Life at the Castle during the last few weeks had been anything but agreeable. To be sure, things had outwardly taken their usual course. The family met and talked at table, and fulfilled all their social duties; but the former easy, familiar intercourse had given place to a stiff reserve and constraint, which weighed heavily on each separate member of the party. The Baroness, shallow-minded and superficial as ever, was, perhaps, the least affected by it. She could not understand how an insignificant, fleeting love-affair, which, after all, was nothing more than a piece of childish folly, should have so deep and lasting an influence on her brother-in-law's humour. To her thinking, a complete end had been put to the matter by the Baron's decided refusal, and by Winterfeld's departure from R----. There could be no doubt that Gabrielle would now listen to reason. The mother had, as she supposed, an unfailing resource at her disposal, one which would speedily drive that romantic youthful fancy into the background. Lieutenant Wilten's admiration for the young Baroness was growing day by day more evident, and but little encouragement was needed to embolden him to press his suit openly.
Ever since the night of the ball, when Colonel Wilten had remarked how much his eldest son was taken by the appearance and manners of Gabrielle von Harder, that gentleman had held tenaciously to the idea of bringing about a marriage between the two. As Raven had shown himself impervious to the slight hints he had let fall on the subject, the Colonel had recourse to the lady of the house, whom he found far more amenable, and quite disposed to favour his wishes. There was not, indeed, much to be urged against the match, which was one to satisfy a more requiring mother than the Baroness. The Wiltens came of a good old house, and were connected by blood, or by alliance, with some of the foremost families of the land. They were not rich, certainly, but this want would be supplied by Gabrielle's dowry and future fortune, in case, as might confidently be expected, the Baron should give his consent to the marriage. Albert von Wilten was a good-looking young officer, whose uniform became him exceedingly well, and who rode and danced to perfection. He was a model partner and an agreeable companion, and he appeared to be sincerely attached to Gabrielle. In short, he possessed all the qualities which Madame von Harder desired in her future son-in-law; and the Colonel and his wife, to both of whom the presumptive heiress of Baron von Raven seemed a most desirable connection, were diligent in their attentions to mother and daughter.
The Baroness began by sounding her brother-in-law. She soon made the unpleasant discovery that Gabrielle, by her rebellious wilfulness and obstinacy, had altogether trifled away the kindly feeling which her guardian had formerly entertained towards her. This was very evident, for he listened to the proposed scheme with icy indifference; declaring, indeed, that he had no objection to offer, but that he must decline to interfere, and leave the matter entirely to the Baroness's generalship. On the other hand, that lady obtained the comforting assurance that, as Baroness Wilten, her daughter would remain in undiminished possession of all the advantages secured to her by her guardian's will. This did away with any lingering hesitation, Gabrielle herself was to know nothing of the plan. She seemed to like the young officer, but was rather cool and reserved in her manner towards him, and evidently attached no serious importance to the homage he paid her. She, therefore, readily consented to accompany her mother when the latter accepted an invitation to the Wiltens' country-house, which was situated some miles from the town, at the foot of the mountains. The Colonel's wife, whose health was delicate, generally spent the summer there. She had not yet returned to town, and as there was still a prospect of a few fine, sunny autumn days, Lieutenant Wilten never rested until he obtained from the ladies the promise of a visit. He, of course, at once applied for leave, in order to be with them during their sojourn in the country; and the Colonel, too, managed to get free of the duties of his service for a short space. The matter was thus set in train, and it was agreed that the rest should be left to the young people themselves.
The Baron, who was included in the invitation, excused himself on the plea of the pressure of business. Besides, he said, he felt it necessary to remain at his post on account of the uneasiness still prevailing in the town. So the ladies set out on their expedition alone, and Gabrielle breathed freely as the carriage rolled out from the portico of the Government-house. She, poor girl, had suffered most from the experiences of the last few weeks, yet Raven had kept his word. Not a look, not a word, had recalled to her that "unguarded moment" which she was to forget, as he seemed to have forgotten it.
