Greifenstein | Page 5

like some of themselves, keeping her store of gold in a broken teapot
somewhere among those turrets in a spot known only to the owls. It is
also possible that Berbel--her name was Barbara--encouraged the idea,
thinking it better that her beloved mistresses should be thought
avaricious than poor. The burgomaster of the hamlet, who had to take
off his coat in order to sign his name when that momentous operation
was unavoidable, but who was supposed to know vastly more than the
schoolmaster, used to talk about certain mines in Silesia, owned by the
Sigmundskrons; and once or twice he went so far as to assure his
hearers that gold and even diamonds were found there in solid blocks
as big as his own Maass-Krug, that portentous jug from which he
derived inspiring thoughts for conversation, or peaceful satisfaction in
solitude, as the case might be. All, however, agreed in predicting that
things would go much better when the young gentleman of Greifenstein
was married to the young lady of Sigmundskron.
On that warm afternoon in July when Greif was expected, his father
took his gun, though there was little to shoot at that season, and sallied
forth on foot along the broad road that led to the distant railway station.
The portly gatekeeper smiled pleasantly as he stood looking after his

master. For many years, whenever the student was to come home, old
Greifenstein had gone down that road, in the same way, without a word
to any one, but having that same twinkle of happy anticipation in his
eyes, which was never seen there at any other time. Very generally, too,
the laden carriage came rumbling up to the gate with Greif's belongings,
and an hour or two passed before father and son emerged on foot from
the first trees of the forest. To-day also, the master had started betimes
and it would be long before he heard the horses' bells below him in the
valley. He walked quickly, as active men do when they are alone, and
there is no one to hinder them, stopping now and then to see which way
a hare sprang, or pausing to listen when his quick ear caught the distant
tread of a buck. He knew that he might walk for miles without meeting
a human being. The road was his, the land was his, the trees were his.
There was no felling to be done in the neighbourhood, and no one but
himself or his men had any right to be prowling about the woods. In the
perfect solitude his features relaxed a little and their expression
changed. The glad anticipation of the meeting with his son was still in
his eyes, but in the rest of his face there was a weary look which those
who knew him best would not have recognised. He was thinking how
different life would seem if Greif and he were to be the only inhabitants
of the old home during the next dozen years. Then he stiffened his neck
suddenly and strode on.
At last the far off tinkling of bells came up to him from the depths of
the forest, with the dull thud of horses' hoofs that echoed among the
trees. He quickened his pace, knowing at how great a distance the
sounds could be heard. Ten minutes elapsed before the carriage came in
sight, and then almost instantly a loud shout rang through the woods,
followed by an answer from old Greifenstein, deeper, but quite as
strong.
'Father!'
'Greif!'
Greif had leaped down from his place and was running up the hill at a
pace that would have tried the horses. In a moment more the two tall
men were in each other's arms, kissing each other on the cheek.

At three and twenty the student looked as much like his father as a
young and fair man can look like an elderly dark one. Their features
were the same, both had the same sinewy firmness of build and the
same eyes; but Greif's close-cut golden hair and delicate moustache
gave him a brilliancy his father had never possessed. He seemed to
bring the light with him into the deep shade of the glen where they met.
One looking at him would have felt instinctively that he was made to
wear the gleaming uniform of a Prussian Lifeguard, rather than the
sober garments of a civilian. As a matter of fact, he was dressed like an
Englishman, and would probably have been taken for one, to his own
intense disgust, in any European crowd.
'And how is the mother?' he asked in a somewhat formal tone, as soon
as the first embrace was over. He had been brought up with dutiful
ideas.
'Your mother is exceedingly well,' answered Greifenstein, whose
manner