Enclosing this valley stood the circling hills, some with softly modulated lines, some rising boldly, jagged and rugged, with their stretches of green meadow and dark patches of forest, out from which, here and there, a pilgrim's shrine shone whitely, or a ruined fortress, grey with age, reared its crumbling walls. In the far distance, half veiled in blue mist, rose the grander mountains, a noble background bounding the horizon, and over all the azure sky smiled serene and gracious, and the great sea of ether was filled with a golden haze. It was one of those days when the earth lies bathed in light, so saturated with warmth and brilliant in beauty, that it would seem as though the world's wide compass held naught else than sunshine, glorious sunshine.
No stronger contrast could have been found than this beaming landscape without, and the deep cool shade of the Castle-garden, buried in its sombre quiet. The mighty crests of the limes, with their closely-woven boughs, shed a sort of mild green twilight on the space below, and from beneath the tall trees came the monotonous plash of the fountain. In unvarying alternation the crystal column rose on high, splintered into a thousand fragments, and sank to earth again. Occasionally a ray of light, straying into this retired nook, would strike the falling spray, transforming it into a shower of diamonds, but next moment the glory was gone. All lay in cool shadow again, and through the misty veil of water the grey figures of the sirens, with their long serpent hair and stony features, looked spectrally forth.
The still, sultry noon seemed to have hushed all Nature into dreamy repose. Not a bird fluttered, not a leaf stirred; from the Nixies' Well alone came a mysterious murmur, breaking the deep stillness. Thus from time immemorial had the spring rippled and babbled here on the Castle-hill; for more than a century now, clad in the stone vesture into which it had been forced, had this faithful companion fulfilled its duty, quickening the solitude, enlivening the sequestered retreat of the Castle-garden. Over its head had swept all the hurricanes which the old fortress had braved of yore--the hurricanes of war, the stormy, violent times of battle and strife, of victory and defeat. Following on these had come a period of splendour and greatness, during which the ancient stronghold had disappeared, and in its place a princely mansion had arisen. All this the ever-flowing fount had witnessed. Historic events had befallen; generations had come and gone, until, at length, a new era had dawned--the era of modern progress, changing, modifying, ordering all afresh. To this puissant influence everything had yielded--save only and except the sacred spring, fenced around by a rampart of legend and superstition. But now its turn, too, had come. The old statues, which had so long protectingly surrounded it, were to fall, and the bubbling water was to be driven from the cheery light of day down into the dark earth beneath, there to be held captive for evermore.
Were its import a complaint, or a tale of whispered memories, that dreamy murmur exercised a strange fascination over the grave, unbending man, who had never known the musings of solitude or its poetic inspirations, and over the youthful blooming maiden at his side, who, with laughing lips and a merry heart, had hitherto fluttered joyously on her course, unheeding, ignorant of life's earnest. All the fierce wrestling and striving on the one hand, all the happy childish fancies on the other, were resolved, as it were, into some nameless strange sensation, half sweet, half troubled, which held the two in thraldom. So, as they sat listening to the ripple and purl of the water, unvarying, and yet so melodious, the outer world with its shining vistas and wealth of golden warmth receded farther and farther from view, until at length it vanished altogether. Then dim shadows grew up round the pair, a cool watery film gathered round them, and they were drawn down, down into vague mysterious depths, where no sound of life penetrated, where all battling and fierce longing, all happiness and sorrow, died away into one deep, deep dream; and through their dreaming, as from some immeasurable distance, they could still hear the faint spirit-singing of the spring.
In the city below, the bells rang out the noonday hour. The clear resonant chimes were borne up to the Castle-hill, and at their sound all the strange fantasies evoked by the eerie murmur of the water melted away. Raven looked up as though he had been suddenly, roughly awakened, and Gabrielle rose quickly, and, with a movement almost akin to flight, hurried to the ivy-kirtled parapet, where, bending forwards, she stood listening to the distant carillon. The sound came distinctly to her through the still air, as on that day by the lake-shore when she and George ... Gabrielle did not follow out the thought. Why did George's name force itself all at once on her memory, striking her as with a reproach? Why did his image suddenly appear before her--that resolute face which seemed to say it would guard and maintain his rights? On that last occasion, when, in a laughing, jesting humour, she had taken leave of him, the bells had said nothing to her. To-day, at the remembrance of them, a quick sharp pang shot through her, a warning, as it were, not again to let herself be enticed out of the bright familiar sunshine into unknown depths, a hint of some dimly-foreseen danger, now weaving its meshes round her. She was seized by a vague, unaccountable alarm. The Baron had risen too. He came up to where she stood.
