The stillness of death reigned throughout the apartment, while they remained locked in each other’s arms until the very excess of grief relaxed their embrace and opened their hearts to mutual consolation.

CHAPTER VI.

Four days after Denecker had refused his consent to the marriage, a hired carriage might have been Been drawing up carefully in a screen of wood that bordered a by-road about half a league from Grinselhof.  A young man got out of it, and, giving directions to the coachman to await him at a neighboring inn, walked briskly across the moor toward the old chateau.  As soon as Grinselhof began to loom up over the trees, he moved cautiously along behind the hedges and thickets, as if seeking to avoid observation; and then, stealing across the bridge, he opened the gate, passed through the dense copse that surrounded the house, and entered the garden.

The first object that greeted his sight was Lenora, seated at her table beneath the well-known catalpa, with her head resting on the board, evidently absorbed in sorrow.  Her back was turned toward him as he approached; and, although he advanced with the utmost caution, the sound of his footsteps disturbed her in the intense silence of the spot, and she leaped to her feet, while the name of Gustave broke in surprised accents from her lips.  She was evidently anxious to escape into the house; but her lover threw himself on his knees, and, grasping her hand, poured forth a passionate appeal:—­

“Listen to me, Lenora! listen to me!  If you fly and refuse me the consolation of telling you with my last farewell, all I have suffered and all I hope, I will either die here at your feet, or I will go hence forever, a broken-hearted wanderer over the face of the earth!  Listen to me! listen to me!  Listen to me, Lenora, my sister, my beloved, my betrothed!  By our pure and holy love, I beseech you not to repulse me!”

Though Lenora trembled in every limb, her features assumed an expression of wounded pride, as she answered, with cold decision,—­

“Your boldness surprises me, sir!  You are indeed a daring man, to appear again at Grinselhof after your uncle’s insulting conduct to my father!  He is ill in bed; his soul is crushed by the outrage.  Is this the reward of all my affection for you?”

“Oh, God! oh, God!  Lenora, do I hear you accuse me?  Alas! what have I done, and what could I prevent?”

“There is nothing, sir, any longer, in common between us,” said the girl.  “If we are not as rich as you, the blood that runs in our veins cannot suffer by comparison.  Arise! begone!  I will see you no more!”

“Mercy! pity!” exclaimed Gustave, lifting his clasped hands toward her; “mercy, Lenora, for I am innocent!”

The maiden dashed away the tears that began to start in her eyes, and, turning her back on him, was about to depart.