March and the greater part of April had gone by; snowstorms and sharp frosts were things of the past. Nevertheless, spring came but tardily. The country, which at this season of the year is usually decked in vernal bloom, looked bare and desolate. Warmth and sunshine were well-nigh unknown, and for weeks together the weather continued as ungenial as it well could be.
To all outward appearance, the hostile relations between Ettersberg and Brunneck remained unmodified. The lawsuit dragged its weary length along, both parties maintaining their original position, and no attempt at a compromise was, or seemed likely to be, made. The Countess furnished all instructions in her son's name, that young gentleman taking not the smallest interest in the affair; and the Councillor represented his daughter, a minor, who naturally could have no opinion in the matter.
It had been so from the beginning, therefore the delegation of authority was accepted as a thing of course.
But the principal persons concerned, the real opponents in this legal warfare, were by no means so passive as they appeared to be; and the parents, while pursuing their own determined course, upholding their 'principles' with the utmost persistency, little guessed what was preparing for them in secret.
Rüstow himself had been absent from Brunneck during the last few weeks. Some business connected with a great industrial enterprise of which he was one of the promoters had called him to the capital. His counsel and aid were needed and sought in high quarters; unlooked-for delays occurred, and his stay, which was to have been a short one, had extended over an entire month.
When Count Ettersberg, after an interval of a week, repeated his visit to Brunneck, he found the master of the house absent. Fräulein Hedwig and her aunt were at home, however, and Edmund naturally made the most of his opportunity and ingratiated himself with the two ladies. This second visit was promptly succeeded by a third and a fourth; and from this time forward, by some remarkable accident, it invariably happened that when the ladies drove out, took a walk, or paid a visit in the neighbourhood, the young Count would be found at the same hour on the same road. By this fortunate chance, greetings were frequently exchanged, and meetings of varying duration occurred. In short, the friendly intercourse proposed some time before was thriving and prospering exceedingly.
The Councillor knew nothing of all this. His daughter did not consider it necessary to mention the matter in her letters, and Edmund pursued the same tactics with regard to his mother. To his cousin he had, indeed, imparted with triumphant glee the fact of that first invasion of the enemy's camp; but as Oswald made some rather sharp observations on the subject, describing any intercourse with Brunneck during the progress of the lawsuit as improper in the highest degree, no further communications were vouchsafed him.
On a rather cool and cloudy morning towards the end of April, Count Edmund and Oswald sallied out into the woods together. The Ettersberg forests were of great extent, stretching away to, and partly clothing, the low chain of hills which acted as advanced sentinels to the mountain-range beyond. The two gentlemen bent their steps in the direction of the rising ground. They had evidently something more than a pleasant walk in view, for they carefully surveyed the trees and the land as they advanced, and Oswald frequently addressed his cousin in terms of urgent appeal.
'Now just look at these woods! It really is astounding to see how things have been mismanaged here during the last few years. Why, they have cut down half your timber for you. I cannot understand how you were not at once struck by the fact yourself. You have been riding about all over the place nearly every day.'
'Oh, I did not think about it,' said Edmund. 'But you are right, it does look rather queer. The steward declares, I believe, that he had no other way of covering the deficit in the receipts.'
'The steward declares just what seems good to him, and as he stands high in favour with your mother, she accepts it all and gives him full tether, allowing him to act as he sees fit.'
'I will talk to my mother about it,' declared the young Count. 'It would be a great deal better, though, if you would do it yourself. You can explain these matters much more clearly and cogently than I can.'
'You know that I never offer advice to your mother on any subject. She would consider it an unjustifiable piece of impertinence on my part, and would reject it accordingly.'
Edmund made no reply to this last observation, the truth of which he no doubt recognised.
'Are you of opinion that the steward is dealing unfairly by us?' he asked, after a short pause.
'Not that precisely, but I consider him to be incompetent, wholly unfitted for the position of trust he occupies. He has no initiative, no method or power of keeping things together. As it is with the forests, so is it with all under his rule. Each man on the place does what seemeth best in his own eyes. If matters are allowed to go on in this way, I tell you they will absolutely ruin your property. Look at Brunneck; see the order that reigns there. Councillor Rüstow draws as much from that one estate as you from the whole Ettersberg domain, though the resources here are incomparably greater. Hitherto you have had to confide in others. You have been absent for years, first at the University, then abroad; but now you are on the spot--you are here expressly to look after your property for yourself. Energetic measures must at once be taken.'
'Good heavens! what discoveries you have made during the six weeks we have spent at home!' said Edmund, in a tone of sincere admiration. 'If it is all as you say, I certainly shall have to take some steps; but I'll be hanged if I know how I ought to begin!'
'First of all, dismiss those employés who have proved themselves incapable; put men of more power and intelligence in their place. I almost fear that you will have to change the entire staff.'
'Not for the world! Why, that would give rise to perplexities and disagreeables without end. It is painful to me to see all new faces about me, and it would take months before they settled down into harness, and got used to their work. Meanwhile, all the burden would fall upon me. I should have to do everything myself.'
'That is what you are master for. You can at least command those beneath you.'
Edmund laughed.
'Ah, if I had your special liking and talent for command! In a month you would have metamorphosed Ettersberg, and in three years you would make of it a model establishment after the pattern of Brunneck. Now, if you were going to stay by me, Oswald, it would be different. I should have some one to back and support me then; but you are determined to go away in the autumn, and here shall I be all alone with unreliable or strange new servants to deal with. Pretty prospect, I must say! I have not formally taken possession yet, and the whole concern has become a worry to me already.'
'As Fate has willed that you should be heir to the estates, you must perforce bear the heavy burden laid upon you,' said Oswald sarcastically. 'But once more, Edmund, it is high time something should be done. Promise me that you will proceed to action without delay.'
'Certainly, certainly,' assented the young Count, who had visibly had enough of the subject. 'As soon as I can find time--just now I have so many other things to think of.'
'Things of more importance than the welfare of your estates?'
'Possibly. But I must be off now. Are you going straight back home?'
The question was a particularly pointed one. Oswald did not notice this; he had turned away in evident displeasure.
'Certainly. Are not you coming with me?'
'No, I am going over to the lodge. The forester has my Diana in training, and I must go over and have a look at her.'
'Must your visit be made now?' asked Oswald, in surprise. 'You know that the lawyer is coming over from town at twelve o'clock to-day, to hold a conference with you and your mother on the subject of the lawsuit, and that you have promised to be punctual?'
'Oh! I shall be back long before then,' said Edmund lightly. 'Good bye for the present, Oswald. Don't look so black at me. I give you my word that I will have a thorough good talk with the steward to-morrow, or the day after. Any way, I will have it out with him, you may depend upon it.'
