Baroness Harder and the Governor were closeted in solemn conclave. In the course of their interview Raven had made his sister-in-law fully aware of the relations existing between Gabrielle and Assessor Winterfeld, and the Baroness was almost beside herself with anger and indignation on hearing the news. She had really not had the slightest suspicion of how matters stood. It had never occurred to her that the young plebeian, fortuneless Assessor could raise his eyes to her daughter, still less that the girl could encourage so misplaced an affection. Gabrielle's future had ever been associated in her mother's mind with the idea of wealth and a brilliant position. Such a union as that now in question seemed to her as absurd as impossible, and she broke into a torrent of indignant complaint touching her daughter's giddy conduct, and the "mad presumption" of that young man, who supposed he had only to stretch out his hand to secure a Baroness Harder for himself.
Raven listened some time in sombre silence, but at length he cut short the exasperated lady's flow of words.
"Enough of these lamentations, Matilda. They will not alter the past by one jot. You, of all people, have least the right to lose your temper over this business, for the mischief occurred under your very eyes. The fact that it went so far as a declaration, that the two ever came to an understanding, argues a most unpardonable negligence on your part. Some steps must now be taken in the matter, and this is the point I wish to discuss with you."
"Ah, what a comfort it is that I have you at my side!" cried the Baroness, who, on principle and consistently, ignored her brother-in-law's attacks on herself. "I know that I have always given way too much to Gabrielle, and now she thinks she may behave to me as she likes. You, fortunately, have more authority over her. Act with firmness and severity, Arno. I myself implore it of you. Bounds must be set to the insolence of that young man; his pretensions must be checked. I will endeavour to make my daughter understand how completely she has forgotten herself and her station in life in listening to such proposals."
"There must be no reproaches," said the Baron, decidedly. "Gabrielle has already heard from me the view you and I take of the matter. Remonstrance and worry will only drive her to more and more determined resistance. Besides, this attachment of hers is not so absurd, nor the young man so wholly insignificant, as you suppose. On the contrary, I consider that the affair is very serious, and calls for immediate and energetic action. I hope it may yet be time for this to avail."
"Oh, that it certainly will--certainly!" chimed in Madame von Harder. "It is impossible that my childish, volatile Gabrielle should be so deeply, so seriously attached. She has been led away by the impressions of the moment, has had her head turned by all the romantic love-speeches she has heard. Young girls of her age are so apt to mix up the nonsense they read in novels with the affairs of real life. She will come to her senses by-and-by, and will see how foolishly she has acted."
"I hope so," said Raven; "and to bring this about, I have already taken measures to prevent any meeting between the two in future. It is for you to see that there is no interchange of letters, and I am persuaded, Matilda, that you will know how to withstand such prayers and tears as may be used to soften you, and that you will be guided solely by a regard for your daughter's future. You understand, of course, that my present intentions will not be carried into effect unless her conduct meets with my approval, unless her marriage is one that I can sanction. I am not inclined to reward an open opposition to my wishes by making a will in her favour, still less am I disposed to help Mr. Winterfeld to wealth and distinction by means of my fortune. Gabrielle is far too young and inexperienced to take such consideration into proper account. All the circumstances of the case are clearly before you, however, and therefore I feel sure of your co-operation."
The Baron was pursuing the wisest of tactics in pronouncing this most unequivocal threat. He was fully aware of Gabrielle's unlimited power over her mother, and of that lady's feebleness of character. Madame von Harder would often condemn in strong terms one day that to which on the morrow, by tears or by defiance, she would be brought to consent. His menace would prevent any weakness of this sort, and would, he felt certain, transform this foolishly indulgent mother into her daughter's most wary and vigilant guardian. The Baroness had turned quite pale at the bare mention of any possible alteration in the will.
"I shall fulfil my duty as a mother to the uttermost point," said she, solemnly. "Rest assured that I shall not allow myself to be deceived a second time."
The Baron stood up.
"And now I wish to see Gabrielle. She has kept her room since yesterday on the plea of illness, but I know that is only a pretext to avoid me. Tell her that I am waiting for her here."
The Baroness complied with her brother-in-law's request. She went, and a few minutes later returned in her daughter's company.
"May I ask you to leave us for a short time, Matilda?" said Raven.
"You wish----"
"I wish you to leave me and Gabrielle alone for a quarter of an hour."
The Baroness was hardly able to conceal her mortification. Beyond all doubt she had the first and best right to be present at the coming scene between judge and culprit, and yet the Baron, with that utter disregard for her feelings which he always showed, now sent her away, and reserved to himself alone the important decision, disrespectfully ignoring her maternal claims. If the lady had not cherished so lively a fear of her brother-in-law, she would this time have rebelled against his will; but his tone and general bearing seemed to say that to-day, even less than on other days, would he brook contradiction; so she submitted, or rather, as she expressed it to herself, in anguish of heart she yielded to his cruel tyranny.
