The late afternoon sun of a bright September day shone through the thick-leaved boughs of the ancient gigantic chestnuts which shaded the avenues and grass-plats of the broad park stretching behind the castle of S., one of those magnificently situated country seats in which the interior of France is so rich. This castle, on the western declivity of a precipitous range of hills, which at this point unfolded all their widely-romantic beauty, as well as the village in its immediate vicinity, had just been seized as quarters for the soldiery. A Rhenish landwehr regiment, after having taken part in all the August battles had been ordered back here to protect the mountain region from roving bands of French fusileers, and to keep the passes free. It was a dangerous and arduous post for the rather small detachment, which, many miles distant from its comrades, almost daily undertook excursions to the mountains, thereby placing itself in constant danger of an attack for which this region was only too favorable. The soldiery lay in the village, while the officers had quartered themselves close by in the castle, whose inmates had naturally fled. These gentlemen, for the moment at least, seemed to have surrendered themselves to an idleness of late only rarely offered them; from the terrace echoed loud talking and laughing, blended with the ringing of glasses.
At the entrance of the park, under one of these giant chestnuts, lay a landwehr officer stretched upon the tall grass, and gazing up into the thick leafy roof through which the setting sun threw hither and thither its palpitating rays. The floral treasures of the garden, arranged with great art and care, and now resplendent with all the summer's magnificence and luxuriance, appeared to fetter his attention just as little as the sound of his comrades' merriment coming down to him from the castle. He raised his head only when an approaching footstep startled him from his dream.
A man of about thirty years, his uniform and the bands upon his arm designating him as a surgeon, came up the path as if in search of some one, and halted before the reclining officer.
"I thought as much! Here you lie dreaming again, while I, by the sweat of my brow, am winning popularity for you. You really do not concern yourself about it in the least!"
The man addressed half rose and supported himself on his elbows. "I have a duty to perform," he said. "I must go down to the village at four o'clock."
"And for that reason you must make yourself invisible at three? Do not deny it, Walter, you ran away from us because you remarked that I had the horrible intention of reading aloud a poem, a copy of which I forced from you. But flight does not avail you; on your return, you will be received with general acclamation. Our major swears that he never heard anything like it his life; the adjutant was just as enthusiastic in its praise. You know he is a sort of amateur critic, well versed in æsthetics, and from the very first you wonderfully impressed him with your learning. He reminds us how highly favored we are by destiny in being able to call a poet our companion-in-arms, a poet Germany will one day salute as it greatest genius. Our lieutenant swears by all the gods of the upper and lower world, that if the French had possessed a bard who before the battle had inspired them with such songs, they would have given us more to do; but your poetry has had the most stupendous effect upon our fat captain; it has made him forget his dram!"
"Stop this nonsense!" said the young officer half in anger, as he sank back to his reclining posture.
"Nonsense!I give you my word that I have only repeated literally to you, what was said. Did you hear the glasses ring? All the officers were just then solemnly guaranteeing you immortality. I am sent to seize the flying singer, and bring him back, living or dead. They clamorously demand your presence."
"Spare me! You know how much I dislike such ovations."
"And again do you refuse to come? Well, it is just like you! We ought by this time to have learned that we can have Lieutenant Fernow's company only when some service is required, or some fight is at hand. You run away from all recognition of your talents, as any other man would run from punishment. You must cease this, Walter; it really is not fitting for the future poet of Germany."
Fernow had meantime risen; he had put on the helmet which lay near him in the grass, and bound his sword more firmly. One who two months ago had seen the learned professor of the university of B. would certainly not have recognized him in this young warrior, whose military coat fitted the slender form excellently, as if he had all his life worn no other. The sickly pallor and the deep, shadowy rings about the eyes, had vanished with the bowed form and the unhealthy appearance. The forehead and cheeks were deeply sunburned, the blood coursed vigorously through the veins, the blonde hair, little cared for, waved in luxuriant profusion under the helmet; the once smooth chin wore a heavy beard; the upright military bearing seemed to cost the present landwehr lieutenant not the slightest effort, and the once delicate hands, with a strong grip, now seized the sword. These six weeks in the field had wrought wonders; it was evident at the first glance--Doctor Stephen's radical cure had been affected.
"You place too much value on my songs," he said evasively. "The verses, written upon the inspiration of the moment, inspire only for the moment, and when the excitement which called them forth is ended, they will fall into forgetfulness."
