Ironically, of course, yet with some justification, for seen from the sea it looked like an oblong cluster of columns which concealed the living and reception rooms on the ground floor of the building, while the upper storey broke sharply back, rising a bare six feet above the columns which extended all around the four sides of the building to form a veranda; and it was these columns which gave the building its markedly Mediterranean appearance. Along the veranda stood stone seats spread with rugs, used all day and every day throughout the summer months, unless it was pleasanter to move up on to the flat space, more terrace than roof, which ran all round the top floor. On this roof-terrace supported by the ground-floor columns stood pots of cactus and aloes; here, even on the warmest day, the air was relatively cool and if a sea-breeze sprang up, the flag drooping from its mast would start flapping loudly, adding to the breeze as it fluttered to and fro.

The castle of Holkenäs had not always stood upon this dune and the present count himself, after his marriage sixteen years before to the beautiful baroness Christine Arne, youngest sister of the owner of the neighbouring estate, had moved with his bride into the modest rooms of the original old castle of Holkenäs further inland in the large village of Holkeby, exactly opposite the old village church, built of stone and possessing neither chancel nor tower. Both buildings dated from the fourteenth century and a new castle had already been planned under the count’s grandfather. But it was the present count who, possessing amongst other fads a passion for building, had taken up the idea once more and soon afterwards had built the much-discussed castle on the dune which, scoffed at by some, admired by others, was not only more elegant but more comfortable. In spite of this, the countess had never ceased to prefer the old castle; and so strong was her preference that she never passed it without a pang of melancholy at the thought of the pleasant time she had spent there. For her, those years had been the happiest of her life, When all was love and no differences between herself and her husband had yet appeared. Her three children had been born in the old castle opposite the church, and the death of the youngest, who had been christened Estrid, had only brought the handsome young couple closer together and strengthened their sense of belonging to each other.

Nothing had remained quite the same since they had moved into the new castle and the countess, who had been brought up by Herrnhuter [1] and was, in any case, of a highly emotional nature, had had such a strong premonition of this change that she would have much preferred to see the old castle renovated and enlarged so that they might have continued to live there. The count, however, was obstinately set on his “castle by the sea.” On the first occasion when he mentioned the subject to his wife, he declaimed:

“Hast Du das Schloss gesehen,

Das hohe Schloss am Meer?

Golden und rosig wehen

Die Wolken drüben her—”[2]

a quotation which had exactly the opposite effect on the countess whom it was intended to impress and thus win over to the new building, for it merely aroused in her a somewhat malicious bewilderment. Holk was not a very literary man and no one knew this better than the countess.

“Where did you unearth that quotation, Helmut?”

“At Arnewieck, of course. There’s an engraving hanging on the wall in your brother’s house and it was written underneath. And I must confess, Christine, that I was very much taken by it. A castle by the sea! I think it would be a splendid thing and make us both very happy.”

“If people are happy they should not try to become any happier. And do you realize how strange it is that you should quote that? I think you only know the beginning of that song which, by the way, is by Uhland, I hope you don’t mind my telling you … but it does not go on at all in the way it begins. At the end, it becomes very sad:

“Die Winde, die Wogen alle

Lagen in tiefer Ruh',

Einem Klagelied aus der Halle

Hörte ich mit Tränen zu … [3]

Yes, Helmut, that is how it ends.”

“Excellent, Christine. I like it too,” laughed Holk. “And it is by Uhland, you say? Highest regard for him. But you surely don’t expect me not to build my castle by the sea merely because ‘a song of mourning’ resounded from the hall of an imaginary castle by the sea—even if it was imagined by Uhland?”

“No, Helmut, I hardly expect that. But I confess that I would rather stay down here in the old stone house in spite of its lack of comfort—and its ghost. The ghost doesn’t affect me but I do believe in premonitions, even if the Herrnhuter refuse to have anything to do with them and are probably right. Nevertheless, we are all subject to human weakness and so we’re often anxious about things that we cannot put out of our minds, however hard we try.”

After this conversation, the subject was not raised again except on one occasion when, after sundown, the couple had climbed on to the dune to look at the new building which had been started meanwhile. When they reached the top, Holk smiled and pointed at the clouds which were, at that very moment, “golden and pink.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” said the countess.

“And?”

“In the meantime, I have resigned myself. When you first spoke to me about the new building, I was feeling sad; you know why. I could not forget our child and I wanted to be near the spot where he was buried.”

He kissed her hand and then confessed that what she had said on the last occasion had upset him as well. “And now you are so good and kind. And how lovely you look in this beautiful evening light. I think that we are going to be very happy here, don’t you, Christine?”

She hung tenderly on his arm. But she made no reply.

All this had taken place the year before the completion of the building and soon afterwards, because the old castle in the village was becoming less and less habitable, Holk agreed with his brother-in-law to send Christine and the children to Arnewieck and to leave them there until the following Whitsun when everything should be ready; and now Whitsun was drawing near and the day had come to move into the new castle. True, the garden which sloped down at the rear of the dune was only half-planted and there was still much left uncompleted. But one thing had been finished: the narrow façade facing seawards.