The Baron remained alone with Gabrielle, She lingered at the farther end of the room, and he waited in vain for her to approach.
"Gabrielle!"
She advanced now a few steps, but stopped in evident timidity and distrust. Raven went up to her.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
She shook her head negatively.
"Then why do you shrink from me? Why are you so shy and silent? Have I really been so harsh to you that you wish to avoid me?"
"I have really been unwell," replied Gabrielle, in a low voice.
The Baron scanned the youthful countenance before him, which was, indeed, far less rosy and fresh than usual. A shadow lay on it, a trace of some lurking trouble or anxiety very foreign to the wonted expression of that bright, sunny face.
Raven took the young girl's hand. He felt that it trembled and sought to disengage itself from his grasp; but he held it notwithstanding, held it firmly, yet without any friendly pressure, and his voice was cold and quiet as he spoke.
"I know what alarmed you at our last interview. Dissimulation would be useless, I feel; but you have nothing more to fear--it is over already. I require from you the sacrifice of a youthful inclination, and I must, first of all, show you by example how such sentiments may be overcome. I have been tempted occasionally to lose sight of the difference existing between your years and mine. You have recalled to me in time that youth willingly consorts with youth alone, and I thank you for the reminder. Forget that which was revealed to you in an unguarded moment. Nothing shall occur to alarm you again. I have fought down graver and deeper troubles, and I am accustomed to subordinate my feelings to my will. The dream is over, for I have determined that over it must be."
As he spoke, Gabrielle had raised her eyes to his face, and they still dwelt there, full of timid, doubting inquiry, but she made no answer. Her hand slid unresistingly to her side as he released it.
"And now take confidence in me again, child," continued Raven. "If I am severe to you in this matter of your love, believe that I am moved only by a sense of my duty as a guardian responsible for the welfare of an inexperienced young girl committed to his charge. Will you promise this?"
"Yes, Uncle Arno." Lingeringly, and with an accent of strange constraint, the name came from the young girl's lips. The old freedom and self-possession with which she had hitherto approached her "Uncle Arno" was gone, never to return.
"I have spoken to Assessor Winterfeld," Raven began again; "and have made known to him that I refuse, in the most decided manner, my consent to your engagement. This decision is irrevocable, for I know that such a union would, after the first fleeting illusions were dissipated, be productive of much care and bitter regret to you, and for your sake I must and will prevent it. You have been brought up with aristocratic notions, and with habits suitable to your rank; you are accustomed to wealth and luxury, and will never feel at home in another sphere. At the best, Winterfeld could only offer you the most simple domestic life and very moderate means. Such a marriage would entail on you a dreary, obscure existence, and daily, hourly privations, for you must necessarily leave behind you those comforts which have been so dear, so indispensable to you hitherto. There may be in the world characters strong enough to brave all this, boldly to enter on a course of ceaseless, unwearying self-abnegation. You are not equal to such heroism: to endure it you would need to transform your whole nature; and I have let the Assessor feel what egotism he would be guilty of, were he to require such sacrifices from you."
"He only asks me to endure them for a few years," interposed Gabrielle. "George Winterfeld is but at the beginning of his career. He will work his way up, as you yourself have done."
Raven shrugged his shoulders.
"It may be, or it may be not. He certainly is not one of those men who take fortune by storm; he will, at best, conquer, win success by persistent quiet labour. But for this long years are needed, and above all, he must be free, independent, as he is at present. Family cares, and the thousand ties and considerations with which they shackle a man, would leave him no space for the development of his talents and of his ambitious projects. He would fall into the every-day routine of one who works only to live, and, so falling, would be lost to all higher aims. In this fate you, of course, would be involved. You do not realise what it is to be dependent for your living on a sum hardly greater than that which now defrays the expenses of your toilet. I must save you from a practical experience of that most painful of ideals--love in a cottage."
A tear glistened in Gabrielle's eye as her guardian thus, with steady, unsparing hand, drew the picture of her future lot; but she defended her position courageously.
"You have no faith left in any ideal," said she. "You told me yourself that you looked on this world, and all men in it, with contempt. We still believe in love and happiness, and therefore they may be in store for us. George never thought of proposing to me to marry him at once. He knows that is impossible; but in four years I shall be of age, and he will have attained to a higher position. Then I shall be his wife, and no one will have the right to separate us, nobody in the world."
She spoke rapidly, and with a hurried, passionate intensity very new to her; but the old obstinate defiance had died out of her voice. This was not rebellion; it was rather a half-unconscious, anxious striving against that strange sensation she had once tried to express in words, confessing to her mother that there was about the Baron some subtle, secret influence which troubled her, and against which she felt she must defend herself at all hazards. To-day she sought a refuge and a shield in her love for George, and this undefinable sense of danger it was which lent such warmth and eagerness to her words.
A bitter smile played about Raven's lips.
