The silence that ruled throughout the castle was in striking contrast to the merry, animated life of the afternoon. A light already burned in the major's chamber, the adjutant and another of the officers were there; the other gentlemen seemed to have withdrawn, for the large ante-room, which opened upon the terrace and usually served as the evening rendezvous, was quite solitary, except that for the moment Frederic was there trying to light a fire in the grate as a protection against the cool, evening air. He undertook this service very unwillingly, and with much grumbling against the castellan who had remained behind, but saw fit to shirk the duties he had been ordered to perform, and as usual, was nowhere to be found.
Frederic had at last succeeded in kindling the dry wood heaped up in the grate; the flames leaped forth merrily, and Frederic had just resigned himself to melancholy reflection over the worthlessness of French servants in general and the shortcoming of French stewards, in particular, when a light hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning around he saw that Miss Forest stood close behind him.
"Has Lieutenant Fernow yet returned?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Frederic greatly surprised at the question; "ten minutes ago."
"Tell him that I wish to speak with him."
Frederic was still more surprised. "With my master?"
"Yes, I wish to speak with your master. Tell him that I await him here.--Hasten!"
An imperious wave of the hand accompanied the command, for command it was, and Frederic trudged away. Just as he was outside the door, it occurred to him that it was no longer fitting for him, one of the heroes of this glorious Prussian army, to be ordered around in this way by that American Miss; but it was with him as with Mr. Atkins; his will sank powerless before her imperious tone and glance; so, growling and muttering, but obedient, he went to his master's room on the required errand.
Jane had remained back alone in the large gloomy apartment which was only partially lighted by a chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Outside profound darkness already reigned; the moon had not yet risen, the winds sighed through the trees, and through the one open window floated the cold evening air. She shuddered involuntarily, and approaching the grate sank down into an arm-chair, whose richly carved back displayed an French coat of arms.
She was now just on the verge of certainty! All must become clear between them,--the next fifteen minutes would unveil the long buried secret! With what emotions Jane looked forward to his unveiling was known to her alone. The flames as they rose and fell lighted up a face upon which was now mirrored one only expression, firm, unyielding decision. "It must be!" With these words, Forest had taught his daughter to endure every conflict and to bear every sorrow; but in his lifetime she had known little of sorrow or conflict. Now the trial had come; but dumbly, without lamentation, she bowed to the iron law of necessity.
For one moment, that unexpected reunion had overpowered her; but it had been for only a moment, it was not in Jane's nature to recoil from any decisive step; she was no coward, and she would now have a certainty, even though that certainty was to prove her destruction. The features wrought to their fullest energy, the compressed lips, and the determined icy glance, at this moment, gave her a really frightful resemblance to her dead father. There was not a breath of weakness, of submission; all was hard, rigid, icy; these features said--"let come what will, it shall be borne!"
The door opened from the outside, and Fernow entered. He closed the door behind him, but remained standing close to the threshold.
"You wished to see me, Miss Forest!"
"I wished an interview with you, Lieutenant Fernow. Shall we be undisturbed here?"
"I hope so for the next fifteen minutes."
"Ah--I beg you to come nearer."
He approached her slowly, and paused at the fireplace, directly opposite her. Between them crackled and glistened the flames, their lurid reflection sharply lighting up both these forms. They alone were visible in the half-darkened room; visible also to him who was pacing up and down the terrace just outside.
"I was not prepared for this summons, Miss Forest. After our meeting in the village it seemed to me as if you wished to avoid every approach on my side. I followed your command; it is you now who have summoned me."
There lay perhaps some bitterness in these words, but Fernow's bitterness was seldom cutting or harmful. Jane recognized only a gentle, deeply painful reproach nothing more.
"My conduct may seem enigmatical to you Lieutenant Fernow," she said; "I owe you an explanation; but before I make it, I beg you to answer a few questions."
He nodded in silent assent.
"In the first place, will you tell me your given name?"
Of all questions, Fernow seemed least to have expected this. "My given name?"
"Yes."
"I am called Walter."
"Walter?" A deep breath of relief came involuntarily from Jane's breast. "Walter! I do not know that name."
"And why should you know it, Miss Forest?" he asked in evident surprise. "We were strangers until the moment you trod the soil of Germany."
