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CHAPTER X.
LEO'S VISIT TO ALTENHOF

A week of anxiety and sorrow passed over Altenhof. Upon Herr Witold's return on that ill-fated evening, he found the whole house in commotion. Doctor Fabian lay senseless and bleeding in his room, while Waldemar, with a face that startled his foster-father quite as much as that of the tutor, was endeavoring to stanch the wound. Nothing could be drawn from him excepting that he alone was to blame for the accident, and his uncle was, consequently, obliged to seek an explanation from the servants. He learned from them that young Nordeck had come home at twilight bearing the wounded man in his arms, and had at once dispatched a messenger for the nearest physician. A quarter of an hour afterward, the horse had appeared panting and exhausted. On finding himself deserted by his master, Norman had followed the well-known road home. The servants knew nothing more.

The physician, who soon arrived and saw the state of the wounded man, looked grave and anxious. The wound in the head, evidently caused by a blow from the horse's hoof, seemed a serious one, while the tutor's frail constitution and the great loss of blood rendered his case very critical. The sufferer for a long time hovered between life and death. Herr Witold, whose own health like that of his ward was perfect, and who had never known what pain and illness really were, after these mournful days were over, often declared that he would not pass through them again for all the world. To-day, for the first time, the old gentleman's face assumed its usual placid and unconcerned expression, as he sat down by the sick man's bed.

"The worst is over," he said; "and now, Doctor Fabian, have the goodness to set Waldemar's head right again. I have not the slightest influence over him, but you can do anything you like with him, so bring the lad back to reason, or this unfortunate affair will prove his ruin."

Waldemar stood at a window pressing his forehead against the panes, and gazing vacantly out into the yard. Doctor Fabian, who still wore a broad white bandage around his head, looked pale and exhausted. He, however, sat upright, supported by pillows, and although his voice was weak, it had no tremor of illness as he asked,–

"What would you have Waldemar do?"

"I want him to be rational," said Herr Witold, emphatically, "and to thank God that this affair has turned out no worse, instead of going about silent and downcast as if he had a murder on his conscience. I suffered enough, heaven knows, during those first few days when your life hung by a thread; but now that the physician has pronounced you out of danger, I again breathe freely. By-gones are by-gones, and I cannot endure to have my boy go around with such a face, never speaking a word for hours at a time."

"I have often enough assured Waldemar that I alone am to blame for the accident. His attention was entirely absorbed in managing the horse, and he could not see that I was standing near. I was so imprudent as to seize Norman by the bridle, and he dragged me down."

"Did you take Norman by the bit–you who never venture within ten paces of any horse?" exclaimed Herr Witold, in surprise. "What in the world possessed you to do such a foolhardy thing?"

Fabian glanced over at his pupil, and replied, mildly, "I was fearful of an accident."

"Which would doubtless have occurred," added the old gentleman. "Waldemar must have been out of his senses to think of leaping the ditch at nightfall, and with a horse half dead from fatigue. I have always told him that some accident would happen to him for being so venturesome. He has now learned a lesson, but he lays it too much at heart. Doctor, give him a good talking to, and persuade him to be reasonable."

The guardian then rose and left the room. Teacher and pupil remained for some moments silent, and then Fabian said,–

"Waldemar, did you hear my instructions?"

The young man, who until now had stood at the window silent and indifferent, as if the conversation in no way concerned him, turned and approached the bed. He appeared the same as usual, except that he was somewhat pale; at the first glance one felt that Witold's solicitude was excessive, but closer scrutiny revealed a great change. The face had assumed an expression of indifference and rigidity which excluded the play of any other emotion. Perhaps this was only a mask with which Waldemar sought to hide from the world a deeply wounded sensibility. The voice no longer had its usually powerful ringing tone; it was hollow and expressionless, as he replied,–

"Do not heed my uncle's words; nothing is the matter with me."

Doctor Fabian grasped his pupil's right hand in both of his, the young man offering no resistance. "Herr Witold thinks you are still censuring yourself for the accident which occurred to me. This, you must know, is wholly unnecessary, now that all danger is past. I fear that the cause of your sadness lies in quite another direction."