"You appear to have most precise knowledge as to the extent of my authority," he replied. "It has, no doubt, been sufficiently explained to you--we study law to some purpose! Well, let the matter stand over until you come of age. If you then repeat to me the words you have spoken to-day, I shall make no further attempt to stop you, though from that day forth our roads will lie apart. Until then, however, no hasty promise, no imaginary fetters, shall bind you; and to this end it is necessary that Winterfeld should be kept at a distance. Meanwhile, you are absolutely free, free to accept the suit of any one whose rank in life and personal advantages entitle him to approach you. I shall not refuse to sanction any equal match--that is what I wished to say to you."
He spoke gravely and quietly. There was no unsteadiness in his voice, not the slightest quiver about his lips, to betray how much the engagement cost him. He had determined that the dream should be over, and Arno Raven looked a man strong enough to make good his word. This disciplinarian governed himself with a dominion as despotic as that he exercised over others. Neither to his passions nor to his enemies would he make surrender.
He opened the door of the adjoining room, where the Baroness was sitting. That lady, to her great vexation, had been unable to catch a word of the interview, owing to the thickness of theportières, which effectually stifled every sound.
"We have done, Matilda," said the Baron. "I now give over your daughter to your charge; but, once again, no reproaches--I will not have them. Good-morning, Gabrielle."
"Now I really am beginning to lose patience," said Max Brunnow, coming in to his friend's rooms. "I think the whole world has taken up Councillor Moser's notion that I must necessarily be a dangerous character, because I bear the name of Brunnow. I am regarded on all sides with suspicion, or with most respectful attention, according to the party feeling of those present. There is, I grieve to say, no possibility of convincing these good people that I am a peaceful follower of the healing art, that I have no thought of stirring up revolutions or upsetting governments; but am, on the contrary, largely endowed with all the qualities which go to the making of a good citizen. No one will credit this, and, by an evil chance, here I find myself, with my ominous family name, transported into the midst of this agitated, highly-wrought city of R----, which is constantly making convulsive attempts to shake off its Governor, and generally conducting itself in the most outrageously restive manner. His Excellency, however, sits firm in the saddle, and at every plunge of the rebellious steed drives his spurs more deeply into its flanks. He is a match for all of you."
Winterfeld sat leaning back in the sofa-corner. Quite contrary to his wont, he welcomed his friend neither by word nor gesture. He hardly listened to his speech, but said now, in a dull low voice:
"I am glad you have come, Max. I was just thinking of going over to you to tell you a piece of news."
Max became attentive.
"What is the matter? Has anything disagreeable happened to you?"
"Yes. I am leaving R----, probably for good."
"Leaving R----? The deuce! What is the meaning of this? Do you wish to go?"
"I do not wish, I am obliged, I have this morning received information that I am transferred to the capital, to the Ministry of the Interior."
"To the Ministry?" repeated Max. "Does that mean promotion, or----"
"No; it is a stroke of policy on the part of the Governor," broke out George, bitterly. "I am to be sent out of Gabrielle's way; any future meeting between us is to be made impossible. Raven gave me notice that he should use his power unsparingly. He has lost no time in keeping his word."
"You believe that this transfer originated with your chief?" asked the young doctor, who was as grave as his friend by this time.
"It is his work, there can be no doubt of that. He is influential enough to get me pushed into one of the vacancies there, particularly if it is done under colour of helping forward a striving young official whom he wishes to befriend. I know there has never been any question of my removal hitherto. It came upon me like a thunderclap. But I ought, indeed, to have known the Baron. He does not merely threaten, he strikes home. I have been visited with no outward mark of his displeasure since our last interview. He has rather avoided direct intercourse with me; but when it has been necessary to address a few words to me, he has always spoken in a cool, business-like tone, making no allusion to that which had passed between us.
"In just the same cool, business-like manner, he this morning announced to me my new appointment. He even added a few flattering words respecting a report drawn up by me which had been sent in to head-quarters, and which, no doubt, afforded him a pretext to bring the thing about. It is looked on as a special distinction, and my colleagues are congratulating me on the brilliant prospects opening out before me in the capital."
"They are right there," remarked Max, who, now that the first surprise was over, began, as usual, to take a practical view of the matter. "Your chief may have had personal motives for acting as he has done, but he has not rendered you such a bad service in getting you introduced to the Ministry. That is the stage whereon he made his owndébut. What should hinder you from emulating his brilliant career?"
"What good will it do me?" cried George, vehemently, springing to his feet. "What good will it do me to struggle and fight and work my way up yonder, while here I am being robbed of all that gives me hope in the future and makes life dear? I know that I shall lose Gabrielle if she remains here for years exposed to all the hostile influences which are arrayed against us. A nature such as hers cannot hold out long under circumstances so cruelly adverse; and to lose her is more than I can bear."
The young doctor had tranquilly taken possession of the sofa-corner, and was contemplating his friend with wonderment. This agitation in one usually so collected and sober-minded was a phenomenon he apparently could not understand.