"Perhaps so!" Her glance fastened itself gloomily upon the lurid flame-images which in endless transformations darted forth and fell back dissolved in nothingness; "and perhaps not! You told me once that you had been thrust out into life without parents and without a home; that you had fallen into the hands of a learned man who had led you also into the paths of science.--Was this learned man a clergyman?"
"Yes; but after a time he left his parish and his vocation to give himself entirely up to science."
Jane convulsively pressed her left hand against her breast. "And--his name?"
"Pastor Hartwig!"
A deep, momentous pause! The flames darted yet higher and threw their quivering light upon a deathly-pale, deathly-cold face; not a syllable came from her lips; she remained motionless in her place.
"Miss Forest, what does all this mean?" Walter's voice was low and anxious. "Why these strange questions? Did you know my foster-father? Were you in any way connected with him?"
At these last words, he had stepped nearer, and now stood close to her; Jane seemed not to have heard the question; she gave no answer.
"Johanna!"
A light shudder passed over her. This name! Only once before had she heard it from his lips, in that parting-hour, and it sounded like a melody out of the sweet, faraway days of her childhood. Her mother had once called her so, but only for a short space; the German name of his child had fallen a sacrifice to the rigid will of her father; it had been changed to the English, "Jane." Never since then, had she heard it again, and now as it came from his lips, it had such a soft, entreating tone--all her strength gave way before this one word.
Slowly she lifted her glance to him; it met his eyes, and for a moment, rested in them. Those blue eyes that with mournful tenderness hung upon her face--even now they exerted their mysterious power, a power which, at this moment, when all doubt must be solved, when the inevitable decision must be made, forced this proud, obstinate woman to forget the desire which had so long haunted her, to forget the momentous decision, which wrested her from all the conflict and torture of the few past hours, and with irresistible might, impelled her on into the dream he himself was dreaming at this moment.
She sat again by the willow-hedge where the first green buds of spring were opening, and he stood at her side. All around them brooded the fog, weaving its gray veil over tree and shrub; the rain-drops fell lightly upon the thirsty sod, strange whisperings and echoes thrilled the air, while above all, fell upon their ears the undulating murmurs of the distant Rhine. The present and the real dissolved in nothingness; she knew nothing, felt nothing, but that dumb, inexplicable anguish she had there experienced. She was willessly, powerlessly under the spell of these eyes.
They both started with a sudden tremor, affrighted at the same moment, by an unknown something.
The dream-picture dissolved with its swaying mists and its soft, tender reminiscences of the spring; they were again in that lofty, gloomy apartment of the gray stone castle; inside the fire blazed and crackled, outside, the autumn wind murmured through the trees; perhaps it was the wind that drove a bough against the window, and recalled them from this dream of remembrance. Jane was first to glance out in that direction, and Walter's eyes followed hers.
"We are observed!" she said softly.
"Hardly! But I will find out!"
He walked to the window, opened it wide and bent far out into the darkness, Jane had risen and leaned heavily against the back of the easy chair blazoned with its coat of arms. Now the most difficult thing was to come! He must learn that which to her was no longer a subject of doubt.
"I will see whether he is able to bear it." Perhaps only the voice of nature spoke in this tenderness; perhaps--there was a convulsive shudder at her heart--"he will smile at the discovery. Well, then, if he can bear it, I will not betray my weakness even though I should die at my brother's first kiss!"
Walter had closed the window, and now came back to her. "It is nothing," he said calmly. "Who could have interest enough in our affairs to watch us?" Jane knew already the way in which she had to go; she entered upon it with unfaltering step.
"Who? Mr. Alison!"
Walter started back and glanced at her in consternation.
"Mr. Alison? Your travelling companion?"
"Yes."
That deep glow, sudden and fiery, again mounted his face, until it covered forehead and temples.
"And he is not a stranger to you, this man? I thought it must be so the first moment I met him--Johanna--" his voice trembled in feverish excitement--"and what relation does Alison stand to you? What right has he over you?"
"I am his betrothed."
The flush vanished from his face, quickly as it had come, and a deep pallor look its place.
"His betrothed!" repeated he in a hollow voice.
"And do you love him?"
"No!"
"And still have you given him your promise--your future?"
There lay a bitter lament in this reproach. Jane's glance fell. "I have done so," she replied in a low voice.
