CHAPTER XIWOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORDThe family Ingestre was once more united. As far as could be judged from appearances, the union was a complete one. Domestic peace and prosperity seemed to hover like benignant spirits over the tableau which concluded the day's round. Mrs. Ingestre lay as usual on her couch beneath the light of the tall red-shaded lamp, her husband was seated at the table, poring over a volume of the latest dogma, whilst his son, still suffering from the results of a nervous breakdown (attributed to overwork), reclined in the most comfortable arm-chair by the fireside, and imbibed military wisdom from a London daily. If there was any note of discord in this harmony, it came from Nora. She stood opposite her brother, with her elbow resting on the mantelpiece, and the firelight betrayed a warning flash in the wide-open eyes and a tense line about the mouth which boded not altogether well for peace. Her father had glanced once or twice over his spectacles in her direction, but had seemed satisfied. On the whole, she had taken her abrupt and alarming recall with surprising docility and had accepted the obvious exaggeration of the Rev. John's report concerning her mother without resentment. Mrs. Ingestre had been ill, but then she was always more or less ill, and the degree more had scarcely justified the good gentleman's excited telegram. Were the truth admitted, he had been glad to seize upon an excuse to withdraw Nora from the "pernicious influence" of her foreign surroundings, and the strain of copying his sermons and attending to his own affairs generally had given the casting vote. As it has been said, Nora's docility had been as agreeable as it was surprising, and he attributed it to causes very satisfactory to himself. It was obvious, as he had explained triumphantly to Mrs. Ingestre, that Nora had had a bitter lesson "amongst these foreigners," and was only too glad to be home. Hitherto Nora had allowed him to cherish this delusion—hence the undisturbed peace in the family circle.The French clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. Nora started and looked up, as though she had been waiting for the sound. Then she turned and stood with her back to the fire, her hands clasped behind her, her head held resolutely. "Father and mother," she began, "I have something important to tell you."The Rev. John turned over a page before considering the speaker. The formality of the address and Nora's general attitude would have startled him if he had been any judge of outward and visible signs, but he was one of those men who only see what they have made up their mind to see, and just at that moment he was determined to look upon Nora in something of the light of a returned and repentant prodigal."Well, my dear," he asked indulgently, "what is it?""I want to tell you"—Nora took a deep breath—"that I am engaged to be married."The Rev. John removed his spectacles."To whom?""To Captain von Arnim."For a full minute her father said nothing. Miles sat up as though a bomb had exploded in his close proximity. Only Mrs. Ingestre remained unmoved. She was watching her daughter with grave, thoughtful eyes, but there was an unmistakable, half-whimsical, half-pitying smile about her mouth. The Rev. John passed his hand over his head, thereby ruffling a thin wisp of hair, which, usually decorously smoothed over a wide surface, now stood on end in a fashion wholly inconsistent with the seriousness of the moment. But of this he was fortunately ignorant. To do him justice, his agitation was unfeigned. The blow had demoralised him, and to cover the momentary mental paralysis he took refuge in an obstinate refusal to understand what had been said to him."My dear," he began amiably, "you mentioned that some one was going to be married—I did not catch the names. Would you mind repeating——?"I said that Captain von Arnim has asked me to be his wife," Nora answered steadily."The impertinence of the fellow!" Miles had by this time recovered his self-possession sufficiently to speak. "I hope you sent him to the right-about?""I kissed him," Nora explained, with a gleam of humour."Nora!""There was no reason why I shouldn't. He is to be my husband."Miles swore under his breath. The Rev. John rose with what would have been dignity but for his ruffled hair-dress."Nora—you—you—are talking nonsense," he jerked out. "I cannot believe that you know what you are saying. A—a—foreigner—a—a man of whom I know nothing!——""You will get to know him in time," Nora put in hastily."Do not interrupt me. I am grieved—shocked beyond words. I can only suppose that you have been led astray—eh—blinded by the glamour of a uniform. It is terrible. This is the reward of my weakness. Have I not always seen this coming?"—(here the reverend gentleman exaggerated, since the gift of prophecy had not been granted him)—"have I not always protested against your absence? But I at least supposed that—that Frau von Arnim was a woman who could be trusted—who would protect you from the—eh—attentions of a——""Frau von Arnim is the best woman I have ever met, except mother," Nora broke in again. "As to Wolff——""Wolff!" Miles laughed loudly. "Just think of it, people! 'Wolff' for my brother-in-law! A German bounder in the family! Many thanks!"There was a moment's electric silence. The Rev. John had by this time recovered his professional eloquence, and was preparing to settle down to the work of exhortation with a zest. It was perhaps fortunate that Nora's face was turned away, otherwise he might have found less pleasure in listening to his own rounded periods."Miles puts the matter a trifle pointedly," he began, "but, on the whole, he expresses my own views. For many reasons I strongly disapprove of an English girl marrying out of her people, and as you are too young and inexperienced to appreciate those reasons, you must submit to my simple authority. I must, dear child, absolutely refuse my consent to this premature and regrettable engagement. I have no doubt that Frau von Arnim will see for herself that in her anxiety to effect an advantageous alliance for her nephew she has been over-hasty—I must say, inexcusably hasty, in giving her sanction.""Thank goodnessthatis knocked on the head!" Miles said, rising triumphantly to his feet. "I swear to you, the bare possibility makes me feel positively faint. We all know what German officers are like—bullying drinkers and gamblers——"Nora turned and looked at him. There was something very like hatred in her dangerously bright eyes."I forbid you to speak like that of a class to which my future husband belongs!" she said. "Besides what you said being nonsense, it is also cowardly to attack where no chance is given to defend. As to my engagement"—she turned again to her father, and her voice grew calm and firm—"whether you give your consent or not makes no real difference. In a short time I shall be of age, and then I shall marry Wolff. We can afford to wait, if it must be.""Nora!" The Rev. John recovered his breath with difficulty. "How can you—how dare you speak to me like that? Have you forgotten that I am your father—that——""I have not forgotten anything," Nora interrupted, in the same steady accents, "but it would be hypocritical of me to pretend a submission which I do not feel and which I should consider disloyal. Hitherto my duty has been towards you—it is now due to the man whom I love above every other earthly consideration. It does not matter in the least to me that Wolff is a foreigner. If he were a Hottentot it would make no difference."Neither the Rev. John nor his son found any immediate answer. They looked at the proud, determined face, and perhaps in various degrees of distinctness each realised that Nora the child was a creature of the past, and that this was a woman who stood before them, armed and invulnerable in the strength of her awakened passion.The Rev. John, completely thrown out of his concept by this unexpected revelation, looked at his wife with the weak appeal of a blusterer who suddenly discovers that he has blustered in vain. Mrs. Ingestre saw the look—possibly she had been waiting for it."I think that, if all Nora says is true, we have no right to interfere," she said quietly, "and the best thing we can do is to ask Captain von Arnim to come and see us. What do you say, Nora?"Nora's whole face lit up, but she said nothing, only looked at her father and waited. Had she burst out into a storm of girlish delight and gratitude, the Rev. John might have plucked up courage and held his ground, but that steady self-repression indicated a strength of purpose of which he himself was incapable. He shrugged his shoulders."Since my authority is denied in my own house, there is no object in appealing to me," he said peevishly. "Do what you like—only, in the future remember that I warned you. You have taken your life into your own hands, Nora. I can no longer hold myself responsible.""All I beg is that I shall be allowed to keep out of the way when the beggar comes here," Miles said, as he followed his indignant parent out of the room.The moment the door had closed Nora left her place of defence by the fire and came to Mrs. Ingestre's side."I know you are wondering why I did not tell you before, mother," she said rapidly and clearly. "It was because I did not want to drag you into it more than I could help. I know what you have to bear when father thinks you are 'abetting' me. I wanted to fight my battle alone.""And I suppose you think you have won, Nora?""Yes, I think so. Father can do nothing.""I was not thinking of that."Nora looked down into the pale face and wondered at the pity which mingled with the tenderness of its expression."Of what were you thinking, mother?"Mrs. Ingestre sighed."Are you so sure of yourself, little girl?" she asked gently. "Is your love really above every earthly consideration? Can you give up your home, your country, your language, your ways, us—your people, without a heart-ache? Do you realise that you are bringing your love the greatest of all sacrifices?""Mother, it is a sacrifice Wolff will never ask of me.""Life will ask it of you—not even Wolff can alter the laws of life. The day may come when Circumstance will say to you that you must choose. And what then?"Nora was silent. Then she lifted her head."Then, mother, I should have to choose. It is true—my love is strongest in me."Mrs. Ingestre sank back among her pillows."God help you, dear!" she said under her breath.Nora waited a moment. There was something more that she had to tell—the story of a letter written in a fervour of self-sacrifice, and of another letter written two weeks later, a pitiful letter containing a confession and a plea for forgiveness. But she recognised the signs of exhaustion, and crept softly back to the fire. After all, it would do another day. Another day! That most pitiful of all excuses had haunted her from the moment that she had felt Wolff von Arnim's arms about her, and she was honest enough to despise it and herself. But she was afraid. She was convinced that Wolff would not understand either her old friendship with Robert Arnold or her subsequent folly in accepting a man she did not love. Nor could she explain, for the one explanation possible was the sacred secret of Hildegarde's heart. She was equally convinced that her mother would disapprove of her silence and demand that she should deal honestly with the man she was to marry. She knew that her mother would be right, and indeed she meant to tell the truth—but not now. The new happiness was too insecure. And then, the episode, foolish and even disloyal as it had been, was closed and done with. Robert Arnold had obviously accepted her final acknowledgment of the truth, and had silently gone his way. He had not answered either letter, and probably they would not meet again, or, at any rate, not until the wound had healed and been forgotten. Was it not wiser, therefore, to keep silence also—for the present? Thus Nora argued with her own conscience, and, torn between a natural rectitude and a headstrong love, came to no conclusion, but let the matter drift until that well-known "some time" which, had she been wiser, she would have recognised as an equivalent for "never."But at least the great battle for her liberty had been fought and won. An invitation was promptly sent to Karlsburg and as promptly accepted, and the day dawned which was to see Wolff's triumphal entry into the enemy's stronghold. Even Miles, though the permission to "keep out of the way" would have been willingly granted him as far as Nora was concerned, insisted on making his future brother-in-law's arrival an excuse for returning on leave."The sooner I get the blow over the better," he said, and gratuitously undertook to accompany Nora and her father to the station when the unloved guest was expected.There were more people on the platform than was usual at that time of the day. From one source and another, Delford had got to know all about Nora's engagement; and though, from the station-master's "Well, I call it a real downright shame that a pretty girl should throw herself away on one of them there Proosians!" to Mrs. Clerk's "Dear me, how dreadful!" the chorus of disapproval had been rung on every possible change, still, a good many of the disapprovers had found it necessary to be present at the arrival of the London express. Nora herself noticed nothing unusual. She was overwhelmed by a sense of unreality which made the incidents of the last months seem like pictures from a confused dream. Everything had happened so swiftly. Love, despair, and happiness had trodden on each other's heels; and in the same moment that she had grasped her happiness with both hands, she had been swept away, back into the old surroundings where that happiness had no place. And now that it was coming to her, seeking her out, as it were, in the enemy's territory, she could hardly be sure whether it were really true, whether Wolff himself were not some dream-figure who had won her in another and less everyday existence.In the midst of her bewildered thoughts