Waldemar's hands trembled; he turned his face away.

"Hitherto I have not ventured to allude to this subject," Fabian went on, hesitatingly. "I see that it still pains you; shall I keep silent?"

Waldemar sighed deeply. "No," he answered; "say what you please; but first let me thank you for not telling my uncle. He has tortured me nearly to death with his questions, but I could not answer them. My mood that evening nearly cost you your life. I can not and will not deny what you already know."

"I know nothing; I only have my conjectures in regard to the scene I witnessed. For heaven's sake, Waldemar, what happened?"

"A childish folly, nothing more," Waldemar replied, with bitter irony; "a mere stupid whim not worth noticing,–at least so my mother wrote me day before yesterday. But I was in earnest, so terribly in earnest that nothing the future has in store for me can atone for my disappointment."

"Do you love the Countess Morynski?" asked Doctor Fabian, timidly.

"I have loved her–but that love is a thing of the past. She did her best to fascinate me; I now know that she was only playing a heartless game. The wound was deep, but it will heal. I shall conquer this weakness. I shall learn to forget and despise the girl who trifled with the holiest sentiment of my heart. But do me this favor: never mention the matter to my uncle, never speak of it again to me. I cannot talk about it, not even with you. Leave me to fight out the battle alone, and it will end all the sooner."

His quivering lips betrayed the anguish he suffered from any probing of the wound that was still so recent. Fabian saw that he must desist.

"I will obey your wish and be silent," he said. "You shall never hear an allusion to this subject from my lips in future."

"In future!" echoed Waldemar; "and will you then remain with me? I took it for granted that you would leave us immediately upon your recovery. I would like to have you stay, but I cannot ask it when I have made so poor a return for your kindness, and so nearly caused your death."

Doctor Fabian again grasped his pupil's hand. "I know that you have suffered far more than I," he said; "and one good thing has resulted from my illness. It has proved–you will pardon me for saying it–that you really have a heart."

Waldemar did not seem to hear the words, he was lost in thought. At length he said, "Why did you save my life at the risk of your own? I thought no one cared for me."

"No one? Not even your foster-father?"

"Ah, yes! Uncle Witold, perhaps–but I thought him the only one."

"I have proved to you that he is not the only one," replied the tutor, gravely.

"I deserved this of you least of all," said Waldemar. "But I have learned a severe lesson, so severe that I shall not forget it as long as I live. When I brought you home bleeding on that ill-fated night, when the doctor gave you up for lost, I knew how a murderer feels. If you are really willing to remain with me, you shall not regret it. I have sworn by your couch of pain to overcome that ungovernable fury which has all my life made me deaf to reason, blind to my own good and the good of others. You will have no further cause to complain of me."

"I wish you would promise me this with another look and tone," said Doctor Fabian. "I have no idea of leaving you, but in our future intercourse I would rather contend with your old impetuous nature, than endure this forced, hopeless resignation. Your manner does not please me."

Waldemar rose with a quick, repellent movement, as if to avoid further scrutiny. "I wish you would make your conversation less personal," he said; "the room is close, shall I raise the window?"

The doctor sighed, feeling that he could not win his pupil's confidence. But all further conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Herr Witold.

"Waldemar," he said, "Prince Zulieski is downstairs, and wishes to see you."

"Leo?" asked Waldemar, in astonishment.

"Yes, Leo. Go down at once, and I will remain with Doctor Fabian."

Waldemar left the room, and Herr Witold took his place at the bedside.

"The Zulieskis are in a great hurry to get Waldemar back again," he said. "Three days ago a letter came from her Highness the princess-mother. I am very sure that Waldemar has not answered it; the mother could not induce him to leave your side, and now comes the brother in person; and a very handsome lad the young Polish stripling is! But he is too much like his mother to suit my taste. Speaking of the princess and her son reminds me that I have not yet asked about your discoveries at C–. In my anxiety for you, I entirely forgot the fact of my sending you there on a sort of voyage of discovery."

