"Will you do it?" she whispered, handing the perfumed sheet to Johann Leopold. And shading his eyes with his hand so as to shield his face from observation, he read clearly and calmly,--

"Forgive me, dearest and best of aunts, for coming to you with a request the fulfilment of which is no trifle. But I know your kindness, and I know, too, from life-long experience, that even when you are displeased with me you are always trying to excuse me both in thought and word. Do it now to grandpapa, and love me still. I rely upon you.

"If my confession were only made! Or if I only knew how to begin! The beginning is simply that I was quite as unable to endure life in the Walburg Dorcas-meetings as in the Wildenhayn nursery. I told you, soon after my going to the Walburgs, of my bitter disappointment in the imperial city of Vienna. But since then the philanthropic craze of the mother and the virtuous fanaticism of the daughters have increased to such a degree that they nearly drove me wild. Now please don't look angry, dear Aunt Thekla! Does not even Goethe say,--it's the only thing of his I ever remembered,--

'Rather pursue evil courses than be thus bored'?

"I wrote you of our Charity bazaar. I had a table at it. The children of darkness have the reputation of greater wisdom than the children of light, and I really did a brilliant business.

Not one was left of all the abominations confided to the watchful care of my beautiful eyes. Most of them were bought by a young and elegant man, who appeared morning and afternoon of each of the three days that the fair lasted, and paid furious court to me. Chance--or let us call it Providence--so willed it that we had a common acquaintance, at whose house we met again, and I learned to know his parents. Mamma, short, stout, _decolletee_, and loaded with diamonds; papa, tall, thin, with bony hands, and a genius for money-making. His father slaughtered oxen; he slaughtered estates, then engaged in some of these new-fangled speculations, and is said to have acc.u.mulated several millions. His wife is an innkeeper's daughter. Her paternal mansion is still to be seen in K---- Street. Both were charming to me. Both shared in their son's wishes,--that is, they thirsted for my blue blood, while he coveted my entire self. The poor fellow is really head over ears in love with me, which, in contrast with his usual _blase_ condition, produces a comically pathetic effect. I knew only too well that grandpapa never would give his consent; so at last I carried out a _coup d'etat_ which Pepi--his baptismal name is Felix--devised. It was impossible for us to be married in Vienna with no pomp or parade. It would have been too great a blow to parental vanity. So I took leave of the Walburgs to go to Herstadt, but in fact I arrived in Paris. Felix followed me, and since the day before yesterday I have been the Baroness Erlenbusch of Erlenbusch of Veldes on the Saar.

"Thank heaven! there it is at last on paper, and off my mind!

And now, dear, darling, heavenly aunt, be kind. Please! please!

I fold my hands and bend my knees, and, look! there is a real genuine tear just fallen on the paper; for in spite of the frivolity which, through no fault of mine, I have inherited, I love you all, you odd, proud, honest, serious Donninghausens; and if I do not any longer live among you, I prize my right to a home within your old walls. You then must contrive, _carissima_, to have me come to you some day with Felix. Don't be afraid. He is perfectly presentable: tall, slender, elegant,--with a little more repose he would really look distinguished. Is he so, in fact? _Qui vivra verra!_ At all events, he is very much of a gentleman. A connoisseur in all branches of sport; in horses, in the ballet, and in _ballerine_. He plays, bets, owns magnificent racers, and can dissipate his father's speedily-acquired millions as speedily in a thousand ways. You would remind me of poor Wilfried, and would ask how I can stake my happiness upon the same card again? Dearest aunt, I was famished for pleasure, life, movement, splendour, beauty, love,--for all that I have foregone these many years. Now I am drinking deep of all of them. We shall spend our honeymoon here in Paris, the _paradis des femmes_, and then go back to Vienna. But before that I must hear from you,--one word of love, of forgiveness, of hope, addressed to 'Baroness Magelone of Erlenbusch, _poste restante_, Paris.'

