Kitabı oku: «Clear the Track! A Story of To-day», sayfa 16

"Runeck will triumph and he has every reason to. This is a brilliant victory that he has won, to be sure, and over whom? That he gained it over you, that alone makes him a famous man. And in this hour the result of the election will be known in Odensburg–they will have a celebration, vaunting their candidate, and rejoicing until the sound of their shouts will be heard at the Manor-house, and you will have to listen to them–"

"I shall do no such thing!" declared Dernburg with vehemence, retiring a step. It was evident that the poison was taking effect, the man was extremely provoked. "The people have used their right to vote–well, I shall use mine as a householder, and know how to protect myself against insults. Any demonstrations, whatever following upon this election will be suppressed. The director must take the proper measures; tell him so, Oscar!"

"It has already been done. I foresaw your order, and gave the needful directions. I thought that I could be responsible in this case."

On any other occasion, Dernburg would have considered an interference of the sort without his knowledge as an unwarrantable piece of presumption; now, he only saw in it an evidence of solicitude and did not think of censuring.

"It is well," answered he shortly.

"Represent me for to-day, if you please, Oscar; I can see nobody now–go, then, and leave me alone!"

"Papa, let me, at least, stay with you," pleaded Maia in touching entreaty; but for this once her father did not reciprocate her tenderness, but gently put her away.

"No, my child, not even you! Oscar, take Maia with you–I want to be by myself."

Oscar whispered to his betrothed a few words, and then led her from the room. The door closed behind them, and now, when Dernburg believed himself to be alone, his with difficulty maintained composure forsook him. He pressed his clinched fists to his temples, a groan heaved his chest. He did not feel at this moment the humiliation of the defeat; there was something in his grief nobler than mortified ambition. Deserted by his workmen, whose gratitude he believed himself to have earned through a thirty years' course of fatherly kindness to them! Given up for the sake of another, whom he had loved like an own son, and who now thanked him in this fashion! His unflinching fortitude gave way under this blow.

Then he felt how two arms were thrown around his neck, and starting up he perceived his son's young widow, whose pale, tearful countenance met his gaze with an expression that he had never seen in it before.

"What means this, Cecilia?" asked he roughly. "Did I not tell you I wanted to be alone? The others have gone–"

"But I am not going," said Cecilia with quivering voice. "Repulse me not, father! You took me in your arms and pressed me to your heart in the hardest hour of my life; now that hour has come to you, and I want to share it with you."

Then the stolid bitterness of the horribly excited man broke down, and he did not again reject her sympathy. Silently he drew Cecilia to his bosom, and as he stooped over, a glowing tear fell upon her forehead. She shuddered slightly, stung by remorse–she knew for whom that tear was shed.

CHAPTER XVIII.
FORTUNE SMILES ON VICTOR ECKARDSTEIN

Eckardstein had a new master. Count Conrad had lain eight days in the family vault, and his younger brother had taken the reins of authority. That young officer, who had hitherto known no other home than in barracks save that spring, when he had paid only a short visit to his ancestral halls, now suddenly saw himself confronted by quite a new task, and placed in entirely new circumstances. It was certainly fortunate for him, that he had at his side his uncle and former guardian, who was himself a landed proprietor, and now prolonged his stay, in order to support his nephew both with advice and by action.

The gray, foggy weather of the last weeks had been followed by a mild autumnal day. The sunshine lay bright upon the extensive forests that stretched between Odensburg and Eckardstein, belonging, however, for the most part, to the latter domain, for in Odensburg the woods had had to give way constantly to the great industrial establishments, that had continued to spread from year to year. Only a hunting-ground of moderate dimensions and a forester's preserve remained.

Upon one of the woodland paths Count Victor and Herr von Stettin were walking along. They had been inspecting the condition of the forests and had now started on their return to the Castle.

They were about to cross the public road, that here led through the middle of the woods, when, an open carriage rolled rapidly by, in which sat two ladies in deep mourning. The younger turned with an expression of joyful surprise when she perceived the young Count, and upon her speaking a few words to the coachman the carriage stopped.

"Oh, Count Victor, I am very glad to see you again–if the occasion had only not been such a melancholy one!"