"Do you think so?" asked the surgeon gravely. "I may be allowed to doubt it. In your verses resounds more than a mere battle-cry, although you may, perhaps, in future, thank the war for having roused your slumbering talent and for showing you the path to future renown."
"Perhaps!" said Fernow gloomily. "And perhaps, also, a bullet may to-day or to-morrow make an end of all the promised renown?"
"Can you not throw off this eternal melancholy?" asked the doctor chidingly. "Walter, I really believe you are bearing an unhappy love around with you."
"Not at all!" cried Fernow passionately, and turned away. The deep flush which earlier had suffused his pale face at every violent excitement, again appeared, although less visible in the bronzed countenance.
This sudden emotion had escaped the surgeon. He had been a younger colleague of Doctor Stephen, a private tutor in the university of B. He and Fernow had known each other sufficiently to exchange a passing salutation as they met. This had lasted for three years, but the army life had in a few hours made them acquaintances, and in a few weeks, friends.
The always merry young doctor laughed aloud at his own comic idea. "I have really been very curious as to the where and when! Since we have been in the field, I have scarcely stirred from your side, and in B. you never so much as looked at a woman, for which reason, the fairer half of the city, with good reason, declared you outlawed and proscribed." Fernow made no answer; he busied himself with the hilt of his sword.
"But Doctor Stephen was right with his diagnosis," continued the surgeon after a momentary pause, "although I would not believe it when he came over to H. to commend you to my care, he having heard that I was assigned to your regiment. I could with a good conscience, promise to do my best, for I was convinced that you would be the first patient, to fall into my hands. The first week, I would not have given a penny for your life, but when the marches and hardships began, when our men fell in scores beneath the fiery August sun, and you still held out; when amid all the over exertion and deprivation which sometimes lay low the strongest, you grew only healthier and more robust then I took off my hat to the superior discernment of my old colleague. Walter, you have one of the best constitutions, a really magnificent constitution, which only needed to renounce the study and the writing-desk, to gain its full development; and you have found the right, although somewhat unusual remedy for your nerves. The thunder of the cannon has thoroughly re-established them! This will be a surprise to everyone when you return to B."
"When I return?"
"Forever and eternally, these presentiments of death!" cried the surgeon, with an impatient gesture. "You cling to them with a genuine passion."
"Because I feel them!"
"Nonsense! If there is a man bullet-proof it is you! Do not take it ill of me, Walter, but your rushing to the front in all these battles, borders on insanity. Courage need not become reckless; but where excitement urges you on, you see and hear nothing. Your comrades all say this."
"And still there is not one among them, who a little while ago, would have owned that I possessed any courage at all," returned Fernow, with some bitterness.
"I know that," said the surgeon, frankly. "But to tell the truth you used to have little enough of the hero in you. You were entirely a man of the pen, who wholly absorbed in his books had nothing to do with the outside world. Now that is all a thing of the past, as well as the error of your comrades. Since the first battle, none doubt your courage."
Fernow smiled sadly. His eyes alone had not changed. There lay within them the old dreaminess and the old sadness.
At the entrance of the park a heavy tread became audible, and a giant form loomed up behind the latticed gate. Frederic's huge figure well became his uniform, and he seemed to be aware of this, for there was an inconcealable self-esteem in the rigid military bearing, with which he approached both gentlemen.
"Herr Lieutenant, I come to announce to you that down in the city a carriage has just arrived with some English people, who wish to pass through our lines to the mountains."
Fernow turned quickly, revery and melancholy had all at once vanished; he was now every inch a soldier. "That is impossible!" he said. "No one must pass."
"So the Englishman has been told; but he will not submit. He has papers," he says, "and wishes to speak with the Major or the Lieutenant who is upon duty."
Fernow glanced at his watch. "Very well," he said, "I will come; I must, in any event, now go to the village. It is a very unpleasant duty," he added, turning to the surgeon, "I must send back harmless travellers whom perhaps important business urges forward, but the orders are strict and cannot be evaded."
"Unpleasant, do you call it?" laughed the surgeon. "It gives me great satisfaction to show these arrogant sons of Albion who, with their impudence and blasé manners, spread themselves over our whole Rhine country, who is lord and master here. In their own land, unfortunately, we have never ventured it."
"Are you going with me to the village!"