George Winterfeld's name had not passed his lips since the day on which he had informed her that the Assessor had left R---- to enter on his new post in the distant capital; but since then the Baron himself had become more reserved and unapproachable than ever. He governed and ordered everything with his accustomed promptness and energy; but between him and Gabrielle a great cleft seemed to have opened, rendering all friendly communication impossible. He was frigid as ice in his behaviour to her; thus it came about that she grasped eagerly at the chance now offered her of escaping for a while from the life in common which was every day growing more unendurable. Raven, too, seemed to desire a separation, for he at once concurred in the plan, and expressed no disapproval when his sister-in-law thought fit to prolong her absence for a full fortnight.
On the last day of theirvilleggiatura, the Governor drove out to the Wiltens' country-seat to fetch the ladies home. But the Baroness had taken cold, and, the weather being raw and inclement, could not venture to undertake so long a drive. She had decided on staying the night, and returning to town the following day with Colonel Wilten and his wife. It was arranged, however, that Gabrielle should avail herself of her guardian's escort. Raven, who had come over in the morning, wished to start again directly after dinner, and Colonel Wilten in vain sought to detain him.
"I cannot stop," said the Baron, as the two talked together, pacing the garden-room the while. "In the present state of affairs it would not do for me to leave the town for more than a few hours. Even for this short absence I had to take my precautions, leaving word that I was to be sent for should anything happen."
"Is the situation so critical, then?" asked the Colonel, who had been out of town for the last week.
"Critical?" Raven shrugged his shoulders. "There is rather more brawling and noise than usual, and every now and then we have an attempt at a riot; the good citizens, in short, are sufficiently giving me to understand the dislike entertained by them towards my person and government. I have had one or two apostles of liberty, who were decreeing my deposition in open assembly, arrested, and hold them safely under lock and key. The whole city is in a state of sedition in consequence. The burgomaster came up to me himself to demand the release of the prisoners, 'in the name of justice.' I was obliged to make known to that gentleman that my patience is at length exhausted, and that I shall now proceed with more vigour than I have hitherto cared to display."
In spite of their ironical inflection, his words betrayed deep irritation and annoyance. Wilten, too, had grown serious.
"The ferment has been going on for months," he observed. "If the outbreak, which is always threatening, has been avoided so far, we owe it to the tact and discretion of the police authorities--of the Superintendent, in particular."
"He and his officials will be powerless soon in face of this growing agitation. The Superintendent is too fond of half-measures for me to put my trust in him. No matter what orders I give, I am met with a great show of ready compliance and prompt adhesion; but when it comes to executing my orders, there are endless difficulties and delays, and we make no progress at all. I am glad you are coming back to town tomorrow; but for that, I must have asked you to shorten your leave. You are the commandant of the garrison, and there is no saying how soon strong arguments may be needed."
"Your Excellency would do well to avoid any violent measures," said the Colonel, impressively. "Once taken, they cannot be retracted, and you know my despatches----"
"Instruct you to place the troops of the garrison at my disposal."
"No; they only instruct me to lend you assistance in case of extreme necessity," replied the Colonel, a little irritated at the other's imperious tone; "and at army head-quarters it is earnestly desired that such a necessity may be avoided. It is really rather difficult to draw a line, to say where your responsibility ends and mine begins. I should hesitate to interfere in this early stage of affairs."
"That is natural," said Raven, curtly. "You are a soldier, and accustomed to submit to discipline. My position has always permitted me to retain my freedom of action and independence. Nevertheless, you may rest assured that I shall do all in my power to save you from any such dilemma."
"Let us hope that it will not come to the worst," struck in the Colonel, who had no desire to excite the other's anger. Wilten was counting a good deal just now on the Baron's friendly feeling, and, foreseeing that this topic of conversation might give rise to fresh unpleasantness, he let it drop, and passed to another which lay very near his heart.
"Well, I shall return to my post to-morrow, certainly," he began again. "Albert has been back in town for more than a week. It was hard on him to tear himself away at the call of duty. He lies bound hand and foot, a captive to the charms of a certain young lady."
Raven was silent. He stopped, accidentally, as it were, by the window which opened on to the balcony, and, turning slightly away, looked out into the garden.
"I may take it for granted, I think, that my son's wishes and hopes are no secret to you now," continued Wilten. "In these wishes my wife and I most cordially share. If we may reckon on your support in the matter----"
"Has Lieutenant Wilten declared himself as yet?" interrupted the Baron, still preserving the same attitude.
