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CHAPTER XXII.
HIS SIN HAD FOUND HIM OUT

"Where are Frau Dernburg and Fräulein Maia? They have stayed in the park, I hope, or are safe at home?" With this eager question Dr. Hagenbach entered the parlor, where, for the present, only Fräulein Friedberg was to be found.

"The ladies set out to visit the young gentleman's grave, that is all I know about it," answered she in alarm. "Has anything happened?"

"Not yet, but one cannot know what the next hour may bring forth. So the ladies have gone to the grave, have they? Well, it lies at the end of the park, in the opposite direction from the works, so that I trust there is nothing to fear. It would be well, though, for them to come back soon."

"I expect them every moment. Is it so threatening, then, over at the works?"

Hagenbach nodded and took a seat opposite the lady.

"Alas! the officers are doing their very best to get through with paying off and discharging the workmen in peace and quiet, but this does not suit Fallner and his crew, who want to have a row, whether or no. A portion of the men have announced their intention to resume work to-morrow morning, the others have responded by threats and curses: finally, here and there it has come to deeds of violence, and it seems as if an insurrection may break forth this very evening."

Leonie folded her hands with anxious mien. "Dear me! what is to be the end of all this? Herr Dernburg is as hard and inaccessible as a rock. You have no idea in what a mood he is. He will bid defiance to all–I am distressed to death."

"Why, there is no need of that! What am I here for?" said Hagenbach, with emphasis. "I should protect you in case of necessity, but such necessity is not likely to occur. This house and its inmates are unconditionally safe, even if there should be some excesses committed over there. In that case you can depend upon me."

"I know that," replied Leonie, warmly, holding out her hand to him, which he took, too, readily enough; he kept it likewise, and did not think of releasing it from his clasp.

"I called to see you this morning," he began again, "but was not admitted!"

Leonie cast down her eyes and her voice trembled, as she softly answered:

"You will understand that it was painful for me, after the events of yesterday–"

"I beg your pardon, I came only as a physician to inquire as to your health," remarked Hagenbach. "You look worn, have had a sleepless night–for that matter, so have I!"

"You, Doctor?"

"Why, yes, so many things were racking my brain. For example, I thought you were quite right in regarding me as a half bear. The only question is, whether the attempt would be worth while to try and make something human out of me. What is your opinion?"

"My opinion? I have not thought on the subject," said Leonie, with a vain effort to disengage her hand.

"But your opinion is a great deal to me," continued he. "You see, Fräulein Friedberg, if one goes through life as a bachelor, without caring for anybody in particular, and knowing that no one cares particularly about him–it is a bad case. If one has, at least, a mother or sister, then one can get along somehow; but I have only that silly fellow Dagobert, and what I have in him you know yourself."

"But, Doctor, must we discuss this subject just today?" said Leonie, trying to evade an answer. "At this hour, when all Odensburg–"

"Odensburg will, I hope, do me the pleasure to defer its rebellion until we have arranged our matters," interposed Hagenbach. "And arranged they must be now, that I solemnly swore to myself during that aforesaid sleepless night. I called upon you, for the second time, awhile ago, but did not find you, because you were with Frau von Ringstedt. Nevertheless, I took the liberty of going in, because I wanted to take a peep at your desk. Over it hangs now the picture of your blessed mother, and I yield her that place cheerfully, for she is a saint in heaven. You have made short work of it, and bravely abandoned old memories and the like–and therefore–yes. What was it that I wanted to say?"

The doctor began to get rather entangled in his talk. When he offered himself for the first time, he had gone ahead without calculation of any kind, and now, this second time, he wanted to proceed most gently and considerately–but here he stuck fast. But he made a quick resolve, got up and approached the lady of his choice, saying, with simple heartiness:

"I love you, Leonie, and although I am a rough fellow–one cannot alter the old habits in a trice–yet I mean well, and if you would risk it with me, your consent would make me very happy. You say nothing: Nothing at all? May I take this as a good sign?"