"No, I am going back to the castle. I leave you alone to manage your Englishmen and your triumph; for the latter that priggish volunteer, that E., has already cared. He snatched your poem from me to read to his comrades. And listen, Walter, when you have gone your rounds, come for half an hour at least, to our quarters. You are falling past rescue in the esteem of our captain, who alone refuses to recognize in you a future celebrity,--you do not drink enough for him."
With a laughing adieu, the surgeon returned to the castle, while Fernow started for the village. Frederic stamped on behind not taking his eyes for a moment from his master. But these eyes had an entirely changed expression. Once they had gazed at the professor, only with the anxiety one shows in guarding a sick, helpless child that may easily come to harm; now there lay a silent awe, a boundless admiration in the glance which followed the slightest motion of the "Lieutenant." The devotion of the faithful servant had withstood more than a fiery trial; it had become proverbial in the company.
At the entrance of the village, before an inn, halted two carriages which had arrived, one after the other. The first, which had come a quarter of an hour soonest, had been first ordered back, but its occupants would not submit to the necessity imposed upon them. Unfortunately, he understood no German, the soldiers no English, and they were obliged to carry on their conversation in the most execrable French--a very difficult and tedious proceeding. But the stranger, who resorted to his papers, had at last succeeded in obtaining a promise that his case should be laid before the proper officer, and still excited by the conversation, with grim forehead and contracted eyebrows, he had just entered the door of the inn, when the second carriage drove up. A gentleman stepped from it and approached the house. The eyes of the two met, and an expression of surprise broke at the same moment from the lips of each.
"Mr. Atkins!"
"Henry!"
"How come you here?" asked Alison, who was first to recover from his astonishment.
"I came from N. And you?"
"Direct from Paris! I dared not remain there longer, the investment began to grow serious. But I have been detained here; they will not allow me to continue my journey."
"And they will not allow us to pass."
"Us!" repeated Alison slowly. "Are you not alone?!" And as if startled by a sudden idea, he added hastily: "I cannot hope to find Miss Forest in your company?"
"Yes, she comes with me."
Alison was about to rush to the carriage, but he forebore. Was he abashed at the involuntary movement, or was it the remembrance of their last meeting, that all at once allayed his excitement? Enough, he controlled his emotion, and with a calmness all too indifferent to be natural, he turned again to Atkins.
"And how came you, and above all Miss Forest, here at the theatre of war?"
Atkins had foreseen the question, and was prepared. "How? Well, we wished for an inside view of the war; but in a week's time we have become weary enough of it and as you see, are now upon our return home. Doctor and Mrs. Stephen will be triumphant; they were beside themselves at what they called Miss Jane's eccentricities and my compliance."
A cold mocking smile played around Alison's lips. "But I am not so credulous as Doctor and Mrs. Stephen. This excuse may satisfy them, but I know Miss Jane too well to suppose her guilty of so aimless and romantic a thirst for adventure. She would be the last to undertake such a journey, and she would hardly have found in you so obsequious an escort."
Atkins bit his lips. He might have foreseen the answer.
"Will you have the kindness to explain to me the reason of Miss Forest's coming here?" asked Alison, even more sharply than before.
"Ask her yourself!" cried Atkins angrily. He thought it best to throw the entire responsibility upon Jane rather than betray any of her motives.
"I will do so!" replied Henry morosely, and stepped to the carriage.
His appearance had by this time ceased to be a surprise to Jane; she had seen him leave the house and enter into conversation with Atkins. She at once gained complete mastery over herself. Whatever might have passed through her soul during these last momentous hours. Mr. Alison saw only a perfectly immovable face, upon which was no trace of anxiety or passion. She had again enveloped herself in that icy dignity which had made her so unapproachable in B., and this ice now froze Henry as he stepped to the carriage to greet her. This manner decided Alison's whole bearing. He could in a case of necessity, enforce a right; but he was too proud to betray an affection in the face of such coldness.
With chilling politeness, he lifted her from the carriage, offered her his arm, and conducted her to a bench before the inn, while in a few words he informed her and Atkins that the matter in dispute had been referred to the proper officer, and he hoped that after an examination of their papers, no further hindrance would be placed in the way of their journey.
Atkins seemed to be of the same opinion; he went back to the carriage to give the driver some directions, leaving the two alone.
Jane had thrown herself down upon the bench; she knew that an explanation of her presence here would be demanded. Was she inclined to give it? It did not appear that she was.