"You are half distraught, old fellow," he said. "What does Fräulein von Harder say to this separation? Has she been informed of your removal?"
"I do not know. All communication is cut off between us; but, before I leave, I must see and speak to her again. I must, cost what it may. If I can find no other means, I will go straight to Baroness Harder and force her to grant me a parting interview with my betrothed."
Max shrugged his shoulders.
"No offence, George, but that is an insane idea. The Baroness is, beyond a doubt, completely under her brother-in-law's influence, and you are not likely to obtain anything from him by defiance. Let us consider the matter calmly and rationally. In the first place, when must you start?"
"In the course of a few days. They have taken good care, of course, to appoint me to a post which must be filled immediately. It is absolutely necessary that I should enter on my functions at once."
"There is no time to lose, then. By-the-bye, you were at Councillor Moser's rooms a little while ago, I think?"
"Yes; I took him over some deeds I had had here at home."
Max reflected.
"Very well; that gives you a pretext to do it a second time. Take the thickest blue-book you can hunt up in your Chancellery, if you like; only mind you miss the august Councillor, that is the main point."
George, who had been pacing uneasily up and down the room, stopped in surprise.
"What can you possibly mean?"
"A little patience--I have a most superior plan. Fräulein Agnes Moser is acquainted with the young Baroness--the acquaintance is slight, it is true: the Councillor has presented his daughter to the ladies, and the two girls have seen and spoken to each other several times."
"But how do you know all this?" interrupted George. "You have only seen Fräulein Moser once, I believe, on the occasion of your celebrated visit."
"I beg your pardon. I see and speak to her almost every day at the cottage of the patient I am now treating by your desire. She exerts herself for the sick woman's spiritual welfare, while I devote my efforts to her bodily cure. This division of labour works admirably."
"But you have never said a syllable to me about it."
"Why should I? You are in love, and people in that condition lose all interest in rational matters."
The malicious intent of this speech escaped George, who was absorbed by the prospect of meeting Gabrielle.
"And you think this young girl, who, as I hear, has been brought up in a nunnery on the strictest conventual principles, will lend herself to be a go-between?" he asked.
"Ah, it will be a deuce of a work to bring her to it, no doubt," answered the young doctor, reflectively; "but never mind, I will make the attempt. If nothing else answers, I will allow myself to be converted in due form; then she will be so taken up with the idea of saving my soul and fitting me for heaven, that she will consent to anything. Be it made known to you, therefore, that my conversion is imminent."
George was forced to smile, in spite of his cares.
"Poor Max!" he said compassionately.
"I say, George," said Brunnow, quite gravely, "that is another of those preconceived notions which people adopt without knowing why. They fancy the process of conversion must necessarily be dismal and tedious; but, I assure you, it is a mistake. Under certain circumstances it may be agreeable enough. I tell you I positively feel a void when I don't go down to my patient's house, where the proselytising business is carried on."
"By your patient?"
"Nonsense! By Agnes Moser. Up to the present time she has considered me a hardened reprobate, and, of course, she abhors me in consequence; nevertheless we have got on together pretty fairly. The saintly mildness, for instance, which nearly drove me wild at first, has almost disappeared, thanks to my treatment. She can show quite a pretty little temper of her own now, and we frequently quarrel in the most edifying and delightful manner."
George turned a scrutinising gaze on his friend's face.
"Max," said he, abruptly, "so far as I am aware, Councillor Moser has no private fortune."
"What in the world has that to do with me?"
"Well, I was thinking of your marriage programme--'Clause No. I--Money.'"
Dr. Brunnow jumped up from his sofa-corner, and stared at his friend in astonishment.
"What can you be thinking of? Agnes Moser is going to be a nun."
"So I have heard; and a convent education would hardly go well with the easy, comfortable sort of life you hope to lead after marriage. Over-refinement in a wife would be rather in your way, and as to the practical qualities of a housewife and the robust health----"
"It is not needful that I should hear all this from your sage lips. I know it well enough without being told," broke out Max, in a rage. "Really, I cannot understand how you can draw inferences so unfounded. You fancy everybody must be in love, because you and your Gabrielle are romantically attached. We are not thinking of such folly, but that is the reward one gets for trying to help a friend in need. The purest intentions are suspected. Agnes Moser and I--ridiculous!"
Winterfeld had some trouble in smoothing his friend's ruffled feathers, but succeeded at length. The doctor condescended to forget the absurd suggestion which had affronted him, and promised his help in the present emergency. Shortly after this he went away, taking his accustomed road to his patient's house.
The sick woman found herself in excellent case, thanks to the zeal with which she was tended in two distinct ways. Her doctor's treatment met with a success on which he himself at first had hardly dared to count. A most decided change for the better had taken place in her condition. There was good reason now to hope for her complete restoration to health, and to-day the invalid had been able to enjoy the warm sunshine, sitting for half an hour in the little garden which surrounded the cottage.