Leonie sat with glowing cheeks and downcast eyes, conscious of all the magnanimity and goodness of heart displayed by the man, whom she had so harshly rejected, and who now again offered her his heart and hand. He also understood this perfectly, and brought the matter into shape now, as quickly as possible, by taking his betrothed into his arms and kissing her.

"God be thanked that we have at last got so far," said he, from the bottom of his heart. "I shall write to-morrow to that fellow Dagobert. Now he can make a wedding-song for us, and celebrate the praises of his future aunt–a poem that I shall certainly permit him to indite."

"But, Doctor," admonished Leonie, reproachfully.

"I am called Peter," interposed he. "The name does not please you, I know that of old–it is not poetical enough for you–but I was baptized so, and you will have to get used to it. Fräulein Leonie Friedberg and Dr. Peter Hagenbach–that is the way it will stand on our betrothal cards."

"But surely you have other baptismal names besides that one?" the bride-elect ventured to suggest.

"Of course. Peter Francis Hugo."

"Hugo, how pretty! I shall call you by that in the future."

"That I protest against," declared Hagenbach, with a positiveness that already bespoke the future husband. "I am named Peter after my father and grandfather, so I have been always called, and so will my intended wife call me too."

With timid familiarity that became her very well, Leonie placed her hand on her lover's arm and pleadingly looked him in the eye. "Dear Hugo–do you not like the sound of that already?"

"No," growled the doctor, while he turned away.

"Well, as you choose, Hugo. I shall conform in this respect entirely to your wishes. But Peter and Leonie do not suit together at all, you must perceive that yourself."

Again Hagenbach growled, but this time in a much more subdued tone. He did not find his new name so bad, after all, when pronounced in this tone. But immediately there loomed up before him the horrors of petticoat government, and he felt himself pledged to guard his supremacy once for all.

"Peter it stands," he decided. "You must submit to me in this, Leonie."

"I submit myself in everything," asserted Leonie in tenderest tone. "I am, in general, a weak, dependent creature, who has no will of her own. You shall never listen to a contradiction in the whole course of our married life, dear Hugo–but surely you will not refuse the first request I make of you, and that on our betrothal-day?"

Dear Hugo began to melt under the softening influence of this gentle voice and these pleading eyes, and his constancy as well as supremacy showed signs of giving way.

"Well, if it gives you such great pleasure, you can call me so yourself," he admitted. "But on the cards of invitation it shall stand–"

"Leonie Friedberg and Dr. Hugo Hagenbach! I thank you, Hugo, with all my heart, for this proof of your love!"

What was poor Peter Hagenbach to do? He pocketed the thanks and covered his shameful retreat by bestowing a kiss upon his beloved. In this first dispute the "weaker" half had come off with flying colors and the stronger had had to lower his flag–it might be an omen–

Meanwhile Dernburg was in his office, receiving announcements from the works that were anything but quieting. At other times, any unusual occurrence had found him either in the midst of or at the head of his workmen, but now he avoided any contact with them. Of late he had not spoken a word to any of the men, or taken the least notice of any, although he went daily to the works.

He stood at the window, lost in melancholy brooding, for the moment entirely alone, and slowly turned around when the door was opened, believing that some new announcement was about to be made. In the next second, though, he shrank back and stared at the intruder, as though he could not believe his own eyes.

"Egbert!"

Egbert closed the door behind him, but paused on its threshold, while he said in a low voice:

"I beg your pardon for having once more made use of my old privilege, of entering unannounced–it happens for the last time."

Dernburg had already recovered his self-command, his eyes flashed portentously, and his voice was chilling in the extreme.

"I certainly did not expect to see you again at Odensburg. Here Runeck, pray what leads the new delegate to me? I thought that we two were to have no more to say to one another."

Runeck might have expected such a reception, but his glance was fixed reproachfully upon the speaker.

"Herr Dernburg, you are too just to make me responsible for the excesses of election-day evening. I was in town–"

"I know–with Landsfeld. And from there the movement was directed."

