Fickle Fortune

'And you found out all this by your own powers of observation? Lina, it strikes me that you are a wonderfully clever woman.'

'Ah, you have discovered that at length, have you?' asked the old lady, with gleeful satisfaction. 'It is rather late in the day for you to begin to recognise my talents.'

Rüstow made no reply, but his face literally beamed at the thought of having for a son-in-law his favourite, his genius–and in the joy of his heart he treated the speaker to a vigorous hug.

'I will admit them all, Lina. I will admit anything you like,' he cried. 'But this affair can hardly be settled so quickly as you say. How can the Count have gone after Hedwig? He does not know where she is, any more than we do.'

Aunt Lina escaped from his embrace, laughing.

'Ah, that is his business! We will rack our brains no further. Lovers have extraordinary luck in these matters. They are gifted with a species of second-sight which is very useful. I do not suppose that Count Oswald knows exactly the spot where Hedwig is, or he would hardly have come on to Brunneck first; but find her he will, you may be sure, be she hidden away in the thickest wood or perched on the top of the highest mountain. They will come back together, you may take my word for it, Erich.'

This prophecy, delivered with much deliberate confidence, was verified almost to the letter.

Oswald had, indeed, driven down to the village, but he had then sent on the carriage and had hurried towards the hills on foot. The faculty of 'second-sight' must have been well developed in him, for without a moment's vacillation, doubt or delay, he struck into a path which led direct to a certain wooded hill-side. His pace grew more eager, more rapid, as he neared his goal, and when at length he reached it, the object of his search was found. He had guessed that Hedwig's first ramble after her return home would take her to that spot.

Again the swallows came, in swift flight out of the far distance, back to their beloved woods, their old familiar haunts. With easy strokes they winged their way through the clear air, circling round tree and mountaintop, and then fluttering off in all directions to rejoice the whole countryside with their happy greetings, to be welcomed everywhere as the first messengers of spring.

But this time the earth was not wrapt in slumber or swathed in mist. It had long since wakened from its winter sleep. Through the sunlit forest might be seen the delicate green tracery of budding leaves. Verdure lay on field and meadow, peeping up, breaking through every clod, and over earth and sky streamed a sea of golden light. The breath, the pulse of spring was everywhere–on all sides jubilant voices sounded, hailing the new life.

So for the two human beings standing on that sunny height a true springtime had dawned. They had waited long for it, but now it had come to them in all its wealth and splendour. The words of love spoken here to-day must have been more ardent, more passionate, than those which three years before Hedwig had heard from other lips. Profoundly earnest they had certainly been. Oswald's face, as he bent over his betrothed, testified to this, as did the tears still glistening on Hedwig's lashes. Her dark-blue eyes had grown so deep in meaning, so full of soul and expression since they had learned to weep.

'I have had to wait so long,' said Oswald, and a slight accent of reproach mingled with the passionate tenderness of his tone. 'So long, so long! For more than a year you have held aloof from me, and I was not permitted even to write to you. Sometimes I thought I was altogether forgotten.'

Hedwig smiled, still through her tears.

'No, Oswald; you have not thought that. You knew surely and well that I suffered from the necessary silence and separation to the full as much as you–but I felt I owed that time of silence to Edmund's memory and to his mother's grief. You saw her when we arrived, and the sight will have explained to you why I could not have the courage to be happy while living at her side.'

'She is terribly changed, certainly. Her long sojourn in the South has brought about no real improvement, I fancy.'

'A postponement, at most. I fear she has returned hither only to die.'

'I knew that she would not survive the blow,' said Oswald. 'I feel so deeply what Edmund was to me, and how much more was he to his mother!'

Hedwig shook her head slightly.

'Sorrow one learns to bear, and it moderates with time, but the trouble that is gnawing at her heart has so sharp a tooth, it tortures and wastes her strength so constantly and cruelly, that I am sometimes tempted to think some other feeling must mingle with it–remorse, perhaps, or a sense of guilt!'

Oswald was silent, but the cloud which settled on his brow was answer enough.

'Before we started on our journey you made me promise that I would not distress the poor lady with questions,' the girl went on. 'I have kept my promise, and have never alluded to the doubts or the painful uncertainty which weigh on my mind. There is so much that is dark and enigmatic to me in all the circumstances connected with that terrible event. One thing only I divine, namely, that Edmund voluntarily sought his death. Why? To this hour the question has been left unanswered. It remains to me a mystery. There should be no secrets between us, Oswald. You must answer me now when I pray and entreat you to tell me the truth. I cannot, will not see that dark cloud upon your brow.'

She could use the language of entreaty now, could beseech with all the intensity and power of love; and here she was sure of victory. Oswald clasped her more tightly in his arms.

'No, my Hedwig, there must be nothing secret between us. All must be clear and open as day. But not now, and not here, can I disclose to you that sad story of guilt with all its fatal consequences. I cannot tell that story to my betrothed. When you are my wife, you shall hear what drove Edmund to his death, what is gradually, irresistibly drawing his mother after him to the grave. That dark shadow must not intervene to mar the brightness of this hour. So often have I dreamed of it, aye, dreamed from the moment your sweet face first dawned on me in the midst of that fierce snowstorm. You came to me, a spring-day personified, with all its promises of hope and happiness–though then, indeed, I could not, dare not hope those promises would ever be fulfilled.'

Hedwig looked up at him. She had not quite forgotten her old arch, sunny smile. It played about her lips with all its own bewitching charm as she replied:

'Why not? We met for the first time in a March storm, and here, on this very spot, when you were speaking so gloomily of life in general and of your own sad past, I proclaimed to you that Spring, bright happy Spring, would come at last.'

As an echo to her words sounded the low murmured greeting of the swallows fluttering overhead, as they had fluttered on that former day in the thick drizzling mist. But now they winged their airy flight in full sunshine. Higher and higher they soared, until they disappeared in the illimitable azure of the sky. These small feathered messengers, which bring to the earth after its long winter sleep a promise of new light and life, came this time charged with a still fairer mission. They brought ease to longing hearts, rest after a cruel fight, a whole springtime of peace and happiness to two loving human beings.

THE END