In this small enclosure Dr. Brunnow and Fräulein Moser were pacing, very amicably as it appeared. A certain intimacy had sprung up between the two during the few weeks of their acquaintance, the unreserve and freedom from constraint which marked their intercourse being mainly based on the conviction entertained by both that neither cared in the least for the other. Agnes, indeed, cherished a serious intention of rescuing the young surgeon from the slough of worldliness and unbelief in which he was plunged, and the more unsuccessful her efforts to that end appeared, the more persistently did she renew them. That there might be peril for herself in this work of redemption, never occurred to her. The dangers to which her heart might possibly one day be exposed from masculine seductions had been represented to her in the guise of flattery, of polite attentions, of sweet insinuating speeches. Had she detected any approach to these, she would have taken fright, and have withdrawn in the utmost haste; but from first to last Dr. Brunnow had shown himself rough and altogether regardless of her feelings. He could even, on occasions, be absolutely rude; and it was to this trust-inspiring characteristic alone he owed it that the young girl held his company to be devoid of danger.
As regarded himself, he was certainly not in love; at least, the indignation with which he had protested against such a supposition was perfectly real and unfeigned. His marriage programme, as is known, contained many practical clauses, but no allusion to the unpractical sentimentality of love. As Agnes Moser answered to this programme neither morally nor physically, there could, of course, be no question of any inclination towards her on his part.
The young doctor had, certainly, signal good luck with the cases under his treatment, for Agnes too had revived wonderfully in the course of the last few weeks, an improvement evidently to be attributed to the conscientious manner in which she followed his medical advice. A faint tinge of pink coloured the cheeks that were so pale formerly, her eye was brighter, her carriage more erect, and she had lost much of her excessive timidity, where the doctor was concerned at least. His impiety and her proselytising zeal were so often brought into contact, and the two were so frequently immersed in discussions on the most interesting of all themes, that of necessity they grew to be on a more familiar footing. To-day, again, the young lady had discoursed long and earnestly to her companion, striving to make clear to him the error of his ways; but no traces of contrition were visible on the sinner's countenance: it beamed, on the contrary, with an expression of content such as these theological disquisitions invariably produced in him.
"Well, now I must ask you to lend your attention for a moment to the things of this earth," he said, taking advantage of a pause in the lecture. "But the matter I am about to consult you on is a secret which I must rely on you to keep discreetly, whether you grant the request I am going to make to you or not."
The girl opened wide eyes of astonishment on hearing this solemn preface. She promised silence, however, and listened eagerly for what should follow.
"You know Fräulein Gabrielle von Harder," went on Max; "and my friend, Assessor Winterfeld, is not quite a stranger to you, I believe. I have heard, indeed, from his own lips that he has had the pleasure of calling on you once at home."
"Yes, I remember. He came to see papa."
"Well, the young Baroness Harder and the Assessor are in love with each other."
"In love!" repeated Agnes, with mingled surprise and confusion. The subject of the conversation seemed to her to verge on impropriety.
"Head over ears in love," said Max, emphatically. "The young lady's guardian, Baron von Raven, and her mother, the Baroness Harder, oppose their marriage, however, on the grounds that George Winterfeld can offer his future wife neither rank nor fortune. As for me, I have from the first been the guardian angel of this attachment."
"You, Doctor?" asked the girl, surveying the "guardian angel" with a look eminently critical.
"You think there is nothing very angelic about me?" asked Max, in his turn.
"I think that, under any circumstances, it is sinful to cherish an affection of which one's parents disapprove," was the somewhat tart reply.
"You don't understand these things, Fräulein," observed Max, instructively. "People do not think of their parents when they fall in love, and the young couple in this case have right on their side. What is to be done when, from sheer prejudice and all manner of external considerations, the parents and guardians set themselves to sunder two closely wedded hearts?"
"There is but one course for them--to submit and obey," declared Agnes, with a solemnity which gave her for a moment a certain resemblance to her father.
"Those are very antiquated notions," said Max, impatiently. "On the contrary, they must rebel and get married in spite of everything."
Truly, Fräulein Agnes had made very remarkable progress during the last few weeks. She no longer opposed to the doctor's reprehensible speeches a pained and resigned silence. Having really, as he said, developed a very fair spirit of her own, she proceeded to make use of her new acquisition, and replied with some asperity:
"That is, I do not doubt, the advice you have given to your friend."
"Not at all. I have enough to do, on the contrary, to keep him within due bounds. Well, to be brief--Winterfeld is leaving R---- in a day or two, and they go so far as to refuse him a parting interview with his betrothed. He must and will see her once more to bid her farewell. Fräulein Agnes----" the speaker here made a long and most effective pause--"it is an elevating thing to be the guardian angel of a pure, true love. I ought to know. I have played the part long enough."
