"
Hulda looked at her as if she did not understand her ques



180                    HULDA.
tion. "Have you been accustomed to dramatic reading, like
that which I asked of you last evening?"
" Oh, yes," said Hulda; " they often sent for me last winter
to read for them at the castle."
"And who were'they,' my child?"
"Sometimes there were guests present, and sometimes there
were only the Prince and the Countess Clarissa, and"-she
hesitated-" the Herr Baron."
"What Herr Baron?"
"Baron Emanuel!" said Hulda, as a crimson flush suffused
her cheek, and she scarcely dared to raise her eyes, for fear
they should betray her.
"Indeed! now I understand, my child, whence come those
wonderful tones in your voice that cannot be taught!" cried
Gabrielle, holding out her hand to the young girl, and looking
at her with a clear, penetrating gaze that was more than Hulda
could bear. All the past, with its hopes and fears and shattered joys, came rushing over her soul, and, carried away by the
kindly sympathy in Gabrielle's tone and manner, she threw
herself at her feet, and hiding her face in her lap, burst into
tears as she sobbed out, " Oh, forgive me, I cannot help it! I
am so unhappy!"
" Stand up, my poor child, stand up!" Gabrielle exclaimed,
as the weeping girl strove to regain her composure.  The
artist's sympathy, aroused at first by a fancied resemblance between Hulda and herself, was now thoroughly enlisted. " Do
not try," she said, soothingly, " to cheek your tears,-cry, cry,
my dear child. There are tears which we hide from a father
or a mother, but which must have free course some time, and
which flow more gently when some one who cares for us stands
by   And I do care for you, my poor little flower! Tell me
all; I shall understand it, for I too have suffered and endured.
You may tell me everything without fear."
And Hulda told her everything, with all her native ingenuousness. It was an infinite relief to her to utter what she
had never even dared to say to her lover; to tell of how her
heart was full to breaking, and how her lips had been sealed
to all the world until this moment.
Meanwhile the advancing day grew bright. The sun came
shining in at the windows, but neither of the occupants of
the apartment had thought of extinguishing the candles burn



HULDA.                     181
ing on the table. Not until the young girl's tale was at an
end did Gabrielle address a question to her. "And what do
you expect now? What are you going to do?"
Hulda looked sadly up at her. "What can I do, but
fulfil my duty, and pray God that he will enable me to
do it?"
" Yes," replied Gabrielle. "I too see that you must not
leave your father. But I could not have acted thus, and the
baron will not account your filial love a virtue. I have known
him for years." She saw the girl's eyes kindle at these words.
" I know Baron Emanuel well, and I know his tender enthusiasm of character, and can understand that you love him
and that he loved you. But, as he is an enthusiast, he has all
an enthusiast's sensitive and suspicious egotism. Such a man
requires other proofs of affection than those you have given
him. He was ready to sacrifice much for your sake, and you
owed him a corresponding sacrifice. Doubtless he thought
that a genuine love would cause you, as the Bible says, to
leave father and mother and cleave to the husband. You disappointed his hopes. He cannot believe in a love which when
put to the test proves weaker than filial affection."
Hulda had not expected such a reply, and it pained her.
" Could I disobey my father?" she asked. " Could I-  "
Gabrielle did not let her finish the sentence. " Most certainly you could, most assuredly you should! And the baron
would have cherished you so tenderly in return. Just such a
proof of love was what he demanded. But you read your
poets and learn them by heart, yet never understand them.' The highest price alone will buy those treasures that we rate
most high.' And then again,'No eternity can restore what a
moment can lose.' But I will not pain you, child; I only
wish to show you that all you have suffered is the result of
your own actions, for which I hold you in no wise responsible.
Your training has deprived you of all power to do otherwise.
You thought you could break the spell cast upon your lover,
but you had not strength to break spells which have been cast
around you from childhood, and which should be regarded,
within certain bounds, as sacred. But we all have rights as
individuals in this world. If love is the strongest force of a
woman's nature, I hold the courage that it inspires her noblest
attribute." She paused, and then added, "You read Romeo
16




182                    HULDA.
so well, and understand Juliet not at all.  And yet, as I look
at you, I am reminded of my own youth."
" Were you forced to leave your home and your parents?"
Hulda asked, timidly.
" I? I never knew either parents or a home. Whatever I
am, I made myself!" said Gabrielle, proudly. "My mother's
sister, a dancer like myself, took me when my mother died.
I grew up, that was all,-shifting for myself, like a young
duck in the water; and the water in which I swam was not
always of the clearest. I had to work out everything for
myself, even my sense of duty and of self-respect. At last
my hour of redemption arrived, in the noble confidence reposed in me by one human being. I was born anew into the
world. Such an hour, thank God! there comes for most of us,
if we only know how to profit by it." She stopped, as if surprised that she had so spoken of herself, and said, "But
this has nothing to do with your affairs. You tell me that
you have entirely relinquished the hope of ever again seeing
Baron Emanuel, and I think you are wise; such'hope deferred' is too much for any woman. But is there any one to
whom you can turn when you shall need a friend,-when your
father, who seems to me very feeble, shall have closed his eyes
upon this world?"
Scarcely a day passed in which Hulda did not ask herself
this question, and for months she had told herself that she
did not entertain the slightest hope of Emanuel's return, and
that she would go forth into the world and earn her bread as
Dest she might. But now that Gabrielle gave utterance to
what had hitherto been unexpressed in words, she suddenly
felt how, in spite of herself, all her hopes were centred in her
absent lover, and she cried out, involuntarily, " He cannot have
forgotten me!"
The tone in which these words were spoken quite charmed
Gabrielle, and greatly increased her sympathy with Hulda.
" Forgotten?" she repeated. " What is ever forgotten, or
who can forget? But even what we cannot forget, my child,
we must often forego; and the sooner the better."
Her servant here announced the name of the director of an
important theatre in a neighbouring province. He had already
entreated Gabrielle for one or two appearances at his theatre,
and had now come in person to follow up his request. Hulda




HULDA.                      183
would have taken her leave, but Gabrielle asked her to wait,
since the cards of admission for the evening had not yet been
sent her.
The director was a tall, handsome man, although now nearly
sixty years old. Hulda had often heard her father speak of
him, for he belonged to a family of celebrated actors, and
during the time of her father' residence in the capital had
appeared'upon the boards himself, taking the parts' of the
young lovers. He seemed still to aspire to the same rl6e,
was dressed with great care, in the extreme of the fashion, and
every word was evidently studied. Art had quite superseded
nature in his case.
"I hope, fairest lady," he cried, when Gabrielle had expressed her surprise at seeing him, " that you are not cruel
enough to mean what you say. Could I so far forget myself
as to know you so near without an attempt to kiss this lovely
hand, even although not only fields of snow, but'a sea of
troubles' interposed between us?" And he drew off his glove,
and, with extravagant gallantry, touched Gabrielle's hand with
his lips, saying, as she laughed and shook her finger at him
playfully, " Still the same enchanting grace, the same irresistible laugh. Every one of them can weep,-but who can laugh
like Gabrielle? To hear that laugh once more is well worth
the journey hither."
She laughed again, amused to see how years had passed
over his head without altering his theatrical manner, and replied, " Then you can return content, my friend; and, as you
leave the room, you will hear me laugh again at the fruitless
errand that brought you here. Jesting aside, why did you
come when I wrote you how impossible it is for me to play
for you at present?"
" Why did I come?    Shall I tell you, and will you not
scold me? My knowledge of your sex, and my conviction
that you are no exception to the rule in this instance. It is
so easy for women to say'no' on paper. But when a suppliant appears in person before them, their tender hearts can
hardly permit the ugly word to be used. And," he added,
hastily, "you shall make your own terms. I accede to them
before hearing them. The half, three-quarters, of the profits
if you will. The public is frantic to see you. They will
cheerfully pay double prices, and every seat will be engaged




184                    IULDA.
beforehand. Your lodgings shall be all ready for you. You
shall choose your own rbles. I must go back empowered to
say,' Gabrielle is coming!' How about Eboli?  Do you
remember what an effect we produced when I played Carlos
with you?   Or Thekla?  You will be delighted with your
Max. An admirable young fellow; rising talent, fine voice,
capital figure. Let me entreat you, fairest lady."
Gabrielle heard him quietly; but when he paused, she said,
"Indeed, I am very sorry that stern necessity obliges me to
falsify your estimate of feminine nature. I am bound by my
contract, and although you were to build me bridges of gold
and promise me an angel to play with me, I should still
be forced to say no. I am really tired, and, with the long
and tiresome journey that I now have in prospect, dare not
make any extra exertion."
Still, the director would not consider his cause lost, and so
well did he plead it, now as an enthusiastic admirer, now as
an eager man of business, that Gabrielle at last yielded so far
as to allow him to hope that she would appear two or three
times upon his stage when she had concluded her present professional tour. He was all gratitude and delight at the prospect. Then the conversation turned upon other theatrical and
dramatic matters; there was a good deal of gossip concerning
stage-life, and those then connected with it,-all carried on
in a free and easy tone that at times almost startled Hulda,
who was sitting meanwhile, quite forgotten, in a corner. At
last, when the servant eitered with the cards for which his
mistress had sent him, and Gabrielle arose to dismiss her
visitor, he became aware of the young girl's presence.
He approached her, and, with a look of scrutiny that sent
the blood to her cheeks, asked, " A young colleague? A relative? She is very like you. Admirable! With all that beautiful hair, what a Kaithchen von Heilbronn she would make!
Really, an ideal Kathchen!"
Hulda scarcely dared to lift her eyes; her shy blushes
heightened her beauty, and Gabrielle's pleased glance rested
upon her with all the interest she had inspired from the first
moment of their meeting.
" No colleague at all," she said. " Mademoiselle is a country
pastor's daughter. But you see the likeness to me, do you
not? It quite surprised me yesterday; and you are quite right,




HULDA.                      185
she would make a lovely Kathchen. I think she has talent,
too. I heard her read yesterday, and she did extremely
well."
She held out her hand to Hulda, beneath whose feet the
ground seemed fairly trembling. The director had put his
eye-glass in his eye and was staring at her.
" High praise, Mademoiselle! praise that many a tried
actor would be proud to earn. Are you desirous of going
upon the stage?"
" I?" cried Hulda. She could say no more; and Gabrielle
explained to the director what had brought the young girl to
her room.
But this did not appear to make much impression upon the
man. "Some one in Faust says," he said, "'An actor may
instruct a parson;' many a man destined for the pulpit has
gone upon the stage; all roads lead to the stage as well as to
Rome, and the road thither is no longer from a parsonage
than from any other place. So, if you think mademoiselle
has talent, and if she thinks  "
"And if-and if," Gabrielle interrupted him. " Let it rest
there, I pray. Don't you see you annoy and embarrass the
poor child? Don't carry the jest too far. You find us playactors uncomfortable people, do you not, Hulda dear? And
you are not very far wrong.   Fortunately, here are the
tickets."
She handed her the tickets, and, with kind remembrances
to Miss Kenney and the pastor, dismissed her, bidding her
remember that she must turn to her if ever she needed a
friend, promising to do all in such case that she could for
her; and then she retired to dress for a rehearsal, whither the
director, by her permission, was to accompany her.
16*




186                    HIULDA.
CHAPTER VI.
HULDA could scarcely have told how she reached her home,
and all through the day she walked in a kind of dream. In
the evening, at the theatre, she could hardly enjoy Gabrielle's
performance, for the director was in the proscenium-box, and
stared at her frequently and fixedly, and as they were leaving
the theatre he bade her good evening in a tone of familiarity
which made her glad that neither Miss Kenney nor her father
had heard him. She could not bring herself to tell them of
what had occurred during her visit to Gabrielle, but she
dreamed of it at night, and every word of the conversation
seemed burned into her memory; she repeatedly asked herself what Emanuel would say if he could hear that she was
thought like Gabrielle, or how a stage career had been offered
her.
The days, weeks, and months went their accustomed way.
Hulda's diligence and renewed interest in her studies pleased
her father and her old friend, leading them to hope that old
wounds were rapidly healing, especially since no one about
them knew of Hulda's former relations to the baron, or ever
mentioned his name.
Unfortunately, the pastor's eyes grew no better. It was
found impossible to perform the operation that had been
thought advisable, so great was the feebleness that old age
and grief had wrought in the old man's constitution. The
amusement and distraction that change of manner of life had
at first afforded him, gave place to a desire to be once more
among familiar scenes, before his eyesight should leave him
entirely, and to perform those duties of his office for which he
trusted, with the assistance of the curate whom the countess
had provided for him, to find strength while life lasted.
Miss Kenney at first opposed his return. She had become
fondly attached to Hulda; the home-life in town was very
pleasant to her, and she liked to contemplate her future, now
that old age had come upon her, as divided between the
castle in summer and the countess's town-house in winter,




HIULDA.                     187
wherefore she hoped to persuade the pastor to remain where
he was until the spring should be sufficiently advanced to
allow of her accompanying him and his daughter on their
return to the country; but unexpected circumstances induced
the countess to make another demand upon her old governess's
time.
Her son-in-law was obliged to go to Paris, and was desirous
that his wife should accompany him. Clarissa was rejoicing
in her first-born, now only a few months old, and could not
bring herself to leave him among servants, since her mother
was to accompany her, and the journey was a perilous one for
so young a child. Therefore the countess proposed sending
for Miss Kenney, whose devoted care of the boy would relieve his princely parents of all anxiety. This was immediately done. The countess's letter requiring Miss Kenney's
presence contained every direction that could be imagined:
times for starting, hours of arriving; the whole matter was
arranged with the exactitude that characterized all the great
lady's movements. And yet the tardy pulses of old age harmonize so ill with the quick decisions of earlier years, that
poor old Kenney was utterly bewildered by the sudden change
in her plans, and even the delight of once more seeing and
being of service to her dear Clarissa scarcely atoned for the
bustle and hurry of preparation into which she was plunged.
Hulda's clear head and skilful hands, however, came to the
rescue, and in the course of a single day all was ready for an
early departure on the morrow, and the three friends sat
together in the evening for the last time.
The old pastor resigned himself with his wonted patience
to the sudden parting from his valued friend; but the thought
of his daughter was evidently uppermost in his mind.  "Do
not forsake her!" he said, pressing Miss Kenney's hand as he
bade her good-night.
"Hulda knows," she replied, "that she can rely upon us.
She shall never be forsaken while she is as true and good as
at present."
Hulda arose early, that she might take breakfast with ler
departing friend, who handed her a list of matters that she
wished attended to at the castle; and then, while she was putting the last articles into her travelling-bag, she said, "I
reproach myself, my dear child, for never having made your




188                    HULDA.
future the subject of special conversation between us, but I
so dreaded to give you pain by alluding to the inevitable
termination of your father's life, that I postponed it from
day to day, and now there is no time to say half that is on
my mind. Besides, I had hoped to be by your side when the
time came for you to be thrown upon your own resources.
That cannot be now; I can only pray Heaven to sustain you.
The curate whom the countess has provided for your father
seems to be an excellent man, but his presence in the parsonage will make your stay impossible when your father is no
longer there. Go to the bailiff's; he is fond of you, and you
can stay with him until we have provided a situation for you,
which we will certainly hasten to do." As she spoke, she
went on packing in her warm overshoes, and seeing that her
vinaigrette and ether-bottle were in their places. Hulda made
no reply.
Not long before, Gabrielle had asked her what she intended
to do when her father should be no more. Painful as this
question had been to her, it had not produced the actual distress that Miss Kenney's words occasioned. Gabrielle had
not known how clear a sun of joy had arisen for a few short
days above her future, and could not see how incredible a
thing it was to the girl that all that love and hope and happiness should fade, that her trust should be betrayed in one
in whom she had seen personified truth and honour.  But
Miss Kenney knew it all, and yet snatched all hope from her!
Miss Kenney, who had so often told her that she felt a mother's
love for her, could go on attending to her vinaigrette and all
her little travelling-conveniences while she calmly pronounced
the doom of a fond, faithful heart.
In vain did Hulda struggle with herself; in vain did she
remind herself how much she owed to Miss Kenney's tender
care and wise instruction. The thought, " She robs you of all
hope; she thinks all you have suffered but just and right, and
would, without a pang, leave you to a gray, desolate, dreary
future," deprived her of the power of utterance. If she had
opened her lips she must have shrieked aloud.
Fortunately, good Miss Kenney was too busy to notice her
silence. As she got into the carriage she gave the young girl
many a parting injunction to go on with her music and languages, and not to neglect hsr drawing,-in which accomplish



HULDA.                      189
ment she was quite proficient,-and assured her that she should
carry the best possible report of her health and improvement
to the countess and the Princess Clarissa, who would not fail
to continue their kindness towards her, and to see that a suitable situation was provided for her as soon as it should be
necessary. Then she kissed her with much emotion, begged
her to write to her, and drove off, wiping the tears from her
eyes as her maid drew up the carriage-window.
Hulda stood in the doorway and looked after them. "She
will soon see Baron Emanuel," she thought, " and she will tell
him that I am happy!" And at the thought the tears that
were burdening her heart rushed to her eyes.
CHAPTER VII.
A FEW days after this the pastor's curate was paying a visit
to the bailiff and his sister, when a letter from Hulda was
brought in. She wrote, by Miss Kenney's desire, to tell the
bailiff of her departure at the countess's request; and then
she informed her old friend of the physician's opinion with
regard to her father, and begged him to send a conveyance to
town for them, since the pastor was longing to return to his
home.
The bailiff, after reading the letter, folded it and put it away
in his large leather letter-case without imparting a word of its
contents to his sister, who, recognizing the handwriting of the
address, could scarcely for curiosity continue the conversation
she was having with the curate with regard to " a stricter observance of the Sabbath."
This man whom the countess had appointed as the pastor's
assistant and successor was an earnest young fellow, upright,
frank, honest, the child of respectable, God-fearing parents,
but as yet thoroughly inexperienced in the ways of the world,
and entirely unaware of the petty jealousies and envy that
often make the life of a country clergyman so wearisome.
Ma'amselle was very well inclined towards him; she made
quite a pet of him, and, influenced by his gentleness, did not




190                    HULDA.
as yet dare even to give to her voice, in his presence, its usual
shrill tone either of command or of complaint.
"      No, no," she now said, in her mildest tones, "you will
find no assistance from my brother, Herr Curate. He thinks
of nothing but work, work, from morning until night,-Sundays as well as weekdays. A quiet day is his abomination."
The bailiff burst into one of his heartiest laughs. "There
she is not far wrong," he said; "but what miracle is this?
My sister sounding the praises of the quiet and sacredness of
the Sabbath! Well, well, Herr Curate, if you convert her to
meekness and submission, you are the man for me."
Ulrika's face was aflame. " Instead of sneering and laughing at the iferr Curate, you had better  " She paused, and
bit her lips.
This bickering between brother and sister was very distasteful to the young clergyman, who appreciated the bluff honesty
of the bailiff's character, and yet was too gentle and unsuspicious to doubt the sincerity of the interest in serious matters
expressed by Ulrika. He was about to put in a word in her
behalf, when the bailiff forestalled him, saying, " Come, then,
out with it; what had I better do?"
"You had better remember," said Ma'amselle, no longer able
to contain herself, " that I detest above all things to have you
hide away Hulda's letters as soon as you receive them, without
saying one word to me about them, as if they were filled with
important secrets."
" No secrets at all," laughed the bailiff; "but I thought perhaps you and the Herr Curate might not like my sending a
conveyance to town to-morrow, since it will be Sunday."
"What conveyance?" asked Ma'amselle, tapping the table
impatiently with her finger, while her brother knocked the
ashes out of his pipe and filled it again.
"Why," he said, at last, "the countess has called Miss
Kenney away, and she has gone to the Princess Clarissa."
"And you were not going to tell me such news as that?
Such good news? Thank Heaven, there'll be an end of her
ordering hither and thither, and her fine lady airs! And what
else did the letter say?"
"Nothing pleasant to hear," replied her brother.  "I was
afraid that there was little to be done for our good pastor.
Hulda knows now that there is no help for him in this world,




HULDA.                      191
and the poor man wishes to be once more among old familiar
objects as long as there is eyesight enough left him to distinguish them. So Hulda begs me to send for him as soon as
possible; and I shall do so to-morrow, before the roads are
worse."
"Since they have been away so long," said Ma'amselle Ulrika, "they might as well stay until"Until the roads are impassable," the bailiff interrupted her,
" or until the poor man cannot see the home to which he returns. No, the girl is right. He must come back; and the
sooner the better."
The bailiff was quite affected at the thought of his old
friend's sad fate. "It will be a good thing for you too, Herr
Curate," said he, "to have them both at home again. The
pastor was born here, and knows the people and their ways.
And his daughter-well, you have seen her; you were in the
parsonage three days before they left. I think a great deal of
her; she is good and true. And her mother, too, was an excellent woman, who knew how to keep house thriftily upon
the little that they had."
Ulrika had scarcely been able to keep quiet while listening
to Hulda's praises; but since she had resolved to display
only Christian forbearance and gentleness in her intercourse
with the curate, she regarded the pastor's late wife as one of
those innocuous people of whom she had nothing ill-natured
to say. " Yes," she sighed, " Simonena was a good woman,
and was well taught here. Both she and I did our very best
for Hulda. But the girl is lacking in what no teaching can
give her; nothing but a change of heart can do any good."
"And what does Hulda lack, pray?" asked the bailiff, irritated.
"Humility! she lacks humility!" replied Ulrika. And
then she added, in an undertone, "No one but a baron is good
enough for her."
The bailiff knitted his brows, and gave his sister a look
that sent her from the room, rattling the bunch of keys at
her girdle as she went. Her brother walked once or twice to
and fro in the room, then suddenly confronted his guest and
said, "I know the people hereabouts well enough, and I know
my sister well enough, to be sure that you have heard all kinds
of silly gossip. Do not believe one word of it. Lies and




192                    HUI DA.
slander from beginning to end. The poor child is greatly to
be pitied, and pray let her see a friendly face to greet her in
her home."
There was so much honest kindness in his voice and manner that the young curate was overcome and convinced by it,
and he opened his heart forthwith.
" I have, it is true," he said, " been distressed to find so
many of the better class of our parishioners, besides Ma'am.
selle Ulrika, not well disposed towards the pastor's daughter.
So far as I was able to judge in those three days, she is very
simple and gentle, and the poor people are devoted to her.
No open accusation is made against her."
"Because there is none to make. Because even envy
itself cannot find anything to bring against my poor Hulda."
The curate rejoiced to hear this. It had been hinted to
him that she was ambitious, vain, and cunning. When he
had said that to him she seemed very different, there had
been meaning smiles, and allusions made to the prince's handsome secretary, to his grace himself, and to the Herr Baron,
who could tell true tales as to her great innocence. He had
forborne to ask any questions; but he had looked forward
with anything but pleasure to daily intercourse with a girl
whose character was in such ill repute. The bailiff's hearty
praise of her took a burden from his mind, and for the first
time he asked for some explanation of the origin of all these
vague reports. In reply, the bailiff told him all that he knew
of poor Hulda's trials.
Meanwhile Ma'amselle Ulrika had been laying the cloth in
the next room, and she now called them to supper. No further
allusion was made to the pastor, or his daughter, until, as the
curate took his leave, Ulrika pressed his hand, and said, in a
whisper, " You will open your eyes, Herr Curate; but I have
no fears for you."
He feigned either not to hear or not to understand her.
She had grown repugnant to him, and he was oppressed by his
want of worldly wisdom and experience. As he walked home,
he wished his duties in this place had fallen to the lot of an
older man, and he resolved to close his ears to all slander and
evil-speaking.




HULDA.                      193
CHAPTER      VIII.
THE vehicle that the bailiff had sent to town was ordered to
remain there twenty-four hours; and at the end of that time
the pastor and his daughter set out for their old home. The
spring thaw had come on, and the roads were heavy, so that,
although they left town very early in the morning, night had
fallen before they drove past the massive walls of the castle,
standing out against the gray sky.
The day in the half-covered carriage, in the cold and damp,
was a very trying one for the pastor; but he uttered not one
word of complaint, only expressing his satisfaction at once
more approaching the scene of his duties, and, as they passed
the castle, dwelling with gratitude upon the kindness of the
countess, who, in addition to her other benefits, had provided
him with an assistant in his office.
His patience, submission, and gratitude shamed Hulda, who
could not emulate them, struggle as she would. She could
not pass the castle without remembering all she had undergone within those walls; and as it grew darker, the memory
rushed over her of that wild autumn night, when she had
driven along this very road, her head pillowed upon her lover's
breast, encircled by his arm, in a dream of happiness, from
which the horror of her mother's death had roused her.
All that she had since suffered and experienced swept through
her mind like a dark storm-cloud, and the struggle between
duty and desire was as fierce as ever. She was at war with
herself, assailed by fear" for a future illumined by no ray of
hope. Such a mood rarely comes, except to older people; but
Hulda, with her eighteen years, felt as if her life already lay
behind her.
It was dark when they drove through the village; the
cottages were closed, and the only welcome extended to them
was from the schoolmaster, who, happening to be abroad,
recognized the carriage, and shouted a cordial greeting to
them.
But a bright light was shining from the windows of the little
I                      17




194                    HULDA.
parsonage, and the curate was at the carriage-door as soon as
they arrived. He helped the pastor to alight, and gravely
held out his hand to Hulda. Within, the fire was crackling
merrily in the green porcelain stove, and, with a sigh of satisfaction, the pastor settled himself in the old arm-chair that the
sexton wheeled before it for him. Opposite the door hung the
profile of his wife, which the curate had wreathed with fresh
green. Evidently there had been kind hands at work here;
and Hulda was almost startled to find how little pleasure she
took in the thought. Amiable as the young curate seemed,
the idea of living beneath the same roof with a stranger
oppressed her. The house had never seemed to her so small
as now, when she saw it again after an absence of several
months. It locked her in like the walls of a prison. She
longed to flee away through the night and gloom,-away to
him whom she could not forget, far as he was from her, and
little as he prized her.
She was glad that her domestic cares called her from the
room and gave her a chance to brush away her tears; and for
many ensuing days the necessity for exertion proved her best
friend.  Work, daily routine, helped to close the wounds
that were ready to bleed afresh at the slightest cause; she
learned gradually to bear her lot patiently, but she could not
rise beneath it.
Meanwhile, the curate quietly accommodated himself to the
home-life at the parsonage. His conscientiousness caused him
to reproach himself with the injustice he had done to Hulda
in listening for one moment to any reports to her disadvantage,
and made him anxious to atone for it by all the kind attention
in his power. The pastor took great pleasure in his society,
and Hulda directed her little household with a prudence and
feminine tact and grace which were peculiarly her own, and
which to the curate, whose poverty had made his life one of the
greatest retirement, seemed almost miraculous. Her culture
and refinement were far beyond what he had been accustomed
to meet with among the daughters of his clerical friends. He
had never had a sister, and every day seemed to him to reveal
fresh delight in this new companionship. Everything that
she did, and her manner of doing it, every occupation that he
could share with her, added to his happiness. He enjoyed
reading aloud to the pastor, for Hulda would sit by with her




HULDA.                     195
sewing. Hulda's eyes raised to him on Sunday, when he officiated in her father's pulpit, inspired him and lent him eloquence. The mere walking to and from the little church with
the old pastor was a delight, for she walked beside them. Many
of his hearers assured him that they hardly missed their old
friend when they could listen to him; but of late Ma'amselle
Ulrika's words of commendation had been wanting, and she
rarely appeared at church, although the year had turned and
the skies were once more blue.
Easter had come again; the inmates of the parsonage scarcely
knew how; each day glided by so like its fellow. But when
days thus resemble one another, the measure of time in the
retrospect grows vague and uncertain. Hulda could hardly
believe sometimes that two years had not yet passed since she
first saw that picture of Emanuel, that scarcely fifteen months
had flown since she had parted from him. Sometimes she asked
herself, how long since she had seen Gabrielle? She found it
difficult to remember that there had once been a time when
she had not thought of Emanuel, had not felt his ring upon her
finger. Since her love was her all, it seemed without beginning and without end, like eternity. What signified days and
weeks? She loved,-and the days glided silently by.
Half an hour before the ringing of the church-bell on the
morning of Easter Sunday, while the pastor was still busy in
the study with the sermon, which he had set his heart upon
preaching himself on this day, Hulda went out into the
garden to bring in her flower-pots, that had been enjoying for
the first time this year a breath of fresh spring air. The
curate was already there, walking slowly about among the
flower-beds, now stooping to look for something among them,
now gazing up at the firs and cherry-trees. He offered to
Hulda, as she stepped across the threshold of the door, a few
snow-drops and some willow twigs upon which had appeared
the silver-gray buds that the country-people called "palms."
" It is real resurrection weather to-day," he said. " The
first' palms' are out, the hazel-twigs are budding, and even a
few snow-drops are to be found." She took the twigs and the
flowers, thanked him, and brushed the soft gray buds across
her cheeks.
"I hesitated to pick those," he added, " lest I should deprive you of the pleasure of finding them; but I always




196                    HULDA.
used to take some to my mother at Easter, and I could not
resist the temptation to bring these to you. It always pleased
her."
"And it pleases me, and I thank you. I really enjoy
them," she replied.
"You so seldom seem to enjoy!" he said.
"Does not each day bring me fresh anxiety?" she asked.
"My father is so weak!"
"But God is so strong and loving!" he rejoined.
" This is no age for miracles; we must endure, we must
suffer   "
"And trust, and hope," he added.
She shook her head. " I know what is before me. Hope? —"
She suddenly paused. He stood embarrassed, not knowing
whether to speak or be silent. He so wished to say to her
that the bailiff had told him of her sorrow, but it gave him
such pain to allude to it, and the thought of Emanuel was
so repugnant to him, that his lips were sealed.
" It seems to me," he began, at last, "that you hardly share
that entire submission to the will of God which I so reverence
in your father."
This was not what he meant to say, and evidently did not
please her, for she replied, with a kind of remonstrance in her
tone, " God has not endowed me with a submissive spirit."
Her words startled him out of his usual self-control, and he
exclaimed, "Oh that you had never left your home!"
The words were wrung from his heart, and the tone in
which they were uttered showed that they were so. Hulda
looked up at him in surprise. He could not bear her eyes
thus fixed upon him, and he stammered, while the blood
rushed to. his forehead, " Forgive my presumption!"
But now Hulda blushed in confusion, for just as the curate
was standing before her now had she once stood in the baron's
presence, and she knew what it boded. In a flash a thousand
looks, words, actions of the curate's, during the past few weeks,
but little heeded at the time, arose in her memory and fitted
themselves together, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope,
into a distinct, regular shape, which she could not ignore, and
in the presence of which she veiled her eyes as before some
sacred mystery; but her ingenuousness left her no choice, and,
quickly controlling herself, she said, " What have I to forgive?




HULDA.                      197
That you take an interest in me and my life,-that you have
heard what I suppose is frequently spoken of here in the
country?" She hesitated, because it was hard for her to say
to another what she daily repeated to herself; but the emotion
that she read in the curate's face urged her on and helped
her to conquer her maidenly timidity.
"It is true," she said, "that I am not happy, and perhaps
it would have been better, as you say, that I had never left
my home. But, believe me," and there was a clear, full ring
in her voice, there is a grief more precious than many a joy,a grief that, with all its pains, is dear to us. Yes, if I could
buy what is called a calm, untroubled existence, with forgetfulness of my suffering, I would say, as did the chivalric king,'Mieux aime mon martyre!' for it is my life, my very being."
She turned hastily away and went into the house. She
would not let him see how her eyes filled with tears, still lens
did she wish to look in his face. As for him, he stood like
one spell-bound. If his double had suddenly arisen by his
side, himself and not himself, as much a stranger as he now
seemed amid all around him, it would not have so agitated
him as did this sudden glimpse of his own and of Hulda's
heart.
The church-bells roused him.  They sounded dull and
discordant in his ears, as if they were cracked,-and he had
formerly thought them sweet. He could not stay out in the
free, sweet air. The day,-the sunlight,-every tree and bush,
gazed at him with clear, searching eyes. He could not bear it.
He must be alone and collect himself. How could he perform the baptismal rites that were his duty for the day?-how
talk to the people of holy Christian communion at a time
when he felt thrust out, forsaken of God? He hurried up
to his room to try to reflect upon what had happened, to
collect himself; he folded his hands as if to pray,-in vain.
The gates of heaven seemed closed against him. Those
wretched words, "Mieux aime mon martyre," with their
strange foreign sound, rung in his ears.  He heard them, he
saw them written in letters of flame. They were branded in
his brain, scorching and drying there the fount of tears, and
yet he so pitied both her and himself.
But it was time to go to church. He had always conducted
the pastor thither since his return; he would not fail him to17*




198                   HULDA.
day. With Hulda on her father's other hand, he passed
through the garden down the village street and through the
church-yard to the church. All went on. to-day as on every
other Sunday.
Hulda spoke of the lovely weather, and of how good it was
for her father, and for the children who were to be baptized.
The curate heard and did not hear. " Can I stay here? Ought
I to stay here?  And how can I go away, away from her?"
These were the only thoughts that were clear in his mind.
He heard the pastor enjoin upon his hearers that they
should crucify within themselves every evil inclination, thereby redeeming their souls, which should rise again, made fresh
and white through Him who for the sake of all had been
nailed to the bitter cross. Hitherto the curate had, as he
thought, done all that he could to bring to his sacred office
clean hands and a pure heart, and had given his whole soul to
the performance of his duties in church, esteeming as sinful
whatever could distract his mind; but to-day he could not
banish from his thoughts the image that usurped the place of
all holy aspiration.
He loved her as she loved her suffering; he understood her
very soul; he gazed at her and her only; and when from the
organ sounded the solemn strains of the closing hymn,
"After this life of mortal pain,
Thou too, my soul, shalt rise again;
From stain of sin and sorrow free,
Immortal life awaiteth thee,"
the lips of the young divine joined in the words, but his soul
was vibrating to Hulda's "Mieux aime mon martyre."
Distracted and wretched, he went to the altar, after the
Easter service was ended, to baptize the children assembled to
receive the holy rite. There was quite a crowd of well-to-do
people, for the intendant of the neighbouring royal domain
had brought his twin boys, two months old, to be christened,
and the bailiff and Ma'amselle Ulrika were their sponsors.
And even the poorest of the parents present had been glad to
ask those better off than themselves to stand god-parents to
their little ones; so that Hulda, beloved as she was by the
poor, was of course among the number, and her presence completed the poor curate's misery.




HULDA.                      199
Between his desire not to look at her and the impossibility
of avoiding it, he grew awkward and uncertain in his movements, and his discourse became rapid and incoherent. Ma'amselle Ulrika was not the only one who noticed how unlike
the curate was to himself, how wanting in unction were his
words; but it was she alone whose sharp glance, made keen
by dislike and malice, detected the presence of a disturbing
cause.
Cold drops stood upon his brow as he left the altar to go to
the sacristy, where the intendant and his wife were waiting to
thank him, as was customary, and to tell him that the carriage would stop for him at the parsonage to take him to
the christening feast, to which he, as well as the pastor and
his daughter, had been invited. The old man had excused
himself on the plea of his health, and Hulda naturally stayed
with her father; but the curate had accepted the invitation.
Now, however, he begged leave to decline, alleging that he did
not feel well enough to be present. There was nothing to say
but to beg him to take care of himself, for he was certainly
looking very ill, and to drive off.
Ma'amselle Ulrika and the two girls-wealthy farmers'
daughters, who had held the babies at the font-drove off
with the intendant's wife. "I am very sorry that the curate
is ill," said the latter; "but really it is a comfort to know
what the matter was. Such a discourse! One would have
supposed he was talking to no one but fishermen and sailors,
instead of to respectable people who know what a good discourse is. I have always written down something from the
christening discourse of every one of my children, and have
had great edification in referring to it afterwards; but I could
make neither head nor tail of what was said to-day. The
curate looked quite wretched from the first. I hope he may
not have the fever. This is just the time of year for it, and
this seems very like it."
Ma'amselle Ulrika smiled meaningly, and of course the
Frau Intendant asked what she meant.
"It's not the fever; no fear of that," she said. "I saw
where his eyes were, and his thoughts too. It's the same old
story."
The three others were eager that she should explain herself.
Ma'amselle at first refused, affecting great reserve; but at




200                    HULDA.
last she was persuaded. "What is there to tell, after all,"
she said, "but the same old story?  She casts her net for
every man that comes near her, and is always successful. It
really looks hardly natural." She had mentioned no name,
but the Frau Intendant and the two girls knew perfectly well
whom she meant.
"The curate is the fourth," she said.
"The fourth?' asked the younger of the two sisters.
"Yes, the fourth," Ulrika repeated. "It began with our
countess's brother, and then it was his highness's turn, and
then came his highness's secretary, an excellent, respectable
young man, and now she has cast her toils about the poor
Herr Curate, who is the last person, one would have thought,
to be attracted by such a girl. I only hope he will get off as
well as the Herr Baron did, and leave her to wear the willow."
" It is really scandalous," said the Frau Intendant; " and
she the child of such good people."
" How she must feel!" said one of the sisters.
"What will become of her when her father dies?" asked
the other.
"She never can stay here," said the Frau Intendant;
" there has been too much talk about her."
"' Oh, we shall see. I am so sorry for the poor Herr Curate,
who will very likely lose his place on her account," said
Ma'amselle.
And then the subject was dropped, and the four women
drove on in self-complacent peace of mind, feeling no remorse
for their cowardly attack upon one who could not defend herself; and in the festivities of the day Hulda was forgotten,
except when Ulrika said to herself that she hoped now the
curate would learn to know which was his true friend,-herself, who felt so deep an interest in his future, or Hulda, who
thought only of winning admiration and lovers.




HULDA.                      201
CHAPTER     IX.
GOOD intentions! Who of us has not at some period of
life justified a determination to carry out a favorite plan, regardless of the rights and feelings of others, upon the plea of
good intentions?
The countess, too, justified herself upon the plea of her
good intentions when her estrangement from her brother lasted
too long; but he refused to listen to her plea. Apparently he
did not miss his former intercourse with his sister; Konradine's letters appeared to indemnify him for its loss.
" How glad I should be never again to hear any talk of' good
intentions,' or'frank, honest opinions!'-those flimsy pretexts
that people always use who wish to trample upon the rights
of others and assert their own will," he wrote in one of his
letters to his friend, who was still in her retirement.  He
did not tell her at whom his words pointed, and she took
what he said in its universal sense, and then applied it to her
own case.
" I cannot tell you," she said, in her reply, " how much
I have suffered from the'good intentions' of my friends.
What wisdom have they wasted upon me, proving to me that
in their'honest opinion' nothing had befallen me but what
was just and right! Now, scarcely had I recovered from the
annoyance and pain thus caused me, when I instantly exercised my own right to an' honest opinion' in your case. I
did not conceal from you that I considered the connection you
formerly contemplated as almost an impossibility. And even
now I cannot but believe that we all, my mother, the countess, and myself, were better judges of your wishes and needs
than you were yourself. Now, if you can forgive me for this
presumption, you must extend some pardon to others who
have transgressed likewise, and be again content to live among
those who are ever ready to commit the same error, as I, for
instance, am doing at present."
She then mentioned that the health of the abbess of the
order was failing, and that she had lately shared with her
I*




202                    HULDA.
many of the cares of government, and that this new field of
action interested and occupied her. " My pleasure in it springs,
I am convinced,' she said, in conclusion, "from the sense
of power that it gratifies, the love of rule. Since it has been
denied me to be the wife of a dearly-loved husband and of a
prince, I find myself contemplating with increasing complacency the possibility of my fulfilling the duties of abbess in
this large community. Ambition too often springs from the
grave of love."
These letters of Konradine's greatly interested Emanuel.
He could not sufficiently admire her frank judgment of her
own trials and experiences; and whereas, when he was with
her, her want of reserve scarcely accorded with his feminine
ideal, her written words always impressed him as evidences of
great force of character. He continually told her of the enjoyment that their correspondence afforded him, declaring that
in her he had found what he had always longed for, a friend
with a man's cool judgment and a woman's heart; a confidante
in whom he could place implicit confidence.
Since she so openly displayed all her cards, as he thought,
he, in his thorough uprightness, never dreamed that she could
retain in her own hand a last decisive card. She could discuss
with him her sufferings from the'good intentions of others;'
but she did not think it worth while to inform him that she
was in constant correspondence with the sister from whom he
had been so long estranged.
The countess had replied with affectionate interest to the
letter of thanks that Konradine had addressed to her after
leaving her'castle by the sea' for the hospitality there extended to her. The correspondence thus begun had at first
been infrequent and superficial. Not until Konradine had
been for some time in retirement did the countess allude in
her letters to her brother, deploring the estrangement existing
between them, of the cause of which she had heard from
the baroness that Konradine was not ignorant. Then first
the idea of effecting a reconciliation between the brother
and sister entered Konradine's mind, and this was discussed
quite openly between herself and the countess. They were
both aware that nothing would so conduce to this end as convincing Emanuel that he had estimated Hulda too highly;
that he had invested her with a strength of character to




HULDA.                      203
which she had no claim.   Thus far they were agreed, but
anything beyond this reconciliation hardly entered the mind
of either.
In pursuance of her benevolent plan, Konradine made frequent mention of the countess in her letters to the baron, who
at first paid little heed to such mention; but in time, used as
he became to discuss all subjects with his friend, he brought
forward all his causes of complaint against his sister. Konradine warmly defended her, at times in her defence artfully
accrediting her with faults that she did not possess, when
Emanuel's sense of justice would induce him to espouse her
cause.  This interchange of letters had now been carried
on for a year and a half, and Emanuel, during one of the
occasional visits of the Baroness von Wildenau to the Lake
of Geneva, had begged Konradine to seize this opportunity of
once more granting him the pleasure of her society. But at
present, as she playfully but truthfully declared, " ambition
occupied her soul. Although she believed that she had outlived
her anger and love, both were still powerful stimulants in her
life. She longed to prove to the prince that his faithlessness
had not left her inconsolable, and as abbess of one of the
wealthiest orders in Europe, her position would be all that she
could desire. Her separation from her mother had proved
to her that, with all their affection for each other, they were
happier apart; and the cross of her order, if she were to
leave her retirement to mingle with the world, would give her
all the privileges of a married woman."
Thus six months more passed away. Emanuel's loneliness
began to weigh upon him sorely, and he thought with longing
regret of his sister and her family, who had so often enlivened
his solitude. About this time Konradine's abbess returned
from a short journey that she had undertaken for the sake of
her health, so much strengthened and refreshed that she once
more took the reins of government entirely into her own hands,
thus depriving Fraulein von Wildenau of her principal occupation. Two years she had spent in this comparative seclusion,
which she now resolved to exchange for a time for the world in
which she had been such an ornament. She could be tolerably
certain of not encountering the prince either in Germany or in
Switzerland, since his young wife's delicate health detained
him upon her Italian estates. Emanuel renewed his invita



204                     IULDA.
tion to her, just as. the countess had proposed, as a final step
towards the reconciliation she so earnestly desired, to surprise
her brother with a visit.
CHAPTER X.
IN the mean time, the summer had passed at the parsonage,
bringing at first but small comfort to the poor young curate,
who, since the revelation that had been made to him of his
own heart, had passed many an hour of miserable indecision
and self-reproach.
His duties were for some time afterwards performed for the
most part but mechanically. In vain did he represent to himself that he was unworthy to occupy his present position,that all honest effort here was impossible, since he could not
win Hulda's affection and recover his own lost peace of mind.
Any resolution that he made overnight to leave a place so
fatal to his usefulness, was rendered null and void by his first
meeting with her in the morning.
As he listened to her quiet "Good-morning," as he saw
how thoughtful' she was of his comfort as well as of that of
all around her, as he heard her expressions of gratitude to him
for the attention that he paid to her father, he could not but
determine to remain, satisfied for the present with the friendship she was willing to accord him. He called himself unreasonable and impatient for his hopelessness,-he would so
gladly serve seven years for her, or even longer.  It was his
duty to remain with the old man, who looked daily more and
more to him for assistance; and how could he desert Hulda,
when the bitter hour was so near at hand in which she would
more than ever need a true, thoughtful friend to shield her
from the envy and uncharitableness of those who could not
appreciate her simplicity and truth?
At such times he felt almost happy. His interest in the
flock under his care revived,-his love, more and more unselfish as it daily became, broadened and deepened his character:
it gained in manliness and self-possession.




HULDA.                        205
It was the time of the rye harvest, when some matter of
business called him one afternoon to the bailiff's. The sun
was still high in the heavens, though it was towards evening,
and the weather was still sultry. The damp sea-breeze, however, cooled the air, and the lulling plash of the waves upon
the shore was sweet summer music.
To the curate, born and bred in an old inland town, the
ever-changing aspect of the sea was a source of continual
delight. He stood now on the threshold of the parsonagedoor, gazing out at the sparkling ocean and listening to the
rhythmic cadence of its waters.   Then he turned towards
the garden.   There sat Hulda upon a bench beneath the
elder-bushes, whence she could overlook her father's study,
the window of which was open. The pastor was asleep in his
arm-chair. Not a leaf was stirring. There was no sound save
the humming of the bees in the old garden.
The curate went up to where Hulda was sitting, that he
might not disturb her father by a loud question, to ask whether
she had any commissions for the bailiff's.   She sent her
greetings to her old friend, and added that the walk would be
delightful, particularly in returning. "It is just such a day
as the song tells of," she said,
"'Hail to thee, sweet summer-time!
Of all the year the golden prime;
In fresh array the earth is dressed;
The lark springs upward from her nest,
And in the radiance of the sky
Pours forth her magic melody,
And flowers, half hidden in the grass,
Look up to greet us as we pass,'
except that the birds have ceased to sing. In spite of the
heat, it will be autumnal at sunset, and our autumn sunsets are
gorgeous indeed. Do not stay too long at the bailiff's, or you
will miss the spectacle."
Nevertheless he lingered beside her. There was no special
reason why he should go to-day, he said.
"But you will miss the view on the way back from     the
castle.  It is far finer there than here," she remonstrated.
Was it kindness, or a hint to him to withdraw? He could
not tell. She had avoided all tete-h-tetes with him since Easter
Sunday; but the genial summer day that called forth the
18




206                    HULDA.
flowers unlocked his heart, too. He longed to hear kindly
words from her lips, and, for want of something else to say, he
asked whose the verses were that she had just repeated.
"Who can tell?" Hulda replied.   "You must ask the
sun, the air, and the waves. It is one of our numerous folksongs."
"The Herr Pastor tells me that he collected and translated
quite a number of these songs for the countess's brother;
songs that your mother and you used to sing."
"Yes, we used to sing them."
"And do you never sing now?" he asked, in a tone that
conveyed his wish to hear her.
"They are almost all very sad," was her reply; "but my
father loved them, and so did I, for I learned them from my
mother. My father never wishes to hear them now, and I
am glad of it."
He was silent, for he divined what memories the songs
would awaken. Hulda arose, and reminded him that it was
growing late for his walk.  She went with him as far as the
garden-gate, and, looking abroad over the glory of the sea,
she said, breathing in the delicious air with a sensation of delight, " This is a rarely lovely afternoon." The curate thought
he had never seen anything so lovely as her face, now that its
wonted melancholy had given place for a moment to a look
almost of rapture; and longing to retain that expression there,
he begged, " Come with me a little way; or rather," he added,
hastily recollecting himself, "do you go to walk, and let me
stay with your father. I would rather see you look thus than
all the sunsets in the world."
His emotion had carried him away, and Hulda was touched.
"You are very kind," she said,-" very kind. I wish I could
thank you as you deserve."
But when she saw how his face flushed with pleasure she
could almost have recalled her words, and turning towards the
house, she said she must go to her father, and that it was high
time for him, too, to begin his walk. Still, she could not stifle
the hope that had sprung to life within him. With a few
quick steps he overtook her, and said, in a tone that came from
his very heart, as he seized her hand and kissed it, "Ah, you
will surely sing your songs again in some future time?" What
could she say to him? How could she pain him? She liked




HULDA.                      207
him and had learned to value him. But what good did that
do either to him or to her?
And he went his way cheerily and encouraged. The world
had never seemed to him so glorious a place, or its Creator so
near and loving. He reached the castle and the bailiff's before he was aware of it.
CHAPTER XI.
HERE the harvest was going busily on, the heavily-laden
wagons were toiling in from the field, the barn-doors stood
wide open; and the bailiff, who was taking a hasty supper
beneath the lindens, called to the curate as he entered the gate
of the court-yard. "Aha, Herr Curate!" he cried, shaking
him cordially by the hand; "it is easy to see that you have
been breathing our fresh sea-breeze of late. Your step is as
light and springy a a a hunter's. Wait awhile, and we shall
have you on horseback, and make a rare farmer of you at last.
Sit down and take some supper. We had a visit yesterday,
too; and look," he added, pointing to an approaching wagon,
" we are determined not to starve next winter, whatever guests
it brings us."
Ma'amselle Ulrika now made her appearance, and also congratulated the curate upon his evidently improved health.
After some conversation upon the parish matter that was the
cause of the young man's visit, the bailiff asked after the
pastor and Hulda.
The curate told him that the old man was evidently failing
from day to day, but that his daughter was unwearied in her
tender watchfulness of him. Then, as he was continuing to
speak in her praise, he suddenly felt the blood mount to his
forehead.  Ma'amselle fixed her eyes upon his face, and,
unluckily, the bailiff was called away for a few moments.
Almost before her brother was out of sight, Ma'amselle began. She was so glad that the place and his position suited
him. She could assure him that the parish would gladly welcome him as the pastor's successor. They had thought him




208                    HULDA.
-the curate-looking and seeming quite ill at Easter; but
his confirmation discourse and the Whitsuntide services had
been edifying indeed.
The curate thanked her for her kindness, but hoped that
the good old pastor's life might be prolonged far beyond what
they now ventured to hope.
"Oh," cried Ulrika, "there is not a word to be said against
the Herr Pastor; I told her ladyship the baroness so yesterday. But the salary is small for a young man like yourself,
and our parsonage is not one of the best hereabouts. A few
miles farther inland the parsonages are much finer, and the
pastors' daughters honest and well brought up."
Here the bailiff returned and took his seat. He had heard
only the last words; but the young man's face and Ulrika's
sudden silence told him that something had been said of which
he should disapprove. He asked what they were talking of.
Ulrika replied that they had been saying that the salary of
the pastor to this parish was far too small to allow a young
man to think of passing his life here.
"Permit me to observe," the curate here interposed, "that
it was your sister, not myself, who said that."
Ulrika was irritated. Formerly he would not have ventured to assert himself in this way. Matters must have gone
further than she thought. But her brother here took up the
word, saying, in his frank, hearty way, "I'm glad to hear it,
Herr Curate; and since the countess has increased the salary
on your account, and will increase it further, I doubt not,
when our good pastor is no more - "
" Yes," cried Ulrika, no longer able to contain her spite,
"if Hulda remains in the parsonage. But the Herr Curate
does not seem to me like a man who could be bribed to make
a girl his wife simply because the people at the castle wish to
get her out of the way!"
"Hold your tongue!" shouted the bailiff, bringing his fist
down upon the table so that the glasses rang again.'The
only woman in the way here   "
The curate, however, did not allow him to finish. " Do not
be angry with your sister, Herr Bailiff," he said, calmly; " she
is perfectly right. I should be the last to submit to what she
describes; but if the countess should ever intrust me with the
care of the parish, I should account it my greatest happiness




HULDA.                      209
if I could induce so true and good a woman as Friulein
Hulda to become my wife."
Ulrika stood fairly speechless in discomfiture, but the bailiff
held out his huge hand to the young man with, Bravo, my
fine fellow! that was a word spoken in season; you have too
much good sense, I see, to heed old women's tongues. Come,
I must go, and we will walk part of your way home together.
We will leave my sister to recover from the shock she has
received as best she may." Thereupon he put his hand through
the young man's arm,-a sign of great friendship on his part,and they walked towards the court-yard gate. As they reached
it, the boy who brought letters and papers to the castle twice a
week, handed the bailiff a letter addressed in the handwriting of
the young princess. He broke the seal and read its contents as
he walked along; but, after the first few lines, he stopped, and
seemed much moved.
"How strangely true the old proverbs are!" he said, as he
put it in his pocket after reading it through. " Misfortunes
really never seem to come singly; one after another goes from
among us. Well, well, when she was young, we thought she
gave herself airs, but she was honest and true-hearted. The
countess will feel it deeply —"
The curate interrupted him to ask what had happened.
" I forgot," he replied, " that I have Pt told you. The
old Englishwoman, Miss Kenney, has just died at the princess's castle, and Princess Clarissa writes to ask me to let
them know of it at the parsonage. She was only ill a few
days, and her end was peaceful and happy. This will be sad
news for the parsonage, and yet who can tell that it is not the
best thing for her?"
The curate asked if he alluded to BIllda, and what he meant.
" I mean that it is well for the girl. and for you too, my dear
fellow," the bailiff replied. " Since you have spoken so frankly
to us to-day, I have no concealments from you. l on probably
know that the pastor has asked me to take charge of his
daughter when his eyes are closed forever?"
The curate shook his head.
"It was the only thing he could do," the old mran continued; "the pastor has no living relatives; and the relatives,
if there are any, of the girl's mother are poor people on the
countess's distant estates. Now, Miss Kenney, who has been
18*




210                    HULDA.
devoted to -ulda ever since that affair with the baron, whom
I shall never forget or forgive for behaving as he did, had an
idea, I know, of training the girl for a governess,-to go to
England and earn her living as Miss Kenney has done here."
He paused for a moment, and then continued: " All this has
naturally had some effect upon Hulda, and my sister with her
eternal gossip, setting the people talking everywhere in the
parish, has done the rest. Hulda declared to me a little while
ago, that she should certainly not remain here after her
father's death; that this was no place for her, she should earn
her living elsewhere." Then, seeing that the curate's countenance fell, he clapped him on the shoulder, and cried, " Cheer
up! courage! A girl's resolution is not like the laws of the
Medes and Persians, and there are two of us now to the fore
to induce her to alter it."
In the mean time they had come to where their paths separated. On the right lay the broad harvest-field, where the
work was still going merrily on, and on the left the sun was
slowly descending into a sea of liquid blue and gold. The
bailiff stood still.
"Break the news of poor Miss Kenney's death gently at
the parsonage," he said. "The pastor has known her for
many years, and eternity is all very well; but just look around
you,-with everything so beautiful here, it is cursed luck to
have to leave it. Still, when the time comes, it will be all
right, I doubt not."
The curate was too much occupied with thoughts of Hulda
to administer the reproof that he would have thought right
at any other time not to withhold. As he bade his companion
farewell and turned away, the bailiff called him back. " Tell
them at the parsonage," he said, " that Frau von Wildenau
breakfasted with us yesterday."
The curate asked who she was. "They will tell you," replied the bailiff, who was in a hurry. " She was going to
Russia upon business, and confirmed what I had heard before,
tLat the countess's eldest brother is in a dying condition. That
was grist for Ulrika's mill."
The curate asked what he meant.
"Did she never tell you of the Falkenhorst parchment; and
the old superstition connected with it?"
"Never," replied the curate.




