Everything in the house had been found in order, every object in
its place. The servants had heard the two shots and had tried to enter
the room, but it had been locked within. A lad had climbed along the
cornice until he could see through the window, and had come back pale
with terror. In the presence of the whole household the door had been
forced, and all had seen together the hideous sight. That was all there
was to be known.
As the castle clock struck one hour after another, the baroness felt
that every minute was carrying the secret further beyond her reach, and
yet, as the time passed, the effect of that secret's existence upon her
own mind grew more and more clear to herself. She could never give
Hilda to Greif. She could never suffer her child to mate with a man
whose existence was overshadowed by such a history, innocent though he
assuredly was himself.
And yet Greif was coming, and she had ridden all those weary miles
through the freezing night in order to meet him at his own gate, in
order to comfort him, to give him the help of her presence, the
consolation of a friend in his utmost need. Would it console him to
know that he must lose the only surviving thing that was dear to him,
the hope of Hilda? Her heart beat at the thought of the pain he would
suffer, though it had been calm enough in the sight of the great
horror.
But she could not yield the point. In spite of her gentle face she had
all the unbending qualities of her masterful countrymen, as well as all
the pride of the Greifensteins.
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