"You have taken flight?" he said slowly. "From what? From me, perhaps?"
Gabrielle tried to smile, and to master the uneasiness which possessed her, as she replied:
"From the murmur of the Nixies' Well. It has such a weird, ghostly sound at this noontide hour."
"And yet you have chosen this spot as your favourite haunt?"
"Well, the fountain has now lived its life. Tomorrow, perhaps, by your command, the garden will have been turned into a wilderness, a chaos of stones and earth, and ..."
"Little do I care whether my orders distress other people or not?" completed Raven, as she paused. "It may be so--but, Gabrielle, are you really so fond of this spring? Would it positively distress you to see it stopped?"
"Yes," said Gabrielle, in a low voice, looking up at him. Her lips uttered no word of entreaty; but her eyes besought him earnestly, pleading for the doomed fountain.
Raven was silent. For some minutes he stood by her without speaking. Then he began again:
"I frightened you just now with my harsh views of life, but no one says you must share them. I forgot for a moment that youth has a right to dream, and that it would be cruel to rob you of the privilege. Keep your faith still in the golden far-off future, in the promise of the blue mountains. You may yet put gentle confidence in the world and in mankind; it is little likely you will ever incur their hostility and hatred."
His voice was veiled and wonderfully soft, and all austerity had vanished from his look, as it rested half sadly on the young girl's countenance; but Arno Raven was not one to be long influenced by such emotions; and, indeed, it seemed that no chance of yielding to them was to be afforded him, for at this moment steps were heard approaching, and, as they turned, the lodge-keeper, accompanied by an elderly man--a mechanic, apparently--entered the garden. They stopped on perceiving the Governor, and uncovered respectfully.
Raven's mildness had already vanished. He had quickly shaken off the unwonted mood.
"What is it?" he asked, in the curt, authoritative tone habitual to him.
"Your Excellency has given orders that the Nixies' Well should be broken up, and the spring stopped," answered the master-mason. "It was to be done today, and my men will be here in half an hour or so. I only wanted to see beforehand whether there would be any difficulty, and if the work was likely to take up much time."
The Baron glanced at the fountain, and then at Gabrielle standing by his side. There was the hardly perceptible delay of a second, and then he pronounced his decree:
"Send your people away. The work is not to be done."
"What! your Excellency?" asked the mason, in astonishment.
"The demolition of the fountain would injure the garden. It is to remain. I will take other measures."
A wave of the hand dismissed the two men. They, of course, ventured on no reply, but surprise was plainly written on their countenances as they left the garden. It was the first time an order so circumstantially given by the Governor himself had ever been withdrawn.
Raven had stepped to the edge of the basin, and was watching the constant falling shower. Gabrielle had remained in her place by the parapet, but now she drew near slowly, hesitatingly--presently, with a sudden movement, she held out both hands to him.
"Thank you--oh, thank you!"
He smiled, not with his usual sardonic smile. A ray of sunshine seemed to flit across his face, as he took the offered hands, and, gently raising Gabrielle's head, stooped to kiss her brow.
There was nothing unusual in this. He was in the habit of thus saluting her when she appeared at breakfast and wished him "Good-morning," and hitherto she had received his caress most unconcernedly; while he, her guardian, had but in cool, grave fashion made use of his 'fatherly rights.'
To-day, for the first time, the young girl involuntarily sought to evade it; and Raven felt that the hand he held in his own trembled a little. He drew himself up suddenly, without having touched her forehead with his lips, and dropped her hand.
"You are right," he said, in a troubled voice. "There is a magic in the Nixies' Well. Let us go."