HULDA.                      211
" Well, then, it was because she had a wholesome dread of
you," said the bailiff; "for she likes nothing better than to
tell how the Falkenhorsts have been cursed by the underground folk, and will die out, so that the estates will fall to
the family of our countess."
These words made a melancholy impression upon the young
man. " Must I contend with such follies here?" he cried. "I
never thought of such a task."
"Yes," replied the bailiff, " some of the heads hereabouts
are full of such nonsense. I advise you not to allude to
it; there'll be more chance of its being forgotten. But if
Baron Emanuel does not marry, it is a fact that the Falkenhorsts will soon die out. Our countess, you may be sure, has
her own ends to answer in the journey the baroness told us
of yesterday, which she is about to make with the young
canoness, Fraulein Konradine, to visit Baron Emanuel in
Switzerland. Each seemed well enough pleased with the
other when they were here in the castle together, and perhaps
the beautiful canoness may help you to win Hulda for your
wife, Herr Curate."
And he turned into the harvest-field, while the young man
walked on towards the quiet village, his mind full of the
gravest and most solemn thoughts, illuminated, however, by
the bright rays of the hope in which he could not but indulge of a happy issue to his love. How he longed to have
Hulda by his side to see her lovely face radiant in the glow
of this glorious sunset, which fulfilled all her predictions of its
beauty! He wished to reach home, and yet he shrank at the
idea of bearing sorrowful tidings to the ears of those who
were so dear to him.
The bright sunlight was still gilding the roof of the little
church when he entered the gate of the parsonage-garden,
where to his joy Hulda was still sitting. The evening was so
exquisite that the pastor had had his arm-chair carried out
into the open air. As the curate approached, it seemed to
him that the delicate, worn features of the old man were
paler and more transparent than ever. He called out to the
young man, "Now, Herr Curate, you see how magnificent we
can be here. In spite of our insignificance, I cannot but feel
that a loving Father has made this last year of mine on earth
one of special plenty and loveliness in order that I may enjoy it."




212                    HULDA.
The curate and Hulda would have bidden him hope for many
more years, but he shook his head, and asked after the result
of the curate's business with the bailiff.
The young man's report interested and satisfied him, and
he then proceeded to expatiate upon the kindness that had
been extended to him during his lifetime, and upon the generosity of his patrons. His successor would enjoy the same
patronage. He would probably desire a new parsonage. The
count had contemplated building one many years since, but
the old place had been too dear to its present master. "It is
different with you," he concluded; "you will need a better
parsonage; and Hulda has already made a sketch of the
old house which she can carry away with her."
The curate felt hot and cold in a breath.  "I hope"he cried, and then suddenly paused. He could not venture to
declare what wild hopes were his. In reply to the looks of surprise from both father and daughter at his sudden silence, he
said, "I hope you will not be too much distressed by the sad
tidings I bring you from the castle.  The bailiff has just
received a letter from the princess announcing the death of her
old friend and governess after a short and painless illness."
Hulda uttered a low cry of distress. Her father was apparently unmoved.   "It is harvest-time," he said, "and the
grain is ripe. She has passed the dark portal, and it is well
with her."
He bowed his head, folded his hands, and seemed lost in
reverie. Hulda approached him and put her arm about his
ne'k, as if longing to keep him with her. At last he looked
up and asked, "You tell me the princess announced the death?
Was not the countess with her old friend at the time?"
" No; the countess is with the Canoness von Wildenau,
and they are about to visit Baron Emanuel in Switzerland,"
was the reply.
"With the Canoness von Wildenau?" Hulda repeated, involuntarily laying her hand upon her heart as her head drooped
so that her face was concealed. A sharp pang of burning
jealousy shot through her heart. There was no doubt of it,
Emanuel would be estranged from her; and yet he had called
himself hers and hers only, and had declared with his last
words that the ring upon her finger was a pledge that they
should meet again. Had he forgotten it?  Had he sent for




HULDA.                      213
Konradine? Of course, or she could not go to him. He
loved her, then; and what was to become of Hulda? What
did the ring on her finger mean?
The pain that she suffered stifled her voice. She would
have spoken, but could not. She saw her father looking at
her with tender anxiety, and the curate, who could not but
observe her agitation, standing before her in embarrassment;
something must be said.
" I am glad," she said at last, in low, broken tones, " that
the countess is to be with her brother after so long a separation." She tried to add that the baron would enjoy Konradine's society also; but the words would not pass her lips. She
hesitated, and then asked, hurriedly, "Where did you learn
this?"
The curate told in reply how the Baroness von Wildenau
had breakfasted at the bailiff's on her way to Russia.
Hulda shivered. "It is growing cool, father," she cried;
" shall we not go in-doors?"
The old man slowly rose, saying, "Yes, my child, the evening is at hand; and when our days on earth are drawing to
a close, we dare not enjoy the last moments of the dying day
in the open air. But do not come in yet, young friend," he
added to the curate. "Stay and luxuriate in the magnificent
sunset. At your age, on such an evening I never left this
spot until the last streak of gold had faded from the western
sky."
Hulda put her father's hand within her arm and led him into
the house, and to the old sofa in his study, where he had so
often sat by her mother's side, reading aloud to them. As in
her childish days, she seated herself upon a low bench at his
feet, and, as in those old times, his hand gently stroked her
silken hair. Neither spoke; the room was dark and silent.
Suddenly Hulda seized her father's hand, kissed it with
fervour, and hurried out of the room. The old man sighed
gently; hot tears had fallen from his daughter's eyes upon his
hand.




214                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XII.
KONRADINE had already left her retirement, and was on her
way to join the countess, that together the two ladies might
pursue their journey to Switzerland. Their meeting was in
every way agreeable to each, heralded as it had been by a
twelvemonth's correspondence, during which time the canoness had become very-dear to the countess, who found herself
quite alone just now, when Clarissa's new cares and interests
absorbed her time and attention, while the young count was
absent in England, attached to the German embassy there.
To Konradine had been intrusted the delicate task of apprising Emanuel of his sister's meditated visit, and with rare tact
she had delayed doing so until they were fairly started upon
their way, thus giving the whole affair the aspect of a sudden
resolve, which the canoness, in her kindly desire to see the
brother and sister once more reconciled, had encouraged by
every means in her power, and not of a concerted plot to obtain
undue influence over the baron.  The friends were hardly
surprised by the contents of a letter that the countess, received at this time from the bailiff, in reply to one from
herself, containing directions as to the legacy of five hundred thalers that Miss Kenney had left to her favourite, the
pastor's daughter. After the business part of the letter was
concluded, he added that the little capital might shortly be
doubly useful to Hulda,-alluding to the pastor's feeble condition,-and expressed a hope that the great lady's patronage
might be extended to the curate whom she had provided, who
had won the confidence and respect of all, and who would
in every way be welcome as the pastor's successor in office,
especially as the young man evinced a desire to marry among
them. And then he proceeded to refer to the object of his
choice in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the mind
of either the countess or her companion that it was Hulda of
whom he wrote. Every possibility of mistake, however, was
precluded by the postscript to the bailiff's communication,
written by his sister, ostensibly with the purpose of telling




JHULDA.                     215
how certain small effects of Miss Kenney's had been disposed
of; but in which her hints as to the future pastor's wife were
very easy to understand.
This conclusion of poor Hulda's dream seemed to the
countess thoroughly fitting and natural. She was greatly relieved by it, and Konradine shared her satisfaction, convinced
as she had always been that nothing less decided on the girl's
part would soothe the baron's morbid conscientiousness with
regard to the object of his "fanciful attachment."
As for Hulda, for whom the two friends had so quietly
provided a calm, contented future, she was consumed by a
burning jealousy that left her no peace by day or by night. It
had burst into a flame when first she had seen Konradine,
and had smouldered while she knew her in the retirement of
the cloister, only to burst forth again upon hearing that she
had left it to meet Emanuel once more. Wherever she went,
whatever she was doing, she was pursued by the image of Konradine, in her fresh, brilliant beauty, as she had seen her from
her sick-bed on that fatal day from which she dated her misery.
Then first had the idea suggested itself to her that Emanuel
might love another better than herself, that Konradine was
better suited to him; and without this idea, she thought, she
never could have resigned him as she had done.
What countless times during the past two years had she
recalled every detail of that terrible parting, and the days that
had preceded it, and always with the renewed conviction that
it had been by no act of Emanuel's that they were severed,
that she, and she alone, had been the guilty one! How earnestly had he entreated her to be true to him! He had refused
to take back his ring; he had no part in her wretchedness.
It was a comfort to bear all the blame herself. She could prop
up her failing courage with the reflection that her duty to her
father had imperatively demanded that she should act as she
had done, and that God had required this sacrifice at her hands.
But now that Konradine suddenly appeared again upon the
scene, jealousy destroyed the whole structure of her religious
submission and renunciation, and a tempest of wild resolves
and projects raged within her. She would write and tell him
that she had never ceased to lov- him, to trust and believe in
him, for his ring was still upon her finger, and the turquoise
had not lost its hue, as it would have done had its giver




216                    HULDA.
proved false. But if her letter should startle instead of delighting him?  He had withheld from her in all these years
the slightest sign that he still loved her, or even thought of
her. Ah, what then? Should she tell him of her love, perhaps at the very moment when he was wooing Konradine?
Should she beg him to wait for her until
No, no; she had nothing to tell him. It was too late; the
time had gone by.
"The moving finger writes, and, having writ,
Moves on, nor all your piety and wit
Can lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it."
There was nothing to be done. She must forget; forget
everything-forget him. But how could she?
She still wore his ring on her finger. She waked in the
night and felt for it, and then arose and lit a candle, that she
might see whether the blue of the turquoise was still undimmed. She could not rest; she was in torture. She was
like the German emperor with Fastrada's ring. She could
not forget Emanuel so long as his ring was upon her finger.
And what would become of her if she could not forget?
She could not live on thus; something must be done. One
day she drew the ring from her finger and resolved to hurl it
into the sea. But when she reached the shore she could not
do it: it was beyond her strength. She sat down and wept
bitterly.
As she lifted her head, the curate was standing by her side.
The plash of the waves on the shore had drowned the sound
of his approaching footsteps. When he saw the tears in her
eyes and on her cheeks, he did not know what to say. He
would have excused himself for disturbing her, but could only
exclaim, "You have been weeping!" in a tone that told her
how deep was his sympathy.
Hulda had felt so utterly forsaken that the sight of a kindly
face, the sound of a human voice, did her good, and, overwhelmed by the grief that was crushing her, she cried, " I
wanted to put an end to it all!"
He started in terror. " What words to come from your
lips!" he said, scarcely believing his ears.
This recalled her to herself, and, wishing to remove from his
mind such a dreadful suspicion as his words indicated, and to




HULDA.                     217
give utterance to what was tormenting her, she said, "I did
not intend any wrong; I only wanted to put an end to it all
forever."
She did not notice that in her bewilderment she had but
repeated her previous expression, thus only deepening the impression her first words had produced.
" I do not understand you," he said, " and yet I would not
misunderstand or doubt you for the world."
The fervour of his tone did not escape Hulda, even in her
present distraction of mind; but in her misery she could think
only of herself, and she suddenly said, "No, you shall not
doubt me! I will be frank with you if you will promise to
help me,-to do what I shall ask of you."
He would have promised her, but his conscientiousness was
even stronger than his love, and, withdrawing his half-extended
hand, he asked, " What do you ask of me?"
His hesitation displeased her, and with more haste and violence than he had ever known her to show before, she cried, " I
must put an end to it all-to my love. I must be rid of the
ring that binds me to him! I will send it back to-day, for I
am lost if I do not. Take it for me to the post this very hour!"
Her lips trembled as she spoke the words, and her voice
sounded rough and harsh, but the curate seized her hands,
and, looking into her face with eyes of fondest affection, cried,
" Indeed I will! Thank God that he has given you strength
for this resolve! Thank God!"
He would gladly have said more, but how could he speak of
his hopes now, when she was burying her own?
Without exchanging another word, they walked towards the
house. At the door the curate paused. " When do you wish
me to go?" he asked.
"Can you not go now?" she said, moved by a doubt lest
she should be unable on the morrow to carry out the resolve
formed to-day.
He looked at his watch. "Is your letter written?"
" I promised my father never to write," was the reply.
"Then I will wait until you have wrapped up the ring,"
the curate said, and both entered the house, he to make ready
for his walk, and she to seal up the golden circlet that was hei
all.
She brought him the packet in a few moments. She had
K                   19




218                    HULDA.
put the ring in a little box that had been her mother's. The
curate could not know how she had wavered, how she had
fallen on her knees and wildly pressed the box to her lips for
the last time, but in her pale face he read the conflict through
which she had passed.
"Do not lose it," said Hulda, with that strange confusion
of mind that leads one to say the most commonplace things
in moments of deepest wretchedness.
" Rely upon me," he replied, taking her hand and kissing
it, and then he walked hastily away.
She scarcely heeded his words or his action. She stood
looking after him and trying to refrain from recalling him.
The thought that she had now voluntarily decided her destiny,
that her hand had severed the last tie that bound her to the
man whom she loved, was almost more than she could bear.
She could not tell whether she had done well or ill, whether
she had sinned against him or against herself; all that she
knew was that she was unhappy, that everything was at an
end, that the future lay dark before her.
As she went into the house, her father called her. She
helped him from his couch to his old arm-chair, and seated
herself upon the footstool at his feet. Now that he could no
longer occupy himself, her conversation was his chief delight,
and her affection, few as were the interests of her life, had
always provided matter for his entertainment; but to-night
she could not talk; she could not even take up her sewing.
She sat holding his hand in hers. Her silence struck him.
" You are very quiet, my child," he said.
Her father's voice seemed to loosen the iron fetters about
her heart, and she cried, " I have nothing in this world but
you, father! nothing, nothing! I have sent Emanuel's ring
back to him."
"Thank God!" ejaculated the old man, taking both her
hands in his, and laying her tearful face upon his shoulder,
where he stroked it gently, soothing her as one soothes a
child.  "There, there, my child,-cry. Do not try to keep
back the tears; they flowed from the eyes of our dear Lord
in his hour of agony, and, as he drank the bitter cup in
full confidence in his Father's aid and his own resurrection,
we must, so far as in us lies, follow his example. You too,
my child, will rise again victorious from this bitter struggle."




HULDA.                     219
"I cannot, father! I cannot!" she moaned upon his bosom.
"Not when your father tells you that you relieve his
wearied mind by thus redeeming his promise on your part?"
His gentle admonitions quieted her. He gave her time to
recover her composure, and, as she knelt there by his side,
her hands firmly clasped in his, her heart gradually beat less
wildly, her tears flowed more gently. Then he spoke again.
"You have done well, my child, to send back the ring before
the baron was obliged to demand it at your hands, which he
must else have done at some future time. His brother's approaching death imposes new duties and obligations upon him,
and I think, as you do, that his choice is made. The resolve
that you have to-day, with God's help, put into execution,
disburdens my soul of its last care. I could hardly rest quietly
in my grave if I thought that I left my child to be repulsed
and forsaken."
He paused. Hulda never stirred. "Summer has passed,
the autumn is at hand," he continued, "and its yellow leaves
will fall upon my grave, but God has blessed my last days
upon earth. Your love, the devotion of our young friend,
the bailiff's firm friendship, and the constant kindness of the
countess have illumined them. And you will not be forsaken.
The bailiff has promised to give you a home with him, and
the countess will befriend you. Who can tell that, in the
future which God has ordained you, it may not be yours to pass
your days in peace upon the spot where your mother and I
have been so happy? Take comfort, my child. Although I
leave you, your heavenly Father will never forsake you. His
eye will watch over you when mine is closed in death."
He laid his hand in blessing upon her head. She wept in
silent resignation, conscious but of one wish, that the end of
her life were at hand and that she might departwith her
father. Where was there any place for her in the world?
Outside, the sun was sinking into the sea. The little room
had grown dark, but father and daughter still sat silently
together. When the bell in the old tower tolled seven, the
old man spoke. " It will be late," he said, "when the curate
returns, and he will be tired. Have some refreshment ready
for him. Does he know what errand he has undertaken for
you?"
"Yes, I told him," she replied, softly, as she left the room.




220                    HULDA.
The usual time for supper passed. Her father partook of
his, and, giving her his blessing, retired to rest, after she had
read aloud to him a chapter in the Bible, as was her wont
every evening. She sat alone, waiting for the curate, who
would surely return soon.
It was warm and quiet in the little room. The windowshutters were wide open, as they always were when any of
the inmates of the house were from home. The clock, that
had been standing in the same place for more than half a century, told off hour after hour, with its peaceful ticking. The
light was burning in the antique candlestick, as it had burned
for so many generations; and the waves outside had beaten upon
the shore with that same dull sound for thousands of years.
Everything here was as it always had been. It was death in
life,-a living death, into which she too must sink, with all
her hopes and aspirations. She must forget all that had
lighted up her horizon for awhile, and she, with her burning
heart, must die, as all around her died. Was she really living
now?
She had taken the candle in her hand, and was going from
room to room, attending to various household arrangements.
No one saw her, for the maid was busy in the stable. No one
heard her, and she heard nothing, not even the sound of her
own light footfall. She seemed to herself like one of the little
folk that Ma'amselle so liked to talk about,-a dim, shadowy
presence,'silently completing her allotted daily tasks.
She took her knitting, placed a book upon the table before
her, and tried to read. Her hands moved mechanically; she
fixed her eyes upon the pages, and from time to time turned'
the leaves; but she did not know what she was reading, for
she was counting the days that must elapse before the ring
could reach the baron. She tortured both heart and brain
with wondering where and how he would receive it, what he
would do with it, whether it would bring him content or make
him sad. Her poor thoughts were tossed hither and thither
in hopeless confusion, until suddenly she had a distinct vision
of Konradine taking the ring from the baron's hand and
putting it upon her own finger.
She sprang up. Had omnipotence been hers-could she;
have launched the elf-king's curse  But she would control
herself. This would never do. She gazed into the light of




HULDA.                     221
the candle until her eyes brimmed over and there was a large
prismatic ring around the little flame. She buried her face in
her hands, and, when she looked again, the blackened wick
had curled and twisted over the candle, making what the
country-people called a winding-sheet, ominous, in their superstition, of a death in the house. In spite of herself, a sensation
of dread and horror stole over her. She could bear her solitude no longer, and went hurriedly out to look for the maid,
but at the door she was met by the curate.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come!" she exclaimed, and
then regretted her words, which had been prompted simply
by the relief she felt at being no longer alone; for she saw his
face light up as he heard them.
" Your errand is done," he said, as Hulda preceded him,
with the light in her hand, through the dim passage. The
house-door was open; it had begun to rain, and the damp,
warm air swept in from the sea. The young man's clothes
and hair were wet. " The night is warm," he said, "and I
walked quickly; for I did not want to have the Herr Pastor
wait for me. Still, I am too late, I find."
Hulda thanked him, and they entered the room together,
where the table was spread for two. When the curate had
said grace, an office always hitherto performed by the pastor,
and the maid had left the room, they were both suddenly struck
with the fact that they were thus alone together for the first
time, and each grew constrained and embarrassed. 
The curate looked again and again at Hulda's hand, where
he had so often, with such pain, seen the golden circlet, and
Hulda involuntarily felt for the missing ring. Their thoughts
were thus linked together, as it were, and yet far apart. All
his hopes and desires were centred in her-now more than
ever before; while she was meditating on the time when she
must leave all that now constituted home for her; for she
knew that this would be no place for her. Then, giving utterance to the conclusion of a long train of thought, she asked
the curate if he believed in presentiments.
He asked what she meant by the question.
"My father took leave of me solemnly to-night," she said,
briefly, with a kind of quiet intensity which was peculiar to
her. " Do you think he was moved to do so by a presentiment
of death?"
19*




222                    HULDA.
I think we are justified in believing that a foreknowledge
of their own death is vouchsafed to certain self-contained
natures," the curate replied, " but I do not believe that others
can share such knowledge with them."
"There you are wrong," said Hulda.   "I knew of my
mother's death, far from her as I was. I heard her call me
twice-three times-so that I sprang up to answer her. Tonight my father fell asleep peacefully as I watched him, and
yet, while I was alone, my mind was filled with the saddest
forebodings. Now that you are come, I cannot believe that
he will soon leave me. I shall surely keep him some time
longer. Do you not think so?"
She arose from the table, and for a few moments stood listening at the door of her father's room, then softly opened it,
and went up to the bed where he lay. She could hear nothing.
Her heart seemed to stand still with a sudden and deadly.
terror.  She stooped, and laid her cheek upon his, then,
with a piteous cry, fell fainting upon the floor.
The pastor was dead. His death had been as gentle as his
life.
CHAPTER XIV.
EMANUEL had been expecting his friend's arrival several
days, when he received a letter from her announcing her meeting with the countess, who was on her way to surprise him
with a visit. The idea of a concerted plan between the two
ladies never entered his mind; and he thought it but natural
that, under the circumstances, they should have discussed together his estrangement from his sister, whose desire to be
reconciled with him certainly was not to be wondered at. No
one could tell how short the time might be before they should
meet at the death-bed of their elder brother, who had entreated
Emanuel, on his last visit to him, to let there be entire peace
between them, since they must so soon be the last direct
descendants of. their noble race, and had urged upon his
younger brother the necessity of marrying, and marrying
among his equals, that the name which had been so illustrious,




HULDA.                     223
and was the representative of such noble estates, might not
die from off the face of the earth.
There was much in his admonitions that would formerly
have found an echo in Emanuel's mind; but Hulda's love for
him had so surprised and enraptured him that all such considerations had been for the time obliterated. Now, after his
long separation from her, they asserted themselves with a force
which he had scarcely believed possible, although he could not
bring himself to imagine any one save Hulda in the place of
the wife so urgently pressed upon him by his brother. In
his inmost heart he could not but believe that she still loved
him, and that she would respond to his call when filial duty
should no longer detain her at her father's side.
Unconsciously he found a charm in the full enjoyment of
Konradine's friendship, as a solace for his separation from
Hulda, while it did not interfere with the delight he took in
his romantic memories of his young love.
This was the condition of mind in which Konradine's letter
found him. Its fresh, healthy tone did him good; he was
glad, after all, to hear of a sister still so dear to him, and the
easy way in which Konradine alluded to the many reasons that
existed for his marrying put him in an excellent humour, since
it entirely contradicted the morbid self-distrust that had been
wont to take possession of him at the thought of aspiring to
the favour of women.
" I know everything that you will say," she wrote, "to what
I urge upon this subject; but have not the circumstances of
your life flatly contradicted all your melancholy convictions
and answered all your self-tormenting doubts? Have not both
the love and the friendship of women been offered you without
the asking? Did you sue for Hulda's love? Did you desire
of me my friendship? No; both fell to your lot like ripe
fruit into the hand of a careless passer-by. Through your
timely sympathy I have been enabled to contemplate my future
life with equanimity, to take it calmly as it comes. You can
carve out what future you please for yourself-can be, and will
be, I trust, happy; and, that no painful regret may burden your
conscience, let me again remind you of the difference that exists between early youth and the age to which you and I belong.
Enjoyment of existence is the prerogative of the young; they
grasp it at all hazards, and the desire for it is a powerful aid in




224                    HULDA.
restoring the balance of a mind that has been disturbed by
suffering. This restoration, I am glad to tell you, dear friend,
has taken place in the girl whose memory you still cherish.
Solitude has also had its part in her cure; and a heart that
has once tasted of love will not starve so long as it is young."
Emanuel paused in his reading; he suspected what was to
follow this introduction, and the hand in which he held the
letter trembled slightly as he continued.  " The bailiff has
written to the countess regarding an increase of the income of
the pastor's office after his death, which is evidently near at hand.
He alludes at the same time to a small legacy left her young
friend by Miss Kenney, which, he says, will be doubly welcome just now, since Hulda's marriage with her father's young
curate, of whom the bailiff speaks in the highest terms, will
shortly take place. He mentions this as a fortunate circumstance; and indeed, dear friend, I think we must all agree
with him, for in a short time the lovely young pastor's wife,
and you too, will remember your love for each other as but
a pleasant dream, the continuance of which was scarcely desirable."
He had read it. It sounded so reasonable, so natural; and
yet he did not, he could not, believe it. His present suffering
was all his own fault.
He leaned his head on his hand and reviewed in spirit all
the months and days between that fair spring evening when
he had first seen his love, and the hour of their last sad farewell. She had always been true to the impulse of her heart,
regardless of all consequences, and could he blame her for
being so now, when those impulses had been trained and influenced by filial obedience and a sense of duty?  He could not
wonder that a younger suitor, always at her side, had conquered
the memory of the absent lover.
He thought over all this, and yet he could not believe it.
There was in his heart a confidence in her affection that annulled all the arguments of reason. He could never believe
that Hulda had forgotten him, unless she herself should tell
him so.
IHe sat down to write to her, and then tore up the letter
that he began. He thrust Konradine's letter impatiently aside,
and yet he was grateful to her for not allowing him to hear
such tidings from his sister. He was agitated and uncertain.




JIULDA.                     225
He envied those who could be swayed to sudden action by
the force of passion; but still the feeling that bound him to
Hulda was so deep-it was surely the truest love. " Hulda,
Hulda! it cannot be!" he cried aloud, determined to deliver
both her and himself, to see her again, cost what it might.
Then-he again began to write to her, and all hesitation vanished;
he told her all, conjured her to listen to no voice save that of
her heart and her love, to think only of her happiness and his
own. He appealed to the pastor, again entreated his consent
to his love, assuring him that he was upon the point of a reconciliation with the countess, in favour of whose son he would
gladly yield all title to the family estates. He was only waiting to see his sister, who was about to visit him, before hastening to Hulda's side. Then, although he knew that the post
for the north did not leave until the next evening, he dispatched
a servant with his letter.
Again his heart was full of old hopes and aspirations.
The meeting with his sister, after so long a separation, and
the visit from his friend, to which he had looked forward
with such pleasure-he wondered now only how long they
would stay, and keep him from Hulda's side. He could not
understand his own protracted, dreary inaction; he would
atone to both Hulda and himself for all this lost time by
redoubled affection for her.
He scarcely admitted that there could be any difficulty in
arranging matters with the countess. His own private property was sufficiently large to make the addition to it of the
family estate a matter of no importance to him. His sister's
son was about to marry,-he would resign all title to the old
entailed estate in his favour, and the king would doubtless
graciously permit the young man to add to his own name the
title of Von Falkenhorst.
Weighing all this in his mind, he paced the terrace to and
fro in the gathering twilight. He was interrupted by the
return of his servant, who handed him a small packet which
had been intrusted to him for the Herr Baron by the postmaster.
Emanuel took it from the man; the reflection from the
western sky gave light enough to enable him to recognize the
delicate handwriting that he knew so well. The coincidence
was startling. At the very moment when he was returning to
KE*




226                   HULDA.
her with entire devotion, a message from her had arrived.
He broke the seal, nothing doubting that the enclosure contained the tidings of her father's death, for which Konradine
had prepared him; but there were no written words within,only a small box, from which, as he opened it, fell the ring
he had given her.
He could hardly believe his eyes. He unfolded every scrap
of paper in which the box had been wrapped, in hopes of
finding some written word of explanation of what was surely
not inexplicable, but was none the less hard to believe. He
could not blame her; he alone was to blame.  He alone
had destroyed his chance for a happiness which had never
seemed so great to him as at this moment when it was lost to
him forever. He could but repeat to himself the sad " Too
late!" that is uttered at some time of our lives by almost all
of us.
He stood upon the terrace, and looked out into the gloom.
He knew every part of the landscape by heart, and yet he
hardly seemed to recognize it. Thus it was with his knowledge of Hulda. Her soul had lain before him like an open
book, but now he failed to understand her. He would have
staked his life upon her fidelity. He had not believed that
she could forget. He had trusted her implicitly, and in his
over-confidence had sinned against her and against himself.
And now that she had decided for herself, and was probably
happy in her love. for a man who was her equal in age and
rank,-happier than she could ever have been with him,ought he to approach her with a renewal of his. suit? Had
she not, by her own silence, pointed out the path in which
she wished him to tread?
He called his servant, and told him to go to the post and
recall the letter he Jiad sent there a few hours before; but
this had no effect upon the turmoil of his thoughts. He
could not understand why she had written him no single
word. Why had she not told him that she had been mistaken in her feeling for him,-that she loved another? She
knew better than any one else how he mistrusted his own
power of awakening affection, and she knew, too, how dear
she had been to him-how he had surrounded her with his
care before he had ever dreamed that she could love him, that
she could be his.




HULDA.                      227
He looked at the clouds as they rose heavily and slowly
from the opposite shore, obliterating a star here and there,
until they veiled the entire horizon, and the night lay sultry
and dark above lake and shore. He watched for the reappearance of a star, but in vain; no twinkling light broke
through the gloom.
All seemed over for him in this world. "May happier
stars shine o'er her head!" he murmured, as he put her little
ring upon his ninger.
He would wear it in memory of her whom he had loved,
and whom he mourned as one mourns for his lost youth,
which never can return. And the night was passed by him
in weary watching, tormented by the bitterest of all regrets,that which is caused by the consciousness of having destroyed
one's own happiness.
CHAPTER XV.
THE arrival of his sister and his friend was now most
welcome to Emanuel. Nothing else could have so desirably
interrupted the solitude of his life.
The countess, whose love of rule, even in trifles, had
sometimes, in their former constant intercourse, been a
source of annoyance to her brother, was now conscious that
from his point of view he had much on her part to forgive,
and therefore put a constant guard upon herself. She asked
no questions except those which he himself provoked, while
at the same time she gave him her unreserved confidence
with regard to all her own affairs,-talked.continually of
Clarissa's happiness as a wife and mother, and spoke of her
hopes with regard to her son's marriage. When Emanuel,
in this connection, declared his desire to resign, in the young
man's favour, all right to the family inheritance, she refused
to listen to any such idea. All arbitrary arrangements for
the future were distasteful to her, she said, reminding her
brother how well fitted he was to minister to the wants and
welfare of a large tenantry, and insisting upon the wisdom of




228                    HULDA.
the proverb common among the peasants, "Never take off
your boots until you are ready to lie down."
She spoke with a gayety which was unusual in her, and
which impressed her brother agreeably; and what she said
did not fail of its effect. He admitted to himself that there
was no longer the reason for his renunciation that had existed
upon Hulda's account some days previously. The countess
never alluded by the slightest word to the pastor or the
pastor's daughter, and Emanuel maintained the same silence
with regard to them towards his sister, and also to Konradine,
who well knew how to understand and respect it.
For this Emanuel thanked her in his heart. She did not
stay beneath his roof, but had taken lodgings in a retired
cottage near the lake; and all that he saw of her heightened
the charm which he had first discovered in her in his sister's
castle. She had attained a noble self-possession and an equability of mood that were very attractive to him. The simplicity of her dress, the small value that she attached to
outside trifles upon which the weal or woe of most women is
so apt to depend, the confidence with which she asserted her
right to judge and act for herself, sometimes made Emanuel
forget, in his intercourse with her, that she was still young
and beautiful; while these very qualities of youth and beauty
heightened sensibly the pleasure he found in her society.
His sister's habits of life, too, promoted his constant intercourse with the fair canoness. During her long residence in
Italy, the countess had become averse to all kinds of physical
exertion. She knew no appreciation of nature save that which
could be enjoyed from the terrace of a garden or the seat of a
carriage; she spent more than half the night in the pleasures
of society, while the morning hours were passed in repose.
Emanuel, on the other hand, was an ardent lover of nature.
All through the trials of his early years, when his own regret at the loss of health and beauty had been heightened by
the constant lamentations of an injudicious although loving
mother, nature had been to him a refuge and a solace. To
ride, to walk,-amid solitudes where the beauty around him
never seemed to mock his own loss of it, but to caress and
woo him back to a sense of enjoyment, had been for years the
greatest delight of his life; and nothing had since interrupted
the habit then formed of constant communion with nature.




HULDA.                      229
He understood and loved it, and had learned through it to
comprehend mankind.   It was a great pleasure to him at
present that Konradine shared his love of nature and was
physically fitted to accompany him in his rides and walks.
However early the hour appointed for a gallop through those
lovely scenes, Emanuel always found her awaiting him, and
in her health and freshness looking like an embodiment of
the morning. She seemed at home everywhere. When they
stopped to breakfast at some roadside inn, when they encountered strangers on their expeditions, even in the interchange
of friendly greetings with the peasants whom they passed,
Konradine developed a rare faculty for assimilating with her
surroundings, -a faculty that induced confidence from all
around her, and that made it possible for her sometimes to
be of practical assistance to those beneath her in rank.
Emanuel once expressed to her his admiration of this peculiar gift, and she admitted that she was conscious of possessing
it, but added, with a laugh, "It is due to no merit of mine,
however, but to the fact of the existence of the opposite
tendencies in my mother. I learned, when a very little child,
to help myself,-to create a kind of home, for we lived'then
almost in the wilderness. Before I could read or write, my
mother condemned herself and me to the kind of wandering
life she has pursued ever since, and I felt the necessity of
arranging and adjusting our various surroundings.. This
quality has been still further developed in my late retirement,
where its practical results were certainly a great satisfaction
to me."
"But even without any such results," said Emanuel, " this
creative faculty seems to me delightful in itself. We all try
to exert it from our earliest years. The child makes a garden
for himself in the midst of a garden. The boy makes a collection of extracts from books that belong to him. The youth
composes his own love-songs, although those already made are
far more beautiful. The man who inherits large estates erects
new buildings, or makes alterations, by which he asserts his
own individuality. A great part of the attraction that so
many find in getting and gaining lies, I believe, in this desire
to create."
Konradine agreed with him, but asked how it was exemplified in his own case.
20




230                   HULDA.
Emanuel grew thoughtful. "That is a question," he said,
"which cannot be answered without a long retrospect,-a
retrospect that is by no means consoling; for it reveals little
to be admired in me."
"You do yourself injustice," said Konradine, " for ever since
I first knew you,-and we are old acquaintances," she added,
with a charming smile, " you have always been occupiedoccupied with   "
" With myself and my own enjoyments," he interrupted
her. "My mother's doting affection, the intense desire of
all my family for the preservation of our name, the constant
care bestowed upon me as an invalid, all combined to inspire
me with a belief that my life was of great importance, when
the fact is, that no life is of much importance which does not
find expression in action."
"But I think I have heard," said Konradine, "that you took
great pains to pursue various studies that might fit you for
the management of your estates and conduce to the welfare of
your tenantry."
" True," he replied; " but I never undertook the management of my property, because I preferred to live in a more
southern climate, and because there were none to come after
me to make it desirable that my estates should be improved,
or that the income from them should be increased. I have
more than enough for my own wants."
He paused, and Konradine remained silent. It was the
first time that Emanuel had spoken thus of himself, and she
knew how beneficial it is to pour into sympathetic ears what
has long been pent up within the breast. At last she spoke,
hoping to lead him to continue in the same vein. "I am
afraid that your long solitude in your villa here has not been
good for you; you have been self-occupied, and there is danger
for conscientious men in self-occupation. They grow too hard
and impatient with their weaknesses. Every one is something
of a monster when looked at through a microscope. Surely
the good God will have to show mercy instead of justice, if
we are ever to see heaven."
" You jest, Konradine, and it becomes you well," he replied.
"I am glad that you can do so once more. But, even at the
risk of saddening your mood, I cannot jest with you to-day.
I think it is good for all of us to be alone at times and take




HULDA.                      231
counsel with ourselves. I had occasion to do so several days
before your arrival; and as I then came to an understanding
with myself upon several points, I trust I shall now be able to
shape my life to more purpose than heretofore."
" And what gave you occasion for such self-communion?"
she asked.
"The tidings that you first communicated to me, and which
were afterwards verified," he said; adding, after a pause,
"'Something, too, that my sister said, led me to considerations
that may have an effect upon my future life. I-have always
supposed myself to be unselfish, because I placed no great
value upon money, and had no desire to grasp the inheritance
which must, unfortunately, soon fall to my lot. I have failed
to see that my love of selfish ease has been the mainspring of
all my apparent disinterestedness. I ought to bear in mind
that our possessions are to be regarded not as a means of selfaggrandizement, but of promoting the welfare and happiness
of others. I have resolved not to resign my title to the family
estate so soon, unfortunately, to be my own, but to make my
home there and do what I can among my people, to be of some
use in my day and generation."
Konradine asked if he thought himself able to endure the
severity of a northern winter.
"You have seen," he replied, "how well I bore it so long
as care for another made me forgetful of myself. I will try
so to forget myself in care for my tenantry, and perhaps 1
may be able to win from them a more lasting regard than
has been mine from youth and beauty. We all have sacrifices
to make; you have shown me how nobly they can be borne. I
have true friends; their esteem andaaffection are surely enough
to make life worth the living."
As he spoke, he held out his hand to Konradine, who grasped
it warmly, thinking, as she did so, that the inherent beauty
of his face had never been so evident as now, illumined by a
melancholy smile.
No further allusion was made by him to Hulda, and his
sister and friend avoided all mention of her; but they both
noticed that he wore a ring on his finger similar, except in
the colour of the stone, to the old family relic, and they
suspected what ring it was.




232                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XVL
THE pastor had been laid in the grave, and the villagers had
all left the church-yard, talking, as they sought their various
homes, of their good old friend, their teacher and consoler
through long years and in many an hour of trial. It was a
comfort that he had died in his bed, and had had a decent
funeral, they said, instead of perishing miserably, as his poor
wife had done. And now the pastor's Hulda was all alone.
The windows of the parsonage were open, and the little room,
the passage, and the path to the church-yard were strewed
with twigs of evergreen. In the sitting-room the bailiff was
talking in a low tone to the curate, who was still in his gown.
Mademoiselle Ulrika had come to the house as soon as the
tidings of the pastor's death had reached her; and she was
still here, arranging the Iooms, with the help of the sexton's
wife, but very impatient to be at home again after her three
days' absence.
Hulda did not hear what the bailiff and the curate were
speaking of, or notice that Ulrika was in the room.  She
was standing at the window, looking towards her father's
grave. At the same window she had been standing with her
father and mother when the news of the count's death had
arrived; upon that day, for the first time, she had foreseen the
possibility of a time like the present. How well she remembered her father's words, and how her mother had clasped her
in her arms! She had then feared to be left alone with her
mother to seek a new home. With her mother! Now she
was utterly alone-forsaken indeed!
"If he only knew!" exclaimed a voice within her, and,
sinking upon the window-seat, she buried her face in her
hands, sobbing bitterly.
To see and. hear her thus was too much for the bailiff's
equanimity. He was very tender-hearted, and, besides, the
black coat that he wore to-day-which was never brought
out except upon great occasions-was much too small for him,
and made him very uncomfortable.




HULDA.                      233
" Cheer up, my child," he said to her.  C Come here; you
cannot go down into the grave with him; it is a sin to wish
it. Don't look out there; come here! The Herr Curate and
I are here, and will do all that we can for you, poor child!"
"I know it, uncle dear, and I thank you for all your kindness,-and you too," she said, turning to the curate and holding out her hand to him. "I thank you for the tears you
shed upon my father's grave; I shall not forget them."
"Was he not a father to me also?  Were we not united
in our love and care of him?" said the curate. " Ah, it will be
very lonely and sad for me here when you are-gone!"
His eyes said more than his words, and as she looked at
him she timidly withdrew her hand, just as Ulrika, who had
been absent for a moment, re-entered the room.
"We will take care of all that, Herr Curate," she said, looking about to see if there was anything she had left undone; " but
the chief thing at present is to take Hulda away from here,
and for me to get home, where there will be enough to be set
to rights, I'll warrant. And when she is established in her
old room with us, we can come to and fro and see what is to
be done in the future."
Hulda had packed up her small belongings in the way of
dress upon the previous evening. The bailiff's vehicle stood
before the door, and the horses were growing impatient.
Ma'amselle Ulrika put on the black shawl which she always
wore at funerals, and Christian strapped Hulda's little trunk
at the back of the carriage. The curate stood at Hulda's side,
following with his eyes her melancholy farewell gaze at all the
familiar objects around her. He knew so well the thoughts
that filled her mind.
" You will never forget it," he said, at last.
" How could I?" she replied.
"And do not forget me," he entreated.   "Think of me
sometimes; I will take care of everything here."
" You will sometimes come to the bailiff's?" she said, and
he thought from her tone that she hoped for his coming. He
had shared her care of her father, and he alone knew how she
had suffered in sending back the ring. They pressed each
other's hands. Ulrika was already seated in the carriage, and
the bailiff stood holding the door open. The curate conducted
Hulda from the house and assisted her to take her seat by
20*




234                    HULDA.
Ulrika's side, for the poor child's eyes were brimming with
tears.
Christian, on the box, gave his whip the well-known crack,
and they drove off. As they passed through the village the
people came to their doors, and waved mute, melancholy farewells to Hulda. The curate could not look after them; he
retired to his little room up-stairs, in which he had never seen
Hulda, and where nothing spoke of her to him. He was very
unhappy, and wished to be alone.
The room that Hulda had occupied at the bailiff's before
she had gone to Miss Kenney was all ready for her, and she
was soon established in it. Her unhappiness was so great that
she cared little for her outward comfort, and gladly assisted
Ma'amselle in her daily household tasks, since all labour was
welcome to her; it helped the weary hours to pass more
quickly.
Ulrika, however, while she admitted. that Hulda no longer
needed teaching to do what was required of her, was by no
means pleased with the silence in which the girl enshrouded
herself, as it were. Why should she go about the house
never opening her lips? Every one knew, to be sure, that she
was sad about her father's death, but then it was an event that
she had anticipated for some time, and it was a great mercy
that he had gone before his eyesight entirely failed him. She
could not be pining for the baron, for he had forgotten her
and was about to marry a wife in every way suited to him.
And if she had set her hopes upon the curate, she had no one
to blame but herself. He could not possibly marry a girl who
had been the talk of the place for so long. Every one must
see that, Ma'amselle Ulrika thought. And as she prided herself
upon her honest expression of opinion, scarcely a day passed
in which all this was not reiterated to Hulda. They were
never alone together that Ma'amselle did not impress upon the
poor girl that she had grieved enough, and that there was no
use in thinking of what could not be altered. She, for her
part, could not endure the sight of a sad face all the time; it
was contrary to her nature to have such a silent girl about her.
"Take courage, and press on," was what all ought to say to
themselves.
" Press on!" These words rang in Hulda's ears; she repeated them to herself continually. She felt the impossibility




HULDA.                      235
of remaining long beneath the same roof with Ulrika, and her
heart and her conscience alike forbade her to dream of a marriage with the curate, if he should offer her his hand. But
what should she do? where should she go in a world that
seemed so dreary and empty to her?
Many a night, as she lay awake, she thought over all her
acquirements and accomplishments, and remembered how her
father and Miss Kenney had both often told her that she was
well qualified to occupy a position as governess. But such a
position was not easy to find, and here in her native place a
prejudice existed against her that she dreaded to encounter.
She had been the object of much unkind remark, and, although
her conscience was clear, she had suffered much during the
last few years from the meaning smiles and impertinent remarks
of the young girls who had formerly been her companions. But
whither could she go? Where should she seek the advice and
assistance that she so greatly needed?
She knew how often the countess had assured her father
that she would always befriend his child, and just before his
death the great lady had written to the bailiff, renewing her
offers of protection, and promising to do all that she could for
Hulda in case she should, as seemed fitting, desire to procure
a situation as governess in some other country. But all her
offers were as gall to the poor girl, who shrank from the
thought of accepting the slightest favour from her father's
patroness.
She knew what the countess meant by suggesting her
removal to another country. Did they think her possessed of
so little sense of honour as not to avoid a man who no longer
felt any interest in her? Had she not, unasked, returned to
him the token of his betrothal to her?
Sometimes she hardly recognized herself in the Hulda who
had grown so timid and shy, now that she no longer shared
the shelter of a father's roof, no longer could rely upon his
love and care. She was a stranger amid the scenes and the
people that had been familiar to her from infancy. She must
flee hence,-seek some other abiding-place, where, even if she
might be more lonely, she could at least find distraction for
her mind, now always occupied with the same subjects. But
whither?
-As she pondered upon her life, all the petty insults that she




236                    HULDA.
had endured during the past two years arose vividly in her
memory, and a kind of dread took possession of her. She
began to be ashamed of her love, and of the hopes she had
founded upon it. She wished to withdraw from every eye;
she could not bear to meet the curate again, grateful though
she was to him, for she knew that she could not grant him
the reward he desired.
Thus the weeks passed, and all went on as usual at the
bailiff's after the bountiful harvest. Guests came and went;
the bailiff assisted at the hunts that were planned by the
gentry in the neighbourhood, and Hulda was obliged to seize
an opportunity, when they were alone, to ask him to go with
her once more to the parsonage, where she had not been since
her father's death.
"Can't you wait until the end of the week?" he asked,
good-humouredly. "The curate was here on Sunday. But
I'll not keep you."  And he arose, to order the carriage.
Hulda laid her hand on his arm.
"Uncle," she said, in some confusion, "that, you know,
was not what I meant. I care nothing for the curate. But so
many of my possessions are still at the parsonage; I must get
what I shall need for the cold weather, and some books, and
my mother's work-table, if I may have it."
She spoke seriously, to put a stop to his jesting tone, which
she did not like. The jest, however, merely concealed his
fatherly interest in her; and, patting her shoulder, he added,
"Get your books and your clothes, by all means, my dear
child; but leave all else that belongs to you where it is. You
have left it all to come here, and I am glad there is some one
there who has learned to love the old house, and who will
take you back to it again to pass your life there, where your
father and mother passed theirs."
He went to the window, to order the carriage to be brought;
but the arrival in the court-yard of one of his old friends from
the neighbourhood put a stop to the drive for that day.
Hulda was not sorry. The bailiff's words had fallen upon
her ears with a dull, deadening sound. All the long, weary
days, all the tedious hours that she had spent during the last
two years in the parsonage, oppressed her, in memory, with a
weight like that of a heavy stone closing a tomb; and was it
to shut down upon her again? The prospect of sitting her




HULDA.                       237
whole life long at the little window where she had sat from
earliest childhood, seeing only the church and church-yard,
hearing only the plash and murmur of the waves, or the
screams of the sea-birds, was terrible to her. It crushed her
very heart.  Spring and summer seemed to have vanished
from her life. The aimless longing with which, when a child,
she had looked after the swallows winging their flight to other
climes, possessed her again. Was she to resign every hope for
some bright gleam in the future? Oh, no I youth and love of
life stirred within her as never before in protest against such
a fate.
"Am I now young and fair," she thought, and her cheeks
burned at this admission, even to herself, "only to mourn
away my days here in hopeless solitude? and in order to
secure even this dreary future must I perjure myself by
feigning love, by deceiving a true heart? Never!"
Without thinking what she did, she turned towards the
mirror, and from its depths there looked out at her a lovely
youthful face, crowned with braids of shining gold.  "An
ideal Kathchen!" was what the manager whom she had seen
at Gabrielle's had said.
She did not know why these words should recur to her just
at this moment, but they rang in her ears as distinctly as if
they had been spoken aloud at her side, and all the events of
the morning when she had seen the man came back vividly to
her memory.
She saw Gabrielle upon the stage in all her majestic beauty,
receiving the admiring homage of the public; she sat with her
in the pretty little room filled with lovely flowers. She saw
her letters arriving, and the manager coming to implore her
to play for him. The gorgeous costume which the maid had
carried through the room, the elegant trifles that lay scattered
upon the tables,-every detail of the scene was clear in her
mind. Even then, as she heard the manager and the artiste
alluding to the various places where the latter had appeared,
the journeys she was about to make, her heart had throbbed in
sympathy with such pleasure; and as she remembered it now,
the bailiff's words, "pass your life there," seemed to her the
most cruel curse that ever angry fairy devised to transform a
living being to senseless stone.
Could anything force her to such a doom? She had obeyed




238                    HULDA.
her father, hard as the task had been-had quietly sacrificed
to him her youth, her love, and her hopes for happiness. She
had for his sake endured years of pain, every hour bringing
with it a dull misery of which only she had known. Now
her father and mother were both dead, and she had resigned
all hope of reunion with her lover. She was alone in the
world, there was no one to whom she owed a single duty.
And should she voluntarily accept a fate that was to her a
living death? Never 
Gabrielle was the only one to whom she had spoken freely
of her love. She had not forgotten one word that the great
artiste had said to her in kindly consolation. Everything had
happened as she had foreseen. Hulda now had her own way
to make in the world, and her thoughts turned to her illustrious friend, as the traveller when astray fixes his eyes upon
the friendly glimmer of some distant light.
Gabrielle had expressly desired her to come to her if she
should ever be left alone and in need of friendly counsel and
guidance. The more she pondered upon all the great artiste
had said, the clearer did her meaning become to her, the surer
was she of what counsel she should receive from her.
To go upon the stage! To become an actress! The idea
dazzled and terrified the pastor's daughter, and yet it was not
new to her. After seeing Gabrielle, after that morning passed
in her room, it had occupied her mind for a time day and
night, and she had often recalled the manager's words, "All
roads lead to the stage as well as to Rome."
When she retired to her room after supper, she sat down at
her little table and wrote until midnight was long past, and
then slipped her letter into the leather pouch which hung in
the sitting-room, and which held the letters to be taken to the
post the next morning by the man going to the weekly market
in the nearest town.
As she then lay down to rest, the moon had sunk below the
horizon, and the stars, whose gentle light had so often consoled
her, were obscured, but she said to herself, " He holds the
stars in their courses. He will direct my steps. If the answer
that I expect really comes, I will take it for a sign that I am
in the right path, and will pursue it in God's name."