"Then would to God we had never met!" said Walter despairingly.
Jane was silent for a moment "And why?" she asked at length almost inaudibly.
He stepped close to her, and his voice also fell to a low, but impassioned whisper.
"And do you ask? Need I tell you in words what you long since must have divined, or--is it I alone who will be wretched through your confession?"
Slowly Jane again turned her face to him; her voice sounded unnaturally calm, but her eyes were fixed upon his face with an unremitting, anxious inquiry, as if every fibre of his inner being must answer her.
"We need not make ourselves wretched on this account, wemustnot. Destiny has brought us together cruelly, perhaps, but if it denies us the highest happiness, it has not ordained our separation. Perhaps--" her glance sank deeper and deeper into his--"perhaps I can persuade my future husband to a long residence upon the Rhine. I know that a single word from my lips will make him approach you as a friend. You need not thrust back this hand! Walter. You will learn to control your emotions, you will learn to regard me as a friend as a--brother should--"
"Johanna!" interrupted he with a wild, passionate outcry. She was silent, but her eyes did not leave his face; it had now the same expression as upon that first meeting in N., as if the next moment would bring with it a decision for life or death.
"And you say this tome!" he broke out in uncontrollable anguish. "Must I hear it from your lips? Would you deride the enthusiast, the dreamer, in me, or do you yourself dream of a tie of ideal friendship, where love becomes sacrilege? Do not deceive yourself! Between spirits such a tie may be possible, but not between hearts; there it could spring only from coldness or from crime. Once in the solitude of my study, shut out from all the world, I too indulged in just such sickly fancies; then came this love to you, impelling me out into active life, into earnest, glowing reality. And this life and this reality now demand their right; I must either possess you or lose you eternally! No third person can come between us."
It was the deep, ardent tone of passion, a passion that thrilled his whole being, that palpitated through every word he uttered, and before this onrushing tide of emotion, fell the last prop to which Jane had clung. But all at once, she stood erect and without support. Right through the certainty of her infinite misfortune, broke a feeling that was mightier even than despair. His words only echoes the sentiment of her own soul; she was beloved even as she herself loved.
She heaved a sigh, "You are right, Walter!" she said. "In our case love becomes sacrilege; I see it now! Between us two there can henceforth be but one command--separation!"
He shuddered at the words. "And can you speak this so calmly! and do you think I shall yield to it without having sought the utmost? Johanna, no sacred oath binds you; a promise can be dissolved, a word can be taken back--are your vows irrevocable?"
"They are!"
"Reflect"--his voice trembled in anguished entreaty--"this concerns the happiness of my whole life and yours also! You can save us both by one only decision. Can you not rend the tie which binds you to this Alison?"
Here with a violent noise the door was burst open, and Frederic's powerful voice was heard.
"Herr Lieutenant, the major begs you to come to him this instant!"
Walter turned around. "What is it!" he asked bewildered. "Where am I to go?"
"To the Herr Major; all the officers are gathered there."
"Very well, I will come."
The door closed again, and Frederic's heavy receding step was heard. Yet once more Walter turned back to Jane; his face was pale as death, but a wild unrest glowed in his eyes.
"You hear; I must go! We are in the midst of war, the next hour, the next moment may rend us asunder. Johanna, I ask you for the last time, can you, will you not be mine?"
"Never, Walter! Even though Alison set me free, and every other barrier fell--never!"
"Then farewell!" he sobbed despairingly, and stretched out his arms, as if he would clasp her to his breast; but with a trembling movement Jane recoiled from him, and raised her hand with a repelling gesture. For a moment he stood as if petrified before her; then he bowed low and distantly.
"You are right, Miss Forest--farewell!"
He was gone, and Jane remained alone--alone with this stony burden on her breast, for the final veil had not been lifted, the final word not spoken. It had pressed violently to her lips, but a strange might had held it back, the fear of seeing him suffer still more, than through her mereno. She who usually spared none, because she was always pitiless against herself, trembled now before a strange sorrow. For the first time the hard "it mustbe!" of her father lost its power; for the first time she felt that she could not yield to an inevitable necessity. She had firmly faced all conflicts and tortures; but when, as it now happened, she must also deliver him to this struggle, the woman in her rose in all its anxiety, all its timidity, she shrank back trembling and cowardly before the decisive word--for his sake.