They turned away. Behind them the spring babbled and murmured, the fountain plashed, throwing its white veil of spray ever on high. That cruel doom of destruction was averted now. The beseeching prayer of those brown eyes, and the glittering tears which stood in them, had saved the well.
Perhaps at this moment the cold, stern man, who had long passed the prime of life, may have felt that his boast had been premature, that not even he in his strength was entirely proof against "the nixies' charm."
George Winterfeld sat at his writing-table in his own room. He looked worn, and almost ill. The transient freshness of tint called up by his holiday excursion had long since vanished, and the natural pallor, which had even then been noticeable on the young man's finely cut and intellectual features, had visibly increased. He was, indeed, apt to exact too much of his working powers. The duties of his position made considerable demands on his time, yet in every leisure-hour at his disposal he devoted himself with feverish zeal to such studies as were likely to advance him in his career.
George often worked at the expense of his health; he was urged on by a nobler spur than ambition. Every step he took forward lessened the gap between himself and the woman he loved, and, though possessed of all becoming modesty, he was yet too sensible of his own abilities and his own worth not to cherish an assured hope that one day that gap would be filled up.
His colleagues, who for the most part contented themselves with getting through the business which fell to them in office-hours, knew nothing of the Assessor's quiet, unceasing toil. He never alluded to it. The chief's penetrating eye alone had discovered with what a fund of perseverance, with what genuine talent the young clerk was gifted, though as yet he had had but small opportunity of turning his gifts to active account.
George always worked best in the morning hours. He was sitting to-day bent over a volume of jurisprudence, and so immersed in its arid contents that he did not notice the opening of the outer door which gave access to his apartments. It was only when he heard a familiar voice say: "Don't trouble yourself. I can find my way to Mr. Winterfeld alone," that he started up from his book, just as the newcomer entered.
"Good-morning, George, old fellow. Here I am, you see."
"Max! Is it possible? What brings you to R----? How did you come here?" cried George, in joyful surprise, hurrying to meet his friend.
"I came straight from home," replied the latter, returning his friend's greeting with equal heartiness. "I only reached the hotel half an hour ago, and came up to see you immediately."
"But why not write me a few lines? Did you wish to take me by surprise?"
"No, not that; the journey was rather a surprise to myself; for, my dear fellow, I am not brought here by any sentimental feelings of friendship, as you may possibly flatter yourself, but by a most real and practical matter of business, arising from our succession to some property. But, in the first place, how are you? You are looking pale, as is but natural to a man who sits brooding in the early morning over his books. George, you are incorrigible."
George laughed, pushed away the hand that was stretched out to feel his pulse, and drew his friend to the sofa.
"Lay aside the doctor for the nonce," said he. "I am perfectly well. So it is some succession-business which brings you here. Have riches peradventure overtaken you?"
"Not riches, exactly," said Max. "It is only a matter of a very modest fortune left by a cousin of ours who owned a small estate in the neighbourhood of R----. I had some acquaintance with him. He had quarrelled with my father out and out, on account of the latter's political past; but now he has died without a will or direct heirs, and my father, as next of kin, has received a summons from the R---- tribunal to make good his claims. This he cannot do in person. You know that he may not set foot in his native land without risking a return to his old quarters in that fortified place which he quitted by the somewhat unusual conveyance of a ladder of ropes. The sentence formerly pronounced on him still hangs over his head, so he has sent me as his representative."
"You have full authority to act?" put in the Assessor.
"Unlimited; but there will be plenty of quibbles and delays, notwithstanding. My father's flight and protracted absence will complicate matters, and my notorious Socialist name will hardly predispose the judicial mind to any special affability towards me. Foreseeing all this, I have taken a rather long leave and I intend to stay in R---- until the business is settled. I count much on your legal advice and assistance."
"I am altogether at your service. The first thing for you to do, however, is to give up your rooms at the hotel, and to come here to me."
"With your permission, I shall decline doing that," said Max, drily.
"Why?"
"Because I don't wish to bring you into trouble with your superiors. Can you give me your word of honour that the visit you paid us this summer passed unremarked, that it has called down on you no word of blame?"
George looked down.