"Not yet. We fancied there was a little reserve in Fräulein von Harder's manner to him, and Albert had not the courage to speak out. He will call on you in the course of the next few days. May he hope that you will favour his cause? A father's good word is often a powerful aid."
"A father's good word!" repeated Raven, his voice grating with harshest irony.
"Well, or his who stands in the father's place. The Baroness is of opinion also, that your counsels will have great weight with her daughter."
Raven passed his hand across his brow, and turned slowly round to face the speaker.
"When Lieutenant Wilten has communicated with me, I will acquaint Gabrielle with his proposal, and ask for her answer; but I neither can nor will attempt to influence my ward."
"Of course not, of course not," replied the Colonel; "but, next to the young lady's consent, her guardian's approval is, naturally, the first thing to be thought of. The Baroness has led my son to hope that he may count on you."
"I have already told my sister-in-law that I have no objection to offer," said the Baron, whose lips twitched, as though he were enduring an inward martyrdom, albeit his voice retained its wonted calm. "But the decision must rest solely and entirely with Gabrielle. If her mother chooses to throw her influence into the scale, she can do so. I, personally, shall not interfere."
The Colonel seemed surprised and a little offended at this very cool reception of his overtures, but he ascribed the other's ungenial manner to the annoying occurrences in the town, which had evidently ruffled his temper.
"I can well understand that your head is full of other things just now," he half apologised; "but when a hot-headed young fellow of my Albert's stamp falls in love, he does not stay to inquire whether time and circumstances are favourable to his suit; he cannot be induced to sit down soberly and wait. But to come back to where we started. Would it not be better to leave the ladies here awhile? R---- is not a very pleasant place of residence just in these difficult times, and my wife would gladly prolong her sojourn in the country if it would be any convenience to her dear visitors."
"Thanks, no," declined Raven. "It shall not be said that my relations remain absent from the town because I hold the situation to be seriously menacing. Some such reports have arisen already, and it is high time they should be refuted."
Colonel Wilten saw that this ground was untenable, so he yielded. The previous arrangements as to the journey therefore held good, and a few hours later the Baron set out in Gabrielle's company on his return to the town, leaving the remaining trio to follow at their ease.
It was a cool and rather stormy autumn day, with heavy showers of rain and glimpses of sunshine alternating. The heaviest downpour had, however, ceased about noon, and the sun, already declining to its rest, struggled still for the mastery, breaking through the dark clouds with which the sky was covered. In spite of the uninviting weather, Raven, as was his wont, had driven out in an open carriage, and the handsome horses, celebrated throughout the province for their swiftness and the beauty of their proportions, almost flew along the road with the light britzska. Its occupants were very silent during the greater part of the drive. The Baron seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and Gabrielle sat mutely gazing out at the country through which they passed. The wind blew keenly down from the hills, and the girl drew her mantle more closely about her shoulders. Raven noticed the movement.
"You are cold," he said; "I should have remembered that you are not accustomed to drive in an open carriage in such weather. I will have the hood put up."
He would have at once given the coachman the order, but Gabrielle stopped him.
"No, thank you. I prefer even this chill keen air to a close carriage. My cloak protects me perfectly."
"As you like."
Raven stooped, drew up a rug which had slipped to their feet, and wrapped it round his companion's slender form. Then she said, in a low and almost timid voice:
"Uncle Arno, I have a request to make to you."
"I am listening," he replied laconically.
"If this close intercourse with Colonel Wilten's family is to be kept up in town, let me be dispensed from sharing in it."
"Why?"
"Because, during our stay in the country, I have discovered that mamma was following out a premeditated plan in accepting that invitation--a plan which you favour."
"I favour nothing," said Raven, coldly. "Your mother is guided by her own wishes, and acts on her own responsibility. I take no part in the matter."
"But they will ask for your decision," returned Gabrielle. "At least, mamma hinted to me that Albert von Wilten would shortly apply to you with a request which----"
"Which will concern you," concluded Raven, as she paused. "That seems probable certainly, but you alone can decide thereupon. I shall refer him to you for an answer."
"Spare us both that," interposed the girl, hastily. "It would be as mortifying to him to take a refusal from my lips as it would be painful for me to speak it."
"You have made up your mind, then, to decline his offer?"
She looked up at him with great reproachful eyes.
