'When is your marriage to take place with the Countess Rosenberg? tell me, which is to be married first of us two? See, I have a letter here from that sweet, lovely Ida; she tells me Wertheimburg has agreed with her; she is almost well; she scarcely feels now the shock of that tiresome accident; and she rides all day, such long rides!'

The colour had rushed to Ernest's face and died away again before Dorothea had done speaking, and he attempted calmness while he replied,

Yes, I know she takes long rides; I met her yesterday at Gernsdorf.'

Dorothea fixed her large expressive eyes upon him. He laid hold of his sister's hand.

'Dorothea,' said he, 'what is this for-what good purpose can it serve?

What is it for, Ernest; what good purpose? For no especial purpose; only I have Ida's command to congratulate you, and to congratulate our dear Countess Rosalie when the right time comes; and therefore I wish to know when the right time is.'

Ernest dropped her hand.

'The time,' said he, 'is as right now as it ever can be. You have said enough; say no more-no more.'

'My brother! you are very often at Gernsdorf.'

Yes; my presence there is useful. If I had not these occupations, these aspirations, these objects of hope and interest, what should I be-what would my life be then?

'Rosalie is not jealous?'

'No. Dorothea, say no more!' 'Only this, then,-will my father come home to supper?'

'No; he is with the Grand Duke.' 'Will you sup with me, then, now, my brother?

'No. I will call Madame Wolf to you. I shall retire to my own room.'

'Good night, Ernest!' 'Good night, Dorothea!' He had just reached the door when he turned back to say

'Dorothea, can you assure me

335

that Madame Wolf has received no more visits from Potolski?'

This question, irrelevant as it seemed to the subject of discourse, was a sudden blow, and it fell sharply then upon the Countess when she thought herself just delivered from peril. But she felt the necessity of the moment-the absolute importance of a prompt and steady reply, and she said—

'Certainly; Madame Wolf has received no more visits from Potolski. After what passed between us on that subject, I wonder you can ask the question.'

There was a tone of offended friendship in her speech, and Ernest felt sorry, and came back again to kiss her.

me.

'You are angry,' said he, 'that I should doubt your friend, and it is no wonder; but you must forgive The very thought of Potolski poisons my blood, so much I hate and despise him. He is not fit to enter the door of my father's house; it is not fit that any honest woman should receive his visits.'

His sister's face was hidden from him while he spoke, and she remained still and silent. When he left her, when the stimulus that his presence had given was withdrawn, all the warm blood left her heart, and she lay upon the sofa cold, stiff, and almost dead. Now, once again, the good and evil of her destiny contended together, and at this moment there was a possibility of her rejecting the evil. A new fear worked within her while her brother's parting words rang in her ears. How would it be when the time came to go to her brother and say, 'I reject my first choice, in whose behalf I entreated and obtained your support. I reject him for the sake of that man whom you so hate and so despise that you have said the mere thought of him is as poison in your blood-whose presence you have

said no honest woman should tolerate. I deliver into the hands of that man my hope and my life!' The image of the Pole, with his beautiful face and his beautiful voice, with his winning manner, with his poetry and his grace, rose

in her mind, but it was accompanied with a secret dread; and the captivation of eye and ear, the bondage of the fancy, gave way for a moment to a dark and bitter apprehension. But for a moment only. Madame Wolf, whose position near the door had not been thrown away upon her, guessed that her services must just now be required, and came to assist her pupil. A deeper interest than that of mere folly attached her to Potolski: there were passages in her life which put her in his power, and she knew him to be capable of exposing them. To these motives was added that of a strong dislike to Ernest-a dislike that is natural between the corrupt and the upright. She began now to indulge Dorothea with fond compassion for what she termed the scene she had gone through, and talked freely of Ernest's eccentricity of character, of the enthusiasm of his love, and the injustice of his hate. Otto Brünfels was a god, Potolski was a devil; there was no reason in the matter, all was mere whim. For her part, she preferred a man of noble birth, noble manners, and noble beauty, such as the Pole could boast, to a commonplace captain, of nobody knew what parentage, who was only too glad of a small office about the Court which Ernest's interest had procured for him; for her part, she thought there was no reason that a sister should bow down before a brother's will.