"Well, I certainly was favoured with some rather sharp observations from the chief; but there are bounds even to his jurisdiction and to the regard I owe to my position. I do not mean to offer up to it my friends and private connections."
"You need not do so," returned the young surgeon; "but there is no occasion to go out of your way to challenge a conflict. You know I have not a very high opinion of gratuitous sacrifices, and the invitation you are now so kind as to give me comes under that head. No use to argue, George. I shall remain at the hotel. You will compromise yourself quite sufficiently in the eyes of all loyal citizens by owning me as a friend at all."
The refusal was expressed in so decided a tone that George saw it would be useless to insist; so he yielded the point.
"Well, let me congratulate you on coming in to the fortune, at all events," he said. "Though it be not a very considerable one, it will, I suppose, be of importance to you."
"Certainly; I am especially glad on my father's account. He can now devote himself to his beloved science undisturbed by those material cares which have hitherto held the front rank. I, too, gain by it my much-desired independence. I should long ago have resigned my post at the hospital had it not been necessary to provide for our household an assured income which can henceforth be dispensed with. I shall set to work to establish a practice now and marry."
"You are thinking of marrying?" asked George, in some astonishment.
"Of course I am. A man must have a wife. It is necessary to his comfort."
"But whom do you mean to marry?"
"Ah! that I don't know yet. When I have installed myself in a place of my own, I shall hold a review, make my choice, and lead home my bride."
"Some daughter of Switzerland, I presume?"
"Beyond a doubt. I think very highly of the solid good sense and practical virtues of the Swiss, though it may be there is a little lack of polish about them at times. Moreover, I don't want any tender over-refinement in my wife. Married people should be cut out on the same pattern."
"Well, you seem to have gone thoroughly into it," laughed George, "I dare say you have made out a regular programme, enumerating all the qualities your future wife is to possess. So let us hear. Clause No. I?"
"Money," said Max, laconically. "Ah! yes; that rouses your sentimental feelings to revolt again. Money is indispensable. Second desideratum, practical domestic education. Third, fine robust health. A doctor, who is knocking about all day among all sorts of maladies, does not want to have to prescribe at home. Fourth----"
"For heaven's sake stop!" interrupted his friend. "I believe there are a dozensine quâ non. Love does not figure among them, I suppose?"
"Love comes after marriage," replied the young surgeon, confidently, "at least, with rational people; and the unions which answer best are those based on the solid grounds of reason and common sense. When, after a mature consideration of character and circumstances, I find that my programme fits, I shall make my offer at once, and get married; and therewith all is said."
George smiled rather sadly as he laid his hand on his friend's arm.
"My dear Max, I know very well for whom your sermon is intended. Unfortunately, it can avail nothing. You will not understand this until some passion, springing up in your own breast, dashes through all your clauses at a stroke, and upsets your conclusions."
"A minute, please. Mine is no romantic nature. I leave romance to certain other people of my acquaintance. By-the-bye, how is your little affair progressing? May I expect again to fill the part of confidant, and, when occasion offers, to resume my former functions as sentinel? I am at your orders."
George sighed.
"No, Max, there is no question of that. I hardly ever see Gabrielle, and have only spoken to her once in her mother's presence. The Governor has built up around his house such a rampart of haughty reserve and exclusiveness, it is impossible to break through it."
"Poor old fellow! the melancholy of your appearance becomes explicable to me. Well, you see the consequences of taking these things too seriously. My programme and my clauses, at which you jeer in a most uncalled-for manner, protect me from such misadventures."
George looked at his watch.
"Excuse me, I must be off to the Chancellery. Our office-hours begin early; but after three o'clock I am at liberty, and I will look you up immediately. Shall I go with you to the hotel?"
The young surgeon preferred to bear his friend company on his way to the bureau, so the two set out together. They walked through the streets, chatting as they went, and at the foot of the hill they came upon Councillor Moser. This gentleman had his quarters at the Government-house itself, but he was in the habit of taking a constitutional in the morning before office-hours commenced, and from this exercise he was now returning. He advanced slowly, with his usual stiff and solemn mien, his chin well buried in his white cravat, and returned his subordinate's greeting with an affable but dignified bow.