Victor stepped up to the carriage-door with a low bow, but looked as if he would rather have paid his respects from a distance. He only touched lightly the little hand that was cordially extended to him, and there was a perceptible reserve in his words as he answered:

"Yes indeed, a very melancholy occasion–but allow me, ladies, to introduce my uncle, Herr von Stettin–Fräulein Maia Dernburg–Fräulein Friedberg."

"Properly, I have only to renew an old acquaintance," said Stettin, smiling, as he likewise drew near. "Years ago when I was on a visit at Eckardstein, I used to see Fräulein Dernburg, but of the child of those days, indeed, a young lady has grown up who may not remember me."

"Only dimly, at least, Herr von Stettin, but so much the more plainly do I remember all the glad hours that I have passed at Eckardstein, with Count Victor and Eric–" The young girl's eyes suddenly filled with tears as she pronounced her brother's name. "Ah, death has invaded our household too! You know, I suppose, Victor, when and how our poor Eric died?"

"I have heard the particulars," said the young Count softly, "and have bitterly felt how much I lost in the friend of my youth. His widow remains at Odensburg, for the present, I learn."

"Oh, certainly, we could not let her leave us! Eric loved Cecilia so dearly! She lives with us."

"And–Baron von Wildenrod?" Victor put this question quite irrelevantly; his eyes at the same time being fastened upon the young girl's countenance with a look of intense anxiety. She blushed deeply.

"Herr von Wildenrod?" she repeated with embarrassment. "He is also at Odensburg."

"And stays there, I presume?"

"I believe so," said Maia with a singular sense of oppression that she could not control, and which seemed altogether irrational. What was there against it, if her youthful playmate should guess to-day, what was no longer to be kept secret? But why did he look at her, in general, so coldly and so reproachfully? What was the matter with him?

Herr von Stettin, who, meanwhile, had been talking with Fräulein Friedberg, now turned again to the others; a few more questions were asked, a few more pieces of information exchanged, then Victor–who seemed strangely impatient to move on–closed the interview with the remark:

"I am afraid, uncle, that we are detaining the ladies too long. May I ask that our compliments be presented to Herr Dernburg?"

"I shall deliver your message to papa–but you will come yourself to Odensburg, will you not?"

"Certainly, if it is possible," declared the young Count in a tone that betrayed the impossibility of such an occurrence. He bowed and retired, the ladies returned his salutation, and the next minute the carriage was rolling away.

"That Maia Dernburg has developed into a charming girl!" said Stettin. "It strikes me that it would be to your advantage to be a little less formal than you were just now. I think you used to be an intimate friend of her brother!"

Victor did not answer, and he cast down his eyes before the searching glance of his uncle, who now paused in his walk.

"I have long since remarked that something was preying on your mind," said he–"something that has altered your whole being. What has gone wrong with you? Be candid, Victor, and maybe your fatherly friend can advise and help you."

"You cannot help me," gloomily declared the young lord, "but I will confess to you–it may lighten the load on my heart.–You know the ground of dissension between Conrad and me. At times Conrad was hard upon me, and finally made his assistance, that I absolutely needed, dependent upon one condition. He planned a union between Maia Dernburg and me, that should henceforth lift me above care, and I–well, I was irritated, embittered, I wanted to be rid of that galling dependence at any price–and I acquiesced. I came here, saw Maia again, and then all was over with calculation and sordid considerations of any kind–for I fell ardently in love with the sweet girl the very first time we met. And then–then I was punished severely enough, for having once calculated."

"You were rejected? Impossible! The young girl awhile ago was as cordial and unconstrained in her manners as possible."

"Maia knows nothing of my proposing to address her; it did not even come to a declaration. Conrad's plan was reported to her father in the most hateful manner. He took me to task about it, and as I could not and would not deny the truth, he treated my courtship as a speculation of the basest sort, myself as a fortune-hunter. He said the most unfeeling things to me–" Victor clinched his teeth at the bare recollection. "Excuse me from saying any more."

"So that is the way the matter stands?" said Stettin reflectively. "To be sure, what cares this proud industrial prince for a Count Eckardstein! Well, do not look so desperate though, my boy; circumstances are entirely different from what they were six months ago. Providence meanwhile has made you lord of Eckardstein, and you have it in your power, by a renewal of your courtship, to prove to that old hard-head the purity of your motives."

