forest, laden with its spoil. The baron led his guests to the supper-room, where an elegant repast awaited them.
“Just so were we all seated this time last year,” exclaimed Herrmann, “with the exception of the mistress of the feast, and that she should be wanting is, indeed, a misfortune. Our round table puts one in mind of a beautiful face deprived of one of its visual organs. Will she really not arrive today?”
“My dear friends,” said the baron, “in pity cease these inquiries. Believe me, I miss my wife even more than you can; but, under the circumstances, too much exactitude would have been cruel.”
“Ah! ah!” said Falk, “I see how it is; you are under the slipper already. However, she shall be at least symbolically among us. Let me arrange it. In some monasteries they have a custom, and it is a pretty one, when the abbot dines from home, of placing opposite his chair a bouquet of beautiful flowers instead of the plate—thus.”—While speaking he had drawn a chair to the table, and taking a few roses from an ornamental basket of fruit, had placed them in a glass before the vacant seat.
The baron was ill at ease, but, rousing himself, said, “Come, my friends, let us be gay, and not deplore what is unavoidable; though my wife will not thank you when she is informed that her absence has cast a damp upon your spirits. Come, fill your glasses. Wine is like sunshine and vernal showers together—let our mirth bloom and flourish beneath its influence.”
The guests took the hint of their hospitable entertainer, and the ladies exerted themselves to appear more animated. Only the baron and Cecilia exchanged occasional uneasy glances, and now and then looked towards the window, as if in expectation of some one’s arrival.
Falk whispered to his inquisitive neighbours his conviction that they were to be surprised by the sudden return of Elisa, and thus prevented those wearying inquiries which the baron had endeavoured to avoid.
It had just struck eleven when a horseman alighted at the castle gate, and was speedily ushered into the supper-room. He brought the baron intelligence that his lady was well, but could not possibly be with him before an early hour on the morrow. A billet from the hand of the baroness confirmed the message, and conveyed her affectionate New Year’s wishes to her assembled friends.
“Now from my heart I can be cheerful,” exclaimed the baron, as the envoy withdrew.—“Now I confess to you that I have passed the last few hours in a state of mortal anxiety. To-morrow I will explain all, and am confident you will grant me your forgiveness for having played the host so unworthily.”
The baron was besieged for an earlier explanation.
After some reluctance he said, “Well, be it so, though strangely enough we recur to the same topic that occupied us the last New Year’s-night.”
“Hast thou had a vision?” quoth Falk. “Impossible!”
“Something like it,” said the baron; “though not I myself, but my wife. Her lively imagination is so apt to border on the romantic, that I took but little notice of the circumstance at the time. However, as the critical moment approached, the mere thought of the coincidence made me tremble like a child. You all, probably, remember our conversation on the last New Year’s-eve, and that it turned upon the obscure, but still interesting theme of presentiments and forebodings; also the alarm caused by the sudden fainting fit of my then betrothed Elisa?”
“I remember it well,” interposed Adolf (better known as “the host,”) “and the false light giving my Madonna a spectre-like appearance.”
Exactly,” replied the baron. “As early as possible the next morning I called, and found Elisa perfectly recovered and cheerful as usual; all was forgotten, and we conversed as young lovers are wont. As was natural, I besought her to fix the earliest period for our union; at this she became thoughtful, and no longer listened to my plans for little excursions and other summer amusements; and when at last I expressed my surprise at the change in her demeanour, she sorrowfully re-