Henry showed no haste to question her, he only gazed searchingly into her face; but it was in vain, she remained calm beneath his glance.
"It was a great surprise to me to find you here, Jane!" he began at last.
"And your coming was one to me. I expected no such meeting."
"Under the circumstances, my return was to be expected, I intended to go directly to B. where I certainly hoped to find you; but the place seems to possess small attractions for you."
In spite of the sharp scrutiny of his manner, it still betrayed an involuntary satisfaction; although Miss Forest gave him no explanation, he would far rather see her here in the midst of this tumult of war and exposed to its dangers, than safe at home with her relations in B.
Jane was spared an answer, for at this moment, Atkins returned; Henry frowned, but did not seem inclined to speak upon this subject in the presence of a third person. For some minutes there was an uncomfortable silence in the little group; further questions over the where and when were in the minds of all, and yet each avoided uttering them. Atkins at last began to converse on another subject.
"And what say you of the events which have taken place since we parted? Had you ever dreamed them possible?"
"No!" was the short, morose answer. "I was quite of the contrary opinion."
"And so was I! We judged wrongly, as it appears! This is the tame, patient, unpractical nation of thinkers! But I always said that in every one of these Germans lay hidden something of the bearish nature, and this seems now to have broken out all at once, among the whole people. It is no longer a struggle with changing fortunes; they throw down and crush all that comes in their way. An unblest success!"
"But we are not at the end yet," said Alison coldly. "The Emperor's mercenary hordes are beaten, but the republic summon the whole land to arms; nation now stands arrayed against nation. We shall yet see if the German bear does not at last find his master!"
"I wish he would find him!" growled Atkins surlily. "I wish he could be driven back over his Rhine, so that the intoxication and pride of victory might for all time be taken from him, and he again learn to dance tamely and patiently as when--"
The American got no further in his pious wishes for the future weal of Germany. Jane had suddenly risen, and stood erect and tall before him; her eyes flamed down upon the little man as if she would annihilate him.
"You quite forgot Mr. Atkins, that I too am a German by birth, and the child of German parents," she said.
Atkins stood there as if thunderstruck. "You, Miss Jane?" he asked, scarce believing his ears.
"Yes,I!and I will not hear my fatherland spoken of in this way. Keep your revilings and your hopes for Mr. Alison's ears; he shares your wishes; but do not utter them in my presence; I will bear it no longer!"
And throwing back her head with a gesture of lofty scorn, she turned away from the two men, and vanished inside the door of the house.
"What was that?" asked Alison, after a momentary pause.
Atkins seemed just to have recovered from the consternation into which this scene had thrown him. "That was the father once again! Mr. Forest just as he lived and moved! That was the very tone, the very glance with which he so imperiously felled down all that opposed him! I have never before encountered this in Jane; have you, Henry?"
Alison was silent; his eyes, with a consuming glow, had rested upon Jane during the whole, time she had stood before Atkins; they now seemed fixed upon the place where she had vanished, and there was far, very far more of admiration than of anger in their glance.
"I thought Mr. Forest hated his fatherland," he said at last, slowly, "and that he educated his daughter in that hatred."
"Oh, yes, he quarrelled with Germany his whole life long, and in his dying hour, like a despairing man, clung to its remembrance. We never thoroughly learn to know this people, Henry! I was for twenty years in Forest's house, I shared sorrow and joy with him, I knew his most secret affairs; and still, forever and eternally, one thing lay between us, this one which the most bitter experiences, the most energetic will, which the associations of twenty years could not banish from the father's heart, and which now bursts its barriers in the daughter who has inherited all this, whose education is American through and through:--this German blood!"
They were interrupted. The officer they had been expecting now appeared in the village street, accompanied by a soldier. Henry advanced some steps to meet him, and saluted him politely; then summoning all his bad French he began to explain his embarrassments; but after the first hasty words, he spoke more slowly, then stopped, began anew, and stopped again, and at last was wholly silent; his eyes fixed, staring, and immovable, upon the face of the officer.
He too was equally surprised; he stepped back a few paces, but in so doing, he had also approached Mr. Atkins, who now, with an expression of mingled surprise and terror, cried:
"Professor Fernow!"