"I cannot get my own consent to do so–never! Maia is lost to me now and forever."

"Do not be so rash, please! A few harsh words can always be borne with from a future father-in-law, especially when he has not been altogether wrong in the matter. If your pride forbids the making of any advance, then let me take the initiatory steps. I shall have a talk with Dernburg."

"Just to have it announced to you, with polite regret, that his daughter is engaged to Baron von Wildenrod?" said Victor bitterly. "We may as well spare ourselves that mortification!"

"What are you thinking of? Wildenrod is in his forties and Fräulein Dernburg–"

"Oh, he has some demoniacal power of enchantment, and knows how to use it. I am convinced that the insinuation which so infuriated Dernburg against me originated with him. I was in his way, he was already basing his calculations upon Maia's fortune. And Maia has not remained indifferent to him; already they are everywhere talking of an engagement, and just now I gained certainty as to the state of her affections. Maia betrayed herself–I have nothing more to hope for."

The desperation of the young man plainly showed how deep was the passion for his young playmate that stirred in his heart.

Stettin had become very serious.

"That would certainly be Wildenrod's master-stroke," said he, with knitted brow. "So, it was not enough for him to share his sister's portion, but he must needs win the Odensburg millions for himself! There is still time for opening Herr Dernburg's eyes–his daughter shall not become the prey of this adventurer."

"An adventurer! Baron von Wildenrod!"

"He became so when fortune and splendor deserted his house. Perhaps fate had as much to do with it as guilt–never mind! He has forfeited the right to connect himself with an honorable family."

"And were you aware of this that time at Nice, and did you keep silence?" asked the young Count with bitter reproach in his tone.

"Was I to turn informer? And for the sake of whom? What right had I to force myself upon the confidence of a strange family? At that time what were these Dernburgs to me? One does not expose to public odium the son of a man at whose house you had been received as a friend for long years, without stringent necessity–and in this case I refrained."

"But you might have warned Eric in some way!"

"No warning would have availed at that period. If Eric had wanted to see–the double part that his future brother-in-law played was known all through Nice: I was not the only knowing one. But he walked blindly into the snare spread for him. But comfort yourself. Now when I know how close to your heart his sister is, no consideration shall hinder his exposure."

"Yes, Maia must be protected from this man, cost what it will!" cried Victor impetuously. "Uncle, I have concealed nothing from you, now; be as candid towards me! Who and what is this Wildenrod?"

"You shall learn," said Stettin gravely. "But we cannot discuss such things here, in the open woods. In ten minutes we shall be in the Castle, where we can talk farther on the subject."

CHAPTER XIX.
"OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, ON WITH THE NEW.–"

Maia and her companion, meanwhile, had continued their ride. Their destination was the railroad station, whither they went to bring home Frau von Ringstedt, who had repaired to Berlin, to prepare the family residence there for occupation during the winter. Dernburg's re-election had been expected with such certainty, that it had been considered in making their household arrangements. Now, whether they should go at all to Berlin was questionable, and the old lady was returning, for the present, to Odensburg.

"What was the matter with Count Victor to-day?" said Maia thoughtfully. "His manners were entirely different from what they usually are, and he did not seem at all rejoiced to see us again."

"He is still in first mourning for his brother," objected Leonie. "It is to be expected, as a matter of course, that he should be graver and more reserved than formerly."

Maia shook her little head; the explanation did not satisfy her. "No, no–this was something quite different. Victor went away last spring, too, without taking leave! Papa said, it is true, that he had been suddenly called away to attend to some military duty, but then he could have written. And just now when I invited him to come to Odensburg, he looked as if he did not care to do so. What is the meaning of all this?"

"I, too, was struck by the Count's restraint of manner," said Leonie, "and for that very reason you should not have been so cordial in your advances, Maia. You are a grown-up young lady now, and should not permit the same freedoms to the country neighbors as when you were a child."

"Victor is no mere country neighbor!" cried the young girl indignantly. "He was the friend of Eric's youth, and, when a boy, used to be almost as much at Odensburg as at Eckardstein. It is ugly of him to be so cold, all of a sudden, and act so formally, and I shall tell him so, too, when he comes to see us. Oh, I shall read him a good lecture!"