"You are looking tired, Mr. Winterfeld," he observed, in a benevolent tone. "His Excellency himself has noticed it. His Excellency is of opinion that you work too sedulously, and that you will undermine your health by such assiduous study. There may be too much even of a good thing. You should not apply too closely."
"That is what I am always preaching to my friend," put in Max; "but in vain. This very morning, at an untimely hour, I found him poring over his books, and had literally to hunt him from them. He throws all my prescriptions to the wind."
"You are a member of the Faculty, sir?" asked the Councillor, evidently expecting that this stranger should be presented to him.
"My friend, Dr. Brunnow," said George; "Mr. Councillor Moser."
The chief-clerk suddenly rose out from the depths of his white neckcloth.
"Brunnow--Brunnow?" he repeated.
"Is the name familiar to you, Councillor?" asked Max, innocently.
All benevolence had vanished from the old gentleman's face. It expressed something akin to horror as he replied sharply:
"The name was well known in former times, first in connection with the rebellion, then with the courts of justice. Finally, it was brought into people's mouths by the escape from a fortified place of a political prisoner who bore it. I trust you stand in no relationship to the Dr. Brunnow to whom I allude."
"In the very closest," said the young surgeon, with a most polite bow. "That Dr. Brunnow is my father."
The Councillor recoiled a step, as though to guarantee himself against any chance contact. Then he turned his back on the young man, and concentrated all his ire and indignation on George.
"Mr. Assessor Winterfeld," he began in a withering tone, "there are officials, clever and competent officials even, who do not, or will not, recognise the first and most sacred duty imposed on them by their service, the duty of loyalty to the state. Are you acquainted with any such?"
George was a little embarrassed.
"I really do not quite understand your drift----"
"Well, I am acquainted with some of that order, and I pity them, for they are, in general, but the victims of false teaching and evil example."
The young clerk frowned. He was, it is true, pretty well accustomed to such philippics from his superior; but now, in his friend's presence, he chafed at the implied reproof, feeling the awkwardness of the situation. So he answered with some heat:
"You may feel convinced that I understand my duties. Beyond this----"
"Yes, yes. I am aware that all young men are born reformers, and that they consider it a proof of character to try a little opposition," interrupted Moser, who dearly loved, in season and out of season, to make use of his chiefs words, which were to him as so many oracular utterances. "But it is a dangerous game, for opposition leads on to revolution, and revolution"--the chief-clerk shuddered--"is a horrible thing!"
"A most horrible thing, Councillor," said Max, emphatically.
"You think so?" asked Moser, somewhat disconcerted by this unexpected adhesion.
"Certainly; and I think, too, that it is well you should make this appeal to my friend's conscience. I myself have often told him he is not loyal as he should be."
The Councillor stood as though petrified on hearing these words, which were delivered with imperturbable gravity. He was about to answer, when suddenly his chin disappeared into his cravat again, and he assumed a reverential attitude.
"His Excellency!" said he, under his breath, respectfully taking off his hat.
And, looking round, they really saw the Governor, coming from the Castle, and going on foot towards the town. On reaching the spot where they stood, he returned the gentlemen's greeting in his cool, measured fashion, took a rapid survey of young Brunnow, and then addressed himself to Moser:
"It is fortunate I meet you, my dear sir. There is something I wish to say to you. Bear me company for a few minutes, will you?"
The Councillor joined his chief, and the two went on towards the town, while the young men pursued their journey up the hill.
"So that is your despot, is it?" asked Max, as soon as they were out of hearing. "The much-abused, much-dreaded Raven! He is of an imposing presence, that I must allow him. A bearing and dignity that would not ill become a prince; and then that lordly glance with which he took my measure! One can see the man knows how to command."
"And how to oppress," added George, bitterly. "We have had a fresh proof of it lately. The whole city is in a state of ferment on account of the extraordinary new police regulations he has saddled upon it. He means to repress by force the opposition which is daily growing more active, and now threatens to become really troublesome. This last step of his is a flagrant affront to the whole body of citizens."
"And the good townsfolk of R---- take it quietly?"