Doctor Fabian cast down his eyes, and in his embarrassment pulled nervously at the coverlet. "Unfortunately, I have nothing to communicate, Herr Witold," he said; "my visit at C– was very short, and I told you before I went that I had no skill as a diplomatist."

"Then you learned nothing? That is unfortunate. But how is it with Waldemar? Have you given him a good talking to?"

"He has promised me that he will endeavor to forget the past."

"God be praised! I knew that you could do anything with him you liked. We have both done the lad wrong in thinking he had no feeling. I had no idea he would lay the affair so to heart."

"Neither had I," said the doctor, with a sigh whose import Herr Witold did not understand.

Waldemar found his brother awaiting him. The young prince, who upon his arrival had been greatly surprised at sight of the old, low-roofed house and dilapidated outbuildings of Altenhof, was still more astonished at the plainness and bareness of the room into which he was shown. He had all his life been accustomed to lofty and elegant apartments, and could not understand why his brother, while possessed of such vast wealth, could be content to live in so humble a manner. The parlor of that hired villa at C–, which seemed so inferior to himself and his mother, was luxurious in comparison with the reception-room at Altenhof.

He was musing over these strange discrepancies of fortune, and asking himself why luxurious tastes were given to him without means to gratify them, while his brother, who was possessed of unbounded wealth, cared little for those advantages wealth offers, when Waldemar entered the room. Leo advanced to meet him, and said hastily, as if he would discharge an unpleasant duty as quickly as possible,–

"You are surprised at my coming; but as you have neither visited us nor answered my mother's letter, no alternative remained but for me to come to you."

It was easy to see that the young man did not make the visit of his own accord. His greeting and manner were evidently forced; he seemed to feel in duty bound to offer his hand, but failed in the attempt to do so.

Waldemar did not or would not notice his embarrassment. "Do you come at your mother's bidding?" he asked.

Leo flushed deeply at the thought of his aversion to an interview, which his mother had secured only by the exercise of her whole maternal authority.

"I do," he finally replied.

"I am sorry, Leo, that you have been compelled to do what you must feel to be a humiliation. I certainly would have spared you this visit if I had been consulted."

"Mamma thinks that you have been insulted in our house, insulted by me, and that I ought to take the first step toward reconciliation. I admit that she is right; and, believe me, Waldemar, if it had not been for this conviction, I would not have come–never!"

"I fully believe you," returned Waldemar.

"Pray don't make it so difficult for me to apologize!" Leo exclaimed, extending his hand, but Waldemar refused to take it.

"I can accept no apology from my mother or from you; neither of you were to blame for the insult I received in your house; and, besides, it is already forgotten. Let us drop the subject."

Leo's surprise increased every moment; he could not reconcile himself to this unexpected indifference, so far removed from Waldemar's terrible excitement scarce a week ago.

"I did not think you could forget so quickly," he replied, in undisguised perplexity.

"Where I despise, I forget easily."

"Waldemar, this is too severe!" exclaimed Leo. "You do Wanda wrong; she has herself requested me to say to you–"

"Spare me the message, I implore you! My idea of the affair differs entirely from yours; but let us say no more about it. Under the circumstances, my mother cannot expect me to bid her good-by in person; for the present I must avoid her house. I shall not go to Villica this fall as we had arranged; I may visit it next year."

The young prince frowned. "Do you think that after this icy message I am compelled to take home from you, we can still become your guests?"

Waldemar crossed his arms and leaned against the mantel. "You mistake; you and my mother are not at all concerned in this affair; it has nothing whatever to do with your stay at Villica. But you have opposed going there from the first; may I know the reason?"

"Because to live there humiliates me. Mamma may decide upon what she thinks best for herself, but, as for me, I shall never set foot–"

Waldemar laid his hand soothingly upon his brother's arm. "Do not say that, Leo; the hasty promise might prove a restraint to you. I have offered my mother a home at Villica, and she has accepted it. This was simply my duty; it would disgrace me to have her dependent on any other person than myself. You need have no sensitiveness in the matter; you are going to the university, and will only pass your vacations at Villica. A mother need feel no humiliation in accepting a home and support from her eldest son; and what her pride can tolerate you certainly will be able to endure."

