Kitabı oku: «Clear the Track! A Story of To-day», sayfa 22
Breathlessly all watched the conflict between the two hostile elements, but soon the flood conquered, which evidently deluged the whole surface where the fire had found its chief nutriment. Different spots on the roof were still afire, it is true, but these could be put out, and were put out, when the sea of flame in the interior had disappeared for good. Again the engines played with renewed force and activity, and now a portion of the long tottering walls tumbled down, the main building caved in, its sides falling inwards. Thus was averted all danger to the neighboring houses and the fire restricted to its own hearth.
"That was help in time of need!" said Dernburg to the officers standing around. "And that the water broke loose at the critical moment was assuredly more than accident–the interposition of a Higher Hand."
"I am afraid that it was a human hand!" returned the upper-engineer, softly.
Dernburg turned to him in surprise. "What mean you to say?"
"Baron von Wildenrod is nowhere to be found," explained that official gravely. "He spoke with me awhile ago as to the possibility of opening the conduit, and at the same time made use of a singular expression that startled me at the time. A few minutes later I saw him hurrying in that direction and there vanish. There has been no accident in this case."
Dernburg turned pale: now all of a sudden Oscar's last speech became clear to him and he understood it all. "For God's sake!" he exclaimed, with a start, "then we must penetrate to the seat of the conflagration, must at least try–"
"Impossible!" interposed the director. "Beneath those glowing, smoking ruins no living thing yet breathes."
What he said was only too true, Dernburg was obliged himself to admit. Deeply shaken, he covered his eyes with his hand. For him there was no longer any doubt but that the man who had coveted Odensburg for his own, at any price, had sacrificed himself to save Odensburg!
Hours of labor were still needed at the scene of the fire. Here and there forks of flame shot up again and had to be extinguished, the area covered by the conflagration had to be isolated, and the ever-flowing streams of the Radefeld aqueduct had to be cut off.
Day had already dawned, when it was finally possible to dismiss the people, only retaining a sufficient number of men to act as a guard. All had done their utmost, vying with one another in courage and endurance; now the men waited for their chief, exhausted as they were from their long labors, with faces blackened by smoke and their clothes dripping wet. All eyes were silently and questioningly fastened upon him, as he now stepped into their midst, his voice, although full of deep feeling, was audible to a great distance.
"I thank you, children! I shall never forget you and what you have done for me this night. You gave me warning that you had quit work, and I wanted to forbid your taking it up again. Now, you have worked for me and my Odensburg, and so I think"–here he suddenly held out both hands to an old workman with hoary head, who stood close before him–"we'll stay together now, and work together as we have done for the past thirty years!"
And in the hearty shout of rejoicing that rang forth from all quarters ended the strike at Odensburg.
CHAPTER XXVI.
HOW FORCES THAT ARE OPPOSED MAY BLEND
More than two years had elapsed since that stormy night when the conflagration had raged at the Odensburg works, but out of the wind and fire of that period, which had threatened everything with annihilation, had come forth new life and activity.
Those occurrences, which had then affected Dernburg's family circle as seriously as they had done his position as lord of Odensburg, had gradually retreated into the background, although, for a long while, they had shown their pregnant results. On the day after the fire, the charred remains of Oscar von Wildenrod had been found. His magnanimous action–of which there could be no doubt–was everywhere admired; only Dernburg and Egbert knew, while a few of the formerly initiated suspected, that a stained and abandoned life had been atoned for by this voluntary self-immolation. For all the rest, the memory of the Baron remained pure, laid to rest as he had been in the family burying-ground by Eric's side, and beneath the rustling fir-trees of the Odensburg park.
The universal impression continued to be that the fire had been the work of an incendiary, but the proof of this had not been found, and was not to be, either. Fallner, to whom one suspicious circumstance pointed, had left Germany, to escape the prosecution impending over him, on account of his murderous assault upon Runeck. Since all these events had acquired a publicity that was altogether undesirable, they wanted, by all means, to avoid being forced into notice again through a lawsuit.
On this point Dernburg and his opponents were fully agreed.
He did his very best to cause the mantle of silence to be thrown over the whole affair, in order that the newly-won peace with his workmen might not be imperiled by bitter memories and discussions.