George cast a prudent glance around. The road was clear, and their conversation safe from curious ears, yet the young man lowered his voice as he answered:
"What can they do? Rebel against their ruler, the chosen delegate of the Government? That would entail most serious consequences. I often think, perhaps all that is wanting is to make our Ministers aware of the true state of the case, to acquaint them with all the arbitrary proceedings, the acts of tyranny whereby their representative has abused the full powers conferred on him. Were this openly done, they must let him fall."
"Or silence the inconvenient monitor instead. It would not be the first time such a thing has happened; and this Raven does not look as if he would easily let himself be thrown. He would, at least, drag down his enemies with him in his fall."
"And yet, sooner or later, it must come to that," said George, resolutely. "A brave man will one day be found."
The young surgeon started, and looked searchingly into his friend's face.
"You will not be he, I should hope. Don't be a fool, George, and enter the lists alone in behalf of others. It may cost you your position, your living; and, besides, have you forgotten that the Baron is your adored Gabrielle's guardian? If you rouse his anger, he has at his disposal the means of destroying all your hopes of happiness."
"That he will do in any case," returned George moodily. "He will assuredly try to get his ward married brilliantly and speedily; and when he finds that I am the obstacle to the success of his plans there are hardly any limits to the antagonism I may expect from him."
"And, most decidedly, he is not one whom it will be easy to fight," remarked Max. "I understand that you hate him in his double capacity."
"Hate? I admire much in him, and in one sense the city and province owe him a debt of gratitude. Thanks to his energy, numberless new resources have been opened out, dormant powers have been aroused and made to subserve the public good; but every aspiration towards a greater freedom he has stifled with an iron hand. The cruel period of reaction, which has weighed on us so long, is indebted to him for some of its worst triumphs."
"It is coming to an end," observed Max.
"Yes, thank God, it is coming to an end. The old system is shaken to its foundations, and its upholders are endeavouring to trim their course wisely, so as to save all that may yet be saved. Raven alone holds to the past with rigid consistency. Not the smallest concession--not the most trifling compromise can be wrung from him, and he will not listen to the warning voices which sound even in his ears. Is this wilful blindness, or firmness of character?"
"Firmness of character in a renegade?"
George looked down thoughtfully. Suddenly he said:
"Max, there are times when I would rather doubt your father's word than ascribe a dishonourable action to my chief. Ambition, passion, might lead him to commit a crime; but base, low treachery to his friends! There is not a trait in the man which does not contradict the charge."
"And yet he was guilty of such treachery. Do you think my father would pass this rigorous judgment on the hero he once worshipped without ample proofs? But, indeed, are they needed? Is not the career of this Arno Raven proof enough in itself? He was once an enthusiastic champion of liberty. What is he now?"
"You are right; and yet ... Let us say no more of this. We are at the Castle."
They had, indeed, by this time reached the Government-house, where they must separate. An appointment was hastily made for the afternoon, then George betook himself to the Chancellery, and Max, who was in no hurry to return to the town, strolled about, inspecting the Castle, which was one of the principal sights of R----, and an object of interest to all strangers. The young surgeon, it is true, cared very little for architectural curiosities or the antique Romantic style of art; but the Castle interested him on account of its present inhabitants. He sauntered through the galleries and passages as far as they were accessible; then, turning at length to retrace his steps, he lost his way, and, instead of re-issuing at the main entrance, wandered into one of the side wings. He only remarked his error on finding himself in a corridor which evidently led to an inhabited dwelling. Just as he was about to turn and go back, a door opened, and an elderly woman looked out.
"Ah, you are there, Doctor," said she, gladly. "Pray come in. My young lady is ready, and expecting you."
"Expecting me?" asked Max, astonished at the welcome.
"Surely. You are the doctor, are not you?"
"Well, I am that, certainly."
"Come in then, please. I will let the young lady know." Saying which, the woman, apparently a superior sort of housekeeper, vanished, and Max remained alone in the outer room she had constrained him to enter.
"Now this I call luck," said he to himself, under his breath. "I no sooner set foot in R----, than a practice tumbles unexpectedly into my lap. We shall see what course the matter takes."
For this he had not long to wait. After a few minutes the woman came back, and ushered him into a pleasant, comfortably-furnished parlour. A young lady rose from her place by the window, and came towards him.