the express steamed into the little station, and the next minute Wolff had become a living, breathing reality, who swept down upon her and kissed her, regardless of all the Delfordites in the world. When he gave her time and opportunity to look at him, she felt that he, too, had undergone a change, and had taken on something of his surroundings. She would hardly have recognised him in the plain tweed suit and bowler hat. Neither became him so well as his uniform—to tell the truth, neither fitted him with any great exactitude, and it was all too evident that the suit was "ready-made." But the face, strong and tanned, flushed now with his joy at seeing her, was the same. It carried her memory back to that wonderful hour when he had lifted her out of the deepest despair to an intoxicating happiness, and she, too, forgot the Delfordites and the disapproving glances of her relations, and clung to him in a transport of delight."My little Nora!" he said, "the weeks have been months!""I am not sure that they have not been years!" she cried, laughing. And then she remembered her father and brother, and hastened to perform the ceremony of introduction. The three men shook hands, the Rev. John with solemnity, Miles with a covert sneer and a glance which took in every detail of the newcomer's person. Either the solemnity or the sneer worked depressingly on Wolff's spirits. He grew suddenly quiet and grave, though his eyes, when they met Nora's, flashed with a smothered happiness which she read and understood.But the drive home in the narrow confines of the Delford brougham remained in Nora's memory as one of the most painful in her experience. The Rev. John persisted in his funereal solemnity, and talked of the weather, the journey, and the crops, very much as though he were trying to take their minds off the unpleasant circumstances which had brought them together. As to Miles, he sat in the far corner with his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window—when he was not staring the new-comer out of countenance.Poor Nora! Never before had she greeted the appearance of the monument and the ugly church steeple with so much thankfulness."We are nearly there now," she said, looking up into Wolff's face. "Mother has been so impatient to see you."Her eyes were full of a shamed, indignant apology, to which Wolff's quiet smile seemed to answer:"What do I care for them? I would carry you off if there were forty of them, all forty times as disagreeable!" And he pressed her hand defiantly under the rugs.At length the vicarage was reached. The queer, old-fashioned trunk was dragged down from its perch, and five minutes later Wolff was standing in the dimly lit drawing-room. Mrs. Ingestre had heard their coming, and came slowly and painfully forward. Her hands were outstretched, and Wolff took them, gravely bowing, and kissed them. Nora saw a curious, half-horrified expression pass over her father's face, and Miles smothered a laugh. She felt in that moment as though she could have killed them both, and then fled with Wolff anywhere, so long as she could get away from their stifling atmosphere of self-satisfaction and petty prejudices.Her mother's voice was the first to break the silence."My dear Wolff," Mrs. Ingestre said gently, "how glad I am that you have really come at last!"The simple words, with their quietly emphasised acceptance of him as a relation, acted like a balm on poor Nora's wounded spirits. She saw, too, that Wolff's face had relaxed."You make me very happy," he said. "I feel for the first time that Nora and I really belong to one another—since I have seen you, and you have welcomed me."A strange sound came from the Rev. John's direction, which might have been a cough or a groan of disapproval. Mrs. Ingestre appeared to notice nothing. She took Wolff's arm, and, leaning on him as though for support, led him closer to the light."You must forgive me," she said. "Remember that I am an old woman and that old women have their cranks. One of mine is that I do not like to be kept waiting. And I have been kept waiting so long to see the face of this wonderful German that I forgot that in all politeness I should be studying you out of the corners of my eyes. Nora has of course described you—but then, Nora is prejudiced."At this point the Rev. John's cough became consumptive in its hollow persistency, and he was heard to murmur something to the effect that Herr von Arnim would no doubt like to be shown to his room. Herr von Arnim appeared to be afflicted with deafness. He looked down at Mrs. Ingestre, meeting her frank inspection with steady, laughing eyes."I am not anything to look at—especially in these clothes," he said naïvely. "I don't think even Nora could have said that I was handsome. So you must not judge by appearances. After a time you will know what I really am, and I hope you will like me.""If I can trust Nora's description I do that already," Mrs. Ingestre answered, "but, more than Nora, more than experience, I trust my own eyes. And I think"—she paused, and the smile that crept about her lips lit up her whole face, and made it almost young and very beautiful—"I think I shall be happy to give my Nora to you, Wolff."The cough and its owner had departed in despair. Miles, finding himself ignored, skulked sulkily in the passage. Wolff bent and kissed the white, delicate hand that still clasped his own."I thank you!" he said simply.This time there were neither exclamatory eyebrows nor smothered giggles, and Nora, forgetting that they had ever been, saw in Wolff's action the seal and charter of her happiness.CHAPTER XIINORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRYNora believed in unalloyed happiness. Any one with more experience would have known that unalloyed happiness, as such, does not exist. The moment when we feel ourselves supremely happy is the moment when we are most exposed to the rude shocks of fortune. We know it, and consequently our bliss is immediately overshadowed with the knowledge of its short duration.When Mrs. Ingestre and Wolff had stood together hand in hand, as though in solemn compact of friendship and affection, Nora's heart had filled to overflowing; but already that same evening a dozen trifles, a dozen pin-pricks, came to prove to her that the storms and misadventures of the last weeks were by no means at an end. Her father who, to do him justice, never accused a fellow-creature until he was proved guilty, was none the less on the lookout for proofs of Wolff's unsuitability, and continued distressed and grave. If at any time the conversation became in the least animated, or showed a tendency to the mildest form of hilarity, he was at once on the spot with some painfully repressing commonplace. It was as though he were constantly murmuring, "Children, remember what has happened! This is not an occasion for unseemly mirth!" and in spite of all efforts the conversation drifted into a channel which would have been considered unnecessarily depressing at a funeral.Miles aided and abetted his father after his own fashion. His asides to Nora were marked by pungent humour and sarcasm. Inquiries after Wolff's tailor, and whether it was the fashion in Germany to wear one's tie at "that angle," were varied with shocked appeals that "that fellow might be told to put his knife and fork together when he had finished eating, and not leave it sprawling about his plate like a yokel!"Nora never retorted. She felt the uselessness of explaining that the Germans were different, but not on that account worse; but she felt like an enraged tigress who sees her cub attacked by brutal, clumsy hands. She did not see that Wolff, unaccustomed to such things, had struggled in vain with a refractory evening tie, nor that the cut of his coat was scarcely of the latest fashion. She saw first and foremost that he was a man and a gentleman, and her love and respect for him kindled in the same measure that her love for her father and brother diminished. There were moments during Wolff's fortnight visit when she came to hate both, so intensely did she resent their attitude towards her future husband. The Rev. John, thanks to Mrs. Ingestre, remained formal and polite to Wolff's face. Behind his back he displayed an all-damning charity."Of course, we must not judge a foreigner by our standards," he would say pathetically, "and I daresay he is well-meaning, but I wish, my poor child——"He would then break off, and look out of the window with an expression full of the most moving pity and regret.Miles, fortified with the knowledge of exams. passed and a dawning manhood, was not so reserved in his opinions."I can't think what you see in him, Nora!" he once said condescendingly. "He is a regular out-and-out German, and his hat-doffing and hand-kissing make me sick. I wish he would take himself and his beastly polish back to his own country."Whereby it will be seen that "beastly polish" was not one of Miles Ingestre's weaknesses.On the whole, Wolff more than held his own. Although unaffected and modest as far as his own person was concerned, he was much too deeply imbued with the traditional conception of his social position to feel anything but calm amusement at the ungraciousness of his two hosts. As an officer in the King's army, and as a scion of an old and noble race, he felt himself secure against contempt even in a foreign country where such things did not count. For him they counted everywhere—they upheld him and lent him an imperturbablesavoir fairewhere another man would have shown temper or resentment. Nevertheless, the fortnight was not a very happy one. The unspoken knowledge that Wolff was not "approved of" weighed upon Nora and himself as a fact which both recognised but felt wiser to ignore. They were ill at ease even when alone—Nora because she was ashamed of her own people, Wolff because he knew she was ashamed, and could do nothing to help her. Consequently they were happiest when together with Mrs. Ingestre. Her grace of manner and openly expressed affection for her future son-in-law lifted the shadow between them, and the hours spent at her side counted amongst the most unclouded.There were constant "visits" during Wolff's stay. From the inevitable Mrs. Clerk, who, in spite of strong disapproval, could not refrain from gushing over the German Baron to the Manor people, who were ponderously and haughtily critical, the whole of Delford came up for the inspection. Of course, it was a "formal" inspection. "Informal inspections" had been held in church, and when Wolff had cantered through Delford on a borrowed horse, which Miles had hopefully but mistakenly prophesied would "buck him over the first hedge." On the latter occasion it is possible that more than one feminine heart was stirred to unacknowledged admiration for the bronzed face and splendid figure, and even Miles was compelled to the sulky confession that "the fellow could ride."Thus the days passed, and, except in one long interview with the Rev. John, Wolff and Nora's marriage was treated as a tabooed subject. That interview, revealing as it did not very brilliant financial prospects, reduced the rev. gentleman to even deeper depression, and the hope of a definite settlement seemed all too far off. It was then that Mrs. Ingestre threw in the casting vote of her influence. A few days before Wolff's departure she called him to her, and the two were alone together for a long hour. In that hour Wolff learnt to know more of Mrs. Ingestre's life and character than Nora had done in all the years at her mother's side. In her desire to help her daughter to happiness, all other considerations were forgotten, and Mrs. Ingestre revealed unconsciously to Wolff's more experienced eyes a profound, if resigned, grief over her own life, stifled and clogged as it had been in her husband's atmosphere. In the quiet room her voice sounded peculiarly earnest, almost impressive."I need not tell you, my dear Wolff," she said, "that my husband is against your marriage with Nora. You must know that already. He has other ideas of happiness and suitability, and I can scarcely blame him, since they were once mine. Like him, I once saw in long acquaintance, similarity in ideas, and, of course, nationality, a certain wealth and position, the best foundations for a happy and successful life. Like him, I would probably have thought that you were not rich enough to marry, that you had not known each other long enough, that the difference of nationality and upbringing would be too great a stumbling-block. I have learnt since those days to think differently. The circumstances make little difference either way, so long as a great love is there. And, after all, what is a great love?" For the first time her tone was tinged with a faint cynicism. "Who can dare to call their love really great until they are on their deathbeds? We cannot be sure of our love, whether the object be well known to us or not, until it has been tried by the fires of years and custom. Custom is the hardest trial of all, and that is why I am glad rather than sorry that you and Nora know each other so little. It is because you know each other so little that you are in love, for being in love is simply the charm of standing before the closed, mysterious door of another's personality, and knocking for it to open. When the door opens, you will cease to be in love, but I believe that, because you are both worthy of it, you will find the all-enduring love waiting for you. At any rate, it seems to me the chances are as great for you as for those who, knowing each other too well, have never known the charm. Wolff, I am an old woman in suffering if not in years, and I think age and youth often join hands over the experience of middle life. Youth believes it is better to be truly happy for an hour and to suffer through all eternity rather than enjoy years of placid, passionless content. And that is what I have also come to believe. I would rather Nora enjoyed a brief but complete union with you than a lifetime of 'living together' with another man. Besides, I trust you; I believe you to be a good man, as I believe