"I know that we are both entirely dependent upon you, and I also know that I have insulted you, although not intentionally and deliberately. How can I accept everything from your hands?"

"You have not insulted me," said Waldemar, gravely. "On the contrary, you are the only one who has been true to me. I thank you for opening my eyes to Wanda's real character, and to the plot she laid for me. All enmity between us is at an end."

Leo was overwhelmed with mortification; he well knew that jealousy alone had driven him to the step which called forth his brother's thanks. He had come prepared for a violent scene with Waldemar, and this apparent indifference and self-control quite unmanned him. He was still too superficial a judge of human nature to see or to suspect what lay concealed beneath Waldemar's strange composure, and what it cost him. He accepted it for genuine; but he did perceive clearly that his brother was resolved to allow him and his mother no reparation for the past, and that he still insisted upon giving them a home at Villica. He knew that he himself would be incapable of such magnanimity, and on this very account he felt it more deeply.

"Waldemar, I sincerely regret the wrong we have done you in the past," he said, extending his hand. This time the movement was not forced; it came from his whole heart, and his brother accepted it.

"Promise me that you will accompany our mother to Villica," said Waldemar; "if you really think you have wronged me, this shall be your reparation."

Leo bowed assent, and his opposition was at an end.

"Will you not bid our mother good-bye?" Leo asked, after a slight pause. "Your neglect to do so will pain her deeply."

Waldemar's lips curled in a derisive smile as he answered, "She will endure it. Good-bye, Leo, I am very glad to have seen you once more."

The young prince gazed for a moment into his brother's face, and then yielding to a sudden impulse, threw his arms around his neck. Waldemar submitted to the embrace in silence, but did not return it, although it was the first between them.

"Farewell," Leo said, distantly, unclasping his arms.

A few moments after, the carriage which had brought the unexpected visitor rolled out of the gate, and Waldemar entered the house. Whoever now saw him with his quivering lips, drawn features, and fixed melancholy glance, must have understood the nature of the composure he had maintained during this whole interview. His wounded pride had asserted itself; Leo must not see that he suffered, and least of all tell it in C–. But now that self-control was no longer needful, the wound bled anew. Waldemar's love had been violent and impetuous like his whole nature; it had been the first tender emotion aroused in the heart of this isolated, uncultured youth. He had adored Wanda with all the ardor of a first passion, and the sudden annihilation of his cherished ideal had wrought a radical change in his whole being.

CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW RÉGIME AT VILLICA

Villica Castle, which gave name to the broad territory surrounding it, formed the central point of a large number of estates lying very near the Polish border. So extensive a landed property is seldom found in the possession of one individual, and seldom does a proprietor have so little care of his broad acres as the elder Herr Nordeck had for Villica. During his lifetime the estates had no organized, judicious management. He had acquired his property in the way of speculation, and remained a speculator to the end. He had been fitted neither socially nor practically for the position of a wealthy landlord. He had leased all his farms and estates with the exception of Villica, his own place of residence, and this was given over to the care of a superintendent. The chief revenue of the estates came from the extensive forests which covered nearly two thirds of the land, and required the assistance of a whole army of foresters, who formed a sort of society by themselves.

Herr Witold, who, at Nordeck's death, was left guardian of the infant heir and manager of the property, did not change the existing order of affairs. Although well fitted to control a small estate like Altenhof, every detail of which passed through his hands, he was not qualified for the far more difficult task of superintending the vast concerns of Villica; he was a poor manager, and a worse disciplinarian. Having a profound faith in human nature, and believing most persons honest as himself, he accepted the bills and receipts handed him without question, and conscientiously invested all returns in the interest of his ward. While he flattered himself that his duties were thoroughly discharged, he really allowed the officials to do as they pleased. Such management would have brought ruin to a less valuable estate, but it could not irretrievably injure Nordeck's property; for if thousands were lost, hundreds of thousands still remained; the immense income of the property not only covered any chance deficiency, but went to swell the original amount. This income, under proper management, might have been far greater, but neither Witold nor the young heir cared to increase it. Very soon after attaining his majority, Waldemar went to the university, and as he passed his vacations in travelling, he had not visited Villica for several years.