To-morrow! Until then, he must school himself to familiarity with the loss; he would then more easily bear the "why." Now it had crushed him utterly.--And Jane's powers of endurance were also at an end. She broke out into a low sobbing; but amid the sobs she moaned softly. "I should have died if he could have borne it!"
Things looked very grave in the major's apartment. A council of war was in progress. The major himself, with a perplexed air, his hands crossed behind his back, was pacing up and down; the adjutant and a young lieutenant, with thoughtful, anxious faces, sat at the table around which were grouped Doctor Behrend and the other officers. Walter Fernow was the last to enter.
"I have had you summoned, gentlemen," began the major, in evident perturbation, "to acquaint you with a piece of bad news. You know that we expect reinforcements. Captain Schwarz, with his batallion from L., was to unite with us to-morrow. I sent word to him that the mountain road was safe, but I now find this an error I cannot recall."
All faces betrayed a restless suspense; all eyes were fixed upon the major, who continued excitedly as before.
"Lieutenant Witte has just returned with his scouting party. He captured a French peasant on the way, who would not answer his question, but who afterward, becoming intoxicated, prated such strange things and gave such taunting hints, that it was thought best to secure him. Intimidated by threats, he made some confessions which unfortunately were verified, word for word in a reconnoissance which at once followed. The French fusileers, strongly reinforced, hold the mountains between here and L. They have taken possession of the passes, and as they know of the intended march of our soldiers, they will no doubt attack them."
A tremor of alarm passed through the circle of officers. They knew the mountain region too well not to have a fall conception of the danger that threatened their comrades.
"I feared as much," said the captain after a momentary pause; "I feared that some military stratagem lay at the foundation of the sudden disappearance of the French soldiers. You know that within the last few days the passes have been entirely free, so that our patrols could wander unharmed over the mountains, while before, they were fired upon from every cleft in the rocks. The enemy only withdrew for a little space to make us feel more secure; but meantime he has been uniting his forces; now hidden away in their inaccessible fastnesses, they will rush forth to strike us a mortal blow."
"The all-important question," said the major, "is how we shall send a warning to L. Our communications are severed, the passes are held by the enemy, so Lieutenant Witte informs us."
"Wholly so, Herr Major," added the young officer, who at these last words, had turned to his superior. "The French hold the mountain roads as well as the pathways which lead along the cliffs on the other side of the river. It must have happened very recently, for this morning the way was clear; but they now have entire possession, and every patrol, every foot-traveller they get a glimpse of, is shot down without question."
"And if they seize our men in that narrow pass, not a single one will leave it alive," cried the major excitedly. "They will be attacked both in front and in the rear, and shot at by men concealed on the heights. It is a desperate situation!"
"Could not a messenger be sent over to E.?" asked the adjutant. "The way there is unobstructed."
"But he would have to go half around the mountains. It would take too long; at early dawn the batallion will be on the march; if the warning does not arrive by three in the morning, it will be too late!"
"Herr Major!" The voice of young Lieutenant Witte sounded somewhat timid as he ventured to give counsel, but the most courageous determination beamed from his eyes. "There is perhaps one resource, the simplest of all. We might hurl ourselves with all our available strength upon the enemy, overthrow him, and make the path free to our comrades."
In spite of the fearful gravity of the situation, the major smiled; then he shook his head.
"The advice does you all honor, Lieutenant Witte, but it could only come from a three-and-twenty year old head: it is not practicable. You have heard that the enemy has a three-fold strength; the situation makes it tenfold. We should share the fate which threatens our men without being able to rescue them."
Among the officers the proposal of their comrade had found a lively assent; they now besieged the major with entreaties to carry it into execution, but he remained firm.
"And they would seize us in the rear. Are these fellows not hiding in all the woods, have they not spies everywhere among the inhabitants? Our march, which would be immediately betrayed, would be the signal for them to follow us, and we, shut up between two fires, could go neither forward nor backward. Impossible! We will not leave our posts, but we must be doubly on our guard, tonight. Who knows how far the plans and the connections of these bands may extend? Perhaps they design to make a second attack here, and upon us."
This reasoning was so convincing, that none sought to oppose it. All were silent.