Egbert turned pale and quickly drew one step nearer. "Am I to bear this reproach, too? Is it possible that you believe I could have had a share in those insults, that I could have known of them and not prevented them?"

"Let us leave that," said Dernburg in the same cold tone. "We are now only political opponents, Herr Runeck. As such we shall occasionally meet in public life, but there no longer exists between us relations of any other sort. If you really have further communications to make to me, I would prefer to have them in writing. Since, however, you are here this time, what would you have of me?"

"I could not select writing as my medium," returned Runeck, firmly. "If my coming surprises you–"

"Not at all! I am only astonished that you seek me here in my office. Your proper place is over yonder at the works among your constituents, who are just about to repeat the proceedings of election-day. Will you not place yourself at their head, and lead them against me? I am prepared for that step!"

One who had looked at the young engineer must have seen how deeply he was wounded by these cruel words, and he was no longer able to maintain his calm demeanor. "Dernburg, not this tone!" he cried. "Shake out over me all the vials of your wrath–I will bear it–but do not speak to me in that tone; such a punishment I have not deserved."

"Punishment? I thought you had outgrown my discipline," said Dernburg, with intense bitterness, although he did indeed drop the mocking tone. "Once more, what will you have here? Would you, perhaps, offer to protect me from those over there? They will obey the mere nod of their own delegate. I thank you, I shall cope with them single-handed. Half the men already repent of their enforced resolve to lay down their work, and to-morrow will resume it. But I forbid them to go to work unless they submit unconditionally and renounce their leaders."

"Dernburg–"

"They will not venture upon that, think you? Maybe so. You hold them with too tight a rein. Well, then, war is openly declared. You forced me to extremities in the first instance, now extremities I will have."

Runeck was silent for a few minutes, then he said with sad earnestness: "That is a hard saying."

"I know it. Think you I do not know the trend of coming events, if the ten thousand engaged in my enterprises take holiday for weeks, perhaps for months? The people will be driven to wretchedness, to despair, and I must be the witness of it. The responsibility for this, however, rests upon you and your fellows–you have left me no choice. For a generation, peace and blessedness had their abode at Odensburg, and whatever a man could do for his workmen, that I did. You have introduced discord and hatred, the dragon-seed has sprung up. See to it, now, how you shall manage the harvest."

He turned away impetuously, and several times strode up and down the room. Then he paused in front of the young engineer, who, with clouded brow and downcast eyes, stood there without attempting a reply. "You are very likely afraid of the spirits that you have exorcised yourself, and would now like to play the part of mediator?" he asked, with scornful intonation. "You would be the last to whom I should accord such a privilege. I want to hear nothing of mediation in general. The bridges are broken down between me and these people, henceforth we have to treat with one another only as enemies."

"I have not come as a mediator," said Egbert, straightening himself up. "My coming, in general, has nothing to do with this affair. What leads me here is a painful duty that I cannot escape from. It concerns Baron von Wildenrod, to whom you have promised Maia's hand."

Dernburg started and looked at him in surprise.

"What, you know of this engagement! Never mind: I no longer make any secret of it."

"And fortunately I have heard of it in time to interpose."

"Will you make any objection to it?" asked Dernburg, sharply. "There was a time when I would have admitted your claim to her, when the way to Maia's hand and heart stood open to you.–You know what blocked it up. You have sacrificed your love, like everything else, to your 'convictions.'"

"I never loved Maia," returned Runeck, firmly. "I saw in her only my young playmate, Eric's sister, and never entertained for her any other feelings than those of a brother."

This explanation was given with such decision that it was no longer possible to doubt its truth.

"Then in this, too, I have been mistaken," said Dernburg, slowly. "But what concern, then, of yours is my daughter's marriage?"

"I want to guard Maia from becoming the prey of a–villain."

"Egbert! have you lost your senses?" exclaimed Dernburg, passionately. "Do you know what you are saying? This mad accusation–"

"I shall prove. I would have spoken long ago, but I have only just succeeded in obtaining the documents, only just learned of the Baron's plan to usurp control of Odensburg, together with Maia's hand. Now, I must speak, and you must listen to me."

