"And you me still more! What has happened, Ottomar? I implore you to tell me! Is it the letter?--a challenge?"

"Or a sentence of death, perhaps? Nothing of importance--a registered letter which my father received for me."

"An unimportant letter--registered! But if it is not the letter, it is what has for so long worried and absorbed you. How do matters stand between you and Carla, Ottomar!"

"Between me and Carla? What an extraordinary question! How should matters stand between oneself and a lady to whom one will shortly be betrothed?"

"Ottomar, look me in the face. You do not love Carla!"

Ottomar tried to meet her glance, but was not quite successful. "You are silly," he said, with an embarra.s.sed smile; "those are girlish fancies."

"And is not Carla a girl? And do you not think that she has fancies too?--that she has pictured to herself the happiness that she hopes for at your side?--that for her, as for every other girl, this happiness can only exist with love, and that she, that you both will be unhappy if this love is absent on one side or the other, or on both? Do you not believe this?"

"I do not believe a word of it," said Ottomar.

He looked at his sister now and smiled; but his eyes were fixed and hard, and his sad yet ironical smile cut Elsa to the heart.

"And yet?" she said sadly.

"And yet! Look here, my dear child; the matter is very simple. I require for my own expenses, and to pay off the debts that I was obliged to incur before I came into the enjoyment of my fortune this spring, ten thousand thalers a year. My income is, as you know, in consequence of the absurdly small rents on the property, five thousand.

Carla has five thousand a year; the two together make ten thousand.

Therefore I mean to marry her, and the sooner the better."

"In order to pay your debts?"

"Simply in order to live; for this--this everlasting dependence, this everlasting concealment about nothing at all--because everything is known, after all--this--this----"

The words would not come; he trembled all over. Elsa had never seen him so. Her limbs trembled also; but she was determined to do what she thought her duty--what she had never so clearly recognised as her duty till that moment.

"Dear Ottomar," said she, "I do not ask if you really require such a frightful amount of money. Papa has often told us----"

"That when he was a lieutenant, he managed upon eighteen thalers a month. For heaven's sake, no more of that! Times were different then.

My father was in the Line; I am in the Guards; and he and I--are like the Antipodes."

"Very well. I take it for granted that you require as much as you say.

In three years I shall also be of age, and shall then have five thousand thalers; I will gladly give them to you, if----"

"'I am not married by that time.' Is that what you meant to say?"

"I will not marry then. I--I will never marry."

She could not any longer keep back her tears, which now streamed from her eyes. Ottomar put his arm round her.

"You dear, good Elsa," said he. "I really do believe that you are capable of it; but do you not see that it would be a thousand times more hateful to save oneself at the cost of a sister whom one dearly loves, than at the cost of a woman whom one does not love certainly, but who very probably does not wish to be loved?"

"But, Ottomar, that--that is just it," exclaimed Elsa, drying her tears. "Why marry Carla, of whom I cannot say that she is incapable of loving; who, indeed, I am persuaded, does love you at this moment, in her way? But her way is not your way; and that you would soon find out, even if you yourself loved her, which you avowedly do not. You are not suited to one another. With the one exception that, in spite of her short sight, she rides well and is pa.s.sionately fond of it, I do not know a single interest that you have in common. Her music--that is to say, her Wagner music--about which she is so enthusiastic, is hateful to you; her books, which I am convinced she very often does not understand herself, you will never look at; and it is the same on every subject. And the worst of all is, that what she understands by love is not what you understand by it. You have--say what you will, and brilliant man of society as you are, and I hope always will be--a tender, kind heart, which longs to beat against a heart of the same nature. Carla's love is, I fear, too much mixed with vanity, lies too much on the glittering, sparkling surface of life; and if you longed some day to hear a deeper note, and struck that note yourself, you would find no echo in her heart."

"Why, Elsa, you are wonderfully learned in matters of the heart!" said Ottomar. "Whom did you learn it all from--from Count Golm?"

Elsa blushed up to the roots of her hair; she drew her arm out of her brother's. "I have not deserved that," she said.