Fräulein Friedberg assumed the air of a monitor, and once more enlarged upon the need of circumspection on the part of a grown girl, but she preached to deaf ears. Maia dreamed on with open eyes: she was still haunted by the gloomy, reproachful glance of the playmate of her youth, and although she was far from fathoming the real ground for his altered behavior, his reserve grieved her. She realized, for the first time, how pleasant his cheerful society had been to her.

At the depot, Dr. Hagenbach received the two ladies with disagreeable tidings. He had heard in town of a railroad accident, that was said to have occurred in the forenoon. Since he knew that Frau von Ringstedt was aboard, he had telegraphed at once for the facts, which, fortunately, were comforting. In consequence of the recent violent rains, a land-slide had taken place, the track was blocked up for a considerable distance, and the passengers had been obliged to take another route. The Berlin fast train, then, could only arrive after a good deal of delay: no accident, however, had happened to the train itself.

After this communication, nothing was left for them to do but to wait. There happened to be, however, at the station a large body of troops, which had returned from maneuvering, and was now awaiting transportation; thus all the space was over-crowded, the waiting-room pre-empted by officers, and on all sides there reigned an alarming confusion, that made a long stay for the ladies very unpleasant. The doctor, therefore, advised that they should go over to the "Golden Lamb," secure an apartment, and there await the arrival of the train.

This proposition was adopted, and since Herr Willmann was not at home just now, the guests were received by his spouse, who, upon getting word that the ladies from Odensburg were honoring the "Golden Lamb" with their presence, a thing that had never before happened, came rushing out of the kitchen to acknowledge this honor, in the most humble and grateful manner.

Frau Willmann's attractions must have lain in the domestic virtues, for, most assuredly, they were not in outward appearance. She was considerably older than her husband, with repulsive features and a loud, sharp voice that lent something rasping to her words. And the house-dress in which she received her guests left much to be desired both as regards taste and neatness.

She opened the best of her guest-chambers as speedily as possible, tore open the window to let in fresh air, set to rights chairs and table, while she assured the ladies that she would have brought to them the most excellent of coffee, in the shortest space of time possible. She then vanished quickly, all zeal and desire to serve.

According to the assertion of the railroad officials, they had to wait at least another hour for the Berlin train. Fräulein Maia found it very tiresome; she felt a desire to make a tour of discovery in the "Golden Lamb," and when, besides, from the window she caught sight of a troop of children, who were playing in the yard behind the house, she could sit still no longer. In spite of all the exhortations of her teacher, she slipped out of the room and left her companions to themselves.

An embarrassed silence reigned for a few minutes. The doctor and Fräulein Friedberg had, it is true, long ago come to a sort of tacit understanding that that unfortunate offer of marriage should be considered as unsaid. It was the only possible way to preserve the necessary ease in the almost daily intercourse to which they were forced; and, to be candid, they were neither of them so easy in one another's company as was desirable. Hagenbach could not help giving bent to his mortification at being rejected in various covert ways, and, in spite of herself, Leonie continually found herself acting on the defensive when he was present. But, in spite of these awkward relations, it was a fact that the doctor expended much more care upon his outward appearance than ever before, and made every effort to rein in his harshness of manner as much as possible. In this latter particular he succeeded only to a very moderate extent, but he at least showed a desire to be more gentle.

"Maia is not to be calculated upon!" began Fräulein Friedberg finally, with a sigh. "I am actually in despair at times. What is one to do with a young lady, who is already engaged to be married, and yet cannot appreciate the necessity of conforming to social usages?"

"But there is room for a difference of opinion as to that necessity," remarked the doctor, irritably.

"I beg your pardon, the position is not to be disputed at all," was the very decided answer. "It is the foundation upon which the whole social fabric rests."

"You may well say so–forms!" mocked Hagenbach, with unconcealed irritation, "they are the main things in the world. What avails it if a man be honorable, upright, and true–he must yield to the first goose that comes along, who knows how to make bows and exchange polite speeches–he, of course, has the precedence!"

"I did not say so."

"But thought it! I have not given much attention to forms in the course of my life, have not found it needful either in my practice or the management of my household. I am a bachelor, though–thank God!"