Nora to be a good woman, and I hope that in the afterwards you will learn to love each other. As to the question of nationality and wealth, they spell struggle and sacrifice for you both, Wolff. As a woman Nora will bring the greatest sacrifice, but I know that you will help her.""With all my strength.""And you will have patience?"He looked at her wonderingly."Sometimes you will need it, Wolff. But Nora is brave and good. She will learn to love your country because she loves you. For my part—I am glad that she is leaving Delford far behind her."Wolff made no answer. He felt that the words were an almost unconscious outburst, that unknowingly she had spoken of herself. After a moment she went on with a quiet smile:"So, you see, I am on your side. So long as I am on your side, there is nothing for either of you to fear. If anything should happen——""I pray that I shall never give you cause to take your trust away from me!" Wolff broke in.Mrs. Ingestre shook her head."I was not thinking of that possibility," she said. "I was thinking that if Nora stood alone—without me—the fight against her father's wishes might be harder. I know she would hold to you, but it would be at a bitter cost. That is why I wish for you to marry soon—as soon as possible."Something in her tone affected Wolff painfully. He looked at her, and for the first time he saw that this woman was suffering intensely, silently, with a smile on her lips and unconquered life in her eyes."Mrs. Ingestre!" he exclaimed.She took his hand and pressed it."I think you know," she said, "and if I tell you what I have withheld, and shall withhold, from every living being, it is because I wish you to clearly understand my reasons. I cannot live very long, and before it is too late I want to see Nora in your care. Can you promise that my wish shall be granted?"He made no effort to pity or express his grief. There was something masculine in her calm which held him silent, but in that moment his love for Nora strengthened because one woman had lifted her whole sex with her to the highest summit of his man's ideal. He lifted her hand reverently to his lips."God knows I promise willingly," he said.Thus Wolff von Arnim went back to his own country, and in April, four months later, came again, but not alone. Frau von Arnim accompanied him, and Delford awoke from its lethargy to the thrilling, gossip-giving occasion of a wedding. The ugly church was made beautiful with all the flowers which Mrs. Ingestre's garden and the neighbouring town could provide, the village choir produced its best anthem with deafening, ear-rending enthusiasm, and every inhabitant turned out to gape at the "Baron" and the elegant woman who—it was scarcely to be believed!—was actually a German. In truth, Frau von Arnim's elegance and air ofgrande dameupset not only Delford's preconceived notions but the Rev. John's attitude as the condescending party in an obviousmésalliance. The "German woman" frightened him, and his position was rendered the more difficult by his wife, who chose to take a decided liking for this new guest and to treat her as a welcome relation. Altogether, on the day of the wedding the poor gentleman was fairly carried off his feet by the foreign invasion. Not only Frau von Arnim, but even the despised Wolff became a personage beside whom it was not easy to appear with dignity. The latter had discarded the ungainly efforts of the Karlsburg civilian tailor, and though the Delfordites, who, in spite of a strong anti-military spirit, had had secret hopes of being regaled with flying plumes and glittering epaulettes, were somewhat disappointed with his frock-coat, his height and the fact that he was "a real foreigner" successfully withdrew every particle of attention from the Rev. John's moving address.In all the church there were perhaps only three people for whom the ceremony had any other significance than that of an interesting show, and none of them were listening to the Rev. John. Mrs. Ingestre was praying for the future in which she was doomed to have no share. Wolff and Nora thanked God for the present, which was theirs and which seemed but a foretaste of the future. Both had forgotten the trials and disappointments of the last four months, or if they thought of them at all it was as of obstacles triumphantly surmounted.In Nora all that had grown hard and bitter softened into an all-embracing tenderness. Her love for her father and brother revived—even Delford and its inhabitants appeared to her in the beautiful light of farewell. She knew she was leaving everything, if not for ever, at least for ever as her home, and as she walked by her husband's side down the narrow churchyard path her heart throbbed with a sudden pain. After all, it was England she was leaving—and she was English no longer! Then she looked up at Wolff, and their eyes met, and the pain had died as though at the touch of some mysterious healing hand."How I love you!" she thought.At the door of her old home Frau von Arnim was the first to greet her. Perhaps the elder woman's instinct had guessed the moment's pain, for she took Nora in her arms and kissed her with an unusual tenderness."We will try and make you happy in your new country," she whispered. "You must not be afraid."But Nora was no longer afraid, and her eyes were bright with a fearless confidence in the future as she returned the embrace."Iamhappy!" she said. "I have everything that I care for in the world."She ran quickly upstairs and changed into her simple travelling-dress. Mrs. Ingestre, she knew, was resting in her room, and the desire to be alone with her mother for a last moment was strong in Nora's heart. In her supreme happiness she did not forget those whom she loved; rather her love had strengthened, and towards her mother it was mingled with an endless gratitude. Yet when she crept into the little room she found it empty and silent. Mrs. Ingestre had gone back to her guests, and for a moment Nora stood looking about her, overwhelmed by the tide of tender memories from a past which already seemed so far off. The invalid's sofa, her own special chair where she had sat in those peaceful afternoons when they had been alone together, her mother's table—Nora drew closer. Something lying on the polished surface had attracted her attention. Hardly knowing why, she picked it up. It was a letter addressed to her at Karlsburg, and the handwriting was familiar. Nora did not stop to think. She tore the envelope open and read the first few lines of the contents with the rapidity of indifference. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and the words and the writing had at first no meaning. And then suddenly, as though she had been roughly awakened from a dream, she understood what it was she held. It was from Robert Arnold, and it was a love-letter.She read the first page over and over again. She felt stunned and sickened. Her mind refused to grasp what had happened."My darling," Robert had written two months before, from some far-off African village, "a miracle has happened! Your letter has come! It must have missed me at Aden, and had followed me from place to place until at last it has reached my hands. And all these months I have been thinking that you had no answer for me, or at the most the one I feared. Nora, need you ask me if I will take what you have to offer? I love you, dear, and I know my love will awaken yours and that I shall make you happy. My whole life shall thank you for the trust you have given me. I can hardly write for my joy, and the time that must elapse before I can see you seems intolerable. I cannot return for at least two or three months, as I have promised a friend to accompany him on an inland expedition, but when that is over I shall make full steam for home—or, rather, to Germany if you are still there. In the meantime, write to me, dearest. Even though weeks may pass before the letters reach me, yet the knowledge that they are there waiting will give me hope and courage. I am sending this letter to the coast by a native carrier. Heaven knows if it will ever reach you, but..."Nora looked up, conscious that she was no longer alone. Wolff stood in the doorway, dressed for departure, his hands outstretched."Are you ready,kleine Frau?" he said. "We are all waiting for you——" He broke off, and took a quick step towards her. "Nora!" he exclaimed. "How pale you are! What is the matter?"It seemed to her that a full minute must have elapsed before she brought her lips to move, but in reality she answered almost immediately:"It is nothing—nothing whatever. I am quite ready—I will come now."Outwardly pale and calm, she had lost all inner self-possession, and in a kind of frenzied fear was tearing the letter into a thousand pieces. She had no thought for the future; blindly and instinctively she was saving herself from the present.Wolff watched her in puzzled silence. Then, when the last fragment fell to the ground, he came and took her hands."Nora, somethingiswrong. Did that letter trouble you? What was it?""No, no. If it is anything, it is just the thought of leaving them all. Surely you understand?"Poor Nora! That "some day" when she had thought to tell him everything had become a "never," sealed and made irrevocable by a silence and a lie. Poor Wolff! He thought he understood. He put his arms tenderly about her."Yes, I understand. I know you have given up everything for my sake. But, oh, Nora, God helping us, we shall be so happy!"He waited, and then, as she did not speak, went on gently:"Can you bear to come now? Is your love big enough to give up all that is past, to start afresh—a new life with me in a new home, a new country? Is it too great a sacrifice to ask, Nora?"His words acted like a strong charm. She thought they were prophetic, and her reckless despair changed into a more reckless happiness. She lifted her face to his, and her eyes were triumphant."It is no sacrifice," she said. "My love for you can perform miracles. It has made your people my people, your God my God, and it can wipe out the past—everything—and leave nothing in my life but you! Take me with you, Wolff. I am quite, quite ready!"He led her proudly and happily from the room, and afterwards from the house that had been her home.But, little as she knew it, no miracle had been performed in Nora's life.END OF BOOK IBOOK IICHAPTER ITHE NEW HOME"My dear," said Frau von Seleneck, bustling into her husband's study, "is it true that the Arnims have arrived? I heard something about it yesterday from Clara, but she was not certain, and I want to know. Of course they ought to call first, but as one of the regiment, we don't need to stand on ceremony. Besides, I want to see his wife.""And his flat, and his furniture, and his cook, and her dresses," Herr von Seleneck added, with a chuckle. "Yes; call by all means. They arrived some days ago, and have a flat in the Adler Strasse. You had better go this morning.""I thought you had duty?""So I have." Kurt von Seleneck stretched himself, and his eyes twinkled. "You can make that my excuse for not accompanying you on your first visit. You don't need to pretend to me, after five years of married life, that you really want me to come with you, because you know you don't. Just think of the things you can talk about if I am not there! Just think how wretchedlyde tropI should be between you two, and let me go—this time, at least.""You would have Wolff to talk to," Frau von Seleneck said, trying to draw her round, rosy face into lines of disappointment. "You must have a lot to say to each other.""Thank you!" her husband retorted, preparing to exchange his undressLitewkafor the blue coat which a stolid orderly was holding in readiness. "Wolff and I will have opportunities enough, and the prospect of being sent away 'to talk' like children whilst you two women exchange confidences is too humiliating. Go alone, my dear."Frau von Seleneck, having attained her object, proceeded to raise all sorts of objections."I think it is mean of you to desert me, Kurt," she said. "Frau von Arnim probably can't speak a word of German, and my English is as rusty as it can be. I haven't spoken it for years and years. We shall have to play Dumb Crambo or something, and I shall die of nervousness.""I hope not," Seleneck said, who was now busy with the gloves she had laid out for him. "No doubt you are too modest, and your English only needs a little polish to reach perfection. At any rate, you can but try, and, as far as I know, Frau von Arnim can help things along with her German. She has been in Karlsburg ever since May, and ought to have picked up something of the language.""Oh, if it comes to that, I dare say I shall manage quite well," said Frau von Seleneck, who was secretly very proud of her English, "but I wish she wereerne gute Deutsche. I can't think why Wolff married an Englishwoman. All English people are dreadful. I had an English governess who frightened me to death. At meal times she used to keep up a fire of unpleasant criticism, and glare at me as though I were a sort of heathen monstrosity. 