"But yet we cannot calmly look on and see our men march unsuspecting to certain destruction," interposed Doctor Behrend.
"No!" said the major decidedly. "The messenger must go. And even were the mountains tenfold more impassable, some possible way must be found."
At this moment, Walter Fernow, the only officer who had hitherto taken no part in the discussion, stepped forward, and said:
"Herr Major, I know a way out of this difficulty."
"And what is it, Lieutenant Fernow?"
"We have often enough reconnoitred the mountains. I know them perfectly. You are aware that a week ago I, with five men, undertook areconnoissancearound L. which at that time was occupied by the enemy. We ventured too far, we were pursued by some twenty, attacked and at last dispersed."
"Yes.--Well?"
"After a few shots, with Corporal Braun, who already had a ball in his arm, I threw myself into a side defile where they lost trace of us. The others escaped in another direction. As we pressed on, we found a narrow path half concealed in a thicket; this we took, as it seemed to lead in the direction of S. It rose gradually to the summit of the mountain, and then ran, for the most part hidden in the forest, along the crest, and at last sank precipitously, to the entrance of that narrow, impassable defile, which lies a quarter of an hour's distance from here to the right of the valley. We had for some minutes wound through dense shrubbery, and then we stood suddenly upon that projecting rocky plateau of the mountain-road, where stands a large, solitary fir-tree. From there we reach L. in a short time."
Fernow said all this lucidly and calmly. His manner had nothing of the perturbation of a man who, scarce ten minutes before, had come from an interview which had blighted his whole future. He spoke more gravely and deliberately than usual, and a gloomy calm lay upon his features; the calmness of one who has made a fixed decision. This was no time to lament over a lost love, a lost happiness; he had found a remedy, the speediest, most infallible of all.
The officers had listened in intense excitement; but the major's brow remained clouded.
"And do you believe that the French fusileers, who are at home in this region, do not know the way just as well, even better than you?" he asked.
"Know it--probably! But the question is, do they watch it; for in the first place, they cannot presuppose our knowledge of it; and in the second, they do not dream that their plan is betrayed to us. They will concentrate principally in the defiles and around the declivities; that elevated path may possibly remain out of their reckoning, and this gives it an advantage over the other ways which we know are guarded."
"And do you believe that way is passable at night?"
"On a full-moon night like this--yes! The moonlight removes the principal difficulty--that of finding the entrance amid the bushes, and following the first abrupt windings. Once beyond these, no error is possible; the light shimmers brightly enough through the trees, and from the opening of the path to L. the mountain-highway may be used; the enemy would scarce venture on so far toward the village."
The major, in deep reflection, paced up and down. "You are right;" he said at last. "The attempt must be made, although it must always be an insane venture to send two, or at the most, three men, through a region occupied by the enemy, upon the faint possibility that they have left this path unguarded. It is ten to one you will be discovered, and shot down; the danger is too great.--Do you, remember the path exactly?"
"Exactly."
"Well, then, only one thing remains to us, to find among our men, some who are confident and courageous enough to undertake such an expedition. Corporal Braun--"
"Lies sick of his wound," interrupted Walter calmly. "You see, Herr Major, that the duty falls upon me."
"Walter! Are you out of your senses?" cried Doctor Behrend, in consternation.
The major too had started back, and all the officers with a sort of horrified surprise, gazed upon their comrade. Walter was the general favorite; the pride of his equals, and the darling of his superiors. Despite his silence and modesty, he possessed that boundless influence over those around him, which is peculiar to genial natures. They had often enough seen him rush first to the conflict, they had shared danger with him; but to fall in open combat at the side of one's comrades, with weapons in one's hand, is quite a different thing from being laid low solitary and defenceless, by a ball from some ambush, or being reserved perhaps for a yet more mournful destiny. It requires more than the usual courage to look forward to such a fate, and they would sooner have sacrificed any other than Walter Fernow.
"You--you, Lieutenant Fernow?" said the major deliberately. "That will not do! I must sacrifice no officer in such an undertaking; we lost enough of them in our last battle, and need all we have left for the next. Such an errand is the business of a common soldier, and I must let some private perform it."
Walter advanced a step nearer the table; the light of the candles fell full upon his face; it was white as marble.