From his sick-bed Runeck had sent word to his party, that he must lay down his commission. This resolve would have been unavoidable, even without the severe wound which chained him to his couch for weeks, and forbade his engaging in any serious business for months. The bond between him and his former comrades, which already, for a long time, had only existed outwardly, was now definitively severed. The result of the new election might have been easily predicted: there was only one man who could have disputed the place with the master of Odensburg, and he had withdrawn. From the second casting of the ballot Eberhard Dernburg came out with an overwhelming majority, and this time his Odensburg employés all stood by him to a man. The reconciliation had been complete.
After his recovery, Egbert had left Odensburg and stayed away for a long while. He, like Dernburg, felt that the new future, about which they were fully agreed, was not to be linked immediately and unceremoniously to the past, seeing that many an inward wound must close up ere the outward one should be perfectly healed. The young engineer had traveled widely and spent a full year in America, where there was so much for him to see and learn. There he had completed the studies which he had once begun in England. Now, when at last he returned to Odensburg, his long waiting was at an end, and he dared to claim the good fortune that had once bloomed for him on the very verge of the grave; after a short engagement, his marriage with Cecilia took place in all quietness.
To-day the cheerful sounds betokening festivity were to be heard in the Manor-house, for they were looking for the return of the bridal pair from their wedding-trip. And Frau Dr. Hagenbach was just adding a few last touches to the preparations for their reception, that lady having retained her old intimate relations with the Dernburg household after her marriage. The rooms that were now fitted up for Egbert and Cecilia Runeck were entirely different from those that had once received Eric's betrothed, being situated on the opposite side of the house, and destined for their permanent abode.
Leonie placed a few more flowers in the reception-room. From the sickly, nervous, and rather wan old maid had emerged a smiling and graceful matron: Dr. Hagenbach having asserted his rights as a physician as well as husband, and completely cured his wife of those detested nervous attacks.
Frau Hagenbach had just completed her task, when the door opened and her husband entered. Wedded life seemed to have agreed well with him, too, for he had a highly contented look, while both his manners and mode of speech were changed for the better.–It was easy to see that he had gone to work in earnest to become "humanized." He nodded to his wife and said:
"I have come up only for a minute, to let you know that I have to visit one more patient first. It will not take me long, though, so that I shall be in time for the reception, anyhow."
"They will not arrive much before two o'clock," remarked his wife. "One more question, though, dear Hugo–have you considered that matter of Dagobert's?"
The doctor again made one of those grimaces, once so common with him, and his voice sounded rather gruff as he answered:
"There is nothing to be considered! I shall take care not to send the fellow the three hundred marks, that, according to his assertion, he needs so urgently. He must make out with the allowance that I have settled upon him, once for all."
"But the sum is not so large after all," objected Mrs. Hagenbach, "and in other respects you have no fault to find with Dagobert. He works industriously, writes to us frequently–"
"And still persistently reviles you in prose and verse," said Hagenbach, finishing her sentence for her. "To be sure no rational man would demean himself by being jealous of such a simpleton, although he did presume to write to me, after the reception of our wedding-cards, that I had inflicted a mortal wound upon his betrayed heart. A pierced heart does not, however, hinder him from hiding behind his aunt, when he wants to get anything out of me, the traitor, and she, alas! always takes his part. But this time nothing helps him–he does not get that money, so much is settled!"
Leonie did not contradict him, she only smiled with a submissive look, and let the subject drop.
"We shall be in the strictest seclusion to-day," she remarked. "Count Eckardstein is the only person invited."
"Well, I hope that means that we are soon to have another bride in the house, and that it will not be too long before a young countess makes her entrée into Eckardstein."
His wife shook her head dubiously. "I am afraid this is by no means settled. Herr Dernburg doubtless desires it, but Maia's demeanor is anything but encouraging. Who knows what answer she will give, if the Count actually proposes."
"But she cannot grieve forever over her former betrothed–she was little else than a child then."
"And yet his death very nearly cost her her life."
"Yes, a fine time we had of it, truly!" said Hagenbach with a sigh. "On one side there was Egbert, who for weeks hovered between life and death, on the other Fräulein Maia, likewise making preparations to die, and between them Madame Cecilia, who, one day, when Runeck was at the worst, coolly declared to me, that if I did not save her Egbert, she did not care to live longer, either. We did not have the jolliest of times during our engagement, did we, my dear? Thank God, it has been better since we were married. But I must be gone! I must go home. First, though, have you any order to give?"