'I am not going to bow down,' said Dorothea, rising from the sofa, and I am going to meet the Chevalier to-night.'

And accordingly, an hour after midnight, when the father and the brother were both asleep, little suspecting the heavy impending infamy, Dorothea, with her vile companion, wearing one of that companion's dark dresses, with a thick veil hiding her face, stole out from the door of the Wertheim House, stealthily and secretly, on towards the Scufzen Allée. Their road took them necessarily across the public promenade, and past the Maison Entzberg. Dorothea moved

with the noiseless gliding step of a conspirator; she trembled and came close to Madame Wolf as she paused at the edge of the promenade and watched the receding figure of a late stroller. The figure passed, and they crossed the walk unobserved. A light wind stirred among the trees of the Entzberg garden as they went by, and its thrill went all through Dorothea's frame. The large chesnut-tree dropped some of its fruit at her feet, and she started as at the sound of a human step. Madame Wolf's hand guided and supported her onwards, and presently her heart and hopes rose, and her chilled blood ran quick and strong again. Potolski was at her side; he was at her side with his honeyed words and his bold touch, leading her away further and further from her companion into those recesses where the shadow of the night fell deepest. And surely, if light abhors iniquity, it was well that such a man with such a purpose should withdraw far from its presence.

Dorothea, resigning her hands to the hot pressure of his, and clinging closely to him whenever a rustling leaf or the sound of a distant step startled her, told him the contents of Ida's letter. She told him how Ida thought it would be right to undeceive at once both Florian and her brother. She said in tones of unrestrained sweetness, low and melodious, that her soul, not brave by nature, could find courage for his sake to dare all consequences, to contend against any opposition and any cruelty; and she spoke, not for the first time, of her own independent inheritance.

'I do not doubt it,' said Potolski, subtly and softly; I know well what sacrifice the loving soul of a woman is capable of. I know well how this fluttering gentle heart could become stern and strong; I know how strong the virtue is of a true love; I know the deep, the holy, the sublime nature of such a love, which is the best religion of a woman's heart. Yes! I know how it could rival the saints of old and endure martyrdom, torture, cruel usage, and I

believe even the burning brand of disgrace !'

At that word, disgrace, Dorothea shrank away for a moment from him, but she was reproved by a warm pressure of the hand; and then she leant against his heart.

Yes, my best, truest, sweetest friend!' he continued; 'I do know and believe all this; and when the time is ripe for the act of abnegation, for the trial and proof of a woman's exalted devotion, then it may be that I must come to claim it of you, and to say, Suffer, suffer, my love, a little, but a little while for me! and only so long that I may make you for ever happythat we may taste together the exquisite joys of a harmonious union

of the union in which those souls are linked whose secret sympathies have flowed together from the hour of their birth, though an unkind fate has severed their steps and they have walked erroneously in diverse paths.'

These were common words, but the manner of their utterance was

not common. The Pole's speech was persuasive: it was modulated into the delicate variations and fluctuations of a sensitive emotion; and Dorothea was ready to be persuaded. She gave herself up to the influence of the seducing accent, and to the promptings of inclination; she abandoned herself to all the luxury of fond sensation. But a rustling in the long grass where they stood, a warning exclamation from Madame Wolf, and the familiar tones of D'Entzberg's dog, shortened for the Countess the dangerous delight of this mo

ment.