So saying, he struck into a side-path, and soon disappeared among the trees.
Oswald looked after him with a frowning brow.
'Neither to-morrow, nor the next day, nor, in fact, ever, will a change be made. He has some fresh folly in his head, and Ettersberg may go to the dogs for anything he cares. But, after all'--and an expression of profound bitterness flitted like a spasm across the young man's face--'after all, what is it to me? I am but a stranger on this soil, and shall always remain so. If Edmund will not listen to reason, he must take the consequences. I will trouble myself no further about the matter.'
But this was more easily said than done; Oswald's gaze constantly wandered back to the mutilated forest, where such cruel gaps were to be seen. His anger and indignation at the senseless, purposeless work of devastation he beheld on all sides grew too strong to be subdued, and instead of returning home, as he had intended, he continued on his way uphill, to inspect the state of the woods on the higher ground. What he there saw was not of a consoling nature. Everywhere the axe had been at its work of destruction, and not until he reached the summit could a change be noted. Here, on the heights, began the Brunneck territory, where a different and a better order of things prevailed.
A wish to draw a comparison first drew Oswald on to the neighbour's land, but his anger swelled high within him as he paced on through the noble woods and carefully preserved plantations, with which, in their present maimed condition, the Ettersberg forests could certainly not compare. What a great work the energy and activity of one man had effected here at Brunneck, and how, on the other hand, had Ettersberg fallen! Since the old Count's death, the care of the estates had been left almost entirely in the hands of employés. The Countess, an exalted lady who from the day of her marriage had known nothing, seen nothing but wealth and splendour, considered it a matter of course that the administration of affairs should be conducted by subordinates, and that the family should be troubled on such subjects as little as possible. Moreover, the establishment was kept up on a costly footing; the sums for its maintenance had to be found, and, of course, the estates must be made to provide them--it signified little how. The Countess's brother, Edmund's guardian, lived in the capital. He filled a high office under the State, and was much taken up by the duties and claims of his position. He interfered but rarely; never except in special cases when his sister desired his counsel and assistance. Her husband's testamentary arrangements had vested all real authority in her. There would, of course, be an end to all this now that Edmund was of age; but proof had just been forthcoming of what might be expected from the young heir's energy and concern for the welfare of his estates. Oswald told himself, with bitter vexation of spirit, that he should see one of the finest properties of the country drift on to certain ruin, owing entirely to the heedlessness and indifference of its owner; and the thought was the more galling to him that he felt assured a swift and energetic course of action might still repair the mischief that had been done. There was yet time. Two short years hence it might possibly be too late.
Absorbed by these reflections, the young man had plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. Presently he stopped and looked at his watch. More than an hour had passed since he had parted with Edmund--the young Count must long ere this have turned his face homewards. Oswald determined that he also would go back, but for his return he chose another and a somewhat longer route. No duty called him home. His presence at the conference to be held that day was neither necessary nor desired. He was therefore free to extend his walk according to his fancy.
Those must have been singular meditations which occupied the young man's mind as he paced slowly on. The forests and the steward's mismanagement had long ago passed from his thoughts. It was some other hidden trouble which knit his brow with that menacing frown, and lent to his face that harsh, implacable expression--an expression that seemed to say he was ready to do battle with the whole world. Dark and troubled musings were they, revolving incessantly about one haunting subject from which he strove in vain to tear himself free, but which, nevertheless, held him more and more captive.
'I will not think of it any more,' he said at length, half aloud. 'It is always the same thing, always the old wretched suspicion which I cannot put from me. I have nothing--absolutely nothing to confirm it, or to base it upon, and yet it embitters my every hour, poisons every thought--away with it!'
He passed his hand across his brow, as though to scare away all tormenting fancies, and walked on more quickly along the road, which now took a sharp turn and suddenly emerged from the forest. Oswald stepped out on to an open hill-summit, but stopped suddenly, rooted to the ground in astonishment at the unlooked-for spectacle which presented itself.
Not twenty paces from him, on the grassy slope close to the border of the forest, a young lady was seated. She had taken off her hat, so a full view of her face could be obtained--and he who had once looked on that charming face, with its dark beaming eyes so full of light, could not readily forget it.
The young lady was Hedwig Rüstow, and close by her, in most suggestive proximity, lounged Count Edmund, who certainly could not have paid his visit to the forester in the interval. The two were engaged in an animated conversation, which did not, however, appear to turn on serious or very important topics. It was rather the old war of repartee which they had waged with so much satisfaction to themselves on the occasion of their first meeting, the same exchange of banter, of merry jests accompanied by gleeful laughter; but to-day their manner told of much familiarity. Presently Edmund took the hat from the girl's hand and threw it on to the grass; after which, lifting the little palms to his lips, he imprinted on them one fervid kiss after the other, Hedwig offering no opposition, but accepting it all as the most natural thing in the world.
For some moments the amazed spectator stood motionless, watching the pair. Then he turned and would have stepped back among the trees unnoticed, but a dry bough crackled beneath his feet and betrayed him.
Hedwig and Edmund looked up simultaneously, and the latter sprang quickly to his feet.
'Oswald!'
His cousin saw that a retreat was now impossible. He therefore reluctantly left his position and advanced towards the young people.
'So it is you, is it?' said Edmund, in a tone which vacillated between annoyance and embarrassment. 'Where do you come from?'
'From the woods,' was the laconic reply.
'I thought you said you were going straight home.'
'I thought you were going over to the forester's lodge, which lies in the opposite direction.'
The young Count bit his lips. He was, no doubt, conscious that he could not pass off this meeting as an accidental one. Moreover, those fervent kisses must have been witnessed--so he resolved to put as good a face upon it as possible.
'You know Fräulein Rüstow, having been present at our first meeting; I therefore need not introduce you,' he said lightly.
Oswald bowed to the young lady with all a stranger's frigid courtesy.
'I must apologize for intruding,' he said. 'The interruption was most involuntary on my part. I could have no idea that my cousin was here. Allow me to take my leave at once, Fräulein.'
Hedwig had risen in her turn. She evidently was more keenly alive to the awkwardness of the situation than Edmund, for her cheeks were suffused by a flaming blush, and her eyes sought the ground. Something, however, in the tone of this address, which, though polite, was icy in its reserve, struck her disagreeably, and she looked up. Her glance met Oswald's, and there must have been that in the expression of his face which wounded her and called her pride into arms; for suddenly the dark blue eyes kindled with indignant fire, and the voice, which so lately had rung out in merry jest and silver-clear laughter, shook with emotion and anger as she cried:
'Herr von Ettersberg, I beg of you to remain.'
Oswald, on the point of departure, halted. Hedwig went up to the young Count, and laid her hand on his.