Henry trembled; this outcry gave him a certainty as to whose eyes they were which had beamed upon him from under the helmet. Every drop of blood vanished from the face of the young American; with one single glance he took in the whole appearance of the officer standing before him; a second flew back to the house where Jane still lingered. He seemed to comprehend something. A wild half suppressed "Ah!" broke from his lips, then he set his teeth firmly, and was silent. Atkins had meantime saluted Lieutenant Fernow, who with calm politeness now turned to both gentlemen.
"I regret that it must be I who announce to you unpleasant tidings; but the desired continuation of your journey is impossible. No one can pass; the guards have strict orders to make everyone turn back, whoever he may be."
"But, Professor Fernow, we must go on!" said Atkins in vexation, "and you know us well enough to assure the authorities that we are not spies."
"It is impossible to make any exceptions. I am sorry, Mr. Atkins, but the passes are guarded, and no civilian is allowed to pass from this side into the mountain region. It is possible the order may be recalled to-morrow, as we are expecting re-inforcements; but to-day, it stands in full force."
"Well, then, you will at least have the goodness to inform us where, according to your august decision, we are to pass the night. We cannot go back; the several places through which we have passed are thronged with soldiers, and we are not allowed to go forward; here in the village we can scarce count upon entertainment. Are we to camp in our carriages?"
"That will not be necessary. You are--alone?"
There should have been no question in these words; the answer was self-evident; still there lay in them an unconscious hesitation.
Atkins was about to answer, but Alison cut short his reply. He had made his conclusion.
"Yes," he said very emphatically.
"Then I think I can offer you the hospitality of my comrades. We have room enough in the castle, and our acquaintanceship," here a smile flitted over his face, "guards you from every possible suspicion. Excuse me just for a moment."
He stepped to the guard standing near, and exchanged a word with him.
"And this is the former professor of B. University!" muttered Atkins with suppressed anger. "The bookworm has such a military bearing, one would think he had all his life carried a sword at his side; and there is not the least trace of the consumption to be seen about him now."
"But for God's sake, Henry, explain to me what you are telling that falsehood for--"
"Silence!" interrupted Alison in a low, passionate voice. "No word to him of the presence of Miss Forest, not a syllable! I will be back in a moment."
He vanished in the house; Atkins gazed after him shaking his head.
Now it was Alison who was becoming incomprehensible.
Fernow had meantime returned. "Has your young countryman left us?" he asked after a hasty glance around.
"He will return directly," said Atkins, and in fact, Henry now stepped out of the doorway. Jane was leaning on his arm, and he was talking to her so excitedly and persistently, that she did not notice the figure of the young officer who stood with his back to her, until she was close to him. Then Fernow turned around.
For a moment, the two stood opposite each other, in silent, breathless astonishment. But then as it were the brightest sunshine overspread Walter's face; his blue eyes gleamed with a passionate ardor, and lighted up with an infinite happiness; the whole nature of this man seemed all aglow with one mighty emotion;--the moment of reunion had betrayed all.
But other emotions were mirrored in Jane's eyes. She shrank back affrighted and deathly pale, and would have fallen, if Alison had not supported her. His arm held hers in an iron grasp, he pressed this arm against his breast, firmly and convulsively, but she felt it not. His eyes fastened themselves penetratingly upon both, not even the quiver of an eyelash escaped him, and a terrible expression, icy and of evil omen, lay upon his face. He needed no word, no declaration--he knew enough.
Fernow was first to recover his self-possession. He had looked only at Jane, not at Alison; he saw her alone.
"Miss Forest, I did not dream that I should also meetyouhere!" he said.
At the first tones of his voice, Henry felt from the contact of the hand resting upon his arm that Jane trembled from head to foot; he let the hand slowly fall, and this movement restored her equanimity.
"Professor Fernow--indeed--we supposed your regiment was already on the way to Paris."
The tone was abrupt and cold, and her glance shunned his; Jane knew that if she now met those eyes, all was lost.
The sunshine vanished from Walter's face; his eyes fell, and the old melancholy again returned. "We were ordered back to guard the passes," he said. His glance still sought hers, but always in vain.
"And so the repulsion we have met came from you? It must be your duty, Professor Fernow, and we submit." And with the last remnant of strength that was left her, Jane turned away from him and went back to Mr. Atkins.
Fernow's lips quivered. This was again the cold, unapproachable Miss Forest, and that moment of separation, which waking or dreaming, had never left his soul, which in all these storms and dangers, he had carried ever with him; even that moment was forgotten, vanished from her remembrance; she shrank from his glance as from something inimical, hated. That evening upon the Ruènberg again arose before him, and now as then, pride conquered bitterness. He turned away.
