I pray to Heaven I may eventually do . . . will not be one of many days, probably; but while it lasts, we shall not meet."
"Oh, Albrecht!" . . . . she began; but she saw that in his face which stopped her; a look of such intense, suffering anxiety for her reply, that the words of entreaty died on her lips. He went on.
"Perhaps I have no right to ask this of thee, my darling. It is early days to demand such a sacrifice—but if thou knewest—if . . . ."
She laid her little pale face on his shoulder. "Only tell me what good my going can do?"
"I cannot . . . . I can only say this. There is a fatal spell over my poor old house, which I believe thou—and thou alone in the world, Magda, canst remove."
She opened her blue eyes wide. What could he mean? Did he take her for a child? But no; his tone was too serious for jesting. Some of Hoffman's wild tales recurred to her. Was the place haunted? To her German imagination, brought up to regard the relations of the positive with the spiritual world as close and constant, nothing seemed impossible. But what could he mean by saying that she alone could remove the fatal spell.
He felt the little heart palpitate against his; and he continued at length in a sorrowful voice,
"No, my Magda, I see the ordeal is too severe. . . . We will turn our faces the other way, and go far from hence, and begin a new life with another people . . . and try to forget Schloss Rabensberg!" he added bitterly.
She raised her head.
"No, I will do it, Albrecht. . . . Forgive me, and try and forget my folly . . . it is past now. I will do whatever thou biddest me, du allerliebster Albrecht!"
She flung her arms about him; and he, in turn, expressed his gratitude in the most impassioned language. All that need be recorded here were these words:
"I shall be near thee, mein schatz, very near, and thou shalt know daily tidings of me in some sort, though we may not meet. . . . Neither may Lottchen accompany thee; but thou wilt find four old and faithful servants in the schloss, one of whom will undertake Lottchen's duties. . . . . For the rest, my Magda, all the counsel I will give thee is never to let the pure and holy thoughts which are thy constant companions give place to superstitious terrors, at Schloss Rabensberg. Such thoughts are mighty angels to drive out all idle fear. Be simple, unsuspicious of evil; trustful of the good God; be thyself in short—and all will be well with thee!"
The night passed; and soon after breakfast the next morning, they set off on their strange and melancholy journey, unaccompanied by any servant. As Magda descended the steps of the gloomy old mansion which had seemed to her as little better than a prison the day before, she felt almost a pang of regret; for here, at least, she and Albrecht had been together, and here no mystery had reigned. Those lonely hours—the picture which had so fascinated her, all was now forgotten; her mind was absorbed by one subject alone.
At the end of half a day's journey they came to a rugged upland country. Here were ravines down which the thread of some now shrivelled mountain stream forced its way through grey slags, and the prone stems of blasted firs. Here, too, were swampy hollows, rank with overgrowth of poisonous vegetation, and rising out of them, anon, great strips of slaty rock, tumbled about, as by a giant's hand, and crowned with the dislocated trunks of trees. It was clear that the storms here every winter were very violent, and the hand of man did nothing to repair the injuries of nature. A more desolate district it was impossible to find in the kingdom of Bohemia. And it formed an appropriate prelude to the black, silent forest, in the centre of which stood Schloss Rabensberg. Here was no song of bird, nor sound of water; nothing but the utter stillness of moveless boughs, in the hot summer evening. The road shot like an arrow through the pines, whose tall red stems, in a serried mass, rose to an intolerable height, before they stretched forth their sinuous arms, clasping their hard dark fingers so closely as almost to shut out the blue face of heaven. Now and again there was a cross-road, or narrow path losing itself speedily in the red blackness of the pine-trunks; and still the main road swerved not, but bore on for upwards of an hour, without break or point of light on the horizon.
They had sat silent for a long time, their hands in each other's; their faces, the one anxious and excited, the other, repressing by an heroic effort any symptom of nervousness; when Albrecht jumped up, and called to the postilion to stop. Magda, leaning forward, saw that the wood was at last breaking; what seemed to be an open space lay some few hundred yards before them.