Villica Castle formed a striking contrast to most of the residences of the neighboring gentry, which scarce deserved the name of castle, and whose gradual dilapidation and decay could be concealed by no attempts at outward splendor. Villica bore its honors proudly as an old princely and seigniorial residence, dating back for nearly two centuries, from that brilliant epoch of Poland when the power of the nobility equaled their wealth, and when their residences were scenes of a splendor and luxury seldom known in our day. The palace could not really be called beautiful; it would scarce have found favor in an artist's eye. In its plan and construction it bore evidences of uncultivated, almost barbaric tastes, but the massiveness of its proportions and the grandeur of its location made its general effect very imposing. In spite of all the changes and alterations more modern ideas had given it, Castle Villica still retained its original character; the solid walls, with their long rows of windows, rose grandly and picturesquely from the extensive park encircled by primeval forests.

For many years after Herr Nordeck's death the castle had remained uninhabited. The young heir came seldom; he was always accompanied by his guardian, and his visits were very brief; but when the former mistress of Villica, the now widowed Princess Zulieski, again took up her abode there, the old place wore a different aspect. The long-closed apartments were reopened, and their original splendor was fully restored. Waldemar had made over to his mother all the revenues of the estate immediately belonging to the castle; these revenues, although forming only a small portion of his income, were ample for the princess and her younger son, allowing the lady even that large sum which she required to live "conformably to her position." She saved nothing of the liberal amount placed at her disposal, and her surroundings and style of living were as elegant as they had been when she came a young bride to Villica, and when her husband still took delight in displaying his wealth to her and to her relatives.

It was the beginning of October. The autumn wind blew chill over the forests, whose foliage had begun to put on those hues so beautiful and yet so sad, which tell of speedy decay and dissolution. The sun vainly struggled to pierce the dense mists that enveloped the landscape, and it was high noon today ere his rays illumined the state parlor of Villica, and the room adjoining, which the princess called her study, and where most of her time was spent. It was a large apartment, with high walls and vaulted ceilings, deep window recesses, and a huge fireplace in which a wood-fire was now burning.

The heavy, green velvet curtains were thrown back, admitting the full sunlight, which revealed the massive splendor of the furniture, green being the prevailing color in the carpet and upholstery. The princess and her brother, Count Morynski, sat there alone. The count and his daughter often came from their estate to pass days and even weeks at Villica; and they had come to-day, intending to make a long visit. The prince was looking much older than at our first meeting with him: his hair was gray, his brow more furrowed; but otherwise his grave, expressive face had not changed. The princess did not look a day older; the features of the still handsome woman were as cold and proud, her manner as haughty and distant, as ever. She had laid aside deep mourning, but still wore black of a very rich material, which was exceedingly becoming to her. She was engaged in earnest conversation with her brother.

"I do not understand how this news can surprise you," she said; "we should have been prepared for it long ago. I have always wondered how Waldemar could remain so long away from his estates."

"It is this very circumstance that makes me surprised at his coming now," returned the count. "When he has so long avoided Villica, why does he come so suddenly, and without any previous intimation. What is the object of his visit?"

"O, merely to hunt," said the princess; "he inherits his father's passion for the chase. I am convinced that he chose the university of J– solely from its nearness to a forest, and that, instead of attending the lectures, he has been roaming about all day long with his rifle and game-bag. He probably passed his time in the same way on his travels, he really understands nothing thoroughly but the chase."

"He could not come at a worse time for us. Just now everything depends upon your remaining absolute mistress here. My estate lies too far distant from the frontier; there we are watched on all sides, and meet with obstacles at every turn. We must retain control of Villica."

"I know it, and I shall take care that it remains in our hands. You are right: Waldemar's visit comes most inopportunely, but I cannot prevent his visiting his own estates. We must exercise all the greater precaution."