'Elsa, don't bolt your food! You eat like a wolf! Your manners would disgrace a bricklayer!' I simply hated her, and I hate all English people. They are so rude and stiff andungemtlich. One sees that they despise everybody except themselves, and one wonders how they manage it."Her husband laughed good-naturedly."I don't think they are as bad as you paint them," he said. "I believe some of them are quite decent fellows, and Frau von Arnim is, I know, charming. At any rate, do your best to be agreeable; there's a kind soul. I expect she will feel rather forlorn at first."Frau von Seleneck bridled with indignation."Of course I shall be agreeable! If she doesn't freeze me, I shall do everything I can to make her feel she is one of us. At least——" she hesitated, "I suppose she is one of us, isn't she? Who was she before she married Wolff?""My dear, if you knew you wouldn't be much the wiser," Seleneck said, preparing for departure. "English people are different. I believe it is quite an honour to marry a rich tea-merchant—or a rich anybody, for that matter. As far as I know, Frau von Arnim was a parson's daughter, and quite good family. The fact that Wolff married her and has been able to stay in the Army is guarantee enough."Elsa von Seleneck looked relieved."Of course!" she said. "How stupid of me! Well, I shall go and see what I can do to help her. I expect she is in frightful trouble with her servants. I know I am."She accompanied her husband to the door of their flat, brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his uniform, kissed him and rushed to the window to wave him a last farewell as he rode off down the quiet street. Until eleven o'clock she busied herself with her household matters, then arrayed herself in her best clothes and set off on the proposed voyage of discovery.The Adler Strasse lay at some considerable distance, and Frau von Seleneck was both hot and exhausted by the time she reached the unpretentious little house where the Arnims had taken up their quarters. She had not made use of the trams, because if you start taking trams in Berlin you can spend a fortune, and she had no fortune to spend. Moreover, she was a rotund little person, with a dangerous tendency to stoutness, and exercise therefore was a good excuse for saving the pfennige. Certainly she had exercise enough before she reached the Arnims' flat. It was on the top floor, and even for Frau von Seleneck's taste, which was not that of a pampered millionaire, the stairs were unusually steep and narrow and smelly. From the tiny landing where the visitor sought room to wait patiently for the opening of the hall door, it was possible to make a close guess at the various dinners which were being prepared in all four flats. Boiled vegetables formed the staple odour, and as, according to the unwritten law which governs German flats, all the staircase windows were hermetically sealed, it was very noticeable indeed. Not that this troubled Frau von Seleneck in the least. What did trouble her was the obstinate silence which greeted her vigorous application of the electric bell. At last, after one exceptionally determined peal, the door was cautiously opened, and Frau von Seleneck found herself welcomed by a girl who stared at her with an amusing mixture of alarm and indignation, Frau von Seleneck's inner comment was to the point."Pretty servants are always a trouble," she thought. "This one will certainly be having love affairs with the Bursche. I shall warn Frau von Arnim at once."Aloud she inquired if thegnädige Frauwas at home. To her surprise, a deep flush mounted the "servant's" cheeks and dyed the white forehead to the roots of the somewhat disordered brown hair. The door was opened a fraction wider."I am thegnädige Frau," a low voice said shame-facedly, in a nervous, broken German. "My—my cook has gone out, and so——"Frau von Seleneck held out both her hands."Why, of course!" she cried in English. "How stupid of me! I am terribly short-sighted, you know, or I should not make so silly a mistake. I am Frau von Seleneck—the wife of your husband's old comrade. I should have had the joy of meeting you in Karlsburg, but I was ill at the time—and better late than never, as you English say. I have come now to tell you "Willkommen in the Fatherland!"Her English came in an almost unintelligible rush, but the tone was so warmhearted and friendly, that poor Nora, who believed she had brought everlasting disgrace upon herself and the whole family, was humbly thankful to open the drawing-room door and usher in her unexpected visitor."I don't know what you must think of me," she said, "but just at present we have only one servant, and she has gone out. It seems the tradespeople don't come for orders, and I am much too inexperienced, and know far too little German to go shopping alone."In her unhappiness at having opened the door, she forgot to offer Frau von Seleneck a chair; but the latter, at heart only too thankful to find the freezing "Engländerin" in so human a fluster, took possession of the centre of the little sofa, and began the work of reassurance."That is nothing whatever in the world, dear Frau von Arnim," she said cheerfully. "I often open the door myself, and if anybody takes me for my cook, what does that make? It prove that the person does not belong to my circle, and if he does not belong to my circle it makes nothing what he thinks."During this exposition of uncontrovertible logic she had been making a rapid mental catalogue of the furniture. Nora saw the wandering eyes, and her humiliation deepened."I am afraid the room is horribly untidy," she confessed, wondering if the time would ever come when she would be able to stop apologising and begin a normal conversation. "You see, we have only been in a few days, and I have not got everything in its place. I hope soon it will look a little better."She spoke rather despondently, because she felt the cheap little suite of plush furniture gave no great hopes of "looking better," even with the most careful arrangement, and she was sure that the fact was obvious to all. Very much to her surprise, therefore, her visitor broke into a panegyric of praise."It is all charming!" she said, looking about her very much as though she were in a gallery of art-treasures. "I do not see how it could be better. And how good have you chose the colours! The chairs are almost the same tint as the paper, aren't they?—not quite, perhaps, but nearly. And the curtains are exquisite. How I envy you! When you come to see us, you will say, 'Ach! how is all old and shady!' and you will pity us long-married people.""Perhaps you would like to see the other rooms?" Nora suggested, who had never mastered the problem as to what one did with visitors who called at twelve o'clock in the morning. Frau von Seleneck expressed herself more than willing, and a close inspection was made of the five large-sized cupboards which served the Arnims as abode."Really, one can hardly know which is the most delightful," Frau von Seleneck declared at the end. "Everything is so tasty, as you English say—so bijou.""A little stuffy, don't you think?" Nora said timidly. "I can never get enough air, and the stairs are sometimes quite—unpleasant. Didn't you notice it?""Ach, was!" Frau von Seleneck exclaimed. "You should smell ours when our down-below neighbours have their wash-day. Then you might complain. But one must not complain. It is the greatest mistake possible—and so ungrateful. Everything is so delightful, you know.""Yes, I suppose it is," Nora said hesitatingly.Frau von Seleneck gave a comfortable little laugh, and patted her on the shoulder."You don't think so,Verehrteste? You must do like I. Six days in the week I thankdem lieben Gottthat my neighbours wash not, and the seventh I think of my sins. That way I can almost enjoy the smell. And after all, it is quite a little smell, and my sins are sometimes——" She spread out her arms to indicate an immeasurable immensity, and Nora laughed. Her visitor's good spirits were so infectious that she forgot her futile discussion with the cook, and the impenetrable stupidity of the Bursche, and began to believe that everything really was "delightful.""I will think of your advice next time I want to grumble," she said, as they re-entered the drawing-room. "Perhaps it will help me over some bad moments."Frau von Seleneck took her hand, and, to Nora's surprise, embraced her affectionately."That is why I am here," she said. "The others—theSpitzen, superior officers and wives, you know—you will have to visit first. But I thought I could help you. I am such an old soldier." She laughed again, and then became suddenly thoughtful. "Have you yet called upon the Mayos?" she asked."No," Nora answered abruptly."Then you must do so at once—they are important people, and Major von Mayo is your husband's direct superior. You know, at the beginning it is important that you should offend no one—one cannot be too particular.""I met Frau von Mayo in Karlsburg," Nora said. "I did not like her—she was rude and ill-mannered."Frau von Seleneck's eyes twinkled."She is always so," she said. "One gets accustomed.""I do not think that I should 'get accustomed,'" Nora retorted, with heightened colour. "At any rate, I shall not call.""You——" Frau von Seleneck gasped, and her eyes distended with unaffected horror. "Aber, du lieber Gott im Himmel!—you cannot mean what you say, you do not know——" she choked. "Es ist unmöglich!" she decided, as though addressing an unreasonable deity."I don't see why it isunmöglich," Nora said. "There is no purpose in calling on people whom I do not want to know. I told Wolff so.""Ah, you have told your husband! And what did he say?"Nora hesitated. She remembered now that Wolff had looked troubled, and the remembrance caused her a sudden uneasiness."He said I could do as I liked," she said slowly."Ah, the young husbands!" Frau von Seleneck threw up her hands. "What folly! It must not be. You must call on the Mayos—on everybody. You must not show that you hate or that you love. You must be the same to all—gracious, smiling—though you may want to scratch their eyes out. You must remember we are all comrades.""Comrades! I do not want Frau von Mayo as a comrade!" Nora cried indignantly.Frau von Seleneck bent forward, and her voice sank to a mysterious whisper."Nor do any of us. I tell you in secret—she is a hateful person. But we must not let her see—it is our duty to pretend.""Why?" Nora demanded uncompromisingly."For our husbands' sake—it does not do to have ill-feeling between the wives. Then the husbands quarrel, and there must be no ill-feeling between comrades."Nora shook her head."I'm afraid I'm no good at pretending," she said."But you will try—for your good Wolff's sake? See, I will help you—if you will let me."Nora took the outstretched hand. Her moment's anger had gone—dispersed by the simple appeal "for Wolff's sake.""You are very good to me," she said gratefully, "and I will try and do what is right. Everything is so new and strange to me.""I know, I know. But you will see—all will go so smooth—so smooth. One day I will go with you to the Mayos. I have my little English, and that will make it easier. My poor English!" She gave another of her comfortable chuckles. "He is so very bad.""Oh, not at all!" Nora hastened to reassure her politely. "It is really quite good—considering. I can understand everything you say."There was a rather sudden silence, and to her alarm Nora observed that her visitor's pink cheeks had turned a bright scarlet, and that there was a look of almost childish disappointment in the large brown eyes. "What have I done?" Nora thought, and then, before she had time to fathom the mystery, the good-natured little woman had recovered her equanimity as suddenly as she had lost it."You and I must be great friends," she said. "Our husbands are so—great friends, and then, of course, you belong to the regiment—at least"—she corrected herself hastily, and almost apologetically—"your husband is on the Staff now, and will make a brilliant career, whilst my poorMannhas only a year'sKommando. Still, youdidbelong to the regiment, did you not? And that always makes a bond.""Of course," Nora said. She was a little overwhelmed by the respect which this vastly older and wiser personage displayed towards her, and for the first time she realised that she had married a man on whom the military world already cast eyes of interest and envy. "I should only be too grateful for your friendship," she went on. "I know no one here, and Berlin is so big and strange to me. When Wolff is on duty I feel quite lost.""And a leetleHeimweh?" Frau von Seleneck suggested quickly. "I know not what the word is in English, but it is a terrible pain. I have it here"—she put her hand to her heart—"every year, once for two months, when Kurt is in the manoeuvres, and I weep—I weep whole buckets full."Nora started."Two months!" she said, horror-struck. "And will Wolff be away all that time?""Aber natürlich, liebes Kind! Even your Wolff will not be excused again. The Emperor has no heart for the poor wives. But you must not complain. You must laugh and be happy—at any rate, until your husband has gone. I always send mine away with a big smile, and tell him I am glad to be rid of him. Afterwards I weep. It is a great comfort to weep, but men like not tears. It makes them uncomfortable, and besides, one must not make their duty harder than it is.""Of course not," Nora said bravely. "I shall do all I can to help him. And one can write lots of letters, can't one?""Every day, and twice a day," declared her visitor cheerily, as she arose. "Ach, you will be a good soldier's wife soon. And now I must go and see that my silly Bertha has not put all the salt-box in the soup. But if you will let me I will come again, and bring my Kurt with me. He was dying to come this time, but I would have none of him. Men are such a nuisance,nicht wahr! And then you must come and see us, and we will talk German together, and you shall know all my friends, and we will help each other likegute Kameraden."A warm, hurried embrace, and plump, smiling-faced Frau von Seleneck was out of the room and on the tiny landing. A last pressure of the hand, a hearty "Aufwiedersehen!" and she had disappeared into a foggy atmosphere of pea-soup and Sauerkraut.Nora went back into the disordered little drawing-room, and set to work with a new will. The spirit of cheery content and selflessness had been left sitting on the sofa, and it seemed to chuckle in a peculiar, fat, comfortable way as Nora pushed the chairs backwards and forwards in the vain attempt to induce an air of elegance."Even if she does admire the furniture, and think the flat perfection, she has a good, kind heart," Nora thought. "I am glad we are going to be friends."She began to hum to herself, and when in an unusually untidy corner she found a pair of Wolff'sdritte Garniturgloves, she picked them up and kissed them. There was so much sunlight and love in her heart that smells and stuffiness and ugly furniture were forgotten, and she triumphed in the knowledge that she was, without exception, the happiest woman in the world.