'Edmund, you will not let your cousin go from us in this manner. You will give him the necessary explanation--immediately, on the spot. You must see that he--that he misunderstands.'
Oswald, involuntarily, had drawn back a step, as the familiar 'Edmund' met his ears. The Count himself seemed somewhat taken aback by the determined, almost authoritative tone which he now heard probably for the first time from those lips.
'Why, Hedwig, it was you yourself who imposed silence on me,' he said. 'Otherwise I should certainly not have kept the fact of our attachment secret from Oswald. You are right. We must take him into our confidence now. My severe Mentor is capable else of preaching us both a long sermon, setting forth our iniquity. We will therefore go through the introduction in due form. Oswald, you see before you my affianced wife and your future relation, whom I herewith commend to your cousinly esteem and affection.'
This introduction, though decidedly meant in earnest, was performed in the Count's old light, jesting tone; but the gay humour, which Hedwig was usually so prompt to echo, seemed to jar upon her now almost painfully. She stood quite silent by her lover's side, watching with strange intensity the new relative opposite, who was mute as herself.
'Well?' said Edmund, surprised and rather hurt at this silence. 'Have you no congratulations to offer us?'
'I must in the first place sue for pardon,' said Oswald, turning to the young girl. 'For such a piece of news, I certainly was not prepared.'
'That is entirely your own fault,' laughed Edmund. 'Why did you receive my communication so ungraciously when I told you about my first visit to Brunneck? There was every prospect for you then of filling the post of confidant. But I must say, Hedwig, we are not lucky as regards our rendezvous. This is the first time we have met alone, unsheltered by Aunt Lina's protecting wing--and behold, we are overtaken by this Cato! The philosopher's face is so eloquent of horror at witnessing an act of homage on my part that we are obliged at once to soothe him back into calm by notifying to him our engagement. You may recall your little pleasantry about the "intrusion," my dear fellow, and proceed to express--rather tardily--your wishes for our happiness.'
'I congratulate you,' said Oswald, taking his cousin's proffered hand; 'and you too, Fräulein.'
'How very monosyllabic! Can it be that we are to have a foe in you? That would be the drop too much. It will be quite enough for us to meet the opposition which our beloved parents will in all probability offer to our plans. We shall be between two fires, and I hope, at least, to be able to count on you as an ally.'
'You are aware that I have no influence with my aunt,' said Oswald quietly. 'In that quarter you must trust to your own powers of persuasion alone. But precisely for this reason you should avoid giving your mother any extra cause for offence, and offend her you certainly will, if you are not present at to-day's conference. Your lawyer must be waiting at Ettersberg at the present moment, and you have a good hour's walk before you. Excuse me, Fräulein, but I am forced to remind my cousin of a duty which he appears to have entirely lost sight of.'
'Is there a conference at the castle to-day?' asked Hedwig, who had remained wonderfully quiet during the last few minutes.
'Yes, about the Dornau business,' said Edmund, laughing. 'We are still at open feud--irreconcilable enemies, you know. In your company I had certainly forgotten all about lawsuits and appointments. It is fortunate that Oswald has reminded me of them. I must perforce be present to-day, and concoct plans with my mother and the lawyer for snatching Dornau from the enemy. They little dream that we settled the matter in dispute long ago by the unusual, but highly practical, compromise of a betrothal.'
'And when will they hear this?' inquired Oswald.
'As soon as I know how Hedwig's father takes the affair. He came back yesterday, and that is why we wanted some quiet talk together, to draw up the plan of the campaign. Ettersberg and Brunneck will thrill with horror at the news, no doubt, and do the Montague and Capulet business yet a little longer; but we shall take care there is no tragic ending to the drama. It will wind up to the tune of wedding-bells.'
He spoke with such gay confidence, and the smile with which Hedwig answered him was so superb and assured of victory, that it was evident the parents' opposition was not looked upon by the young people as a real obstacle, likely to involve any serious conflict. They were fully conscious of their power and influence where father and mother were concerned.
'But now I really must go home,' cried Edmund, making a start. 'It is true that I should not rouse my lady-mother's displeasure just now, and nothing displeases her more than to be kept waiting. Excuse me, Hedwig, if I leave you here. Oswald will replace me, and will accompany you back through the wood. As you are so soon to be related, you must become better acquainted with him. He is not always so taciturn as he appears at a first meeting. Oswald, I solemnly entrust my affianced wife to your protection and knightly conduct. So farewell, my charming Hedwig!'
He carried the girl's hand tenderly to his lips, waved an adieu to his cousin, and hurried away.
The two who were left were, it seemed, not agreeably surprised by the Count's sudden arrangement. They certainly did not fall into the tone of cousinly familiarity so promptly as he had wished. A cloud rested on the young girl's brow, and Oswald's manner showed as yet little of the chivalrous gallantry which had been enjoined upon him. At length he spoke:
'My cousin has kept his acquaintance with you so secret, that the disclosure he has just made took me altogether by surprise.'
'You made that sufficiently evident, Herr von Ettersberg,' replied Hedwig. It was strange how lofty and decided a tone she could adopt when really serious and in earnest.
Oswald approached slowly. 'You are offended Fräulein, and justly offended, but the greater blame rests with Edmund. He ought never to have exposed his betrothed, his future wife, to such misconceptions as that of which I was guilty.'
At this allusion a crimson flush again mounted to Hedwig's cheek.
'The reproach you address in words to Edmund is in reality aimed at me, for I was a consenting party. My imprudence was only made manifest to me just now by your look and tone.'
'I have already apologized, and now once more I pray to be forgiven,' said Oswald earnestly. 'But ask yourself, Fräulein, what a stranger, to whom a frank, straightforward explanation could not have been given, would have thought of this meeting? I say again, my cousin should not have induced you to agree to it.'
'Edmund always speaks of you as his Mentor,' exclaimed Hedwig, with unmistakable annoyance. 'It seems that, as I am engaged to be married to him, I also am to enjoy the privilege of being ... educated by you.'
'I merely wished to warn, and by no means to offend you. It is for you to judge in what spirit you should take the warning.'
She made no reply. The grave earnestness of his words was not without effect upon her, though it did not altogether calm her ruffled spirit.
Hedwig picked up her hat, which lay neglected on the ground, and sat down in her former place to rearrange the crushed flowers. The fresh and dainty spring headgear had suffered a little from its contact with the grass, still damp with mist and rime; such a hat was, indeed, hardly suited to the inclement April day. Spring comes tardily among the mountains, and this year especially she showed no smiling countenance. Her advent was heralded by rain and tempest. To frosty nights succeeded days of mist, through which the pale sunshine gleamed but fitfully.