"The name is not beautiful, neither is it ancient; but make up your mind to it, and accept it and the new grandson and great-nephew, as I must accept my father- and mother-in-law. Ye saints above! fancy them in my drawing-room! But I shall clinch my teeth and be amiable. Mother-in-law's diamonds will cover many a _faux pas_, and a man who wallows in millions, as does my father-in-law, need my new pathway in life is not without its thorns. Wherefore I fervently entreat you to obtain grandpapa's forgiveness for me, that I may at least flee to you in thought if----but, Magelone! should thoughts such as these be entertained by a young and adored wife? Oh, if I could only show you my wedding-dress, dearest aunt!

'I've glittering diamonds and jewels, I've all that the heart could desire, And mine are the loveliest eyes, too----'

"And if you will only forgive me, all is well, and I am forever your happy MAGELONE."

During the reading of this letter the Freiherr had been pacing deliberately to and fro, and he continued to do so in silence. Johann Leopold, having read it, said nothing, but gazed thoughtfully into the fire. Aunt Thekla took the letter and read it through again to herself.

Magelone's entreaty for forgiveness touched her heart. The young creature was right; Aunt Thekla could not be angry with her long. The sins of her frivolity were atoned for by her grace. Once more it was the old lady's earnest desire to befriend her spoiled darling; and, summoning up all her courage, she said, at last,--

"Dear brother, I must answer this. What shall I write?"

"Whatever you choose!" he cried, as he pa.s.sed her. Suddenly he turned short round, and came up to the table upon which stood the lamp. His face wore a marble look of anger and determination. "No, not whatever you choose!" he said, harshly. "Who knows what concessions you may be induced to make? You will write to the Frau Baroness von Erlenbusch that the members of my family are not in the world solely to enjoy themselves, but to do their confounded duty as far as they can, and to fulfil their responsibilities. Those who prefer mere enjoyment must find it elsewhere. There is no place for them among us."

"But surely, if Magelone," Aunt Thekla began again, "were to come here to ask your forgiveness----"

"She would find the doors closed!" the Freiherr interrupted her.

"Unless, indeed, the Herr Baron Felix von Erlenbusch should fulfil his wife's expectations and run through his swindler-father's money. If she should then return to us alone, and needy, she shall have food and shelter. So long, however, as she makes merry with that clique, her foot shall never cross my threshold. Not a word, sister!" he added, raising his voice. "Remember Agnes and Johanna! I cannot at the eleventh hour be false to what has been my principle of action during my life." And after a pause, he said, more gently, "We must submit, Thekla. Solitude is the sad dowry of age. We no longer understand the young, nor do they understand us."

But the Freiherr did not find it easy to practise the submission which he enjoined upon his sister. Long as he had been deprived of Otto's and Magelone's presence, he felt really separated from them only when he could no longer hope to see them vindicate, according to his ideas, the honour of the family.

"I am only an old, decayed trunk," he said, on the morning of New Year's day, when Aunt Thekla offered him her New Year's wishes. "Not only has winter robbed me of my garniture of leaves, but my stout young branches have fallen off. All is wellnigh over with Donninghausen!"

In this same mood he was sitting at breakfast with his sister and nephew on the morning of the 3d of January, when Dr. Werner was announced.

"What! our Indian doctor? Fellow, you must be mistaken!" he shouted to the servant. But it was Ludwig Werner, who immediately appeared, and was welcomed with as much delight as amazement.

"This is what I call a surprise," the Freiherr repeated, when Ludwig was at last seated beside him, and had been supplied by Aunt Thekla with coffee. "And now give an account of yourself. First, whence come you so early in the day?"

"From Lindenbad. I have been spending the holidays with my people, and I came by the early train, because I must go back to Hanover to-day."

"No, no!" cried the Freiherr. "Now I have you once more in my clutches, you shall not slip away in such a hurry."

"Or if you must go to-day," said Johann Leopold, in his considerate way, "promise us at least that you will come back again here from Hanover."

"Unfortunately, I cannot," Ludwig replied. "There is a scientific expedition fitting out,--this time for the West Ghauts. I have been asked to join it, and I must return to London to complete my preparations."

"What! are you going to travel again?" asked Aunt Thekla. "Johann Leopold thought you would accept a professorship in Germany. We were all so glad."