HULDA.                       239
CHAPTER XVIIL
THE countess found great enjoyment in her present isit to
her brother. She had reached an age when general society no
longer possessed its former charm for her. Her daughter had
gone to a home of her own, and her son was about to form an
alliance in every way desirable.  Her. maternal love and pride
were gratified, and all that was wanting to her entire content
was that the younger brother, whom she so loved, should fulfil
her hopes for him by contracting a suitable marriage.  Who
was so fitted to make him forget all the trials of his past life
as Konradine, the friend whose society evidently became dearer
to him every day? The union of these two was now the great
interest of her life; and as it seemed probable or the reverse,
her spirits rose or fell.
In view of this consummation, the bailiff's intelligence with
regard to Hulda had been very agreeable to her, and she
decided immediately to present the curate with the living
made vacant by the pastor's death.  But her worldly wisdom
induced her to delay somewhat in the announcement of her
intentions to those most interested.
She held that a favour too quickly conferred is scarcely ever
sufficiently prized. The curate had already engaged to fulfil
the duties of pastor until the close of the year, and, as she
jestingly expressed it in a letter to the young count, her son,
she did not wish to shorten the "hoping and fearing of love's
sweet pain" too much for the young people by making their
marriage immediately possible, since with those in their condition all the poetry of existence was at an end as soon as their
married life began.
When with Konradine or the baron, she avoided allusion to
these matters. If by any chance her last visit to the castle was
mentioned, she led the conversation to other subjects.  Every
one of the three friends had lived long enough to know that
as we grow older we must cast off from time to time some
memory which, if allowed to retain its hold upon us, would distort and cramp our development. The countess went further,




240                    HULDA.
and maintained that it was a sign of narrow-mindedness, of an
incapacity for development, to cling to an unfortunate love or
to retain too closely the impressions and associations of youth.
To boast of an unaltered mind, of an unchanged opinion, was
little else than to flaunt one's poverty of nature in the face of
the world.
In answer to some declaration of this kind that she made
one day when the three friends were together, Emanuel remarked that, in spite of what she said, she would be the first
to be surprised at any open advantage taken of the freedom to
change that she advocated.
"At the risk, my dear Adelheid," he said, " of appearing to
you'incapable of development,' I must confess that the constant change that characterizes everything mortal has always
oppressed me, and I can only steel myself against the melancholy that it produces by calling to mind the results it sometimes brings about. I remember the gloomy impression made
upon me as a boy by Schiller's' Everything circles in eternal
change,' and, later in life, by Goethe's'On the same stream we
never float again.' I long so in my inmost soul for the continuance of all that I have liked or loved, that I dread to see
again scenes where I have been very happy, and which my
memory invests with an ideal light, or people whom I thought
especially lovely, and from whom I have long been separated,
lest I should be painfully impressed by the constant change in
all things, which brings me nothing but distress, except by
admonishing me to make some genuine use of moments forever
fleeting."
" You always will be an amiable enthusiast," said the countess,
"to whom fate, if it were just, would assign the boon of eternal
youth."
"Ah," cried Konradine, with a warmth that gratified Emanuel, "in his power to appreciate and sympathize does he not
possess a youth that is lost to us?, Is it not a pleasure in the
midst of this work-day world to find any one still clinging to
the faith and the ideals of youth? I wish I could share the
baron's temper of mind. I assure you, my friend," she said,
turning to Emanuel, "I am often ashamed, when I am with
you, at finding how much younger you are than I in the confidence and hope that are the prerogatives of youth."
Emanuel thanked her, and the countess did not contradict




HULDA.                       241
her, because such an expression of admiration for the baron on
Konradine's part gratified her; but she could not refrain from
throwing out a suggestion that a continual recurrence and adherence to the memories and ideals of youth were calculated to
unfit one for correctly appreciating the present.
" It would certainly be great folly," replied Emanuel, "to
allow the past to rob us of enjoyment of the present or of hope
for the future. But I think we can give all due weight to
what is commonplace and usual, without resigning the sacredness of our ideals. One may be very well content to live and
labour in the valley that is his home, even although he has
breathed the air of mountain-tops, whence he has looked abroad
upon the glory of the world. There is a difference between
an idealist and an idle dreamer."
"Of course, of course," said the countess, with a shade of
impatience. She never could listen to general observations
without giving them a particular application, a personal significance. Therefore she instantly added to her assent to what
Emanuel had said, that idealism always seemed to her especially
dangerous in any connection with matrimony. " For how could
a husband who persisted in clinging to his youthful ideals
tolerate, much less affectionately contemplate, the change that
years must effect in his wife, in her beauty, her freshness, the
youthful flow of her spirits? How oould any wife endure that
her husband's first love should continually hover before his
mental vision in eternal youth and beauty? And what a shock
for such an idealist to encounter by chance, in after-years, this
early-beloved ideal transformed into a very commonplace mother
of a family!"
She had intended this for an easy conclusion to the conversation, but her mind had been full of her brother's past loveaffair, and in what she had said she had made it but too evident
that such was the case. She repented her words instantly,
for the baron, to her surprise, showed that he had so understood her, by replying, with all his native gentleness, "I have
sometimes asked myself whether, after all that has occurred, I
should like to see Hulda again, and have decided in the negative; not for fear that she should be unlike herself, but because
I am not yet sufficiently resigned, and because I am still far
from easy upon the score of the wrong that we did her, and its
consequences."
L                      21




242                    HULDA.
" The wrong that we did her 1" exclaimed the countess. "I
am conscious of no wrong with regard to her."
"I am surprised at that, Adelheid," Emanuel replied, without heeding the impatience of her manner. "I, for my part,
remember very distinctly the stormy evening shortly after our
arrival at the castle, when we discussed for the first time the
pastor's family, and the daughter in particular. I remember
how you then refused to listen to my warning when you told
me of your plans, and how you persisted in usurping the place
of her parents with regard to her."
This irritated the countess.  "You forget," she replied,
" that you then told me expressly that the girl's presence in
the castle would give you pleasure; and certainly Hulda improved greatly under Miss Kenney's care. Her future is provided for, and for her father's sake everything shall be done
for her that lies in my power. My conscience is perfectly
easy."
"I wish I could say the same," said Emanuel.
The countess shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and, to
put a stop to the conversation, which was embarrassing to her in
Konradine's presence, said, " Your remorseful anxiety confirms
me in my view of the danger that lies in idealism. The girl
is now betrothed to a man of her own rank in life. What
better fate could she have?"  Then, rising and turning to Konradine with a smile, she added, "How strange that a man
otherwise free from vanity should not be able to conceive that
a girl can forget him and be happy with another, perhaps even
happier than with him!"
To these words Emanuel replied, with an earnestness that
by contrast was almost solemn, " Give me the certainty of that,
Adelheid, and you will relieve me of a great anxiety; for you
are right,-I stand convicted of unpardonable vanity, although
not in the sense you indicate. All my life I had longed for
just such love as Hulda freely and frankly gave me. Instead
of cherishing it and guarding it tenderly, I required from her
a proof of it that was beyond her strength. I left her to
an influence that exerted its time-honored, sacred right to
sway her,-left her, in my vanity, because I thought her
love insufficient, and trusted to separation to teach her how to
value my affection and to lead her to me again. It was only
when she silently sent me back my ring that I appreciated




HULDA.                      243
what I had lost, while doubt whether she can forget me and
be really happy still assails me."
"Then put the question frankly to her," said the countess,
who thought only of how he could be satisfied of what she was
sure was true.
"Ought he to hazard the chance of producing fresh discord
in her soul by such a question?" asked Konradine, who had
listened. with profound sympathy to the conversation. "It
might be dangerous, when her young heart has turned to
another love, to conjure up old dreams. It would, at all
events, be startling and confusing, like the reappearance of one
whom she had believed dead."
" Yes, yes, that alone prevents me from putting the question
to her," said Emanuel, much moved. "I have thrown away
my right to her. I will not bring discord into her present
life. But the day, if it should ever come in the far future,
when I see her really happy with another, will relieve me of
what must else be an enduring feeling of remorse, and, whatever time may take from her or change in her, for me-I am
not ashamed to say-she will always live in memory as I first
saw her, as the fair daughter of Ceres, an ideal of youthful
grace and purity, and I shall never cease to be grateful to her
for once loving me."
He arose, and left the room in some agitation. Tears stood
in Konradine's eyes. She had never admired him so much
or prized him so highly as at this moment.
" How few there are like him!" she exclaimed to the countess, who forgot her brother's words of reproach to herself in
her joy at what she could not but see was a reassuring expression of regard for him on Konradine's part.
That evening the countess wrote a letter to the curate, conferring upon him the vacant living, with an increase of salary, and
another to the bailiff, expressing her satisfaction at Hulda's
betrothal, and her desire that the marriage should take place
shortly, to which end she sent a generous gift in money as her
contribution towards the establishment of the young couple.




244                     HULDA.
CHAPTER XVIII.
EMANUEL'S frank explanation had entirely effaced all vestige
of restraint and reserve between his sister and himself, and
Konradine became dearer to the countess every day, as she
saw how her interest in the baron increased. It was a great
pleasure to the sister to find that the fair canoness, whom she
could not but look upon as the baron's future wife, knew how
to appreciate and value even those qualities which the countess
herself had been but too prone to regard as the weaknesses of
his character.
Every day of this delightful autumn drew closer the bonds
of intimacy and cordial sympathy between the baron and his
friend, and each was thinking with regret of her approaching
departure, when the few days of pleasant intercourse that yet
remained were cut short by a letter from the physician attached to the household of the baron's elder brother, who was
at present in the south. It besought the brother and sister
not to delay coming to the invalid, who earnestly desired to
see them once more before his death, which was close at
hand.
This intelligence had been daily expected for some time, and
yet when it arrived the countess was deeply moved and agitated; for when is death anything but a shock to the living,
however they may have looked for its coming? The three
friends were together when the letter was received, and the
countess shortly left the room to give orders for the departure
of herself and her brother, which was arranged for noon of the
next day. Konradine arose, and went out upon the terrace.
Emanuel followed her.
The sun was high in the heavens, the air as warm as in
summer, and the roses were blooming everywhere, hanging in
huge clusters from the boughs of the laurels and fig-trees,
around the trunks of which they were twined. Konradine
gazed around her, and across the gleaming surface of the lake
to the snow-crowned mountains on the other side, and said,
"How strange it is to think that to-morrow we shall see it all




HULDA.                      245
no longer, that this beauty will not exist for us! One can
hardly believe it."
" We owe you much for the delightful days we have passed
together here," replied Emanuel,'and I do not like to think
that they are over. We are so apt to resign ourselves like
children to a belief that the pleasant existence we enjoy in
the present will be lasting, until suddenly some rude shock
arouses us from our fancied security and reminds us how far
we are from the goal we had hoped for."
" What you say is especially applicable to my own case"just
now," said Konradine. "This morning I received a letter
from our abbess which will probably put an end to all my plans
and expectations for the future."
Emanuel asked what she meant.
" You know," she replied, " that a few weeks ago a place
was left vacant among us by the betrothal of one of our associates. The abbess tells me to-day that this place has been
accorded to Prince Frederick's eldest sister, the Princess Marianne, and that she will come among us this autumn."
"And you do not wish to meet her?"
"I have not the slightest objection merely to meet her; but
the idea of long-continued intercourse with her is very distasteful to me. And there can be no doubt that this place
has been given to her, and accepted by her, with the distinct
understanding that she is to be the future abbess of the order.
She is much too proud and arrogant to have condescended else
to place herself for a time upon an equality with the rest of
us. This, of course, renders of no avail all that has hitherto
been done in my behalf, and makes of no effect the promises
that have been made me. The princess would, doubtless, like
to retain me by her side to relieve her of the cares of office so
far as is possible; but, under the circumstances, the task would
not be an agreeable one to me."
" Did you really, then, contemplate devoting your future life
to the service of your order, of that organization of women?"
inquired Emanuel.
" Why not?" she asked. "I found there a home, and constant occupation, two things unknown before, and which I
never can know upon our Esthland estates so long-and I
hope it may be very long-as my mother lives, for she intrusts
them entirely to her agent, in whom she places entire confi21*




246                    HULDA.
dence. I liked my retreat, and looked upon a final return to
it as certain."
She ceased, and Emanuel was silent for some time, until he
gently laid his hand upon hers, as if to attract her attention.
As she looked up at him, something in his expression struck
her, and she asked what moved him.
"I am wondering whether I may venture to ask you a
question that lies very near me at this moment," was his reply; then he paused, and it seemed to him that the beating of
his heart was audible as he went on. " I am not fitted, Konradine, to speak of love to such a woman as yourself; my late
experience would tell me this, if I had any-doubt upon the
subject. And you have loved a man with whose brilliant attractions I could in no wise compete. But I can offer you a
home worthy of you, and a field of action upon the estate that
I inherit, the responsibility of which I shall assume more
readily if you will share it with me, if the conviction that you
can give life fresh value to a man who knows your worth and
regards you with devoted and affectionate admiration can
indemnify you for the absence of those qualities in which I
am lacking."
These were the last words that Konradine had expected to
hear, but his serious composure impressed her deeply; and,
burying her face in her hands, she cried, " Oh, why do you say
this to me now,-to-day?"
He turned away, startled, but, controlling himself, replied,
"Forgive me, if I have troubled you. Think my words unsaid. Forget, as I will forget, that I asked more than you can
give."
"Must I owe to your compassion," she said, " what you
would else never have-offered me?"
" What can you mean, when I ask you for so much and can
bestow so little?" said Emanuel; his old mistrust of himself
awaking within him. "I will not urge you, I will not retort
upon you what you have just said. Only this I must declare
and you must believe: your companionship is my greatest
blessing. To win your esteem, to contribute to your happiness, would make me happy indeed   "
Konradine did not let him complete his sentence. " No
more," she cried. "I must and will believe you. You must
see how dear you are to me,-our aims are the same. I trust




HULDA.                      247
you implicitly, and am yours."  She held out both hands to
him; he pressed them to his lips, tenderly calling her his own;
and with hearts touched and softened, inspired by mutual regard, and full of faith in the future, they walked arm in arm
to the house, to announce their betrothal to the countess.
Seldom had she experienced such joy as at this moment.
She called Konradine her sister, her daughter, and rejoiced
that her dying brother's last moments would be made happy
by such cheering intelligence. In her delight she would have
had Konradine go with them to receive his dying blessing,
but this Emanuel would not hear of. He would spare his
future wife the distress that awaited his sister and himself, and
then, too, he shrank from intruding his own bright hopes for
the future upon the last moments of a brother about to leave
this world forever.
He therefore readily agreed to Konradine's proposal, that
their betrothal should not be made public until her mother had
been informed of it and her formal consent obtained. Konradine also desired to return to her retirement at the appointed
time, and to be present there when the princess arrived.
The brother and sister started for the south the next
morning, and twenty-four hours later, Konradine, in one
of Emanuel's carriages, and attended by his confidential valet,
whom he had left behind for the purpose, set out for her
retreat.
CHAPTER XIX.
WHILE the friends in the southern villa were rejoicing in
warmth and sunshine, the winds were sweeping from the sea
in icy blasts around the castle and the little parsonage in the
north. The autumn tasks out-of-doors were at an end, and
even the bailiff scarcely liked to stir from the warm room with
its cheerful fire, whither, to his great satisfaction, the curate
often came to help him to while away the long evenings with
talk upon parish matters, or a game of chess. He was only
too glad to provide a conveyance to take him home again
through the stormy nights, if he might thus buy the pleasure




248                    HULDA.
of his society, for the bailiff had reached the age when, for a
man of his standing, to talk is much more interesting than to
read. He could no longer pore over the newspapers for a whole
evening; they were full of the rights of the people, and freedom, and progress-matters that seemed to him to have nothing
to do with.true order and government, and of which no one
used to hear a word. He grew sleepy over them, and that vexed
him, for his sister, who never seemed to know what weariness
was, was sure to laugh at him if he lost himself for a moment
and nodded.
When the bustling day was ended, Mademoiselle Ulrika was
never tired of playing Patience, as Monsieur Michael had
taught her. She foretold all sorts of future events from her
cards, and believed in them implicitly.
The curate was present one evening as she was laying her
cards upon the table where Hulda sat at work, and although
he was arranging the chess-board for a game with the bailiff,
his attention was chiefly given to what Mademoiselle was saying to the girl. That he might have some share in their conversation, he asked who Monsieur Michael was of whom he
had heard her speak, and who had taught her Patience.
"Did I never tell you about him? A charming young
man, private secretary to Prince Severin."
"A fine private secretary!" the bailiff exclaimed.  "He
was the prince's servant, a vain, pretentious, worthless fellow,
whom the prince had to dismiss. He found his vocation,
however; he is a play-actor now."
"Who told you so?" cried Ulrika, who, with her contempt
for everything relating to the theatre, could not listen quietly
to such an aspersion upon her favourite.
"Who told me? Why, the postmaster's son, who used to
see him here, wrote it to his father.  He has seen him play."
"It is a dangerous calling," said the curate.
"I don't believe it! It is not true that he has gone upon
the stage," said Ulrika.
"Other people have gone before him," said the bailiff.
"None worth anything," Ma'amselle declared, and her
brother made no reply, for the curate had just said " check" to
his king, and he had no time to listen to his sister's fancies.
Her cards gave her small satisfaction, it would seem, this
evening, for she soon put them away and left the room. The




HULDA.                      249
bailiff, when his game was finished, went into his office to get
some papers that the curate was to take to the schoolmaster,
and so Hulda was left alone with the young man. She sat at
the table, sewing; the allusion to Michael had distressed her.
The curate saw that she was depressed, and seated himself
near her.
"It must sometimes be hard for you to bear Ma'amselle
Ulrika's sharp speeches," he said; "you have grown so
reserved and silent."
Hulda replied that she had become accustomed, as her
mother had done, to Ulrika's ways.
" I cannot tell you," he went on, "how constantly I think
of you in your old home, when I use your piano, or look
around upon all that you have left behind, and remember that
you do not enjoy here even the peace that we all so need.
Sometimes it seems to me that you must be conscious that I
am wishing for you, and that you must long for your old
home as a young bird does for the nest —"
His earnestness and warmth of manner troubled her, and,
suddenly interrupting him, she said, without looking up from
her work, " It is easy to see you were not born in the country.
No full-fledged bird ever returns to the nest which the parent
birds have left."
"Fraulein Hulda!" he said, evidently much hurt. The
bailiff's return prevented his saying more then; but when he
rose to go, he held out his hand to her, and said, almost in a
whisper, " I hope you were not thinking of yourself in what
you said of the bird and the nest?"
The bailiff called out that the carriage was waiting, so that
Hulda was spared the necessity of a reply; and the curate, a
prey to hopes and fears, drove away into the night.




250                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XX.
THE next morning, as they all sat at breakfast, the boy
brought in the post-bag. The bailiff unlocked it immediately, saying, as he looked into it, "It is long since we have
had so large a mail."
"Is there anything for the parsonage?" inquired Ma'amselle.
" Yes; a letter, and a packet of papers beside."
"I thought so; the cards were right last night, after all,"
cried Ulrika. " The living has come, I am sure; and there is
a letter for Hulda!" Her brother, however, took it from her
and handed it to Hulda, asking, "From whom is it?"
"From Emilie and her mother," she replied, turning away,
that he might not see her blush.
"That friendship still exists, then," the bailiff remarked,
knowing that when Hulda had stayed in town she had formed
an acquaintance with the' wife and daughter of the countess's
intendant, and that they had corresponded with her after her
return. "What do they say?"
Hulda had taken her letter to the window, and contrived,
unperceived, to slip into her pocket a smaller letter, enclosed
within the one from her friends. The latter she read hastily,
and answered, "They wish me to visit them."
"With the roads in such a state?  There can be no hurry
about it, however," said the bailiff; and he arose, and went
with his papers to his desk in the corner.
Hulda longed to escape from the room and read her other
letter, but Ulrika asked her to hold a huge knot of yarn for
her to wind,-she wanted it for her knitting.
The poor girl counted the seconds as they were ticked off
by the tall clock in the corner. Her cheeks burned with
impatience. But it was of no use; the skein was tangled,
and seemed to increase rather than diminish in volume. She
had enclosed her own letter to Gabrielle in one to her friend
in the town, begging her to see that it was sent, and to
forward to her the answer, should any arrive; and now this




HULDA.                     251
answer, deciding her fate, was in her pocket.  Surely there
was no end to this terrible yarn. A couple of skeins were
still unwound, when carriage-wheels were heard in the courtyard.
Ulrika arose and went to the window, with the ball in her
hand. "I said so," she cried; "he has not driven over for
nothing; he has got the living!" And opening the window,
she called out, " Good-morning, Herr Pastor!"
The young man hastily got out of the carriage, and came
into the house. The bailiff would have gone to welcome him,
but he had no time. The new pastor advanced, in the best of
spirits. " Forgive me," he said, gaily, " for coming so soon
again; but I could not stay away. The living is mine!"
"I congratulate you, Herr Pastor," cried the bailiff. "I
am heartily glad to keep you with us; and others are glad,
too," he added, glancing with a sly smile towards Hulda, who,
however, did not see him, for since the young man's entrance
she had stood with downcast eyes,-an attitude which the
bailiff thought extremely natural and becoming under the circumstances. "Sister, let us have a bottle of wine, to celebrate
the good news." When it was brought, he filled four glasses,
and, beckoning to his sister and Hulda, said, "Come, both of
you, drink to the health of our new pastor. And you, Herr
Pastor, I congratulate with all my heart. All can now be as
you wish; and I must tell you that I have a little something
more for you, and not for you alone, to begin housekeeping with." Then, as the young pastor looked confused, and
Ma'amselle inquiringly, he went on: " I have had a letter,
too, from the Frau Countess, and you and I," turning to his
guest, "can clink glasses upon the intelligence it contains;
Fraulein Konradine and Baron Emanuel are betrothed,
and —"
"Did not I tell you so," Ulrika interrupted him, "when
they were here together?"
The bailiff had made this announcement with a purpose;
he had hoped it would influence Hulda with regard to the
young pastor; but when he saw the girl rise from her seat and
go to the door, at the same time growing deathly pale, he shook
his head impatiently, and called out, " Hulda, Hulda, what are
you about?'
Before the words had left his lips, however, the pastor was




252                    HULDA.
at Hulda's side. His anxiety on her account conquered his
jealousy.
" You are not well, Fraulein Hulda," he said, and begged
her to allow him to accompany her. Knowing that she could
not escape the interview he sought, she acquiesced. Ulrika
would have followed them, but her brother peremptorily ordered her to sit still, and she contented herself with saying,
scornfully, " What a fuss every one makes about the girl!"
The bailiff grew impatient, but did not betray it in words.
He walked to and fro in the room, knocked the ashes from
his pipe, filled it and lighted it again. He looked over his
papers, but was too restless for business. He sincerely hoped
that the girl, whom he really loved, would now put a stop
to all the talk there had been about her by consenting to become the wife of a worthy man; but they were taking a great
deal of time for what ought to have been settled in a couple
of moments. He arose and tapped the side of the barometer.
" Do you think," asked Ulrika, "that it will tell you the
princess's mind?"
Before he could reply, steps were heard in the passage,
and brother and sister turned towards the door as the pastor
entered.
"Alone, Herr Pastor?" the bailiff asked, in evident surprise, while a smile of malicious triumph curled Ulrika's
lips.
The young man's grave face told them what his words confirmed. "It is not to be," he said; " such happiness is not
for me."
"Is the girl beside herself?" exclaimed the bailiff, going
hastily to the door.
The pastor detained him. " Do not say one word to her.
She is not to blame; God guides her and knows what is best
for her and for me. My own desires misled me. It was not
her fault."
" Fault or no fault," cried the bailiff, " a girl ought to be
married, and she should thank God when she has the chance
of such a husband as you would make.   I will put a stop
to all this nonsense."  He made a sign to Ulrika to call
Hulda; but Ulrika did not stir from her seat, and the pastor
took his hat and bade farewell, The bailiff could not detain
him; he longed to be alone; his simulated composure was costing




HULDA.                      253
him dear: In a few moments the carriage in which he had arrived bore him out of the court-yard, and the bailiff returned
with anger in his looks. He pulled the bell which was to
summon Hulda so violently that the cord was left in his hand,
and then seated himself in the huge chair in which he always
took his place if offenders were to be called to account, while
Ulrika quietly began to count the stitches in her knitting.
" What occurred just now between you?" the bailiff growled
out to Hulda as she appeared before him, pale, and her eyes
red with weeping.
She could scarcely speak; but, raising her clasped hands,
she turned to him a face beautiful in its distress, and entreated,
"Do not force me to tell you what was so hard to bear."
" Hard?" sneered Ulrika. " I should suppose it would be
easy for you by this time to turn the heads of respectable
men."
" Be quiet!" ordered the bailiff, who had already begun to
pity Hulda, so completely alone in the world, and so young, to
be exposed to his sister's sharp tongue. " Don't stand there
and cry like a child,-that will do no good,-but speak, and
say what you propose to do now."
She knew not what to reply, and he grew angry again.
"The countess has just sent me money for you, and has increased the salary of the living that she has bestowed upon the
curate; he is an excellent man, whom you might be proud to
call your husband, and you have sent him away for nothing.
You will again be the talk of the village, and there has been
enough of that. My house is no place for such a girl."
" You know you really have no claim upon us," said Ulrika,
who could no longer contain herself.
" I know I ought to go away," said Hulda; and then she
added, in a lower tone, "and I wish very much to go."
The bailiff stared at her.  "You want to go away?
Whither?  And what do you propose to do?"
For weeks Hulda had been preparing herself for the moment
when this question should be asked her, and she had determined boldly to declare her intentions. But now her courage
failed her. After the way in which the bailiff had expressed
himself on the previous day with regard to play-actors, she
could not confess her plans, at least not until she knew what
Gabrielle advised,-and she had just opened her letter when
22




254                    HULDA.
she had been summoned to appear before her angry friend.
Therefore she only said that she wanted to try to earn her
living.
"And what do you mean to do?" scornfully inquired the
bailiff, who held firmly to the belief that no woman of cultivation could support herself.
"I have been brought up in the conviction that I should
have to help myself," she replied, with more firmness. Her
dignity was wounded by the sneering tone of her former protector. " My poor dear father and Miss Kenney always told
me so, and —-"
"Then you are going to be a teacher, like Miss Kenney,
and an old maid!" the bailiff interrupted her; he detested
unmarried women of a certain age, and governesses. " But
who will take you about here, where there has been so much
gossip, especially when this last affair gets abroad, as you may
be sure it will?" And he cast a significant glance towards his
sister.
"For that reason I beg you to give me a little of the money
that Miss Kenney left me, and send me to town, where I
am certain of a welcome at the Herr Intendant's until a suitable situation is found for me," she replied, her courage rising
against the injustice with which she felt she was treated.
" This is your plan, then! all charmingly devised and arranged! And the curate encouraged and then jilted!" Ulrika
said, contemptuously; and the bailiff did not reprove her, but,
falling into her mood, added, bitterly, " And all because of that
miserable love-affair with the baron, who will live happily in
his castle with his wife, and never for one moment trouble his
head about whether you go to ruin or not."
This was more than she could bear. She stood boldly erect,
and, although her temples throbbed and her lips quivered, she
said, firmly, " I shall not go to ruin, Herr Bailiff, even although
none trouble themselves about me. And God is my witness
that I have never encouraged any one; never aroused, either
by word or look, a false hope in the pastor's mind. This he
will tell you himself. I have long known that I could not
stay here, and I beseech you to be kind, and send me away as
quickly as possible. I should go to ruin if I stayed here."
The bailiff very nearly muttered an oath; the vein in his
forehead swelled, and he looked steadily in the girl's face for




HULDA.                     255
a minute, entirely at a loss what to say or how to act. She
looked like innocence and gentleness themselves. He could
hardly bear it. He had neither wife nor child, and his sister
was no comfort to him. Hulda he loved as if she were his own
daughter, and it vexed him that she should wish to go out into
the world. He thought her all wrong, and yet he could not
refuse her; she was evidently in earnest. She should have
her will, and if she failed his house should still be open to her,
and she could return to it, tamed, he trusted.
His mind was made up, and he instantly recovered his
equanimity. He clasped his hands behind him, as was his
wont when he had arrived at a decision, and said, slowly,
"And so you would like to go to-morrow?"
She replied that she should be glad to go then if she could.
He went to the almanac, consulted it, and, returning, said,
"There is nothing to prevent; you may go. I will let you
have the money that you need, and will attend to anything
that you wish at the parsonage. You can start to-morrow at
eight o'clock."
She gently thanked him, but he repulsed her, which grieved
her, for she had always been fond of him, and knew that he
meant well by her. He took his cap, but refused to allow her
to bring him his stick, saying that he could get it for himself.
Then he went out into the court-yard.
Ulrika told her to see to the packing of her trunk, and that
she had no need of any further service from her to-day, and
she retired to her room to read Gabrielle's letter.
CHAPTER XXI.
So much had been lived through in so short a time that as
Hulda sat with the open letter before her she felt half stunned,
as if in a dream, from which she must shortly awaken to find
herself still uncertain as to where she should turn in her loneliness and perplexity. But the mere sight of the actress's
clear, decided handwriting consoled her. The letter was all
she could desire. "I understand perfectly, my poor child," so




256                    HULDA.
it ran, "all you would say to me. We all desire either some
especial happiness in life, or some absorbing pursuit, and if we
cannot attain the first we do what we can to make the second
our own. But let me remind you that an actress's life is one
of toil and trial; even if she reach the goal of her hopes, there
are sharp thorns among her laurels. It remains to be proved,
also, whether your talent is sufficient to insure your success
You only can decide whether you possess the courage, the determination, and the confidence in yourself that are indispensable to a theatrical career. Weigh this question well, and if
you decide in the affirmative, apply to the manager whom you
saw that morning at my room. I have written to him, telling
him of your intention, and have recommended you to his especial favour. If you meet with opposition from those around
you, you must carry out your determination in spite of it, and
remember that in this case the dangerous words are true, that
the end justifies the means."
She added that she had great confidence in Hulda's capacity, and that her astonishing resemblance to herself would
probably be of service to her. The whole letter was written
in a simple, business-like way, and the writer ended by declaring that if Hulda was willing to take her advice she herself
must of course be allowed to supply the means to make such
action possible. She enclosed a check for travelling-expenses
to X, where the manager resided, and there would be
found a deposit at the banker's sufficient to meet the young
girl's necessities until the manager had decided upon her
capacity. When that time arrived she begged that Hulda
would write to her again, and until then she wished her
courage, patience, and God-speed.
Hulda gave a great sigh of relief when she had finished
reading this letter, which brought her consolation and sympathy as well as encouragement. As Gabrielle had said, happiness was denied her, and she turned to the pursuit of an absorbing occupation. The labour of her life began from this hour.
" Childhood, home, and love. are gone!" she said to herself.
"I must leave those things which are behind, and press forward
to those which are before."
Her preparations for departure were soon completed, for her
possessions were small, and the day was still before her. When
the bell rang for dinner she went to the table, but to-dav was




HULDA.                     257
unlike all other days. The bailiff talked to his sister and his
people, but they said nothing to Hulda, and the servants looked
at her curiously. They already knew that Fraulein Hulda
had refused to marry the pastor, and that the bailiff would
not keep her with him any longer.
The afternoon dragged on slowly enough. Ulrika would
not accept her assistance in any household task. "No," she
said, "such work is not fit for governesses or fine ladies.
They must take care of their hands."
When night fell, she went to the window and looked out.
How often she had stood there, looking across to his windows
in the castle, and listening to the soft notes of his piano as he
improvised and played! All was now silent and dark. She
had no place even in his thoughts; his happiness was complete
without her. He knew himself beloved; he had been delivered.
Delivered by her! But the curse had recoiled upon her own
head. She was forgotten, forsaken, unloved, and now she was
about to begin life homeless and alone.
She was still standing in the same place when the bailiff
entered her room. He brought her the money she had asked
for, and advised her to sew it into her dress.
" I will try to arrange with the pastor about your furniture
and your father's books," he said. "He can make use of
those things, and it is scarcely worth while to remove them.
I will put away for you whatever he gives me for them."
She replied that she cared very little about it, and he said
no more, but left the room.
Late in the night, when all had gone to rest, she thought
with sorrow of the young pastor, and wrote him a few lines,
begging him to forget that he had asked of her what she could
not grant, thanking him again for all the kindness he had
shown both her father and herself, and requesting him to accept,
in token of her gratitude and sisterly affection, the piano with
which he had cheered so many of her father's sad moments.
The next morning she gave this letter unsealed to the bailiff,
who, at her request, read it, and approved it with a quiver of
the lip very unusual with him. He embraced her tenderly as
she got into the carriage, and she kissed him and Ulrika, and
thanked them for all their kindness.
"Don't speak of it," said Ulrika, who could not say goodbye, as she hurried into the house.
22*




258                   HULDA.
When the carriage had driven off, the bailiff found his sister
sitting crying on the bench by the stove.
"This is just what you wanted," he said, passing her to go
into his office.
" It was all her doing," she replied, rising, and going to the
window.
The carriage was already out among the fields. There was
the spot-Hulda remembered it well-where she had first seen
Emanuel.




PART III.
CHAPTER I.
GABRIELLE'S letter to her old acquaintance, manager Holm,
informing him that the lovely young girl whom he had met in
her rooms, on a winter's morning, a year before, desired to go
upon the stage, was duly received. He remembered the girl perfectly, and he smiled at the meagre account of her antecedents
which was all the great actress saw fit to give him.
He had sustained the heroic parts, when a young man, in
the theatre of which he was now manager, and had found
acceptance with the public, and especially among ladies, as he
still perfectly well remembered. He prided himself upon his
knowledge of the world, and of women in especial, and thought
he knew when it was discreet to understand and be silent in
default of exact information. He immediately assured Gabrielle of his entire readiness to serve her.
The theatre was one of the principal social interests of the
large old commercial town, and Holm was very popular as a
manager. He had assisted in the development of several gifted
actors and actresses; to such the social characteristics of the
place were remarkably favourable. The nobility of the surrounding provinces, who passed the winters in town, as well
as the wealthy merchants and foreign consuls of the place, all
owned boxes at the theatre, while the officers of its garrison,
the young officials of the government, and the members of its
university made a very appreciative public.  They formed
strong attachments for certain artists, and were not easily
satisfied when they were obliged to lose any one of their
favourites, as was at present the case.
The actress sustaining the principal parts was on the point
of leaving the stage forever. She had been a great favourite
259




260                    HULDA.
for several years, and had been secretly betrothed for some
time to a wealthy merchant's son, who, now that his parents
were dead, was about to marry her. Her contract would come
to an end just at the time when the lengthening days and lovely
weather deprived the theatre of some of its chief supporters.
The manager had been contriving for months how to sustain
the interest of the public during this trying time, and he was
delighted to hear from Gabrielle of this young aspirant for
dramatic honours, who was described as full of talent, very like
herself, and very beautiful.
He wrote to Hulda as soon as he received Gabrielle's letter,
to tell her to come to him as soon as possible, since, in consequence of the great artiste's representations, he was determined
to put her capacity to the test immediately, and, in case he
should find it sufficient, to do all in his power to educate and
form her for her new vocation. He also told her that lodgings in the city should await her arrival, and gave her all
needed information concerning her journey.  Then, as her
name was rather commonplace, he advised the adoption of
another as her dramatic title.
At that afternoon's rehearsal he was in an uncommonly
good humour. He jested with the retiring favourite, in whom
he already saw the wealthy merchant's wife, begging her to
use her time well, and imprint her image upon the memories
of her adorers, lest it should be effaced by the successor whom
he designed for her. He did not, however, reveal to Feodora
the name of the debutante, or tell her more concerning her,
and, because he maintained this air of secrecy with regard
to her, it was soon spread abroad in theatrical circles that the
manager was about to bring out a new actress, around whom
was thrown a certain veil of mystery.
The next day Holm encountered, in the coffee-house where
he read his paper daily, two of Feodora's most ardent admirers,-one a wealthy nobleman from the country, and the
other a physician of excellent standing, both of them men whose
verdict would go far to make or mar a theatrical reputation.
Scarcely had he exchanged greetings with them, when Herr
von Hochbrecht asked what the report meant which Feodora
had mentioned to him at the rehearsal. "It really was not
necessary," he said, "as a spur to Feodora's ambition, which
was never more aspiring than at present."




HULDA.                      261
"Certainly," added the doctor, with a sarcastic smile; "she
is very desirous that her husband may be reminded frequently
in future years of the brilliant triumphs she resigned for his
sake."
The manager assured them that there was no trick in the
report they alluded to. He had, of course, been looking about
for some time for some one to replace Feodora in the public
favour, and, as he despaired of finding any established actress
who could compete with her in the natural grace of her manner
and bearing, he had resolved to educate and bring forward
a very young girl who might in time fill all the parts of the
favourite.
"And have you found this young girl?" asked Hochbrecht.
"I can hardly say that I found her," the manager replied.
"She came to me without any seeking on my part, like a bird
flying in at my window."
Then he went on to tell how he had first seen her in Gabrielle's room a year before, and how even then there had been
some talk of a stage career for her. She had grown up in a
country parsonage.
"And is she a pretty girl?" asked Hochbrecht.
"A beauty!" the manager declared; while, to give effect
to his words, he kissed the tips of his fingers and threw the
imaginary salute into the air. "A beauty of the first order,
born for the stage. Tall, with a proud carriage, a beautiful
bust, light-brown hair, and very large eyes-the mother over
again."
"You knew her parents, then?" asked Hochbrecht.
"No; the girl is an orphan."
"But you have just mentioned the resemblance of the
daughter to the mother," the doctor reminded him.
"Not at all," cried the manager. "I never saw her parents."  And when the friends, whose curiosity was aroused,
pressed him further, he took the tone of a man who had unguardedly allowed words to escape him that should not have
been spoken, asserting that he had no knowledge of the girl
except that which he had obtained from Gabrielle, whose
protege she was.
"Whom does she resemble, then?" asked Hochbrecht,
who was not easily deterred from pursuing a subject that
interested him.




262                    HULDA.
" Gabrielle-!" replied the manager, quite as if he had already
said so.
The friends exchanged meaning smiles.  The manager
declared that there was nothing to smile at; he had not the
least idea how Gabrielle first became acquainted with the
girl,-probably she had been attracted by the striking resemblance to herself, for she had been the first to call his attention to it.
"You are prudence itself," said the doctor, lightly tapping
him  upon the shoulder. "No one could more gracefully
swallow his own words to conceal an indiscretion. Don't be
annoyed. You have said nothing, we have heard nothing,
and shall see in your young debutante only an innocent child
from a country parsonage."
Then all three talked upon other subjects, and not until
they were about to separate was the manager asked the name
of the expected beauty.
This reminded him of the change he had advised, and,
without waiting to think whether Hulda would consent to lay
aside her own honest name, he unhesitatingly gave that of a
well-known family, several of whose members had gone upon
the stage, and to which Gabrielle's mother had belonged. It
was not a very uncommon name, and sounded especially well
in connection with Hulda. The manager, therefore, had small
doubt of being able to persuade the girl that it would be a
mark of gratitude to her protectress thus to take shelter behind
the aegis of her maternal title.
Herr Holm never bestowed a thought upon the conclusions
that the world might draw from this name in connection with
Hulda's resemblance to Gabrielle. Of course he begged his
friends to be silent regarding all he had told them, since it
was impossible to tell yet what the girl might turn out to be.
They promised; but in the dearth of political interest at that
time in Germany, the theatre furnished the staple of conversation, and before two days had gone by the appearance of a
beautiful young debutante was discussed everywhere in the
town, and reports as to her antecedents were circulated which
were very soon related and believed as facts.




HULDA.                     263
CHAPTER II.
HULDA found her plan far less difficult of execution than
she had feared. The intendant's family, to whom she confided
her intention, had relatives upon the stage, and did all that
they could to smooth matters for her by undertaking to apprise the bailiff of the welfare of his ward, for so he considered
her, without as yet shocking his prejudices by informing him
of the nature of the employment she had procured.
It was quite late in the evening when she was received at
the post-station of the old commercial city that was to be her
home for the present by the respectable elderly matron with
whom the manager had arranged that she should lodge.
Frau Rosen, the widow of a clerk, had, after her husband's
death early in life, maintained herself and her children by
letting lodgings in the small house which was her all, and in
the garret rooms of which she resided. Its vicinity to the
theatre had been a great advantage to her. She had found
lodgers among the actors and actresses, and gradually her care
and attention had given her house a reputation among them.
Her children were now grown up, and had left her, with the
exception of the youngest daughter, who was her mother's
assistant in household matters, while she added to their small
gains by her skill as a milliner and dressmaker.
As economy was Hulda's chief consideration, only a small
room had been assigned her, but it was neat and comfortable,
and well warmed, while its two dormer-windows permitted a
good sweep of sky to be seen from within. The kindly welcome, also, that she received, from both the mother and the
daughter, did much to cheer the poor child's failing spirits.
Everything that was most formidable to her in her new life
was quite familiar and commonplace to the two women. They
knew every one officially connected with the theatre, from the
manager himself down to the barber and tailor, and were never
tired of telling of all the histrionic celebrities whom they had
at various times sheltered beneath their roof. Among these
was the admired Feodora, now about to leave the stage, and,




264                    HULDA.
upon one occasion, while she was their lodger, she had received
a visit from the famous Gabrielle, of whose beauty and majestic
bearing Frau Rosen spoke with enthusiasm.
Scarcely had the mother alluded to Gabrielle, when her
daughter Beata called attention to Hulda's resemblance to the
great actress, and mother and daughter congratulated her upon
a circumstance that would go far to prepossess the public in
her favour. All that they said tended to reassure and encourage Hulda, and when she was left alone in her little room
she looked around her with a degree of content to which she
had long been a stranger. She was glad to be out of the reach
of ITlrika's sharp tongue, and to know that there was no
danger of encountering the young pastor, whose suit had so
distressed her.  She would-she must-forget all that had
passed away never to return; and it was a relief to feel that
no one knew where she was, that she had vanished from the
knowledge of Emanuel, who had been faithless and had forsaken her. There was nothing here to speak to her of the
past, except the stars, which shone with the same mild light
as on the sea-shore far away, and to which she had first confided her love and sorrow. They were still looking down upon
her, telling her of her childhood and of her father and mother,
and to them she now vowed that she would always be true to
herself and to the faith in God which had been taught her in
her once dear home.
But as soon as sleep descended upon her weary eyelids
the scene changed. Once more she stood in the spacious hall
of the castle, where she had first seen Emanuel's picture, and
the golden sunshine, reflected from the sea, flooded all the
place so brilliantly that the polished floor looked like flame,
and she saw from its depths the elf-king issue, followed
by all his train of "little folk."  On costly salvers and in
gleaming caskets they carried all sorts of beautiful things, gay
garments, sparkling crowns, and green laurel-wreaths. The
little king laid all this splendour at Hulda's feet, and she saw
that it was all destined for her. She rejoiced to possess it,
and would have placed upon her brow a brilliant diadem.
But as she took it in her hand, and stepped up to the mirror
that hung between the windows, she saw in its depths Emanuel's handsome head, and his eyes were regarding her with so
melancholy an expression that she started in terror, and the




HULDA.                     265
diadem fell to the floor and crashed into a thousand pieces.
The sparkling bits flew hither and thither, so that the eye
could scarcely follow them, and, when their last gleam had
faded away, Hulda looked around her, and found herself alone.
The king, with his train and all the magnificence they had
brought with them, had vanished. They had left her but one
small ring with a blue stone. She stooped to pick it up, and
as she was putting it on her finger she saw that it was the
same that she had sent back to Emanuel, and those words,never to be forgotten,-" Thee and me shall no one sever,"
glittered upon its golden surface.
She waked, with a low cry of joy, and felt for the ring upon
her hand. It was not there. Had she not sent it back herself? She could not at first tell where she was, but the gray
light of morning was already stealing in at her windows, and
quickly brought her to herself.
At eight o'clock Frau Rosen knocked at her door, and received her modest orders; and, when the hour came that the
manager had appointed for her interview with him, she betook
herself to his house, in the vicinity of the theatre, anxious
but hopeful.
The rehearsal for the day was over, and the manager was in
the best of humours. He met her in the street as he was
coming from the theatre, and, instantly recognizing her, kindly
bade her welcome. " Was I not right," he asked, " in telling
you that all roads lead to the stage as well as to Rome? I
saw, even before your protectress presented you to me, that
you were one of us; I knew I should sooner or later find
you on the stage."
He'then introduced her to his stage-director as the expected
pupil. The actors meanwhile, who were leaving the theatre,
passed the group, with a bow to the manager, and a curious
glance at Hulda; and by evening every one connected with
the theatre knew that Gabrielle's daughter had come, and that
she was certainly beautiful, and very like her mother, but that
she looked timid and frightened enough to have just fallen
frcrm the skies.
Strange indeed was the world in which Hulda now found
herself. There was nothing in it to remind her of the teachings of home. The manager took her into his study, and
invited the director to accompany them, that they might judge
M                     23




266                    HULDA
of her capacity. First he asked her to repeat any poem that
she knew by heart; then he gave her a scene to read in a
play which she had never seen, and in which the director
read the second part; and when, in answer to his questions,
she admitted that she knew something of music, he opened
the piano and requested her to sing to him. He asked her
if she had ever attempted anything in the way of dramatic
representation; and although the manner in which the two
men stared at her embarrassed and distressed her, she did her
best to do what was required of her. In spite of the timidity
and confusion of mind that at times threatened to overwhelm
her, she was conscious of a kind of defiant delight in knowing
that at last she had taken her life into her own hands,-that
she was doing what every one hitherto interested in her, with
the sole exception of Gabrielle, would have disapproved, and
Emanuel probably more than all.
Her bearing and expression gained by this mood; she held
herself more erect, and her voice sounded full and free. She
saw that her judges were pleased with her, and their exclamations of approval from time to time cheered her.
When the trial of her powers was at an end, the manager
told her, with an air of condescending kindness, that he had
decided to make the attempt to fit her for the stage. All
advantage in the matter was hers. It would require months
of instruction and careful study before she could appear before
the public, who were, after all, capricious, and might not be
pleased with her,-in which case he should have lost time
and trouble, while she would have gained in education and
culture. Still, for Gabrielle's sake, he was willing to make
the attempt, and she could go to work immediately.
She listened to him as to the voice of destiny. Everything
was going much more smoothly than she had anticipated. She
would have thanked him, but in her emotion she could find
no words in which to express herself. He dismissed her with
a shake of the hand, and, as she was putting on her hood and
jacket, advised her, since she was now at all events about to
tread those boards which are called the world, to adopt a style
of dress more in keeping with the present fashion and her
future prospects. Ma'amselle Beata's ready fingers would soon
make all right for her.
"You must begin with your hair," he said. " Those beau



HULDA.                     267
tiful thick braids wound around your head would, as I told
you a year ago, if you would let them hang down your back,
be very becoming to Kathchen von Heilbronn; but in real life
they have a very countrified air. A Grecian knot, with long
English curls, would suit you very well. Take counsel of
our barber, if you cannot devise something for yourself. We
must look as lovely as possible,-it is your duty, mademoiselle,-a duty, I think, that you will perform extremely well."
He meant to have gratified her by this little compliment;
but to his surprise he saw that he had failed to do so, and
that she gravely listened to his advice and silently took her
leave. He could not understand it, for he knew nothing of
her. He did not know that the suggestion with regard to
her hair carried her far away from all that he was hoping
would allure and interest her.
Must she no longer wear her braids smoothly wound about
her head? And Emanuel had so liked her way of wearing
her hair!
She was frightened at finding that the manager's words
served only to call up this memory. There was a spell upon
her. Everything that she thought or did served but to lead
her back to him. She wished she could hate herself, and
hate him; for she could not forget him, although he had so
entirely forgotten her.
CHAPTER     III.
THE two men looked after Hulda with satisfied smiles as she
walked across the square before the theatre to her lodgings.
"A queenly bearing! What natural dignity of carriage, in
spite of those old-fashioned clothes!" exclaimed the manager.
"I have given up the idea of subjecting her to any long
course of training, and allowing her to appear gradually in
subordinate parts, now that I have tested her powers. Her
talent is undeniable. She is very beautiful, and can easily
learn several parts. We shall thus oblige Gabrielle, and perhaps induce her to play for us, that she may see how we have
polished the rough diamond intrusted to our care."