On this day the sky was as usual shrouded in masses of gray cloud. A wall of fog shut out the distant horizon, and the air was close and laden with moisture. The woods were still bare and leafless; in the undergrowth alone signs of the first tender green could be seen sprouting timidly forth. Each leaflet, each bud, had to struggle for existence, with difficulty holding its own in that raw, keen temperature. The scene altogether was cheerless and desolate.
Oswald made no attempt to renew the conversation, and Hedwig, for her part, showed but little inclination to pursue it. After a while, however, the silence became oppressive to her, and she ventured the first remark that suggested itself.
'What a miserable April! Anyone would think we were in cold, foggy autumn, with winter closing in upon us. We are to be cheated this year of all our spring delights.'
'Are you so fond of spring?' asked Oswald.
'I should like to know who is not fond of it? When one is young, flowers and sunshine seem necessary as the air we breathe. One cannot do without them. But perhaps you are of a different opinion.'
'It all depends. Flowers and sunshine do not come with every spring; nor are they given to everyone in their youth.'
'Were they not given to you?'
'No.'
The negative was very harsh and decided. Hedwig glanced up at the speaker; it occurred to her, perhaps, that he was austere and undelightful as the spring day which excited her displeasure. What a contrast was there between this conversation and the sparkling, playful babble in which the young engaged pair had so recently indulged here, on the self-same spot! Even the 'plan of campaign' to be undertaken against their parents had been sketched out in a spirit of drollery, amid endless pleasantries, and any lurking anxiety as to the issue had been chased away by jests and laughter. But now, with Oswald von Ettersberg standing before her in his cold unyielding attitude, not only all the merriment, but all desire for it, had vanished as by enchantment. This solemn strain of talk seemed to come as a matter of course, and the young girl even experienced a certain attraction in it and desire to pursue it.
'You lost your parents early? Edmund has told me so; but at Ettersberg you found a second home and a second mother.'
The stern, aggressive look, which for a while had disappeared, showed itself again in the young man's face, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
'You mean my aunt, the Countess?'
'Yes. Has she not been a mother to you?' Again there came that slight spasmodic working about the corners of the mouth, which was anything rather than a smile, but his voice was perfectly calm, as he replied:
'Oh, certainly. Still, there is a difference between being the only child of the house--beloved as you and Edmund have been--and a stranger admitted by favour.'
'Edmund looks on you exactly as a brother,' interrupted the young girl. 'It is a great grief to him that you are meaning to leave him so soon.'
'Edmund appears to have been very communicative with regard to me,' said Oswald coldly. 'So he has told you of that already, has he?'
Hedwig flushed a little at this remark.
'It is natural, I think, that he should make me acquainted with the affairs of the family I am likely to enter. He mentioned this fact to me, lamenting that all his efforts to induce you to remain at Ettersberg had failed.'
'To remain at Ettersberg?' repeated Oswald, with unfeigned astonishment. 'My cousin could not possibly have been in earnest. In what capacity would he have me remain there?'
'In your present capacity of a friend and near relation, I suppose.'
The young man smiled bitterly.
'Fräulein, you have probably no idea of the position occupied by so superfluous a member of a family, or you would not expect me to hold out in it longer than necessity compels. There may be men who, accepting the convenient and pleasant side of such a life, could shut their eyes to its true significance; I have been absolutely unable to do so. Truly, it never was my intention to remain at Ettersberg and now I would not stay, no, not for the whole world!'
He spoke the last words with fire. His eyes kindled with a strange lightning-like gleam, of which one would not have supposed those cold orbs capable. It flashed on the young girl and was gone, and who should determine the true meaning of it?
To Hedwig, accustomed to read in other glances a tender homage and admiration, which this certainly did not convey, the look remained problematical.
'Why not now?' she asked in surprise. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Oh, nothing, nothing! I was alluding to family affairs which are unknown to you as yet.'
Evidently he repented his hasty error; as though in anger at himself, he fiercely snapped to pieces a branch which he had torn from a neighbouring bush.
Hedwig was silent, but the explanation did not suffice her. She felt there must have been other grounds for the sudden vehemence and bitter emphasis with which he had spoken those words. Was it the thought of her entering the family which had roused him thus? Did this new relation intend to take up a hostile attitude towards her from the very first? And what did that strange, that enigmatic glance portend? She sat thinking over all this, while Oswald, who had turned away, looked persistently over in the opposite direction.
Suddenly, from the higher ground, a low, far-off sound was wafted down. It was like the chirping of many birds, and yet consisted in a single note, long drawn out.
Hedwig and Oswald looked up simultaneously. High in the air above them hovered a swallow. As they looked, it directed its course downwards, shooting by them so close that it almost brushed their foreheads in its arrow-like swiftness. Quickly following the first came a second and a third, and presently out of the misty distance a whole flight was seen emerging. On they came, nearer and still nearer, winging their way rapidly through the moist, heavy air. Then, circling above the woods and hilltops, they dispersed fluttering about in all directions, joyfully greeting, as it were, the old home they had found again. Here, with their gracious, hopeful message, were the first harbingers of spring.
The lonely hill-side had suddenly grown animated, a scene of movement and of life. Restlessly, incessantly, the swallows darted hither and thither, sometimes high overhead at an unattainable distance, then quite low to the ground, almost touching the soil. Backwards and forwards shot the pretty slender creatures on facile wings, so swiftly that the eye could hardly follow them; and all the while the air was resonant with that low happy piping which has nothing in common with the nightingale's trill or the lark's ecstasy of song, and which yet is sweeter to man's ears than either, because it is the herald's note, proclaiming the approach of Spring, and bearing her first message to fair nature, fresh from the long winter trance.
Hedwig had started from her reverie. All else was suddenly forgotten. Bending eagerly forwards, with a glad radiance in her eyes, she watched the tiny newcomers; then, with all the delight, the joyful excitement of a child, she cried:
'Oh, the swallows, the swallows!'
'Truly, they are here,' assented her companion, 'and fortunate they may consider themselves in receiving so hearty a welcome.'
The cool observation fell like a chilling hoarfrost on the girl's innocent joy. She turned and measured the sober spectator at her side with an indignant glance.
'To you, Herr von Ettersberg, it appears inconceivable how one can rejoice over anything. It is not one of your failings, and I dare say the poor swallows to you signify nothing--you have never bestowed the smallest attention on them.'
'Oh, pardon me! I have always envied them for their distant journeyings, their free powers of flight, which nothing shackles or restrains. Ah, liberty! there is nothing better, no higher good in life than liberty!'
'No higher good?'
The question was put in a tone of anger and indignation, making the answer seem all the colder and more decided.
'None, in my estimation, at least.'
'Really, one would think you had hitherto been languishing in chains,' said Hedwig, with unconcealed irony.