The returned thanks, however, to Heaven, on account of his fortunately preserved bachelor's estate was in so grim a tone that Leonie preferred not to answer. She stepped to the window and looked out. Fortunately one of the maids now appeared with the coffee-cups and a huge cake, sufficient for at least ten persons, bringing the message that, if the ladies and doctor would be patient for a little while longer, Fräulein Willmann would prepare the coffee herself.

Leonie started at the name, and turned around eagerly:

"Who did you say?"

"Fräulein Willmann, lady."

"Such is the name of the hostess of the 'Golden Lamb,'" explained Hagenbach, who now perceived that silence would profit nothing any longer, and that the whole melancholy story would have to be recapitulated. Leonie, indeed, did not say a word, but the mantling color that mounted to her cheeks betrayed her exceeding sensitiveness to anything that reminded her of her former lover. The doctor preferred, therefore, to introduce the subject himself, as soon as the maid had left the room.

"Does the name strike you?" he asked.

"It was once very dear to me, and still is. The coincidence here can only be the result of accident, but I shall try to find out from the hostess–"

"That is not necessary, when you can learn of me just as well. The proprietor of this inn is a cousin of the lamented Engelbert, the converter of heathen, who lies buried in the sands of the desert. He has told me so himself–that is to say, not the buried man, but the living Herr Pancratius Willmann of the 'Golden Lamb.'"

"A cousin of Engelbert's?" repeated Leonie, in surprise. "To judge by the age of his wife, this Herr Pancratius Willmann must be quite far advanced in years?"

"Heaven forbid! he is at least twelve years younger than his better half, not much over forty. He was just a poor starving wretch and she a rich widow. As for the rest, the man is not uncultivated–he has even been a student, as he recently informed me, but then concluded that he would rather clothe himself in the wool of the 'Golden Lamb.'"

Leonie's lips curled contemptuously. "What a conclusion! This ordinary woman–"

"Has money and is a splendid cook," chimed in Hagenbach, who felt a satisfaction in this, that at least the lamented Engelbert's cousin had no part in the halo of ideality that encircled his kinsman. "As for the rest, the marriage of this pair seems to be a very happy one, and they also have a numerous progeny–only look at the six young lambs disporting themselves in the garden down yonder!" He had likewise stepped to the window and pointed down into the small garden, where the offspring of the Willmann family were running about, shrieking and hallooing. They were certainly not marked by any special attractions, but were little well-fed, thick-skulled creatures with yellow locks, seeming to take after their mother in things essential.

Leonie shrugged her shoulders. "I do not understand how a cultivated man can condescend to such a union. To be sure, self-interest regulates the world nowadays. Who asks after the ideal?"

"Not Herr Pancratius Willmann certainly," dryly opined Hagenbach. "He holds with the practical, in complete contrast to his cousin. Herr Engelbert left home in the lurch, in order to baptize the black heathen back in Africa. Now he lies in the sand of the desert–that is the return he got."

Leonie looked daggers at him. "You certainly cannot appreciate such a resolve, Doctor. Engelbert Willmann had an ideal nature, that followed a higher inspiration without any reference to worldly advantages, and one must have somewhat of the same nature in order to understand it."

"No, I do not pretend to understand it," declared Hagenbach with an outburst of vexation. "I am not constituted 'ideal.' I am a plain healer of men's diseases, without higher inspiration, and am myself quite an ordinary man, without any ideal–therefore of no account whatever."

Thus were they fairly launched into another discussion, when the door opened, and Herr Pancratius Willmann appeared upon the threshold, in all the stateliness of his obesity, with broad red countenance. He made a low bow before the physician, a second one before the lady at the window, and then began in his soft, melancholy voice: "I have just heard from my wife that the Odensburg family were here, and could not deny myself the pleasure of expressing my joy and gratitude for the honor that has been done my modest house."

"It is well that you have come, mine host!" said the doctor. "I was just talking about you with Fräulein Friedberg–" He was not allowed to proceed farther, in consequence of the scene that now unfolded before his eyes.

Leonie had started in alarm at the sound of the strange voice, and Herr Willmann showed no less agitation at the sight of the lady at the window. He fairly quaked, his red cheeks turned pale, and, utterly disconcerted, he stared at the lady who now approached him.