268                    HULDA.
Some discussion ensued as to what further should be done
for Hulda; and the manager requested his director to see, if
he could, that she was well treated.
" I mean," he added, "by the women,-she will soon win
over the men. But Friulein Delmar grows spiteful as she
grows older, and I am not perfectly sure of Feodora in this
case. Women are almost always petty, and entirely unreliable
when their vanity comes into play. The Rosens, where I
have taken Hulda's lodgings, will, I know, treat her kindly,
and we must try to effect in a few weeks what sometimes
needs a couple of years, for the girl is admirably educated,
has a knowledge of the classics, and is of imposing presence.
All of which will make our miracle comparatively easy."
And in fact everything, now that the great step had been
taken, seemed like a miracle to Hulda. Frau Rosen and her
daughter, too, wondered greatly at the interest shown by the
manager in their young lodger.
True, she was very beautiful and very different from all other
beginners whom they had ever known. She was simpler and
more dignified, more reserved and much gentler. But there
must be some additional reason for all this interest, and they
were sure of discovering it by-and-by. Meanwhile they did
what in them lay to bring about as quickly as possible the
desired metamorphosis in Hulda's appearance, and the girl's
cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, and she could not suppress a
self-satisfied smile when she looked at herself in the mirror
after the change had taken place.
" If he could but see me thus!" she thought, and for a moment she exulted in the consciousness that she was beautiful,
far more beautiful than Konradine, so beautiful that she should
like to be seen, that she might enjoy the effect she was certain
of producing.  And with the affectation which is born of
awakened vanity, she asked Beata if she did not think her
ugly in her new dress.
It was the first wilful prevarication she had ever uttered,
the first time she had pretended to what she did not feel.
But, as if her nature were transformed with her dress, she
found a satisfaction in the deceit, and listened with a new delight to the assurances of the mother and daughter that she
was charming.
She could scarcely wait for the time when she was to go to




HULDA.                      269
the theatre, to be present at rehearsal. She went from her
mirror to the window, and back again to the mirror, to convince
herself that it was her own face which she saw there. Was
this the girl whom Ulrika had so despised, who had looked
forward to a life spent in a lonely parsonage, listening to the
dreary beat of the ocean upon the shore, and watching with
longing eyes the flight of the sea-birds?
She did not know how bewitching she looked, as she clapped
her hands like a child at the sound of the music of the band
that accompanied a detachment of soldiers from the garrison
to the parade-ground. Everything pleased her to-day, the
passing equipages, the crowds in the street, yes, even the old
cake-woman at the corner, whose chief interest in life was to
watch the lodgers at the Rosens', and who knew more about
them than some of them would have cared to tell. She had
been on the watch all day long, and had her own thoughts
when she saw the beautiful girl come to the window for the
third or fourth time and look out into the street.
Hulda laughed to see the old woman regard herso attentively,
but she no longer shrank back, as she would have done on
the previous day, when a passer-by looked up at her. She
would have to be looked at; she must lay aside her countrygirl shyness and timidity with her old-fashioned costume.
She must learn to bear herself with freedom and confidence,
like Gabrielle, like the princess and Konradine. How could
she ever appear upon the stage if she were confused by the
gaze of a passer-by? She must, at all hazards, assert herself;
how else could she justify the step she had taken?
The weather was dry and mild, the sky slightly cloudy; but
the sun still shone with a light that well became the fine
old houses, the pointed gables, and the huge towers of the
Rathhaus, as she walked across the square-with a self-possession that would have been impossible a few days beforeand entered the vestibule of the theatre. Several men were
standing together there; they must have known who she was,
for one of them, a young, handsome man, approached her, and,
addressing her by the new name that the manager had given
her, offered to conduct her to the stage.
She followed him through narrow passages, up steps, and
along corridors lighted only by a glimmer of lamplight, that
made fantastic work of the shadows, until they reached the
23*




270                    HULDA.
dimly-illumined stage, before which stretched the dark, mysterious depths of the auditorium. Hulda looked about her,
dismayed by the disorder everywhere. Walls were being
pushed aside on one hand, and on the other a marble balustrade was tottering to its fall. In the background men were
spreading out a canvas that fluttered in the draught of air,
and that looked like anything rather than the blue sky it was
intended to represent. On the right two statues were being
adjusted beneath some shabby trees, and on the left a faded
grassy bank was pushed into the foreground. Ropes hung
down here and there; some boards were lying on the ground;
and among it all the actors and actresses were grouped about,
laughing and talking, while workmen in dirty shirt-sleeves ran
to and fro.
The play in rehearsal was "Tasso," which all the actors had
played over and over again. No one showed any interest in
it, no one said a word about the evening's performance. No
one dreamed what a significance there was for Hulda in the
fact that "Tasso" was to be played on this particular evening.
Surely it was a good omen, for it was in "Tasso" that she
had first seen Gabrielle.
The director was already upon the stage, and came forward
to meet Hulda and her escort as he saw them advance from
the background.
"Aha!" he cried, "you have already found your future
associate, and I am glad to see that even you are not too tall
for our Lelio. Yes, my dear Lelio, you need shun no comparison," he said, gaily, holding out his hand to the young
man, and adding that he was anxious to have mademoiselle soon
undertake some of Feodora's youthful parts. He thought that
if Lelio would help her a little, mademoiselle might try her fortune in a few mfonths; and if she succeeded, they would not
grudge Fr'ulein Delmar the twenty-nine years which she had
for two lustres at least declared to be her age.
" Oh, she will be raging!" Lelio replied; " but let us hope
that she may be induced to give up the idea of undertaking
any of Feodora's youthful parts. The mere thought of playing with her has oppressed me like a nightmare; a nightmare
from which mademoiselle's presence delivers me," he added,
with a gallant bow to Hulda.
He suddenly ceased speaking, however, for a black-haired




H ULDA.                     271
lady, rather under middle size, approached, and was greeted
as Mademoiselle Delmar. She scanned Hulda from top to toe,
contracted her eyebrows as if not able to see her quite distinctly, and finally put up her eye-glass and asked, " Mademoiselle Hulda, I presume, the manager's new protegee?"
Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned away, and
Hulda distinctly heard her remark that it was very easy to
see from her clumsy figure that the young person came from
the country. There was nothing to be done on the stage with
such a figure.
At this moment the manager entered, and with him came a
lady still young and very handsome. She wore a velvet jacket
trimmed with costly far, and as she took off her hat Hulda
saw that there was a jewelled comb in her hair.
After what Frau Rosen and Beata had said, this could be
none other than Feodora. She entered with an air of command that pleased Hulda, for it reminded her of Gabrielle.
The new-comer held out her hand to Lelio, and passed Fraulein Delmar by with a slight inclination. The signal was
given, the lookers-on withdrew among the side-scenes, the
workmen vanished, the rehearsal began, and there stole over
Hulda the same sensation of awed expectation which she had
experienced on the evening when she had seen Gabrielle for
the first time.
The charm of the wondrous poetry again asserted its power
over her. She no longer saw the tawdry trappings of the stage;
the laths and scaffolding vanished; the dead canvas and
painted wood disappeared; majestic trees stretched their evergreen boughs towards heaven, and roses bloomed beneath an
Italian sky. Her delight, her enthusiasm, grew with every
scene. The play was well cast. Feodora was a lovely princess,
and Lelio, with his tall, slender figure and distinguished air, his
delicate profile and wealth of chestnut curls, was everything
that could be desired for a Tasso. All seemed well pleased
with themselves, and, as far as was possible, with one another.
In the pause between the first and second acts, the manager,
who sustained the part of the duke, perceived Hulda, and addressed a few words to her. Meanwhile Lelio said to Feodora, with whom he was upon the best of terms, " Have you
seen her? There she is,-Gabrielle's daughter."




272                    HULDA.
"Is she really as like her as they say?"
"Very like, only much more beautiful than the mother ever
could have been. She will make an exquisite Juliet. The
Delmar was in a fury when she saw her."
"And fury certainly does not become her, or make her look
m;ch younger," said Feodora, with a laugh, as, accompanied
by Lelio, she walked directly across the stage towards Hulda.
It was so unlike her to treat an unknown stranger thus that
the manager could not but admire the gracious way in which
she addressed the astonished girl. "Did I not tell you the
other day," he said to the director, " that there was no reliance to be placed upon Feodora?"
" A passing whim,-nothing but curiosity," the confidant
replied. But Feodora was animated by no whim in what she
did. She knew perfectly well what she wished and what she
intended her amiability should effect.
She admired G-abrielle, imitated her as far as she could, and
loved her after her fashion. Sharing in the universal belief
that Hulda was Gabrielle's child, she determined to act the
part of a friend to the beautiful girl, especially as she knew
that by so doing she should irritate Fraulein Delmar, whom
she cordially disliked. She was still young enough not to
dread a comparison with youth and beauty, and the time was
at hand when, as one of the wealthiest women in the city, she
should have it in her power to extend patronage instead of
craving it.
With the most amiable condescension, she asked Hulda
when she had last heard from her protectress, adding that it was
surely the best earnest of future success to be befriended by a
Gabrielle. Then she observed how happy she should be to be
of service to her so far as her duties at the theatre and her
engagements with her future bridegroom would at present permit, while in the future she trusted to be of real assistance to
her.
She uttered the last words loud enough to be overheard by
Fraulein Delmar, who remarked, with a scornful smile, to the
actor by her side, " Feodora is queening it again to-day upon
the strength of the Van Vlies money."
"And yet she will sometimes long to be back again," he
replied.
" Sometimes?" cried the lady. " She will die of ennui in her




HULDA.                      273
gilded cage, which you may be sure she would never enter if
she did not feel that her time had gone by, and that Van Vlies
would soon tire of bribing the claqueurs. She cannot live
away from the stage or without a public to coquette with."
"Oh," said Lelio, "I believe she will like very well to sit
comfortably in her proscenium-box and look down upon us all,
applauding you and me now and then as she may see fit."
The lady turned away in disgust, and the rehearsal went on
to its close; after which the manager took Hulda into his
study to give her the parts he wished her to commit to memory, and the girl went cheerfully home, without a suspicion
that already, without any action on her part, there was a clique
in her favour, and that she was regarded with hostility in
certain quarters.
With the artlessness of a child, she related what had occurred to Frau Rosen and Beata, and they, to her great
surprise, had reasons ready for all that had amazed or pleased
her. They spoke of Feodora's liaison with the man she was
about to marry, and of Fraulein Delmar's passion for the
handsome Lelio, who was proof against her wiles, since he
was in love with a woman of rank, who would not listen to
his suit. And they repeated much more gossip of the same
kind in connection with the other actors and actresses attached
to the theatre; their words, innuendoes, and terms of expression all sounded easy and natural, as if what they conveyed
were not too often directly opposed to morals and decorum,
and as if the license which seemed to reign in these circles
were the rule of the world. As she listened, a disagreeable
memory was awakened in Hulda's pure mind.
Only once before in her life had she heard such words.
And yet to-day she did not shrink from all that these women
said, as she had done from Michael in the forest. The beautiful Feodora, the handsome Lelio, the wealthy merchant, and
Fraulein Delmar's jealousy interested her. The conversation
occupied her, and she was at once attracted and repelled by
it. But she had no answer for the question that she could
not but put to herself: "What would your good old father,
your pious mother, the curate, and the bailiff, what would
Emanuel think, could they be by your side at this moment
ind listen to what these people are telling you?"
Emanuel?  Whose fault was it but his that she was here?..4




274                    HULDA.
He had always compared her to the fair daughter of Ceres.
Now she had tasted the ill-omened fruit of the pomegranate,
and belonged to the world where it grew; henceforth that
world must be hers; she could and would not leave it.
She set herself at work to study the parts that had been
given her. It was a pleasure to commit them to memory, and
she ceased only when the time came to go in the evening to
the theatre, where the excellent representation of "Tasso"
completed the spell thrown around her.
Early the next morning she carried to the post a letter to
the bailiff, announcing her firm determination to go upon the
stage.
CHAPTER IV.
AFTER his brother's death, Emanuel instantly began his
journey to his ancestral castle, only allowing himself a few
days to visit Konradine in her retreat. The betrothed pair
resolved that, out of respect to the memory of the elder brother,
their betrothal should not be publicly announced until the new
year, and that the marriage should take place some time in the
spring. Meanwhile, the countess was to spend the winter in
the capital at her own house, where she had invited Frau von
Wildenau and her daughter to visit her, and where it would
be easy for Emanuel to see his betrothed from time to time.
At present he pursued his journey towards his Lithuanian
home, at ease in his mind, finding unwonted satisfaction in the
consciousness that, for the first time in his life, a task was
actually allotted him.
His betrothal with Konradine, the death of his only brother,
and his consequent inheritance of the family estates, all occurring in quick succession, formed a new epoch in his life.
Until now he had enjoyed the fullest freedom of action, and
had been governed as to his pursuits by his own inclinations
alone. Now there was a duty in life for him to perform, that
would materially interfere with the liberty he had so prized.
But, to his surprise, it cost him very little to resign this liberty;




IIULDA.                     275
and as he drew near to his northern home he found himself
looking forward with eagerness to his arrival there, although
he knew that only desolate apartments and mournful reminiscences awaited him.
At the last post-station his own horses were in readiness.
The coachman and outriders were all strangers to him. It
was years since he had seen his home, and it was long since
his brother had made any stay there. The farms had been
leased, and the leases were running out. It was necessary
that he should look after his inheritance.
The sun was setting when he reached the bank of the river
that bounded his estate on the hither side. The boat that
was to carry him across was awaiting him, and the tones of
a melancholy song, with which the boatmen were beguiling
the time, fell upon his ear even before he could see the water.
He had known the song from boyhood, but he had heard it
not long ago. How well he remembered the day and the
hour, and how it had moved him, when Hulda had first sung
it to him!
The boatmen pressed forward to offer their services to their
lord. The old man at their head had been boatman here all
his life long. He had rowed Emanuel across when he was a
child in his mother's arms. He could speak very little German, but he persisted, in spite of all that Emanuel could do,
in kissing his master's coat and hands. Although the new
lord understood the Lithuanian tongue but imperfectly, he
could comprehend enough of what these people said to know
that they were congratulating themselves and one another
upon the better times that were to follow their master's return
to his own home, to live there as his forefathers had done.
In the darkening night, over the broad road already hardening with the frost, his four horses bore him through the
forest of huge old pines, until the village on its borders was
passed, and he drove into his court-yard, where the flickering
light of pine torches gave glimpses of the massive walls of
his ancestral home.
The castellan had done all that he could. He had served
under Emanuel's father, and knew the customs of the house.
The room that the baron had formerly occupied was ready
for him now, and everything had been arranged as comfortably
as possible. But the halls were so spacious and empty, every




276                    HULDA.
footstep echoed so drearily from the marble floors, the light
from the heavy lanterns hanging from the ceiling threw such
a pale gleam upon the iron balustrades of the galleries, that
Emanuel thought with involuntary regret of his beautiful
home by the Lake of Geneva, and could not suppress a shudder as he remembered that he was the last of the direct line
of his ancient race. The castle was as desolate and gloomy
as a burial-vault, and the forced cheerfulness of the tenants,
the tears of his brother's people when they saw him, were not
calculated to increase his comfort. But what of that?  He
was not here for the sake of his own ease, but to fulfil his
duty as the lord of the land, to found a new home for Konradine, his future wife, a Falkenhorst that should rival all
that it had ever been in past ages; and he felt his courage
rise for the work that lay before him.
There certainly was work enough to be done, as he became
fully aware on his first glance from his windows, his first ride
through the village, his first talk with his agent and the
pastor.
The invalid condition of the former lord of the castle had
for many years prevented his taking any interest in his estates,
and abuses had crept into their management which it distressed
Emanuel to contemplate. After talking with his agent and
the pastor, he mounted his horse and rode around among his
tenantry, where everything confirmed the melancholy accounts
he had just heard.
He could not bear to tell Konradine of the want and ignorance among his people until he had devised some means for
bettering their condition, and therefore, in a few days, he rode
over to visit his neighbour, one of the wealthiest and most
thrifty land-owners and landlords in all the country round,
sure that from him he should obtain valuable counsel and
advice.
His welcome from old Herr von Barnefeld was cordial in
tLe extreme. He had been an intimate friend of Emanuel's
father, and was delighted to know that the son of his old
neighbour intended to make his home upon his paternal estate.
His own children were all married and established in homes
of their own, with the exception of the youngest son, who,
with his family, lived in his father's house, which, by the
consent of his brothers and sisters, was to fall to him at his




HULDA.                      277
father's death, since none of the Barnefeld property was entailed.
The old man was rejoiced to do all that he could to assist
Emanuel with his knowledge and experience in the improve.
ment of his property, and in a short time affairs began to wear
a far more cheering aspect. There was also much to be done
in and around the castle in order to make it a fitting home for
his bride. The hours of each day vanished he could scarcely
tell how. He enjoyed even the fatigue that evening brought.
Every week made his work more interesting to him, and his
letters to Konradine were full of an interest in practical matters and affairs of the world around him, of which, when she
had first known him, she would hardly have believed him
capable. As he developed new energy and devotion to his
work, she was inspired by a faith in him, a reliance upon him,
unknown to her before. MucI of this apparently new capacity
for labour was, of course, due to the improvement in his health,
which seemed to be thoroughly re-established. The prophecies
of the physicians were verified in the entire disappearance of
all the ominous symptoms that had distressed his sister and his
friends.
The countess had, immediately after her son's marriage,
established herself in her town-house, in the capital of her
native province, whither Frau von Wildenau shortly followed
her; and towards the close of the year Konradine took her
final departure from the cloister and joined her mother at her
friend's house.
The late count's relatives and her large circle of friends
welcomed the countess with joy, but as she was in mourning
for her brother, and as Konradine, as a future member of the
family, also wore mourning, the house could not be thrown
open as in former times. Still, there was a joyful event in
prospect-Emanuel's marriage.   Neither the countess nor
Frau von Wildenau was addicted to retirement, and the presence in the house of a future bride gave occasion for constant
society, which grew more brilliant as the season advanced.
Although the countess and Konradine abstained from taking
part in any large entertainments, confining themselves entirely to receiving guests at home, there was nothing to prevent Frau von Wildenau from enjoying society to the full;
and night after night she would return from brilliant balls
24




278                    HULDA.
and fetes to enliven the comparative retirement of her friend
and daughter with her account of the evening.
On one such occasion the future sisters-in-law, whose affection for each other had greatly increased from their present
community of interests, were still sitting together over the
tea-table, when Frau von Wildenau returned, much earlier
than was her wont, from a ball given by the wife of the general in command. Fearing that some sudden illness was the
cause of her return, Konradine went hastily to meet her, but
her mother assured her that she was perfectly well, and had
only been agitated by some news which had been brought by
a courier to the general just before the ball, and which his
wife's imprudence had allowed to transpire.
"There will be an end to all festivities for a time, since the
court is going into mourning for three weeks," she said, and
then paused, in so meaning a way that the others felt sure
that the news she was about to impart bore some reference to
them.
" Is any one of the reigning family dead, then?" asked the
countess.
"Unfortunately, yes," replied Frau von Wildenau. " And,
if one were not conscientiously opposed to saying or thinking
anything of the kind, one would say it was a vengeance of
Fate. I, at least, although I still admit the force of the
reasons which influenced his family and induced Prince Frederick himself to treat Konradine as he did, cannot forbear the
thought that this is a Nemesis."
" The prince is not dead?" cried Konradine, with a terror
that she could not conceal.
"No, not the prince; but the princess has just died in her
confinement, and the child is dead also," replied her mother.
" The general's wife, who was much attached to her, was terribly shocked. She could not appear at the ball, and of course
there was a gloom cast over the assembly. I was much moved,
for it seemed to me a Nemesis."
Konradine, during her mother's remarks, had regained her
composure. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and, with
a haughty curl of her lip, she said, " I see no Nemesis in the
matter. The prince has attained the honour he looked for
from a marriage with the niece of a sovereign. The loss of
an insignificant, unloved wife will distress him as little as the




HULDA.                      279
loss of his child.  He is, and always will be, the nephew of
a king, a fact of which he seems to me the very man to take
every advantage in the future."
She took up her embroidery with apparent equanimity.
The countess, whose kindred character enabled her to understand what was passing within her, admired the resolute bearing, the instant self-control, of her brother's betrothed. She
came to her assistance with a question as to whether Frau von
Wildenau had a suitable dress for the occasion,-had she
brought a mourning toilette with her? and perfectly succeeded
in diverting the conversation from its former subject.
CHAPTER V.
WHEN Hulda wrote to the bailiff of her determination,
she timidly wondered how he would receive the intelligence,
and whether he would do anything, or what he would do,
to induce her to desist from what she knew well enough
would outrage his ideas of respectability, decorum, and even
morals. She was hardly surprised that he made no reply
whatever to her communication; but, instead of a letter from
him, there arrived one from the young pastor, to whom the
bailiff had evidently gone for advice and sympathy in his
surprise and distress. The warnings and entreaties, however,
of which the young man's letter consisted, inspired though
they were by the tenderest care for her spiritual welfare, only
grieved Hulda, without making any decided impression upon
her. She had said it all to herself; before the charm of her
new life had taken her captive. Now that she had succumbed
to it, she could no longer look back or think of retracing her
steps. She must pass on to the goal that seemed nearer and
nearer to her desiring eyes.
The director had spoken of Feodora's amiable welcome to
iHulda as the result of a "passing whim;" but, to the astonishment of every one, the whim did not pass. Before long she had
induced the manager to intrust to her alone Hulda's training for
her first appearance, and to allow her to select the part in which




280                    HULDA.
that appearance should be made. He willingly granted her
these requests, for he felt confident that her prudence as well
as her vanity would guard her against any mistake that could
imperil the position she had so long held in the favour of the
public.
Feodora was perfectly aware that praise too lavishly bestowed excites human expectation to a pitch that even the
finest and best will fail to satisfy, and she also knew how
powerful a stimulus is unsatisfied curiosity.  Therefore she
advised her new pupil, who, however, hardly needed the advice,
to confine herself closely to her work, to avoid intercourse
with her associates for the present, and to go but seldom to
the theatre. Even Feodora's future husband and her most
intimate friends scarcely ever saw Hulda, and they expressed
themselves very guardedly concerning her. The desired end
was attained. People grew curious about Hulda; they asked
what Feodora meant by her mysterious conduct, and finally
came to the conclusion that she was contriving how to produce
a great effect when she should bid farewell to the stage. They
were not mistaken.
Feoddra was heart and soul an actress. To act was a necessity of her nature. She would sometimes give an artistic
presentation of herself, with all her whims and moods, as if it
had been some part written for the stage; indeed, her friend
the doctor was right when he said that she really felt nothing
except what she pretended to feel, and that she was in earnest
only when she was jesting.
Her contract expired at the close of the year, and she was
to bid farewell to the stage as " Thekla," in "Wallenstein's
Death," the part in which, years before, she had first appeared
before her present public.
The day of this last appearance had arrived; every seat was
taken, and the manager had decided that a short farewell
address must be made upon the stage to the heroine of the
evening. -The morning rehearsal had already begun, when a
whisper went around the theatrical company that Feodora contemplated a great surprise for the public in the evening. At
first it was laughed at, for all knew of the little scene that
was arranged for the close of the tragedy, when Lelio was to
recite the poem that the doctor had written, and to present
to Feodora a laurel-wreath from her associates in art, and no




HULDA.                      281
irme had been allowed for any unexpected display upon Feodora's part. But when it became known that the manager,
Lelio, and the director had been continually with Feodora
within the last few days, and had supped with her on the
previous evening, in company with Herr Van der Vlies
Herr Hochbrecht, and the doctor, and that Hulda had read
for them to their great satisfaction, there was a wide-spread
curiosity, and also some uneasiness, with regard to Feodora's
intentions. One of the actors supposed, with a sneer, that
Feodora was to appear as Melpomene, another said that a ship
belonging to Van der Vlies & Co. was to be represented,
sailing towards her, offering her symbolically the treasures
of Potosi, and bearing her away as the future queen of Golconda. There was no end of jests and surmises upon the
subject; but when Lelio was questioned, it appeared that
Hulda was not to make her debut as "Kiathchen von Heilbronn," as had been the manager's original intention, but first
as "Emilia Galotti," and afterwards as "Luise Miller" and
"Thekla."
"Why have I not been told this before, since I shall have
to play with her?" cried Fraulein Delmar, with whom Orsina
and Lady Melfort were favorite r6les; and, turning to the
manager, she declared, with much temper, that she was not
inclined to assist in a surprise for the public that was likely
to prove a wretched failure. She should lend herself to no
representation that would inevitably be ruined by the awkwardness of a beginner.
"Well, then, I must do my best to find some one who will
play the parts," said the manager, with a calmness and even
indifference that startled her and made her uncertain what to
do. She would have questioned Feodora, but would not give
her the satisfaction of seeing that she was disturbed.
Meanwhile the rehearsal went on, and the two women conducted themselves as usual towards each other.  Fraulein
Delmar said nothing to Feodora that could betray her irritation until just as she was about to leave the theatre, when
she encountered the favourite with Lelio in the vestibule.
Then she addressed them with great lack of courtesy, saying,
" The next time that you devise schemes without consulting
me, I must beg you not to depend upon me for aid in their
fulfilment. I am not inclined to sacrifice myself to this new
24*




282                   IHULDA.
goddess whom you wish to introduce to the public. I refuse
to play in such a farce."
"Indeed?" Feodora replied, as if disagreeably surprised by
what had been said. "I am sorry to hear it. What is to be
done? You know how much I am interested in the dear
child for the sake of Gabrielle, who sent her to us."  She
paused for a moment, and then added, as if prompted by a
sudden idea, " Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I must
play with Hulda."
"You?" Fraulein Delmar cried, scornfully. " My parts?
After solemnly taking leave of the stage? As Madame Van
der Vlies, perhaps?"
Feodora replied, with the air of languid distinction that
she so well knew how to assume, " You seem to think it so
impossible that you tempt me to try. You know I am ambitious and vain, and originality and novelty possess great
charms for me." And with a graceful inclination she left
the theatre with Lelio.
In the evening the house was crammed. All were anxious
to do homage to the universal favourite. Every calumnious
whisper with regard to her previous life was forgotten, and
Herr Van der Vlies was envied the possession of a bride so
gifted and so lovely.
The curtain rose again after the close of the tragedy, disclosing a scene representing a garden where were assembled
the entire company.  Lelio's reading of the farewell poem
and Feodora's graceful acceptance of the laurel-wreath enchanted the public. But in the midst of the applause, while
the costliest flowers were raining upon her, and a chorus of
"bravas" was filling the theatre, the favourite advanced to the
foot-lights, and by a gesture entreated silence. In an instant
a profound quiet reigned in the crowded house, and Feodora,
after saying a few words by way of thanks for the kindness
and encouragement that had always been extended to her,
added, that to bid adieu to all present was very painful to her,
and that she longed in some way to testify her gratitude;
wherefore she had asked and received permission from the
manager to appear as a guest upon that stage in three more
representations. She should take that opportunity of presenting to them her pupil, who she hoped would be her successor in their favour; and she entreated them to extend to the




HULDA.                      283
young debutante the same forbearance that had made her
own theatrical career in the city which was to be her future
home a constant enjoyment to her.
A storm of applause followed her little address, with its
welcome announcement, and the curtain fell.
As the audience left the house, they read on huge placards
in the vestibule that, before the close of the present month,
Feodora would appear, as a guest, in the parts of Orsina,
Lady Melfort, and the Countess Terzky; and that Mademoiselle Hulda Vollmer would make her debut with her, as
Emilia, Louisa, and Thekla.
CHAPTER VL
THE rehearsals for these three performances began the next
day, and great was the demand for seats. The manager was
charmed with Feodora's sagacity, for every one was talking
of her, and of her lovely pupil, who was seen in the morning
driving to the theatre with her. The first rehearsal far surpassed the manager's expectations, and made a great impression upon the other actors.
Fraulein Delmar shut herself up, and said that she was ill,
and the manager was not disposed at present to grudge her the
repose that her real or imaginary indisposition required.
Feodora was the heroine of the day. Every one and all
things conspired to do her homage. Those of the company
who were to sustain subordinate parts on the three evenings
were determined to do their best to support worthily their
former associate, who on the eve of retiring to a life of ease
and luxury had shown such an enthusiasm for her profession. No one thought of Fraulein Delmar, except to
laugh at her ill temper.
The evening at last arrived upon which Hulda was to
appear for the first time before the public as Emilia, that
being the part selected for her on this occasion by Feodora.
The first act and the first five scenes of the second act of
Lessing's great drama had gone smoothly and well-Claudia




284                     HULDA.
Galotti had just uttered her doubts with regard to her hus.
band-when the door in the background was hurriedly thrown
open, and with hasty steps, "in great distress," as the poet
describes her, Emilia comes upon the scene.
Her first words, "Thank God! thank God! Here I am
in safety. Or has he followed me?" burst from Hulda's lips
with wonderful effect, startled and terrified as she was by her
first sight of the crowded auditorium, where her own voice
was the only sound to be heard. The timidity, the confusion,
which even the most gifted beginner cannot at first overcome,
the faltering step, the uncertain glance, and the slight tremor
in the voice, all served to heighten the display of Emilia's
passionate distress. -The public were astounded by such a
natural rendering of the part by a debutante; and when
Emilia, hastily throwing aside the veil that had hidden her
face, disclosed features of exquisite beauty, a murmur of
delight ran through the house, causing Hulda's heart to throb
with a wild sense of triumph.
Feodora had chosen well. No other part could have shown
to such advantage Hulda's culture, talent, and beauty. Her
gradual advance in freedom and ease of expression after the
beginning of the scene belonged entirely to the character that
she represented; the audience were carried along with her;
and when Feodora appeared as Orsina, more attractive than
ever, interpreting her part so cleverly that one seemed to understand for the first time what a finished artist she was, the
applause was overwhelming.
Teacher and pupil were called before the curtain again and
again at the close of the piece. Both audience and manager
felt that HIulda was all that was needed to supply Feodora's
place.  Of course, Fraulein Delmar would do what she could
to surpass the favourite's brilliant performance. Everything
looked smiling and bright; and when Hulda threw herself, in
the dressing-room, at Feodora's feet in a passion of gratitude,
the retiring favourite clasped her in her arms with a maternal
tenderness that became her so well that she could.not help
regretting that this scene also had not been played upon the
stage.
The other performances followed the first in quick succession, and the two heroines reaped the laurels in " Wallenstein" and " Cabal and Love" that their first appearance




HULDA.                      285
together had justified all in expecting. These three extra
performances of Feodora's had been permitted by her bridegroom, Herr Van der Vlies, only upon condition that their
marriage should take place on the day succeeding the last of
them. It was to be extremely private, and immediately afterwards the newly-married pair were to start upon the grand
tour, not to return for a year; such absence from the scene
of Feodora's triumphs and from all her former associates being
judged best for her by Herr Van der Vlies.
Feodora had acquiesced in this arrangement; indeed, she
could hardly desire that any great parade should be made
of her marriage with a man with whom her relations had
been more than equivocal for some years. She had stipulated,
however, for permission to give a supper after her last appearance on the stage, to mark the boundary between the life of
freedom she had hitherto enjoyed and the quiet existence she
was to lead in future.
For this supper she had, with the lavish generosity which
Van der Vlies had long supplied her with the means of displaying, presented Hulda with an evening-dress of the richest
materials, and immediately after the close of the evening's
performance Hulda drove with her to her house, where Feodora's maid was at their service to array them for the little
reunion.
The manager, the director, Lelio, and several other of
Feodora's most intimate male friends were already in her
brilliantly-lighted drawing-room when the mistress of the
house with her young companion joined them, Feodora magnificently dressed, and Hulda in a pink silk, with bare neck
and arms, and with roses in her hair,-a riddle and % wonder
to herself in her novel splendour.
The doors of the adjoining dining-room were then thrown
open, disclosing the supper-table, glittering with plate and
glass and adorned with costly flowers and fruit.  Feodora
took the manager's proffered arm and requested her betrothed
to conduct Hulda to the table, where Hochbrecht sat on the
girl's other hand, and Lelio opposite.
That very morning she had signed a contract with conditions greatly in her favour, by which the manager engaged
her for the next two years as a member of his company. She
was now an actress, free and independent. This was the first




286                     HULDA.
fete she had ever seen where she was upon an equality with the
other guests,-the first in which she had freely received the
attentions and homage of the other sex. She knew she was
beautiful; this evening she was told so repeatedly. Every
one present seemed to possess a kind of right and title in
her; and when the words of praise addressed to her, the looks
directed towards her, made her temples throb and her cheeks
glow, she did not dare to east down her eyes. She must learn
to rule this circle with her glance, as did Feodora, whose place
here she was to fill, and who had told her that she must do
all she could to secure the friendship of the doctor and of
Hochbrecht; they could be of service to her in the future.
And she must also win over Lelio and secure the good will of
the manager and the director. She must be amiable and
obliging, that she might attain her aims.
There had always been something offensive to her sense of
truth and delicacy in these counsels of Feodora's, but the
desire to test their efficacy to insure herself friends and supporters when Feodora should have departed was strong within
her. The influence of the moment was also powerful, and
when the manager, who was an admirable mimic, told his best
stories and incited even Feodora's grave lover to merriment, 
how could Hulda resist the contagion?
The few drops of wine that she tasted, the talking and
laughing around her, the compliments to her beauty, even her
own face as she saw it reflected, crowned with flowers, from an
opposite mirror, helped to intoxicate her, as it were. She sat
amid the gay gods of Olympus; the old life by the dreary sea,
where she had been too grave for some, too frivolous for
others, had vanished forever.  Friends and admirers surrounded her, the future laughed before her, and she felt that
she was born to enjoy the present.
She sat quite silent for a time, for she had no brilliant tales
to tell, and she had not yet learned the art of laughing cleverly at others for the entertainment of their friends. It vexed
her, for she longed to be as animated and witty as Feodora,
whose eyes rivalled the diamonds in her ears and on her neck.
Feodora also would have had her pupil less silent, for in a
gay assemblage it is not pleasant to feel one's self the object
of the calm observation which always seems to lurk behind
silence on the part of some one present, and it happened for



HULDA.                      287
tunately, therefore, that one of the guests, Herr Philibert, a
young and wealthy friend of Van der Vlies, told of some little
adventure that had befallen him in Esthland, and brought
into his narrative two or three words in the Esthland dialect.
Feodora asked what they meant, and turned for an explanation. of them to Hulda, who replied that she was entirely
ignorant of the Esthland tongue, although she understood, as
Feodora was aware, something of Lithuanian. Then, as a
matter of course, Feodora asked her to sing for her friends a
couple of Lithuanian songs that she had already sung for her.
Hulda readily complied, and seated herself at the piano.
But, as she was running her beautiful hands over the keys
by way of prelude, she reflected that the melancholy melodies
which she had been accustomed to sing would be out of place
in this gay scene, and yet she hardly liked to sing the few
dancing-songs which she knew from having copied them for
Emanuel's collection, but which she had never sung. However, there was no choice left her, and she sang with great
brilliancy and freedom of expression the verse:
"Leave sighing and sorrow;
Why think on the morrow?
Let us dance and be merry to-day,
With stockings and shoes,
Or without if you choose;
What's the odds? let us dance while we may."
She sang it first in Lithuanian and afterwards in German;
then, incited by the applause and admiration with which it
was greeted, she sang another that she had never sung before;
and, as every one was in the mood to find whatever she
did charming, there was no bounds to the enthusiasm of her
auditors. She was induced to sing German and French songs;
and Feodora's two old friends, Hochbrecht and the doctor,
declared that they now swore allegiance to her standard, since
Feodora had forsaken them; while Feodora laughingly released
them from their vow of allegiance to her, bidding them to be
constant and true to her successor.
Lelio proposed a toast: " La reine s'en va! WVive la reine!"
And at last, long past midnight, Philibert, who was captivated
by Hulda's beauty and loveliness, drove the young debutante
home in his carriage, and as he helped her to descend fiom it




288                    HULDA.
imprinted a kiss upon her bare arm, from which she shrank in
a kind of terror.
She could not sleep for a long while, for a sense of triumph,
mingled with many agitating reminiscences and fantastic
images, filled the chambers of her brain.
Everything swam before her eyes in a flood of golden light
such as streamed into the hall on the afternoon when she had
first seen Emanuel's picture. She was fairly dazzled by the
brilliancy around her, in which no outline was distinct; this
very indistinctness, however, charmed and fascinated her.
Lelio's beauty, Philibert's gallantry, the extravagant homage
of Feodora's friends, all delighted her. If only Philibert
had not escorted her home! if only she had not sung those
songs! She heard the melodies in her dreams, but it was not
she who sang them. They echoed through the silence of a
summer night above the quiet shrubbery and lawn of the castle
park, floating from the windows of his room where the light
had long been extinguished.
CHAPTER VII.
THE year was within a few hours of its close, and all was
so quiet in the countess's house that the ticking of the clocks
could be heard, and even the footsteps of the servants in the
carpeted corridors were distinctly audible.
Frau von Wildenau was reclining on a lounge, watching the
quivering flame of the fire on the hearth, while in the next
room, the door of which was open, Konradine was sitting at
her writing-table. Suddenly her mother arose, and, stretching
her arms above her head, gave utterance to a sigh so profound
that it was almost a cry, and her daughter started up in terror
and came into the room, asking what was the matter.
"Nothing, nothing," was the reply.. "Go on with your
letter; don't let me disturb you."
"But you cried out, dearest mother," said Konradine.
"I was only seeing whether I really am alive," her mother
made answer, with a laugh; " whether I really am myself, and




HIULDA.                     289
in the full possession of my senses; for the superhuman order
and regularity of this household fairly paralyze me. I forget
how to move or even to think. As I lay there and watched
you write, and thought,'Now she is going to seal that letter
and put it on the corner of the chimney-piece, where the
countess leaves her letters, and to-morrow, just at nine o'clock,
the servant will march in to take the letters and ask for orders,
I was seized with such a weariness of this measured existence
that I was tempted to snatch all those letters and throw them
into the fire, that there might be some interruption to the
wooden regularity that prevails here. Indeed, I am counting
the hours until your marriage; for both of us are rapidly
growing old under this influence."
" And yet order is a great saving of time, and in a certain
sense lengthens life," remarked her daughter.
" There! that very observation is a sign that you are growing
old," said her mother, hastily. "You would never have made
it before you entered that order and spent so much time with
the countess. When did youth ever take heed of time, except
to wish it away, that some hoped-for enjoyment might draw
near? Age hoards time because so little is left to it."
She walked quickly to and fro in the room; but Konradine
did not reply. She knew that it was best not to remonstrate
with her mother in such moods; but she had scarcely seated
herself by the fire when Frau von Wildenau began again.
"While you were writing, I could not help remembering
that New Year's eve when we were overturned in the snow and
took shelter in the countess's castle. What a cordial welcome
Emanuel gave us then! And to-night?"
"You forget the loss the countess has sustained this year,"
said Konradine.
Her mother would not admit that to be any excuse. " I am
often accused of selfishness," she said; " and yet I have never
intruded my own sorrows or trials upon others, and I cannot
see that any one has a right to do so. The countess's elder
brother is dead, it is true, but Emanuel is still alive, and it
seems to me that it is his duty to enliven your New Year's eve
for you."
"He is very busy, and the season is inclement," Konradine
replied, as if in excuse of Emanuel's absence.
Her mother laid her hand upon her shoulder. " How grave
N                    25




290                    HULDA.
and self-sacrificing that sounds! Your voice had quite a different ring in it on that New Year's eve when you stood before
the mirror in the castle, knotting up your hair that had fallen
over your shoulders. You were gayer then than now."
"Gayer, perhaps, but not in such harmony with myself,not so secure of the future as at present."
Frau von Wildenau left her daughter's side, and stood gazing
into the fire; but after a pause she said, looking Konradine
full in the face, "You say you are in harmony with yourself. That might do very well for the canoness with the cross
of her order on her breast. But in the world we require more,
and you are not perfectly happy!"
Konradine shrank at these words, but replied, hastily,
"Who that knows what life is can expect to be perfectly
happy?"
"We do not expect it, and yet we all desire it," answered
her mother. "This is what troubles me. Will you be content all your life long with the friendship and esteem that
exist between Emanuel and yourself? I was glad when you
wrote me of your betrothal; but now that I am with you, now
that I remember that my blood flows in your veins, I must ask
you, as your mother, while there is still time, Do you love
Emanuel? Shall you be happy with him? Shall you always
bless the evening that carried us to that castle in the north?"
At that moment a post-boy's horn broke the stillness. The
two ladies hurried to the window. There was a loud ringing
at the garden-gate. The castellan hastened to open it, and by
the glare of the carriage-lamps they recognized Emanuel's light
vehicle as it drew up before the door.
Konradine hurried down-stairs and threw herself into his
arms. She thanked Heaven that he had come, lavished terms
of endearment upon him, and conducted him up-stairs in
triumph.
The whole house was infused with new life. The countess
was delighted to see her brother looking so strong and well,
and the surprise had the effect of instantly reconciling Frau
von Wildenau to her future son-in-law. She herself related
amusingly how cross and melancholy it had made her to spend
the last hours of the year without any pleasant occurrence to
enliven them, and how she had even gone the length of addressing a solemn exhortation to Konradine, begging her to




HULDA.                     291
reflect while it was yet time whether she really could endure
a quiet life on Emanuel's northern estates.
She was charming as she thus ridiculed herself, and Konradine looked very happy, and seemed never to tire of thanking her betrothed for the pleasant New Year's eve he had
prepared for her.
CHAPTER VIII.
"YOUR brother really looks like a different man," Frau von
Wildenau remarked to the countess, a few days afterwards, as
the two ladies stood at the window, watching the betrothed
pair drive off to make some visits in the town. " Even Konradine, who professes to be above such considerations, asked
me yesterday if I did not think Emanuel much finer-looking
than formerly."
The countess made no reply. She herself thought Emanuel
very much changed for the better, but this frank allusion to
such a change on the part of the baroness displeased her, and
the idea that Konradine had spoken of it to her mother, who
would very likely repeat what she had said to Emanuel himself, was still more annoying. Had not Konradine been content hitherto with Emanuel's exterior? Had she not found
enough to satisfy her in his expressive eyes and in the nobility
of his features? Or had it been impossible for her to forget
the manly beauty of the prince?
The countess had a very high opinion of Emanuel's betrothed, but for a moment she could not forbear the thought
that in this case the simple child of nature, the pastor's
daughter, Hulda, had been her superior. Hulda had loved
Emanuel unconditionally, with no thought of exterior advantages or disadvantages.
It was long since she had thought of Hulda, but, now that
she was suddenly reminded of her, she wondered that she had
heard nothing of her marriage, —that the young pastor had
said nothing of it in the letter of thanks she had received
from him; and she determined to question the bailiff, who was
coming up to town shortly, concerning the young girl.