CHAPTER XI
WOLFF MAKES HIS DEBUT IN DELFORD
The family Ingestre was once more united. As far as could be judged from appearances, the union was a complete one. Domestic peace and prosperity seemed to hover like benignant spirits over the tableau which concluded the day's round. Mrs. Ingestre lay as usual on her couch beneath the light of the tall red-shaded lamp, her husband was seated at the table, poring over a volume of the latest dogma, whilst his son, still suffering from the results of a nervous breakdown (attributed to overwork), reclined in the most comfortable arm-chair by the fireside, and imbibed military wisdom from a London daily. If there was any note of discord in this harmony, it came from Nora. She stood opposite her brother, with her elbow resting on the mantelpiece, and the firelight betrayed a warning flash in the wide-open eyes and a tense line about the mouth which boded not altogether well for peace. Her father had glanced once or twice over his spectacles in her direction, but had seemed satisfied. On the whole, she had taken her abrupt and alarming recall with surprising docility and had accepted the obvious exaggeration of the Rev. John's report concerning her mother without resentment. Mrs. Ingestre had been ill, but then she was always more or less ill, and the degree more had scarcely justified the good gentleman's excited telegram. Were the truth admitted, he had been glad to seize upon an excuse to withdraw Nora from the "pernicious influence" of her foreign surroundings, and the strain of copying his sermons and attending to his own affairs generally had given the casting vote. As it has been said, Nora's docility had been as agreeable as it was surprising, and he attributed it to causes very satisfactory to himself. It was obvious, as he had explained triumphantly to Mrs. Ingestre, that Nora had had a bitter lesson "amongst these foreigners," and was only too glad to be home. Hitherto Nora had allowed him to cherish this delusion—hence the undisturbed peace in the family circle.
The French clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. Nora started and looked up, as though she had been waiting for the sound. Then she turned and stood with her back to the fire, her hands clasped behind her, her head held resolutely. "Father and mother," she began, "I have something important to tell you."
The Rev. John turned over a page before considering the speaker. The formality of the address and Nora's general attitude would have startled him if he had been any judge of outward and visible signs, but he was one of those men who only see what they have made up their mind to see, and just at that moment he was determined to look upon Nora in something of the light of a returned and repentant prodigal.
"Well, my dear," he asked indulgently, "what is it?"
"I want to tell you"—Nora took a deep breath—"that I am engaged to be married."
The Rev. John removed his spectacles.
"To whom?"
"To Captain von Arnim."
For a full minute her father said nothing. Miles sat up as though a bomb had exploded in his close proximity. Only Mrs. Ingestre remained unmoved. She was watching her daughter with grave, thoughtful eyes, but there was an unmistakable, half-whimsical, half-pitying smile about her mouth. The Rev. John passed his hand over his head, thereby ruffling a thin wisp of hair, which, usually decorously smoothed over a wide surface, now stood on end in a fashion wholly inconsistent with the seriousness of the moment. But of this he was fortunately ignorant. To do him justice, his agitation was unfeigned. The blow had demoralised him, and to cover the momentary mental paralysis he took refuge in an obstinate refusal to understand what had been said to him.
"My dear," he began amiably, "you mentioned that some one was going to be married—I did not catch the names. Would you mind repeating——?
"I said that Captain von Arnim has asked me to be his wife," Nora answered steadily.
"The impertinence of the fellow!" Miles had by this time recovered his self-possession sufficiently to speak. "I hope you sent him to the right-about?"
"I kissed him," Nora explained, with a gleam of humour.
"Nora!"
"There was no reason why I shouldn't. He is to be my husband."
Miles swore under his breath. The Rev. John rose with what would have been dignity but for his ruffled hair-dress.
"Nora—you—you—are talking nonsense," he jerked out. "I cannot believe that you know what you are saying. A—a—foreigner—a—a man of whom I know nothing!——"
"You will get to know him in time," Nora put in hastily.
"Do not interrupt me. I am grieved—shocked beyond words. I can only suppose that you have been led astray—eh—blinded by the glamour of a uniform. It is terrible. This is the reward of my weakness. Have I not always seen this coming?"—(here the reverend gentleman exaggerated, since the gift of prophecy had not been granted him)—"have I not always protested against your absence? But I at least supposed that—that Frau von Arnim was a woman who could be trusted—who would protect you from the—eh—attentions of a——"
"Frau von Arnim is the best woman I have ever met, except mother," Nora broke in again. "As to Wolff——"
"Wolff!" Miles laughed loudly. "Just think of it, people! 'Wolff' for my brother-in-law! A German bounder in the family! Many thanks!"
There was a moment's electric silence. The Rev. John had by this time recovered his professional eloquence, and was preparing to settle down to the work of exhortation with a zest. It was perhaps fortunate that Nora's face was turned away, otherwise he might have found less pleasure in listening to his own rounded periods.
"Miles puts the matter a trifle pointedly," he began, "but, on the whole, he expresses my own views. For many reasons I strongly disapprove of an English girl marrying out of her people, and as you are too young and inexperienced to appreciate those reasons, you must submit to my simple authority. I must, dear child, absolutely refuse my consent to this premature and regrettable engagement. I have no doubt that Frau von Arnim will see for herself that in her anxiety to effect an advantageous alliance for her nephew she has been over-hasty—I must say, inexcusably hasty, in giving her sanction."
"Thank goodnessthatis knocked on the head!" Miles said, rising triumphantly to his feet. "I swear to you, the bare possibility makes me feel positively faint. We all know what German officers are like—bullying drinkers and gamblers——"
Nora turned and looked at him. There was something very like hatred in her dangerously bright eyes.
"I forbid you to speak like that of a class to which my future husband belongs!" she said. "Besides what you said being nonsense, it is also cowardly to attack where no chance is given to defend. As to my engagement"—she turned again to her father, and her voice grew calm and firm—"whether you give your consent or not makes no real difference. In a short time I shall be of age, and then I shall marry Wolff. We can afford to wait, if it must be."
"Nora!" The Rev. John recovered his breath with difficulty. "How can you—how dare you speak to me like that? Have you forgotten that I am your father—that——"
"I have not forgotten anything," Nora interrupted, in the same steady accents, "but it would be hypocritical of me to pretend a submission which I do not feel and which I should consider disloyal. Hitherto my duty has been towards you—it is now due to the man whom I love above every other earthly consideration. It does not matter in the least to me that Wolff is a foreigner. If he were a Hottentot it would make no difference."
Neither the Rev. John nor his son found any immediate answer. They looked at the proud, determined face, and perhaps in various degrees of distinctness each realised that Nora the child was a creature of the past, and that this was a woman who stood before them, armed and invulnerable in the strength of her awakened passion.
The Rev. John, completely thrown out of his concept by this unexpected revelation, looked at his wife with the weak appeal of a blusterer who suddenly discovers that he has blustered in vain. Mrs. Ingestre saw the look—possibly she had been waiting for it.
"I think that, if all Nora says is true, we have no right to interfere," she said quietly, "and the best thing we can do is to ask Captain von Arnim to come and see us. What do you say, Nora?"
Nora's whole face lit up, but she said nothing, only looked at her father and waited. Had she burst out into a storm of girlish delight and gratitude, the Rev. John might have plucked up courage and held his ground, but that steady self-repression indicated a strength of purpose of which he himself was incapable. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Since my authority is denied in my own house, there is no object in appealing to me," he said peevishly. "Do what you like—only, in the future remember that I warned you. You have taken your life into your own hands, Nora. I can no longer hold myself responsible."
"All I beg is that I shall be allowed to keep out of the way when the beggar comes here," Miles said, as he followed his indignant parent out of the room.
The moment the door had closed Nora left her place of defence by the fire and came to Mrs. Ingestre's side.
"I know you are wondering why I did not tell you before, mother," she said rapidly and clearly. "It was because I did not want to drag you into it more than I could help. I know what you have to bear when father thinks you are 'abetting' me. I wanted to fight my battle alone."
"And I suppose you think you have won, Nora?"
"Yes, I think so. Father can do nothing."
"I was not thinking of that."
Nora looked down into the pale face and wondered at the pity which mingled with the tenderness of its expression.
"Of what were you thinking, mother?"
Mrs. Ingestre sighed.
"Are you so sure of yourself, little girl?" she asked gently. "Is your love really above every earthly consideration? Can you give up your home, your country, your language, your ways, us—your people, without a heart-ache? Do you realise that you are bringing your love the greatest of all sacrifices?"
"Mother, it is a sacrifice Wolff will never ask of me."
"Life will ask it of you—not even Wolff can alter the laws of life. The day may come when Circumstance will say to you that you must choose. And what then?"
Nora was silent. Then she lifted her head.
"Then, mother, I should have to choose. It is true—my love is strongest in me."
Mrs. Ingestre sank back among her pillows.
"God help you, dear!" she said under her breath.
Nora waited a moment. There was something more that she had to tell—the story of a letter written in a fervour of self-sacrifice, and of another letter written two weeks later, a pitiful letter containing a confession and a plea for forgiveness. But she recognised the signs of exhaustion, and crept softly back to the fire. After all, it would do another day. Another day! That most pitiful of all excuses had haunted her from the moment that she had felt Wolff von Arnim's arms about her, and she was honest enough to despise it and herself. But she was afraid. She was convinced that Wolff would not understand either her old friendship with Robert Arnold or her subsequent folly in accepting a man she did not love. Nor could she explain, for the one explanation possible was the sacred secret of Hildegarde's heart. She was equally convinced that her mother would disapprove of her silence and demand that she should deal honestly with the man she was to marry. She knew that her mother would be right, and indeed she meant to tell the truth—but not now. The new happiness was too insecure. And then, the episode, foolish and even disloyal as it had been, was closed and done with. Robert Arnold had obviously accepted her final acknowledgment of the truth, and had silently gone his way. He had not answered either letter, and probably they would not meet again, or, at any rate, not until the wound had healed and been forgotten. Was it not wiser, therefore, to keep silence also—for the present? Thus Nora argued with her own conscience, and, torn between a natural rectitude and a headstrong love, came to no conclusion, but let the matter drift until that well-known "some time" which, had she been wiser, she would have recognised as an equivalent for "never."
But at least the great battle for her liberty had been fought and won. An invitation was promptly sent to Karlsburg and as promptly accepted, and the day dawned which was to see Wolff's triumphal entry into the enemy's stronghold. Even Miles, though the permission to "keep out of the way" would have been willingly granted him as far as Nora was concerned, insisted on making his future brother-in-law's arrival an excuse for returning on leave.
"The sooner I get the blow over the better," he said, and gratuitously undertook to accompany Nora and her father to the station when the unloved guest was expected.
There were more people on the platform than was usual at that time of the day. From one source and another, Delford had got to know all about Nora's engagement; and though, from the station-master's "Well, I call it a real downright shame that a pretty girl should throw herself away on one of them there Proosians!" to Mrs. Clerk's "Dear me, how dreadful!" the chorus of disapproval had been rung on every possible change, still, a good many of the disapprovers had found it necessary to be present at the arrival of the London express. Nora herself noticed nothing unusual. She was overwhelmed by a sense of unreality which made the incidents of the last months seem like pictures from a confused dream. Everything had happened so swiftly. Love, despair, and happiness had trodden on each other's heels; and in the same moment that she had grasped her happiness with both hands, she had been swept away, back into the old surroundings where that happiness had no place. And now that it was coming to her, seeking her out, as it were, in the enemy's territory, she could hardly be sure whether it were really true, whether Wolff himself were not some dream-figure who had won her in another and less everyday existence.
In the midst of her bewildered thoughts the express steamed into the little station, and the next minute Wolff had become a living, breathing reality, who swept down upon her and kissed her, regardless of all the Delfordites in the world. When he gave her time and opportunity to look at him, she felt that he, too, had undergone a change, and had taken on something of his surroundings. She would hardly have recognised him in the plain tweed suit and bowler hat. Neither became him so well as his uniform—to tell the truth, neither fitted him with any great exactitude, and it was all too evident that the suit was "ready-made." But the face, strong and tanned, flushed now with his joy at seeing her, was the same. It carried her memory back to that wonderful hour when he had lifted her out of the deepest despair to an intoxicating happiness, and she, too, forgot the Delfordites and the disapproving glances of her relations, and clung to him in a transport of delight.