In an instant Arno was jumping up upon her, and the Baron's cry was heard in full pursuit, with many phrases of remonstrance, such as, "Thou little rascal-thou wicked child-thou altogether ill-contrived animal!-what a chase hast thou led me.' But if the chase was a hard one the game was worth it; and when the Baron's clear vision detected two human figures hiding in the shadow, the one wearing a hat and the other a skirt; when the familiarity of his dog. revealed

337

them to him as belonging to the circle of his acquaintance, he felt himself well paid. He now advanced cautiously towards them, willing that he should recognise them before they recognised him but Potolski went forward to meet

;

him, placing himself between him and the large spreading lime-tree, on the other side of which Dorothea stood. The Chevalier's figure was not one easily to mistake: the dog caressed him, and the moon's light shone upon his yellow hair. The Baron knew without that help his graceful bearing; and not being accustomed to suppress his knowledge, he saluted him at once with a 'Good evening, Chevalier,' speaking French as usual with the Pole, and he was as fluent in that language as in his own. 'We are

of the same mind, you see, both walking late; only I, poor old man, have no companion but my dog, and you have one, as it seems, of a more interesting description, such as better becomes your time of life. Ah, you young gallant, you young conqueror, you young sultan, to whom does that dark skirt belong? Good Heavens! but it is some one of my friends, for there is Arno jumps up and fondles her. Kind soul! tell her not to hide so timidly from me. She has been good to Arno or he would not love her; and she need not be afraid of me.'

Leaning forward with inquisitive action, he drew nearer to Dorothea while he spoke, but Potolski pushed him back. Madame Wolf, who had crept slyly on through the deep shade to join her pupil at the first sound of alarm, now grasped her tightly round the waist, inclosing and concealing her in the folds of her own shawl, and bore her quickly away, not towards their own house, she was too wary for that, but into the thickest darkness of the avenue; and in their bewildered fear they fled as if from pursuit till they reached the bridge which crossed that stream where Ernest, for the dishonour of his house and for the lasting sorrow of his life, had rescued the Pole from death. There on those banks they remained, hiding and trembling, till at a late hour

Potolski found them, and led them home without any further adventure, but with many imprecations on the Baron, who had picked up a handkerchief dropped in their flight, and had recognised it as Madame Wolf's. While he examined the handkerchief and detected the owner, however, he had failed to detect Dorothea. He had laughed his most wicked laugh when he rallied the Chevalier on so late a meeting with a lady no longer young.

'Laugh at me as much as you please,' said Potolski; 'only do not betray the lady. The truth is, there is hardly enough harm in the matter to amuse you, Baron. We are

merely settling some old accounts. We were intimately acquainted once, when I was but just twentyten years ago; and she some ten years older and kind and encouraging, as you know elder ladies sometimes are to us very innocent young men!'

The Baron laughed merrily.

'Ah, this is good,' said he, 'this is excellent, and this, do you know, is what I have partly guessed be fore, because of some rumours, some hints, dropped by the good Carlotta. But let me whisper to you, Chevalier, in the strictest confidence, that this gouvernante may give you some trouble if you ever should rouse her into jealousy by too much attention to her pupil. She might have thought, if she had seen you that day when I had the honour and pleasure of meeting you in the Devil's Tower, and once

again in the churchyard, so unexpectedly, that you and the Countess were sitting rather too close.'

"Take care, Baron,' said the Chevalier, and let me whisper in strictest confidence to you that you may fall into some trouble if you allow yourself to suggest any scandal of the Wertheim family, for that fellow Count Ernest is

'Good God! not for the worldnever-only take care. I can tell you, and you should listen with respect to one of my years and experience (he tittered while he spoke), that a jealous woman will stop at nothing.'

'How is it that you are out so late, Baron?

'Oh! I have been with the Valincourts, and since then I have wandered about with Captain Warburton. He sleeps badly, poor child! he is restless, and he walks much. I went back with him home; and soon after I left his house, that wicked, unprincipled little rascal Arno ran away from me and found you.'

Now, you and your dog have frightened that poor dear lady,' said Potolski, and I must go to seek her. Keep our secret.'

'Without fail,' said the Baron; and he turned towards the Maison Kühn, tying his handkerchief round Arno to secure him, and still laughing to himself as he walked. He did not suspect Dorothea's presence at this hour in the avenue. Accustomed as he was to intrigue and immorality, his imagination for once fell short of the truth.