292                    HULDA.
Emanuel's visit was protracted longer than had at first been
intended by him, and the time for his marriage was arranged
for an early date in spring. A few days before his departure,
as he was sitting after supper with the countess and her guests,
the servant brought in the evening paper and a weekly journal
partly devoted to dramatic criticism and intelligence. Emanuel
took up the paper, while Frau von Wildenau turned over the
leaves of the journal.
"Here is an article," she said to the others, "that really
gives us some hope for the future with regard to our German
stage. I think it is Hochbrecht's, for I recognize several remarks that he made to me when I met him in B       last
year, when he had just learned that Feodora was really about
to resign her profession. It appears from this that a week after
she had left the stage she reappeared upon it three times for
the purpose of introducing to the public a pupil of her own
and of Gabrielle's, a Mademoiselle Hulda Vollmer. This girl
played Emilia, Thekla, and Louisa Miller with extraordinary
dramatic power, and this article extols not only her talent,
but also her great beauty."  She then read aloud: "A tall,
majestic form, a head and colouring reminding us of Titian's
pictures, and a mobility of feature which, combined with the
expressive glance of large blue eyes, is capable of portraying
a wide range of emotion, make Mademoiselle Vollmer a rarely
attractive actress. With the exception of the incomparable
Gabrielle, we do not remember to have ever seen such an
Emilia upon the stage."
Konradine made some jesting remark upon the excitability
of theatrical critics, and mourned that the hopes they raised
were so often doomed to disappointment, and a lively discussion as to various actresses ensued on the part of the three
ladies, in the course of which Emanuel was appealed to by
Konradine for his opinion.
To her astonishment, she found that he had not been
attending to the conversation, for he passed his hand once or
twice through his thick curls, as was his habit when striving
to collect his thoughts, and asked, " My opinion? What
about?  What was my sister saying?"
When the baroness and her daughter had bidden goodnight, and retired to their rooms, he lingered with his sister,
who was gathering together a few scattered trifles in her work



HULDA.                     293
basket, and suddenly asked her whether she had lately heard
anything of Hulda.
The countess was not surprised at this question; in fact,
she had rather wondered that he had not made any inquiries of this kind before, for she knew how true he was to the
memory of all whom he had ever loved; but she hardly
liked to confess that she knew nothing about the girl, and
therefore replied to his question by another, inquiring what
had put it into his mind to ask about Hulda just at that
moment..
"I should think you would know," he answered,-" the
name of the young actress of whom we have just heard, and
the striking resemblance of the description of her to Hulda.
She often, too, reminded me vividly of Gabrielle. But how
is Hulda? Do you know anything about her? Is she happy
in her marriage? I have naturally said nothing about her
lately, but I am greatly interested in her fate.  I trust she
is content.  I must always think of her with the deepest
sympathy."
" I confess, to my shame," replied his sister, " that it is long
since I have asked or received any tidings of her. But tomorrow I can atone for my neglect, as I have requested the
bailiff to come up to town to see me upon business matters.
He is to arrive to-night, and to-morrow we can learn from
him all that we wish to know. I am convinced, however, that
everything is as it should be, else he would have instantly
informed me."
Emanuel said no more, but requested a servant to bring
him word as soon as the bailiff should arrive, and the next
morning he sought him in his sister's room.
The countess was sitting at her embroidery-frame, and the
bailiff at a writing-table, with his books and papers before
him. Immediately upon her brother's entrance the countess
exclaimed, " Imagine what the bailiff has just told me! I
ought to have been informed of it before! The marriage
between Hulda and the pastor never took place!"
" Never took place?" asked Emanuel, and his colour changed
rapidly. "Why not? What happened?"
"Why not, indeed, Herr Baron?" replied the bailiff. "That
is just it; and, as I have told madame the countess, I should
not have failed to tell her, if it had not been just that. But
25*




294                    HULDA.
how can one tell such a thing of a girl who has lived with us,
and whose father and mother we loved?"
The bailiff's reply heightened Emanuel's impatience, and he
repeated his question eagerly, upon which the good man related, after his own fashion, how Hulda had refused to marry
the excellent young pastor, and had left his house, ostensibly
to seek a situation as governess, but that she had really " joined
the play-actors."
"Impossible!" cried Emanuel, cut to the soul by the intelligence, and, turning to the bailiff with an authoritative air,
from which those accustomed from their youth to command
are rarely free, however kindly their nature, he said, in a tone
of harsh reproof, "And you allowed this? You did not immediately inform the countess of it?  You did nothing to
dissuade the girl from such a decisive step?"
"Pardon me, Herr Baron!" replied the bailiff, proudly.
"I had nothing to do with allowing it, for when she left us
I had no idea of her intention. She never told me of it until
the step was taken, and I could not receive her in my house
after she had once trodden the boards. Nevertheless, our
young pastor, at my request, wrote her a letter remonstrating
with her."
"And what did she reply?" Emanuel asked, eagerly.
"What could she reply?" asked the bailiff. "She wrote a
long letter full of such phrases as one finds in romances, about
lofty calling, irresistible impulse, and all such nonsense." He
paused for a moment, and then added, " All that was done for
Hulda at the castle was done with the kindest motives, and
she learned much from Miss Kenney that might help her to
earn her living, but it would have been better for her had she
stayed quietly at home. Then I should not have been standing here justifying myself for what really is no affair of mine.
I did my best for her, as her father's friend; my conscience is
clear. Why should I have told the Frau Countess of what
Hulda herself was so ashamed to do that she first laid aside
her father's honest name? And you, Herr Baron? I never
suspected that you even remembered the girl. At all events,
she must do as she pleases now; but I thought better of her,
I confess."
The baron could not endure to hear Hulda slightingly
spoken of, for he thought he could now understand all that




HULDA.                      295
had hitherto been incomprehensible in her conduct. She had
been over-persuaded to send back his ring, had been forced
into a betrothal with the young pastor, but, in her despair at
the prospect of marrying a man whom she did not love, had
taken her future into her own hands, and embraced a profession
for which, as was evident, she was rarely gifted, and in which
her beauty would doubtless be a great aid to her success. Ile
wished to hear nothing further from the bailiff, and the countess was quite weary of the conversation, both on her brother's
account, and because she considered as presumptuous the
bailiff's hint at the wrong that had been done to Hulda in
taking her from her home. She therefore looked at the
clock, remarked that they were losing time, and took up her
embroidery. Emanuel had other matters awaiting his time
and attention, and left the room,-his thoughts at first busied
with Hulda alone. But as the day wore on, they were of
necessity occupied by other interests, and as he grew calm and
cool, he began to regard her whole conduct since his separation
from her as the consequence of the inevitable development of
her peculiar temperament; and he could even join composedly
in the conversation concerning her theatrical career, carried on
by the three ladies in the evening.
CHAPTER IX.
THE winter was taking its departure; only in sheltered
corners of narrow streets was there any snow left. The children began to play once more in the open air, and the old
cake-woman, who had her table at the corner (if the square
opposite Hulda's lodgings, put up her linen awning, that the
mid-day sun might not spoil her wares. The awning, however, did not interfere with her observation of her neighbours,
and on this particular morning there was more than usual to
interest her going on at the Widow Rosen's.
"That is the fourth rose-bush that has been taken in
there to-day," she said to a girl who was buying a basketful
of cakes. "Four rose-bushes and a great orange-tree full of




296                    HULDA.
blossoms fit for a queen, not counting the bouquets that
the gentlemen have carried in themselves. And that is only
the least of it. Early this morning, as I was setting up my
table, there came a toilet-table, with everything on it of pure
silver. It came from that rich young Philibert; my son is
his servant, and that is how I know. And two other great
boxes have gone in besides; and all is for Fraulein Vollmer;
it is her birthday. Look! There she is at the window."
She pointed to one of the windows of the second story, at
which Hulda appeared for an instant and as quickly vanished.
"She is beautiful," said the girl; " every one admires her;
they talk a great deal about her at our house."
"It seems wonderful," said the old woman, "when I think
that she only came five months ago. I can see her now, just
as she arrived from the station with the Rosens, in her short
petticoat. She had the garret-room then, and used to feed
the sparrows with part of her breakfast every morning. They
were not half so grand as the parrot that Herr Philibert sent
her by my son the other day."
The cakes were paid for, and as the girl put the change
into her pocket she looked up at the windows filled with
flowers, and sighed. The old woman asked what ailed her.
" Oh, nothing," she replied; "but it is hard for us when
we see what some people can do with their good looks."
" No one can say any harm of Fraulein Vollmer," the old
woman said, in a tone of warning.
The young girl coquettishly tossed her pretty head in its
cap with gay-coloured ribbons, and curled her red lip. "No
harm? Oh, we all know what men are,-nothing is given
for nothing! Those theatre-people are all alike!"  And she
walked quickly away, conscious that she had stood gossiping
too long.
"Those theatre-people are all alike!" The girl only repeated the substance of what she had often heard from her
mistress's guests. Hulda herself was made conscious, she
could hardly have told how, of the small respect in which
actresses were held among the wealthy citizens' wives who
constituted the chief society of the commercial town; and yet,
since the first hour of her arrival there, fortune had befriended
her.
No other young actress had ever succeeded in so short a




HULDA.                      297
time in achieving the position which Hulda had now attained.
She sometimes asked herself how it had all happened, but
without finding any answer to the question.
She, too, had been constantly thinking on this her birthday of that first gray November evening when she had arrived
at Frau Rosen's, with all her possessions in her one little
trunk. The garret-room had, by Feodora's advice, been given
up on the day when she had signed the contract of her two
years' engagement, when her future had first seemed secure to
her. She was perfectly conscious now of her talent and of
her beauty. It was impossible that she should fail to improve
in her art if she continued to study. The path upon which
Gabrielle and Feodora had plucked their laurels and reaped all
kinds of conquest and delight lay open before her, as once
before them. To-day, in spite of the early season, roses were
blooming upon her table and in her window, as she had once
seen them in Gabrielle's room. She was young, and she felt
it a great happiness to be an artist, to devote herself to the
personification of the creations of great poets. Her father
had been the first to inspire her young mind with admiration
for these great geniuses, when during the long winter months
the lonely parsonage was half buried in snow and ice, or when
the long summer twilight hung above the little garden.
Still, no true artist is ever content with his work. All share
the pain that it is to find performance fall so far short of what
they have hoped to achieve; and this pain is especially the
portion of the dramatic artist, whose performance depends so
largely upon the aid of others, upon their capacity and their
good will, and who cannot correct the failure of one moment
in the next.
After Feodora's departure, Hulda had been made painfully
aware of the importance to an actress of the good will of her
fellows; for Fraulein Delmar, enraged at being thrown into
the shade by Feodora's performance of her favourite parts,
and unable to visit her displeasure upon Feodora herself,
wreaked it upon poor Hulda, whom she annoyed as far as
she could without damaging her own performance.
The manager, the director, and Lelio understood this perfectly well, and saw why Hulda failed to make many points
where she had succeeded when playing with Feodora. They
did all they could to come to her assistance; but all the




298                    HULDA.
actresses who had had secret hopes of succeeding Feodora in
the public favour resented this usurpation of their rights by a
stranger, and sided with Fraulein Delmar. Thus, without any
fault of her own, Hulda inherited behind the scenes the hostility of Feodora's enemies, as she had before the curtain
inherited the favour of her friends.
She had hardly been a month upon the stage before all the
women attached to the theatre were convinced that Hulda was
far vainer, more ill-tempered, and more calculating than Feodora had ever been; that when she acted with other women
she thought only of herself and of the impression she was
making upon the public, and that only when there were men
upon the scene did she become all fire and flame, seeming
actually inspired.
The manager and the other men attempted to justify
Hulda's conduct when she was attacked in their presence;
but this only made matters worse, for it irritated Fraulein
Delmar still more, and excited the envy of the other women,
whom it convinced that, with all her air of dignified repose,
Hulda was secretly bent upon exciting the admiration of every
man who approached her. When the poor girl tried to keep
upon a kindly footing with the younger actresses, Fraulein
Delmar accused her of attempting to estrange from her her
nearest friends. She had always intrigued in vain against
Feodora, and had been embittered by her want of success.
Now Hulda was obliged to feel the effects of her failure.
There was no end of petty scandal-mongering; and gradually Hulda became conscious that she was regarded behind
the scenes with a kind of suspicion, faint and shadowy, but
akin to the ill will that had arisen against her in her old home.
There was nothing for her but to turn for an explanation of
this to those who had always befriended her.
The doctor smiled when Hulda lamented that her fellowactresses were not kindly disposed towards her. "Did you
suppose," he asked, "that commonplace people would amiably
acknowledge superiority? Or did you think that ugly women
would take delight in the beauty of one of their sex? Mistrust mediocrity among women; it will always be hostile to
you." And Lelio said very much the same thing.
"No one, unless, like yourself, bred in the solitude of a
country life," said he, " would ever dream of finding the em



IIULDA.                     299
bodiment of his ideals upon the stage."  The experienced
artist valued and admired Hulda because she was, beyond all
others, the one with whom he was best able to play well,
and because out of his own purity and nobility of mind he
was able to appreciate the genuine worth of her character.
" Remember," he once said to her, " that morning when for
the first time you passed through those dark passages to the
stage. There is no daylight upon those paths. If you do not
carry your sun within you, if you are not clad in an armour
that will enable you to defy the assaults of envy, if you have
not a world within yourself where you are both law-giver and
judge, return immediately to your village."
His counsels were consoling, for they awakened in Hulda a
consciousness of strength to resist, and, besides, he prophesied
for her, if she did not relax in her efforts, a future to which
her present success was only the introduction. A proud sense
of triumph stirred within her at this thought. What did she
care for the petty jealousy of her rivals? Feodora had often
told her how she had been annoyed by the envy and ill nature
of her associates, how commonplace respectability had slandered her when she had attracted the admiration and homage
of its husbands and sons, how she had suffered from the narrow-minded prejudices of the family of Herr Van der Vlies.
Had not Gabrielle gone through the same before she had lately
been secretly united with the prince in a morganatic marriage?
The histrionic artist, in whose performances other women
delighted, crowding to see her, inviting her to their drawingrooms as a celebrity, but refusing to admit her to a social
equality with themselves, had no other resource than to take
advantage of being thus thrust forth from the social pale.
Let her rejoice in the freedom to which a strict morality, too
often simulated, condemned her. She could not live as others
did, chained to the threshold of home, could not learn to use,
her wings in such a cage. Could she restrict her admirers to
a respectful bow when she had just been torn from the arms
of a Max Piccolomini, or had in trembling agony proved all
the depths of human misery in Gretchen's cell?
No; Hulda saw more clearly every day that whoever would
portray and understand mighty passions, whoever would explore the heights and the depths of existence, drawing thence
the manifold emotions which it is the actress's task to embody,




300                    HULDA.
must be allowed a certain freedom inconsistent with conventional social rules. She must be a law to herself,-must for
herself set up the'Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther,' of
her daily life. The manager, Lelio, Feodora, were right.
She must put away the pastor's daughter if she would be an
actress.  And why should she not?   She certainly would
neither think nor do what was wrong.
CHAPTER X.
ALL the morning of her birthday was spent by Hulda in
receiving visits from those men whom she numbered among
her friends. She was no longer timid or shy in their society;
to be at ease with those of the other sex was part of her
vocation.
She could not certainly refuse to receive her critics, upon
whose good will so much depended, or the actors, whose support was so welcome to her. It would have been folly to deny
herself to the two elderly friends of the drama who had transferred to her the allegiance they had formerly given to Feodora,
or to refuse to see Lelio, for whom she felt a sincere friendship, which was frankly and honestly reciprocated on his part.
Scarcely a day passed on which Lelio did not visit her. He
was of an excellent family, and had gone upon the stage in
opposition to the wishes of his friends; his whole education
and early surroundings enabled him to recognize and appreciate Hulda's genuine excellence. Her magnanimity of mind,
her pure moral sense, were highly prized by him, and the
neatness and order that reigned in her apartments gave them
an air of home that he greatly enjoyed. As she was almost
always his associate upon the stage, he read with her the parts
which she was obliged to commit to memory, and with which
he had long been familiar, and his advice and knowledge of the
stage were of the greatest assistance to her. Ite befriended
her wherever he could; and there were not wanting those who
declared that Lelio would soon forget his distant love for
the sake of his new associate  But the fact was that it was




HULDA.                     301
Lelio's love for another that made his pleasant intercourse with
Hulda possible. He was the only one of all the men around
her who never approached her with the kind of gallantry
against which she had learned to be upon her guard. He
alone knew how she had come to leave her home and appear
in public, and to him alone could she tell how sometimes a
sharp pang of home-sickness would assail her, a longing for
the artless inexperience of earlier days.
She had just been telling him how her father's and mother's
tender affection, in spite of their poverty, had always prepared
for her some little surprise upon her birthday,-how beautiful she had thought the homely dress or the new book that
was her birthday-gift,-and he had left her, with the tears of
loving remembrance scarcely dry upon her cheeks, when Herr
Philibert made his appearance.
He was handsome and young, his mother's Spanish blood
showing clearly in the pale olive of his complexion, his dark
eyes, and his fiery temperament. His demeanour was that of
the wealthy patrician, with something of the frivolity of the
pleasure-seeking man of the world. On the evening, however,
when he had escorted Hulda to her home from Feodora's
supper, his conduct had so startled and shocked her that she
had since avoided him as far as possible.
He had made this avoidance matter of complaint in a letter
to his friend Feodora, and she had gaily remonstrated with
Hulda upon the subject. He had then visited her in company with Hochbrecht or the doctor, and was constantly behind the scenes at the theatre. Gradually Hulda had come to
expect to see him, whenever she played, in his box near the
stage, where he was always eager in his applause and never
failed to throw costly flowers at her feet whenever there was
any occasion for so doing. Lately she had admitted him when
he had called upon her at her lodgings, and his visits had grown
more frequent. She had not thought it worth while to refuse
to accept from him two or three trifles of small value, but this
morning she had been very much annoyed that he had ventured to send her a magnificent gift, which, with her landlady's and her maid's connivance, had been placed in her room
before she entered it for her breakfast.
She therefore awaited with no pleasurable sensations the
visit that she was convinced he would pay her.
26




302                    HULDA.
" I am late," he cried, before she had time to say a word to
him, " because I did not want to share you with any one today. I knew you were not going to rehearsal, so I waited
until the others had gone to the theatre, and here I am, to
repeat the same old song  -"
"Which I know so well," she interrupted him, with a smile.
"And which I shall continue to sing to you," he continued,
without heeding her interruption, " until you are convinced
that I can never cease to adore you, and you consent to believe
that in me you have a friend whom you may always command."
"That has not been my experience to-day," she replied.
He asked what she meant.
Hulda fett that she must come to some explanation with
him, and it annoyed her. She conquered her embarrassment,
however, as well as she could, and, quietly addressing him in
a tone of entreaty, she said, "There is something ungenerous
in refusing to accept an offered kindness. But if, as you say,
I may command you, why have you refused to accede to the
request that I once made you?"
She paused for a moment, and as she noticed how his face
flushed with suppressed impatience, she walked to the table
upon which stood the rose-bush that he had sent her, and then
continued, " I was as pleased as a child with these lovely roses.
Such flowers were a rare pleasure in my old home. Why diminish this innocent enjoyment of mine by sending me a gift
the magnificence of which frightens and oppresses me?"
"A very trifle!" he cried. "Not worth a word. The dim
mirror here in your room has long been an eyesore to me. It
seemed to me a sin that you alone should not see how beautiful you are. Yet what mirror can show you this, since at the
back of it there must be only a dead metal, instead of the heart
that lurks behind the eye?"
She received the compliment with a conventional smile, but,
without being diverted from her intention, continued, "And
what if I should make an appeal to your heart? Would you
heed it?"
" I will do anything that you desire,".replied Philibert, who
thought the girl in her present serious mood more attractive
than she had ever seemed to him behind the foot-lights.
Nevertheless, she hesitated, and seemed hardly able to pro



HULDA.                      303
ceed. At last she said, in a constrained voice, " I am all alone;
there is no one to care for me but myself, and there is nothing
that I scan call my own save a clear conscience and my untarnished reputation." She paused again, and tried to smile, but
it was too hard a task. "I wish," she continued, "that you
would not sneer, as so many do, at the actress who wishes to
play the pastor's daughter. I could do nothing, and be nothing,
all my efforts would be vain, if I thought I had given any one
the right to despise me, if my conscience were not pure.''
"Have I offended you?   Have I presumed?    Or what
have I done?" cried Philibert, to whom such a scene with a
lovely young actress was an entirely novel experience, full of
charm. " I owe so much enjoyment to you and to your talent,
is it wrong to try to repay you in some faint measure?"
"I do not play for you alone. I play for every one,-it is
my calling,-I am paid for it," she replied, firmly.
"You receive a salary for what you do for the crowd,"
Philibert rejoined, eagerly. "But if your acting-if the delight of seeing you-is worth more to me than it can possibly
be to the crowd, may I not attempt to testify my gratitude to
you? May I not offer you, in return for the pleasure you give
me, some little gratification?"
She shook her head. "Your applause pleases and encourages me," she replied; "but, I entreat you," and her voice
trembled as she spoke, "do not make me presents that might
compromise me. Do not give me cause to blush, by allowing
others to see in my possession articles of luxury that I cannot
have earned. Give me no cause to irritate you by sending your
presents back to you."
" Incomprehensible girl 1" said Philibert, quite at a loss what;
to say. She observed this, and it gave her courage.
"I know," she cried, "that you meant kindly by me. But
you did not see Hochbrecht's puzzled look when he saw that
toilet-table, fit for a princess, in my room; you did not feel,
as I did, the doctor's smile as he examined the various articles
upon it; and you did not hear my friend Lelio's question,'How comes Herr Philibert to make you such a present?' I
had to tell him that I took no pleasure in your gift, and that
I had given no one permission to place me under such an
obligation. And he believed me."
Whilst she spoke, she had entirely recovered her self-pos.




304                    HULDA.
session, and her beautiful features were flushed with emotion,
as she looked Philibert proudly in the face. He listened to her,
he watched her, with the same pleasure that she gave him upon
the stage. Her youthful dignity, her gentle gravity, the deep
emotion with which she spoke, touched and moved him as he
had been moved by her acting.
But his estimate of women, as well as his knowledge of
human nature, had been formed in a miserable school. He had
never known such an actress as Hulda, had never witnessed
such a scene as this in an actress's apartment. He would have
doubted his own convictions if he had not believed that behind
this appearance of stern virtue lurked a spirit of calculation,
and that Hulda had laid to heart Susanna's words in " Figaro,"
"Lightly won is lightly prized."  But this view of her did
not diminish his admiration for her. He merely determined
to adopt the r6le that she prescribed for him, until the time
arrived when he could safely take that tone with her that his
passion prompted.
He therefore promised what she asked. He seemed to be
touched by her purity; he praised her prudence, and the care
she took to avoid all appearance of evil, blaming himself for
not having been more thoughtful. But he begged her riot to
be too exact.
"An actress is not a simple country girl," he said. "She
occupies a position similar to that of some sacred picture, and
must be content to receive offerings laid upon her shrine, not
for the sake of gratifying her so much as to relieve the feelings
of the devotees. And," he continued, "you alluded to Lelio
just now, as if he were an immaculate Knight of the Round
Table. Do you really believe that he will always be content to
play the first scene of Romeo and Juliet with you, and hear
from that beautiful mouth the assurance,'Ay, pilgrim, lips
that they must use in prayer'?"
"You know," replied Hulda, "that Lelio is in love." And
then she blushed, conscious that her remark would seem
ridiculous to this man.           t
He laughed aloud. "A moral song," he said, with a sneer,
quoting Mephisto. But he rose to take his leave, saying, "I
see you mistrust me, because I do not conceal from you my
sentiments towards you. Ask Feodora, ask your mother —'
"My mother?" Hulda interrupted him.




HULDA.                      305
"I mean Gabrielle," said Philibert, without heeding her
surprise.  "Ask Gabrielle, or any one in whom you have confidence, whether you are not far safer with a frank, ingenuous
man like myself, than with your older acquaintances, or even
with a Lelio, for your friend and adviser. I have promised to
obey you, to avoid everything that could compromise you
in the eyes of the world. You know how passionate is my
admiration for you, and you are upon your guard with me.
What have you to fear while I obey you implicitly? There is
no danger where all is frank and open dealing, and I have no
fancy for favours won by fraud. You can rely upon me as far
as you can rely upon yourself, for you rule me as you rule
yourself."
He kissed her hand in taking leave of her. Then, as he
stood at the door, he said, " That poor mirror-you will let it
stay here, will you not? You will not shame me by sending
it away? And, believe me, Hamlet's words are fearfully true,'Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,thou shalt not escape
calumny.'"
He kissed her hand again, shook it cordially, and was gone.
For a moment she stood motionless where he left her.
Hamlet's words sounded like a curse from his lips. She shuddered at his frankness, and yet what he had said was true.
She had nothing to fear while she could rule herself.
Gabrielle had bidden her remember that the path she thought
of choosing was not thornless, but smooth and full of danger.
She had chosen it in full reliance upon herself. She could not
reproach herself as yet. But in her father's house she had
known nothing of the perils that beset her here.
She passed her hand across her brow, as if to brush away
the memories that crowded upon her. As she turned round,
her gaze fell upon Philibert's gift. The mirror was very
beautiful. She saw herself reflected in it as never before, and
yet she would have given much if the toilet-table had not
been there, to give rise to all she had just said and heard, and
to future gossip, upon which she would not dwell.
26*




306                    HULDA.
CHAPTER     XI.
A FEW days after Emanuel's departure from his sister's
house, intelligence was circulated in the city that the general
in command there had been transferred to a post in the vicinity
of the court.
At first the report was scarcely credited, the general had
retained his command in this province for so many years, and,
as he had been very reserved upon the subject, the name of his
successor was not known.  Curiosity and genuine sorrow at
his departure assembled an unusually large number of friends
at his weekly reception.
The countess, who was a relative of the general's, felt that on
this occasion she must emerge from her seclusion, to express to
him and to his wife her sorrow at losing them from a society
to which their constant hospitality had added such a charm
for so many years. Of course her two guests accompanied
her.
The suite of reception-rooms was already quite full when
the countess and her companions appeared in them. It was
easy to see that an unusual degree of interest and expectation
animated the assemblage. People stood conversing eagerly in
knots, and, as they talked, all eyes were turned towards the
centre room, where the explanation of the universal interest
was evidently to be found; and Frau von Wildenau was about
to ask a friend what it all meant, when Konradine suddenly
seized her mother's arm, as if in terror.
She turned hastily towards her daughter, who had entirely
lost her composure. " The prince!" she gasped, in a whisper,
as she leaned against the pillar of a doorway, unable for a
moment to stand without support.
In the centre of the room, so that he could instantly be seen
from the door, stood Prince Frederick, by the side of the general, in earnest conversation with some of the provincial civil
dignitaries.
The baroness was startled at seeing him there, and still more




HULDA.                      307
startled. by her daughter's condition. "You are very ill," she
said; "will you not retire?"
"I retire?" her daughter repeated, as the blood rushed again
to her colourless cheeks. "Retire? Wherefore?  Retreat,
with the countess looking on?  Never!"
She uttered the words softly and in broken tones, but she
had in a minute recovered her self-control. For when the
countess, who was also greatly surprised at sight of the prince.
approached her, she advanced towards her and said, "That,
then, is the general's successor. I wonder why we were not
informed before?"
" I have just been asking myself the same question. I wish
we had known it, for your sake," replied the countess. "Such
meetings are always agitating."
" Certainly; but I knew it must come at some future time,
and I am glad it is over," Konradine replied, with a composure
that rejoiced her friend.
Meanwhile they had entered the room, and the general advanced towards them, thereby attracting to them the attention
of the prince. He seemed hardly to believe his eyes; then,
with an ease that was all his own, he extricated himself from the
group of people about him and hurried towards the countess.
"You here, madame!" he cried, as he offered her his hand.
"I thought you were in the north. And you, too," he added,
in a lower tone, with a bow, to Konradine and her mother.
"What a surprise this is! We have passed through much
since we were last together."
" Your highness has sustained a severe loss," said the countess, wishing to come to the assistance of her friends. She knew
what a shock this unexpected meeting must be to both Konradine and the prince, and she did well to remind them by her
words of all that had separated them, also giving the prince a
cue as to how these first embarrassing moments might be
bridged over. He instantly availed himself of it.
"Yes," he said, "I have had a great sorrow, have suffered
a terrible loss. It is hard to see youth and beauty slowly fade
and die. I am grateful to his majesty for transferring me to
this post, far from the scene of my anxiety and suffering."
The tone in which these words were spoken showed that
they came from his heart, and Konradine, who knew every
expression of his countenance, saw that his brow, usually so




308                     HULDA.
smooth, was clouded by an unwonted gravity, and his whole
figure seemed to have gained in manliness and majesty. It
was insufferable to her to hear him thus lament his departed
wife. She clenched her teeth to suppress an exclamation of
angry pain, and she remained behind when the prince, still
engaged in conversation, escorted her mother and the countess
to the other end of the apartment.
Her power of self-control was severely tested this evening.
She could not tell, of course, how many of those present knew
of her previous relation to the prince, but she could see that
she was observed with stealthy curiosity, and she felt that she
owed it to herself and to Emanuel to preserve a perfectly indifferent air, as well as to make manifest to the prince that
she had forgotten, as he had done,-that she had found in a
calm and true affection a compensation for the loss of the
passionate devotion that had once united them.
Perhaps the prince was animated by a like desire when, in
the course of the evening, he approached the woman he had
loved and forsaken. His adjutant, who was sitting beside
Konradine, arose as he drew near, and the prince seated himself in the vacant chair.
" I regard it as a good omen for the future," he said, " that
I have met you on this first evening of my residence here. I
made sure of seeing you here at some time when I was sent
hither, since your future home is in this province. I had
something to say to you, and I was desirous of saying it as
soon as possible."
" Your highness is very kind," she replied, as in full sight
of every one she curtsied, with a smile; "but," she added,
in a lower tone, " I cannot understand this desire on your part,
nor see what satisfaction its gratification can give you."
The prince received this rebuke with great composure.
"You repulse me," he said; " and, although you are justified
in doing so, I am disappointed." He paused for a moment,
and then added, " Just before coming here, I passed a day in
the cloister with my sister. I must tell you how it rejoiced
me when I heard some time ago that you had left it and were
confidently anticipating a happy future."
"Yes, confidently," Konradine repeated, in a tone of voice
which, in spite of herself, had something of defiance in it. The
prince, however, quietly replied that he was delighted to hear




HULDA.                      309
this assurance from herself. "I know you well enough," he
said, " to be sure that you will obey the true impulse of your
heart, and," he added, very gently," even where this is not the
case a genuine regard is possible. There is an affection, a
persistence in tenderness which one must be entirely wanting
in sensibility not to appreciate, and which it would be impossible not to miss painfully. It is strange how little we really
understand ourselves, and how often we are more surprised by
ourselves than by others. But," he added, as he rose, "we
will speak of this at some other time. Where are you? I
forgot to ask."
Kouradine replied that she, with her mother, was the guest
of the countess.
" So much the brtter. Then I shall see you shortly. I have a
message for you, thei delivery of which lies very near my heart."
( For me'? askrd Konradine. "And from whom?"
"I will te.l you that to-morrow," he replied, as he turned
away to a group oi ladies.
In the carriage,n the way home, Konradine was left entirely to her own reflections. The two elder ladies conversed
concerning the departure of the general and the arrival of
the prince, and the social changes that would ensue. Neither
addressed a question to her: indeed, they both instinctively
avoided all remark that might hint at any especial interest
that these events could have for Konradine, and, instead of the
usual quarter of an hour spent in the drawing-room to discuss
the evening, all bade one another good-night as soon as they
reached home.
The sigh with which Konradine entered her own room and
snatched the wreath from her throbbing temples sounded
almost like a cry. Restlessly pacing to and fro, she took off
the bracelets from her arms and the pearls from her neck
and tossed them here and there, wearied with their weight.
Everything was a burden to her,-everything; she knew not
what she was doing or what she wanted to do.
"Assailed by a tempest in what I fancied was a safe harbour," she groaned, "and driven out to sea again!"  The
tears refused to flow. She threw herself upon a lounge and
lay there for a time. No sound was audible in the room save
her own long-drawn sighs. She could not bear to hear them;
it was terrible to be so unhappy.




310                    HULDA.
Rest, rest-she craved rest. She rang for her maid, and
was undressed. Then she lay down, and tried to sleep. Impossible! One moment she bitterly regretted that she had
ever seen Prince Frederick; the next she exulted in his manly
grace and beauty. She heard the sound of his voice, as he
had spoken to her, and tried to forget it, when she remembered what he had said. She would write to him that she
could not see him again; and then she despised herself for
the cowardice that would have prompted such a confession of
weakness. What was this message that he had spoken of?
What did he mean?   What could he ask of her? he who
evidently was cherishing the memory of a dead wife!
Questions and doubts of all kinds assailed her. She was
in torture; she rose from her couch, and her glance encountered Emanuel's portrait. She turned to those earnest eyes
as the storm-tossed mariner turns to the harbour lights.
" May his slumbers be more peaceful!" she thought, and
hot tears streaming from her eyes relieved her overcharged
heart.
CHAPTER XII.
FRAU VON WILDENAU and the countess saw plainly the
next morning at breakfast that Konradine had not slept, but
neither questioned her upon the subject. At noon the countess
received a visit from the prince.
He told her how sudden and unexpected had been his
appointment to his present post, and then referred to her
brother's betrothal, expressing the greatest respect and esteem
for him. "I need not tell you," he added, " what an interest
I take in Fraulein von Wildenau's future."
His frankness caused a like candour upon the part of the
countess, who declared that she confidently looked forward to
the happiest results from the union of her brother with Konradine, since their marriage would be founded upon mutual
esteem and respect.
"And will Frau von Wildenau take up her abode with her
daughter?" the prince asked.




HULDA.                      311
The countess replied by a simple negative. The prince
then glanced at the clock upon the chimney-piece, and, remarking that he had but a quarter of an hour more at his
disposal, asked if Fraulein von Wildenau would kindly grant
him the interview which he had requested upon the previous
evening.
Although the countess had not expected this request, it
did not surprise her. She had always regarded Konradine's
former engagement to the prince as a most unsuitable arrangement, for which Frau von Wildenau alone was to blame.
She had entirely sympathized with the prince's subsequent
conduct, in which she was sure Konradine had fully acquiesced. Doubtless the unexpected meeting of the previous
evening had been somewhat embarrassing, and it was natural
that the prince should desire to see his former betrothed, that
he might remove any possible embarrassment for the future.
That he requested this interview through the sister of Konradine's future husband was a proof of his high-mindedness.
Therefore she left the room, that Konradine might be sent
for. The prince arose, and when she appeared advanced to
meet her, thanking her for her kindness in acceding to his
request.
"I am come," he said, "to fulfil a commission which I
regard as sacred, and to leave with you a token which I
promised, if it were possible, to place in your hands myself."
His gentle and almost solemn manner as he spoke these
words was so different from what Konradine had expected,
that she could hardly command herself. She inclined her
head, without speaking.
"The message that I told you of," he went on, "comes
from my dead wife. At the time of our marriage I was in a
miserable state of mind, a prey to constant mental warfare.
Her love humiliated me, for I did not deserve it. We were
very unhappy.   Instead of condemning me, however, her
affection was strong enough to pity me, and you also, so truly,
with so genuine a compassion, that the contemplation of such
loveliness of character, such forbearing gentleness, won me to
her, and I now have the consoling assurance that some happiness was hers, disturbed only by the consciousness that it was
founded upon the ruin of another's hopes. In spite of her
knowledge that you were anticipating a bright future, this




312                   ItULDA.
consciousness disturbed the last days of her life, when her
gentle spirit would else have been perfectly at peace with the
world she was about to leave.' I have been the unconscious
cause of sorrow,' she said,'to one whom I shall never see.'"
The prince produced a small jewel-case, touched the spring
by which it opened, and handed it to Konradine. Within lay a
simple little ring. " This ring," he said, " the princess always
wore. In that last hour she drew it from her finger.' Give
it to Konradine,' she said,'if you ever see her again, and tell
her to forgive me for having been so happy with you at her
expense."
He bit his lip, and walked to the window, where he stood
looking out at the garden buried in snow. Konradine had
covered her face with her hands, and her tears were flowing
fast.
In a few minutes the prince had regained his composure.
As he returned to where Konradine was sitting, she held out
her hand to him. He grasped it warmly, and for a few
moments they did not speak. Surely, when they had parted
neither could have foreseen such a meeting as this.
Konradine put the ring upon her finger; the prince kissed
her hand. " My errand is done," he said; " forgive me for
making you sad."
" You cannot mean such words," she replied.
She accompanied him to the door of the antechamber,
where he turned to her once more, and asked, " Will you
remember me to the baron, and permit me to see you again?"
"I answer,'with pleasure,' to each request," she replied,
cordially.
" Au revoir, then!" he said; and, shaking her once more
by the hand, he was gone.
She went to the window, and looked after him. How
many times she had done the same thing but a few years
before! He was the same, and yet changed. Never before
had he been capable of s-ch depth of feeling. Had she
dreamed it all?   Her Ieart was calm    and still.  She
looked down at her hand; there was the ring. The prince
had really been here; she had spoken with him, and he had
left her at peace with herself and with him. She had sympathized with him in his sorrow for the loss of a wife whom
he had loved. Upon her finger she wore a token sent her




HULDA.                      313
by the princess who had once stepped between her and the
fulfilment of her hopes. Her heart was full of compassion
for the man whom she had first loved and then hated; and
she sat down, calmly and quietly, to write to Emanuel.
She informed him that she had met the prince, on the
previous evening, at the house of the general, and of everything that had since occurred. She withheld nothing from
him; she told him of her restless misery during the night,
and of the peace that had now descended upon her soul,
declaring that she had never so thoroughly belonged to him
as now, when there was no room in her heart for anything but
gentle pity for the man she had once loved and then hated.
She repeated many times how much she longed to tell him
all this, face to face; and then went on to say that since she
had been so touched by the princess's remembrance of her,
she had accused herself of harshness in her entire forgetfulness of Hulda.  "I did all that I could," she wrote, "to
banish the thought of her from your mind; and yet perhaps
she has been greatly in need of a helping hand in the path she
has chosen to pursue. Ought we not to think of her, now
that we are happy? I would so like to share with every one
the peace that I at present enjoy. May the same calm brood
over your spirit when you receive this from your Konradine!"
As she wore the little ring, she was obliged to repeat to her
mother and to the countess more of her conversation with the
prince than she would otherwise have done. Her mother
asked to be allowed to examine the ring. It was formed of
several artistically contrived circlets that fitted together and
were held in place by an enamelled shield, bearing the words,
"Aimez-moi toujours."  Its value lay in the workmanship
alone.
The baroness examined it with the eye of a connoisseur, and
while she was fitting together the circlets, she said, "It is an
exquisite work of art, and the whole matter is very touching.
But do you know that, to me, the idea of the prince's dying
wife committing to her husband's care a ring with this inscription upon it, which he was to give to you with his own hands, is
very extraordinary?  It is so very-high-strung,-ideal,-if
you can use the word thus."
"The dying woman could hardly have thought it could be
o                      27




314                     HULDA.
thus construed, nor could I," said Konradine, an angry blush
suffusing her cheek.
"Yes, but the question here is not of your- idea of the matter,
nor of the princess's," said the baroness. "We do not live in a
world where to the pure all things are pare. And since I
think it odd that the princess should have requested her husband to present you with this entreaty for an eternity of affection, I am afraid others may share my commonplace view
of the matter. I would not wear the ring, if I were you."
"I shall always wear the ring, and it shall be buried with
me!" said Konradine, emphatically.
" I think the prince might else have cause for offence," said
the countess, hastening to divert all possibility of further difference between mother and daughter, although she did not
disagree with the baroness. "There is no need to tell the
history of all our rings, and this one is so simple that it could
hardly excite curiosity. It is perfectly true, however," she
said, under her breath, to the baroness, when Konradine had
gone to the other end of the apartment, "that these royallyborn people are so accustomed to make each thought and feeling of theirs an affair of state, that they cannot allow even
death and sorrow for the dead to pass as they do with us.
Others must be dragged into sympathy with them." She
broke off suddenly, annoyed that she had been led to speak to
the baroness in any but the highest terms of the reigning
family, in respect for whom she had always been bred, and to
whom she was bound by a loyal affection.
But the baroness, from this very circumstance, formed a
correct estimate of the countess's distaste for the whole affair
between Konradine and the prince.




IIULDA.                     315
CHAPTER XIII.
EMANUEL had so arranged his daily affairs that the arrival
of the post twice a week always found him at leisure to read
his letters slowly, with a due enjoyment of every word of Konradine's, and to reply to them immediately.
On this particular day he was charmed to receive an enclosure from her twice as bulky as usual, and he sat down
to read in a most enviable frame of mind.
But before he had nearly finished he sprang up, half-minded
to order his travelling-carriage instantly.  He could be by her
side in twenty-four hours. Their marriage might take place
at an earlier date than had been appointed, and he could bring
her hither where no danger could threaten their peace. But
she did not expect him, had not asked him to come. Could
he confess what urged him immediately to seek her?  He was
ashamed to admit to himself that it was a sudden outburst of
jealousy. For what had happened?   What had Konradine
written to him that could justify him in mistrusting for one
instant a woman whom he had always found so frank and
true?
All that she said was so natural, her ingenuous avowal to
her betrothed of what she thought and felt, the confidence with
which she leaned upon his supporting affection,-all this was so
reassuring that, as he read the letter for the second time, his
doubts were soothed and almost put to rest. The effect, too,
that the conduct of the princess had had upon Konradine with
regard to Hulda was very grateful to him. Emanuel had always been pained by the depreciating tone that his betrothed
as well as his sister had used in speaking of the poor girl, who
had suffered so much from the want of sympathy in those around
her. But dear as her memory was to him, grateful as he was
for Konradine's offer, he could not bring himself to regard
any intercourse with her at present as advisable, or even possible.
He spent so much time in reading and re-reading the letter
from his betrothed, that it was late when he opened the one




316                    HULDA.
from his sister. It informed him, of course, of the meeting
with the prince, and of his subsequent interview with Konradine, circumstances regarded by both the baroness and the
writer as unfortunate, to say the least. In view of antecedent
events, everything that could give rise to gossip was to be
avoided, and she suggested that her brother's narriage should
take place earlier than had been intended, and that his betrothed
should spend the intervening time in visiting some friends at
some distance from the capital.
Emanuel knew his sister, and had foreseen the contents of
her letter; but nevertheless it annoyed him. That she should
regard vulgar gossip as of sufficient weight to influence his
future plans was contrary to his sense of honour and refinement. He therefore replied to her that he saw nothing in
the arrival of the prince that should have the slightest effect
upon their future plans; and as the tone that he took in writing
was extremely calm, it had a very desirable influence upon his
own state of mind. He grew composed as he wrote, and when
he began his answer to his betrothed he had regained all his
former sense of ease and security.
He reciprocated, he wrote, the prince's courteous remembrances, and begged her, upon a fitting occasion, to assure him
of his sympathy in his sorrow. Then he thanked her for her
kindly mention of Hulda, but added that he could not think
it best to intrude upon her present life with any memories of
the past.  "I have never forgotten her," he went on, " and I
do not conceal from you that I never shall forget her. I
should no more try to forget her than a beautiful spring
morning the air of which had refreshed my very soul. My
feeling for her has nothing in common with that which binds
me so firmly to you. And yet I should hesitate wilfully to
introduce her presence, like a new element, into our existence.
But should the time ever come when Hulda is brought near
us, as the prince has lately been to you, and should she then
be willing to grasp in friendship the hand once offered to her
in love, it would be my pride to extend it to her, and to know
that your arms would be open to receive her."
Then he expatiated upon the unusual forwardness of the
season, and, strive as he might, could not forbear, at the close
of his letter, preferring a request that, since every arrangement for her reception in his home would be completed much




HULDA.                      317
earlier than he had anticipated, she would permit him to bear
her thither sooner than had been at first proposed.
He was in excellent spirits when he had finished the letter;
but after he had sent it to the post, a strange disquiet took
possession of him. He could not help picturing to himself
the prince as a member of the little circle in his sister's house,
enjoying a pleasure from which he himself was debarred.
The lonely evening never before had seemed so long. He could
neither read nor write, and he welcomed the hour for retiring
for the night. But his dreams were so disturbed that he
arose and dressed, and tried again to fix his mind upon his
books. In vain. Why had he abjured his early determination never to marry? And when, almost unsought, the truest
affection had fallen to his share like a ripe golden fruit, he
had not even closed his hand upon it; he had allowed it to
slip from his grasp, to be trodden under foot.
Hulda had loved him! And he had never so loved
another! This conviction, which had been soothed into
slumber in his soul, had been awakened to new life by what
Konradine had proposed in her letter. Had not Konradine,
as well as he himself, often acknowledged that the bond
between them was one woven only of cordial confidence and
esteem? Their marriage was an arrangement for their mutual
advantage, by which he secured a noble mistress for his ancient
house, and intellectual companionship, and she a protector, an
honoured name, and great possessions. Did she perhaps look
to these last to indemnify her for those personal advantages
which had been denied him?
He could not but confess in his heart, offensive as it was to
his sense of honour, that want of confidence in himself made
him distrustful of the woman who was so soon to bear his
name; that the jealousy which had been first aroused by the
intelligence of the prince's arrival left him no rest. Would
marriage suffice to silence it?  Was it ever silenced when
once aroused?
Even the morning brought him no repose; the light of
day produced no answering gleam in his mind. He was at
odds with himself, and anything but happy.
27*




318                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XIV.
MEANWHILE, all was going on smoothly in the countess's
home. Konradine half regretted her entire frankness with
Emanuel when she fancied that she saw some of his old
mistrust of himself in his request for an earlier marriage
than had been agreed upon; but, since she felt herself to
blame in arousing it, she yielded to his wish without demur.
She mentioned that the prince had several times repeated his
visit to the countess, and that she had also met him elsewhere.
Soon after this letter had been despatched, the prince made
his appearance at the countess's tea-table, and Konradine, in
the presence of her mother and her friend, informed him of
the early day in spring which had now been appointed for her
marriage. He expressed himself warmly in favour of a short
period of betrothal, especially when those intending marriage
were of ripe years, as in this case.
Frau von Wildenau, who was always ready to discuss
matrimony, since such discussion gave her an opportunity for
reviling the marriage state, remarked that she thought that
the length of the period, of betrothal was of very little consequence.
"Matrimony," she said, " is an experiment, based upon
mere hypothesis, the fortunate result of which must always
be matter for amazement and congratulation. We are very
pleasantly surprised when we find a glove or a shoe which
was not made for us fit us exactly; and yet all, for the most
-part, enter upon matrimony in the firm faith that they have
found a human being who will fit them, in every respect, far
better than is possible for any glove or shoe."
The prince had formerly been amused with such remarks
from the baroness, but they were no longer to his liking, and
he thought he perceived that they were distasteful also to
Konradine and the countess. Other guests arriving at the
moment fortunately interrupted the conversation; and as
they arose from table, the prince, for the first time avail



HULDA.                      319
ing himself of his former ease with Konradine, withdrew
with her to a window-recess, and said, in a more confidential
tone than he had hitherto permitted himself, " It is very
remarkable how entirely unchanged Frau von Wildenau is;
time has really no effect upon her. She looks as fresh and
young as during the winter when I first made her acquaintance, and is the same, I perceive, in mind and sentiment."
" Your highness is aware," Konradine replied, warding off
any implied censure of Frau von Wildenau, " that my mother
was not happy in her marriage."
"I know that, I know that," said the prince; " but one
should not generalize from one's individual experience."
"And yet it is your own experience that causes you to disagree with my mother," Konradine rejoined, gently.
" True! true!" cried the prince. "We are subjective in
all these things. Still, we must rid ourselves of disagreeable
memories, unpleasant experiences. How else can we endure a
life that is so full of them? The baroness used to agree with
me here; she used to think it wisdom to forget all that dis
tressed us."
"And she is of the same opinion still. Nevertheless, there
are things which we cannot away with, which we can never
forgive or forget."
As she said these words, Konradine thought only of her
mother and what she had suffered, but no sooner had they
passed her lips than her cheeks flushed crimson, for she saw
the significance that they might have for the prince coming
from her, and her sudden blush really made him think that
she had uttered her own personal conviction, and that her observation was aimed at him. For just so, her cheek, neck, and
brow flushed with sudden crimson, had she stood before him
on that far-away morning when they had separated. He had
suffered more than she had believed; and she was now as
proudly beautiful as then.
She did not dare to look at him. He could not at first find
one word to say. They were both confused, and both silent.
The prince felt that he had received from her a reproof which,
after their late reconciliation, she was not justified in making,
and his life had not taught him to suffer injustice silently. He
would have replied bitterly, but his sense of honour prevented
him; and, as he looked at Konradine, he saw how she was




_20                    HULDA.
struggling with emotion, an emotion which he instantly felt to
be contagious.
" I have nothing to say to you in self-justification," he said,
perfectly conscious as he spoke that this declaration, or rather
confession, was in no wise called for by what Konradine had
said.
"I was not thinking of myself-believe me!    Forgive
me!" she replied, with a gentle tremor in her voice; and, as if
her words were not enough, she held out her hand to him.
He took it in his own. " Most gladly do I believe you!"
he cried. " Your friendship is so dear to me, your sympathy
so precious! Only, never misunderstand me again."
"Never!" she replied.
" I only meant," he continued, " that we should banish from
our minds the memory of all that might depress and embitter
us. How could we wish to forget what we have once loved?
How become indifferent to what has been lovely and dear in
our eyes? We could not so rob ourselves!"
He said it all in agitated haste, which did not dissipate
either her confusion or his own; and, in a final effort to overcome it, he added, "Never utter so harsh a word again, for I
am defenceless in your presence!" He raised her hand to his
lips, and their eyes met in the old, unforgotten glance. Each
felt that it was so.
CHAPTER XV.
THE circumstance just related, slight as it was in outward
seeming, served to put the prince and Konradine upon their
guard. The prince was conscious that he had paid too frequent visits at the countess's house, and he allowed the duties
of his position to occupy him more entirely.
For this forbearance Konradine was grateful. The countess
made no remark upon the prince's withdrawal from his previous frequent intercourse with herself and her guests, but
congratulated herself upon the smooth course that affairs were
taking. The fire, however, was but smouldering.  To avoid
and to abstain were powerless to extinguish it.