"Can you ask me? You know that I have given my word to another."
"And you know that I do not recognise that promise, given in haste, as a pledge which is to bind you. 'I have given my word to another.' A little while ago it was, 'I love another!'"
The observation must have struck home, for Gabrielle's face was suffused with a deep crimson blush, and she evaded a direct reply.
"Albert von Wilten was an object of indifference to me before," she answered; "since I have found out that his suit is to be pressed upon me, I have taken a dislike to him. I will never be his wife."
The Baron drew a long deep breath which seemed to expand his chest; but he replied, in the icy tone he had maintained throughout the conversation:
"I shall neither compel nor persuade you to make a choice. If, indeed, you are firmly resolved to refuse young Wilten, it will, no doubt, be better that his proposal should not be made. I will give the Colonel to understand that there is no hope for him. It shall be done to-morrow."
Raven leaned back in his seat, and the former silence set in again. Gabrielle nestled more closely into her corner; she, who in the old days could not have sat for the space of a quarter of an hour without breaking forth into a flow of merry chatter, now showed no inclination whatever to renew the conversation. A mighty change had come over the girl, a change which could not be said exactly to date from George's departure; before that, long before, there had arisen within her an enigmatic unknown something against which she had battled from the first, and which she had so long taken for the constraint of shyness and fear. This strange new state of mind had nothing in common with the joyous, happy sensation which had warmed her heart like sunshine when George first confessed his love to her, when with all the fervour of his heart he prayed for her love in return, and she, smiling and flushing with pleasure and excitement, spoke the word he pleaded for. Often enough she recalled the memory of that hour, fleeing to it as to some protecting influence--sometimes it would happen that she called on it in vain. At such moments George's image, which she strove firmly to grasp and to retain, would recede into the background, fading gradually away. If separation and absence were alone to blame for this, why did not absence work a like effect with regard to that other figure which rose before her, grave and sombre, ever more and more distinctly in proportion as the former vision waned? During the whole of the past fortnight that face had been with Gabrielle.
Neither the flattering homage paid her by the young officer, nor the thought of her absent lover, had had power to scare away the one remembrance which by degrees was usurping absolute sway over her mind and feelings. It was as though some sorcerer's spell had cast the young girl's whole nature into bonds. The old merry light-heartedness, the wilful high spirits, the childish caprices--all these had vanished, and in their place had come dim, problematic sensations more nearly akin to pain than pleasure; a constant flux and reflux of emotions which Gabrielle did not understand, but which troubled her exceedingly. She still wrestled half unconsciously against this dread unknown; for as yet she did not divine,wouldnot divine the nature of the peril which menaced her youthful attachment and George's happiness; she only felt that both were in danger, and that the danger did not come from without.
Swiftly, steadily, the carriage rolled on its way towards the town, which still lay at some considerable distance, all wreathed around in mist. The broad valley and its encircling hills were already robed in russet, for here, among the mountains, autumn entered on its dominion earlier than out in the open plain. As yet the trees and bushes stood clothed in all their wealth of leaves, but their fresh verdure had long ago disappeared. Everywhere nature had decked herself in rich and varied hues, ranging from darkest brown to brightest ochre, with here and there a flame of brilliant red or a dash of purple, deluding the eye with the semblance of flowers still blooming in among the thickets; though, in truth, there was nothing here but dying foliage sending forth one last bright gleam of colour before it fell a prey to the chill wind now rustling through the forests, and sweeping with its cutting blasts over the bare fields and pastures. The river, swollen with the late rains, rushed in mad haste on its course, its dark and turgid torrent rolling onwards with a low, sullen roar. The mountains had wrapped themselves in their veil of mist, which, tattered in places and fluttering, would now enshroud, and now reveal, the jagged peaks above. Lower down, among the wooded hills, the clouds pursued their fantastic evolutions, rising out of the deep vaporous ravines and sinking from view again in endless unrest; while, in the west, the sun slowly declined, camped around by a dark phalanx of storm-cloud which the great orb illumined with a ruddy glow, but which even it was powerless to break.