"Only a trifle to be attended to. You were going to send the coachman to the station, you know–he can take with him the letter and post-office order."
"What post-office order?" asked the doctor, suspiciously.
"Why, the three hundred marks for Dagobert. I have already filled out the order, which is lying on your desk; you will have nothing to do but to supply the money–"
"I am not thinking of such a thing," cried the doctor, fuming.
"Yes, but you are thinking of it, though," protested Frau Dr. Hagenbach, with a decision, alas! that was not to be gainsaid. "You are only afraid of somewhat weakening your authority, and in this you are right, as you always are. Therefore I acted in your stead and wrote to Dagobert myself. It was done only for your sake, you perceive that, dear Hugo."
"Leonie, what are you thinking of?" exclaimed Hagenbach, irritably. "I have told you once, and now tell you again–"
He did not succeed in repeating his remark, however, for his wife interrupted him. "I know, Hugo, you are in the habit of representing yourself as hardhearted when you are goodness itself. You made up your mind long ago to send the poor youth that money, dear Hugo–"
The "dear Hugo" had learned many a thing already since he had entered the estate of matrimony. He never heard a contradiction, it is true, and everything was done exclusively out of deference to his will–this his wife told him daily, and he believed it, too, for the most part; but the Odensburg people were of a different opinion. In that village it was positively asserted, that "the madam ruled the roost." In this particular case, it is certain that the post-office order for three hundred marks was sent off in the course of the next hour.
In the parlor sat Maia Dernburg alone, at the window: at her feet lay the elderly Puck: he had become orderly and intelligent, and had entirely laid aside his inclination to attack in the rear men who wore plaid pantaloons. To be sure he was not so much teased as formerly; his young mistress stroked and caressed him still, it is true, but the merry romps that she used to carry on with him had long since ceased. In general, "little Maia" no longer existed, that fascinating childlike creature with exuberant spirits and laughing eyes. The slender, white-robed young lady there at the window certainly possessed great attractions, having developed from the laughing child into the quiet, gentle maiden, and in those brown eyes lay, as it were, deep, dark shadows, telling of a grief not yet altogether overcome.
It was quiet round about, and Maia was looking dreamily out upon the bright summer landscape, when her father entered. His hair had turned gray during these last years, but in every other respect he was the same erect, hale old man that we have known.
"Are you already on the lookout for the carriage?" he asked.
"No, papa, it is too early for that as yet," replied the young girl. "Egbert and Cecilia cannot be here for an hour yet, but as we have finished all our preparations for their reception–"
"So much the better, for then we shall have an hour to devote to our guest alone. Eckardstein is already here–over in my office."
"Ah! Why, then, did he not come with you?"
"Because he deemed it necessary to send me in advance, as his spokesman. We have had a long and interesting interview–am I to repeat to you what was said, or do you guess the tenor of our remarks?"
Maia had risen to her feet: she had become pale, while her eyes were full of entreaty as she fixed them upon her father.
"Papa–could you not spare me this?"
"No, my child," said Dernburg, earnestly. "Victor has determined to bring the matter to an issue, and you will be obliged to listen to his suit. He has begged me to intercede for him, and I have promised him to do so, for I owe him reparation for the injustice I once did him. He asked for leave to pay his addresses to you three years ago, although it did not come to an open declaration; in this wooing of a portionless young officer I saw nothing but calculation, and my insinuations made him feel very bitterly. He has proved, however, that his love was true and genuine. The lord-proprietor of Eckardstein needs to ask for no dowry with his bride, and I would gladly, very gladly, place my Maia's happiness in his hands."
"I should like to stay with you, papa," whispered the young girl, in painful agitation nestling up to his side. "Will you not keep me, then?"
"My child, we shall not be separated, even if you do become Victor's wife. You best know what has hitherto kept him aloof from Eckardstein: your consent would immediately determine him to resign his commission in the army, and henceforth devote himself to the care of his estates. Then we should still be together, Eckardstein is so near, you know."
"I cannot!" cried Maia, vehemently, while she drew herself up. "Oscar chained me indissolubly to himself in life, and I am not free from him in death, either! How often has my heart been heavy when I caught the expression of Victor's speaking eyes, not being able to misunderstand the mute plea that I read there–but I cannot be happy at the side of any other."