HULDA.                      321
Konradine was always comparatively at peace with herself
while she was writing to Emanuel. She confessed to him that
she too longed for the time when she should accompany him
to his ancestral home, when she should have an aim in life
and the constant and present assurance of his love and sympathy. Now that the season was nearly at an end, the evenings spent in the theatre were more frequent than formerly;
she admitted to Emanuel that she found there a distraction of
mind that served for a time to still the restlessness that was
apt to take possession of her during the day.
The prince also, in default of other entertainments, was almost every evening to be found in his box in the theatre, opposite to that of the countess, where he would sometimes make
his appearance, driven by his desire to speak with Konradine
if only for a fleeting moment.
At such times the conversation was exceedingly superficial.
The prince never forgot to ask after Baron Eiranuel, now and
then jestingly inquiring of Konradine how long the baron would
allow him the pleasure of paying his respects to her here.
How long?   A question which Konradine asked herself
every evening, when she counted the days that were to elapse
before the coming of her bridegroom, before her marriage.
She wrote to the baron now daily. There was a warmth in
her expressions that cheered and soothed him; she constantly
addressed him as her only friend, her support and defence.
But the corresponding warmth in Emanuel's letters had no
power to allay her daily-increasing restlessness, the growing
feverishness of her mind and heart. Formerly she had hailed
the advent of his written words with delight, and spoken of
them to her mother and her friend; but by degrees they had
lost all their influence.  She was never more agitated than
immediately after their arrival. She complained that she could
not sleep; she began to lose her blooming colour, and started
at any sudden noise. Even her music failed to interest her;
she could no longer, she declared, either sing or play; she
ceased, too, attending the theatre.
It was evident that her nerves were greatly affected, and
the countess grew quite anxious upon her account; but the
baroness was in no wise alarmed.
"To be as gay and bright as a morning in spring upon the
eve of marriage," she said, "requires the thoughtless spirits
o*   -




322                    IULDA.
of sixteen. You must remember that Konradine has been in
society for fifteen years, and she may well spend many an
agitating and anxious moment in inquiring of herself, Will
friendship prove more enduring than I have found love to be?
Will a marriage based upon respect and esteem indemnify me
for the fading of my youthful visions and guard me from the
assaults upon my peace which the future may have in store for
me? Her nervousness seems very natural to me."
" But she is ill," the countess insisted.
"So much the better for the baron," laughed the mother.
" The care of a wife suffering from slight nervous attacks will
keep him busy, and prevent him from being self-occupied."
The countess was silenced, but hardly satisfied. Nevertheless, if, as she feared, it was the meeting with the prince that
had agitated Konradine, it was surely best to leave her to
herself and her own firmness of character.
The year of mourting for the baron's brother was not yet
ended. It had therefore been decided that the circle of those
present at the marriage should be but small, and since the
arrival of the prince it had been contracted still further, that
his presence might be avoided.
Every preparation for the wedding was concluded. Emanuel
had promised to arrive a couple of days previous to that upon
which the ceremony was to take place, and he was expected
the next evening.
The day was fine, the countess had driven out, and the
baroness was making farewell visits, for when the bride and
bridegroom departed she was to visit her distant estates.
Konradine had been all the morning in her apartments, after
a sleepless night. She had lost the courage even to be frank
with herself, and mortification at her condition certainly did
not improve it. Sometimes she was possessed by anger against
the prince. " Was it not enough to ruin my former hopes?
Must he, after finding happiness himself, come to destroy
mine?" she said to herself.
Such moods did not last long; reason came to her aid in
conquering them; but she was very wretched, and even the
right to be wretched would be hers but for a few days longer,
a few hours longer, for the struggle must be over, her weakness vanquished, before Emanuel's earnest eyes should meet
her own to read there the very depths of her soul,




HULDA.                      323
But how was it to be done?  Disguise it from herself as
she.might, now, a few days before her marriage, a few hours
before the arrival of her future husband, her heart longed for
the prince's love, and he was devoted to the memory of a
departed wife.
There was no help for it; her mind perpetually recurred to
these thoughts, and Emanuel was to come on the morrow.
She left the house, to try what physical exercise would effect
in reducing her mental restlessness. In her short Esthland
jacket, with its fur trimming close around her throat, and a
purple silk kerchief twisted about her head after the provincial fashion, she went into the garden and began to pace to
and fro in one of the broad alleys.
It was noon, and the gardeners had gone to their dinner,
leaving the doors of the green-house open. Konradine passed by
it once or twice, casting an absent glance at the flowers which
had been placed at the open windows and doors to catch the air
of spring. Suddenly it occurred to her to look for the myrtlebush from which her marriage-wreath was to be cut.  Its
closely-folded buds had begun to be faintly tinged with pink
on their outside leaves; the sun of the last few days had been
grateful to them,-they would soon open. She looked at
them with melancholy in her heart.  "It is time he were
here!" she said. "I wish he were here!" she added, as the
sound of approaching wheels was heard; and with that faith
in the power of a wish, which every one has felt in some
highly-strung condition of mind, she hurried along the principal avenue of the garden to the court-yard, in the full expectation of seeing there Emanuel's carriage.
But before she had gone far she became aware of her error.
It was not the carriage of the baron, but that of the prince. His
servant had gone into the house to announce his arrival, and
the prince, perceiving Konradine from the window, alighted
without awaiting his return, and came towards her.
At the entrance of the garden there was an extensive
bit of lawn, with here and there some weather-stained stone
statues, and here they met. The prince held out both hands
to her.
"How long it is since I last saw you!" he cried; "and
how fortunate I am to find you here I I was afraid you were
ill, from never seeing you even in the theatre. And indeed




324                    HULDA.
you do not look so well as you did."  His gaze rested upon
her for one moment, but it was clear and untroubled.
She thanked him fdr his sympathy, and offered to conduct
him to the house. He asked if she found it too cool, and
when she replied in the negative, he said, "Then let us stay
out here, the air is so delightful, and we can talk as we walk."
"As your highness pleases," she replied, courteously.
"Your words are gracious, but your manrLer says,' I should
be better pleased if you would leave me,"' said the prince.
" Nevertheless, I so seldom have the good fortune to find you
alone, that I will not be frightened away, and you must not
grudge me so rare a pleasure. Besides, you are to leave us in
a few days."
She replied that she expected Emanuel the next evening.
" So I heard from the countess, whom I saw a few days
ago," the prince rejoined; and they walked on together for a
few steps in silence.' In fact," he suddenly began, as if in
conclusion to a long train of thought,-" in fact, we all live
under the influence of ideas begotten of our desires and our
fancy, and we are subject to painful disappointments, because
we forget that others, upon whose aid in the fulfilment of our
hopes we have involuntarily reckoned, do not share them with
us. We are, and shall always be, as Goethe says, children,
and hopeful fools.'"
Konradine asked what he meant.
He hesitated for one moment, and then, his fine eyes glowing with the proud frankness that had once captivated her,
he said, " I confess to you that I had imagined a different
meeting for us. The time is past when I feared to think of
you or to meet you. If we are not what we once were, we
are certainly not less capable than formerly of understanding
and appreciating each other. You were the constant theme
of our conversation-"
"I?" Konradine interrupted him, looking at him with
astonishment.
"If you can doubt it, we never understood each other, and
I am a very dreamer," he said.
Meanwhile, they had reached the end of the walk, and,
instead of turning to the right to enter a side-path, Konradine
retraced her steps towards the house. The prince followed her
lead, but after they had walked on a little farther he stood




HULDA.                      325
still. He had grown thoughtful, and with a gravity in strong
contrast to the cheerfulness he had hitherto displayed, he
said, "In a few minutes we shall part, perhaps forever!
It might be better to suppress what you seem to have no
desire to hear, better not to offer you a hand whose reconciling grasp you are not inclined to return. But there is an
honour of the heart that craves satisfaction, and I should like
to justify myself to you to-day before I leave you. Konradine,
will you hear me?"
She inclined her head in mute assent.
"Then walk with me once more through the garden," he
asked; and she turned with him.
" You doubted being the frequent subject of our conversation," he began; " and yet the confidence established between
the princess and myself during the first melancholy months
of our married life was based upon her knowledge of the
passionate affection that I had entertained for you, and of
the enduring pain that the loss of you caused me. You
accused me of coldness and selfishness. I seemed harsh and
rough-"
She would have interrupted him, but he would not suffer
her to speak. "No," he said; " do not try to soften what I
say. I have never forgotten that day or that hour, as I have
never forgotten you. You never appreciated how unanswerable were the arguments of reason that forced me to act as I
did and resign you; and you never knew how all those arguments were powerless in assisting me to endure the sacrifice
that I made. You did not see how I was obliged to arm
myself against myself with the weapons of harshness and
cruelty, with which I could have destroyed myself, but with
which I did nothing but wound you. Believe me, Konradine, I did not deserve the scorn with which your outraged
love turned from me. You were not more unhappy than I,
and     "
" No more! no more! I cannot bear it!" Konradine fairly
gasped, as she leaned against a stone pedestal, and covered her
face with her hands, that the prince might not perceive the
pascionate emotion that had mastered her.
The prince started at these words. Never since they had
seen each other again had he heard such a tone in her voice
The sound awakened an echo within his own breast.
28




326                    HULDA.
He laid his hands upon her shoulders. " Speak," he cried;
"say one word, Konradine! I am free-and so are you.
There is yet time. I love you, Konradine; and you have
forgotten and forgiven. Speak, I conjure you, and saf you
are mine!"
"No!" she said, firmly, as she retreated from him; " no!"
He looked at her; the force that she put upon herself
made her features rigid and cold. She went slowly towards
the house, and he walked silently beside her.
"Twenty-four hours," he said, "still belong to you and to
me!"
"No," she repeated, as if incapable of any other word.
Thus walking beside each other they reached the entrance
of the garden. Neither looked at the other. The't eyes
were downcast. At last the prince raised his head.' When
I saw you again," he said, "I did not mean to ask you for
what I now implore you. You were betrothed. You told
me of your peace and happiness; you deceived me, and you
deceived yourself.. Will you persist in thus deceiving yourself
and the baron?  Can you offer him only friendship, when he
asks for a wife's affection?  Pause, Konradine  What are
you about to do?"
"To keep the promise which I freely made to a man whom
I esteem," she replied, firmly.
"And to swear a vow in which your heart has no part."
"To swear such a vow as you swore to the princess'with a
bleeding heart, to keep it, to conquer myself as you have done,
and to confer happiness in entire self-forgetfulness. Farewell!"
" Farewell!" he repeated, dejectedly. They pressed each
other's hands. At the door of the house she parted from him
mute and tearless.




HULDA.                      327
CHAPTER     XVI.
THE next evening Emanuel arrived. Konradine threw
herself into his arms and welcomed him with an eagerness
that enchanted him. Then she stooped, as Hulda had once
done, and kissed his hand.
"Dearest love," he cried, " what are you doing? What do
you mean?" But she did not reply, and he was too happy to
question her action further.
All the evening she was charming. Never before had she
seemed to her betrothed so young, so maidenly; and there was
a gentle tenderness in her manner to him that became her well.
When the family separated for the night, the countess detained
her brother in the drawing-room for awhile, that she might enjoy
a few moments alone with him. " We shall see but little of
each other," said she, " when you are established for the rest
of your life at Falkenhorst."
He hoped, he told her, that she would spend some weeks
at least of every year in her ancestral home, and expatiated
upon the kindness that had been shown him by his neighbours
the Von Barnefelds.
" What you say of these neighbours of yours pleases me
much," said his sister. "The solitude will not be so great
for Konradine and yourself as I had feared. A life of complete retirement is a terrible test, I think, to which to put a
newly-married couple."
Even this general observation startled Emanuel.  He had
Konradine's happiness so strongly at heart that the least hint
that the life he found full of interest might not be all-satisfying
to her was sufficient to rouse the ever-lurking demon of selfmistrust within him. He could not conceal this from his
sister's keen eye.
" Do not misunderstand me," she said. "I should be sorry
to think that I had raised a single doubt in your mind as to
Konradine's future content. Remember, she is no longer a
young girl; she has loved and suffered, has had experiences
that she cannot forget, and, although she has borne herself




328                    IIULDA.
nobly, her late intercourse with the prince has had its effect
upon her. The leave that he took of her yesterday accounts
for the exhaustion on her part that I noticed when I returned
from my drive, and she must be treated with great forbearance
and tenderness."
Emanuel was pacing the room to and fro as his sister spoke.
She was not certain that he was listening. Suddenly he paused
before her.
" I wish," he said, "that you had let bygones be bygones.
I know you mean kindly by me, but you have done me no
good."  And he bade her good-night and left her without
giving her his hand as usual.
That night was sleepless for both Emanuel and Konradine.
The next morning when they met each felt that some reconciliation was necessary, and yet there had been no quarrel.
Emanuel was more silent than upon the previous evening, and
Konradine was as gentle and careful as a child who wishes to
avoid reproof.
During breakfast, a note was handed to the countess. " From
his highness the prince," the servant said.
" He writes me," said the countess, as the others looked inquiringly at her, "that some tidings which he received yesterday morning decided him to start upon his tour of inspection
to-day. He sends his remembrances to you and to your mother,
my dear Konradine, and begs me to present to you his wishes
for your future happiness."
Konradine inclined her head, and when she, with her mother,
had left the room, Emanuel asked his sister whether she would
permit him to see the prince's note. She silently handed it
to him. It contained the intelligence of his departure, and
concluded with, " Pray present me cordially to the baroness
and Friulein von Wildenau, and express to the latter my
wishes for her future welfare. May she enjoy that happiness
which I now know never can be mine!"
The words were no more than the prince was perfectly justifled in using, but they planted a thorn in Emanuel's breast.
He gave the letter back to his sister without a word. That
day and the next passed calmly, but a dull weight burdened
Emanuel's spirits, and the confidence that his first moments
with his betrothed had inspired was entirely gone.
He was melancholy, and would not ask himself why, be



IULDA.                      329
cause he dreaded the answer to the question. The attention
Konradine paid to his slightest wish, the pains she evidently
took to please him, only distressed him the more, and his disquiet increased with the approach of the wedding-day.
Each seemed to regard the other as an invalid in especial
need of forbearance and care. All her dutiful observance of
the rules she had laid down for herself did not save Konradine from despair; all his trust in her did not relieve Emanuel's suffering. They were both wretched.
Every day convinced Emanuel that Konradine's late intercourse with the prince had revived her old love for him, and
the prince's letter to the countess strengthened this conviction.
Without a word on Konradine's part, he guessed what had
happened: that there had been some revelation between her
former lover and herself, and that she had dismissed him and
resolved to be true to her word to her betrothed. The agitation of the struggle, and joy at the victory she fancied she
had achieved, explained the meek and tender affection with
which she had first received him. The revulsion, the reaction
followed, and now she was pondering and weighing it all in
her mind. What if the result should be regret for what she
had done?
Thus they lived on until the day before that appointed for
the marriage, when, according to the custom of the country,
Konradine was to receive all her female friends who wished to
bid her farewell and to bestow upon her some token of their
affectionate remembrance.
Although the countess was anxious that in her mourning
any appearance of unusual festivity should be avoided, the
rooms were hung with wreaths and filled with flowers. The
ladies came and went, and sat talking in groups, while servants handed about ices and refreshments.  The countess was
charmed that all was going so smoothly, and felt that her
brother's future was at last secure.
Many of the visitors had left; Konradine's bridesmaids
were still with her, and a couple of elderly ladies were bidding farewell to Frau von Wildenau, when a carriage drove
rapidly up before the door, and immediately afterwards a
young cousin of the countess entered the drawing-room, evidently in a state of unusual agitation. She was very sorry,
she declared, to come so late, but she had received a terrible
28*




330                    HULDA.
shock. Just as she was getting into the carriage, her husband,
the general of a regiment of cuirassiers, had received tidings
calling him instantly from home, and she had awaited his
return.
Frau von Wildenau asked if anything serious were the
matter.
"Ah," replied the general's young wife, " I had determined
not to say one word about it to cloud such a day as to-day,
but you will be sure to hear of it, and you had better learn it
from me than from the papers. Yesterday, at the review at
B —, Prince Frederick's horse suddenly shied; its rider undertook to discipline it, it reared, fell over backwards, and the
prince was taken up senseless,-fatally injured, they fear, by a
blow upon his head."
The last words had scarcely left her lips when, with a low,
agonized cry, Konradine clasped her hands above her head,
and fell fainting on the floor, before any one could go to her
support.
There was general dismay and confusion. Frau von Wildenau and Emanuel lifted the senseless form from the floor
and laid it on a lounge, and the countess dismissed the guests,
accounting for Fraulein von Wildenau's sudden indisposition
as best she might. They departed, expressing their sympathy,
discussing the prince's accident, and trusting that there would
be no reason for postponing the marriage. The countess was
perfectly calm and self-possessed; but she felt it a relief
indeed when the last visitor had gone and she was free to
inquire after Konradine and her brother.
Frau von Wildenau met her in the antechamber to Konradine's apartment. She informed her that her daughter had
shortly recovered her senses, and had refused even to lay aside
her dress. Emanuel was with her, and they had requested to
be left to themselves.
The countess remarked that it was much better so; the
baroness was silent..The ladies then separated; the settlement of the affair did not depend upon them.




HULDA.                      331
CHAPTER XVII.
KONRADINE was leaning back wearily in an arm-chair.
Emanuel was seated beside her. The burden of the hour lay
heavily upon both.
" Forgive me, Emanuel I" she began, at last, for she could
no longer bear the silence. " Forgive me I Do not turn away
from me. I was not my own mistress. It was stronger
than I!"
" I know it," he replied; " I saw it. What is there to excuse or forgive? Let it go; it is past." He controlled himself by an effort that lent a stern rigidity to his features,
bringing out strongly the native nobility of his fine head.
" I cannot see you thus," she began again. " Do not condemn me before you have heard me. I was yours, and meant
to remain so. On the day before your arrival the prince first
spoke to me in the tone of a lover. I repulsed him firmly.
Until then no word of his had reminded me of the past, and
I was determined to keep my promise to you unbroken —"
"It is well for me and for you that you were unable to do
so," Emanuel interrupted her; " that fate prevented you from
so degrading yourself and me."
Again there reigned a gloomy silence between them, until
Konradine laid her hand upon his, and said, with tears in her
eyes, "I cared so much for you, I was sure of leading a happy,
peaceful life by your side; my trust in you and my reliance
upon you are so unbounded-  "
"And I will not fail you!" he again interrupted her. " I
do not accuse you; I alone am to blame for the error that was
made. There can be no true marriage founded upon friendship when one is formed, as you are, to awaken and to receive
love. I should not have been so misled as to suppose I could
ever gain and retain the love of youth and beauty. I should
have been content with the friendship that you accorded me;
been content to live a lonely life, and die, the last of my race,
in fulfilment of the ancient curse."




332                    HULDA.
"Emanuel!" she cried, "I pray you do not speak thus!
What are you talking of?"
"Dreams," he replied. "But what is dream, and what
reality? A dream has made me happy all this time. It is
dissolved, and I am awake. Can you or I change what is
past? And if we could, do we wish that we had gone on and
contracted the closest union, I full of unfounded faith, and
you with your heart full of a love in comparison with which
the compassionate tenderness —"
" Emanuel!" exclaimed Konradine, in a tone of entreaty.
But he repeated the expression, " in comparison with which
the compassionate tenderness and friendly esteem that you felt
for me were cold and faint. We should be thankful to fate,
and obey its decree willingly."
As he arose and walked to the window, there was a knock
at the door; a servant wished to know if the countess might
see Fraulein Konradine. Emanuel replied, in her stead, that
they would be glad to see her, and the countess entered.
She was quiet and sympathetic, treating the whole affair as
a by no means alarming attack of sudden indisposition. Then,
as if the only matter for anxiety were the accident to the prince,
she said she was glad to be the bearer of cheerful tidings.
The prince's wound, at first thought fatal, was, although severe,
not at all dangerous. They hoped to have him brought home
in a few days, and that he would shortly be perfectly restored.
Emanuel listened calmly. When the countess had finished,
he turned to Konradine. "You see," he said, "the first
accounts are always exaggerated. You need not be anxious,
and I can depart immediately."
"Depart?" the others cried, in a breath. " Are you going
away?" the countess asked.
"Konradine has need of rest, and it will be good for me
also," replied Emanuel.
The countess looked from her brother to Konradine, and
then at her brother again, utterly at a loss, for the first time
in her life. Anger at her friend, pain on her brother's account,
wounded family pride; and her distaste for the publicity and
the social gossip that the rupture of her brother's engagement
at this last moment, as it were, would produce, all assailed her
at once.  "Do not decide immediately," she entreated her
brother. "You must not let him go," she said to Konra




HULDA                      333
dine. But Emanuel paid her no heed; and, as if he wished
witness to his farewell to his betrothed, he hastily held out
his hand to Konradine, and said, "Farewell!"
Konradine threw herself at his feet, and cried, "Do not
leave me thus, Emanuel! You know how dear you are to me,
-how it breaks my heart to give you pain. Tell meHe gently raised her from the ground, and, taking her
hand, said, "You will forget what you now suffer, in the love
that awaits you!"
"And you? and you?" she cried.
"I shall endure what I must as best I may. Farewell!"
She threw her arms around him, weeping. He gently extricated himself once more, and, pressing her hand, said, almost
in a whisper, " Be happy!" and was gone.
Before nightfall he was upon his way. The servants went
softly whispering about the corridors and antechambers of the
countess's house.
The countess had a long and confidential interview with
her family physician, to whom she poured out all the woe her
wounded pride was forced to endure. He also saw Frau von
Wildenau and her daughter; and Konradine was induced to
keep her room for some days-a rest of which she certainly
was in great need-while the countess despatched notes to all
who had been bidden to the marriage, informing them that
the ceremony had been postponed on account of the sudden
illness of Fraulein von Wildenau.
Three days later the countess departed from the city, to
pay her long-contemplated visit to her daughter. The baroness
and Konradine left before the end of the week. The prince
had not yet returned to his palace; but the news from him
were favourable, and no doubts of his speedy recovery were
entertained.
The countess had been long with her daughter, Frau von
Wildenau and Konradine had passed the summer at a wateringplace, and the prince had entirely recovered from the effects of
his fall, before the hreaking of Baron Emanuel's engagement
had ceased to be the theme of rural gossip upon the countess's
estates or among the tenantry at Falkenhorst.




334                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN the world in which Hulda lived, a year or more passed
away, after the breaking of Emanuel's engagement, without
bringing to her ears a single whisper regarding him or any one
in any way connected with him. Then it happened one day
that the doctor, who was paying her a visit, mentioned that
the king had shortly before raised to the rank of countess a
Fraulein von Wildenau, a former canoness, that. she might
more suitably contract a marriage with Prince Frederick, the
widower of his deceased niece.
"Whom?" asked Hulda, scarcely believing her ears.
" Whom has the king made a countess?"
" A canoness,-Konradine von Wildenau," the doctor replied, carelessly.
"Impossible!" cried Hulda. "Konradine von Wildenau is
the wife of the Freiherr von Falkenhorst."
The doctor bethouglt himself for a moment. "It seems
to me," he said, " that I heard something about that-something about a broken engagement, I cannot exactly remember
what..But I am sure of'one thing,-that Baron Emanuel
von Falkenhorst, the possessor of Falkenhorst, is unmarried.
Some one dining with me lately mentioned that he was the
last male representative of his name, and that the estates
would lapse to the female line if he, who is about forty years
old at present, did not marry. But what do you know of the
future Princess Frederick?" he added.
Hulda made some indifferent reply, and the doctor was quite
satisfied; but she could not forget what she had heard, nor
could she tell whether she had been pained or pleased by it.
One thing seemed certain,-whatever experiences Emanuel
had passed through, he no longer remembered her.
In the course of two years she had become entirely accustomed to her position. The public for whom she played were
always charmed with her, the manager and director had come
to be fully aware of what a treasure they possessed in her, and
since of late she had received most favourable proposals from




HULDA.                      335
other towns, they were ready to do all they could to retain
her in her present position. There had even been some talk
of her appearance at the royal theatre, in the capital of the
kingdom, since one of the principal actors there had fulfilled
a starring engagement with the Holm management, where he
had seen and appreciated Hulda.
Her understanding was developed, her strength of character
increased, and she continued eagerly to pursue all the means
of self-culture of which she could avail herself. The honest
attention that she had learned to pay to duty during her youth,
beneath her father's roof, stood her in good stead now; she
neglected no opportunity of that careful study the want of
which no genius can supply. Her ambition was always awake,
her pride in her art was pure and genuine.
Her friends were all ready to admit that hers was a rare
nature. Even Philibert, whose selfish passion was at first
always prone to overstep the barrier which she interposed between herself and her admirers, at last learned to ask no more
favour from her than she could gracefully dispense to all.
Certainly Hulda could ask for nothing more in her present
position, so far as regarded her art and the public. But
the applause that greeted her before the curtain contrasted
strongly with the ill will that she encountered behind the
scenes.
Frauleiu Delmar had not forgotten or forgiven the circumstances of Hulda's first appearance. She was never weary of
showing her petty spite towards the innocent cause of her
former defeat; and all the subordinate actresses, who had
founded hopes of fame upon Feodora's retirement, espoused
the cause of Hulda's enemy. In a thousand ways they annoyed Hulda. There was nothing that did not afford them a
pretence for slighting or insulting her. They cast meaning
glances over their shoulders at her when new costumes were
ordered for her, sneering at the director's sudden extravagance
and lavish generosity. They whispered together when Lelio
appointed times for reading her parts with her, and many a
malicious word, which she could not help overhearing, cut
Hulda to the heart, which had just throbbed with exultation
at the public applause.
While she hoped to influence her enemies to lay aside their
prejudice against her sE3 had spoken to her friends of her




336                    HULDA.
sorrow at finding it so strong. The doctor took her to task
for allowing it to annoy her. "A kind fairy gifted you in
your cradle with great beauty and rare artistic talent," he said.
"We men are all ready to pay you homage, and you are miserable because inferior women will not admire you too. Fie I
you must not be so grasping, my child."
Hochbrecht and Philibert took another tone. " You portray
love and passion," they said, " so perfectly that you touch all
hearts, and you expect women with not a ray of talent to believe in it as a result of your imagination and not of your experience. To do that they must possess your own gift of
fancy. We are the only ones to be pitied, for they believe us
far happier than we are."
But nothing that the doctor or her friends could say ever
reconciled Hulda to the pettiness and jealousy, the small deceit
and mean curiosity, that she encountered in her present life
behind the scenes. She was grateful that in her inmost heart
she could preserve memories which had nothing in common with
the present, and to which she could flee when it oppressed her
too heavily.
Often, when she opened the windows of her room early on
Sunday morning, and the wind was lightly stirring the branches
of the trees in the square, the birds were singing, and the
sound of the church-bells floated on the air, she was seized by
a longing that both refreshed and pained her.
Her thoughts would wander back to the home of her early
childhood. She heard the sand upon the floors crackle beneath
her tread as she waited to walk to church with her father and
mother, dressed in the simple costume of the country, her hair
wound in smooth braids about her head. Again she sat by her
mother's side in church, and felt the cool sea-breeze sweep in
through the curtain at the door. She saw around her the honest
faces, furrowed by toil and weather-beaten by storms, the redcheeked, white-headed boys and girls, who all knew her and
liked her because she was the pastor's Hulda. She longed for
those old days as for the salt breath of the sea and the beauty
of nature.
At the beginning of her dramatic career she had been regular in her attendance at church; but the sense of loneliness
that so often oppressed her increased when she sat among all
those strange faces; she could not follow the preacher's words,




HULDA.:337
for old memories of her father, and gradually she had given up
the habit of church-going. Sometimes she was afraid that'
she was losing even the power to pray. She would fold her
hands and-the train that she was to try on the morrow would
come into her mind. She would try to examine the thoughts
that had passed through her mind during the day; but she
could not bear to recall its many little annoyances, and if the
words of prayer passed her lips mechanically, she shrank from
such a mockery of worship. It seemed to her as if she were
kneeling like Gretchen before the altar, and that she could
hear the whisper of the fiend:
" Iow otherwise was it, Margaret,
When thou, still innocent,
Here to the altar cam'st,
And from the worn and fingered book
Thy prayers didst prattle,Half sport of childhood,
Half God within thee!"
Then she would clasp her hands firmly, and fervently thank
God that her heart was still pure and her conscience free from
stain; then she thought with profound affection of her father
slumbering in the little church-yard far away, of her tender
mother buried in the depths of the sea, and her whole soul
would arise in the burning supplication, "Lead me not into
temptation, but deliver me from evil."
What else could she desire before God? Not for His ear
were the dreams of pride or ambition, and for whom beside
herself should she pray?
Her parents were dead; her guardian had repudiated herhe sent her without a word the yearly interest of the small sum
left her by Miss Kenney. She knew nothing of the pastor
or of the family at the castle. The only one of whom she
always thought, the man upon whose head she would have
invoked Heaven's choicest blessings in spite of the misery he
had caused her, Emanuel, did not need her prayers, for he
was happy,-happy without a thought of her; and yet in
thought she was always with him.
Every intonation of happy love-all the tones of woe with
which she touched the hearts of her audience-she owed to
him, and to him alone.
She thought of him when trying to avoid all contact with
~P~ 23




338                    HULDA.
what was false or impure; her memory of his faith in her
purity, his grave disapproval of all that was false, kept
guard over her always. Should she ever see him again? If
that time should ever come, he should find that she was
worthy of the love he had once given her and withdrawn from
her. His image followed her everywhere, earnest and grave
as the voice within, warning and exhorting like another conscience.
CHAPTER XIX.
HULDA had been three years upon the stage, when the newspapers announced that one of the brilliant stars in the theatrical
world, Michael Lippow, would shortly arrive in town, his services having been secured by the Holm management for six
performances.  The news was received with delight, and the
tickets for each evening's entertainment were quickly exhausted.
Very little was known concerning the antecedents of this
artist. It was maintained that he was of excellent family,
that he had not always been devoted to a theatrical career,
but that no less a person than the incomparable Louis Devrient
had been his teacher and his model. He was little over thirty
years old, an excellent linguist, finished in appearance and
manner, and renowned for his wonderful power of metamorphosing his exterior according to the part he was to play.
He was first to appear as Marinelli, in " Emilia Galotti,"
and on the last night of his short engagement would.play Mephistopheles, in" Faust," Lelio and Hulda sustaining severally
the parts of Faust and Gretchen for the first time.
This was a great gratification for these ambitious young
artists. They had been studying Goethe's great work for months
past, and that they should first appear in it with the famous
Lippow was considered to be great good fortune. What might
not be the good results from his visit? Lelio's contract with
Holm expired late in the fall, and Hulda's engagement was to
end with the winter. Lippow was to go to Vienna the next
year, and if the performance with him succeeded they might
be called thither.




HULDA.                      339
The summer was at its height on the morning when the
actors began to assemble for the rehearsal-at which the great
man was to make his first appearance.  Fraulein Delmar,
dressed, in spite of the morning hour, in green silk, with a
bird of Paradise in her Leghorn bonnet, had thrown herself
into a chair, and was engaged in polishing with her lace handkerchief her gold eye-glass.
The director rallied her for thus making ready for a good
view of the celebrity.
"Of Lippow?" she cried. " Do you think I am polishing
my glass for him?  Not at all. He is a trained artist; there
is nothing new to be seen in him. I am looking for our divinity, our Venus Anadyomene, as Hochbrecht styles her in
his measured verse. I wish to see what attitude she will take
towards Lippow."
Scarcely had she spoken the words when the manager appeared upon the stage with Lippow, and Hulda came slowly
forward from the side-scenes. She looked like summer itself,
in her fresh white muslin and round straw hat wreathed with
cornflowers, and holding in her hand a lovely branch of mossroses, which Philibert had handed to her as she entered the
theatre.
Involuntarily every man turned to look at her as the manager indicated her by a motion of his hand. But scarcely had
Lippow and Hulda looked at each other when they paused and
started in unfeigned surprise. A name, an exclamation, hovered
upon Hulda's lips; but a look, a warning look, from Lippow
stayed its utterance.
Fraulein Delmar, the manager, and the director, all noticed
the strange incident. They looked at one another, but found
no clue to the riddle.
Lippow, however, regained his self-possession in an instant.
He hurried towards Hulda, and, with an air of finished courtssy, said, offering her both hands, " Is it possible! Can I
believe my eyes?  Is it you, Fraulein Hulda?  Who would
have thought that we should meet here, after our sudden separation in the castle by the sea? We certainly have cause to
be thankful for such good fortune."
He intentionally prolonged his greeting to give Hulda time
to recover herself; but her answer sounded cold and formal
after such warmth on his part. An abyss seemed to open




340                    HULDA. *
before her. The idea of daily intercourse with this man, with
Michael, of playing with him every evening, of enduring his
touch, of acting Gretchen with him, inspired her with actual
horror.
The rehearsal of Emilia was half over before she had in
any degree recovered from the terror which this meeting had
caused her. Why had she never thought that Michael Lippow, of whom she had often heard, must be one and the same
with Prince Severin's servant, who in his time had exercised
so decisive an influence upon her fate?  She had heard the
bailiff say that Michael had joined the play-actors, but she
had never known his last name, and she had not dreamed
that the praises she heard lavished upon the finished artist
had reference to the man who lived in her memory as the
personification of all that was vile. She had recognized him
at the first glance, although he was greatly altered, and in
carriage and bearing bore but small resemblance to the supple,
obsequious valet whom she had seen in former years. In spite
of her dislike of him, as he stood before her now she could
not withhold her admiration from the artist.
Still, although his rendering of his part was admirable, and he
was loud in his praises of Hulda's talent and improvement, she
was thankful when the rehearsal was over, and she could collect
her thoughts and banish sad memories of the past to the depths
whence they had been summoned by Michael's appearance.
At the breakfast given by the manager to Lippow when
the rehearsal was concluded, men only were present, and all
were charmed by the versatility and talent of their guest. He
had seen more of the world than was at all usual in those days,
knew the great capitals of Europe well, and had studied Talma
in Paris and Kemble in London. He was brilliant and easy
in conversation, and, to all appearance, most unpretending
for a man of his reputation. He provoked confidence without ever giving any in return, and before the festivity of the
morning was at an end he knew all there was to be learned
about Hulda, had listened with surprise to the universally
believed report as to her parentage, to Lelio's account of his
disinterested friendship for her, and to the expression of Philibert's hope of winning her sooner or later for his own, without having for an instant betrayed any particular of his cwn
former acquaintance with the young actress.




HULDA.                      341
The evening's performance on this first day of Lippow's
sojourn in town was confined to a couple of farces, performed
by subordinate members of the company. The great man
was to appear on the following night.
Hulda's windows were open, and she was alone. Six o'clock
had long struck, and the approach of evening was already cooling the air. Its gentle breath stirred the leaves of a myrtlebush upon the table before her, and the room was filled with
the fragrance of the roses which Philibert had given her that
morning. She was dreamily watching the light clouds floating hitherward from the east, seeming to bring her upon the
breeze a greeting from her old home by the sea.
She was longing, like a prisoner, for freer air and a fuller
enjoyment of nature. Her father and mother had surrounded
her with love in that far-away home on the sea-shore, and she
had, with childish curiosity and eagerness, thirsted for a city
life among stone walls and crowded streets-for gay dresses,
ornaments, and the applause of the many. All these were
now hers; nay, she could confidently expect- them to be hers
in future in even fuller measure; but did not she long now
for the dear old life of the past, just as she had then longed
for an unknown future? Was she happier now than she had
been then?
She was lost in sad reverie, when Frau Rosen knocked at
her door, and, as if she were announcing a great piece of good
fortune, informed her that the hero of the day, Herr Lippow,
wished to pay his respects to her. Her first thought was that
she would refuse to receive him, but she reflected that this
would be of no use, since she must be thrown with him daily
for awhile, so she sent to request him to come in, and ordered
candles to be brought.
Beata, who was anxious to see the famous actor, took the
candles from her mother, and preceded the guest into the
room. She wondered that Hulda should receive with such an
air of reserve the handsome man of whom every one was talking, and who so courteously and respectfully addressed her,
congratulating himself upon meeting her again after so long a
separation.
Scarcely, however, was the door closed behind the girl,
when Michael threw himself down upon the lounge beside
Hulda, and, seizing her hand, held it firmly between both his
29;



342                    HULDA.
own, while, leaning towards her, he said, in a tone of easy
familiarity, "'Pon my honour, my lovely friend, your grace and
dignity enchanted me to-day. Do you know, Hulda, that you
have become an excellent actress?"
Altlhough she could not instantly withdraw her hand from
his clasp, she recoiled from him, and, with the same grave
reserve with which she had received him, replied that she was
obliged to him for his encouragement, and was glad that he
thought well of her representation of " Emilia."
Michael laughed aloud.  "Enough! enough of this!" he
cried. "What do we care about'Emilia,'-about the farce
with which we must amuse the rabble, because we need their
money? No, what enchanted me was your bearing iii the rehearsal to-day. Countess Clarissa herself could not queen it
more royally than you do at this moment. Absolutely perfect but basta, Signora, basta adesso!"
"I did not know," said Hulda, oppressed by his familiarity,
"that I should find in you — "
" I know; oh, I saw that," he interrupted her, "and you must
have seen, fair lady, that I know how to understand, to obey,
and to be silent."
He bowed with mock reverence, but, as Hulda's face still
continued very grave, he also changed his tone and his expression. He let go her hand, folded his arms, and, leaning back
in the corner of the lounge, said, "You choose to take the
matter seriously? Well, then, as you please. It is an affair
of but a few words. You, gracious lady, will please to forget
that you ever saw me in the castle by the sea, in Prince Severin's society, not absolutely master of myself or my own
actions. I, in return, will forget the little liberties and amusements that you then, under the guardianship of the all-virtuous Miss Kenney, permitted yourself with the enthusiastic
baron and the susceptible prince. Our lives begin from yesterday. I am of distinguished parentage, an actor from choice, in
opposition to the wishes of my relatives. You? You will have
the kindness to instruct me as to what part you choose to play.
Only, dearest girl, no farce when we are tete-a-tete. For, in
truth, I find you far lovelier than ever,-maddeningly lovely!"
He attempted to approach her again, but she arose and stood
before him glowing with shame and anger, scarcely able to find
words to express what she felt.




HULDA.                      343
"I had forgotten you!" she cried. " You have nothing to
fear from me. Your name has never passed my lips, shall
never pass my lips, if I can avoid it. Do and say what you
choose. I have nothing to shun, nothing to conceal."
"Nothing?" Michael asked, with a sneer.  "In all innocence, then, you saw fit to lay aside your father's name and
provide yourself with an illustrious mother?"
"I?" cried Hulda, who did not in the least understand his
last words.
"Oh," he quickly went on, "I do not blame you. On
the contrary, I admire your wisdom. Every one who wishes
to be seen must have a pedestal to stand upon, and since
Gabrielle'has in her princely retirement forgotten at her husband's side all former follies, she need not grudge you the reflection of her former glory, especially since you do credit to
her name. Only before me, my fair friend, who admired you
when you were taking the linen from the line in the parsonage garden, and enjoyed the delight of your society-precious
memory!-at Ma'amselle Ulrika's, pray descend from your
pedestal, and let us understand each other."
"This is incredible!" cried Hulda, who began to understand
the ambiguous way in which during these years so many
people had spoken to her of Gabrielle. "This is incredible!
A disgraceful invention! Whose is it?"
" How should I know, my fairest? Not mine, at all events!"
Michael replied, with cool indifference. " But never let it turn
one of those golden hairs gray. A daughter like yourself,
what mother would not be proud to own? what man not
enchanted to father?"
Hulda had sunk upon a seat at the other end of the room,
and was crying bitteriy. To know the memory of her pious
father, her gentle mother, and Gabrielle's fair fame thus insulted, and to discover that she was accused of spreading such
a report, of branding her own existence with infamy, was more
than she could bear. And yet this report must have been in
circulation ever since she first trod the stage. Michael surely
had not invented it. She alone, in her artless security, had
been ignorant of it; in her innocence she had aided to spread
it abroad. Who had originated it?  What had given rise to
it. These thoughts overcame her, and she was filled with
disgust for the society and the world in which she lived.




344                    HULDA.
Michael still sat upon the lounge, watching her. Suddenly
she remembered that he was a witness of her tears. She
arose, and hastily dried her eyes.
"Admirable!" cried Michael. "Every motion is perfect.
You must let Gretchen lie just in that posture in church before
the altar. It could not be finer, and the shape of your head
is exquisite."
"Odious!" exclaimed Hulda, turning from him. But he
was not one whit abashed; he seemed rather to enjoy the dislike of him which she manifested.
"You must be indulged," he said. "For the next fourteen
days yoi are mine; and as you apparently belong to those
realistic artists who must absolutely feel what they represent,
only continue to increase your detestation of me during that
time, and we shall produce a perfect furor in Faust."
He had arisen and was standing as he spoke. To Hulda
his words, "for the next fourteen days you are mine," sounded
like a curse.
"Yes," she cried, scarcely knowing what she said, "fourteen
days! but never again!"
Michael smiled. "Sweet innocence," he said, "do you not
remember how you protested on that rainy evening in the
forest that you would never look upon my face again? And
yet here we are together, a stage hero and heroine, the admiration of a little world. You seem to me to have wonderfully
retained your youth. Have you really never asked yourself
how we shall regard each other at the end of fourteen days,
when we shall have learned-and the lesson will be worth the
learning, believe me-each other's value, and that we can together command theatre, public, and manager, if we please?"
" I do not desire such command," Hulda said, coldly. "All
that I ask   "
"At last!" cried Michael. "I can then have the pleasure
of doing something for you!"
"Yes!" replied Hulda." "And I demand it as my right."
She paused, for her lips trembled, and when she spoke it was
in a dull monotone. "Tell every one, every one who knows
anything of me, that you have seen me beneath my parents'
honest roof; that you knew me when I was in Ma'amselle
Ulrika's service,"-she selected the strongest word she could
think of, to give emphasis to what she wished to say —" tell




HULDA.                      345
them that I am the child of worthy people, and that there is
no other tie between Gabrielle and myself than that of gratitude on my part for her kindness."
She thought thus to give him his dismissal, and that he
would leave her. But he still stood gazing at her, for she
seemed to him more and more beautiful every moment. His
gaze distressed her. He saw that it did so, and he enjoyed hr
annoyance as the beginning of his triumph. He bowed assentingly, and said, as if they were upon the best of terms with
each other, " My lovely friend, you shall be obeyed, rely upon
it. When we next meet here, my charming fair, I trust
you will not prove so entirely inaccessible as you now are to
this poor mortal, whom you affect to despise because he
admits that he is a child of earth, and no seraph."
He seized her hand, kissed it passionately, and hastily left
the room with an "A rivederci!"
Hulda heard his steps descending the stairs, and the housedoor close after him. Then she breathed freely, and, ringing
the bell, gave orders that if Herr Lippow ever came again he
should not be admitted. Neither Frau Rosen nor Beata
could understand such an order. "What can she mean to
do?" said Beata.  "She has some plan in her head."
"Of course she has," said her mother, "and a very fine
plan. She will catch Philibert; for she is just as prudent
and cold as Feodora."
CHAPTER XX.
EVERY evening that Lippow appeared, the theatre was
crowded. There had been no such receipts since Feodora's
last three nightsi and even Hulda, repugnant as Michael's
presence upon the stage always was to her, could not but adhit
that he was a great artist.
The manager, the director, Lelio, and all the habitues of
the theatre, with Philibert at their head, were loud in their
admiration of him. In private as well as in public he con
trived to make himself quite the hero of the day.
P*




346                    IIULDA.
He had attempted several times to see Hulda again at her
lodgings, but had never been admitted. He was unused to
such repulses, and by no means inclined to submit to them in
this case. His vanity was piqued, and his admiration of her
beauty increased daily.
He tried to treat her refusal to admit him as a jest, and to
conquer her coldness and reserve by an air of easy friendliness. He reproached her one evening, behind the scenes, in
the presence of Friulein Delmar, for such treatment of an old
acquaintance and companion.
Hulda pleaded, in excuse, excessive fatigue, and the necessity that she felt of giving all the time that she could to the
study of her new part.
Fraulein Delmar observed that Hulda had always boasted
of her excellent memory.
"And yet she forgets her friends!" Michael said, "and has
no remembrance of the corridors and antechambers in the old
castle, where we young people used to laugh and talk so merrily that the joyous echoes rang again. But, tempipassati!
the pastor's pretty Hulda has become a great actress, and
forgets her whilom associates in the count's castle."
The flippant tone in which these words were uttered irritated Hulda, and the thought that Fraulein Delmar was
present caused her to forget all prudence.
"I have forgotten nothing," she said, " nothing! I remember perfectly distinctly every event at the castle. But the
memory of them awakens no pleasure within me; and I
wonder that you can refer to them."
Her cue was given, and she went upon the stage. Lippow
smiled.  " The same enchanting caprice, the same charming
soubrette,-provoking in her coquetry!"
Fraulein Delmar opened wide her eyes. " Soubrette?" she
repeated.
"Soubrette, or-companion to a superannuated governess,"
he said, carelessly. "Call it what you will. Her mother had
been a servant in the castle; she was born a serf on one of
the countess's estates, and, being very pretty, she found favour
with her superiors, as did her daughter. She was afterwards
married to the pastor on the estate, and her daughter was quite
a pet at the castle."
"But what about Gabriellc?  What has this to do with




HULDA.                      347
her? How did she come across Gabrielle?" Fraulein Delmar
asked, eagerly.
"Gabrielle?  Perhaps she was her maid."
"Maid? They said she was Gabrielle's daughter," said
Fiaulein Delmar, more and more interested.
" What an idea! Who said so?" exclaimed Michael, with
well-feigned indignation.  "What a groundless slander!"
Friulein Delmar assured him that the report was everywhere credited.  Hulda herself had never denied it when it
had been hinted at in her presence. She had rather boasted
of Gabrielle's protection.
"And she was a waiting-maid?" she exclaimed, with exultation. "You knew her as such?" she said, indignantly.
" A waiting-maid, and giving herself such airs! It is disgusting!"
Michael laid his hand upon her arm. "Softly, gracious
lady; do not be unjust. A pretty waiting-maid belongs in the
nature of things to every distinguished household, and is by
no. means to be despised, especially when there is the making
in her of such an artist as our lovely Hulda. I certainly have
nothing to say against her, and yet, Heaven knows, I have
small cause to defend her, for it was owing to her that I had
a most unpleasant encounter with Prince Severin and Baron
Emanuel, the son-in-law and the brother of the countess. The
affair caused me in the end to take to the stage, and sent
Mademoiselle Hulda back to her father's house.  Well, I am
not sorry, and the fair Hulda probably owes her present position to the protection of her two cavaliers."
The second act of the play was at an end, and the actors
retired to their dressing-rooms while the scenes were changing.
All went on smoothly to its close, and the public were delighted.
Hulda had grown more composed during the progress of
the play; but she would gladly have recalled her words to
Michael, for she had learned to dread his smile. She was
troubled at the thought of his hostility, and her loneliness
oppressed her.
If there had only been some one whom she could ask,
"What do you think he will do?   What have I to fear?"
It would have been a relief to pour out her heart on paper to
some one. But whither should she turn? Not to Gabrielle;




348                    HULDA.
she had told her of the thorns which beset the path of an
actress, and to her she must be mute when these thorns
wounded her. And Feodora was away with her husband,and there was no one else beside.
No one! for she had cut herself loose from the friends of
her childhood's home, and, even if she had not, their counsel
would have availed her little in the world in which she now
dwelt, and from which the young pastor would fain have lured
her back to the old parsonage. She thought of it with emotion. How many still lived unknown and content in such a
little home! Such a fate had once been hers, but she had rejected the love of him who would have bound her to it always.
Was it her fault that her love for Emanuel had sprung to life
within her when she was little more than a child?
Michael's presence had called up all the past, and again she
was conscious, with bitter pain, of her unhappy, rejected love.
What was all the applause of the crowd in comparison with
the look of pleasure with which Emanuel had once listened
to a song from her? How happy she had been at his side!
What blissful hopes hovered above her sick-bed when he had
placed the ring upon her finger! And now? Where was the
happiness that his love had brought her? What could she
hope for now but the admiration, the homage, that gratified
her ambition but never satisfied her heart?  Was this what
she had so longed for in life?
She dared not pursue these thoughts; they were vain, and
did but cripple her power. She sat down to her piano, and
tried to lose herself in playing and singing the melodies of
her childhood and her home.




