THE DREADED MEETING.

A week had passed away at Frankenburg, and the subject of the young Count's return—that event so dreaded by poor Herminia, from motives of delicacy, perhaps—had not been resumed, till the evening which saw him and his comrade driving through the beautiful scenery just referred to.

Dinner had been delayed, as the Count had telegraphed from the Pariser Hof that he was coming, and both the young ladies had made most careful toilettes, and perhaps sorely tried the temper of their attendants—Herminia, to please her watchful and somewhat suspicious aunt; Ernestine to please herself, and perhaps with a secret desire to please her brother's boasted friend, who, being an Englishman, would, she feared, be rather critical and fastidious.

And still further to achieve the laudable end of subduing him, she was now at her piano, practising sundry vapid fashionable songs which she had learned in England, just as our English girls strum German and Italian, learned, perhaps, at second hand from some poor needy governess. Most warmly had Heinrich written to her again and again about his English comrade, who had once actually fought a duel for him at Altona, when he was too ill to fight for himself, so Ernestine was all anxiety to know, receive, and thank him; for she doted on Heinrich, her only brother, as a loving, tender, and devoted sister alone can dote.

During all the past week, Herminia had but one thought, especially when riding, driving, or walking abroad. Her lover had confidently promised to see her again, and to follow her to Frankenburg; but she had seen nothing of him, and no letter or note, however brief, had reached her.

Why was this? She could find no answer in her heart, and doubt and anxiety cost her many tears in secret.

There had been great bustle and anticipation all day long in the somewhat secluded mansion in consequence of the expected arrival of the young Herr Graf and his friend. The family were to be 'not at home' to any visitors. Already Grunthal, Rheinburg, and sundry other Grafs had called in their ramshackle old-fashioned coaches and droschkies, covered with coats-of-arms exhibiting the usual German infinity of quarterings; and certain officials of Aix-la-Chapelle, with their wives, who, like other wives all over Germany, insisted upon taking the titles of their husbands' occupation, had been day after day leaving their cards, having heard that 'the Belles of Frankenburg had returned;' but now all were to be denied, and this afternoon was to be devoted to the only son of the house.

The Countess, who, though a modern lady of fashion, requiring her novels, cushions, Spitz lap-dog in a basket, and the Kladderadatch to get through the day, was nevertheless, on the other hand, as thrifty a German housewife as any of the old school, had bustled about overseeing the culinary preparations, while her husband, Count Ulrich, who was passionately addicted to the pleasures of the chase, spent only half that day in the woods, and was now, with a huge pipe (having a china bowl and tassel) in his mouth, watching, like a sentinel, from a terrace before the drawing-room windows, the road that wound away towards Aix-la-Chapelle.

The once smart officer of Uhlans, who had ridden on old Blucher's staff at Waterloo, on that eventful day when the 'Iron Duke' wept with joy to hear the boom of the Prussian cannon—the smart Lancer, of whom the Countess had boasted at the Grand Hotel, was somewhat obese now. He was, in fact, a very stout, bald-headed, and rather coarsely featured old Teuton, with a red ribbon (of course) at his button-hole, and a thick plain hoop on his marital finger, as all married men wear one in Germany.

He had been kept uninformed, so far as Herminia knew, of her aversion to his son, and her very decided preference for a certain obscure Herr Mansfeld, whose image was rising painfully before her, as she, too, from time to time, looked down on the distant view, to where the spires of the Dom Kirche of Aix rose darkly up amid the ruddy haze of evening.

The Countess could detect in the face and deportment of her niece that which the preoccupied or uninformed Count did not. It was but too evident that Herminia had passed a disturbed night, a restless and feverish day. Indeed, Ernestine admitted that she had heard her sighing and moaning in her sleep, and Herminia had quitted her couch that morning resolving to appeal to the chivalry, the manhood, the charity, and honour of her cousin to release her from the yoke, the thraldom his family had placed upon her, even with the loss of her fortune.

Ignorant of this resolution, the Countess took her niece's passive hand—and a lovely little hand it was—in hers, and said kindly but firmly—

'Meine liebe, I trust that when our dear Heinrich arrives, you will not exhibit any unpleasant coldness towards him.'

'Can you expect me to exhibit warmth? Is he not an utter stranger save by name? Would warmth in me be modest or becoming, aunt? Besides——' she paused, for tears choked her utterance.

'Do not be alarmed, mamma,' said Ernestine, as she looked laughingly back from her seat at the piano; 'I know our Heinrich to be so handsome and winning, that he will soon obliterate all recollection of our friend at the Grand Hotel.'

'Ernestine,' said Herminia reproachfully, while she glanced nervously at the portly figure of her uncle, who was still watching the Aix road from the lofty terrace, where the box-trees were cut into strange and fantastic shapes, like lions and egg-cups, and where some stately peacocks strutted to and fro.

Frankenburg is situated on the summit of a tall rock that towers above the line of the Antwerp railway. The actual castle is a ruined and ivy-mantled tower of unknown, but fabulous, antiquity, as it is actually averred to have been a hunting seat of Charlemagne. A more modern edifice has been engrafted on it, and this formed at the time the residence of the Count's family. It had all the usual comforts of a fashionable German household; but there was still attached to it a banqueting-hall of the seventeenth century—the pride of Count Ulrich's heart—with its black oak roof, its rows of deer skulls and antlers, with all the implements for fishing, shooting, and hunting, hung upon the walls, pell-mell with fragments of armour and weapons of every kind, from the great glaives of the middle ages to muskets and sabres gleaned up by the Count at Ligny and Waterloo.