This same landscape had once presented a very different aspect to the two who were now sitting side by side, mute and reserved as strangers. Then the valley had lain before them flooded in sunlight, bright with a golden haze, its blue mountains and glistening distances telling of a "Paradise" beyond; while from beneath the cool deep shade of the limes came the sparkle of the fountain and the mysterious rippling murmur of its waters, calling up those sweet, dangerous dream-visions! To-day the only sound heard was the low roar of the river, as they drove along its banks. The horizon was masked in thick fog; the mountains, all girt around with clouds, looked down menacingly, and the sun, bereft of its warmth and radiance, burned with a lurid fire, staining the sky a deep blood-red, as it flamed its parting greeting to the earth.
The Baron's eyes were moodily fixed on the setting sun and the great masses of cloud striving together for the mastery. At length, with a strong effort, as it seemed, he roused himself from his thoughts, and broke the long silence.
"The sky denotes a storm," he said, turning to his young companion; "but it will probably not come upon us until night, and I hope we shall be safely housed in R---- before dusk."
"They say the town is very disturbed just now," observed Gabrielle, with an anxious, inquiring look up at her companion, which, however, he did not appear to notice.
"There have been some rather noisy demonstrations of late, certainly," he replied. "But the troubles are not of a serious nature, and will soon be over. You need feel no uneasiness."
"But they say that this movement is directed principally, if not entirely, against you," continued Gabrielle, in a faltering voice.
Raven frowned.
"Who says that?"
"Colonel Wilten often lets fall hints on the subject. Is it true that you have so many enemies in the town?"
"I never have been popular in R----," explained the Baron, with perfect equanimity. "In the first days of my appointment, the duty devolved on me of stifling the germs of a revolution then in active preparation. I succeeded; but success in such matters generally breeds hostility. Well do I know what hatred to my person the measures to which I had to resort at that time provoked, and how obstinately the people still persist in regarding me as an oppressor, notwithstanding all that I have done for the city and the province. We have lived in a state of constant warfare; but so far I have always had the upper hand, and I mean to preserve it in this instance."
Gabrielle thought of George's enigmatic words, of which she had as yet found no solution. He had so resolutely evaded her urgent appeal for an explanation, and the parting had come so quickly, so unexpectedly; but a few minutes had been allowed them for their stolen leave-taking, then the young man, with a great effort of will, had torn himself away, leaving Gabrielle a prey to torturing anxiety. Conjectures as to his meaning, harassing fears and doubts, still racked her brain. Of one thing, however, she felt certain--the Baron was in some way menaced, and she resolved to warn him at all hazards.
"But you stand quite alone against a multitude," she said. "You cannot tell, cannot even guess what they may be plotting against you in secret. Suppose there should be danger in store for you!"
Raven looked at her with an expression of undisguised astonishment.
"How long have you taken an interest in such matters? They were formerly as far from your ken as night from day."
The young girl tried to smile.
"I have learned so much of late that was once beyond my ken. But I am now alluding to some very decided hints----"
"Which have reached you?"
"Yes."
The Baron started. He flashed upon her the old piercing, inquisitorial look peculiar to him, and asked abruptly:
"You are in communication with the capital?"
"I have not received a single line, not a sign of life from thence."
"No?" said Raven, more mildly. "I fancied so, because Assessor Winterfeld has entered on his new duties at the Ministry of the Interior, where he will no doubt meet with sympathisers, with many who will share in his opinion that I am a tyrant unequalled in the annals of history. I cannot take it amiss from the young man personally that he should indulge in such views, for I was forced to assume an attitude towards him which fairly entitles him to hate me and to revenge himself on me, supposing revenge to be within his power."
"He will never do anything ungenerous or base," said Gabrielle.
The Baron smiled disdainfully.
"I can assure you that I attach very little weight to Mr. Winterfeld's ill-will or opposition. I have had more powerful enemies than him, and have managed to get the better of them. But if the hints of which you speak do not emanate from the capital, I can only suppose that the silly rumours which are buzzed from mouth to mouth in R---- have found their way out to the Wiltens' country-seat. They rest on no practical foundation whatever. I do not doubt that the malcontents have every inclination to do me a hurt, but they will be too wise to proceed to deeds of violence. They know well enough that I am their match, and able to meet any attack made upon me. If the situation had really been so full of peril, I should not have allowed you and your mother to return. I must ask you to discontinue your drives for the next few days, but it will not be for any length of time, I hope; and, in any case, at the Castle, in the Governor's house, you will be safe from the popular excesses, should any such occur."