"Frederic!"
"Herr Lieutenant!"
"You will conduct this lady and these two gentlemen to the castle, to the Surgeon. Mr. Atkins will explain all to him, and he will communicate further with the major, Mr. Atkins, you know Doct. Behrend of B. I must confide you to his care; my duties for the present detain me in the village; I therefore beg you to excuse me."
Touching his military cap, he bade his adieux with a salutation designed for all three, and then strode hastily past the house to the meadow where the first outposts stood.
It was with a feeling of infinite satisfaction that Frederic placed himself at the head of the American trio, to conduct them to the castle. Of the conversation, which had been carried on in English, he had naturally understood nothing, and was therefore firmly convinced the hated individuals consigned to him by his lieutenant, were spies or traitors, upon whose secure keeping the salvation of the whole regiment hung. Proud and triumphant at the mission intrusted to him, with the most rigid military bearing, with head erect, he strode on, ready at the least effort at flight, to make use of his musket.
Happily, the Americans undertook nothing of the kind. The young pair went silently on ahead, without exchanging even a word; but Mr. Atkins, giving the escort a side glance, said sarcastically:
"See here, Mr. Frederic, for good or ill we are now entirely in your hands."
Frederic with immense self-importance looked down upon the little man; now indeed he was lord and master, but his mood became somewhat more gentle as he saw that the haughty American so perfectly understood his position.
"My lieutenant has ordered it!" he said emphatically; "and where my lieutenant is concerned, nothing happens wrong."
"You take a burden from my heart," said Atkins mockingly. "I am infinitely obliged to you for the gratifying intelligence that we are neither to be thrown into a dungeon nor bound in chains; but my best Mr. Frederic, this metamorphose of your lieutenant borders on the fabulous. The professor has become a military hero from head to foot. His learned Eminence now understands, as it seems, excellently, how to command, and already in six weeks, has learned to throw out orders about posts, and arrangements and comrades, as if he had grown up in the field, instead of in the study. What has his Highness done then with his former timidity and absent-mindedness?"
"Left it in B.," returned Frederic dryly, "with his books!"
At this answer, Atkins gazed at Frederic in utter astonishment.-- "Has the fellow really become intelligent!" he muttered. "Nothing now can happen after this!"
The vaunted intelligence was soon enough to have a trial. Ten minutes later, Frederic appeared on the terrace, where, with the exception of the major, who at this moment was in the castle, the other officers were sitting together. He marched right up to the surgeon. "I come from Herr Lieutenant Fernow! He sends you three spies, and wishes you to consult further with the major."
"Are you mad?" cried the surgeon with a loud laugh. "What am I to do with the spies? Are they wounded?"
"No, they are all three sound and healthy."
"Frederic, this is only another of your stupid freaks!" said the captain, thoughtfully draining his glass. "To the major, the lieutenant must have said."
"He said I must take them to the doctor," persisted Frederic, "because he comes from B. The niece of Doctor Stephen, the American Miss, is one of them."
"Miss Forest!" cried the surgeon, starting up. "Heaven and earth! Then Walter has a supreme happiness. Destiny now brings him the prize of war, and he cares nothing for it at all; sends the lady up here to us through an escort,--nobody in the whole world but Walter Fernow is capable of this!"
"Miss Forest! Who is Miss Forest? Tell us at once, Doctor!" echoed from all sides.
"Do not detain me, gentlemen!" cried the doctor excitedly. "I must go, for as it appears, a stupid error has been committed. Would you know who Miss Forest is? A relative of our first physician in B.; a young American lady, heiress to a million, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture, a meteor, which all B. admires and adores, and whose unhappy devotee I also confess myself to be. God be gracious to you Frederic, if you have been guilty of an incivility to her!"
He hastened away. But the brief sketches he had thrown off of Miss Forest, had electrified the whole company. The words, 'millionaire, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture,' had fallen like so many firebrands into the ears and hearts of the younger officers, and they all at once vowed to make the acquaintance of this interesting personage. But the æsthetic major rose solemnly and followed with long strides. The affair promised to be immensely romantic.
"Frederic," said the fat captain, who had been sitting at his drinking bowl in perfect repose of mind. "Frederic, you have again been guilty of a precious piece of stupidity."