"Thank you for your kindness, Fraulein von Donninghausen. I did think for a while of remaining at home, but I seem to be turning out an irreclaimable vagabond." Ludwig spoke in a quiet, cheerful tone, but neither Aunt Thekla nor Johann Leopold could avoid an impression that he was exercising a certain self-control, and they scrutinized him keenly.

The Freiherr frowned: "I should be sorry for that! You are made of better stuff than goes to make up these new-fangled tramps. Stay here, young man! You'll find enough to do in Germany."

"Hereafter--perhaps in a year I shall be at home again," Ludwig replied; and then his face grew dark, as, looking from one to another, he said, "I have something else to arrange before my departure, and it is for that I am come hither. I have seen Johanna----"

The Freiherr interrupted him. "We never speak of her," he said, sternly.

"Pardon me, Herr von Donninghausen! As Johanna's brother, I have a right to demand, and to give, an explanation," Ludwig made reply, with quiet determination. "You appear to believe that Johanna belongs to the Batti circus."

"We know she does," Johann Leopold replied. "The newspapers gave a detailed account of her joining it."

"And upon such testimony you dropped Johanna, unquestioned and unheard?"

Ludwig interposed, bitterly.

"Do you suppose we could have had any effect upon her obstinacy?" cried the Freiherr. "'Tis in the blood, my young friend! An inherited predilection, for which, perhaps, she should not be blamed, but which separates her forever from us. She voluntarily left her home, her family, and her betrothed that she might exchange them for what the papers call the irresponsibility of an artistic career. She herself told me that she hoped to render herself independent by her talent. So, you see!"

"All a mistake and misunderstanding," Ludwig replied. "Even before her step-mother's death she had left Batti, and since then she has supported herself and her little sister by writing. Here is her first book."

The Freiherr stared at him. "Johanna not in the circus!" he said, mechanically holding out his hand for the book.

"And as for her desire for an irresponsible artistic career," Ludwig continued, "I can only tell you that she has repelled all the advances, which are the inevitable result of her talent, because all that she wished for was peace and repose. This I know from her sole friend and adviser, a certain Dr. Wolf. Moreover, her only a.s.sociates are the family of a humble teacher where she has lodgings, and where her life is one of secluded and untiring industry."

The Freiherr started up. "Why were we not told this?" he cried. "It was unjust, unkind of Johanna. Why did she not stay with us, if stronger inducements did not lead her elsewhere?"

"That I do not know," Ludwig replied. "I only know that out of a false regard for you the reason why Johanna broke off her engagement has been concealed from you. This she hinted to me by word of mouth, and she now tells me so plainly by letter, and refuses me any further explanation, declaring that not to spare her former betrothed, but to save you, Herr von Donninghausen, from pain, the matter must never be explained. And Fraulein Thekla, who knows everything, desired that you should never be told the real cause of the break between the betrothed pair----"

"What!" shouted the Freiherr, rising from his chair. "Am I a foolish child, that others decide what may be told me and what not? I must know everything this moment. Out with it, Thekla!"

The old lady, who had risen from table with the rest, trembled so violently that she was obliged to sit down again.

"Do not be angry, my dear brother," she began, timidly.

The Freiherr advanced towards her: "Without more ado, sister, what was the difficulty between Otto and Johanna? Answer me briefly, and to the point!"

"Johanna learned----" Aunt Thekla began hesitatingly, "Johanna learned that Otto loved Magelone, and that she loved him. The note you took from Leo was written to Magelone----"

"That is not true!" thundered the Freiherr. "No Donninghausen could lie so! And Magelone, Johann Leopold's betrothed----"

"Had tender rendezvous with Otto for weeks," Johann Leopold interposed, while, as if to support his aunt, he advanced and laid his hand upon the back of her chair.

"Nonsense! Scandal! Who told you such stuff?" cried the Freiherr.

Johann Leopold bit his lip. He could not bring himself to mention Red Jakob, but Aunt Thekla forced herself to reply. "Otto confessed everything to me," she whispered.

For a moment the Freiherr seemed stunned. Then he laughed bitterly, and walked to the window. After a long and painful pause, Johann Leopold said, "We wished to spare you."