"What is it you really mean, Doctor?" asked the girl, some faint suspicion dawning within her; and she began to walk very fast as she spoke.
"I will explain to you what I mean," said Max, quickening his pace to suit hers.
Agnes stopped. She knew by experience that it would be futile to run away; this incorrigible doctor was swift of foot, and could keep up with any pace; so she yielded to his will, and listened.
"You told me that the young Baroness Harder had called on you once," proceeded Max. "If this were to occur again, and if, at the same time. Assessor Winterfeld were accidentally to----"
"Without Madame von Harder's knowledge?" exclaimed Agnes, indignantly. "Never!"
"But just reflect a moment----"
"Never. It would be wrong, it would be sinful. No one but you would ever have thought of such a plan; but I will not be your accomplice, that I will not!"
Fräulein Agnes was crimson with excitement and indignation; the rebuking glance she shot at Dr. Brunnow was so keen that his eyes should have quailed before it; but Max was a hardened offender. He looked at the girl with unequivocal satisfaction.
"Just see the little vixen," he said to himself. "I knew very well that all the saintly submission and lamb-like patience were only learned by rote. Get this confounded convent and its teachings once fairly into the background, and a very tolerable little specimen of nature comes to light. I must alter my tactics.--So you will not consent?" he added aloud.
"No!" declared Agnes, in a tone which conveyed twenty protests.
Max put on a look of dejected resignation.
"Then the evil must take its course. I have tried, by every means in my power, to keep my friend from any desperate step, and I hoped, by your help, I might succeed in obtaining for him, at least, a farewell meeting with his betrothed. If he is to be robbed of this last consolation, I will not answer for the consequences. It is more than likely he will take his own life."
"He will not do that," said Agnes, but there was a little secret uneasiness in her tone.
"Unfortunately I have cause to dread such a catastrophe. As for Fräulein von Harder, she will, I fear, not survive his death. The grief and anguish to which she will be exposed will kill her."
"Can people really die of grief?" asked the girl, who by this time had grown visibly anxious.
"I have seen several such cases in the course of my practice," declared the unscrupulous doctor, falsely; "and I have no doubt that a fresh one will now be added to the list. The Baroness and Herr von Raven will repent of their harshness when it is too late, and you too, Fräulein, you will regret the decision you have now taken, for it lay in your power to preserve two breaking hearts from despair."
Agnes listened with deep commiseration, but also with ever-increasing amazement. She had not believed the doctor possessed so much feeling. That gentleman now fairly launched into a strain of touching pathos, and seeing, not a little to his own surprise, the distinguished success it met with, had recourse to a bold stroke for his final effect. The suicide and the death from affliction, neither of which were at present even in contemplation, he unhesitatingly adopted in his argument as accomplished facts.
"And I must live to see this cruel consummation!" he said, with profound melancholy. "I, who had hoped to lead my friend and his bride to the altar!"
"You would hardly have done that, I think, in any case," put in the young lady. "You told me yourself that you never went to church."
"I will in future, if only this misfortune may be averted," declared Max. "Besides, weddings are exceptions."
Fräulein Agnes pricked up her ears at the first part of this speech. She was far too zealous in the work of conversion not at once to grasp the opportunity thus offered her.
"Do you mean that seriously?" she asked hastily. "Will you really go to church?"
"Will you grant my request, and for one short quarter of an hour take on yourself therôleof guardian angel?"
Agnes deliberated.
It was, no doubt, grievously wrong to favour a meeting prohibited alike by mother and guardian; but, on the other hand, here was a soul to be saved, a brand to be plucked from the burning: this last consideration outweighed all minor scruples. The jesuitical principle, that the end justifies the means, was once more brought into mischievous action.
"It is Sunday to-morrow," said the girl, slowly. "If you will go to high mass in the cathedral----"
"I will go to early mass," put in Max, who had a vague idea that this was generally the shorter ceremony.
"To high mass!" said Agnes, dictatorially. She had, it seemed, taken a lesson from the doctor himself; this was just the tone in which he was in the habit of issuing his orders. The young diplomatist evidently half distrusted him; at all events, she meant to make sure of the attendance at church before pledging herself to the counter-obligation. "To the full service," she added, "sermon and all, from beginning to end."
Max heaved a deep sigh.
"If there is no help for it .... well, heaven's will be done--so be it!"
This pious ejaculation rejoiced Agnes's heart. She now felt confident that the sermon would fully accomplish the work she had commenced; that the seeds of the true faith would be planted in the soil she had so laboriously tilled, and prepared for its reception; and, in the effervescence of her joy at the prospect, she held out the tips of her fingers to the adversary, who had now become her ally. Of this overture she, however, quickly repented her; for, like the overreaching personage of the proverb, Max at once seized the whole hand, which he pressed and shook in the heartiest manner possible.