And there, at Christmas time, a tall fir-tree from the Reichswald; covered with toys and cakes, grotesque masks, papier-maché dolls, candles and shining lights, gladdened the hearts of the little tenantry, who were cuddled and kissed up and down by the hearty old Baron acting Father Christmas, with a mighty white beard, a cowl, and long wand; while Ernestine and Herminia glided about like good fairies, dispensing viands and wine to the sturdy Teutons and their blooming fraus, when the trees of the Reichswald were leafless and bare, and the branches glittered like silver and crystal in the frostwork, and the first snowdrops of the season were peeping up in sheltered spots, and the brown stacks of the last harvest were mantled with snow.

And on these annual festive occasions there was seen the Countess Adelaide, as lively and jovial at fifty, if not so pretty, as she was at fifteen. There, too, were the grim ancestry, the men and women of other days and years, looking down from their garlanded frames, in ruffs and stomachers, in breastplates or fardingales, just as Hans Holbein, Rubens, and others had depicted them, and looking as demure as if they had never flirted, squeezed hands under the tablecloth, known the use of the mistletoe, or been like other folks 'world without end.'

'Hoch! hoch! Gott in Himmel! here they come—here is our dear boy at last!' exclaimed the Count, clapping his fat pudgy hands, as the open britzka, drawn by a pair of sparkling bays, came suddenly in sight, with two officers in blue uniforms occupying the back seat. One of these—Heinrich, no doubt—was waving his forage-cap, and the vehicle was driven straight to the grand approach. The enthusiasm of the old veteran of Waterloo swelling up in his breast when he saw the uniform of the 95th, for

'He thought of the days that had long since gone by,
When his spirit was bold and his courage was high.'

Herminia grew deadly pale, and took advantage of the Countess hurrying out upon the terrace to retire to her own room, whither, however, her watchful aunt almost immediately followed her.

'Dearest Aunt Adelaide, oh! spare me this great mortification!' intreated the trembling girl.

'Spare you?' repeated her aunt, now seriously angry, in expectation of a public scene before Charlie Pierrepont, a stranger.

'Yes, I implore you to spare me the horror of this meeting. Oh, Ludwig!' she moaned in her heart, 'my own Ludwig!'

'I do not know whether you are most weak or defiant,' replied her aunt. 'I give you a quarter of an hour to recover your composure and to make your appearance properly in the drawing-room, with such a bearing as will not be an insult to my son, to the memory of your father, and our whole family.'

And with these words the Countess swept haughtily away.

Herminia bathed her face and hands with eau-de-cologne and water, gave a finishing touch to her hair, kissed the envelope which contained the now dry and faded leaves of Ludwig's rose, placed it in her soft white bosom as a charm to strengthen her for the purpose she had in hand, and descended noiselessly to the drawing-room, when the sound of several voices, laughing loudly, jarred sorely on her ears and excited nerves.

She entered with her heavy eyelids drooping, and advanced with her gaze bent on the oak planks of the polished floor; then she shuddered as some one approached and took her unresisting hand.

'Herminia, dearest, look up! look upon me!' said a familiar voice.

'Ludwig! my own Ludwig!' she exclaimed in astonishment—almost terror, to see him there, and in the uniform of the Thuringians, as he said—

'And now, cousin, let me introduce you to my dear friend, Herr Carl Pierrepont of ours.'

'Ludwig?' said the thoroughly bewildered girl.

'No Ludwig at all,' he replied, laughing, and embracing her; 'but your own cousin, my belle—Heinrich of Frankenburg.'

'Aunt Adelaide!—Ernestine!—what does all this mean?'

'It means, my dear child,' said the Countess, laughing heartily at her niece's perplexity; 'it means that it was all a plot of Ernestine's and Heinrich's, too. They had early learned your repugnance to the plan of betrothal, when you were too young to consent or refuse, and we all saw the folly of a constraint that seemed so heart-sickening to you. Thus we arranged that you should meet him as a stranger under an assumed name. You have met, and know and love each other, so the tie of that love alone binds you now.'

'Oh, Ernestine, my sweet cousin, forgive and forget my reproaches!' exclaimed the blushing and trembling, but happy girl, as she laid her head on the bosom of the beautiful brunette, who laughed and kissed her, fondling her as if she were a child.

'Well, Carl,' said Heinrich, 'what do you think of all this?'

'That I wish you every joy; but I must own, that when proposing to "have out" this Herr Mansfeld, your reply about shooting at yourself in a mirror puzzled me,' said Pierrepont, laughing heartily at the whole situation, and enchanted with the happy scene amid which he was introduced to two such beautiful girls as the famous Belles of Frankenburg.

But now the bell clanged for dinner. The Countess took his arm, the Count leading with his niece, Heinrich and his sister following, all laughter and smiles.

The only silent one there was the radiant Herminia, who had been, as her affianced said, 'so pleasantly tricked.'