Ottomar seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Forgive me," he said. "I feel myself that my jokes are always unlucky now. I don't know why. But Golm himself is the cause of this one. He is mad about you, as you probably know already, and he talked of nothing but you when we met in the park just now as we were riding home. He was riding one of his own horses, which he has had sent after him; so it looks as if he meant to stay here. However, I may tell you for your comfort that I am not so very fond of Golm. I do not think we should ever be very great friends, unless he happened to present himself in the capacity of--but I will not make my little Elsa angry again. How many have accepted for to-night? Does Clemda come? He was not on parade to-day."

It was evident that Ottomar wished to change the subject, and Elsa knew that she had spoken in vain. Her heart was heavy; misfortune was approaching her, invisible but unavoidable, just as it did when he had told her that the vessel would run aground in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. And then he had been at her side, had remained by her; she had looked in the brave blue eyes and felt no fear, for she had known that this man was inured to dangers. And as she walked silently at her brother's side--who, silent and gloomy also, had evidently fallen back into his melancholy musings--her faithful sister's heart told her that the amiable, careless, light-hearted young man would and must succ.u.mb to a serious danger, unless some stronger hand than hers interfered to save him. Perhaps--no, certainly--his hand could do it; only that there was scarcely a possibility of bringing the two young men into such close relations. But, after all, what was not possible if one only had true courage?

"Before I forget it, Ottomar, papa wishes you to go over and invite Captain Schmidt for this evening. Aunt----"

And she told him what had pa.s.sed.

"August or my servant can do that quite as well," said Ottomar.

"Not quite so well," said Elsa. "The Captain paid us a visit--or, at least, left his card, as n.o.body was at home, which comes to the same thing. It is only civil, therefore, that you should return his visit, and take the opportunity to give him the invitation."

"I am so tired and knocked up; I must go and have a nap."

"Then go later; there will be plenty of time."

"It seems to me, Elsa, that you have rather a weakness for the Captain," said Ottomar, standing still and looking his sister in the face.

"Yes, I have; and he deserves it," said Elsa, bravely meeting his glance. "He is a good, n.o.ble man; I know few like him, and should be very glad if you knew him better. I am sure you would like him; and perhaps--there are so few people, Ottomar, that one can trust, that one can count upon in every difficulty and danger."

"As I can on you!" said Ottomar.

His eyes rested thoughtfully on his sister's brave honest face, and then turned as if accidentally from her towards two windows of Herr Schmidt's house, which could be seen from the place where they were standing. The blue silk curtains of one of the two windows were drawn; they had been for the last three days; it meant, "I do not expect you this evening." Should he confide to the prudent, brave, faithful girl, the secret that weighed on his heart? Should he unburden his heavy heart by an open honest confession, here where he was sure to find, if not approval, at least comprehension, interest, and pity?

Pity? and if only scorn awaited him from behind those curtains, if he were finally dismissed, and must say to-morrow, "Do not trouble yourself further, Elsa; it is all over and at an end: she has dismissed me--me!" he should have humbled himself to no purpose, exposed himself uselessly. No, no! there would be time enough for that. He would hear first from her own lips.

"I will go over, Elsa," he said, "and I will go at once; I can sleep later."

"You dear, good Ottomar!" exclaimed Elsa, throwing her arms round her brother and kissing him; "I knew you would."

"Elsa, come here a minute, please!" called Sidonie from the dining-room door.

"I am coming, aunt."

Elsa hurried away; Ottomar looked gloomily after her, as the two ladies disappeared into the house.

He walked a few paces farther till he was quite shut in by the thick shrubs and concealed from all eyes. He still looked cautiously round him, tore open his coat, and pulled out the letter which he had found on his father's table.

In the envelope were several papers, he took out a small sheet in his father's handwriting. On the sheet was written:

"Received this morning the two enclosed bills, which I have settled and receipted for you--1200 thalers; the last debts that I pay for you, for the reason that my own property, as you will see by the accompanying accounts, has been spent, with the exception of a small portion, in the same manner, and I cannot pay another penny without depriving my family of the means of living as our position demands, or running into debt myself, and must beg you to act accordingly.

"V. Werben."

A beautiful gay b.u.t.terfly fluttered across the blue sky. A sparrow darted down from a tree, seized the b.u.t.terfly, flew with it to the top of the garden wall, and there devoured his prize.