"I am at this moment the only one who knows the way," he said, "the only one who can go in it. The path cannot be described; to confide the mission to another, would be to imperil its success at the outset."
"But," returned the major, in a voice full of repressed emotion; "I can now do without you least of all, and I repeat it to you, the possibility of finding the path open is too small; the probability is you would all be shot down!"
"Perhaps, and perhaps not! In any event, this possibility shall not hold me back from a venture, that you would entrust to a common soldier."
The major stepped hastily to him and reached him his hand. "You are right!" he said simply. "Well, then, go in God's name! If you succeed, you rescue some hundreds of my brave boys, if not--well, he who dies from a stray bullet, meets none the less a hero's death.--How many men will you take with you?"
"Not any! If we are attacked we must yield to numbers, and where one falls, the others are not likely to escape. It would be to sacrifice men uselessly, as a single one will suffice to carry the message. Besides, a number might greatly enhance the danger; a single person would be more likely to escape discovery."
The old superior officer, with undisguised admiration, gazed upon the young poet and dreamer, as Walter was often enough jestingly called, but who, once aroused from his reverie, had shown such a cool, energetic, practical good sense, in even the minutest details of the service. He indeed divined nothing of the storm which had just been raging in this man's soul, or the source of the calmness with which he rushed into danger.
"And you will go alone? When do you think of starting?"
"Not for an hour. I must wait until the moon rises, as I need its full light to show me the way to the heights.--Even though some unforeseen hindrance should arise, I have plenty of time."
"Well, then, gentlemen," said the major to the other officers, "go now, and prepare yourselves for any alarm that may be given tonight. Herr Captain, see that the posts are doubly guarded, that the orders previously given are exactly carried out. I will meantime advise with Lieutenant Fernow."
The officers obeyed, but at the door, the captain turned around once more.
"Good-night, Lieutenant Fernow!" he said.
A smile flitted over Walter's lips; too well he knew the meaning of the farewell.
"Good-night, captain! Good-night, gentlemen!"
Then turning, he met the eyes of Doctor Behrend resting gravely and reproachfully upon him.
"Do you then care nothing at all for your life?" he asked beneath his breath.
"No!" was the melancholy answer given in the same tone.
The doctor sighed. "I shall see you before you leave?"
"Probably! But go now, Robert!"
With another and still heavier sigh, the surgeon followed the others, and Walter remained alone with the major and the adjutant.
A Quarter of an hour might have passed, when he left his superior officers to go to his own room. He had just set foot in the corridor when a dark figure left the wall where it had been standing motionless, and crossed his path.
"Lieutenant Fernow, I have been a long time awaiting you!"
Walter paused; he recognized the American.
"What do you want of me, Mr. Alison?"
"Can I have the honor of a conversation with you?"
Fernow glanced at his watch, he had nearly an hour's time. "I am at your service," he said.
He knew what was coming; a single glance at Alison's face had convinced him that Jane's apprehensions were well founded. And this also! Not a single drop of the bitter cup was to be spared him!
Alison, without a word further, had passed on before him, and opened a door opposite. Walter for a moment hesitated about entering; it was the room in which he had just been speaking with Jane. Alison remarked his embarrassment.
"We shall be undisturbed here. Or, have you perhaps an antipathy to this room?"
Without answering, the young officer hastily passed the threshold, and Alison followed him. The room was again quite solitary. The hanging lamp sent down its subdued light, the fire in the grate burned low; but red gleams now and then shot forth from the embers, throwing an ill-omened light around these two forms. Walter, as before, leaned against the mantel; opposite him, in the place where Jane had sat, stood Henry; between them the dim reflection of the fire.
Strange as it might seem, the same sentiment glowed in the souls of these two men; fiery, overmastering passion for one being, and both alike hopeless, stood amid the ruins of their happiness; but in the outward appearance of the two, this common sentiment found an infinitely different expression.
Upon the German's face lay a white, motionless calm; his deep, dreamy nature was not one to break loose from a passion which had engraven itself in the profoundest depths of his heart, and had taken root there forever. He could neither conquer nor endure it; but the alternative he had chosen, had nothing in it base or humiliating. "He who falls by a stray bullet, dies also a hero's death," thought he, and there was something like inspiration in the glance he now turned to the park, where rays of light began to pierce the shadows among the trees--the moon had just risen in the East.