Next morning, as the cathedral bells were ringing, Councillor Moser, giving his arm to his daughter, walked with slow and stately steps down to the church, there to take his accustomed place. The devout old gentleman's attention was, of course, exclusively given to the sacred ritual; he therefore did not notice that Agnes, instead of sitting as usual in reverent meditation and with downcast eyes, was on this occasion restless and disturbed, glancing around half anxiously, half expectantly, as though in search of some one. She had not long to seek, for, but a few paces from her, and in close vicinity to the pulpit, stood Dr. Brunnow, also, as it seemed, expectantly on the watch.
Two pairs of eyes seeking each other so persistently must of necessity meet ere long. When this happened, and Max saw how the pale delicate face lighted up with joyful surprise, and flushed rosy-red at sight of him; when he caught the earnest grateful look of those dark eyes, which had never seemed to him so expressive as to-day, he thought neither of his programme nor of its numerous clauses--he thought only that this visit to church was not without its decided gratifications; and he sat down with a resolute air which plainly announced his intention of hearing out the whole sermon from beginning to end.
So he listened to the homily, whether with a reverent mind, or not, must remain an open question; on the other hand, it cannot be denied that his presence in the sacred edifice altogether disturbed the devotions of one of the most assiduous worshippers. It really would have been hard to decide how much was gained to the cause, or which of the two had undergone conversion.
On the afternoon of that same Sunday the projected interview between the lovers took place. Chance favoured it in an unhoped-for degree. Councillor Moser had accepted a colleague's invitation, and was away in the town. Frau Christine had also gone out, so there was no need even to think of a pretext. A visit from Gabrielle to Agnes Moser, and Winterfeld's call at the house of his superior, who was unfortunately from home, were occurrences so natural that the coincidence between them might well pass for accidental.
"Forgive me for having recourse to these means," said George, hastily, so soon as he found himself alone with Gabrielle. "I really had no alternative, and I told the Baron plainly that, notwithstanding his prohibition, I should make an attempt to see and speak to you again. I come to say good-bye, perhaps for years."
Gabrielle turned very pale, and her eyes searched the speaker's face with an expression of alarm.
"For God's sake, tell me--what has happened?"
"There has been no action on my part that need cause you uneasiness. The hand which so inexorably sunders us is your guardian's. He yesterday announced to me my transferment to the capital, and to the Ministry, our head-quarters. You see how far his influence reaches, and how skilfully he uses it in order to part us two."
"No, no; you must not go!" cried Gabrielle, in great distress, clinging to him as though for protection. "You must not leave me now, George. Do not, do not leave me alone just now!"
"Why not now particularly?" he asked, in surprise.
"Do they worry and torment you on my account? But, indeed, I might have known it. Raven is hard and unfeeling to the verge of cruelty, when he wishes to crush down opposition. You are persecuted with reproaches, with suspicions and threats, are you not, Gabrielle? They are doing all in their power to break your resistance, is it not so? Speak, I must know the truth."
The young girl shook her head with a faint negative gesture.
"No, no; you are mistaken. There is no question of that. Since the day he made known to me his decision as final and irrevocable, my guardian has never mentioned your name; and he has obliged mamma to be silent too, to cease the storm of reproaches with which she assailed me at first; but he just overlooks me, passes me by with frigid indifference, and I.... Oh, George, is not it possible for you to stay near me?"
"I cannot," said George, with difficulty restraining his own deep emotion. "I must obey the call--it is quite impossible for me to resist it. Under other circumstances, I should have hailed this change with joy. It opens to me far brighter prospects than any I could have hoped for here in R----, where the immense ascendency exercised on all sides by the Baron keeps down individual effort, and stifles independent thought; but I know only too well that this so-called promotion has but one end in view: to defraud me of my highest, my best possession, to rob me of your love, and to part us for ever. Your guardian has summoned to his aid two mighty allies--time and distance. Perhaps they may help him to the victory yet."
"Never!" exclaimed Gabrielle, passionately. "The victory shall never be his. I have given you a promise, and I will keep my word."
George did not notice the anxious distress which again involuntarily betrayed itself in her tone. He only heard the resolute words, the unwonted assertion of will; and, in spite of the parting now so imminent, a ray of happiness illumined his features. He had so feared he might find his love as childishly careless and indifferent to the separation as on that former occasion when she had seemed in no way to enter into or comprehend his grief. What joy to see that she too was moved by the news of his departure, that she strove earnestly, eagerly, to keep him near her! The spontaneous promise she now gave him filled him with a delight he had never before experienced. Almost mastered by his emotion, he stooped and kissed her hand.
"I thank you, my love," he said fervently; "but you are strangely changed since last we met. Where is my Gabrielle's sunny brightness, the smile which was ever ready to chase the tears from her eyes? You said to me once in jest. 'You do not know me thoroughly yet;' and, truly, I did not do you full justice then. The present moment brings that home to me."
The young girl remained silent. Her rosy lips had, indeed, lost their trick of smiling. They seemed to close firmly upon, and keep down, some secret sorrow which was not to find utterance in words.