"My little Nora!" he said, "the weeks have been months!"
"I am not sure that they have not been years!" she cried, laughing. And then she remembered her father and brother, and hastened to perform the ceremony of introduction. The three men shook hands, the Rev. John with solemnity, Miles with a covert sneer and a glance which took in every detail of the newcomer's person. Either the solemnity or the sneer worked depressingly on Wolff's spirits. He grew suddenly quiet and grave, though his eyes, when they met Nora's, flashed with a smothered happiness which she read and understood.
But the drive home in the narrow confines of the Delford brougham remained in Nora's memory as one of the most painful in her experience. The Rev. John persisted in his funereal solemnity, and talked of the weather, the journey, and the crops, very much as though he were trying to take their minds off the unpleasant circumstances which had brought them together. As to Miles, he sat in the far corner with his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window—when he was not staring the new-comer out of countenance.
Poor Nora! Never before had she greeted the appearance of the monument and the ugly church steeple with so much thankfulness.
"We are nearly there now," she said, looking up into Wolff's face. "Mother has been so impatient to see you."
Her eyes were full of a shamed, indignant apology, to which Wolff's quiet smile seemed to answer:
"What do I care for them? I would carry you off if there were forty of them, all forty times as disagreeable!" And he pressed her hand defiantly under the rugs.
At length the vicarage was reached. The queer, old-fashioned trunk was dragged down from its perch, and five minutes later Wolff was standing in the dimly lit drawing-room. Mrs. Ingestre had heard their coming, and came slowly and painfully forward. Her hands were outstretched, and Wolff took them, gravely bowing, and kissed them. Nora saw a curious, half-horrified expression pass over her father's face, and Miles smothered a laugh. She felt in that moment as though she could have killed them both, and then fled with Wolff anywhere, so long as she could get away from their stifling atmosphere of self-satisfaction and petty prejudices.
Her mother's voice was the first to break the silence.
"My dear Wolff," Mrs. Ingestre said gently, "how glad I am that you have really come at last!"
The simple words, with their quietly emphasised acceptance of him as a relation, acted like a balm on poor Nora's wounded spirits. She saw, too, that Wolff's face had relaxed.
"You make me very happy," he said. "I feel for the first time that Nora and I really belong to one another—since I have seen you, and you have welcomed me."
A strange sound came from the Rev. John's direction, which might have been a cough or a groan of disapproval. Mrs. Ingestre appeared to notice nothing. She took Wolff's arm, and, leaning on him as though for support, led him closer to the light.
"You must forgive me," she said. "Remember that I am an old woman and that old women have their cranks. One of mine is that I do not like to be kept waiting. And I have been kept waiting so long to see the face of this wonderful German that I forgot that in all politeness I should be studying you out of the corners of my eyes. Nora has of course described you—but then, Nora is prejudiced."
At this point the Rev. John's cough became consumptive in its hollow persistency, and he was heard to murmur something to the effect that Herr von Arnim would no doubt like to be shown to his room. Herr von Arnim appeared to be afflicted with deafness. He looked down at Mrs. Ingestre, meeting her frank inspection with steady, laughing eyes.
"I am not anything to look at—especially in these clothes," he said naïvely. "I don't think even Nora could have said that I was handsome. So you must not judge by appearances. After a time you will know what I really am, and I hope you will like me."
"If I can trust Nora's description I do that already," Mrs. Ingestre answered, "but, more than Nora, more than experience, I trust my own eyes. And I think"—she paused, and the smile that crept about her lips lit up her whole face, and made it almost young and very beautiful—"I think I shall be happy to give my Nora to you, Wolff."
The cough and its owner had departed in despair. Miles, finding himself ignored, skulked sulkily in the passage. Wolff bent and kissed the white, delicate hand that still clasped his own.
"I thank you!" he said simply.
This time there were neither exclamatory eyebrows nor smothered giggles, and Nora, forgetting that they had ever been, saw in Wolff's action the seal and charter of her happiness.
CHAPTER XII
NORA FORSAKES HER COUNTRY
Nora believed in unalloyed happiness. Any one with more experience would have known that unalloyed happiness, as such, does not exist. The moment when we feel ourselves supremely happy is the moment when we are most exposed to the rude shocks of fortune. We know it, and consequently our bliss is immediately overshadowed with the knowledge of its short duration.
When Mrs. Ingestre and Wolff had stood together hand in hand, as though in solemn compact of friendship and affection, Nora's heart had filled to overflowing; but already that same evening a dozen trifles, a dozen pin-pricks, came to prove to her that the storms and misadventures of the last weeks were by no means at an end. Her father who, to do him justice, never accused a fellow-creature until he was proved guilty, was none the less on the lookout for proofs of Wolff's unsuitability, and continued distressed and grave. If at any time the conversation became in the least animated, or showed a tendency to the mildest form of hilarity, he was at once on the spot with some painfully repressing commonplace. It was as though he were constantly murmuring, "Children, remember what has happened! This is not an occasion for unseemly mirth!" and in spite of all efforts the conversation drifted into a channel which would have been considered unnecessarily depressing at a funeral.
Miles aided and abetted his father after his own fashion. His asides to Nora were marked by pungent humour and sarcasm. Inquiries after Wolff's tailor, and whether it was the fashion in Germany to wear one's tie at "that angle," were varied with shocked appeals that "that fellow might be told to put his knife and fork together when he had finished eating, and not leave it sprawling about his plate like a yokel!"
Nora never retorted. She felt the uselessness of explaining that the Germans were different, but not on that account worse; but she felt like an enraged tigress who sees her cub attacked by brutal, clumsy hands. She did not see that Wolff, unaccustomed to such things, had struggled in vain with a refractory evening tie, nor that the cut of his coat was scarcely of the latest fashion. She saw first and foremost that he was a man and a gentleman, and her love and respect for him kindled in the same measure that her love for her father and brother diminished. There were moments during Wolff's fortnight visit when she came to hate both, so intensely did she resent their attitude towards her future husband. The Rev. John, thanks to Mrs. Ingestre, remained formal and polite to Wolff's face. Behind his back he displayed an all-damning charity.
"Of course, we must not judge a foreigner by our standards," he would say pathetically, "and I daresay he is well-meaning, but I wish, my poor child——"
He would then break off, and look out of the window with an expression full of the most moving pity and regret.
Miles, fortified with the knowledge of exams. passed and a dawning manhood, was not so reserved in his opinions.
"I can't think what you see in him, Nora!" he once said condescendingly. "He is a regular out-and-out German, and his hat-doffing and hand-kissing make me sick. I wish he would take himself and his beastly polish back to his own country."
Whereby it will be seen that "beastly polish" was not one of Miles Ingestre's weaknesses.
On the whole, Wolff more than held his own. Although unaffected and modest as far as his own person was concerned, he was much too deeply imbued with the traditional conception of his social position to feel anything but calm amusement at the ungraciousness of his two hosts. As an officer in the King's army, and as a scion of an old and noble race, he felt himself secure against contempt even in a foreign country where such things did not count. For him they counted everywhere—they upheld him and lent him an imperturbablesavoir fairewhere another man would have shown temper or resentment. Nevertheless, the fortnight was not a very happy one. The unspoken knowledge that Wolff was not "approved of" weighed upon Nora and himself as a fact which both recognised but felt wiser to ignore. They were ill at ease even when alone—Nora because she was ashamed of her own people, Wolff because he knew she was ashamed, and could do nothing to help her. Consequently they were happiest when together with Mrs. Ingestre. Her grace of manner and openly expressed affection for her future son-in-law lifted the shadow between them, and the hours spent at her side counted amongst the most unclouded.
There were constant "visits" during Wolff's stay. From the inevitable Mrs. Clerk, who, in spite of strong disapproval, could not refrain from gushing over the German Baron to the Manor people, who were ponderously and haughtily critical, the whole of Delford came up for the inspection. Of course, it was a "formal" inspection. "Informal inspections" had been held in church, and when Wolff had cantered through Delford on a borrowed horse, which Miles had hopefully but mistakenly prophesied would "buck him over the first hedge." On the latter occasion it is possible that more than one feminine heart was stirred to unacknowledged admiration for the bronzed face and splendid figure, and even Miles was compelled to the sulky confession that "the fellow could ride."
Thus the days passed, and, except in one long interview with the Rev. John, Wolff and Nora's marriage was treated as a tabooed subject. That interview, revealing as it did not very brilliant financial prospects, reduced the rev. gentleman to even deeper depression, and the hope of a definite settlement seemed all too far off. It was then that Mrs. Ingestre threw in the casting vote of her influence. A few days before Wolff's departure she called him to her, and the two were alone together for a long hour. In that hour Wolff learnt to know more of Mrs. Ingestre's life and character than Nora had done in all the years at her mother's side. In her desire to help her daughter to happiness, all other considerations were forgotten, and Mrs. Ingestre revealed unconsciously to Wolff's more experienced eyes a profound, if resigned, grief over her own life, stifled and clogged as it had been in her husband's atmosphere. In the quiet room her voice sounded peculiarly earnest, almost impressive.
"I need not tell you, my dear Wolff," she said, "that my husband is against your marriage with Nora. You must know that already. He has other ideas of happiness and suitability, and I can scarcely blame him, since they were once mine. Like him, I once saw in long acquaintance, similarity in ideas, and, of course, nationality, a certain wealth and position, the best foundations for a happy and successful life. Like him, I would probably have thought that you were not rich enough to marry, that you had not known each other long enough, that the difference of nationality and upbringing would be too great a stumbling-block. I have learnt since those days to think differently. The circumstances make little difference either way, so long as a great love is there. And, after all, what is a great love?" For the first time her tone was tinged with a faint cynicism. "Who can dare to call their love really great until they are on their deathbeds? We cannot be sure of our love, whether the object be well known to us or not, until it has been tried by the fires of years and custom. Custom is the hardest trial of all, and that is why I am glad rather than sorry that you and Nora know each other so little. It is because you know each other so little that you are in love, for being in love is simply the charm of standing before the closed, mysterious door of another's personality, and knocking for it to open. When the door opens, you will cease to be in love, but I believe that, because you are both worthy of it, you will find the all-enduring love waiting for you. At any rate, it seems to me the chances are as great for you as for those who, knowing each other too well, have never known the charm. Wolff, I am an old woman in suffering if not in years, and I think age and youth often join hands over the experience of middle life. Youth believes it is better to be truly happy for an hour and to suffer through all eternity rather than enjoy years of placid, passionless content. And that is what I have also come to believe. I would rather Nora enjoyed a brief but complete union with you than a lifetime of 'living together' with another man. Besides, I trust you; I believe you to be a good man, as I believe Nora to be a good woman, and I hope that in the afterwards you will learn to love each other. As to the question of nationality and wealth, they spell struggle and sacrifice for you both, Wolff. As a woman Nora will bring the greatest sacrifice, but I know that you will help her."
"With all my strength."
"And you will have patience?"
He looked at her wonderingly.
"Sometimes you will need it, Wolff. But Nora is brave and good. She will learn to love your country because she loves you. For my part—I am glad that she is leaving Delford far behind her."
