Neither he nor his
wife were yet so old as to tempt servants to stay on for the death, in
the hope of picking up something worth having in the general confusion.
There was something strange in the way the pair lived, lonely and
unloved in their ancient home, amidst a crowd of ever-changing
attendants, who succumbed one by one to the awful dreariness of the
isolated life, and went away to give place to others, who, in their
turn would give it up after six months or a year. And yet neither
Greifenstein nor Clara would have changed their existence.
Greifenstein had abandoned the attempt to explain his wife's illness,
if she were really ill, but he could not help seeing the alteration
that was going on for the worse in her appearance and character, and
the sight did not contribute to his peace. He himself looked much the
same as ever. After receiving the news that his half-brother intended
to return, he stiffened his stiff neck to meet whatever misfortune was
in store for him; and when he learned that Rieseneck was in Europe, he
only set his teeth a little closer and tramped a little more savagely
through the snow-drifts after the game. He knew that he could do
nothing to hinder the progress of events, and he knew that if his
brother came to Greifenstein, he should need all his strength and
energy in dealing with him. There was nothing to do but to wait. As for
Clara's secret, the more he thought about it, the more persuaded he was
that it was not connected with Rieseneck, but with some other person.
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