"Sir," she began in quavering voice, "you bear a name that is familiar to me, and I learn from the doctor here that a relation does, in fact, exist–"

She paused and seemed to await an answer, but Herr Pancratius only nodded his head in the affirmative; but so low was his bow, that hardly a glimpse of his face was to be gotten.

"I certainly discover some resemblance in your features," continued Leonie, "and your voice, too, has an almost terrifying similarity with that of your deceased cousin, of whom you probably have slight recollection."

Willmann did not answer this time either, but shook his head, in sign of dissent, but without looking up.

"Why, man, have you lost the power of speech?" cried the doctor, vexedly. "What means this dumb show of nodding and shaking your head?"

But Herr Pancratius persisted in his silence; it seemed as though he had a regular dread of hearing the sound of his own voice again. Instead of this, he cast a shy glance at the door, as though he were weighing the possibility of a retreat. Now Hagenbach lost patience.

"What is concealed behind that demeanor?" cried he with aroused suspicion. "Is that whole tale of relationship a falsehood after all? Out with what you have to say, man!"

The craven, pressed upon two sides, evidently saw no way of escape. He cast his eyes up at the ceiling, with exactly the same pious, woe-begone expression that had startled the doctor at first, and sighed:

"Oh, oh, Doctor, Heaven is my witness–"

A loud shriek interrupted him. Leonie had suddenly turned pale as death, and with both hands convulsively clasped the back of the chair standing in front of her.

"Engelbert! Gracious master, it is he himself!"

At this instant Herr Willmann seemed to cherish the fervent wish that the earth would open at his feet and swallow him up. But as no such interposition on the part of Heaven took place, he remained standing in the middle of the room, in the full light of day. Dr. Hagenbach, however, dropped into the nearest chair; he had strong nerves, and yet, somehow, this revelation had a stunning effect upon him.

In spite of this discovery, which must have been an appalling one to her, Leonie recovered her self-command in an astonishing manner. She neither fell in a swoon, nor fell into convulsions; motionless she stood there gazing upon him who had once been her betrothed lover, and made no attempt to deny it.

"Leonie, you here?" he stammered in mortal confusion. "I had no idea–I will explain everything–"

"Yes, I too would earnestly beg you to do so!" cried the doctor, who had now recovered breath and sprang up in a rage. "What! for twelve long years, you allowed yourself to be wept as a martyred apostle to the heathen, while all the time you were alive and merry here at the 'Golden Lamb,' flourishing as a happy husband and a six-fold father of a family? That is vile."

"Doctor," interrupted Leonie, still trembling in every limb, but still with perfect composure, "I have to talk with this–this gentleman. Please leave us!"

Hagenbach looked at her rather critically, for he did not exactly trust this composure. Yet he could but perceive that during such an explanation the presence of a third party would be superfluous. He therefore left the room. Little as he was in the habit of playing the eavesdropper, this time he kept his post close to a slit in the door, without any scruple of conscience whatever. The affair that was being settled inside was partly his concern as well.

Herr Engelbert Willmann seemed to be greatly relieved when the witness to this painful scene departed, and now prepared finally for the promised explanation. He began in a penitential tone: "Leonie, hear me!"

Still she kept her place without stirring, and looked as if she would not and could not believe that this coarse, common-looking individual was one and the same with the ideal being upon whom her youthful affections had been set.

"No explanation is needed," said she, with a tranquillity incomprehensible to herself. "I only desire you to answer me a few questions. Are you really the husband of the woman who received us just now; the father of the children playing in the garden down there?"

"Highly rational and practical!" growled the doctor approvingly outside. "No sign of convulsions! Matters are progressing quite well."

Leonie's question seemed utterly to confound Herr Willmann. "Do not condemn me, Leonie!" he implored stammeringly. "The force of circumstances–an unfortunate chain of peculiar–"

"Do not address me in the familiar tone of long ago, Herr Willmann," said Leonie, cutting him short in the midst of his sentence. "How long have you been married?"

Willmann hesitated. He would have gladly given as recent a date as possible to his admission into the order of Benedict; but there were his children making their presence noisily manifest out of doors, his eldest, a boy of ten, being likewise in the game of romps. "Eleven years," he finally said in a low voice.