'Must one breathe dungeon-air in order to long for freedom?' asked Oswald in the same tone, only that his irony amounted to scathing sarcasm. 'The accidents of life often forge fetters which weigh more heavily than the real iron chains of a captive.'
'Then the fetters must be shaken off.'
'Quite true, they must be shaken off. Only that is much more easily said than done. They who have never been otherwise than free, hardly prize their liberty, looking upon it as a thing of course. They cannot understand how others will strive and struggle for years, will stake life itself to secure that precious guerdon. But, after all, the efforts matter little, if the end be but attained.'
He turned away, and seemed to be attentively watching the swallows in their rapid flittings to and fro. A fresh silence ensued, lasting longer, and putting Hedwig's patience to a still severer test than those which had previously occurred. These lapses in the conversation were strange and intolerable to her. Really, this Oswald von Ettersberg was an audacious personage. In the first place he presumed to reprimand her with regard to her meeting with Edmund; then he declared sharply, and with an emphasis which was almost insulting, that nothing should now induce him to remain on in his cousin's house; then he began to talk of dungeons and all sorts of disagreeable things, and finally lapsed into absolute silence, giving himself up to his meditations as completely as though a young lady, his cousin's promised wife, were not in his company. Hedwig thought the measure of his rudeness was filled, and she rose to go.
'It is time for me to be returning,' she remarked shortly.
'I am at your service.'
Oswald moved forward, intending to escort her, but she waved him back with an ungracious gesture.
'Thank you, Herr von Ettersberg. I know the way perfectly.'
'Edmund expressly charged me to see you home,' objected Oswald.
'And I release you from the obligation,' rejoined the young lady, in a tone which plainly said the young Count's wishes were not as law to her when opposed to her own will. 'I came alone, and will go back alone.'
Oswald retreated at once.
'Then you must make haste to reach Brunneck,' he said coolly. 'The clouds are gathering yonder, and in half an hour we shall have rain.'
Hedwig looked inquiringly at the threatening clouds. 'I shall be home long before then; and if it comes to the worst, I think nothing of being caught in a spring shower. The swallows have reappeared, you know--have told us that spring is coming at last.'
The words were spoken almost in a tone of challenge, but the gauntlet was not taken up. Oswald merely bowed with an air of constrained politeness, thereby forfeiting the young lady's last remnant of indulgence. She, in return, strove to infuse the utmost chilliness into her parting salutation, after which she hastened away, light and swift of foot as a roe.
This haste was not induced by fear of rain, for when she had left the hill-side well behind her, Hedwig slackened her pace. She only wished to get out of the neighbourhood of this unbearable 'Mentor,' who had tried to extend his system of education to her, and had been guilty of considerable rudeness in the attempt. He had not even raised any serious objection when she declined his escort. She had fully meant it, but the merest politeness demanded some words of regret at her decision. Yet there had been nothing of this; he was visibly delighted at being relieved of a troublesome office. This spoilt young lady, whose beauty, and perhaps also whose wealth, had won for her on all sides attention and lavish homage, looked on such indifference almost in the light of an insult, and she had not fully recovered from the vexation it caused her when she issued from the forest and saw Brunneck lying before her in close vicinity.
Oswald, remaining behind alone, seemed altogether to forget the rain he had prophesied. He stood motionless, with folded arms, leaning against the trunk of a tree, and made no sign of setting out homewards.
The clouds grew heavier and more lowering; the whole forest was now shrouded in mist, and the swallows almost swept the ground with their wings as they shot by to and fro. Patches of white might here and there be seen bearing witness still to the night's hoarfrost; but beneath, amidst all this mist and rime, a great work was going on. The life-germs hidden away in a thousand unsuspected buds and leafless branches were secretly, silently stirring; it wanted but the first balmy breath, the first glow of sunshine, to awaken all Nature from her long slumber. Ungenial as the air might be, there was in it just a touch, a faint suggestion of spring, and a whisper of spring ran through the bare forest. All around mysterious powers were active, weaving their chains, arraying their forces, unseen, unheard, yet felt and understood even by the lonely self-absorbed man who stood gazing dreamily out into the cloudy distance.
A while ago, as he pursued his solitary way through the woods, all had been void and desolate. Not a sound had reached his ears of the language which was now so distinct and eloquent to him. He knew not, or would not know, what had so suddenly opened his understanding; but the harsh, aggressive look died out of his face, and with it faded away the remembrance of a dreary, joyless youth--faded away the rancour and bitterness of spirit which dependence and neglect had engendered in a proud, strong nature. The soft, half-unconscious dreams, which visit others so frequently, had spun their magic web around the cold, impenetrable Oswald. It was, perhaps, his first experience of them, but the spell was therefore the more irresistible. Overhead the swallows were still busy, flitting incessantly to and fro through the heavy, rain-charged air. The happy chirping of their tiny throats, the wonderful whisperings about him, the low voice in his own breast, all repeated in constant refrain that message which other lips had so triumphantly proclaimed: 'Spring is coming, really coming to us at last.'
In the course of a few days the plan of campaign devised by Edmund and Hedwig was carried into execution. The young people made their important disclosure, declaring their sentiments in most unambiguous terms, and the effects produced were precisely those expected. First came a simultaneous outburst of indignation at Brunneck and at Ettersberg; then followed reproaches, prayers, threats; finally an irrevocable fiat was issued on either side. The Countess solemnly announced to her son, the heir, that she once for all refused her consent to such a marriage; and Fräulein Hedwig Rüstow, on making her avowal, encountered a small hurricane, before which she was fain for a while to bow her head. The Councillor grew fairly distracted with wrath when he heard that an Ettersberg, a member of the family he hated, and his adversary in the Dornau suit, was to be presented to him as a son-in-law.
The parental displeasure, though most pointedly expressed, unfortunately made but small impression on the young people. Prohibited, as a matter of course, from holding any further communication, they calmly within the hour sat down to write to each other, having, with a wise prevision of coming events, already fixed on a plan for the safe conveyance of their letters.
Councillor Rüstow was striding angrily up and down the family sitting-room at the Brunneck manor-house. Hedwig had thought it wise to retire and leave her infuriated parent to himself for a while. The worthy gentleman, finding his daughter beyond his reach, turned fiercely upon his unhappy cousin, whom he bitterly accused of having, by her unpardonable weakness and folly in favouring the acquaintance, paved the way for all that had occurred.
Fräulein Lina Rüstow sat in her accustomed place by the window and listened, going on steadily with the needlework she had in hand. She waited patiently for a pause to supervene. When at length her exasperated cousin was compelled to stop and take breath, she inquired, with perfect imperturbability:
'Tell me, in the first place, Erich, what objection you really have to offer to this marriage?'