Frederic stood there with open mouth, annihilated, quite cast down from the height of his self-importance. He threw a bewildered glance towards the entrance of the park, where his "spies" had been received with the most respectful politeness, and a second melancholy one upon the officer sitting near him, and lowering his head, he said with mournful acquiescence:
"I am at your command, Herr Captain."
Fernow had not counted too much on the hospitality of his comrades; the major more than fulfilled his promise. The journey could under no circumstances be pursued, but all were ready to receive the strangers for the night into the castle, where a number of finely-furnished unoccupied apartments stood at their disposal. Unfortunately, the hopes of the younger gentlemen as to a nearer acquaintance with the beautiful millionaire were doomed to disappointment. They only saw enough of her to verify the doctor's words that she was young and very beautiful; but Miss Forest did not seem inclined to receive the homage of this warlike circle. She was weary from excitement and the long journey, and after the unavoidable greeting and presentations, she withdrew at once to her chamber.
Doctor Behring looked melancholy, the other gentlemen disconcerted; but the young lady had really been pale as marble, and the few words she had spoken had cost her such apparent effort, that they could not seek to deny her the repose she so much needed. But her two companions could not decline the invitation of the gentlemen to join their social circle. Atkins, as usual, shone through his sarcastic humor, which to-night was more brilliant than ordinarily, since the test was imposed upon it of atoning for the silence of his companion. Here Alison's ignorance of German came to his aid, but the doctor, who politely assumed the office of interpreter, could scarce draw the simplest answers from the melancholy guest. He laid the fault of this persistent silence to his own defective English, and consoled the young man with assurances of the speedy return of his friend Fernow, who was perfect master of the language. Henry's lips quivered; with icy politeness, he begged the doctor to give himself no anxiety on his account, and as for Lieutenant Fernow, his rounds to-night, seemed endless, he did not come. But the major received an evidently important piece of tidings in place of the Lieutenant; he beckoned to the adjutant, and withdrew with him. This was a signal for the breaking up of the party; and the two American gentlemen were at liberty to withdraw.
The carriages had meantime arrived, and the baggage was brought in. It was already quite dark when the two Americans entered the apartment assigned them, and which, like that given to Jane, lay in the second story of the castle, while the officers were quartered in the first, so as to be at hand in case of alarm. Atkins, with a sigh of relief, threw himself upon a sofa, Alison began to pace silently up and down the room. In vain did his companion wait for a word, a remark; not a syllable came from his lips; he still paced dumbly to and fro, his arms crossed, his head bowed. The continuous silence at length became oppressive to Atkins.
"Things cannot go on in this way, Henry!" he said. "Your betrothal must be acknowledged. You saw that strange meeting in the village as well as I. What do you think of it?"
Alison paused, and lifted his head. "Why did you come here with Miss Forest?" he asked in a cutting tone.
"Henry, I beg you----"
"Why did you come here with Miss Forest?" repeated Alison, but this time a repressed fury pulsed through his voice.
"To look after a family affair!"
Henry laughed bitterly. "Spare yourself this deception. I now know all!"
"Then you know more than I!" declared Atkins gravely. "I at least only half understood that scene. This Fernow--well, his sentiment scarce needed expression, he betrayed it plainly enough; but why Miss Jane, at sight of him, shrank back horrified as if she had seen a ghost, is incomprehensible to me."
"And to me also," said Alison with icy scorn. "One is not usually frightened at sight of anything reached at last after such a painful effort."
Atkins frowned. "It is fortunate that Miss Jane does not hear you; she would never forgive you this suspicion. You ought to know her too well to suppose she would start out on a mere aimless adventure, and now you accuse her with a contempt for all the proprieties and moralities, with having come here in pursuit of a man almost a stranger. Do you believe this of Miss Forest? Fie, Henry!"
Alison remained immovable at this reproach; but the old, chilling irony was in his voice, as he replied:
"I know that Miss Forest would die sooner than make the slightest advance of this kind to me; but, well this is not the first time that a woman's pride has been annihilated before a pair of dreamy blue eyes like these."
"You are going too far!" cried Atkins, indignantly. "I promised to be silent, but in answer to accusations like this, Jane herself ought to speak, and if she will not speak, I will! Well then, we are seeking some one here in France; we are in pursuit of a man, but this man is not named Fernow, and does not offer you the least occasion for jealousy. He bears Miss Forest's name and is her brother!"