HULDA.                      349
CHAPTER XXI.
THE following evening "Faust" was to be played. Lelio
had promised to come in the morning to read with her; but
he did not appear; instead came Philibert, "to rest himself in
her society," as he said,
The expression seemed to her rather familiar; but he was
so full of the delights of an entertainment he had given to
Lippow the preceding evening, at his villa, and had so much
to say, that Hulda scarcely had time to reply. There was,
however, something odd in his conduct towards her; it w-'s
greatly changed. He seemed to be trying to emulate Michael's
flippant manner, and to bear himself as if he had established
a kind of claim upon Hulda. She said nothing, but she endeavoured to show him, by her grave air of reserve, how distasteful such behaviour was to her.
Philibert laughed at her serious face. " In the name of all
that is sacred, fairest Hulda," he cried, "are you never going
to resign your r6le? Why make us all miserable for nothing?
Must one positively be either a prince or a baron to find favour
with you?"
Hulda uttered a cry of absolute terror; for now she knew
the cause of Philibert's changed demeanour; but he interpreted her cry according to his own ideas.
"You cannot complain of me," he said. "I have never
tried to learn anything with regard to you that you wished to
conceal, and I certainly should never adore you the less because
in times past, before I knew you, you were perhaps scarcely
so strict in your watch over your heart as at present. The
only thing —"
Hulda could no longer contain herself, and with glowing
cheeks she interrupted him, while her eyes filled with angry
tears. " The only thing that I have to say to you is, that I
think it most insulting that you should believe the words of
a strange man, who was dismissed from the service of Prince
Severin because he conducted himself improperly towards me,
sooner than mine, although you know me well, and although
30




350                    HULDA.
no one can with truth reproach me with my conduct at any
period of my life."
She arose and went into the next room. He was about to
follow her, but paused, reflecting that he certainly had made
a false step in acting upon information which might not after
all be correct. Still, he was not prepared to admit that he had
insulted Hulda. He was always true to his character of selfish
egotism, and was ready now to ascribe her indignation to his
own folly in having spoiled her by the great respect and forbearance that he had always shown her. He thought he knew
how to tame her without allowing this day's interview to be
productive of unpleasant consequences.
He took out a card from his letter-case, wrote upon it
Faust's words,"How short and sharp of speech was she!
Why,'twas a real ecstasy,"
added an "unchangeably yours" above his name, and, after
placing it where it must meet Hulda's eye immediately upon
her return, left the house.
She entered the room as soon as he left it, saw the card,
read it, and tore it into pieces.
This was the pain she could not away with; this it was
that made the position which she occupied at times unendurable to her. Although her soul and her life were both
pure, men regarded this purity as only a matter of whim, and
to be laid aside at some time of her career. An actress was
looked upon as game, sooner or later to fall a prey to the successful huntsman, and men permitted themselves to think and
speak of her in a way that would be an insult to other
women.
What to her were the applause and admiration of an audience, although the expression of them made her heart throb
exultingly, if in the retirement of her home she was not safe
from insult to her moral sense and maidenly dignity? What
pleasure could she take in the flowers thrown to her by women
as a return for the delight her acting had afforded them, while
she felt herself shut out like a pariah from social intercourse
with them?  The admiration that was yielded to the artist
was no consolation for the want of the respect that should be
paid to the woman. She could not endure the consciousness




HULDA.                      351
that she was continually in danger of attack; it humiliated
her in her own eyes to be obliged to exculpate, to defend herself. And this very afternoon, when she had hoped to be absorbed by her art, when " Faust" was to be played, the burden
of her existence seemed heavier than ever.
The weather was charming as she drove to the theatre,
where the spacious vestibule was already thronged with people.
As she passed, Hulda was recognized by many; she was pointed
at and stared at, so that she was glad to enter the long corridor
that led behind the scenes. On her way to her dressing-room
she met Michael and Lelio, both already dressed. She had
hitherto seen Lelio only in youthful costumes; in the dress of
Faust, for the first act, he seemed like a stranger, and as such
he now conducted himself towards her. He did not offer her
his hand, he refrained from his usual friendly greeting. She
could not understand his behaviour, and, since he had not kept
his appointment with her in the morning, she asked, "Are
you not well, Lelio? Has anything happened?"
He replied in the affirmative. She begged him to tell her
what had befallen him. He made an evasive reply, and she
thought she saw an unpleasant smile upon Michael's face. She
could not tell, however, whether it was the effect of her
question or of the paint which, in the most masterly manner,
he had employed for Mephistopheles. He soon solved her
doubt.
"You see now, fair lady," he said, as Lelio walked away,
"that every one is not so patient as your humble servant; not
every one will bear with your caprices as does your old friend,
who forgot everything as soon as he saw you. Everything,
Hulda! everything! To-night we shall enjoy together a fine
revenge. To-night you will sing' io trionfo!' with me."
"I do not understand you," said Hulda, the terror that she
always felt in this man's presence stealing over her.
" Have patience, and you will see!" he said, bowing with
the sneer that suited his role, and limping away. She went
to dress. The overture was nearly finished, and after it the
first act passed brilliantly.
The magnificeni rendering of Mephisto, never exaggerated,
always sustained, not only held the audience entranced, but also
delighted the other actors. Hulda's fancy was as it were spellbound by it. She seemed to see Michael for the first time in




352                    HULDA.
his own character, as if until now he had always been dis.
guised, and the shudder with which she should dramatically
have regarded him was genuine.
At last the curtain rose for the second act, and Gretchen
issued from the church on the right of the stage, and advanced
to cross the scene, her head bent, her prayer-book in her hand.
Lelio, as Faust, hastily approached; she raised her eyes at his
address, and saw just above her, in the proscenium-box, Clarissa
and Prince Severin.
This, then, was what Michael had meant.
-'A tremor ran through her limbs, a burning blush suffused
her neck and cheeks; she could hardly lift her eyes; the few
words that she had to utter were spoken with the shrinking
timidity of a child, and she did not recover herself until she
had left the stage and no longer felt the eyes of the prince
and Clarissa's glass directed towards her.
The audience found the first encounter of Gretchen and
Faust admirable; it was the unanimous opinion that maidenly
terror had never been so naturally expressed before.  It
augured well for Hulda's success in her new r61e.
How did she play it? She could not tell, for her heart was
full to breaking. She could scarcely recover herself amid the
memories that came surging over her. Intense longing to see
Emanuel only once more, to hear him speak one word, overpowered her as she saw Clarissa; and she had loved Clarissa
herself so dearly. Clarissa had been as kind as a sister to her.
What must she think when she saw her here with Michael?
How could she comprehend that Hulda had left her home to
become an actress?
There was no need to feign the longing and the woe in the
song at the spinning-wheel. She could hardly sufficiently restrain the emotion that filled her eyes with tears, and never
had she felt so painfully, so intensely, how she had belonged
to Emanuel alone, how he had been all the world to her, and
how passionately she still loved him and him only, as when,
in the recklessness of despair, throwing aside all maiden shame,
she sang the last two verses from her very soul:
"My bosom yearns
For him alone;
Ah, dared I clasp him
And hold and own,




HULDA.                      353
And kiss his mouth
To heart's desire,
And on his kisses
At last expire."'
A storm of enthusiasm greeted her at the close. The prince
leaned far over the front of the box and applauded vigorously.
He evidently wished to attract Hulda's attention.  Clarissa
dried her tears, and as Hulda looked up at her she thought
she saw in the fine eyes-eyes that were so like Emanuel's-a
glance of kindly recognition.
Hulda clasped her hands upon her breast as she curtsied
Wo the audience when she was called before the curtain; but
she thought only of Clarissa. She would have given all the
fame in the world to have thrown herself only once into the
princess's arms as the pastor's Hulda.
The tremendous force of the poem took complete possession
of her during the rest of the play. She forgot herself utterly.
Only when the fiend whispered in her ear as she knelt praying
before the altar did her own longing stir within her, but to
be overborne by the mighty stream of poetry that carried her
through the drama upon its waves.
When the curtain fell at the close of the evening, the actors
in the principal parts were loudly called for; and when Hulda
appeared, conducted by Michael and Lelio, the prince's "Brava!
brava!" repeated so often and with such enthusiasm gave the
cue to the audience, who overwhelmed her with applause,
creating her, as it were, the heroine of the evening.
Michael could scarcely contain his rage.  For years he had
looked forward to the day when he should verify his own
words and cause his former master-the man who had so maltreated him-to regard him with admiration. To-day this
gratification would, he thought, have been his, for Mephistopheles was the part in which he had won the most enthusiastic
applause; but his hopes had been in vain. The growing enthusiasm of the mass had followed him from scene to scene;
but the prince and Clarissa had been entirely unmoved, and at
the last decisive moment the prince's dislike had snatched from
him the triumph of which he felt certain, to bestow it upon a
pretty face. He hated Hulda with a bitter hatred. He would' Bayard Taylor's. translation.
30*




354                    HULDA.
have liked to crush her under foot, and, scarcely moving his thin
lips, he whispered, loud enough to be heard both by Hulda and
Lelio, "What a faithful Celadon! He has not forgotten the
good old times, or what the future may have in store for him."
"Odious!" exclaimed Hulda, as she withdrew behind the
curtain. Her pleasure in the applause she had received was
gone. Insulted, melancholy, at odds with herself, and wearied
in mind and body, she turned from the scene of her triumph
to the solitude of her rooms, to ponder sadly upon the days
when she had helped the Countess Clarissa with her tableaux
vivants and longed so childishly for the world in which she
now lived. Ah, it was no paradise! There was neither rest
nor peace to be found in it.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE princess had been so delighted by Hulda's beauty and
talent that she would gladly have sought her out that very
evening after the close of the performance.  She reminded
her husband how she had always maintained that Hulda was
a most remarkable person.  "If only," said she, "that disagreeable Michael had not been upon the same stage, I should
have enjoyed this evening's entertainment more than any acting
I have ever seen before. But it must be very difficult for the
poor girl to have to play with Michael and be in constant
intercourse with him."
The prince shrugged his shoulders.  "You forget that
Hulda is no longer the pastor's daughter who was for awhile
beneath your mother's roof. She has been two years upon
the stage, and the boards of a theatre are slippery ground for
a woman's feet."
Clarissa indignantly repelled any idea that Hulda could be
less lovely and true than she had known her.
"It may be," rejoined her husband, " that your confidence
does not mislead you, but let us be cautious. It would be
very unfortunate both for her and ourselves to excite hopes
by advances on our part which we might afterwards regret."




HULDA.                      355
His wife insisted, however, that no caution was necessary;
she hoped she should see her the next day. Then she wondered whether Baron Emanuel had ever seen her upon the
stage, what he had thought of her, and whether her art had
consoled her for her lost love. "For," said she, " Hulda's
love for our uncle was pure and fervent."
" Emanuel, too, loved her,-loved her very dearly; he made
no concealment of it," the prince added, with the air of one
alluding to what is long past and done with.
" It was all the more inexcusable on his part to give her
up," cried Clarissa.
" You are romantic enough for a country pastor's daughter
yourself, dear," said her husband, as supper was announced.
The landlord of the hotel waited upon them at supper, and
trusted, with a profound bow, that their highnesses had enjoyed
the performance at the theatre; adding that Herr Lippow was
staying in the house, and that the great actor had mentioned
that he had formerly been acquainted with his highness.
The prince, at these words, looked at his wife with a meaning smile that did not escape the host's observation, although
the princess immediately questioned him as to whether he
knew anything of Fraulein Vollmer.
"No more, your highness," the man replied, " than what is
generally known about our actresses. She lives very retired,
and is very prudent -"
The prince interrupted him. "Then no one knows anything
to her disadvantage?"
"Nothing at all, your highness, since she came here," replied the host, with an evident emphasis upon the last words.
The prince noticed it.  "What do you mean?" he asked.
The man looked from the prince to the princess. "No one
knows exactly," he replied, " how the young lady came to go
upon the stage, or where she comes from. There are all sorts
of stories about that. Herr Lippow seems to have known her
very well."
This was too much for the prince's sense of justice. " Herr
Lippow," he said, very decidedly, " certainly knew Mademoiselle no better than did the princess and myself We take a
more than common interest in the young artist, because she is
the daughter of a clergyman upon the princess's family estate
and once belonged to her mother's household. Remind Herr




356                   HULDA.
Lippow of this, and, tell him plainly you heard it from me.
Pray do not forget to do so."
With this an end was put to the conversation. Clarissa
was grieved and annoyed. Her husband was all the more
anxious to gratify her desire to see Huida, and the next
morning he left the hotel some time before his wife's hour for
rising. In the hall, as he went out, he asked of the host
where Hulda lodged. The man would have sent a servant to
show him the way, but this service the prince declined; and
L:lio, who happened to be just entering the hotel to keep an
early appointment with Michael, saw the prince take his way
to Frau Rosen's.
Immediately after Michael's first performance with Lelio
and Hulda, he had proposed that they should together give a
test performance in the royal capital, where he was at present
engaged, and had written to make arrangements to that effect.
Only upon the previous morning he had spoken of the great
advantage that both Lelio and Hulda would enjoy in thus
paving the way for a departure from the provincial town
where they had been fettered for so long. But to-day he
seemed to have changed his mind. He pretended to have
found a letter awaiting his return from " Faust," in which the
manager of the royal theatre refused to give Hulda an opening
there, since he had once seen her play, and had been by no
means impressed. "And, indeed," said Michael, "she is far
too vain to be really effective with others. She is too much
occupied with herself."
Lelio, who had played with her now for more than two
years, and had never thought her vain or self-occupied upon
the stage, stated his opinion of her; but Michael maintained
that she played to the audience, and was always ready to
coquette with the men in the proscenium-box.
" Why, you yourself must have seen last night how palpable
her coquetry was with one of her earliest friends and patrons.
Her eyes were so riveted upon Prince Severin that in the
love-scenes you were almost ridiculous, making love to her ear
and chin, while she was regarding the prince. And you and
I were no more than her train-bearers when the prince saw fit
to single Lar out for his special admiration, even in the presence
of his wife, who long ago learned to put the best face upon
his vagaries."




HULDA.                     357
Lelio's nature was honest and true, and he was not naturally
inclined to believe evil of others; but his vanity as an actor
was his weak point, and he could not endure the idea of
having stood like Hulda's train-bearer, while the prince lavished his applause upon her alone. He did not understand
why he had not immediately seen through all Hulda's manoeuvres to attract the prince's attention; and, more annoyed
than he cared to show, he said, as if to himself, " He has just
gone to see her."
"Who?" asked Michael. M
"The prince, to see Hulda," Lelio explained.  "He was
asking the host where she lived as I passed the office."
" In order to make it seem as if he did not know," said
Michael. "Or perhaps you really believe the prince's arrival
an accident, just on the day when Hulda was to play Gretchen
for the first time, and when he might be of use to her? Oh,
she is a sly one! She always knew how to take precious good
care of herself. We must be on our guard."
He said no more; but Lelio felt bitterly aggrieved and
mortified.
He had thought well of Hulda, and had helped her when
he could, but she had deceived him in everyrespect. He
had been a tool in her hands, to be used for her own ends.
This was more than the vanity of a man, and especially of an
actor, could forgive. He had done with Hulda; he despised
her.
Meanwhile, the prince had not found Hulda at home; but
Beata had shown him to her room, where he had written a
couple of lines to her, which he sealed and left upon her
table.
When he returned to his hotel, the princess was awaiting
him at the breakfast-table. He bade her guess where he had
been so early, a riddle that she easily solved, thanking him for
leaving Hulda an invitation to come to her during the course
of the day.
"How did her rooms look?" Clarissa asked.
"So pleasant and so exquisitely neat that I kept looking
round for Miss Kenney," replied the prince.
Clarissa declared that this was a very good sign, and he
did not contradict her. " Nevertheless," he said, " one or two
things betokened an unusual degree of luxury. Her writing



358                    HiULDA.
table was beautifully furnished, and in the adjoining room, the
door of which stood open, there was such a toilet-table as never
could have been procured with the salary paid by a provincial
manager, while of course the prescribed parrot was not wanting, and I suppose the inevitable poodle had gone to walk with
its mistress."
Clarissa laughingly scolded him for his suspicious nature;
and, as they were not to proceed on their journey until late in
the afternoon, he left her to visit one or two military friends
in the town.
He had not been long gone when her servant brought her
a wreath of cornflowers, saying that the lady who had brought
them begged that her highness would allow her to see her.
"It is Hulda!" cried the princess, and instantly ordered that
she should be admitted. As she entered, Clarissa, touched
by the remembrance of former days, went to meet her, with
both hands extended. Hulda stooped, as of old, to kiss her
hand, but the princess prevented her, and pressed her lips upon
her brow.
Then, as she saw how elegantly Hulda was dressed, and remembered what Severin had said about the luxury in her rooms,
she grew embarrassed, and Hulda noticed it.
"I must entreat your highness's pardon for my intrusion,"
she said; " but when I saw you in the box last night I was so
overcome by home-sickness that it left me no rest. Therefore
I came out early this morning, and thought the cornflowers
might plead for me."
" There was no need of that," cried the princess; "believe
me, I had not forgotten you. We were delighted last evening to see what an artist you have become; and the prince
went to your house this morning to ask you to come to me."
Hulda did not know this,-she had come of her own accord;
and now that she felt the uncertainty in Clarissa's manner,
she wondered how she had found courage to do so; for in
Clarissa's presence the fidelity and devotion with which she
still clung to the man who had forgotten her, oppressed her
like some heavy weight. She could not conceal from herself
that it was the hope of hearing something of Emanuel that
-had lured her hither, and this consciousness robbed her demeanour of that easy grace that had gradually become natural
to her. She wished she had not come.




HUTLDA.                     359
Her embarrassment infected Clarissa. They sat in silence
for a few moments, and then the princess said, " You really
enchanted us last evening; there is a great future before you.
I trust you are happy in the profession you have chosen?"
Hulda easily read the thoughts of her noble questioner.
" Yes," she replied, " I am proud of my profession, and the
applause that you and the prince, your husband, accorded me
last evening made me very happy for the time."
"For the time? Then you are not so always?" the princess
asked.
"Who could say that she was always happy?" Hulda
replied, with evident reserve.
"True, true," the princess assented, with a conventional
sigh. "But," she added, prompted by a certainly pardonable
curiosity, " how came you to leave your home, to break off
your engagement with the pastor and go upon the stage?"
Hulda was chilled and saddened.  She had hoped that
Clarissa had really been fond of her, and she was not even
informed as to the most superficial facts of her life. But she
quietly replied, " Your highness is in error upon one point.
I never was engaged to the pastor."
" No? I thought I heard that he wished to marry you,
and that you were betrothed to him."
" He wished to marry me."
"And you refused him?   Why?    My mother has a great
respect for him; she praises him highly."
"He deserves it all, and I myself esteem him greatly;
but-"
"But?" the princess repeated.
"I had no heart to give him!" Hulda replied, firmly and
gravely.
The tone in which she spoke these words, the blush that
overspread her cheek, revealed to the princess the thoughtlessness and injustice of which she had been guilty with regard
to her. Hulda now prepared to depart, feeling sadly that this
meeting had not answered her expectations. A similar thought
probably occurred to Clarissa.
"Are you going," she cried, "already?"  And the affection that she really felt for Hulda asserted itself in spite of
all other considerations.  " Have you no more time for me?
I so rejoiced at the idea of seeing you again, of thanking you




360                   H ULDA.
for the pleasure you gave me last evening; and, more than
all," she added, " I hoped to hear from you that you were
happy. But it seems to me that you are not so content as my
interest in you would have you. You do not look happy. Is
there anything that distresses you? Tell me what it is, dear
Hulda."
As she spoke, she took Hulda's hand and drew her down
again upon the lounge beside her. The tone of her voice
touched Hulda; she did not wish to appear ungrateful, and,
collecting herself, she said, " I cannot explain to your highness how I came to go upon the stage; it would take more
time than you have to give me, and I assure you I take
delight in my art. But the world in which I am forced to
live is very different from the one in which I grew up. I am
a stranger in it, and I trust I shall always remain so. One
may be a great artist, greater than I can ever hope to become,
and yet be very lonely."
She paused, wondering how she could have said so much.
Clarissa shook her pretty head thoughtfully. "The prince
was right," she said, "when he told me that the path of a
famous actress is not so brilliant as I had supposed it, but beset
by dangers-and -"     She did not finish her sentence, but
added, hastily, " Now I am doubly glad to have seen you!"
Again she paused, and then, clasping Hulda's hand in both
her own, said, " One need only look into your eyes, Hulda, to
know that you have remained true to yourself. But will it
always be so? It would give me great pain, should I ever
see you again, to find that you had not been able to withstand
the dazzling temptations that must inevitably assail you. I
always thought well of you; I loved you, and hoped one day
to have you with me."
She paused once more, for she remembered what had put a
stop to these intentions and plans, and she was also struck by
the contrast between Hulda's present position and the lot she
had meant to provide for her. But fear lest Hulda should, as
the princess phrased it in her own mind, go astray, conquered
her confusion. "Do not think me intrusive, but did they not
try to dissuade you from going upon the stage?"
" What good would it have done?" replied the artist. "All
must follow the dictates of their own judgment in planning
their own future."




HULDA.                     361
"And have you never regretted the step that you took?
Suppose you had deceived yourself as to your powers?"
" Then," said Hulda, and her glorious eyes looked full and
clear into those of the princess, "no earthly consideration
would have tempted me to remain upon the stage.'A house
divided against itself must fall.' I have relied upon myself
and the powers with which God gifted me, and I shall never
be —"
She interrupted herself suddenly, for she had almost uttered
the words, "I shall never be unworthy of Emanuel's love,"
and arose again to take her departure.
Clarissa also arose. She felt Hulda's superiority, and it
humiliated her; but her affection for Hulda and her good
heart helped her to conquer the weakness that rebelled against
such humiliation. She asked if Hulda would not await the
prince's return.
Hulda took out her watch, and replied that she must go to
take her part in the rehearsal of a comedy.
"A comedy, after our conversation?  That must be very
hard!" cried Clarissa.
" One becomes accustomed to forget one's self in one's work,"
Hulda rejoined, with a patient and gentle expression that made
her, Clarissa thought, quite irresistible.
She took the light mantle from the lounge, where Hulda
had laid it upon her entrance, and said, as she put it around
her shoulders, " My mother will be rejoiced to hear from you;
she, and all the rest of us, had such a warm friendship for
your family."
Hulda asked after the countess. Clarissa replied that she
was with the young count, who had had a son born to him,
and that she hoped to see her when the prince and herself
should return in the autumn from the visit they were about
to make. She then accompanied her to the door, but upon its
threshold she was suddenly overcome by an emotion of sympathy for the young artist; she had, as it were, a revelation
of all that Hulda had suffered and endured, and, turning to her,
she threw her arms around her and clasped her to her heart.
"Dear Hulda!" she cried, "farewell, and, whatever may
happen to you, remember how I have learned to-day to love
and value you, and that in me you have a faithful friend.
Think of me often!"
Q                   31




362                    HULDA.
They were both greatly moved, and embraced and kissed
each other. Then Hulda went to her work, and the princess
stood at the window, looking after her.
"What a wife she would have been for Emanuel 1" she
thought, and the prince, when he returned, found her quite
carried away by her enthusiasm for the young artist.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE prince and Clarissa had never before visited Castle
Falkenhorst, whither they were now bound; nor had they seen
Baron Emanuel since the news of the severe illness of the
prince's father had occasioned their sudden departure from the
countess's castle.
Years had passed since then, but from the time of his rupture with Konradine Emanuel had never left his ancestral
home, except to attend to business matters in the provincial
capital.
He had resisted all efforts upon the part of his relatives to
lure him thence, and had found in the labour and duties of
his position a peace of mind which was evident in his letters,
and which went far to reconcile those who loved him to the
solitude of his life.
Since the birth of the young count's first son the countess
had become completely absorbed in him, and the idea of uniting two names and two inheritances in his small person was
fast taking possession of her. She no longer troubled herself
with regard to her brother's future. She lived almost entirely
in her son's family, and even her correspondence with Emanuel
and with her daughter and son-in-law was greatly interrupted
by the care and attention she bestowed upon her young
grandson.
Emanuel had driven to the river-bank to receive his guests;
he was delighted to show to the prince, who was much interested in the management and improvement of his own estates,




HULDA.                      363
the manifold alterations and improvements that had been made
at Falkenhorst since he had inherited it.
Roads, bridges, hedges, and the cottages of the labourers, as
well as the labourers themselves, had all undergone great changes.
Clarissa declared that she never should have recognized the
castle or the surrounding grounds from the pictures of it which
she had seen, and which, greatly to her mother's displeasure,
she had found extremely gloomy and unattractive.  "Indeed,
it is a blessing, my dear uncle," she said, "that you have been
able to make the old place look so cheerful and home-like."
Emanuel was in the best of spirits, and the old confidential
intercourse was soon established between the uncle and niece.
One morning at breakfast the conversation turned upon the
many privations that necessarily resulted from a life in the
country. The two men in their walk afterwards pursued the
same theme, and shortly came to speak of the day and night
that the prince and Clarissa had passed in the old commercial
town which was Hulda's present home.
The prince asked whether his wife had told her uncle of
their late theatrical experience, and when Emanuel replied in
the negative, went on to say, " Do you remember my valet, the
man whom I sent off from my mother-in-law's castle? He
has become an actor, and has grown quite famous. He was
born for the stage. You must have seen his name, Lippow, in
the papers. I really could hardly help laughing when our host
informed us, upon our arrival at his hotel, that we should have
an opportunity of seeing the celebrated Lippow that evening
as Mephisto. Of course we availed ourselves of it."
"And what did you think of him?" asked Emanuel.
"Admirable! an admirable actor!" replied the prince. "I
asked myself continually how such a scoundrel could ever become so finished an artist."
He said nothing more, and Emanuel walked on undecided
for awhile; then suddenly, with an effort, he said, "I suppose
you must have seen Hulda also?  She is greatly praised. Is
she a good actress?"
"More than that!" replied the prince. "Some of her tones
and gestures are absolutely irresistible. Clarissa was so touched
by her acting that she insisted upon seeing her in private and
talking with her. I wonder that she has not told you of it.
She always had a great affection for Hulda,-as we all had.




364                    HULDA.
She sent her a little remembrance when we left. Let her tell
you about it herself."
A servant here approached to announce the arrival of Herr
von Barnefeld, not, however, before Emanuel had been made
aware how impossible it was that he should speak of Hulda
himself, or hear her spoken of, with indifference, and how
precious, he might almost say sacred, her memory was to
him.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE most delightful weather prevailed at Falkenhorst during
the visit of Emanuel's guests; the days passed quickly in the
enjoyment of a companionship from which the baron had been
so long debarred; and when the last afternoon of the prince's
stay arrived, it found the guests as unwilling to depart as the
host was to speed the parting. Severin rode over to pay a
farewell visit to the Von Barnefelds, whose society he had
greatly enjoyed during his stay, and Clarissa and Emanuel betook themselves to the shelter of the castle, and the embrasure
of one of its windows, to avoid a passing shower, that had interfered with their drive. As they sat looking over the wide
expanse of field and fell, Clarissa suddenly laid her hand upon
Emanuel's and said, "As I look abroad from this window, and
then around me in this grand old castle, and reflect that you
are alone here in your woods and fields, alone in this huge
home,-even in winter,-this immense estate seems to me more
like a burden than a pleasure to you."
Emanuel looked at her with a smile. " You are the first," he
said, "who has ever suspected that such a large estate might not
be a pleasure to me, and therefore I do not hesitate to confess
to you that I looked forward with no satisfaction to its possession. At the time of my brother's death, however, when I
hoped to found a happy home here'for Konradine and myself,
I became interested in the place; and," he added, quietly, after
a short pause, "when that expectation was not fulfilled, the




HULDA.                      365
work I found to do here was a great consolation. There was
fill occupation for my time and thoughts in the improvement
of the condition of those about me, who looked to me as their
lord and master."
"And you are contented, then?" asked the young princess,
looking affectionately up into his face, and noticing as she
looked the few white threads among his dark curls. "You
are still young, Emanuel, younger than Severin. Do you
never think now of marrying?"
"The experiences that I have had," he replied, "are not
encouraging."
" Oh," cried Clarissa, "I do not mean to urge you, my dear
uncle, as my mother used to do. You and Konradine were
not suited to each other. You never loved her "
"And when I did love," he interrupted her, "loved with
intensity, and was loved in return with a rare affection, I was
fettered by this entailed. estate, and resigned for its sake a
happiness that can never be mine again, invoking upon myself,
in my deluded folly, the old curse, from which love would have
delivered me."
He stood up. Clarissa was grieved; she had not meant to
pain her uncle by awakening such memories within him. She
arose also, and took his arm.
"Forgive me!" she said, gently.
"What is there to forgive?" he replied; then, pressing her
hand, he added, " We will not speak of that! But I hear from
the prince that you saw Hulda upon the stage, and in your
rooms. Tell me all about it, my child, and just how it happened. I shall so like to hear you admire her. How did you
find her? and is she happy?  Is she still as lovely and as gentle
as in those dear old days?"
He sat down, and drew Clarissa beside him. She nestled
close to his side, and in the darkening twilight told him of her
whom he loved, told him all that he wished to hear.
She kept nothing from him; neither the surprise that it
had been to her to see Hulda upon the stage, nor the delight
she had taken in the artist. She told him how the prince had
warned her against seeking Hulda out, how he had jested
about the arrangement of her rooms, and that what he
said had caused a certain mistrust of her in her own mind.
Then came the account of the interview, and the love and
31*




~ 66                   HULDA.
respect it had awakened for Hulda, from whom she had parted
affectionately and sadly.
As she spoke, she warmed with her theme. Emanuel did
not once interrupt her. Sometimes she thought that the hand
she held clasped in hers trembled, but it had grown too dark
for her to see his features distinctly. When she had finished,
he arose.
"And I imagined her entirely absorbed in her profession,
which had a charm for her in her earliest years. I thought
of her as surrounded by admiration and intoxicated with applause. I wished to think her happy," he said.
Clarissa said she thought her happy, so far as her profession
was concerned.
"If she is not entirely at peace with herself, she cannot be
happy," said Emanuel.
"When she had gone from me," said Clarissa, "I thought
I had not shown her plainly enough how I prized her, and,
because I could do-nothing for her and had nothing of any
value with me, I sent her a couple of lines and a little crucifix that I had worn from childhood and that she used to
admire greatly when she was with us in the castle."
"The little gold crucifix with the cherubs' heads?" asked
Emanuel.
" Yes," said Clarissa, in some embarrassment; " the crucifix
of the Baroness Erdmuth. I ought not, perhaps, to have
given it away, and I should be sorry to have my mother know
it. But I really had nothing else at hand just then; and as,
according to the family legend, it preserves its wearer from
danger, I thought Hulda might need it more than I. I am
sure she was pleased with it. Do not be vexed about it; it
was a sudden impulse."
"I?" cried Emanuel.  "I shall always be grateful to you,
Clarissa, for sending it." He kissed her hand and said no more.
The servants soon after brought in lights, and, after some
talk upon other matters, Clarissa said, "When we were speaking just now of- the little crucifix, I remembered that all
the old silver, and many memorials of our ancestors, of which
my mother has often spoken, are here in the castle. Will you
not show them to me before I leave Falkenhorst?"
Emanuel was quite ready to do so. He sent for the castellan,
who had had the care of these relics now for two generations,




HULDA.                       367
and before long the old man, with a solemnity that would
have befitted some grand state ceremony, arranged in due
order upon the table before the young princess heavy old silver
tankards, artistically wrought silver urns, silver table-furniture,
mighty silver candlesticks, and a variety of small boxes decorated with silver nails.
The silver plate was magnificent, but the contents of the
boxes were comparatively worthless,-consisting of antique
ornaments of no intrinsic value; to each of them. however,
some family legend or tale was attached, with all of which
Emanuel was familiar, to Clarissa's great delight, who listened
eagerly to what he had to tell her of her ancient family. She
was just replacing the articles in their several caskets, when
the old castellan brought from a cabinet near by a small wallet
of faded red velvet tied about with a golden cord.
"Never mind that," said Emanuel, when he saw it; but his
exclamation aroused Clarissa's curiosity. She asked what the
little bag contained, and was told that it was the old manuscript concerning the elf-king and the curse which he had
called down upon the House of Falkenhorst.
The princess wanted to see it, and her uncle untied the golden
cord, carefully opened the old wallet, and took thence a leather
cover containing a few leaves of yellow parchment, upon
which the legend, with every detail, was written, in a cramped,
stiff handwriting.
Clarissa found it quite impossible to decipher the antique
characters, and, as she expressed a wish to hear it, Emanuel
undertook to read it to her.  As he slowly and distinctly pronounced at its close the elf-king's terrible curse, which had
so strangely rested upon the Falkenhorsts for centuries, until
in Emanuel's person the race was nigh to extinction, Clarissa
could not suppress a shudder.
The old castle, the old castellan, the old relics, even her
uncle and her own presence in this castle, seemed phantomlike and weird to her, and, stretching out her hand for the
parchment, she cried, " But that is terrible! How could so
evil a document be preserved for centuries?" And, as she
thought of her own two lovely boys, she added, "If there were
any sucl legend concerning the fate of our house, I would destroy it, that its dark predictions might never cast a gloom over
my children's life."




368                    HULDA.
Emanuel smiled. "You would destroy," he said,'what
lives from parent to child in the mouths of the people? Even
were it possible, it would not, I think, be desirable. Is not
the idea of being delivered from a curse by youth and love
beautiful and poetical?"
"Uncle," she asked, suddenly, " did Hulda know of this
old legend?"
" Yes," he replied, " she knew it." And he arose to put the
red wallet back in its cabinet. Clarissa went with him. In
the corner of the shelf there was a little box, of comparatively
modern form. Without asking permission, she opened it;
within lay a golden ring with a blue stone, and on the inner
side she read, " Thee and me shall no one sever."
She looked at Emanuel, but did not venture to ask who had
worn the ring, which was silently laid in the box again and
put back in its corner. Just then the prince came in from
his ride.
He examined the articles upon the table, expatiated upon
the beautiful model of the silver, and, taking up and weighing
in his hand one of the huge tankards, said, " What magnificent
use the Von Barnefelds would make of the value of this!"
Clarissa laughed. "Never let my mother hear you say
such a thing!" she cried. "When I am with you and
Emanuel I feel that I am in red republican society; nothing
is sacred in your eyes."
"But we would never destroy any written documents or
family records," said Emanuel. " Your mother, however, need
not be afraid. When your brother comes into possession of
Falkenhorst he shall find all the old family relics safe and
sound, and in their place-"
Clarissa and the prince would not listen to such words, and
Emanuel was silenced.
Meanwhile the castellan was putting away all the antique
magnificence. When he came to close the little cabinet in
which was the ring with the blue stone and the inscription,
Clarissa noticed that Emanuel took it from its box and put it
upon his finger.




HULDA.                      369
CHAPTER XXV.
AFTER Lippow's departure there was a lull in theatrical
activity for awhile. Both actors and public felt the reaction
from the unwonted enthusiasm that had prevailed. To Hulda
this period of comparative repose was unspeakably refreshing.
To a certain degree she was mistress of her time, and could
ponder to her heart's content upon her interview with the
young princess, and the warmth and tenderness that Clarissa
had shown her at its close. The whole day, after seeing her
friend, had seemed transfigured; and in the evening, when
she returned to her rooms from the theatre, she had found a
little packet awaiting her, which Beata said had been left for
her, without any message, by a servant of Prince Severin's.
Hulda instantly recognized the handwriting on the cover;
within she found a little crucifix, and two written lines
"Be to yourself forever true;
Know, for the rest, God cares for you!"
The writer had signed these lines with her Christian name,
and Hulda read them with tears in her eyes, as she pressed the
crucifix to her lips. She had seen it that very morning upon
Clarissa's neck. She had recognized it then, and remembered
how in other times, she had known that it was regarded as a
kind of amulet, never leaving the neck of its possessor day or
night, and she understood the tenderness that had suggested
sending her this token, so prized as a family relic.
She was no longer alone; she could turn in memory to the
friend whom she had so loved, and when she longed for sympathy could recall the name of a pure and spotless woman,
whose life had never been touched by the taint of calumny that
had spared neither Feodora nor Gabrielle.
What were the triumphs won by those women, compared
with the peace HIulda saw in Clarissa's eyes? And was not the
princess's confidence in her, her affection for her, worth more
than all the applause she had ever received upon the path which,
before she knew how full of thorns it was, she had chosen to
tread?
Q*




370                    HULDA.
After this short lull of leisure, thorns there were in abundance. Hochbrecht questioned her one day as to her relations
with Gabrielle; and when Hulda told him the truth, with
an indignant repudiation of any complicity in the false reports
that had been circulated, the critic smiled contemptuously,
while he gave her to understand that such unconsciousness
as she pretended to was quite incredible, and that her indignation seemed to him the result of the detection of her very
clever ruse.
She felt the insult in his looks and tones, and in her outraged dignity told him that her doors would be closed against
him in future. Such treatment from an actress, and from one,
too, for whom he had done such good service, was new in his
experience. He jested with Philibert about this fall from
Hulda's favour only because he had credited her with a clever
ruse, and Philibert listened willingly, after his own repulse
and Hulda's consequent refusal to receive his visits.
" We have spoiled her for the sake of her beauty," said he.
"We have all been imposed upon by her air of innocence.
The coy divinity must be brought to her senses, and there are
ways and means to do so. Had it not been for the enthusiasm
of Prince Severin at the representation of' Faust,' she would
have found, although she certainly did play admirably, that
friends who are not appreciated may grow cold."
Hochbrecht was quite of his opinion. " A couple of scenes
from the'Taming of the Shrew' might be of service to this
Kate," he said, with a laugh; and the friends consulted upon
the " ways and means" that Philibert had alluded to.
But Hulda was troubled and anxious with regard to the
alteration in Lelio's manner towards her. She had grown much
attached to him, and every day made his estrangement from
her more evident and painful. At last she asked him to appoint
a time to visit her, for she had much to tell him. He coldly
replied that it would be impossible for him to do so dur.mg
the next few days, and she knew that he was shortly to leave
town.
This took place one morning at rehearsal, and, as she pondered it at home, she could not bear the thought of losing the
friendship of the man whom during more than two years she
had found so honest and true.
She sat down at her writing-table.  "What have I done to




HIULDA.'                    371
you, my friend," she wrote, "that you turn from me? Wherein
have I,deserved that you should entertain an unfavourable
opinion of me? And you evidently do so without giving me
a chance to repel any slander which may have reached your ears.
We all have a right to know of what we are accused. I cannot let the day pass without doing what I can to retain a
friend whom I thought so loyal. I depend upon your coming
to me."
She had hoped this would bring him to her instantly; but
it was late in the afternoon before he made his appearance.
"I hesitated to come to you," he said, " because I would
have spared both you and myself a conversation which cannot
but be distressing. You know, Hulda, how much I prized
you, how I delighted in the relation between us, which was
that of the purest friendship, and how I relied upon your
truth and honour, more even than upon my own-  "
"And what has altered all this?" Hulda interrupted him.
" Do you trust me no longer?  What have I done to put an
end to your faith in me?"
He had seated himself upon the lounge; he leaned his
head thoughtfully upon his hand and made her no direct reply.
"I do not blame you," he began, after a few moments. " I
am no moralist; I have seen much of the world and of every
form of passion, and I know well how easy it is for the wealthy
and the noble in rank to entangle in their snares youth and
inexperience."
" But what has this to do with it?" interrupted Hulda. "Why
do you say this to me? What does this preface mean?"
He paused, and looked her sternly in the face. " But what,"
he continued, "I cannot forgive, what makes me turn from you
with disgust, is your daring deceit, your hypocritical display of
purity and innocence; this seems to me so —
" Lelio," she cried, "what do you mean?  Whom have I
deceived?  Who dares to accuse me of hypocrisy?  If Lippow has done this, it is he who is the deceiver and hypocrite.
You have done me a terrible injustice if you have listened to
the words of that man."
"I say nothing," he went on, "of your allowing me to
believe that Gabrielle was your mother —-"
" What?  Have I not repeatedly told you of my parents
and of my poor mother's terrible fate?"




372                    HULDA.
"You have; but you never contradicted the report that
has been in circulation ever since you came here --
"Because I never knew of it; because even now I cannot
understand how it originated."
"And yet it might do Gabrielle even now a great deal of
harm," said Lelio. "But this is not all. Why did you
tell me of your stay in the countess's castle, of your relation
to Baron Emanuel and to Prince Severin, if you could not tell
me the truth with regard to them? It is this delight that you
have taken in deceit, this determination to pursue the devious
ways of falsehood, because you thought there was no one who
cQuld contradict you,-this playing with the danger of leading
us all astray,-that has destroyed all my confidence in you; not
that those men took advantage of your youth and inexperience. Heaven knows we are none of us angels. Gabrielle
was no saint, nor was Feodora, but they were frank and open."
Hulda had risen; her agitation had given place to an absolute composure. " You have gone too far, Lelio," she said, 
firmly. " There'are accusations which a friend cannot utter
without making further friendship with him impossible, and
against which it would be a disgrace to defend one's self: You
have listened to Michael Lippow, and believed him and not
me. I can do nothing but be silent and regret that I sought
this interview."
Lelio had also arisen, and his sensations were by no means
to be envied. He had been much attached to Hulda; he
had ranked her far higher than any other woman whom he
had ever known upon the stage, and her present virtuous indignation, her composure, the pure and womanly expression
of her whole bearing, touched his conscience. He began to see
that he had gone too far, that he had done wrong in heeding
the slander that a stranger had poured into his ears. But he
was not magnanimous enough to confess the wrong that he
had done, without an effort to make her at least his involuntary accomplice. He said, gloomily, " If you had but mentioned to me at any time that you knew Lippow!"
" How was I to know that this Lippow was the prince's valet?
He circulated all sorts of fables with regard to his antecedents,
and the newspapers were full of them. And what was there
to induce me to speak to you of a man whom I trusted I
should be able to forget?"




HULDA.                     373
To this Lelio replied only by silence; he felt that he was
dismissed, but could not make up his mind to go. He saw
the weariness in her looks, and it touched him more than her
words.
" I cannot leave you thus I" he at last exclaimed. She did
not answer. He then began to reveal the web of slander that
Michael had woven around her, and, distasteful as it was to
her to do so, she involuntarily defended herself.
Thus they gradually came nearer to each other again, and
at last felt that they were reconciled. Lelio proposed to accompany her in a walk, and she accepted his escort. They
walked along as usual to all outward seeming; but Hulda had
a sense of aloofness from him. The old relationship was gone..
Upon their return, at Hulda's door Lelio held out his hand.
"Blot these last days and hours from your memory," he begged,
"and do not think ill of me. We men are not worth much;
but it is the fault of you women if we do not think highly
enough of you."
"It may well be so upon the stage," said Hulda.
" The world is pretty much the same everywhere," he replied. " It is no Paradise."
"But there are spheres where one breathes'a purer ether, a
sublimer air,'" she insisted.
" You are thinking of the lovely princess and of the crucifix,"
he made answer; "but you do not know all that goes on in those
higher regions."
They made arrangements for the next rehearsal, and parted.
They were to play together only twice more, and then Lelio
was to take a six weeks' vacation, during which he was to play
for a few nights in the capital. Neither was sorry that the
time of separation was so near.
11~F  ~32




374                    HULDA.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A NEW play-house, bidding fair to rival the royal theatre,
had been lately opened by private subscription in the capital
of the kingdom, and during his stay there, Lelio, anxious to
do all in his power to atone for his injustice towards Hulda,
had so spoken of her to the management as to strengthen them
in their desire to secure her services at the close of the year,
-when her contract with Holm should have expired.
They opened a correspondence with her for this purpose; but
suddenly, to her great surprise, the negotiation was broken off.
Lelio's letter apprising her of this unwelcome news was in her
hand when Beata announced Friulein Delmar. This was so
uncommon an event that Hulda was startled, aware that a visit
from Fraulein Delmar boded her no good. Her visitor had
not been long with her before she expressed her compassion for
Hulda's solitary condition, with no friend at hand to counsel
or sympathize with her.
Hulda replied that a faithful friend was undeniably a great
blessing; but the ambiguous smile upon Friulein Delmar's
face perplexed and annoyed her. " I have pitied you from my
very heart," the lady continued, taking Hulda's hand in hers;
" for you have none of Feodora's cold, calculating nature, and
Philibert, too, is not like Van der Vlies."
"I do not understand what your remark points at," said
Hulda, hastily.
"Why, do you not know," replied Fraiulein Delmar, "that
it is Philibert who has put a stop to your being engaged at the
new theatre?"
Hulda started. She had said nothing to any one concerning
her affairs or hopes, and yet others knew more about them than
she.
" Philibert," the other continued, " does not deny it; in fact,
he tells it to everybody who will listen. The proprietor of the
new theatre is, as you know, his intimate friend. He asked
Philibert about you, and he said he was obliged to tell him
that you did not improve, that you were monotonous, and




HULDA.                     375
Heaven knows what else. He promised to let him know if
you really made any progress in your art; he would watch
you closely, and would speak to you upon the subject."
Hulda had grown pale with terror and irritation. " He will
find it difficult to do that," she said, "as he is no longer admitted when he comes here."
Fraulein Delmar looked at her inquiringly. "You have
refused to admit him?" she repeated, as though hardly able to
believe her ears.
"Yes, once for all. You need not suppress the fact, but
tell it rather to all who will listen," was the reply.
Fraulein Delmar shook her head. "How I pity you! how
much I pity you I" she said. - "A man who seemed to adore
you. But they are all alike."
Then, as no reply was made to her expressions of pity, she
arose, and, laying her hand upon Hulda's shoulder, said, "But
it will pass over. You must not take it so to heart. You are
young: You were inexperienced,-we were all so once,-you
were deceived in him."
"No!" cried Hulda. "No! I was never deceived in him,
not for one moment, since the first evening that I met him at
Feodora's farewell supper. No! he was deceived in me, and
that he could be so weighs now upon my conscience as if it
were my fault."
"How excitable, how violent you are!" said Fraulein Delmar, as she rose to take her leave. " Believe me, you ought
to take things more coolly. Although you have not known it,
I have always wished you well, and if I can be of service to
you, pray call upon me."
Hulda thanked her, and accompanied her to the door,
scarcely able to collect her thoughts.  She had long known
that the ground beneath her feet was unsafe, and that those
around her were not to be relied upon, and were actuated but
too often by the meanest motives. But now she could not tell
what their hostility contemplated; she was, as it were, feeling
her way in the dark.  She longed to leave this theatrical
world, which had looked so bright in the distance, and began
really to repent that she had ever become an actress.
A few nights afterwards she was to play "Emilia." It had
always been a favourite part with her; it was the one in which
she had made her debut. She was glad to find so good a house




376                   IHULDA.
when the curtain rose, and her first entrance and exit were
followed by enthusiastic applause, especially from the boxes of
the provincial nobility. Suddenly a hiss was heard from the
pit; the boxes, irritated, applauded more loudly; the galleries
sided with the pit, and a wild confusion arose in the house,
which was but slowly reduced to order again. Hulda was
utterly disconcerted.
"' You may thank Philibert for this," said Friulein Delmar,
with a hypocritical expression of sympathy. Hulda had just
said as much to herself.
How she contrived to go through the rest of the drama,
how she endured the renewed outbreak of applause and hisses,
the boxes and stalls greeting her efforts with the warmest enthusiasm, she could not herself have told as she threw herself
exhausted upon her couch, after her return home.
Fortunately, she fell into a profound slumber. It was long
since she had slept so soundly and so dreamlessly. The broad
sunlight was peeping through her curtains when she opened
her eyes and recollected, with a shudder, the occurrences of
the previous evening. She wondered, as she looked in her
mirror, that shame and terror had not left their traces on her
countenance. On her table lay the part of " Marie," in Goethe's
" Clavigo." She had always wished to play it, and it was now
to be produced here for the first time in many years.
She sat down and read it through, but she could not fix her
thoughts upon it; she did not know what she was reading.
Suddenly she remembered that the manager had told her on
the previous evening that the disturbance had been all owing
ito herself, and that he must speak with her. What had she
done?   In what had she failed?  What could he wish?
She was still pondering these questions when, at an early
-hour, the manager made his appearance.
His air was very friendly, and he began immediately. "I
was obliged, my dear Fraulein Vollmer, to come myself, as
you see, to inquire after you. It was a little lively in the
theatre last evening, and I have noticed that your nerves are
easily affected. It takes very little to agitate you."
"I should suppose," replied Hulda, "that what occurred
last evening would have affected any nerves. I certainly have
not yet recovered my composure."
"You take the affair too seriously, my dear child, far too




HULDA.                      377
seriously. Don't you know that that little skirmish will be of
the greatest advantage to you? There is a tremendous party
in your favour, and upon your next appearance the house will
be crowded from pit to gallery."
"I was about to beg you to relieve me from duty for a few
days. I must recover my self-possession, I must conquer myself, for I confess to you that I feel entirely unable to face,
the day after to-morrow, the public whose hisses still ring in
my ears. I must try to forget them."
" What can you be thinking of, my dear Fraulein Vollmer?
Why do you listen to the hisses, and not rather to the stentorian bravas of our country nobles, who quite conquered the
few hissers, whose motives, of course, you divine? Let me
tell you a secret from my experience of the stage, which may
be useful off it also: we must listen only to what we wish to
hear, and never heed what can hurt us."
" That I shall never learn!" cried Hulda. "What good
result can ever ensue from self-deception?"
The manager smiled. " My dear child, the good result is
that it deceives others. For example, if you send to-day for
little Doctor Berthold, who writes the criticisms for our daily
paper and is the theatrical correspondent of several others,
and lament over the events of last evening, he will believe that
you made a terrible fiasco; but if, when he comes, you expatiate upon the delight which the zeal and enthusiasm of your
friends afforded you, and their victory over the hired clique
which opposed you, he will take his tone entirely from you,
and spread your fame abroad."
"I shall do neither!" said Hulda, contemptuously. "I
have never requested his visits, and certainly shall not do so
now."
" You are wrong, my child, very wrong. Your noble enthusiasts, your rich dilettanti, like the doctor and Hochbrecht,
will do you no good here. Their judgment is capital, their
articles are sure to be read, but they are not for the masses;
they will never make a reputation. Little Berthold did more
for you than you seem to know anything about, while Philibert sprinkled his writing with golden sand. You will have
to do that yourself now, unless indeed you make it up with
Pl1ilibert. He is a man of great wealth, a man-"
Hulda arose. " Herr Holm," she said, "I must beg you to
32*




378                    HULDA.
say no more. No one has a right to criticise my management
of my private affairs; there I must be allowed to judge for
myself."
The manager also stood up. He was naturally quick-tempered, and his manner was offensive, although he tried to
control himself.
"Oh, I have no idea," he said, "of interfering in your private affairs; only, mademoiselle, you must arrange your private
affairs with discretion, so that they shall not interfere with my
interests. It is not usual to publish abroad the fact that one
is tired of a worthy friend and admirer. It is scarcely the
thing to close one's doors upon men of standing and position;
and if one has been imprudent enough to do so, it would be
best not to inform a good friend of the fact, that she may tell
it to whoever will listen. But this is your private affair; it is
nothing to me."
She would have interrupted him, for she suddenly understood the whole matter, but he gave her no chance to do so.
"I have done, mademoiselle!" he said. "I thought it my
duty to warn you. You think there is no need to heed my
warning; you have a right to do as you please. But you must
insure me the success of Mirandolena, which you will play on
the evening of the day after to-morrow; and I hope you will at
least have the prudence to receive courteously the young Von
Brinkens, who intend to visit you to-day. With such principles as yours, you ought not to have gone upon the stage.
We actors are no saints. The theatre is not a nunnery, and
the' theatre-going public does not know how to treat nuns."
He said the last words in a jesting tone, for he really would
have been sorry to offend Hulda, whose talent he knew how
to prize. But this very jest wounded her deeply. It capped
the climax of all the degrading experiences with which she
had been forced to struggle; it robbed her of words and of
her self-possession.
The manager noticed this, and would gladly have recalled
his jest. He told her she must not take it too seriously; that
he had meant well by his advice, and that she must tell him
that she was not angry with him.
" Why should I be?" she rejoined, with a frigid inclination. " You have simply given utterance to your view of the
position of an actress before the public; you have a perfect




HULDA                       379
right to do so, since I am in your pay. And perhaps it is best
that you should do so."
He expressed his repentance, and said several flattering
things to her; but, as she paid him very little heed, he took'
his leave, observing that he hoped she would soon recover from
her little attack of temper.
As the door closed behind him, Hulda sank into a seat and
burst into tears. They brought her some relief.
When she began to recover herself, the idea of leaving the
stage-an idea. that had lately often presented itself to her
mind —again occurred to her. But it was not easy to decide
to do so, for she loved her profession. She had quaffed, full
and free, the delight of awakening by her power an echo of
inspiration in the hearts of an audience. She had looked
forward hopefully to the future.
And if she left the stage, what other calling was there for
her, poor and solitary as she was?
She thought of the princess, and of the aid that she had
promised her. She knew that Clarissa would be glad to help
her to carry out such a resolution. But Clarissa was Emanuel's
niece; and as, when very young, she had revolted from accepting any assistance from the countess, so now she could not
bear the idea of applying for aid to any one of the circle to
which Emanuel belonged.
The day passed in anxiety and irresolution. Her thoughts
wandered restlessly from one possibility to another, from the
times of her childhood to that future which had once lured
her on by its brilliancy, but from which she was now half
resolved to exclude herself forever.
In her mental restlessness, she began to occupy herself
with outward objects. She took out from their concealment
many an old memorial of her home, brought thence when she
thought she never should return thither, and among them she
found two notes from her parents, sent from the parsonage to
her at the castle, and her father's old Bible.
It was long since she had read in it. She remembered what
comfort she had found in its faded leaves; she read over the
verses underscored by her father's hand, upon which his dear
eyes had so often rested while sight was still left to them. As
she was turning over the pages, she found a paper that she herself had laid between them, fixed in its place by a silken thread.