Dernburg had turned pale, but still revolted against giving credence to this unheard-of thing that seemed to him inconceivable.

"I shall require the proofs of you for everything," resumed he, menacingly. "And now go on, I am listening!"

"Baron von Wildenrod has the reputation here of being rich, but in reality is not worth a stiver. It must be twelve years now since he forsook the diplomatic career, because his father's loss of fortune deprived him of all means of maintaining himself in proper style. The old Baron shot himself, and the family had only to thank their noble name for the interposition in their favor of the reigning Prince. He bought the estates, that were heavily encumbered with debt, satisfied their creditors, and granted the widow a small pension as long as she lived. The son forsook Germany and has never since been heard of in his native land."

Dernburg listened with darkly contracted eyebrows. He had once received a different account, which, indeed, contained no direct untruth, but concealed the decisive element, namely, the ruined fortunes of the family.

"I became acquainted with Oscar von Wildenrod three years ago," continued Runeck. "It was in Berlin, at the house of a Frau von Sarewski, a wealthy widow who lived in very handsome style. I gave her children drawing-lessons, at which she was often present, and by her desire I drew a sketch of an addition planned for her villa. This met with her full approval, and she wanted to give me a sign of recognition, by inviting me to one of her evening entertainments. I dared not decline, for I was dependent upon the fees I received from teaching drawing for the means to continue my studies. A perfect stranger in that fashionable circle, which inspired me with not the slightest interest, I retired that evening into a side-room, where the brother of the lady of the house was seated at cards with a few other gentlemen. Among them was Baron von Wildenrod, who, as I learned from their conversation, had been in Berlin for three months, and expected to pass the winter there. He was strikingly favored by fortune in his play, while the others had just as decided ill-luck. The brother of Frau von Sarewski, passionately devoted to card-playing, set the stakes ever higher and higher, his losses being proportionate, while Wildenrod had already won a little fortune. This whole carrying-on was repulsive to me, and I was in the act of withdrawal, when an elderly gentleman, a Count Almers, who was likewise among the card-players, suddenly seized the Baron's hand, held it fast, and, in a voice quivering with rage, pronounced him a black-leg."

"Did you see that yourself?" asked Dernburg, sternly.

"With my own eyes! I was also a witness to that which followed. The gentlemen sprang to their feet, and everything was astir; the loud talking pro and con brought all the other guests, Frau von Sarewski also making her appearance. She begged and implored those present to let the matter rest, and spare her house the notoriety of a public scandal. Wildenrod acted the man of outraged, deeply wounded feelings: he threatened to challenge the Count, but made use of this show of indignation as a pretext to withdraw as speedily as possible. Now Count Almers declared that he had been on the track of this deceiver for a long while, but had only to-day found the opportunity to unmask him. He insisted upon following up the investigation, since Wildenrod moved in the first circles, and elements of this sort must be ruthlessly ejected. The entreaties of Frau von Sarewski and the representations of her brother finally had the effect of moving the witnesses to keep silence, provided that Wildenrod could be induced to leave the city at once. This was superfluous, for he had no idea of either challenging the Count or attempting to clear himself. The next morning it was discovered that he had taken his departure in the night."

Those were plain facts that Runeck reported, but his bearing and tone gave to the narration a frightful emphasis. It was seen what a crushing revelation this was to the listener, although he gave no outward sign of sympathy.

"What else?" said he, bluntly and roughly.

"I neither heard nor saw anything more of Wildenrod until the moment when he made his appearance at Odensburg, as Eric's future brother-in-law. I recognized him at the first glance, while he had no recollection whatever of my personality: a hint that I gave he repelled with great haughtiness."

"And you concealed this from me? You did not mention it at once?"

"Would you have believed me without proofs?"

"No, but I would have set investigations afoot and learned the truth."