The master of the house came to a sudden stand. This was a little too much! For the last half-hour he had been giving expression in every possible way to his anger, his fury, his indignation, and now he was coolly asked what objection he really had to offer to the marriage. The question so amazed and upset him that for a moment he could find no fitting answer.
'Upon my word, I do not understand why you should be so angry,' went on the lady, in the same tone. 'There is evidently a sincere and mutual attachment. Count Ettersberg, in himself, is a most charming person. That unhappy lawsuit, which has so tried your temper during the whole of the winter, will be brought to the simplest conclusion; while, in a worldly point of view, the match is in every respect a brilliant one for Hedwig. Why do you set yourself so strongly against it?'
'Why--why?' cried Rüstow, more and more incensed by this calm, argumentative tone of hers. 'Because I will not suffer my daughter to marry an Ettersberg. Because, once for all, I forbid it--that is why!'
Aunt Lina shrugged her shoulders.
'I do not think Hedwig will surrender to such reasons as those. She will simply appeal to the example of her parents, who married without the father's consent----'
'That was a very different matter,' interrupted Rüstow hotly. 'A very different matter indeed.'
'It was a precisely similar case, only that in that instance all the circumstances were far more unfavourable than they are now, when really prejudice and obstinacy alone stand in the way of the young people's happiness.'
'Well, these are nice compliments you are heaping upon me, I must say,' cried the Councillor, breaking forth anew. 'Prejudice! obstinacy! Have you any more flattering epithets to bestow on me? Don't hesitate, pray. I am waiting to hear.'
'There is no speaking sensibly to you to-day, I see,' observed the lady, tranquilly resuming the work which for a few minutes had been discontinued. 'We will talk of this another time, when you have grown calmer.'
'Lina, you will drive me mad with that abominable composure of yours, which is nothing but affectation. Put that confounded sewing stuff away, do. I can't endure to see you drawing your thread in and out as primly as though there were nothing amiss, while I--I----'
'Feel inclined to pull the whole house about our ears. Don't take the trouble; it will stand after all, you know, just as firm on its foundations as ever.'
'Yes, it will stand, though everyone prove rebellious, though even you set yourself in open opposition to me, the master. Thank God, I have an ally, and a strong one, in the Countess-mother over at Ettersberg. She will show more obstinacy even than I, you may depend upon it. We can't endure each other; we are doing our very best to harass and torment each other by raising fresh quibbles in the lawsuit; but on this point we shall, for once, be agreed. She will soon bring her son to reason, and I am glad of it. It meets my views exactly. I shall act in the same way by my daughter.'
'I do not suppose that the Countess will give her consent very readily,' said Aunt Lina, in a pensive tone. 'To obtain that from her must be Edmund's business.'
'Edmund!' repeated Rüstow, whose indignation was constantly being roused afresh. 'Dear, dear! how very familiar we are, quite like relations already! You regard him altogether in the light of a nephew, I suppose. But you will find yourself mistaken. I say no, and I mean no, so that is all about it.'
With these words he stormed out of the room, banging the door to behind him with a crash which set all the windows jarring. Aunt Lina must indeed have conquered 'her nerves,' for she did not start at the noise, but merely looked after the angry man with a shake of the head, and murmured to herself:
'I wonder how long it will be before he gives in!'
There was certainly less noise and bluster at Ettersberg, but the prospects of the young pair were not on that account more hopeful. The Countess thought the matter serious enough to warrant her in sending for her brother, Baron Heideck, who, in all cases of difficulty, was her stay and counsellor. He answered her summons in person, so Count Edmund had now to contend with the allied forces of mother and guardian.
The latter, who had arrived from the capital a few hours previously, was closeted with the Countess in her own boudoir. He was several years older than his sister, and while she had preserved an almost youthful appearance, a premature look of age, on the contrary, was to be remarked in him. Cold, grave, and methodical in speech and bearing, his outward man at once denoted the bureaucrat of high standing. He listened attentively and in silence to the Countess as she made her report, which concluded in rather desponding terms.
'As I told you in my letter, there is nothing whatever to be done with Edmund. He persists stubbornly in this marriage-scheme, and is constantly urging me to give my consent to it. I really did not know what better course to take than to send for you.'
'You did quite right,' said the Baron; 'for I fear that, left to yourself, you would not have the necessary firmness to resist your darling, and refuse him his heart's desire. I think, however, we are agreed in this--the alliance in question must be prevented at any pains or any cost.'
'Certainly we are,' assented the Countess. 'The only point to be discussed ishowwe are to prevent it. Edmund will shortly come of age, and he will then be absolute master, free to follow his own will.'
'Hitherto he has submitted to yours,' remarked the Count. 'His love for you is paramount.'
'Has been hitherto!' said the Countess, with a rush of bitter feeling. 'But now another shares his love. It remains to be seen whether his mother will retain her old place in his affections.'
'Ah, this maternal sensitiveness of yours has been the cause of all the trouble, Constance,' remonstrated her brother. 'You have loved your son with a jealous exclusiveness which has made you shrink from the thought of his marriage. That was why you refused to entertain the proposal I made to you last year. An alliance suitable in point of rank and in every other respect could then easily have been secured. You see the result of your conduct on that occasion. But let us to the matter in hand. This Rüstow is wealthy?'
'He passes, at least, for wealthy in this part of the country.'
'And in town also. Not long ago he contributed funds towards one of our great industrial undertakings to a surprisingly large amount. Moreover, he is looked upon as an authority in his own particular line. Even at the Ministry his opinion on all subjects connected with agriculture carries weight with it. Add to this his connection by marriage with the Ettersberg family, which, say what you will, exists, and must be taken into account, and it becomes evident that we cannot treat this intended marriage as we would an unworthy mésalliance.'
'No, and I think Edmund builds on that fact.'
'He builds simply on your unbounded affection for him, from which he hopes to obtain all he desires--perhaps would have obtained it, had I not stepped in in time. You owe it to your husband's memory and to the name you bear to resist this marriage, which, as you know, he never would have allowed. Remember how he condemned his cousin for contracting a union with Rüstow. You are bound to act according to his wishes.'
'I have done so in all respects,' said the Countess, a little piqued; 'but if Edmund will not listen----'
'It is for you to exact obedience from him, no matter by what means. This plebeian blood must not again be infused into the Ettersberg race. One such taint was sufficient.'
He spoke slowly and meaningly, and the Countess grew pale beneath the menace of his look.
'Armand, what do you mean? I----'
'I am alluding to Rüstow's marriage with your husband's cousin,' the Baron interrupted coldly. 'The reminder was, I think, necessary to warn you that there must be no weakness now. You are not wanting in energy generally, but to Edmund you have always been far too indulgent a mother.'