"Forgive me, if I failed to read you aright," continued George, with ever-increasing tenderness; "I acknowledge it, I have had my doubts. I have looked forward with fear and trembling to the inevitable collision with your family. Now I see that you too can feel profoundly, now I believe in you fully and completely; I believe that you will be constant in your love, even though a Baron von Raven, armed with all his high authority, should do his best to come between us."
Gabrielle started at these last words, and raised her downcast eyes to his face. The look was one George could not decipher--a look of mingled anxiety, pain, and touching appeal; but next moment all this was drowned in a rush of tears which could no longer be withheld.
"My poor Gabrielle!" whispered the young man, bending over her; "you are so little used to care and trouble; and to think that it should be my fate, mine! to bring them on you. But we were prepared, you know, to make a fight for our love. Now the time for the struggle has come. We must endure and conquer. Perhaps Herr von Raven may one day repent having played Providence in this manner. He is sending out one more enemy into the world, and not so insignificant a one as he supposes."
Gabrielle's tears were stayed now. She drew her hand away from him.
"You are--you are enemies now?" she asked.
"I have long been Raven's opponent. Do not ask me why. I will not accuse your guardian and relative to you. The charges against him must be brought before another forum. But, believe me, he has challenged hatred and enmity in many quarters. He has so used his power that it has proved baneful to all beneath his rule, and will, assuredly, one day prove baneful to himself. It is a mistake on his part to thrust me thus, with his own hand, forth from the magic circle that surrounds his person, far from the fascination which has held me, as it holds so many others, in chains, and from which I could not escape, though I felt it crippled my strength and relaxed my will. Dr. Brunnow did not warn me in vain against the magnetic influence of that strange man. It has often beguiled me into admiring there where I should have condemned. But now the spell is broken. Yonder, in the great city, I shall be released from the ties which have hitherto bound me to the superior officer under whose immediate orders I stood."
"What do you mean?" asked Gabrielle, uneasily. "I do not understand your allusions."
"It is not meet you should," said George, firmly; "but promise me one thing. Whatever you may hear, believe that no personal enmity, no base desire for revenge, has prompted me to action. Long ago I resolved I would take up the glove against the Governor of our province, for taken up it must be; and there was no one else who ventured to enter the lists with the omnipotent Raven. I had my arms ready. Then I learned to know you. I heard that the man I was intending to fight to the death held my life's happiness in his hands--and my courage failed me. It may have been cowardly and wrong, but I should like to see the man who in my place would have acted differently, who would have had nerve, himself, at a single blow, to destroy life's fair promise, and all the bright hopes which had just blossomed for him. Now they are blighted. Your guardian, with unnecessary harshness, has refused me your hand, has refused me even a glimmer of hope in the future--he who, when he paid his court to the great Minister's daughter, had no more to offer than I have! Was it strange that we parted as open enemies? For the time to come, I will be guided by that alone which I deem duty. And now--farewell!"
Gabrielle held him back.
"George, you cannot, must not leave me so--not with these vague menaces which distress me unspeakably. What are you thinking of doing? I must and will know."
"Do not ask me to speak more openly," said the young man, in gentle but decided tones. "For your own sake, I will not make you privy to my intentions. You are not free, as I am. You must remain here under the same roof with your guardian; you are thrown into daily intercourse with him. It would be a constant burden on you, were you to share even in thought in any----"
"In any plot against him?" cried Gabrielle; and there was so strange, so vibrating a ring in her voice, that George started.
"Against Baron von Raven, you mean?" he asked slowly. "You do not suspect me of anything dishonourable?"
"No, no; but I fear ... for you ... for us all!"
"Set your mind at rest I shall fight with my visor up, and shall speak in the name of hundreds who dare not speak for themselves. The Governor of R---- may return such answer as he sees fit. He has power on his side; his voice will be heard before any other: but if I have all the danger, I have also right on mine. And now let us say good-bye. If I can possibly manage it, you shall have news of me from the capital; but, though no single line should reach you, you know that all my thoughts are given to you, that you inspire my every effort, and that I will never renounce my claim to your hand, unless I hear from your own lips that you have given me up."
He clasped her in his arms for the first time since the day on which he had made to her the avowal of his love. The parting was a bitter one. He would not prolong the painful moment--a few fervent words passionately whispered, a last pressure of the hand, then George tore himself away from her, and left the room.
Gabrielle sank on to a seat, and hid her face in her hands. Tear after tear trickled slowly through her fingers; but her low, half-suppressed weeping was not provoked by the grief of that separation alone. There was another secret, unspoken sorrow shadowing the girl's soul, a great preoccupation which threatened to efface from her memory all that had come before. George had spoken truly. He had not hitherto read Gabrielle aright; but if her deeper nature were now stirring within her, revealing itself in word and look, he was not the magician whose spell had called it forth.