"I did that in your stead. I had manifold relations with Berlin, that I now availed myself of: I turned to Wildenrod's native place and to Nice where Eric had made his acquaintance, and it was not my fault that months elapsed before my inquiries were answered. What you would have done was attended to by me, and information was given to me as a stranger that would hardly have been obtainable by you, under the circumstances. Nevertheless, I did think of warning you, provisionally, but then, I suppose, you would have dissolved the tie on which depended the happiness of Eric's life, and that would have been the death of him. He told me himself, once–when apparently without design I suggested such a possibility–that to lose Cecilia would be the death of him. I knew that he spoke the truth–such consequences I could not and would not take upon myself."

"Cecilia?" repeated Dernburg with a gleam of suspicion. "Quite right. She too is deeply concerned in this thing. What part did she play in the affair? What did she know about it?"

"Nothing–not the least thing! She lived unsuspectingly by her brother's side, deeming him a rich man. Under this impression she engaged herself to Eric, and it was here at Odensburg that she became aware of something dark and mysterious in her brother's past. What it was I did not have the heart to tell her, but the manner in which she took my hints gave me convincing proof that not the slightest blame was to be attached to her."

Dernburg's deep sigh of relief betrayed the dread that he had entertained lest a shadow might also fall upon his daughter-in-law. A hardly audible "God be thanked!" came from his lips.

Egbert drew out a pocket-book, and took from it a number of papers.

"Here is a letter from Count Almers, who gives his word of honor for the assertion that he made that time; here are accounts as to what happened at the death of the old Baron, and here information from Nice. Eric must have been blind, or they purposely kept him aloof from other society, else he would have known that his brother already had the reputation of being a doubtful character throughout the bounds of Nice, being looked upon as a professional gambler. How he managed to force his 'luck,' was suspected here and there, perhaps, but not to be proved, and that gave him the possibility of maintaining an appearance of respectability."

Dernburg took the proffered papers and stepped at once to the table, whereon stood a bell.

"First of all I must hear Wildenrod himself! You will not shrink, I hope, from repeating your accusation in his presence?"

"I have just done that–I came from his room. It was a last effort to end the matter in a way that would spare his exposure, but it failed. The Baron knows that I am revealing all this to you, at this hour–he has not followed me to answer for himself."

"Never mind, he is to render me an account!" Dernburg pressed on the bell and called to the servant who entered: "Tell Baron von Wildenrod to come to me, please, at once."

The servant went; along, awkward silence ensued. Nothing was heard but the rustling of the papers that Dernburg opened one after the other and looked through: he turned ever paler as he proceeded. Egbert tarried, silent and motionless, in his place. Thus the minutes elapsed. It was long, very long, before the door was opened, and then it was not Wildenrod who entered but the servant who returned, saying:

"The Baron is not in his rooms, nor, indeed, anywhere about the house. Perhaps he has already ridden away."

"Ridden away? Where to?"

"Apparently to the city. He ordered the horses put to the carriage and that it should drive to the back gate of the park. He must be there by this time."

A silent nod dismissed the servant, and then Dernburg's self-control gave way. He sank into a chair, and a cry of despair escaped his lips.

"My child! my poor, poor Maia! She loves this man with all her heart."

There was something appalling in the grief of this man, who with lofty brow went into a battle that threatened his existence, but who seemed unable to bear the misfortune of his darling.

Egbert gently approached and stooped over him. "Herr Dernburg," said he, with trembling voice.

A fierce and repellent gesture waved him back. "Go! What do you here?"

"Eric is dead, and you have to spurn from you the man who was to take his place. Give me only this once more–only for this hour–the right that I once possessed."

"No," cried Dernburg, drawing himself up, and his features were again as cold and hard as ever. "You have renounced me and mine; you have forfeited the right to endure suffering with us. Go over to your friends and comrades, to whom you have sacrificed me, and who now rage around me like a pack of hounds just let loose. To them you belong; there is your place! They have treated me ill, but you worst of all, because you stood next my heart. From you I want no sympathy and no support–I will go to destruction first."

He walked into the adjacent library and slammed the door to behind him. The bridge between him and Egbert was broken.