'Possibly,' said the Countess, with sad and bitter emphasis. 'I have had no one but him to love since you compelled me to accept the Count as my husband.'
'It was not I, but circumstances, that compelled you. I should have thought you had in your youth sufficient experience of poverty and privations to make you bless your brother's hand, which delivered you from that wretched life and placed you in a high position.'
'Bless?' repeated the Countess, in a low, half-stifled voice. 'No, Armand, I have never blessed your action in the matter.'
Baron Heideck frowned.
'I acted according to my conscience and sense of duty. It was my desire to procure for my father one last satisfaction on this side the grave, to free my mother from anxiety as to the future, and to secure for yourself a brilliant and much-envied position. If I used some pressure--some force to deliver you from the trammels of a first and foolish attachment, I did so with the firm conviction that for the Countess Ettersberg the past would be as though it had not been. I could not possibly foresee that my sister would not justify the confidence I placed in her.'
The Countess shuddered as he spoke these words, and turned away.
'Enough of these reminiscences, Armand; I cannot bear them.'
'You are right,' said Heideck, changing his tone. 'We will leave the past, and turn our attention to the present. Edmund must not be allowed to commit this act of youthful folly. I hardly touched on the subject as we drove here from the station--I purposely avoided any discussion of it until I had spoken to you; but a very decided impression was left on my mind that we have not to do with a very deep or serious passion, capable of breaking down all barriers and setting all at defiance in order to obtain its end. He has merely fallen in love with a young and, as I hear, beautiful girl, and is naturally in a great hurry to be married at once. We must take care that this does not occur. We have weapons enough in our armoury to combat any such juvenile sentiment.'
'I hope so,' said the Countess, making a visible effort to regain her composure, and speak in an ordinary conversational tone. 'That is why I asked you to come. You are his guardian, you know.'
Heideck shook his head.
'My guardianship has never been more than a barren legal fact, and in a few months it will lapse altogether. Edmund will hardly bow to its authority but to you he will yield, for he is accustomed to be guided by you. Place before him the choice between this new fancy of his and yourself. Threaten that you will leave Ettersberg if he brings this bride home to the castle. He worships you, and will take no step which would estrange his mother from him.'
'No; he would not do that,' said the Countess in a tone of absolute conviction; 'I am still sure of his love.'
'And you may continue to feel sure of it, if you know how to use your influence over him, as I doubt not you will, to the fullest extent. You are well aware, Constance, that in your son's case, in his case especially, the traditions of the family must be maintained. Remember this, I beg of you.'
'I know it,' said the Countess, drawing a deep breath. 'You may set your mind at rest.'
A long pause ensued. Then Baron Heideck spoke again:
'And now to the other disagreeable matter! Will you send for Oswald? I should like to have some talk with him about this wonderful new project of his.'
The Countess rang the bell.
'Let Herr von Ettersberg know that Baron Heideck wishes to speak to him, and is waiting for him here,' she said to the servant who answered the summons.
The man withdrew with his instructions, and Heideck continued, in a sarcastic vein:
'It must be admitted that Edmund and Oswald are outvying each other just now in their endeavours to add lustre to the family name. One is bent on marrying the daughter of a ci-devant farmer, and the other means to set up as a lawyer. Oswald cannot, I fancy, have conceived this idea quite suddenly.'
'I think he has cherished the project for years, but he has never committed himself by a word,' said the Countess. 'It is only now, just when he is on the point of passing his examination, that he thinks fit to publish his plan. I have declared to him, however, in the most decided manner, that he must give up all notion of the law, and prepare to enter a Government office.'
'And what reply did he make to you?'
'He made none--as usual. You know the moody, obstinate silence with which, even as a boy, he received reproof and punishment, the look of insufferable defiance which he always has in readiness, though his lips remain closed. I am persuaded that my opposition only makes him cling the more pertinaciously to his absurd plan.'
'Precisely what I should expect from him, but in this case he will have to give way. A young man who, like Oswald, is absolutely without resources of his own, must, no matter in what position, be for a time dependent on his relations. Disobedience would cost him too dearly.'
The conversation had undergone a marked change. Previously, when Edmund's conduct had been under debate, the Countess and her brother had spoken gravely and with a certain anxiety, but every word testified to the consideration in which the wilful young son and nephew was held. They merely wished to lead, to guide him back into the paths of prudence, and the love he bore his mother was the only constraining influence suggested. But from the moment Oswald's name was mentioned, another and a very different tone prevailed. His sins were reported with harshness, and condemned with great severity; measures of compulsion were at once discussed. Baron Heideck evidently shared in an eminent degree his sister's dislike to this young relation.
The offender now came in. He greeted his aunt and his guardian, whom he had seen only for a few minutes on arrival, with his accustomed calm composure; but a keen observer might have detected the fact that he had armed himself for the coming scene. He stood before them in the 'sombre, obstinate silence' to which allusion had been made, with his ever-ready look of 'insufferable defiance,' and waited for what should be made known to him.
'You have prepared a singular surprise for us,' began Baron Heideck, addressing Oswald. 'For me especially, as I was just about to move in your interest. What are these absurd ideas you are so suddenly disclosing? You refused formerly to enter the army, and now you object to a Government office. Let me tell you that, situated as you are, you have no right to vacillate thus between the only professions which are open to you.'
'I have never vacillated, for no choice has ever been offered me,' replied Oswald quietly. 'I was destined first for the army and then for a Government clerkship, but my inclination was never consulted.'
'And why did you never inform us by a single word that it would please you in the last instance to set yourself against this second plan?' asked the Countess.
'That is easily divined,' interposed Heideck. 'He wished to avoid a long struggle against you and myself, a struggle in which he was sure to succumb, and hoped that by taking us unawares he might paralyse our resistance. But you are mistaken, Oswald. My sister has already informed you that we consider the name and rank of a Count von Ettersberg to be incompatible with the calling of the law, and I repeat to you that you will never receive our consent to your present scheme.'
'I am sorry for that,' was the steady reply. 'For I shall thus be obliged to pursue the course I have determined on without the approval of my nearest relatives.'
The Countess would have started up in anger, but her brother signed to her to be calm.
'Say nothing, Constance. We shall see if he can carry out this famous plan. I really do not understand you, Oswald,' he continued, with withering sarcasm. 'You have been long enough away from home to form some idea of the world and its ways. Have you never said to yourself that without some assured means of existence you can neither pass the examination in the capital, nor live on for years until an income of your own be forthcoming? Have you not reflected that these means may be withdrawn, if you push matters so far as to provoke a rupture with your family? You probably rely on Edmund's good-nature and on his affection for yourself, but in this case my sister will take care that he does not second and support you in your wilful obstinacy.'