380                    HULDA.
She opened it, and read aloud, scarcely knowing that she
did so, written in her father's clear hand, "The motto chosen
upon her confirmation-day for my child's guidance through life:'What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world
and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange
for his soul?"'
As she read these words, she felt suddenly animated by
fresh energy. She was but one of the countless hosts whom
these sacred words, sounding through the world from divine
lips, had strengthened in danger and uncertainty. Her father's
eye seemed still upon her, and his hand guiding her and supporting her in her resolution to deliver her soul from the
snares that surrounded her.
Meanwhile the day had darkened. Beata brought in candles,
and the newspaper from the capital that came by post every
evening.
Hulda scarcely glanced at the theatrical intelligence, which
usually claimed her chief attention. It possessed little interest
for her this evening. But among the advertisements for employment and employes the following instantly caught her
eye:
"A family of wealth and standing, spending both summer
and winter upon their estates, in a retired part of the province,
are anxious to secure for a young girl, fourteen years of age, a
governess capable of giving instruction in music, French, and
English, and willing to pledge her services for the next three
years if all else should be found satisfactory."
The salary which was offered was unusually high, and the
name of a post-town to which an answer might be addressed
was given. This advertisement, seemed to her providential,
and she obeyed the impulse that prompted her to take advantage of it. As she had years before, in an hour of doubt and
anxiety, turned suddenly to Gabrielle, so she now seated herself
at her writing-table to offer her services to these strangers.
She stated clearly what she was capable of teaching, but
she suppressed the fact that she had for some years been an
actress. She mentioned that she was the daughter of a pastor,
determining to tell the rest of her story after she had gained
the confidence of her employers; and it was with a throb of
relief and pleasure that, for the first time for years, she signed
hex own name.




HULDA.                      381
As she laid down the pen and read over her letter, she was
assailed by a momentary indecision, the contrast seemed so
great between her present independent position and the trials
she might have to encounter, subject to the caprice of others,
on a lonely country estate. But the words again sounded in
her ears, "What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the
whole world and lose his own soul?" and she sealed the letter
and sent it to the post.
When she heard the house-door close behind the servant
who carried it thither, she went to the window and followed
the girl with her eyes as far as she could see her; then she
returned to her table to gather up her papers and put away
the dear old Bible.
"Alone, then, and forgotten," she said to herself,-" forgotten and uncared for forever, but pure and true to myself,
worthy of my father and mother, and of his love!"
She was at harmony with herself once more. What the
future was to bring forth, time alone, would show.
CHAPTER     XXVII.
To Emanuel, in his lonely 6astle, this winter seemed longer
than any former one of his life. The visit of the prince and
princess had served vividly to remind him of the delights of
the intercourse and sympathy of a home-circle, and the little
ring which he now wore on his hand brought constantly to his
remembrance the lovely girl to whom he had once given it in
pledge of affection.
Formerly he had endeavoured to banish Hulda from his
thoughts; but since his conversation with his niece she had
scarcely ever been absent from them. He longed to see her
once more.
She had been hardly more than a child when he had won
her love. Then her sense of truth, her clear judgment, her
entire simplicity, and her susceptibility to beauty and goodness,
had been as attractive in his eyes as her beauty. What must
these years of study and experience have done for her! and




382                    HULDA.
Clarissa had borne affectionate testimony to the unstained
purity and nobility of her nature.
More than once he half determined to write to her; but it
would fill a volume if he attempted to tell her what his life
had been since he parted from her, or what had induced him
to act as he had done. And where was the use of such an
explanation? If Hulda had forgotten him and perhaps given
her heart to another, it would be ridiculous to explain what
had lost all interest for her; and if, as he scarcely dared to
hope, she still cherished his memory, if she could forget and
forgive, words were useless,-love believes and trusts.
In the evenings, when the rain beat against the windowpanes, or the wild wind howled around his old castle, he saw
her in his mind's eye, in the fulness of her ripened beauty,
richly dressed, receiving the homage of a crowded theatre,
pleased with herself, tasting the delights of triumph, and he
asked himself, Could she endure to live in retirement? Would
she be happy?
It was only too probable that she would refuse to resign
for his sake the excitement of her life, the admiration of the
many, to sacrifice to him her brilliant theatrical career. There
was no equality between them. He was no longer young; he
could resign for her sake nothing which, with his present experience of life, could weigh for one instant in the balance
against the precious treasure of her love. The gain was all
his if she still loved him, for he knew her value and what she
would be to him. He was often undecided; but the delay of
indecision quickened his passionate longing to put his fate to
the touch.
At one moment he determined to see her upon the stage, the
next he thought it would be impossible. Blame himself as
he might, and strive against it as he could, his old distrust of
his capacity to arouse affection stirred again within him.
One morning, as he was standing at his library-window, a
horseman galloped into the court-yard. Emanuel recognized
him immediately as the old Herr von Barnefeld. Some important matter must have brought him from home thus early.
IIe was always an honoured guest, and Emanuel went
down to the hall to receive him.
"Why are you so early, my dear Barnefeld?" he called out
to his friend, who was just alighting from his horse.




HULDA.                      383
"Yes, why am I so early?" Barnefeld replied. " You must
ask my wife that question. She sends me hither with a message to you."
Then, as he walked into the house with Emanuel, he continued: " The ladies have sent me over to discuss with you a
matter in which you cannot have the slightest personal interest."
"But I hope I can be of some assistance to you," said
Emanuel.
" My wife thinks you can, for she wishes me to ask you
about a young woman."
" Is one of your boys about to marry?" asked Emanuel.
"Not that I know of," replied Barnefeld; "but then I am
generally the last to be consulted upon such matters. But the
wife of my eldest son wants a governess for Constance, her
girl, and some weeks ago she put an advertisement in the
paper to that effect, to which she has received a number of
answers.  Among them is one from a young person, the
daughter of a pastor formerly upon your nephew's estates."
"From Hulda?" cried Emanuel, his face flushing.
" I think that is her name," Barnefeld replied, taking a letter
from his pocket and looking for the signature. "But, my dear
fellow, you are blushing like a girl. Has that anything to do
with this pastor's daughter?"
" Oh, nothing in the world. I knew her parents,-both of
them,-her mother came from about here; and I know the
young girl also. She spent some time in my sister's house.
She is very well educated; very musical, too, and as good as
she is beautiful."
Herr von Barnefeld shook his head. "If I did not know
you thoroughly," he said, "I should think you were jesting
with me." Then he proceeded to ask a series of businesslike questions, which Emanuel did his best to answer with
becoming exactness and composure. "You think, then," said
his guest, at last, "that we may try her. I thought so too;
but the women wanted me to see you about her. Her letter
is very simple and to the point."
Emanuel asked permission to read it, and it was handed to
him, but he had almost over-estimated his self-control. Every
word was a reproach to him, and yet filled him with an intoxicating sense of delight. It was wellnigh impossible not to
betray to his guest the emotion that agitated him.




384                   HIULDA.
As Herr von Barnefeld took his leave, Emanuel said, "I
am doubly glad to have seen you, for I am going away shortly
for awhile."
Barnefeld asked whither, and Emanuel mentioned the province and the town where Hulda lived.
" It is a pity," said Barnefeld. " If it were some weeks later,
you might bring the governess back with you. But she says
she cannot come before Easter."
"I can see after her," said Emanuel, a sudden project suggesting itself to him. " Give me her letter as my credentials,
or give me only the young person's address and one of your
cards, and I will go and see her for you."
This was an excellent plan, Herr von Barnefeld thought.
He instantly wrote a few lines upon one of his cards, which he
gave Emanuel, and, wishing him a prosperous journey, rode
contentedly home.
A few hours later, Emanuel was on his way to Hulda.
He travelled day and night, and arrived at his journey's end
late in the afternoon of the second day. The proprietor of his
hotel, who knew him well, since he had lodged there upon a
previous occasion, came to receive his orders, as the hour for
dinner was past, and did not fail to mention that he had had
the honour of receiving the Prince and Princess Severin beneath his roof in the autumn. The family always stayed in
his house when they visited the town. He brought to the
Herr Baron the newspaper and the programme of the theatrical
performance for the evening. They were playing "Faust."
Hulda was even now upon the stage.
" If the Herr Baron is fond of the theatre," said the host,
"there is still time to see a couple of acts. Our first actress,
Fraulein Vollmer, is a very beautiful Gretchen. The princess
sent for her to come to her when she was here.'Faust'
himself has not been so well played since Lelio left us, and it
is more than likely that this is Fraulein Vollmer's last representation of Gretchen."
"Is she about to leave the stage, then?" asked Emanuel,
undecided whether or not to go to the theatre.
"Not at all," said the host; "but there is some talk of her




HULDA.                      385
accepting an offer from the management of the royal theatre in
the capital; the manager came yesterday to see her." Then
he went on, as if by way of explanation: "Fraulein Vollmer
has gone through a great deal of trouble and annoyance here.
There was positively a clique formed against her. The Herr
Baron knows what the stage is. She would have nothing to
say to one of our wealthiest men here, Herr Philibert, and he
revenged himself rather severely. Then there was some talk
of her leaving the stage. But just at that time Herr Philibert had a large estate left him by an uncle in England, and
he went there to take possession. He intends to live there
now, it is said. That smoothed matters for Fraulein Vollmer; and now that they are so anxious to have her at the
royal theatre, our manager is doing everything that he can to
keep her here, for the public fairly adore her."
Emanuel listened to every word, saying to himself the while,
"Is it possible that this man is speaking of Hulda?  Is this
the girl to whom you were once betrothed, whom you forsook,
and whom you are now hoping to carry away as your wife?"
All his life during these last years seemed incredible to him.
But he must see her, and upon the stage, and immediately.
He ordered a carriage, and drove to the theatre. More than
half of the play was over. His heart beat violently as the
usher opened the door of the orchestra-box, and the hand
trembled with which he pulled aside the heavy red curtain to
look out upon the stage.
Yes, there she was. He sat down in the farthest corner of
the box, where he could not be seen by her. He could scarcely
control himself. He was like Faust when. Helen's image is
shown him in the magic mirror.
Gretchen was seated at her spinning-wheel. She was all
unchanged, fair and lovely as when he had first seen her,
Ceres' blooming daughter among the golden wheat, the wreath
of cornflowers in her hair.
"Save I have him near,
The grave is here,
The world is gall
And bitterness all,"@
were the first words that he heard from her lips.
e Bayard Taylor's translation.
R                    33




386                   HULDA.
How many times she had perhaps sat thus, hoping, fearing,
longing, before she could resolve to send him back his ring,the ring that now burned upon his hand like a circlet of fire 
Her sorrow and his own took living shape before him, and
cried out for atonement for all the lost past and its fled happiness.
Happiness! Was not that storm of applause that greeted
Hulda at the close of her song, happiness? Was not the enchanting smile with which she appeared when she was called
again and again before the curtain, a happy smile? What
could call it to her lips in the solitude of his home? Emanuel
did not grudge her this delight, this triumph; how could she
know what thoughts filled his soul?
Scene after scene impressed him more and more profoundly;
the performance seemed endless, and yet he could not tear
himself away so long as all those eyes were riveted upon her.
He would have snatched his loved one from their gaze, but
still Hulda enraptured him by her talent, and he was even
proud of the admiration lavished upon her.
An elderly man sat before him in the box. Upon Emanuel's
entrance he had moved aside to make room for him, and appeared surprised by the baron's retreat into the background.
During the entr'-acte he addressed Emanuel, and was evidently a man of culture, and full of appreciation of Hulda's
talent. He did not disguise that he was there with a purpose,
and Emanuel suspected him to be the manager from the royal
theatre. Herr Holm shortly after entered the box.
"Well," he said, addressing the stranger, "do you understand now why I do all that I can to foil you?"
The manager tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You
must resign all hope; I have carte blanche. She is perfectly
adorable, and quite after the royal taste,-tall, fair, and proud.
It is true that she does you and your school infinite credit."
Again the curtain rose; the prison scene began. It was
more than Emanuel could bear. That beautiful, beloved face,
pale and ghastly in the madness of despair and misery, wrung
his very soul. He arose and left the theatre.
The long and weary night was passed by him in serious
doubt and trembling hope, and he awoke in the morning from
an agonizing dream. The next few hours would decide his
fate.




HULDA.                      387
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE manager of the royal theatre betook himself betimes
to Hulda's apartments to offer her the contract which he was
empowered to lay before her in case she answered to Lelio's
description.
Thus the most brilliant future that an actress could attain
awaited her. She could occupy the first position as a tragic
actress in the kingdom, and in the capital her social surroundings would be very different from those of the provinces.
The prejudice existing against histrionic artists had long
since vanished in the literary and scientific circles of the royal
capital. Hulda would there enjoy the society of the most cultivated and gifted minds in Germany, and the salary that was
offered her, and the prospect of playing before the most intelligent audience in her native land, were alluring indeed. All
that had hovered before her imagination as almost too brilliant
for earthly attainment was now within her grasp as it were.
The last few weeks, as his host had informed Emanuel, had
glided by smoothly enough for Ilulda, without any of those
annoyances which had embittered her enjoyment of her art
and made her life wretched, and no notice had been taken of
her reply to the advertisement.  She therefore had no good
reason for refusing to listen to the proposals from the management of the royal theatre. But she had not forgotten all that
she had suffered, the trials and insults that had made her long
for retirement and rest and had determined her, at all hazards,
to " deliver her soul." With the pen in her hand, ready to
sign the contract before her, she suddenly begged to be allowed
until the evening to take the matter into consideration.
The manager from the capital seemed surprised. But he
understood the whims of genius, he thought, and courteously
accorded her the delay she requested.
At the house-door below he encountered Emanuel, and saw
him hand a card to Beata, with the remark that he had a verbal
message for Fraulein Vollmer, whereupon he was requested to
wait in the small reception-room upon the ground-floor.




388                    HULDA.
"Strange!" cried Hulda, as the girl handed her the card.
"Strange that it should come just at this moment!"
Beata could not resist an impulse of curiosity, and read on
the card, " Karl von Barnefeld, of Splittbergen," and beneath
the words, "The bearer of this, a friend of mine, will have
the. honour to discuss with you the contents of your letter
of —, and will give you any information upon the subject
therein treated of that you may desire."
There was something perplexing to Hulda in the arrival of
the answer to her letter just at this time, as if fate were determined that the result of her decision should be due to herself alone, and not to circumstances, and she was half minded
to refuse to see the bearer. But she could not reconcile this
refusal to her sense of justice, and she accordingly told Beata
to admit him.
To Emanuel the few moments since the sending up-stairs of
the card seemed an age. At last he stood before her door, the
next moment he was in her presence. She suppressed the cry
that rose to her lips as he entered, and, retreating from him,
leaned, wellnigh fainting, against the high back of her armchair for support.
His heart seemed to stand still. There was not in her
countenance one ray of joy, not the smallest sign that Hulda
still loved him. How easily his wishes and his unfounded
hopes had deceived him! "I should have prepared her.  I
should not have come thus," he said to himself.
In vain did Hulda summon her self-control. It seemed to
her a mockery that Emanuel should come to her upon the
errand of another, and with a determined effort to be composed, she said, "I did not expect to see you, Herr Baron."
The force that she put upon herself made her voice sound
strained and cold. They stood opposite each other, rigid and
silent. Emanuel could not endure this.
"You are right," he cried, in a tone that revealed all his
agitation, his fears and hopes. "My presumption to-day is
another sin added to all those of which I have been guilty
towards you. I should not have come; I will not stay long."
"Herr Baron!" she faltered, interrupting him, and, clasping
her hands before her, she gazed gently into his face.
"You have seen Clarissa," he went on, "and Clarissa has
been with me. She told me all that passed between you at




HULDA.                      389
that interview. She was full of love and admiration for you;
but she thought she saw that your life was not all that you
could desire. I was distressed, and could not cease to think
of what she said."
He paused, scarcely able to control his agitation; his whole
soul looked from his eyes.
She sank into a chair; he stood before her.
"A few days ago," he began again, "my old friend and
neighbour, Herr von Barnefeld, came to me with a letter of
yours in answer to an advertisement in the public paper. He
wished to know if I knew you, since you said you came from
my nephew's estate. Judge of my sensations!" Again he
paused, then added, hastily, "I could not but believe that you
wished to leave the stage."
"I had, in fact, determined to do so. I thought it my duty,"
said Hulda, as much agitated as himself.
"But you have given up the idea,-you have changed your
mind!" he exclaimed. "Why should you not? I understand
it perfectly. It was foolish to ask you." His forced composure was all gone. He spoke unconnectedly, hurriedly, from
the chaos of thought within. "I heard yesterday what proposals have been made to you. How could anything that I
have to offer, to entreat of you, attract you for one instant,
compared with the brilliant prospect opening before you?"
"You entreat of me?" cried Hulda, and for the first time
he heard the unforgotten ring in her voice.
"I saw you, admired you, last evening," he said. "You
have become a great artist. You will see the whole world of
Germany at your feet-"
"Herr Baron!" she gasped, with trembling lips.
"I," he continued,-" I? What can I offer you?   How
can I-how dare I ask-when I failed to keep what I once
possessed?",In speechless rapture, not daring to trust her senses, she
raised her clasped hands as if in prayer. "Is this real? Can
this be?" she said, in a scarcely audible whisper.
"But, oh!" he continued, seizing her hands and pressing
them passionately between his own, "if you could forget,-if
you could forgive,-if you still loved me!"
In an instant she was in his arms. "What have I done
but love you all these long years?" she cried. " What comfort
33*




390                    HULDA.
have I had in many an hour of bitter trial save in the thought
that you once loved me-?"
Then neither spoke. That supreme moment blotted out the
memory of years of separation and sorrow.
As they raised their heads and the strong throbbing of their
hearts began to subside, a bright ray of sunlight came shining
through the window into the room.
"It is so long since I have seen the spring in the country,"
said Hulda.
They were standing at the window, his arm around her
waist.
"It will yield you no laurels in my home," said Emanuel.
"But there are cornflowers,-cornflowers in plenty, and you
will weave wreaths again."
She gave him an enchanting smile, and again they were
silent. Their bliss was so new and strange to them. They
were so unchanged to each other, and yet so different from
their former selves.
Emanuel looked around him with loving curiosity. This
was where she had lived all these years. The contract lay
upon the table.  He asked what it was.  She handed it
to him to read; she could not deny herself that small satisfaction.
" You are making an immense sacrifice," he said.
"If you knew the world from which you save me, you
would call it a deliverance," she replied. "And I, in my
childish fancy, once fondly imagined that I could be your
deliverer!"
"And were you not?   Are you not my deliverer at this
moment?" he said. "Is not your fidelity, your love, which
I have not deserved, my deliverance from the sin of which I
was guilty towards you, and from the remorse that assailed
me whenever I thought of you? And I thought of you
always, even when I tried to deceive myself and forget you.
The attempt was fruitless; you were always before me."
He took the little ring from his finger. "Will you wear it
again, Hulda, the poor little ring that you rejected? Shall it
be really true, the beautiful old'Thee and me shall no one
sever'?"
"No one!" she cried, as he placed the little talisman upon
her finger. " No one again 1"




HULDA.                     391
CHAPTER     XXIX.
BEATA knocked at the door. "Herr Holm!" she announced, looking in surprise as Hulda disengaged herself
from Emanuel's arm. "We are severed already," he said.
"But not for long," she made answer; "and our manager
is so fond of dramas with happy conclusions that he shall be
the first to learn of my happiness."
" He will be the first to grudge you to me," said Emanuel,
as the manager presented himself; and in truth he was not
mistaken.
Holm was very unwilling to lose Hulda, and at first would
not hear of releasing her from the two'months that still
remained of her engagement with him.
But Emanuel was lavish in his offers, and the manager
knew how to put the best face upon the inevitable. At all
events he would rather, he concluded, that she should leave
the stage altogether than go to another theatre. He, however,
made one condition, which was that she should appear once
more upon the stage to bid farewell to her audience; and Hulda
herself was not averse to this.
Emanuel consented, but they stipulated that there should
be no theatrical farewell scene, as in Feodora's case, and that
Hulda should select the character in which to appear: Iphigenia was the part chosen,-the part in which Hulda was
most willing to appear before her future husband, and Iphigenia's last words were her own farewell.
The report that Hulda was to leave the stage was in circulation among the actors that very evening, and the papers the
next day announced her approaching marriage with Baron
Emanuel von Falkenhorst. The few hints that Hulda in her
joy had given the manager with regard to her former betrothal to Emanuel were the groundwork for a very pretty
romance, which ran from mouth to mouth, and was, after all,
not very wide of the truth.
The countess was paying a visit to the prince and Clarissa
when Emanuel announced to her his betrothal to Hulda. Cla



392                    HULDA.
rissa declared herself delighted with the tidings. She called
the prince to witness that she had foreseen it during their
visit at Falkenhorst, and that she had offered to lay a small
wager with regard to it. "And," she said, "that wretched
old legend will be fulfilled, the evil spell will be broken, and
this fresh young creature's entrance into the family will
appease the elf-king's wrath."
"Only the young creature makes no'sacrifice!" said the
countess.
" A sacrifice there will be, however," said the prince,." and
not a small one. Emanuel, by this marriage, yields all right to
the entailed estates."
" He expressly mentions that," said the countess, " although
it could not be otherwise. The estates, he says, will come
at his death to my son or grandson in a very improved condition; and meanwhile, if he should have children of his
own, he hopes to found for them a home that will be burdened
with no entail. Count Branden and Falkenhorst sounds very
well," she said; " and looks very -ivell," she added, writing it
in pencil in clear, distinct characters upon the margin of her
brother's letter.
The advantages which were to accrue to Emanuel's nephew
from his marriage helped considerably to reconcile his sister to
the inequality of birth between himself and his bride; and as
Hulda expressed a wish to be married in her father's church,
and the prince and Clarissa highly approved the plan, the
countess invited her to come to the " castle by the sea," and
promised, with her daughter and son-in-law, to be present at
the marriage.
CHAPTER XXX.
MA'AMSELLE ULRIKA felt as if the skies had fallen when
the bailiff one morning brought from the post a letter announcing Baron Emanuel's betrothal to the pastor's daughter.
She could not believe it, could not understand it. It came too
suddenly,-all at once, as it were,-although she still boasted
of always having "her senses about" her.




HULDA.                     393
The castle people had never come to the castle so early in
the year, almost before the winter was over; and now here was
Hulda coming, and the suite of rooms next to the Countess
Clarissa's was to be arranged for her, and there was so much
to be done that she really hardly had time to wonder that Simonena's daughter, the pastor's Hulda, was to be a baroness,
and sister-in-law to the Frau Countess, and aunt to the Frau
Princess. It was inconceivable that her brother should take
it all so quietly, only saying that when a man of honour had
behaved badly he ought to come to his senses and keep his
word. He would not speak at all of Hulda's leaving them to
join the play-actors; he only said that if the baron married
her it was a sure sign that she was all right; and, besides, he
declared that it was not entirely her fault that she had gone
away from her native place, " for between ourselves, sister,"
he added, tapping her good-humouredly upon the shoulder,
" a long life with you is no joke; that I can vouch for."
She pretended to be vexed, but she laughed. There would
be fine doings.at the castle, and she was very curious to know
how it had all happened. Hulda had written a long letter
about it to the Herr Pastor, and his young wife had brought
it up to the bailiff's and read it aloud to them, and it was all
very grand and noble. But what Ulrika wanted to know was
not in it; she wanted to hear all about the stage and the
actors, and how they lived, and that Hulda must tell her
herself, if she had not grown too proud and grand.
And when Hulda arrived at the castle with the countess
and Clarissa, she won every heart by her gentleness and kindness.
As in a fairy-story one word will transform and create all
things anew, so now everything seemed to conspire to do her
honour and smooth her path through life. The first day of
spring was to be her marriage-day, and the previous evening
brought a letter by a courier to Emanuel from Konradine and
the prince, containing their congratulations.
"All that was wanting," wrote the Princess Frederick, " to
our own happiness was the knowledge of yours. We send
you our warmest wishes for the future; let us hope that
before long we may renew an intercourse to which we surely
owe many happy hours.'




394                    HULDA.
It was a clear, bright morning when the bridal party drove
from the castle to the village church. The breeze came fresh
from the sea, and the spring sunshine quickened the buds
upon the trees and in the fields.
" We have driven along this road together once before,"
said Hulda, thinking of the stormy night when Emanuel had
taken her to her home and her mother had perished.
"And that night heralded the day that now dawns for us,"
Emanuel replied, wishing to dispel sad memories in her mind.
"The love that will illumine our lives was born that night."
The familiar sound of the church-bells, heard from afar,
pronounced a blessing upon his words.
No lovelier, happier bride ever stood before the altar. Even
the countess could not contradict Clarissa's assertion that her
uncle's choice had a most regal presence. She admitted that
Hulda was " certainly very presentable."
"And to think that she has been a play-actress!" Ma'amselle whispered to her brother. "Why, she wears that spray
of diamonds and enamelled cornflowers on her breast just as
if she had always been used to it! If her father and mother
could see her now! I can hardly believe my eyes! And will
any one tell me that I was not right to teach her to take good
care of the'little folk'?  Oh, that brings luck and sunshine
on a wedding-day!"
" Nonsense!" muttered the bailiff, as the young baroness
extricated herself from the embraces of her new relatives and
came towards him. He made her a low bow; but she threw
her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"She is a jewel, Herr Baron!" he said, as Emanuel came
up to shake his hand. - "She is a jewel!" he repeated, his
emotion depriving him of other words.
"She is more than that to me!" said Emanuel. "She
was and is my deliverer."
THE END.




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Doings       in Maryland; or, Matilda                    Douglas.
"TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION."             I2mo.   Extra cloth.
$1.75.
1: is a very perfect story-simple, best attainable definition of the sensanoble and without that straining for tionaL"-New Yor4k Home 7oumrat
literary effect which constitutes the




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
Dorothy Fox. A           novel. By Louisa Parr, author
of "How it all Happened," etc.        With numerous Illustla.
tions.  8vo.   Paper cover.    75 cents.  Extra cloth. $1.25.
"The Quaker character, though its  hearts, and she will charm all readquaintness and simplicity may seem  ers... We wish'Dorothy Fox' many
easy enough to catch, requires a deli-  editions."-London Times.
cate workman to do it justice. Such  " One of the best novels of the seaan artist is the author of'Dorothy  son."-Philadelhkia Press.
Fox,' and we must thank her for a    " The characters are brought out in
charming novel. The story is dramat- life-like style, and cannot fail to attract
ically interesting, and the characters the closest attention."-Pittsburg Gaare drawn with a firm and graceful zette.
hand. The style is fresh and natural,  " It is admirably told, and will estabvigorous without vulgarity, simple lish the reputation of the author among
without mawkishness. Dorothy her- novelists." —Albany Argus.
self is represented as charming all
How it all Happened. By Louisa Part, author of
"Dorothy Fox," etc.     I2mo.    Paper cover.    25 cents.
"It is not often that one finds so in which a great deal is said in a very
much pleasure in reading a love story, few words."-Philadelphia Evening
charmingly told in a few pages."-  Telegraph.
Charleston Courier.                  "A remarkably clever story."-Bos"Is a well-written little love story, ton Saturday Evening razette.
Yohn Thompson, Blockhead, and Compamnon Portraits.  By  LOUISA    PARR, author of " Dorothy         Fox."
i2mo. With Frontispiece. Extra cloth. $1.75.
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Boston Watchman and Reflector.       "They are quite brilliant narrative
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the end comes before the reader is thia Inquirer.
ready for it.                        " Very presentable, very readable."
" The style throughout is very sim- -New York Times.
The Quiet Miss Godolphin, by Ruth Garrett; and
A CHANCE CHILD, by EDWARD GARRETT, joint authors
of " Occupations of a Retired Life " and " White as Snow."
With Six Illustrations by Townley Green. i6mo Cloth.
75 cents. Paper cover. 50 cents.
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with a singularly attractive style. Their
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Part I.-ADVERSITY.       I2mo.    Extra cloth.   $x.5o.
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" A tale that we can cheerfully re- 7ournal.




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCT7'7                          Ct.
Blanche Gzlroy. A            Girl's Story.       A Novel.        By
MARGARET      HOSMER, author of "The Morrisons," "Ten
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"Its tone is excellent."-Philadel-  whirl of cross-purposes with decoying
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tragical sort, with a deep plot and any  characters and thiew destinies, since
amount of stirring incident.  The   the language of the narrative is neithes
characters are drawn with much dis- florid nor exaggerated."-Boston Adtinctness and vigor, and the story  vertiser.
sweeps on to its end amid a rushing
The Holcombes. A Story of Virginia Home-Life.
By MARY TUCKER MAGILL.            I2mo. Extra cloth.     $I.50.
"The subject is a charming one."-  it an interesting story...  The
Winchester Times.                  tone of this work is admirable, and we
" This book is written from an ele- shall be glad to hear again from the
vated point of view, both as to its anthor."-Philadelphia Age.
society and scenery.... We find
Left to Herself.        A   Novel.      By   nennie     Woodville.
I2mo. Extra cloth. $I.50.
"Such a spicy mixture of ingredi-   "Amid the flood of mediocrity and
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well drawn and the interest well sus- merit, and this we recognize in'Left
tained to the end, without degenerating  to Herself.' "-The Philadelphia Age.
into the melo-dramatic, we are dis-  "We predict for it a large sale in
posed to recommend to others a book  this section, and anticipate that it will
which we ourselves have found capti- be favorably received by the reading
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Bulletin.
Was She Engaged?               A Novel.         By " onquil."
I2mo. Extra cloth. $1.50.
"A pleasant, bright and sparkling  No passion is'torn to tatters.' No
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"This entertaining love story comes and yet the interest is maintained
to us fresh from the pen and the press, throughout. The pure, sweet charac
in clear, readable type that would ter of Lucy, so well displayed against
make a far less enticing work pleasur- the more energetic but less poetical
able. We feel assured that those who  Rosamond; the sunlight and shadow
are fond of the purely emotional in  of these two, enhanced by the dark
character or literature will find ample and designing character of Sarah,
entertainment from its pages.  The combine to produce prominent impresstory is written in the first person, and  sions."-Philadeltphia Press.
is a narrative vastly superior to a great' Every one seems to be going for
mass of so-called novels. There is not'Was She Engaged.' "-Bston Satura particle of rant from cover to cover, day Evening Gazette.
Lost and Saved. A Novel. By Hon. Mrs. Norton.
New   Edition.    I2mo.   Cloth.   $1.25.
"Remarkably well written;..     "The best novel that Mrs. Nortor
very readable."-Philadel5hia Press. I has written "-Baltimore Gazette.




PUBLICA TIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
Eleonore. A Romance. After the German of E
VON ROTHENFELS, author of " On the Vistula," " Heathflowerl," etc.  By FRANCES E.IZABETH BENNETT, translator
of " Lowly Ways." I2mo. Fine cloth. Ornamented. $1.50.
"A vivid reproduction of German   " The plot is developed with remark-,ife and character."-Boslon Globe.  able skill."-Boston Saturday Er,'
"A bright, readable novel."-Phil- ning Gazette.
sdefihia Evening Bulletin.
Tom Pippin's Wedding. A Novel.                     By the Author of "The Fight at Dame Europa's School."            I6mo.
Extra cloth. $I.25. Paper cover. 75 cents.
" We must confess that its perusal tainly the most original, novel of the
has caused us more genuine amuse- day."-London Bookseller.
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fiction, not professedly comic, for many is as instructive as it is entertaining."
a long day.... Without doubt this -TBoston Evening Traveller.
is, if not the most remarkable, cerIrene.    A  Tale of Southern Life.          Illustrated; and
HATHAWAY STRANGE. 8vo. Paper cover. 35 cents.
"They are both cleverly written."  ten. They are lively, gossippy and
New Orleans Times.                genial."-Balimore Gazette.
"These stories are pleasantly writWearithorne; or, In the Light of To-Day.                        A
Novel.    By " FADETTE,"      author of "Ingemisco"       and
" Randolph Honor."      I2mo.    Extra cloth.   $1.50.
"Written with exceptional dramatic  "The style is clever and terse, the
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phiia North A merican.             Times.
"It is written with vigor, and the  "Simply and tenderly written." —
characters are sketched with a marked  Washington Chronicle.
individuality."-Literary Gazette.
Steps Upward.           A    Temperance Tale.           By Mrs.
F. D. GAGE, author of "Elsie Magoon," etc. I2mo. Extra
cloth.  $1.50.
"'Steps Upward,' by Mrs. Frances to abetterlife."-New York Indefend.
Dana Gage, is a temperance story of  ent.
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womanly character, and in her own  EveningMail.
spward progress helps many another
Minna     Monte.       A   Novel.      By   "Stella."      I2mO.
$1.25.
"A domestic story possessing great  "We have in this little volume an
spirit and many other attractive fea- agreeable story, pleasantly told."
tures.'-So. Louis Rrbubiican.    PittshIre Gazett.




PUBLICA TIONS OF. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
"It is the Fashion."         A Novel. From the German
of ADELHEID VON AUER.        By the translator of "Over Yon.
der," "Magdalena," "'The Old Countess," etc.              12mo.
Fine cloth. $1.50.
"It is one of the most charming   many German novels, which make
books of the times, and is admirable them rather tedious for American readfor its practical, wise and beautiful ers, but is rfesh, spright'y and full of
morality. A more natural and grace- common sense applied to the business
ful work of its kind we never before  cf actual life."-Philadelphia Age.
read." —Richmond Dispatch.            " It is a most excellent book, abound"This is a charming novel; to be  ing in pure sentiment and beautiful
commended not only for the interest thought, and written in a style at once
of the story, but for the fine healthy  lucid, graceful and epigrammatic."tone that pervades it.... This work  New York Evening Mail
has$ not the excessive elaboration of
Dead Men's Shoes. A Novel. By 7. R. Hadermann, author of "Forgiven at Last."         I2mo.    Fine cloth.
$2.
"One of the best novels of the sea- published. The plot is well contrived,
son."-Philadelphia Press.           the characters well contrasted and the
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Israel Mort, Overman. A Story of the Mine. By
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Boston Saturday Evening'Gazette.     "It treats of a variety of circum"The book takes a strong hold on  stances and characters almost new to
the reader's attention from the first, the realm of fiction, and has a peculiar
and the interest does not flag for a  interest on this account." - Boston
moment."-Boston Globe.              A dvertiser.
In the Rapids. A Romance. By Gerald Hart.
I2mo.    Toned paper.     Extra cloth.   $I.50.
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for its resemblance to those older and, Gazette.
in some respects, better models of comThe Parasite; or, How to Make One's Fortune.
A Comedy in Five Acts. After the French of Picard.
I2mo. Paper cover. 75 cents.
A pleasant, sprightly comedy, un- character, we should suppose they
exceptionable in its moral and chaste would find th;s a %ajuo.'e additiou to
in its language. As our amateur actors their stock."-.PkAi/'da/liehe Ag.
are always in pursuit of plays of this




PUBLICA TIONS OF 7. B. LZ'PINCOTT                      C CO.
Fernylhurst Court.        An   Every-day      Story.    By   tlu
author of "Stone Edge," " Lettice Lisle," etc.     With nu
merous Illustrations. 8vo. Paper cover. 60 cents.
"An excellent novel of English so-  "An excellent story."-Boston your'
ciety, with many good engravings." — nat.
Philadelhia Press.
Cross-Purposes.       A   Christmas Experience in Seven
Stages. By T. C. DE LEON, author of " Four Years in
Rebel Capitals," " Pluck, a Comedy," etc. With Illustra.
tions. I6mo. Tinted paper. Extra cloth. $1.25.
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and the style is bright and sparkling."  he has laid it down again."- New
-New York Commercial A dvertiser. York Times.
"The reader will begin the narraHimself his       Worst Enemy;         or, Philip, Duke of
Wharton's Career. By ALFRED P. BROIHERHEAD. I2mo.
Fine cloth. $2.' The story is very entertaining and  for this creditable work."-PhiladeZvery well told."-Boston Post.     htia Ledger.
" The author is entitled to high praise
fn Exile. A Novel.           TranSlatedfrom the German
of W. VON ST. I2mo. Fine cloth. $2.
" No more interesting work of fiction  " A feast for heart and imagination.'
has been issued for some time."-S/. -Philadelhia Evening Bulletin.
L;ois Democrat.
The Struggle in Fenrara. A Story of the Reformation in Italy.  By WILLIAM    GILBERT, author of " De Profundis," etc.   Profusely Illustrated.  8vo.    Paper cover.
$I. Cloth. $1.50.
"Few works of religious fiction com-  "It is a well-told story' the Repare with this in intensity, reality and  formation in Italy."-Congregationas
value." —Philadelphia North A meri- Quarterly.
can.
Marguerite Kent. A Novel. By Marion W. Wayne.
I2mo. Fine cloth. $2.
Marguerite Kent,' by Mrs. Mar- I reality and truth." - Philadelphia
ion W. Wayne, is an American novel, Press.
original in many of its characters, nat-  "Is a novel of thought as well as
ural in dialogue, artistical in descrip- of action, of the inner as well as ol
tions of scenery, probable in its inci- the outer life."-New York Eve.ing
dents and so thoroughly imbued with Mail.
individuality that the story, which has  "The plot is novel and ingenious.
taken the autobiographical form, has -Portland Transcript.
impressed us with a strong feeling of I




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCOTT &6 CO.
Episodes in an      Obscure Life.      Being Experiences ii
the Tower Hamlets. By a CURATE. With numerous Illustrations.   8vo.   Paper cover.      75  cents.   Fine  cloth.
$1.25.
"The scenes are novel to American  important suggestions."-London Sadreaders, but they bear unmistakable urday Review.
evidence of truth, and the book,    " We can heartily commend the voltlough small, contains much food for ume to our readers as a vivid picture
thought, much stimulus for action."-  of a life concerning which many of
Congregational Quarterly.         them, we are persuaded, know nothing
"We recommend the Episodes as a The book is profusely illustrated."book interesting in itself and full of Our Monthly.
Student's Hebrew Lexicon. A                 Compendious and
Complete Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testa.
ment: chiefly founded on the works of Gesenius and Fiirst,
with   Improvements    from   Dietrich   and   other sources.
Edited by BENJAMIN DAVIES, Ph.D., LL.D., translator of
Roediger's Gesenius or Student's Hebrew Grammar. 8vo.
Cloth. Red edges. $6.
"We predict for it a wide circulation  Its execution leaves nothing to be
as soon as its merit is known. We  desired."-Rev. y. Packard, D.D.,
cordially recommend it. The Lexicon  Prof of BiblicalLearning in the Prois printed in an octavo of 701 pages. testant Episcopal Theological SemiWe have never seen anything so at- nary of Virginia.
tractive in the form of a Hebrew book.
The Text Book of Freemasonry.                     A    Complete
Handbook of Instruction to all the Workings in the various
Mysteries and Ceremonies of Craft Masonry. Containing the
Entered Apprentice, Fell.w-Craft and Master Mason's Degrees, together with the whole of the Three Lectures, also
the Ceremony of Exaltation in the Supreme Order of the
Holy Royal Arch; a Selection of Masonic Songs, etc. Illustrated with Three Engravings of the Tracing Boards.
Compiled by a Member of the Craft. I6mo. Tinted paper.
Cloth. Red edges. $I.
" It affords a complete handbook of in all Lodges. The enormous influx
instruction in all the mysteries and  of new members into the Craft within
ceremonies of the Order."-Chicago  the last few years, and the increased
Evening'yournal.                 value of time, has also caused a de" The compiler of the present Text mand for the Ritual in a printed form
Book of Freemasonry does not think it for self-instruction. To the younger
necessary to make any apology for members who desire to attain a
presenting it to the notice of the Craft. speedy perfection in the knowledge of
His only surprise is that no authentic Craft Masonry, the present volume
Ritual has hitherto been published. will be found both useful and acceptIn all quarters the want of such a able. The Sivns, Tokens and Passmanual has long been felt, if only for words are necessarily omitted."-T/tz
Die sake of aiding a uniform working  Preface.




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
Thrown Together. A Story. By Florence Mont.
gomery, author of " Misunderstood,"         "A    Very   Simple
Story," etc.   I2mo.    Fine cloth.   $i.50.
"The author of' Misunderstood' is a deep and strong current of religious
has given us another charming story  feeling throughout the story, not a
of child-life. This, however, is not a prosy, unattractih e lecturing upon rebook for children. Adult readers of  ligious subjects.  A good, true and
Miss Montgomery's book will find    earnest life is depicted, full of hope
much that will lead them to profitable  and longing, and of happy fruition.
reflection of childish character and  One cannot read this book without
many graphically touched terms of being better for it, or without a more
childish thought and expression which  tender charity being stirred up in his
will come home to their own expert- heart."-Washington Daily Chron-:nce."-London A thenmeum.          icle.
"A delightful story, founded upon   "The characters are drawn with a
the lives of children.  There is a  delicacy that lends a charm to the
thread of gold in it upon which are book." -Boston Saturday Evening
strung many lovely sentiments. There  Gazette.
Why Did He Not Die? or, The Child from the
Ebraergang. From the German of AD. VON VOLCKHAUSEI.
By Mrs. A. L. WISTER, translator of " Old Mam'selle's Se.
cret," "Gold Elsie," etc.     I2mo.    Fine cloth.   $I.75.
"Mrs. Wister's admirable transla-  perusal and approval than'Only i
ions are among the books that every- Girl;' and'Why Did He Not Die P
body reads.  She certainly may be   possesses in at least an equal degree
said to possess unusual ability in re- all the elements of popularity. From
taining the peculiar weird flavor of a  the beginning to the end the interest
German story, while rendering it with  never flags, and the characters and
perfect ease and grace into our own  scenes are drawn with great warmth
language.  Few  recently published  and power."-New York Herald.
novels have received more general
Aytoun. A Romance. By Emily T. Read. 8vo.
Paper cover. 40 cents.
"The fabric is thoroughly wrought   "There are elements of power in
and truly dramatic." —Philadelphia  the novel, and some exciting scenes."
North A smerican.                   -New York Evening Mail.
Old Song and New. A Volume of Poems. By
MARGARET J. PRESTON, author of " Beechenbrook."           I2mo.
Tinted paper. Extra cloth. $2.
" In point of variety and general ship of which none need be ashamed,
pace of diction,' Old Song and New' while much vies with our best living
is the best volume of poems that has writers. Strength and beauty, scholaryet been written by an American    ship and fine intuition are manifested
woman, whether North or South-the  throughout so as to charm the reader
best, because on the whole the best and assure honorable distinction tI
etstained and the most thoughtful."-  the writer. Such poetry is in no danger
6altimore Gazette.                 of becoming too abundant."-Phide" In this volume there is workman- delphia North A merican.
Margaree.         A    Poem.        By Hampden Masson.
i6mo. Extra cloth. 75 cents.




PUBLICATIONS OF. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
By His Own Might. A Romance. Translated
from the German of WILHELMINE VON HILLERN, author ot
"Only a Girl," etc.    I2mo.    Fine cloth.   $1.75.
"Some of the scenes are power- is vivacious, intricate and well susfully wrought out, and are highly tained..... It is one of the best of
dramatic in their construction."- the many excellent novels from the
Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.   German issued by this house."-Pkila.
"The story is well constructed. It Evening Bulletin.
The Daughter of an Egyptian King. An Historical Romance. Translated from the German of GEORGE
EBERS by HENRY      REED.    12mo.    Extra cloth.   $1.75.
"It is awonderful production. There accurate insight into the social and
have been ancient novels before now, political life of the Egyptians of that
but none, according to our recollec- time."-Boston Evening Traveller.
tions, so antique as this."-New York  "It is a valuable contribution to
World.                             science as well as a highly-wrought
" The plot is a most interesting one, novel."-Cincinnati Gazette.
and in its development we are given an
Sergeant Atkins. A Tale of Adventure. Founded
on Fact.   By an Officer of the United States Army.       With
Illustrations.  I2mo.   Extra cloth.    $I.75.
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" Apart from its mere literary merits clear understanding of its origin, progas a graphic, well-told and spirited  ress and character."-Army  and
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The Warden. A             Novel. By Anthony Trollope,
author of "The Vicar of Bullhampton," "Orley Farm,"
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Barchester Towers.' A Novel. By Anthony Trollope, author of " Phineas Finn," " He Knew he was Right,"
etc. I2mo. Fine cloth. $1.25.
"These two novels belong to the veloped   with  much   realism  and
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certain phases of clerical life are deThe Scapegoat. A Novel. By Leo.                     I2mo. Paper cover. $I. Cloth. $I.50.
"The book has a good deal of life tion, and equally pronounced and etand spirit in it."-Philadelihia Age.  fective in its moral." - St. Louis
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Who Would Have Thought it?                   A Novel. I2mo.
Fine cloth. $1.75.
A bright and attractive romance, with an interesting plot, well sustained
throughout




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPPINCOTT7 & CO.
Tricotrin.     The Story of a Waif and Stray. By
" OUIDA," author of " Under Two Flags," etc.        With Portrait of the Author from an Engraving on Steel. x2mo.
Cloth. $I.50.
"The story is full of vivacity and  "The book abounds in beautifil
of thrilling interest."-Pittsburgh Ga- sentiment, expressed in a concenlette.                             trated, compact style which cannot fail
"Tricotrin is a work of absolute to be attractive and will be read with
power, some truth and deep interest."  pleasure in every household."-San
-N. Y. Day Book.                   Francisco Timzes.
Granville de Vigne; or, Held in Bondage. A
Tale of the Day.    By " OUIDA," author of " Idalia," " Tricotrin," etc.  I2mo.    Cloth.  $I.50.
"This is one of the most powerful present century, so prolific in light
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Strathmore; or, Wrought by His Own Hand. A
Novel.   By "OUIDA," author of "Granville de Vigne,"
etc.  I2mo.    Cloth.   $1.50.
"It is a romance of the intense Wood, while its scenes and characters
school, but it is written with more  are taken from  high life."-Boston
power, fluency and brilliancy than the Transcrip1t.
works of Miss Braddon and Mrs.
*Chandos.       A    Novel.      By "Ouida," author of
"Strathmore," "Idalia," etc.     I2mo.    Cloth.   $1.50.
"Those who have read these two coloring of style and somewhat exaglast named brilliant works of fiction  gerated portraiture of scenes and cha(Granville de Vigne and Strathmore) racters, but it is a story of surprising
will be sure to read Chandos. It is power and interest."-Piftsburg Evecharacterized by the same gorgeous ning Chronicle.
Under Two Flags. A Story of the Household and
the Desert.    By " OUIDA," author of " Tricotrin," " Granville de Vigne," etc. I2mo. Cloth. $1.50.
"No one will be able to resist its to establish her fame as one of the
fa;ination who once begins its peru- most eloquent and graphic writers of
il. "-Phila. Evening Bulletin.    fiction now living."-Chicago 7ournal
"This is probably the most popular of Commerce.
work of Ouida. It is enough of itself
Puck.     His    Vicissitudes, Adventures, Observations,
Conclusions, Friendship and Philosophies. By "OUIDA,"
author   of "Strathmore,"      "Idalia,"   "Tricotrin,"    etc.
I2mo. Fine cloth. $I.50.
"Its quaintness will provoke laugh  " It sustains the widely-spread popu.
ter, while the interest in the central larity of the author."-Pittsburgh Ga'
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tany YourvaL




PUBLICATIONS OF 7. B. LIPI'INCOTT 6 CO.
Folle-Farine.       A Novel.         By "Ouida," author of
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"Ouida's pen is a graphic one, and  "This work   fully sustains the
page after page of gorgeous word-paint- writer's previous reputation, and may
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rhythm that often has the perfect mea- works."-Troy Times.
sure of blank verse, and needs only to  "Full of vivacity."-Fort Wane
be broken into line. There is in it, Gazette.
too, the eloquence of genius."-Phila.  " The best of her numerous stories,'
Eve. Bulletin.                     - Vicksburg Herald.
Idalia. A Novel. By "Ouida," author of" Strath
more," "Tricotrin,"     "Under Two      Flags,"   etc.   I2mo
Cloth. $1.50.
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A Leaf in the Storm, and other Novelettes.                      By
"OUIDA,"     author   of   "Folle-Farine,"    "Granville     de
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Paper cover. 50 cents.
"Those who look upon light litera- narrative-so direct and truthful-proture as an art will read these tales with  duces the highest artistic effect. It
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Gazette.                           tale in such a manner."-Philadelphia
" In the longest of these stories,'A  Press.
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these short stories contribute largely -New Haven yournal.




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The Virginia Tourist.         Sketches of the Springs and
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The Old Mam'selle's Secret. From the German of
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which, having once commenced, it... And the work has the minute
seemed more difficult to leave, we fidelity of the author of' The Initials,'
have not met with for many a day."- the dramatic unity of Reade and the
The Round Table.                  graphic power of George Eliot."
"Is one of the most intense, con- Columbus (0.) yournal.
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" It is a story that arouses the interOver Yonder. From             the German of E. Marlitt,
author of " Countess Gisela," etc.     Third edition.    With
a full-page Illustration. 8vo. Paper cover. 30 cents.'Over Yonder' is a charming    ant of the merits of this author will
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Mam'selle's Secret' will give it a glad works of a gifted writer."-Daily Senreception, while those who are ignor- tinel.
The Little Moorland Princess. From the German
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"It is a great luxury to give one's self
Magdalena.         From     the German of E. Marlitt,
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("The    Solitaries").  From   the German of Paul Heyse.
With two Illustrations. 8vo. Paper cover. 35 cents.
"We know of no way in which a either of these tales." —Indianapol4
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