"Precaution alone will not answer," returned the count, impatiently. "As matters stand, we must give up all our plans while Waldemar is in the house; and delays are dangerous."

"This will not be needful; he will be within doors very little, unless I mistake the attraction our forests will have for his Nimrod nature. Hunting was his father's mania, making him indifferent to all else; Waldemar resembles him perfectly in this respect. We shall seldom have sight of him; he will remain in the woods all day, and will not pay the slightest attention to what is going on within doors. The only thing here that can possibly interest him is his father's large collection of weapons, which we will gladly make over to him."

The princess said this with a sort of compassionate irony; but the count answered, doubtfully and hesitatingly,–

"You have not seen Waldemar for four years; then he obeyed you in all things. I hope you can as easily influence him now."

"I think I can; he is not so hard to manage as you suppose. If you yield for the moment to his rude impetuosity, and make him believe that he will have his own way in any event, you have him completely in your power. If we remind him daily that he is absolute master of Villica, he will never think of becoming so in reality. I do not consider him intelligent enough to make a thorough examination into affairs here. We need have no concern."

"As I have met Waldemar only twice, I must depend entirely upon your judgment. When did you receive his letter?"

"This morning, an hour before your arrival. We may expect him very soon. He writes in his usual laconic style, avoiding all details."

"Is he coming alone?" asked the count, gravely.

"His former tutor, who is his constant companion, will be with him. I thought I might gain some definite information from this man in regard to my son's studies at the university; but I was deceived in him. In answer to my inquiries, I obtained nothing but some learned disquisitions upon special studies,–not a word of what I desired to know. This Doctor Fabian is one of the most unobtrusive and harmless of men. You need fear nothing from his presence nor his influence, for he really has no influence."

"Waldemar is the one with whom we have to do; if you think we need fear no strict observation from him–"

"No close observation, at all events; nothing like that to which we have been subjected for months," interrupted the princess. "I thought the superintendent had taught us precaution."

"Yes, this man Frank and his whole household are playing the spy upon us," exclaimed Count Morynski, vehemently. "I cannot understand, Maryna, why you do not rid yourself of such an intrusive person."

The princess smiled in conscious superiority.

"Give yourself no further uneasiness, Bronislaw," she said; "the man will leave in a few days. I could not dismiss him; he has held his position for twenty years, and has managed excellently. I preferred to treat him in such a manner as to induce him to resign. He has done so orally; the formal notice will not be long deferred. I preferred that it should come from his side, as Waldemar's arrival is so near."

"It was high time," returned the count, with a smile of intense satisfaction. "He was beginning to be dangerous to us. Unfortunately, we shall be obliged to tolerate his presence a while longer; his contract doubtless specifies some months' notice."

"Certainly; but I think he will prefer to leave at once. He has for a long time been above his position; it is said that he proposes buying an estate for himself; he in fact possesses a very independent spirit. If I can only manage to bring about a scene in which he feels his pride wounded, he will leave at once. This will not be difficult, now that he has resolved to go.–What, Leo, are you already back from your walk?"

These last words were addressed to the young prince, who now entered the room.

"Wanda did not wish to remain longer in the park," he said. "I hope I do not intrude upon your conversation."

"Not at all," said the count, rising. "We have just been notified of Waldemar's speedy return, and were discussing its unavoidable results. One of them will be that Wanda and I must shorten our visit; but we shall remain and take part in the festivities arranged for to-morrow evening, and then return home the next day. I do not think he will be here before that time; in any event, we cannot stay in the house as his guests."

"Why not?" asked the princess. "Is it because of that childish affair? Wanda has certainly forgotten it, and you will not find Waldemar, after the lapse of four years, still brooding over that fancied insult. His heart was never deeply enlisted, for only a week after he told Leo, with the utmost composure, that he had forgotten all about the affair. Our remaining at Villica is conclusive proof that he cherishes no resentment. The best course for us all is to entirely ignore the whole occurrence. If Wanda meets him cordially as his cousin, he will scarcely recollect that he ever had a boyish fancy for her."

"I quite approve of your idea," said the count, turning to leave the room, "and I shall mention it to Wanda."