Wolff made no answer. He felt that the words were an almost unconscious outburst, that unknowingly she had spoken of herself. After a moment she went on with a quiet smile:
"So, you see, I am on your side. So long as I am on your side, there is nothing for either of you to fear. If anything should happen——"
"I pray that I shall never give you cause to take your trust away from me!" Wolff broke in.
Mrs. Ingestre shook her head.
"I was not thinking of that possibility," she said. "I was thinking that if Nora stood alone—without me—the fight against her father's wishes might be harder. I know she would hold to you, but it would be at a bitter cost. That is why I wish for you to marry soon—as soon as possible."
Something in her tone affected Wolff painfully. He looked at her, and for the first time he saw that this woman was suffering intensely, silently, with a smile on her lips and unconquered life in her eyes.
"Mrs. Ingestre!" he exclaimed.
She took his hand and pressed it.
"I think you know," she said, "and if I tell you what I have withheld, and shall withhold, from every living being, it is because I wish you to clearly understand my reasons. I cannot live very long, and before it is too late I want to see Nora in your care. Can you promise that my wish shall be granted?"
He made no effort to pity or express his grief. There was something masculine in her calm which held him silent, but in that moment his love for Nora strengthened because one woman had lifted her whole sex with her to the highest summit of his man's ideal. He lifted her hand reverently to his lips.
"God knows I promise willingly," he said.
Thus Wolff von Arnim went back to his own country, and in April, four months later, came again, but not alone. Frau von Arnim accompanied him, and Delford awoke from its lethargy to the thrilling, gossip-giving occasion of a wedding. The ugly church was made beautiful with all the flowers which Mrs. Ingestre's garden and the neighbouring town could provide, the village choir produced its best anthem with deafening, ear-rending enthusiasm, and every inhabitant turned out to gape at the "Baron" and the elegant woman who—it was scarcely to be believed!—was actually a German. In truth, Frau von Arnim's elegance and air ofgrande dameupset not only Delford's preconceived notions but the Rev. John's attitude as the condescending party in an obviousmésalliance. The "German woman" frightened him, and his position was rendered the more difficult by his wife, who chose to take a decided liking for this new guest and to treat her as a welcome relation. Altogether, on the day of the wedding the poor gentleman was fairly carried off his feet by the foreign invasion. Not only Frau von Arnim, but even the despised Wolff became a personage beside whom it was not easy to appear with dignity. The latter had discarded the ungainly efforts of the Karlsburg civilian tailor, and though the Delfordites, who, in spite of a strong anti-military spirit, had had secret hopes of being regaled with flying plumes and glittering epaulettes, were somewhat disappointed with his frock-coat, his height and the fact that he was "a real foreigner" successfully withdrew every particle of attention from the Rev. John's moving address.
In all the church there were perhaps only three people for whom the ceremony had any other significance than that of an interesting show, and none of them were listening to the Rev. John. Mrs. Ingestre was praying for the future in which she was doomed to have no share. Wolff and Nora thanked God for the present, which was theirs and which seemed but a foretaste of the future. Both had forgotten the trials and disappointments of the last four months, or if they thought of them at all it was as of obstacles triumphantly surmounted.
In Nora all that had grown hard and bitter softened into an all-embracing tenderness. Her love for her father and brother revived—even Delford and its inhabitants appeared to her in the beautiful light of farewell. She knew she was leaving everything, if not for ever, at least for ever as her home, and as she walked by her husband's side down the narrow churchyard path her heart throbbed with a sudden pain. After all, it was England she was leaving—and she was English no longer! Then she looked up at Wolff, and their eyes met, and the pain had died as though at the touch of some mysterious healing hand.
"How I love you!" she thought.
At the door of her old home Frau von Arnim was the first to greet her. Perhaps the elder woman's instinct had guessed the moment's pain, for she took Nora in her arms and kissed her with an unusual tenderness.
"We will try and make you happy in your new country," she whispered. "You must not be afraid."
But Nora was no longer afraid, and her eyes were bright with a fearless confidence in the future as she returned the embrace.
"Iamhappy!" she said. "I have everything that I care for in the world."
She ran quickly upstairs and changed into her simple travelling-dress. Mrs. Ingestre, she knew, was resting in her room, and the desire to be alone with her mother for a last moment was strong in Nora's heart. In her supreme happiness she did not forget those whom she loved; rather her love had strengthened, and towards her mother it was mingled with an endless gratitude. Yet when she crept into the little room she found it empty and silent. Mrs. Ingestre had gone back to her guests, and for a moment Nora stood looking about her, overwhelmed by the tide of tender memories from a past which already seemed so far off. The invalid's sofa, her own special chair where she had sat in those peaceful afternoons when they had been alone together, her mother's table—Nora drew closer. Something lying on the polished surface had attracted her attention. Hardly knowing why, she picked it up. It was a letter addressed to her at Karlsburg, and the handwriting was familiar. Nora did not stop to think. She tore the envelope open and read the first few lines of the contents with the rapidity of indifference. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and the words and the writing had at first no meaning. And then suddenly, as though she had been roughly awakened from a dream, she understood what it was she held. It was from Robert Arnold, and it was a love-letter.
She read the first page over and over again. She felt stunned and sickened. Her mind refused to grasp what had happened.
"My darling," Robert had written two months before, from some far-off African village, "a miracle has happened! Your letter has come! It must have missed me at Aden, and had followed me from place to place until at last it has reached my hands. And all these months I have been thinking that you had no answer for me, or at the most the one I feared. Nora, need you ask me if I will take what you have to offer? I love you, dear, and I know my love will awaken yours and that I shall make you happy. My whole life shall thank you for the trust you have given me. I can hardly write for my joy, and the time that must elapse before I can see you seems intolerable. I cannot return for at least two or three months, as I have promised a friend to accompany him on an inland expedition, but when that is over I shall make full steam for home—or, rather, to Germany if you are still there. In the meantime, write to me, dearest. Even though weeks may pass before the letters reach me, yet the knowledge that they are there waiting will give me hope and courage. I am sending this letter to the coast by a native carrier. Heaven knows if it will ever reach you, but..."
Nora looked up, conscious that she was no longer alone. Wolff stood in the doorway, dressed for departure, his hands outstretched.
"Are you ready,kleine Frau?" he said. "We are all waiting for you——" He broke off, and took a quick step towards her. "Nora!" he exclaimed. "How pale you are! What is the matter?"
It seemed to her that a full minute must have elapsed before she brought her lips to move, but in reality she answered almost immediately:
"It is nothing—nothing whatever. I am quite ready—I will come now."
Outwardly pale and calm, she had lost all inner self-possession, and in a kind of frenzied fear was tearing the letter into a thousand pieces. She had no thought for the future; blindly and instinctively she was saving herself from the present.
Wolff watched her in puzzled silence. Then, when the last fragment fell to the ground, he came and took her hands.
"Nora, somethingiswrong. Did that letter trouble you? What was it?"
"No, no. If it is anything, it is just the thought of leaving them all. Surely you understand?"
Poor Nora! That "some day" when she had thought to tell him everything had become a "never," sealed and made irrevocable by a silence and a lie. Poor Wolff! He thought he understood. He put his arms tenderly about her.
"Yes, I understand. I know you have given up everything for my sake. But, oh, Nora, God helping us, we shall be so happy!"
He waited, and then, as she did not speak, went on gently:
"Can you bear to come now? Is your love big enough to give up all that is past, to start afresh—a new life with me in a new home, a new country? Is it too great a sacrifice to ask, Nora?"
His words acted like a strong charm. She thought they were prophetic, and her reckless despair changed into a more reckless happiness. She lifted her face to his, and her eyes were triumphant.
"It is no sacrifice," she said. "My love for you can perform miracles. It has made your people my people, your God my God, and it can wipe out the past—everything—and leave nothing in my life but you! Take me with you, Wolff. I am quite, quite ready!"
He led her proudly and happily from the room, and afterwards from the house that had been her home.
But, little as she knew it, no miracle had been performed in Nora's life.
END OF BOOK I
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
THE NEW HOME
"My dear," said Frau von Seleneck, bustling into her husband's study, "is it true that the Arnims have arrived? I heard something about it yesterday from Clara, but she was not certain, and I want to know. Of course they ought to call first, but as one of the regiment, we don't need to stand on ceremony. Besides, I want to see his wife."
"And his flat, and his furniture, and his cook, and her dresses," Herr von Seleneck added, with a chuckle. "Yes; call by all means. They arrived some days ago, and have a flat in the Adler Strasse. You had better go this morning."
"I thought you had duty?"
"So I have." Kurt von Seleneck stretched himself, and his eyes twinkled. "You can make that my excuse for not accompanying you on your first visit. You don't need to pretend to me, after five years of married life, that you really want me to come with you, because you know you don't. Just think of the things you can talk about if I am not there! Just think how wretchedlyde tropI should be between you two, and let me go—this time, at least."
"You would have Wolff to talk to," Frau von Seleneck said, trying to draw her round, rosy face into lines of disappointment. "You must have a lot to say to each other."
"Thank you!" her husband retorted, preparing to exchange his undressLitewkafor the blue coat which a stolid orderly was holding in readiness. "Wolff and I will have opportunities enough, and the prospect of being sent away 'to talk' like children whilst you two women exchange confidences is too humiliating. Go alone, my dear."
Frau von Seleneck, having attained her object, proceeded to raise all sorts of objections.
"I think it is mean of you to desert me, Kurt," she said. "Frau von Arnim probably can't speak a word of German, and my English is as rusty as it can be. I haven't spoken it for years and years. We shall have to play Dumb Crambo or something, and I shall die of nervousness."
"I hope not," Seleneck said, who was now busy with the gloves she had laid out for him. "No doubt you are too modest, and your English only needs a little polish to reach perfection. At any rate, you can but try, and, as far as I know, Frau von Arnim can help things along with her German. She has been in Karlsburg ever since May, and ought to have picked up something of the language."
"Oh, if it comes to that, I dare say I shall manage quite well," said Frau von Seleneck, who was secretly very proud of her English, "but I wish she wereerne gute Deutsche. I can't think why Wolff married an Englishwoman. All English people are dreadful. I had an English governess who frightened me to death. At meal times she used to keep up a fire of unpleasant criticism, and glare at me as though I were a sort of heathen monstrosity. 'Elsa, don't bolt your food! You eat like a wolf! Your manners would disgrace a bricklayer!' I simply hated her, and I hate all English people. They are so rude and stiff andungemtlich. One sees that they despise everybody except themselves, and one wonders how they manage it."
Her husband laughed good-naturedly.
"I don't think they are as bad as you paint them," he said. "I believe some of them are quite decent fellows, and Frau von Arnim is, I know, charming. At any rate, do your best to be agreeable; there's a kind soul. I expect she will feel rather forlorn at first."
Frau von Seleneck bridled with indignation.
"Of course I shall be agreeable! If she doesn't freeze me, I shall do everything I can to make her feel she is one of us. At least——" she hesitated, "I suppose she is one of us, isn't she? Who was she before she married Wolff?"
"My dear, if you knew you wouldn't be much the wiser," Seleneck said, preparing for departure. "English people are different. I believe it is quite an honour to marry a rich tea-merchant—or a rich anybody, for that matter. As far as I know, Frau von Arnim was a parson's daughter, and quite good family. The fact that Wolff married her and has been able to stay in the Army is guarantee enough."
Elsa von Seleneck looked relieved.
"Of course!" she said. "How stupid of me! Well, I shall go and see what I can do to help her. I expect she is in frightful trouble with her servants. I know I am."
She accompanied her husband to the door of their flat, brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his uniform, kissed him and rushed to the window to wave him a last farewell as he rode off down the quiet street. Until eleven o'clock she busied herself with her household matters, then arrayed herself in her best clothes and set off on the proposed voyage of discovery.
