"The Fruleen may rely upon us for that," said Jakob, standing erect. And Christine, weeping, pressed her lips to Johanna's hand. Johanna gently withdrew it from her clasp. "I must go now," she said. "Which way had I better take the soonest to find my horse?" Jakob offered to bring the horse. Christine might conduct the Fruleen to the large beech-tree on the Dönninghausen road, and he would take Elinor to her. Johanna agreed, and Jakob hurried off, while she followed her guide to the appointed spot. Jakob soon appeared with the horse. Johanna jumped into the saddle, hurriedly bade the pair farewell, and galloped away. "As if death were behind her," Christine thought, as she gazed anxiously after her until the trees hid her from sight. CHAPTER XXII. DÖNNINGHAUSEN OBSTINACY. When Johanna reached Dönninghausen, old Martin informed her that Squire Otto had been waiting for her a long while. For a moment she gazed at the old man, as if she had not understood him; then she replied, "I can see no one," and wearily went up the castle steps. Martin shook his head as he looked after her, and as soon as he had taken Elinor to the stables betook himself to the park to inform Otto that the Fräulein had returned. "The Fräulein looked as white as the wall," he added, with the familiarity of a man who had been a servant in the house for more than forty years. "And her eyes were twice the size they usually are. Sure she must be ill!" Otto muttered an imprecation. He could not possibly go away without further question; to do so would give rise to all sorts of commentaries by the servants. Besides, the bell was just ringing for the second breakfast; not to obey its summons would be regarded by his grandfather as a transgression of the rules of the house, and it was more than ever incumbent upon Otto to keep the old man in good humour. "This is another of my unlucky days. I should like to know whether other men have as much to bear as I," he said to himself as he walked towards the castle. "I wonder how Johanna will receive me? She cannot _yet_ have told my grandfather anything, and she will have at least to control herself. Perhaps it is best it should be so. The necessity of preserving appearances may bring her to her senses." But his hopes proved fallacious; Johanna did not appear. Aunt Thekla reported, with an anxious face, that hearing that Johanna was prevented by a violent headache from coming to breakfast, she had been to look after her, and had found her terribly pale. "She was lying on the lounge," the old lady went on, "with her eyes closed, and could only say, in a faint voice, 'All I want, dear aunt, is rest!' I thought the fresh air would do her good; but when I began to draw aside the curtains she started up, begging me not to do so, but to leave her in darkness: he did not wish to see or to hear anything; and then she sank back and lay perfectly quiet." "Have you sent for the doctor?" the Freiherr interposed.