The road grows rough; the wheels jolt over the stones; the little carriage sways from side to side. Paula clutches Harry's arm. Her waving hair brushes his cheek; it thrills him. She starts back from him.

"Pardon me," she murmurs, as if mortified.

"Pardon me, Baroness," he says. "I had no idea that the forest-road was so rough; it is the shortest. Did you not come by it to Zirkow?"

"No."

"You ought to have warned me."

"I had forgotten it."

Again the wheels creak; tire ponies snort their dissatisfaction, the little vehicle sways, and Paula trembles.

"I am afraid it will be rougher yet," says Harry. "How stupid of me not to have thought of it! There!--the mud is really deep. Who could have supposed it in this drought? We are near the Poacher's ditch: I can perceive the swampy odour in the air."

"The Poacher's ditch?" Paula repeats, in a low tone. "Is that the uncanny place where the will-o'-the-wisps dance?"

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"So brave an Amazon--afraid?"

"Yes, for the first time in my life. I do not know what has come over me," she whispers.

"A poor compliment for me!" he says, then pauses and looks at her.

She turns away her head as if she were blushing.

The tall pines crowd closer and closer on either side of the road; the strip of moon-lit sky grows narrower overhead; the damp odour of decaying vegetation poisons the air. The gloom is intense, the moonbeams cannot find their way hither. In particular the road and the lower portion of the tree-trunks are veiled in deep shade. A tiny blue flame flickers up from the ground, dances among the trees,--then another--and another----

"Ah!" Paula screams and clings like a maniac to Harry. He puts his arm round her, and soothes her, half laughing the while. Did his lips actually seek hers? A sudden, lingering kiss bewilders him, like the intoxicating perfume of a flower.

It lasts but a second, and he has released her.

"Forgive me!" he cries, distressed, confused.

Does she really not understand him? At all events she only shakes her head at his words, and murmurs, "Forgive?--what is there to forgive? It came so unexpectedly. I had no idea that you loved me, Harry."

His cheeks burn. The forest has vanished, the road is smooth; click-clack--the ponies' hoofs fly through the dust, and behind comes the irregular thud of eight other hoofs along the road. Harry looks round, and sees the groom, whom he had forgotten.

The dim woodland twilight has been left far behind; the moon floods the landscape with silvery splendour. All is silent around; not a leaf stirs; only the faint, dying murmur of the forest is audible for a few moments.

Ten minutes later Harry draws up before the Dobrotschau castle. "You will come to see mamma to-morrow?" Paula whispers, pressing her lover's hand. But Harry feels as if he could annihilate her, himself, and the whole world.

CHAPTER VII.

AN INVITATION.

"My dear Baroness,--

"Will you and all your family give us the pleasure of your company at dinner on Sunday next, at six o'clock? We wish to surprise you with the revelation of a secret that will, we think, interest you.

"I hear you have a friend with you. It would, of course, be an added pleasure if Baron Wenkendorf would join us on Sunday.

"Hoping for a favourable reply, I am

"Sincerely yours,

"Emilie Harfink."

This note the Baroness Leskjewitsch takes from an envelope smelling of violets and adorned with an Edelweiss, and reads aloud in a depressed tone to her husband, her niece, and her cousin, all of whom listen with a more or less contemptuous expression of countenance.

Not that the note is in itself any more awkward and pretentious than other notes of invitation,--no; but the fact that it comes from Baroness Harfink is quite sufficient to make the Zirkow circle suspicious and ironical.

Three days have pa.s.sed since the afternoon when Harry and Zdena quarrelled, and Zdena has had time thoroughly to repent her experiment.

The little company is a.s.sembled at the breakfast-table in a small summer-house whence there is a view of a tiny fountain leaping about a yard into the air from an oval basin.

Frau Rosamunda thinks the view of this fountain refreshing; the major despises the plaything, calls this breakfast-arbour the "wash-house,"

or, when he means to be particularly disagreeable, "Wash-Basin Hall,"

a.s.suming the att.i.tude, as he so designates it, of a kangaroo,--his elbows pressed to his sides, the palms of his hands turned outwards,--and availing himself of his most elegant German accent, which is unfortunately rather unnatural.

"Surprise us? What surprise can the Baroness Harfink prepare for us in which we shall take any interest?" Frau Rosamunda says, musingly, laying the note down beside her plate.

"Oh, leave me out! She knows that you are p.r.o.ne to curiosity, and she is doing what she can to attract you to her house," the major declares. "The 'surprise' is the bit of cheese in the Dobrotschau mouse-trap,--that is all. It may be a new service of old china, or some j.a.panese rug with golden monsters and chimeras sprawling about on it."

"No; there is a tone of exultation about the note which indicates something far grander," says Frau Rosamunda, thoughtfully, b.u.t.tering a piece of bread. "I rather think there is a new son-in-law to the fore."

"H'm! Frulein Paula's betrothal would certainly be a matter of special importance to us," the major says, contemptuously. "Perhaps it might make Harry ill. He made violent love to her the other day!" and the old cuira.s.sier glances at Zdena. She is sipping a cup of tea, however, and her face cannot be seen.

"I thought perhaps," Frau Rosamunda observes, "that Harry might----"

"No, Rosa. Your genius is really too great," the major interrupts her, "if you can fancy for a moment that Harry meant anything serious by his attentions to that village bar-maid."

Zdena has put down her teacup; her delicate nostrils quiver disdainfully, her charming mouth expresses decided scorn. How could Harry suppose----? Nonsense!

"Well, stranger things have come to pa.s.s," observes Frau Rosamunda, sagely. "Do not forget that Lato Treurenberg has married into the Harfink family."

"Oh, he--he was in debt--h'm!--at least his father was in debt," the major explains. "That is entirely different. But a man like Harry would never risk his colossal inheritance from his uncle for the sake of Paula Harfink. If it were for some one else, he might do so; but that red-cheeked dromedary--ridiculous!"

"I really do not understand you. You seemed perfectly devoted to her the other day," rejoins Frau Rosamunda. "You all languished at her feet,--even you too, Roderich."

Baron Wenkendorf looks up from a pile of letters and papers which he has been sorting.