"Her brother?" repeated Alison in bewildered surprise.
"Yes!" And Atkins now began in a brief, lucid way, to tell the young man all; of Mr. Forest's dying request, of the trace found in Hamburg, and of the subsequent investigations, up to the time of their departure from N. Alison listened in silence for a moment, he seemed to breathe more freely, but his brow remained clouded.
"You are right," he said, "I believe you now; that meeting was not pre-arranged."
Atkins gazed at him in speechless astonishment. And was this all? He had expected another reception of his tidings.
"You seem to quite forget, Henry, how nearly this matter concerns you," he said impressively. "If, as we have reason to believe, this young Mr. Forest lives; if we find him, as we hope to do, it will cost you half the fortune you expect with your bride."
"Ah, is that so?" muttered Alison. "And I would give the other half if she had never set foot on this German soil!"
Atkins started back. He had not thought this possible. If Henry could so entirely forget and deny the merchant in his character; if he could speak in this way of the loss of a fortune, he must be terribly in earnest. He approached the young man and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Jealousy makes you blind," he said in a pacific tone. "Whatever there may between these two, and it is doubtless some secret, it cannot be love; Jane's terror at the unexpected meeting, betrayed anything but that."
Alison glanced at him coldly and derisively. "You are very unfortunate in your powers of observation, Mr. Atkins. Who was it that in B. derided my presentiment that I saw danger to my hopes in this consumptive professor? Does he still seem to you laughable and of little account, or do you know at least what powers have lain dormant in this man?"
"I have misjudged him, but I defy anyone to estimate justly the character of a man who for years long, plays the role of a misanthropic hermit and learned investigator, then all at once really explodes as a poet, soars aloft as a hero in war, where to all human foresight it seemed clear that he would subside at the first roar of the cannon; and, at an unexpected meeting, flames up like an eighteen-year-old enthusiast. I tell you it takes a long time to find out these Germans! Once tear them from their commonplace ruts in which they have been wont to tread, and they go on in unaccountable ways. It is so with solitary individuals, it is so with the whole nation. They hurl the pen into a corner, and draw the sword from its scabbard, as if this had been their sole business their whole life long. I fear that for the next hundred years we shall not forget in what hand the pen lay!"
Atkins said all this in a peculiar tone of grumbling admiration; but he remembered at the right time, that such observations were not designed to pacify his young companion, and dropping the subject, he said consolingly:
"But Henry, however things may turn out, Jane remains yours. You have her promise; you have received it of her own free will, and the Forests are wont to keep their word to themselves and others. In whatever manner this Fernow may cross her path, I know her, she will be yours notwithstanding."
"She will!" replied Alison morosely. "You may rely upon that, Mr. Atkins! Either with or against her consent; my determination is irrevocable, even though--" and here the former ill-omened expression reappeared upon his face--"even though a pair of blue eyes should have to close forever!"
Atkins recoiled in horror; he made no reply. Darkness had fallen; from the village, in tones long drawn out, came the evening signal; Henry started up and took his hat from the table. With a hasty step the old man stood at his side, and grasped his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Out into the open air. To the park."
"Now? It is quite dark."
"But I must go out for all that; the air here oppresses me. Perhaps--" he smiled strangely--"perhaps I shall bring better thoughts in with me. Good-night."
Freeing his arm by a hasty movement, he left the room. Atkins gazed uneasily after him.
"Something terrible may happen. If they should chance to meet just now!--Foolishness!" he cried interrupting himself. "Just as if Henry were such a lunatic as to stake life, honor, and future for a mad jealous whim! If he were to meet this Fernow alone in the mean time, I would answer for nothing; but hero among his comrades, where discovery would be inevitable, and revenge sure--no, he would not venture it!"
He opened his door to listen if any sound came from Jane's chamber which lay opposite. "She shut herself in immediately upon our arrival," he said to himself, "and called out to me that she had already lain down--a pretence! I heard her plainly pacing to and fro; but it is of no use to renew my effort to force a conversation with her; perhaps her intervention would only make matters worse.--I had better see that we leave early to-morrow morning, for no matter where; if things come to the worst we can go back to B. When this Fernow is only out of sight, it will be an easy matter to keep our betrothed couple together, and until then--well in any event they can only sleep one single night under the same roof!"
With this consoling thought, Mr. Atkins closed the door, and returned to his chamber.