She was a very young girl, perhaps about sixteen or seventeen years of age, tall and slender, but fragile, almost sickly in appearance. Transparently pale of complexion, her face, though not beautiful, was delicate and prepossessing. Dark shadows encircled her eyes, and there was hardly a trace of colour in the cheeks or lips. Her costume was of almost exaggerated simplicity, and quite conventual in its cut and fashion. The black dress, unrelieved by the slightest ornament, was fastened high in the neck and closely at the wrists. A square of black lace completely covered her head, so that only a narrow band of the smoothly coiled dark hair was to be seen. Very timid and embarrassed in manner, she stood before the physician with downcast eyes, saying not a word.
"You wish for medical advice, Fräulein?" asked Max at length, having waited in vain for her to speak. "I am at your service."
At the sound of his voice, the girl raised a pair of dark, expressive eyes, but quickly lowered them again, and drew back a step in evident alarm. Even her more mature companion seemed, on closer investigation, somewhat startled and uneasy at the doctor's youthful appearance. She did not budge an inch from her charge's side.
"My father wishes me to consult a physician," the young lady now made answer, in a low, soft-toned voice. "It is not really necessary, for I do not feel exactly ill."
"But you are right-down ill," interrupted the elder woman, who evidently considered herself more as one of the family than as a domestic. "And now the Councillor says he insists on your seeing some one."
"The Councillor? Councillor Moser?" asked Max, a light breaking in upon him. By a sort of intuition, he guessed to whose house chance had led him.
"Yes. Has he not been with you?"
"He was with me about ten minutes before I came here," declared the young man, with difficulty repressing a strong inclination to laugh.
He recalled to mind the look of horror with which the worthy Councillor had shrunk from him on hearing his father's name. Under any other circumstances he would at once have cleared up the misunderstanding; but now he thought of the old gentleman who had treated him so ungraciously; how wrathful he would be, were he to discover, under his own roof, this scion of Socialists and demagogues! Max determined to stand his ground, come what might.
"You look very far from well, however, Fräulein," he went on, taking her hand, and attentively feeling her pulse. "Will you allow me to put a few questions to you?"
The examination began. When Max had a case before him, he became simply and solely the doctor, and forgot all else in his study of its peculiar phenomena. His questions were short, comprehensive, clear. He wasted no words, and never wandered from the subject in hand. Gradually his young patient seemed to gain confidence. She grew more at ease, more explicit in her answers, and ceased looking up anxiously at her protectress each time she spoke. At last the examination came to an end, and Max appeared satisfied with the result.
"I do not see any grounds for serious apprehension. Your ailments are in a great degree nervous, due, perhaps, originally to mental over-excitement, and aggravated by want of air and exercise."
"That is what I say," broke in the housekeeper, who was evidently accustomed to put in her oar on every occasion. "Fräulein Agnes takes no exercise; she never goes out in the open air at all, except in the morning to early mass. I have always said that so much praying and penance and fasting----"
"Christine!" interrupted the young girl, imploringly.
"Yes, yes, the doctor must be told everything," rejoined Christine. "My young lady overdoes it with her piety, Doctor. She is on her knees all day long."
"That is bad; you must leave that off," said the young surgeon, dictatorially.
Fräulein Agnes looked up at him with a scared expression.
"Doctor!"
"And the daily attendance at early mass as well. That must certainly be discontinued," pursued Max, speaking with the same prompt decision, and unheeding her attempt at remonstrance. "You have every reason to guard against taking cold, and the mornings are beginning to be cool and autumnal. As to fasting, I forbid it once for all. It is as bad as poison to a person in your condition."
"But, Doctor!" said the girl, a second time, and again her protest found no hearing. Max was not to be diverted from his point.
"Now, on the other hand, I prescribe a long walk every day, but at noon, when the sun is bright and warm--as much air and exercise as possible, and a little amusement too, something to vary the thoughts. The winter gaieties will be setting in soon. I would advise you not to dance too much."
Agnes started back three steps at least, thus emulating her father's late hasty retreat.
"Dance!" she repeated, in absolute dismay. "Dance!"