"There are only a few destined to be happy," said Dernburg, with strong emphasis, "but the duty of making others happy, when it is in our power, that duty belongs to us all. Victor knows what has happened, and does not demand of you that passionate love which linked you to Oscar–perhaps, he would not even understand it. But you are necessary to his happiness, and his faithful, honorable devotion is well worth the sacrifice of those memories. Of course, you are at full liberty to do as you choose, Maia–only consider this one thing: whoever would truly live, must also live for others!"
The young girl made no answer, a few large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks; the grave admonition had not been without effect.
"Well, what am I to say to the Count?" asked Dernburg, after a pause.
Mala pressed both hands to her heart, as though she would keep down a self-asserting pain there, then she bowed her head and answered, almost inaudibly:
"Tell him–that I am expecting him!"
Then she felt her father's lips upon her forehead, and folding her in his arms, he said with profound emotion:
"That is right, my poor–my brave child!"
Five minutes later Victor Eckardstein entered, almost unaltered in his outward appearance, save that his features were graver and more manly. Now, indeed, his whole manner bespoke nothing but excitement and uneasiness.
"Your father told me that I would find you alone, Maia," he began. "I have so much that I should like to confide to you, and yet know not whether you will listen to me."
Maia stood before him with downcast eyes; a slight blush mantled her cheek, as she bowed her head in acquiescence, without opening her lips.
The Count seemed to have expected some other sign of encouragement, for his voice acquired a touch of bitterness, as he continued:
"It has been hard enough for me to approach any other with my entreaties and desires, even although it was your father. But your manner to me has always been so distant, allowing me room for so little hope, that I did not dare to address to you first the question, on which the happiness of my life depends. I feel only too sensitively that here I needed an intercessor."
"I would not willingly hurt you feelings, Victor, certainly not," Maia assured him, and with her old childlike cordiality she held out her hand to him, which he firmly clasped in his own.
"You have given me pain enough by that constantly kept-up cold reserve of yours," said he, reproachfully. "Oh! from the hour when I found that little elf in the cottage in the woods, from the moment when the sweet little face of my former playmate emerged from the gray hood that had concealed it, I knew where centered the happiness of my life. May I speak now, at last? Maia, I love you beyond everything; I cannot live without you!"
These were no glowing, impassioned words of love, such as the young girl had once listened to from the lips of another, but they expressed warm, fervent devotion, and Maia would have been no true woman had she remained indifferent, in presence of this constant, true love.
"You will have it so–then take me?" said she in a low tone. "I have cared for you since we were children."
With an exclamation of joy, Victor clasped her to his heart, to the admiration of Puck, who stared at them both, and evidently could not exactly understand the situation.
The engagement, which, was now announced to her father, as may well be understood, so engrossed the minds of all the inmates of the Manor-house, that they no longer thought of keeping a lookout for the carriage, that could now be espied making its way along the wooded heights. The road led for some distance over this plateau, ere it dipped into the valley. There, in the midst of green, fir-clad hills, was situated that mighty hive of industry, Odensburg. The rolling-mills had long since arisen from their ashes, more capacious in extent than before, and new establishments of a different kind had been associated with them, for there was no standstill in the Dernburg works, and they expanded with every year.
The bride, in a simple, gray traveling-suit, leaned out of the open carriage, eager to catch a glimpse of the Manor-house, now visible behind the trees of the park. Cecilia had always been a beautiful girl, but the woman was, if possible, more beautiful, in the full development of that peculiar charm, which had, at all times, won her affection. There could, indeed, be no greater contrast than was presented by this refined, still rather foreigner-like being and the husband who sat by her side. This was the same old Egbert Runeck, so far as his somewhat rough, forceful personality was concerned, impressing one as ready to defy the whole world and fight the battle through. Only the gray eyes beneath that broad, massive brow had a different expression from what they had had before; they diffused a warm, bright radiance, and it was not hard to guess whence this light emanated.
"There lies our home, Cecilia!" said Runeck, while he pointed down into the valley. "You, indeed, have never liked Odensburg–will you be able, think you, to endure permanent residence there?"
"If I am with you!–How can you ask that question again?" replied his young wife, somewhat reproachfully.