'I rely on no one but myself,' declared Oswald. 'Edmund knows that I shall make no claim on him for assistance.'
'Well, perhaps you will allow me, as your ex-guardian, to inquire how you propose to live during the next few years?' said Heideck, in his former scornful tone.
'I think of going to town to stay with Councillor Braun, a lawyer of eminence, whose name is probably known to you.'
'Certainly I know him. He has a considerable reputation at the bar.'
'He was my father's legal adviser, and the intimate friend of our house. I called on him and renewed our acquaintance when Edmund and I were in town together, and he has been good enough to transfer the old friendship from the father to the son. During the time I was at the university, he gave me many hints how best to direct my studies with a view to the career I had already chosen, and since then we have remained in constant correspondence. He wishes now for some assistance in his really overgrown practice, and the assistant of to-day may, very probably will, be his successor in the future. The berth will be held open for me until I shall have passed my examination. He has asked me to stay at his house during the period of that examination, and this offer I have thankfully accepted.'
Oswald delivered this speech with imperturbable calm, but the astonishment of his hearers knew no bounds. They had supposed that a simple assertion of authority on their part would extinguish all 'absurd ideas,' and quell the rebellious nephew whose dependent position placed him so completely at their mercy. Instead of this, they were met by a steady resolve, a practical, matured plan, every detail of which had been considered and provided for, and which withdrew the young man altogether from their influence and control. The disagreeable surprise this discovery caused them was expressed in the look they now exchanged.
'Really, this is remarkable news,' said the Countess, who could no longer suppress her anger. 'So you have been conspiring against us with a stranger in secret--and this conspiracy has been going on for years!'
'And with what an aim in view!' added Heideck. 'Either in the army or in a Government office your ancient and noble name would have been of service to you; it would have assured you a career. But the advantages you possess you deliberately put from you in order to embrace the law as a profession. I really thought your ambition would soar higher. Are you so wedded--so enthusiastically attached to this new vocation of yours?'
'No,' said Oswald coldly; 'not in the least. But in any other profession I should have been compelled to go on for years accepting--accepting benefits I have hitherto enjoyed; and to this I will not consent. The path I have chosen is the only one that leads to freedom and independence, and to gain these I willingly sacrifice all else.'
The words told of a resolve which was not to be shaken, but at the same time they were barbed with a reproach which the Countess understood but too well.
'You have accepted these benefits so long that you can now conveniently do without them,' she remarked.
The tone of this observation was even more insulting than the words. Oswald's composure seemed to be giving way at length. His quick, short breathing betrayed his emotion, as he replied in accents to the full as biting as hers had been:
'If I have hitherto been held fettered by the chain of my dependence, that assuredly has not been my fault. It was not considered fitting for an Ettersberg to go out into the world and seek his fortune, as a man of humbler origin might have done. I could but yield to the traditional prejudices of my family. I have had to wait on and on for this hour when at length--at length I can take my future into my own hands!'
'Which you seem inclined to do in the most offensive manner possible,' said the Countess, with increasing warmth. 'With the utmost indifference to those family traditions of which you speak, in open opposition to the friends to whom you owe everything. Could my husband have foreseen this, he never would have directed that you should be brought up with his own son, and treated as a child of the house you now disown in this manner. But, indeed, gratitude is a word which seems to have no meaning for you.'
A dangerous light kindled in Oswald's eyes, and they flashed upon the speaker a glance of menace and evil portent.
'I know, aunt, what a heavy burden my uncle laid on you by those directions, but, believe me, I have suffered beneath it even more severely than yourself. It would have been better for me to have been driven out into the world and brought up among strangers, than to pass my life amid splendid surroundings, in a sphere where I have daily, hourly been reminded of my nothingness, where the proud Ettersberg blood in my veins had but to show itself to be instantly repressed. My uncle carried his point, and had me received into this house; beyond that, he made no attempt to shield or protect me. To you I was, from the first, simply a troublesome legacy left by an unfriendly and detested brother-in-law. I was accepted with disinclination, and endured with absolute dislike, and the consciousness of this has sometimes well-nigh driven me desperate. But for Edmund, the one person who showed me any affection, the one who held faithfully by me, in spite of all that was done to estrange us, I could not have borne the life. Gratitude! You require gratitude at my hands? I have never felt any, I never shall feel any towards you; for there is a voice within me which says I am not benefited, but injured. I need not thank, but might ... accuse!'
He flung the last word at her with loud and threatening emphasis. The dykes were broken down, and all the hatred, the bitterness he had secretly borne within him for years flowed out in a stream of fierce rebellion against this woman who, outwardly at least, had been as a mother to him. She had risen in her turn, and they now stood face to face. So might two deadly enemies have measured each other's strength before the fray; the next word would perhaps have led to an irreparable breach, had not Heideck intervened.
'Oswald, you forget yourself!' he cried. 'How can you venture to address such language to your aunt?'
The keen, cold tones of his voice brought reflection to both at the same moment. The Countess sank slowly back into her seat, and her nephew retreated a step. For a few seconds a painful silence reigned. Then Oswald spoke in a changed voice, in a tone freezing as ice:
'You are right; I have to apologize. But at the same time I must beg of you to allow me henceforth to go my own way unhindered. The path I shall follow will, in all probability, take me from Ettersberg for ever, and all further connection may cease between us. I think this is what we all should wish, and it will certainly be best for the family, collectively and individually.'
Then, without waiting for an answer, or any sign of dismissal, he turned and left the room.
'What did that mean?' asked the Countess in a low voice, when the door had closed upon him.
'It meant a threat,' said Heideck. 'Could you not understand it, Constance? It was, I think, plainly enough expressed.'
He sprang up, and paced several times uneasily up and down the room. Even the bureaucrat's cold and measured calm was not proof against such a scene as this. Presently he halted before his sister.
'We must give way. The matter has now assumed a different aspect--a very different aspect. Active resistance on our part might lead to serious trouble--the last few moments have made that evident to me.'
'You really think so?'
The Countess spoke these words almost mechanically. She was still gazing fixedly over at the door through which Oswald had departed.
'Decidedly I think so,' said Heideck, in a determined tone. 'The fellow suspects more than is good for any of us. It would be dangerous to irritate him--besides which, we have no longer any power to control his acts. By this masterly scheme of his, he has secured for himself an unassailable position. I certainly was not prepared for it, but at least we now know what lies hidden beneath that calm, indifferent exterior.'
'I have long known it,' declared the Countess, who seemed only now to be recovering the full use of her faculties. 'Not without reason have I feared those cold, searching eyes. From the very first time I saw that boy's face and met his look, a sort of presentiment awoke within me that he would work ruin to me and to my son.'