Part 23 (2/2)

'You shall hear the story later on,' he said evasively. 'At this moment you are too excited, you are still suffering from the effects of your wound. This is not a fitting time to discuss such matters.'

'So you refuse to answer me,' Edmund broke out, with sudden fierce vehemence. 'You cannot, or will not, reply. So be it. I will apply to my mother, she shall give me an account of this.'

He rushed out of the room, and was down the stairs before his uncle could check him. The Baron hastened after the young man, but the pursuit was fruitless. When he reached his sister's room, Edmund had already entered, and closed the door of the boudoir behind him. It was impossible even to hear what was going on in the inner apartment.

Heideck saw that he must abstain from further interference. The matter was taking its fated course.

'There will be a catastrophe,' he said to himself hoa.r.s.ely. 'Poor Constance! I fear that your punishment may prove greater than your offence.'

CHAPTER XI.

Next morning brought inclement autumn weather. Fog and drizzling rain obscured the landscape, and bushes and flowers bore evidences of the first nipping frost.

All the Ettersberg servants had their heads together, and were asking each other what could possibly have happened. That something had happened was as clear as day.

But the afternoon before, when the visitors from Brunneck had been at the castle, perfect union and cheerfulness had reigned; but shortly afterwards, from the moment the young master had left his mother's apartments, there had been disturbance throughout the house.

Since then the Count had remained invisible, shut up in his own room.

The Countess was very ill, so her maid reported; but she would see no one, and had even forbidden that a doctor should be sent for.

Baron Heideck had made two attempts that morning to gain access to his nephew. To him, as to all others, admittance was refused. Family scenes being things quite unfamiliar to this household, imagination had the greater scope, and supplied various explanations, none of which, however, approached the truth.

It was almost noon. Heideck had made a third essay to reach the young Count, but once more without avail. Old Everard, dismayed and helpless, stood in the presence of the Baron, who was saying, with great determination of tone:

'I must see my nephew, cost what it may. It is impossible that he can be deaf to all this calling and knocking. Something must have happened to him.'

'I heard the Count pacing incessantly up and down all night,' timidly remarked Everard. 'He has only been quiet for the last half-hour.'

'No matter,' declared Heideck. 'He may have had a fresh hemorrhage from his wound and have fainted. I have no alternative but to force open the door.'

'There may, perhaps, be another way,' said Everard hesitatingly. 'The small tapestried door, which leads from the Count's dressing-room to his bedroom, is generally kept unlocked. If we----'

'Why did you not tell me this before?' Heideck interrupted him, with some heat. 'Why did I not hear of this the first thing this morning?

Show me the door at once.'

The old servant suffered the rebuke in silence. He did not believe in the fainting or the hemorrhage, the fear of which was to serve as a pretext for a forcible intrusion. He had distinctly heard his young master's footsteps all the night through, but had felt that the latter desired to be left absolutely alone. Now, however, no choice was left him; he must point out the door of which he had spoken. It proved to be unlocked, as he had supposed.

Heideck motioned to the old man to remain outside, and went in alone to his nephew. The bedchamber was empty, the bed untouched. With rapid steps, the Baron pa.s.sed on into the adjoining sitting-room, and an exclamation of relief escaped his lips as he caught sight of Edmund.

For the last few minutes he had feared the worst.

'Edmund, it is I,' he said, in a low voice.

No answer came. The young Count seemed to have noticed neither his words nor his approach. He was lying on the sofa with his face buried in the cus.h.i.+ons, having, as it seemed, thus thrown himself down from sheer fatigue. His att.i.tude betrayed that utter exhaustion which comes as a reaction after any great tension of mind or body.

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