The Adler Strasse lay at some considerable distance, and Frau von Seleneck was both hot and exhausted by the time she reached the unpretentious little house where the Arnims had taken up their quarters. She had not made use of the trams, because if you start taking trams in Berlin you can spend a fortune, and she had no fortune to spend. Moreover, she was a rotund little person, with a dangerous tendency to stoutness, and exercise therefore was a good excuse for saving the pfennige. Certainly she had exercise enough before she reached the Arnims' flat. It was on the top floor, and even for Frau von Seleneck's taste, which was not that of a pampered millionaire, the stairs were unusually steep and narrow and smelly. From the tiny landing where the visitor sought room to wait patiently for the opening of the hall door, it was possible to make a close guess at the various dinners which were being prepared in all four flats. Boiled vegetables formed the staple odour, and as, according to the unwritten law which governs German flats, all the staircase windows were hermetically sealed, it was very noticeable indeed. Not that this troubled Frau von Seleneck in the least. What did trouble her was the obstinate silence which greeted her vigorous application of the electric bell. At last, after one exceptionally determined peal, the door was cautiously opened, and Frau von Seleneck found herself welcomed by a girl who stared at her with an amusing mixture of alarm and indignation, Frau von Seleneck's inner comment was to the point.
"Pretty servants are always a trouble," she thought. "This one will certainly be having love affairs with the Bursche. I shall warn Frau von Arnim at once."
Aloud she inquired if thegnädige Frauwas at home. To her surprise, a deep flush mounted the "servant's" cheeks and dyed the white forehead to the roots of the somewhat disordered brown hair. The door was opened a fraction wider.
"I am thegnädige Frau," a low voice said shame-facedly, in a nervous, broken German. "My—my cook has gone out, and so——"
Frau von Seleneck held out both her hands.
"Why, of course!" she cried in English. "How stupid of me! I am terribly short-sighted, you know, or I should not make so silly a mistake. I am Frau von Seleneck—the wife of your husband's old comrade. I should have had the joy of meeting you in Karlsburg, but I was ill at the time—and better late than never, as you English say. I have come now to tell you "Willkommen in the Fatherland!"
Her English came in an almost unintelligible rush, but the tone was so warmhearted and friendly, that poor Nora, who believed she had brought everlasting disgrace upon herself and the whole family, was humbly thankful to open the drawing-room door and usher in her unexpected visitor.
"I don't know what you must think of me," she said, "but just at present we have only one servant, and she has gone out. It seems the tradespeople don't come for orders, and I am much too inexperienced, and know far too little German to go shopping alone."
In her unhappiness at having opened the door, she forgot to offer Frau von Seleneck a chair; but the latter, at heart only too thankful to find the freezing "Engländerin" in so human a fluster, took possession of the centre of the little sofa, and began the work of reassurance.
"That is nothing whatever in the world, dear Frau von Arnim," she said cheerfully. "I often open the door myself, and if anybody takes me for my cook, what does that make? It prove that the person does not belong to my circle, and if he does not belong to my circle it makes nothing what he thinks."
During this exposition of uncontrovertible logic she had been making a rapid mental catalogue of the furniture. Nora saw the wandering eyes, and her humiliation deepened.
"I am afraid the room is horribly untidy," she confessed, wondering if the time would ever come when she would be able to stop apologising and begin a normal conversation. "You see, we have only been in a few days, and I have not got everything in its place. I hope soon it will look a little better."
She spoke rather despondently, because she felt the cheap little suite of plush furniture gave no great hopes of "looking better," even with the most careful arrangement, and she was sure that the fact was obvious to all. Very much to her surprise, therefore, her visitor broke into a panegyric of praise.
"It is all charming!" she said, looking about her very much as though she were in a gallery of art-treasures. "I do not see how it could be better. And how good have you chose the colours! The chairs are almost the same tint as the paper, aren't they?—not quite, perhaps, but nearly. And the curtains are exquisite. How I envy you! When you come to see us, you will say, 'Ach! how is all old and shady!' and you will pity us long-married people."
"Perhaps you would like to see the other rooms?" Nora suggested, who had never mastered the problem as to what one did with visitors who called at twelve o'clock in the morning. Frau von Seleneck expressed herself more than willing, and a close inspection was made of the five large-sized cupboards which served the Arnims as abode.
"Really, one can hardly know which is the most delightful," Frau von Seleneck declared at the end. "Everything is so tasty, as you English say—so bijou."
"A little stuffy, don't you think?" Nora said timidly. "I can never get enough air, and the stairs are sometimes quite—unpleasant. Didn't you notice it?"
"Ach, was!" Frau von Seleneck exclaimed. "You should smell ours when our down-below neighbours have their wash-day. Then you might complain. But one must not complain. It is the greatest mistake possible—and so ungrateful. Everything is so delightful, you know."
"Yes, I suppose it is," Nora said hesitatingly.
Frau von Seleneck gave a comfortable little laugh, and patted her on the shoulder.
"You don't think so,Verehrteste? You must do like I. Six days in the week I thankdem lieben Gottthat my neighbours wash not, and the seventh I think of my sins. That way I can almost enjoy the smell. And after all, it is quite a little smell, and my sins are sometimes——" She spread out her arms to indicate an immeasurable immensity, and Nora laughed. Her visitor's good spirits were so infectious that she forgot her futile discussion with the cook, and the impenetrable stupidity of the Bursche, and began to believe that everything really was "delightful."
"I will think of your advice next time I want to grumble," she said, as they re-entered the drawing-room. "Perhaps it will help me over some bad moments."
Frau von Seleneck took her hand, and, to Nora's surprise, embraced her affectionately.
"That is why I am here," she said. "The others—theSpitzen, superior officers and wives, you know—you will have to visit first. But I thought I could help you. I am such an old soldier." She laughed again, and then became suddenly thoughtful. "Have you yet called upon the Mayos?" she asked.
"No," Nora answered abruptly.
"Then you must do so at once—they are important people, and Major von Mayo is your husband's direct superior. You know, at the beginning it is important that you should offend no one—one cannot be too particular."
"I met Frau von Mayo in Karlsburg," Nora said. "I did not like her—she was rude and ill-mannered."
Frau von Seleneck's eyes twinkled.
"She is always so," she said. "One gets accustomed."
"I do not think that I should 'get accustomed,'" Nora retorted, with heightened colour. "At any rate, I shall not call."
"You——" Frau von Seleneck gasped, and her eyes distended with unaffected horror. "Aber, du lieber Gott im Himmel!—you cannot mean what you say, you do not know——" she choked. "Es ist unmöglich!" she decided, as though addressing an unreasonable deity.
"I don't see why it isunmöglich," Nora said. "There is no purpose in calling on people whom I do not want to know. I told Wolff so."
"Ah, you have told your husband! And what did he say?"
Nora hesitated. She remembered now that Wolff had looked troubled, and the remembrance caused her a sudden uneasiness.
"He said I could do as I liked," she said slowly.
"Ah, the young husbands!" Frau von Seleneck threw up her hands. "What folly! It must not be. You must call on the Mayos—on everybody. You must not show that you hate or that you love. You must be the same to all—gracious, smiling—though you may want to scratch their eyes out. You must remember we are all comrades."
"Comrades! I do not want Frau von Mayo as a comrade!" Nora cried indignantly.
Frau von Seleneck bent forward, and her voice sank to a mysterious whisper.
"Nor do any of us. I tell you in secret—she is a hateful person. But we must not let her see—it is our duty to pretend."
"Why?" Nora demanded uncompromisingly.
"For our husbands' sake—it does not do to have ill-feeling between the wives. Then the husbands quarrel, and there must be no ill-feeling between comrades."
Nora shook her head.
"I'm afraid I'm no good at pretending," she said.
"But you will try—for your good Wolff's sake? See, I will help you—if you will let me."
Nora took the outstretched hand. Her moment's anger had gone—dispersed by the simple appeal "for Wolff's sake."
"You are very good to me," she said gratefully, "and I will try and do what is right. Everything is so new and strange to me."
"I know, I know. But you will see—all will go so smooth—so smooth. One day I will go with you to the Mayos. I have my little English, and that will make it easier. My poor English!" She gave another of her comfortable chuckles. "He is so very bad."
"Oh, not at all!" Nora hastened to reassure her politely. "It is really quite good—considering. I can understand everything you say."
There was a rather sudden silence, and to her alarm Nora observed that her visitor's pink cheeks had turned a bright scarlet, and that there was a look of almost childish disappointment in the large brown eyes. "What have I done?" Nora thought, and then, before she had time to fathom the mystery, the good-natured little woman had recovered her equanimity as suddenly as she had lost it.
"You and I must be great friends," she said. "Our husbands are so—great friends, and then, of course, you belong to the regiment—at least"—she corrected herself hastily, and almost apologetically—"your husband is on the Staff now, and will make a brilliant career, whilst my poorMannhas only a year'sKommando. Still, youdidbelong to the regiment, did you not? And that always makes a bond."
"Of course," Nora said. She was a little overwhelmed by the respect which this vastly older and wiser personage displayed towards her, and for the first time she realised that she had married a man on whom the military world already cast eyes of interest and envy. "I should only be too grateful for your friendship," she went on. "I know no one here, and Berlin is so big and strange to me. When Wolff is on duty I feel quite lost."
"And a leetleHeimweh?" Frau von Seleneck suggested quickly. "I know not what the word is in English, but it is a terrible pain. I have it here"—she put her hand to her heart—"every year, once for two months, when Kurt is in the manoeuvres, and I weep—I weep whole buckets full."
Nora started.
"Two months!" she said, horror-struck. "And will Wolff be away all that time?"
"Aber natürlich, liebes Kind! Even your Wolff will not be excused again. The Emperor has no heart for the poor wives. But you must not complain. You must laugh and be happy—at any rate, until your husband has gone. I always send mine away with a big smile, and tell him I am glad to be rid of him. Afterwards I weep. It is a great comfort to weep, but men like not tears. It makes them uncomfortable, and besides, one must not make their duty harder than it is."
"Of course not," Nora said bravely. "I shall do all I can to help him. And one can write lots of letters, can't one?"
"Every day, and twice a day," declared her visitor cheerily, as she arose. "Ach, you will be a good soldier's wife soon. And now I must go and see that my silly Bertha has not put all the salt-box in the soup. But if you will let me I will come again, and bring my Kurt with me. He was dying to come this time, but I would have none of him. Men are such a nuisance,nicht wahr! And then you must come and see us, and we will talk German together, and you shall know all my friends, and we will help each other likegute Kameraden."
A warm, hurried embrace, and plump, smiling-faced Frau von Seleneck was out of the room and on the tiny landing. A last pressure of the hand, a hearty "Aufwiedersehen!" and she had disappeared into a foggy atmosphere of pea-soup and Sauerkraut.
Nora went back into the disordered little drawing-room, and set to work with a new will. The spirit of cheery content and selflessness had been left sitting on the sofa, and it seemed to chuckle in a peculiar, fat, comfortable way as Nora pushed the chairs backwards and forwards in the vain attempt to induce an air of elegance.
"Even if she does admire the furniture, and think the flat perfection, she has a good, kind heart," Nora thought. "I am glad we are going to be friends."
She began to hum to herself, and when in an unusually untidy corner she found a pair of Wolff'sdritte Garniturgloves, she picked them up and kissed them. There was so much sunlight and love in her heart that smells and stuffiness and ugly furniture were forgotten, and she triumphed in the knowledge that she was, without exception, the happiest woman in the world.