In striking contrast to him was the man who stood opposite--Henry's features were distorted by a really demoniac fury; his eyes had a glance of evil omen, and only by an exertion of all his strength could he control the convulsive quivering of his lips. The cool calculation with which the young merchant had stretched forth his hand to grasp a million, had succeeded; but the love he had promised himself with all this was of far more value. Fearfully, passion asserted her right; under her spell, blind, unsympathetic for all else, he was about to sacrifice life and honor for her sake.
Walter waited in silence for some minutes, until Alison could so control his emotion as to speak. His voice had a hoarse, metallic tone, as he at last said:
"I wish an explanation from you, Lieutenant Fernow, which you cannot well deny me. Almost an hour ago you had an interview in this room with Miss Forest."
"Yes; and were you a witness of it?"
"I was!"
The young officer remained perfectly calm. "Then you must have heard what was said."
Alison's lips curled in scorn. "You spoke German with her, the beloved mother-tongue! And so the confessions of your love and tenderness were debarred from me. But one name, I heard. It sounded very sweet, that 'Johanna,' almost as sweet as the 'Walter' from her lips!"
A slight flush passed over Walter's face; but he quickly repressed his emotion. "I believe you had a question to ask me, Mr. Alison," he said. "Let us stick to our subject!"
"Yes, let us stick to our subject!" replied Alison, in a hollow voice. "You love Miss Forest!"
"Yes!"
"And are loved in return?" Walter was silent, but Alison's eyes flamed upon him in such consuming hatred, that any evasion here would have seemed cowardice.
"Yes!" he returned firmly.
A sound came from Henry's lips like the hiss of a wounded serpent.
"I regret that I must disturb this perfect understanding. Perhaps Miss Forest has already told you that I have prior rights, and am not inclined to resign them to you."
"She has told me!"
"Well, then, you must understand that if the hand of Miss Forest is pledged to me, I will tolerate no love in her to any one but her future husband; at least to nolivingman!"
Walter recoiled in horror. "Does that mean a challenge?"
"Yes; do not start back, Lieutenant Fernow, I waive all your German proprieties as to witnesses, seconds and preliminaries, I offer you a far simpler method. We will draw lots, or throw dice, we two alone, and fortune shall decide. The losing one shall pledge his word of honor not to be among the living twenty-four hours after, and the thing is done."
There was an expression of contempt on Walter's face as he coldly replied; "I regret, Mr. Alison, that this sort of satisfaction does not accord with my ideas of honor. If we must be arrayed against each other, let it be in the orthodox way, eye to eye with weapon in hand. I would fight for my life; not cast lots for it."
Alison's eyes flashed in annihilating scorn. "It certainly may not be so poetical as your German duel, but it is more--sure!"
"But I will not consent. And besides you seem to forget that such a thing is not to be thought of while I belong to the army. My life is not my own, it is my country's. I must not deprive my fatherland of one even the least of its defenders, and while the war lasts, I must neither seek nor yield to private revenge. If I fall, your wish will be gratified; if not, after peace is declared, I am ready to give you the required satisfaction--not before!"
Alison laughed derisively. "After the peace! Perhaps when you have returned to your professor's chair, when rector and regent, when in case of need the whole university covers you with the ægis of science; when all rise in moral exasperation against a barbarism of the middle ages, least of all befitting a teacher of youth. Then at last, impelled by these higher considerations, you will decline! It is a masterly idea, Lieutenant Fernow! But I am not simple enough to fall into the snare you set for me!"
Walter's face glowed with suppressed rage. Involuntarily, ha laid his hand upon his sword.
"How many of the battles in which I have fought, have you gazed at through a spy-glass?" he asked coolly.
The reproach was effectual, but it only the more enraged Alison. It was a tiger's glance he gave the man standing before him.
"Let us end this!" he said savagely. "I offer you one more choice. Give me this night the satisfaction I demand either in my way or in yours. I am ready for all, or--"
"Or what?"
"The consequences be upon your own head!"
Walter crossed his arms and gazed down at his enemy, as if from an unapproachable height. "It cannot possibly happen tonight, as I shall not be here. I must go to the mountains--" A wild, terrible gleam shot suddenly from Alison's eyes; he bent forward and listened, intent and breathless, to what followed--"and all that remains to me is to repeat to you my former words: our quarrel must rest until the end of the war; it cannot be settled a day sooner, and if you seek to force me through insults, I shall appeal to my superior officers."
