His mother looked away and smiled. Elly glanced down at her lap and smiled too. Hertha kept her eyes fixed on has face with complete frankness.
Then he caught sight of an envelope lying beside his coffee-cup. It was addressed in Ulrich"s handwriting, but bore no postmark. His heart leapt as he read--
"Dear Old Boy,
"I came home last night, and I am expecting you. Love to all your people,
"Ulrich."
Because he did not wish to betray his emotion, he stood silently behind his chair, and crumpled the paper in his hand. Each one in turn came up to him quietly and congratulated him.
"Children," he said, "his house is empty and desolate now. He has no one but us. Help me to make him welcome here, so that he may look on it as his home. Will you help me, all three of you?"
"Of course we will, my son," said, his mother, and stroked his arm.
"And do you agree, Hertha?"
She looked at him with wide, calm eyes, and nodded. He took her hand and mutely thanked her; then he ate and drank, and counted the minutes.
Soon he was making his way streamwards over rain-drenched paths. All round him, in hedge and field, buds and shoots were bursting forth into their spring glory, and within him as he went along a voice kept up the jubilant cry, "Now he belongs to me entirely, and no one else."
But when he stood aloft on the d.y.k.e, and saw below him the bijou turrets of Uhlenfelde rising in their coquettish smartness against the sky, a fear began to creep into his heart.
They had been built for her, and where was she? Perhaps knocking about the world abandoned and degraded, while he, unpunished, might dare to set his foot in the house which he had helped to desecrate.
"But what of that?" he laughed, and stretched his strong limbs primed like steel. "Health and happiness must be s.n.a.t.c.hed when they come your way, at any cost. What good to cry over spilt milk?"
And he struck out vigorously with the oars. The Isle of Friendship, in its May raiment of pale green and gold, seemed to peep admiringly at its own reflection in the mirror-like water.
"That saved us," he thought, and, in pa.s.sing, looked out for a glimpse of the temple which the foliage was not yet umbrageous enough to hide.
As the boat crunched on the Uhlenfelde strand, panic seized him again, and he entered the courtyard breathing in short gasps like an asthmatic.
But with an effort he set his teeth and collected himself. Ulrich had seen him coming, and was in the hall to receive him. The subdued light of a cloudy day fell on his serious, rigid face, which the spring sunshine of the south had toned to a yellowish brown.
Leo was conscious that he trembled; he would have liked to fly into his arms only he did not dare. The immovable face held him back. Instead he stretched out both his hands and murmured a conventional "How are you?"
A gleam of melancholy tenderness pa.s.sed over Ulrich"s features. "My boy," he said, biting his lips; "my dear old boy."
And then he led him into the garden salon, where a solitary coffee-cup stood on a side table.
Leo cast a shy glance to the left in the direction of Lizzie"s sanctum.
The door into the boudoir was closed and the key gone. The whole house seemed void and deadly quiet, as if it contained no living creature except the master.
In a corner of the window was the couch with an armchair drawn up close to it, and a little table with ash-tray and cigarette-box. That was where Felicitas had thrown herself down that autumn afternoon when she had first begun to stir up old memories.
Leo thought of this, and felt a slight repugnance when Ulrich asked him to sit down there.
The room from floor to ceiling seemed haunted with shameful pictures of what had been.
"The winter crops are thriving," began Ulrich.
Leo hesitated before answering. In this very natural remark of a landowner who has returned home after a long absence, he traced an evasion.
"Yes, they are all right," he said, constrained.
"And you have looked after Uhlenfelde"s interests; accept my warmest thanks, old boy."
"Don"t mention it," replied Leo, refusing the hand held out to him.
"Your work-people are used to managing for themselves."
"Certainly. That"s true," said Ulrich. "But, nevertheless, it is well that they should feel the hand of a master over them."
"I wonder what he means," thought Leo, still at a loss and perplexed by the immovable, solemn face opposite him. Their friendship, their old, exuberant, grand friendship; what had become of it?
A dim desire awoke in Leo to play the fool to put an end to this constraint. He felt as if he could stand on his head, dance and whoop, or throw himself at his feet, kiss his hands, and cry, "Forgive, forgive."
Yet all _was_ forgiven.
In this man"s calm, composed glance, there was not a shadow of reproach, nothing but an affectionate compa.s.sion.
"Tell me about yourself, Uhich," he asked, stuttering. "Are you satisfied with your progress? Do you feel quite well now?"
"Yes," said Ulrich, "I am very well."
There was a pause.
Outside the rain fell in warm, soft torrents, and the soil greedily absorbed the moisture. Strings of grey pearls hung on the young green of the twigs, and the half-unfurled leaves expanded, and glistened in the invigorating shower-bath. Everywhere young life and the promise of a fertile spring. But the two men who loved each other better than anything else in the world, felt as if a breath of autumn and dying things hovered about them.
"You know," Ulrich began, "we have much to talk over, old boy. We must come to a clear understanding about our position with regard to each other. I mean, our old friendship."
A quiet, iron resolve made his face like an inscrutable mask. It was as if this sickly, much-wronged soul had fought its last struggles and come off victor. Something of Ulrich"s calm was at this minute communicated to Leo. He felt that, happen what might, it would be in accordance with the requirements of their two inmost natures.
"It is well that we have allowed so much time to elapse, since that night," Ulrich went on. "I have been able to think over things, and I believe that I have chosen the right path for us to pursue. The sad story you related to me on the Isle of Friendship has since been corroborated in every particular by Felicitas herself."
Leo started up. "You have seen her?" he stammered.
Ulrich nodded gravely. "She wrote to me about--about the divorce, as you may suppose. And so I went to look her up. I did not like the idea of leaving the poor thing to her own devices in case she should go altogether to the bad."
Leo could not help feeling a jealous pang. Ulrich spoke of the woman so gently. Would he deal as tenderly with him?
"But when I found her looking fresh and gay, as if relieved of a burden----"
"You really found her like _that_?" Leo asked eagerly.
Ulrich bowed his head, and an ironical smile played about the corners of his mouth.