"Yes, why not? All young ladies are fond, of dancing, are they not? You do not want to be an exception to the rule, I suppose?"
"I have never danced," she replied quickly, and with as much decision of tone as her soft voice would admit of. "I have always kept aloof from worldly amusements. They are sinful, and I detest them."
"Well, well, you should try them before you make up your mind," said the doctor, kindly. "But such advice hardly comes within my professional competence. I will give you a prescription for the present, and see you again in the course of a few days. Have you paper and pen and ink at hand?"
Christine brought the necessary implements, and he sat down to write. Agnes had taken refuge by the window, where she stood with folded palms, and a look of consternation on her pale face. When the prescription was finished. Max came up to her again, and unceremoniously disengaged the folded hands to feel her pulse once more.
"Yes; now follow my instructions carefully, and there will, I hope, be an improvement before long. Good-morning, Fräulein."
So saying, he left the room. Christine closed the entrance-door behind him, and then came back.
"He knows what he is about," said she. "He orders and dictates as though no one else had a right to say a word here. What do you think of the doctor, Fräulein?"
"I think him very irreligious," declared the young lady, emphatically.
"Ah, yes; none of your medical men are over-pious," remarked Christine.
"And so young!" went on Agnes, in a tone which implied the weightiest accusation.
"I expected to see an older man myself, but he looks clever, and he certainly is very punctual. He had promised to be here at nine, and on the stroke of nine there he was outside in the corridor. I can't think where your papa is! Something must have happened to detain him, for he wished to be present at the interview."
"The doctor said he had spoken to my father. Do you think I ought to take the medicine, Christine?"
"Of course you must take it. That is what we had the doctor here for. I like him, in spite of that bearish way of his. You mind what I say. Miss Agnes--he will set you all to rights again."
It remained doubtful whether Agnes herself shared this opinion. She had taken up the prescription, and was reading it. After a while she laid the paper down, and said, with a little shake of the head:
"I only wish he were not so irreligious!"
Max, going down the steps, met an elderly gentleman coming up. This personage wore gold spectacles, carried a stick with a gold knob, and had about him an air of great importance. The young surgeon stopped, and looked after him.
"I would wager my head that is my worthy colleague on his way to pay the promised visit. Now he will rack his brains to discover who can have been interfering with his practice, and snapping up a patient before his very nose. And then the wrath of that quintessence of loyalty, the solemn old Councillor, when he hears the story, and sees my name on the prescription! It would be worth something to get a look at his face. I wish I could introduce myself to him in my new capacity as his family doctor."
The mischievous wish was to be fulfilled. At the foot of the Castle-hill Max met the Councillor, who, as in duty bound, had accompanied 'his Excellency' to his destination, and was now on his road back. No sooner did he catch a glimpse of Brunnow, that 'scion of Socialists and demagogues,' than he endeavoured to turn aside, and thus avoid the undesirable meeting. Max, however, went straight up to him.
"I am glad to have the chance of speaking to you again, Councillor. I have just come from your daughter."
This time the old gentleman's face emerged most suddenly from the folds of his white cravat.
"From my daughter?" he repeated.
"Yes, from Fräulein Moser. I can give you the comforting assurance that the young lady's condition need inspire no serious apprehension, though she will require great care and attention. The nervous system is out of order, certainly, but----"
"Sir, allow me to ask how you came to see my daughter?" vociferated the Councillor.
"But this will yield to proper treatment," continued Max, quite undisturbed. "For the present I have prescribed a remedy from which I hope the best results, and in a few days I will call in and see the young lady again."
"But I never asked for your attendance," protested the Councillor, whose head was in a whirl. He could make nothing of the other's astounding communication.
"Excuse me, I was called in. Ask Frau Christine. As I said before, I hope great things from the medicine, and I will look in again the day after to-morrow. No thanks, pray, Councillor; it affords me the greatest pleasure. My compliments to your daughter. Good-morning."
Councillor Moser stood for some seconds rigid and motionless as a statue; then he charged at full speed up the hill to his own dwelling, there to seek a solution of the mystery, while the young doctor laughingly went on his way towards the town.