The simple preparations were to be made with all speed, and the marriage to take place as soon as possible.  Willibald, to whom the head forester had already confided his daughter’s engagement, felt that there was no need of delay now, out of respect to his cousin Toni.

Toward evening Dr. Volkmar went to visit some patients, and the betrothed pair, who had had but little opportunity to see one another, settled themselves for a long, quiet talk.  The future was dim and fraught with fear and dread, but the present belonged to them, and in that thought there was happiness despite everything.

They whispered together in the shaded room, talking the old sweet lovers’ talk, and so thoroughly absorbed in one another that they failed to hear some one cross the hall with slow, hesitating steps.  Then the rustle of a woman’s gown attracted their attention, and they looked up and sprang to their feet as they looked.

“My mother!” cried Will in an alarmed but joyous tone, putting his arm around Marietta as he spoke, as though to protect her, for his mother’s face wore its hardest, most forbidding look.  Without appearing to notice the young girl she turned her face to her son.

“I heard from Adelheid that you were here,” said she in a hard, dry tone, “and I thought I would come and ask you how things were going on at Burgsdorf.  Who have you left in your place during your absence?  No one can tell how long the campaign will last.”

The joyful expression on her son’s face disappeared; he had hoped for another greeting from his mother’s unexpected appearance.

“I have provided for possibilities as well as I could,” he answered.  “The greater part of the people will have to go, too, and the inspector is off already; there is no question of substitutes now.  So the work will be, of necessity, limited, and old Merton can oversee it.”

“Merton’s an old sheep,” said Regine, in her most decided tone.  “If he has the reins, things will come to a pretty pass at Burgsdorf.  There’s nothing else for it, but for me to go and see to it.”

“What!  You will go?” Willibald cried, but his mother cut him off sharply.

“Do you think I’d let everything you own go to ruin while you were in the field?  Burgsdorf will be safe in my hands, you know that.  I have had charge for many a long year, and I’ll take my old place until you return.”

She still spoke in a hard, cold tone, as if she would stifle all warm feelings, but now Will took his sweetheart in his arms and came close to her.

“For my worldly possessions, mother, you have a care,” he said reprovingly.  “But for the best and dearest I possess you have neither word nor glance.  Have you really only come to say you will return to Burgsdorf?”

Frau von Eschenhagen’s lips trembled; she could retain her forced composure no longer.

“I came to see my only son once more before he went to the war, perhaps to meet his death,” she said with painful bitterness.  “I had to learn from others that he was come to take leave of his future wife, but not to take leave of his mother, and that—­that I could not endure.”