"Yes, with me, your headstrong Egbert, who will not always have time to devote even to you, when he once again becomes immersed in work. On our wedding-trip I have belonged to you alone: then we could dream our fairy-dreams; but now come earnest workdays with their duties and cares, and often enough will they call me from your side. Will you understand how that is, Cecilia? Hitherto you have stood so far aloof from all this."
He looked upon his wife with a certain uneasiness, but the response that he met in her eyes was cheerful and reassuring.
"Well, then, I must learn to take part in your cares and duties. Will you teach me how, Egbert? But what do you know of fairy-dreams, you man of stern reality, that you are? Where did you learn about them?"
Runeck's eye swept over the mountain range until it rested upon the distant, solitary peak, from the summit of which, glittering in sunlight, greeted them a cross–the symbol of the Whitestone.
"Up there," said he, softly, "when the forest made music around us and the voice of the bells came up from below. Oh, that was a trying hour–a horrible one for you, my poor wife. Pitilessly I had to arouse you, acquainting you with the unreality of your future, and crumbling into ruins the gay, glittering world, in which you had hitherto lived–that I might point out to you the precipice on which you stood."
"Find no fault with that hour!" pleaded Cecilia, nestling up to his side. "Then I awoke, there I learned to see and to think. Do you know, Egbert," and a playful smile took the place of the gravity that had rested upon her features, "I never think of it without being reminded of the old legend of the caper-spurge, that cleaves the rock where buried treasures lie? At that time, you indeed, without any compassion at all, called out to me: 'The deep is empty and dead, and there are no longer any such things as hidden treasures!' And now–"
"Now, I have myself turned out to be a digger after buried treasures!" chimed in Egbert, while he stooped down and gazed into the dark, lustrous eyes of his young wife. "You are right, that was the hour in which I won you, in spite of everything.
"'I lifted out of night and gloom
That wondrous golden shrine,
And all its sparkling treasures
And all its gold are mine!'"
It was a few hours later; the reception and welcome to the Manor-house were over, and while Cecilia was still in the parlor chatting with Maia and Count Eckardstein, Dernburg went with Runeck out upon the terrace.
"It was high time for you to come, Egbert," said he. "The director in his present weak state of health is no longer equal to the duties of his office: months ago, he wanted to send in his resignation, and was only induced to remain until you should arrive and undertake the superintendence of the works. I am also very glad to have Cecilia in the house again, for I am not to keep Maia much longer. Victor is already talking of the wedding, being quite carried away with his happiness."
"But Maia herself does not look as happy as I should like to see her, under the circumstances. Did she give her consent gladly?"
"No, but of her own free will. And now that her promise has once been given, it will chase away the dark shadow that Oscar's love and death have cast over her life. Now a duty stands between her and that memory, she will overcome it."
"And Count Victor will make this easy for her," suggested Egbert. "Of that I am convinced; his is no nature on a grand scale like"–Dernburg cast a side-glance at his adopted son–"like another person of my acquaintance, whom I had selected for Maia at one time, but that other one, alas! would always go his own way and follow his own hard head, and thus he has done in love as in all things else."
"Truly you have so far had but little satisfaction in your son," said Egbert, with difficulty controlling his deep emotion–"he even stood in open opposition to you; but, believe me, father, I have been the severest sufferer from this cause, and now all my powers belong to you and your Odensburg."
"We can make good use of them," declared Dernburg. "At times I feel my age and the decline of strength–who knows how long it will last? Meanwhile, you stand by my side, and I think, upon the ground of common work, we shall find the accommodation for all that still divides us the one from the other. We talked over this, you remember, when you returned from America."
Fully and clearly Egbert's eye met that of the speaker. "Yes, and I recognized that I owed it to you to tell the entire truth, when you summoned me to the guidance of your works. I have forever renounced my former party, but not that which is great and true in that movement. This I cleave to still. This I shall stand up for and contend for so long as life shall last."
"I know it," said Dernburg, offering him his hand. "But I too have learned something during these days of trial. I am no longer the old blockhead who supposed that, alone, he could stem the tide of a new era. I cannot, indeed, welcome this new era with open arms; for the period of a whole generation I have stood on different ground and cannot be untrue to myself, but I can summon to my side a young, fresh force that is in sympathy with the present. When, hereafter, I give Odensburg entirely into your hands, then keep it up with the times, Egbert. I shall not oppose it! Until then, though, let there be for us all a clear track!"