The last threat was quite unnecessary, for Alison had all at once become calm, strangely calm; he smiled, but it was a smile so icy-cold as to make one shudder.
"Another irrevocableno! Very well! But if we should chance to meet again, Lieutenant Fernow, remember that it was I who offered you honorable combat, and that you refused it.Au revoir!"
He went. Walter remained motionless in his place and gazed silently down at the last faint glow of the expiring embers. Dead, like the bright glowing flames that had lighted his interview with Jane; dead alike their vivid reflection, and last weary, fitful gleams; but now and then solitary sparks quivered here and there, danced awhile likeignes fatuito and fro, and then at last sank away like all else, in dust and ashes. Through the window, the moon now threw a long silver stripe over the floor of the room. It would soon be time to go.
The door hastily opened; this time it was Mr. Atkins who excitedly entered, and approached Fernow.
"I have been seeking you, Lieutenant Fernow!" he said uneasily. "You are alone; has Mr. Alison not been with you?"
"He has just left me."
"I thought as much!" muttered Atkins. "I met him on the stairs. What has happened? What is the trouble between you?"
Walter turned to go. "That, Mr. Atkins, is a matter which concerns him and me alone. Good-night."
Atkins held him back; there was a strange uneasiness in his face. "Listen to reason, Lieutenant Fernow," he said, "and at least, give me an answer. Alison will tell me nothing, but his face says enough. I come to warn you; guard yourself against him!"
Walter shrugged his shoulders. "If you think my life is in danger, you tell me nothing new," he said. "Mr. Alison himself has declared that one of us must leave the world."
"Has he challenged you?"
"He has; and I have told him that the quarrel must rest until the end of the war."
"You little know Henry," said Atkins, "if you think he will submit to that condition. A man driven to madness by passion, does not wait months for his revenge. I do not like the look in his eyes, and I fear it will not be well for you both to sleep to-night under one roof."
"That will not happen," said Walter calmly, "I have to go to the mountains."
"And why must you go?" asked Atkins.
"My errand is a military secret."
"I hope you go well guarded?"
"I am to go alone."
Atkins started back and scanned him from head to foot. "It is very inconsiderate in you to tell this so openly," he said half aloud.
"I certainly should not tell it to the castle servants or to the villagers," said Walter. "I know you well enough, Mr. Atkins, to fear no treachery on your part."
"And have you told Henry?"
"Yes, as much as I have told you, nothing more!"
"This is German simplicity which I cannot at all understand!" muttered Atkins; then laying his hand on the young man's arm, he said with almost frightful earnestness.
"Lieutenant Fernow, follow my advice. Do not go to the mountains to-night. Your life is threatened; yours alone. Delegate this duty to one of your comrades."
"I cannot!"
"Then at least take a guard with you."
"It is impossible, Mr. Atkins!"
"Well, then, you rush onto your own destruction," cried Atkins excitedly. "I have done my duty; now the consequences be upon your own head!"
"Compose yourself," returned Walter, with a gesture of impatience. "Your apprehensions are unfounded. I tell you it is impossible for any one who does not know the password to go from here to the mountains. We have a triple line of outposts."
These words failed to pacify Atkins. "You do not know Alison!" he said. "He is an uncontrollable nature whom circumstances and education have subdued only to outward seeming in making him simply a man of business. If such a nature once bursts its long accustomed barriers, it passes all bounds. In his present mood he is capable of anything."
"But not of murder!" said Walter calmly.
"But you have denied him the one legitimate way of revenge, and he will hardly concern himself with ideal conceptions of right and wrong. Be on your guard, Lieutenant Fernow; I cannot vouch for him."
"I have a better opinion of Mr. Alison than you have," returned Walter. "He may hate me to death, but I do not think him capable of the crime you have hinted at. Tell him"--here a peculiar, almost ghastly smile passed over the melancholy face of the young officer--"tell him he need not take my life, his wish may be fulfilled without it. I must go, Mr. Atkins--give my regards to Miss Forest, and--farewell?"
Hastily leaving the room he went to his own chamber.