"But you will not be safe!" cried Gabrielle, her anxiety breaking down the barrier of her timidity at last. "The Colonel declares that you expose yourself recklessly to every danger, and never listen to a warning of any sort."
Raven turned his grave, dark eyes slowly upon her.
"Well, that concerns myself alone, I think, unless--unless it be that you feel anxiety on my account."
She dared not reply in words; but the answer might be read in her eyes, which met his with an imploring, beseeching look. The Baron bent down to her, and there was a thrill of breathless expectation in his voice as he repeated:
"Speak, Gabrielle; are you anxious about me?"
"Yes," came trembling from her lips. It was but a single word, yet it wrought a marvellous effect.
Again Gabrielle saw his whole face kindle as with a blaze of light, met the ardent gaze which had struck her dumb once before; and the flame of that mighty up-springing passion melted the panoply of ice in which the proud man had wrapped himself. One moment sufficed to destroy the barriers which the self-control of weeks had laboriously built up. The dream wasnotover. The sudden fire in his eyes flashed out his secret.
Close to them the river ran with a loud and angry murmur, while out yonder in the autumnal forests the wind rustled and blew with sharper, stronger blasts. The wall of cloud, which rose more and more threateningly in the west, parted, and once again the red sun shone out clear and full. For a few seconds, mountains, woods, and stream appeared bathed in a purple light; a transfiguring glory streamed over the earth, and the whole broad valley glowed in supernatural splendour. For a few seconds only--then the great disc sank out of sight, the glory died away, and there remained nothing but the darkening autumn landscape with, overhead, the heavy masses of storm-cloud, and far away in the distant horizon a lingering crimson flush. A half-melancholy, half-weird aspect came over the scene, and all Nature thrilled with a presentiment of winter and of death.
"During the last few weeks, you too have thought me a tyrant, no doubt," said Raven, in a low voice, carefully subdued, though every word vibrated with his inward agitation. "Perhaps one day you will thank me for guarding you from the fault of over-precipitation. You were ignorant of your own heart and feelings, and yet you wished to bind yourself for life. Winterfeld was the first man who approached you after you ceased to be a child, the first who ventured to speak to you words of love, and you shut your eyes and dreamed that you too loved, conjuring up the phantom of that which never existed. It was a childish illusion--nothing more."
"No, no," said Gabrielle, anxiously disclaiming the charge, and attempting to free her hand--attempting in vain, for the Baron held it as in a vice, as he answered:
"You feel the truth of what I say. Do not strive against it. A promise may be recalled, an engagement cancelled by mutual consent----"
"Never!" exclaimed the girl, passionately. "I love George, him alone, and no one else. I mean to be his wife."
Raven let her hand drop. The gleam in his eyes died out, and the old icy mask covered his features once more. There was hardness and infinite bitterness in his voice as he replied:
"Lay aside, then, in future all care and anxiety for me. I will have none of them."
They drove on in silence, no further word being exchanged between them. The evening shadows fell gradually; the mountains were altogether lost to view, and the mists hovering over the meadows grew denser and denser. Dusk had fairly set in, when at length R---- was reached; but there was still light enough to distinguish objects at some little distance.
The carriage had passed through the outlying suburb, and had turned into the broad high-road leading to the Castle. At the other extremity of this road was situated one of the largest squares, or open places, of the town. This square now seemed to be the scene of some tumult; for from thence the shouts and cries of an angry multitude were borne over, and, in spite of the growing darkness, surging crowds might be seen thronging the broad space. The Baron started as the first sounds struck on his ear. He leaned far out of the carriage, and looked keenly back in the direction whence they proceeded; then he cast a quick, uneasy glance at his companion.
"This comes inopportunely," he muttered. "I should have done better to have left you with your mother."
"What is the matter yonder? Is there any danger?" asked Gabrielle, turning very pale.
She remembered Colonel Wilten's remarks, how he had deplored the hardihood with which the Governor would risk his safety on such occasions. Raven saw her alarm, but ascribed it to fear on her own account.
"There would seem to be a turbulent meeting yonder before the State prison," he answered. "I presumed, from general appearances, that the peace would not be broken to-day, or I should not have driven out from the town. But do not be in the least uneasy, you shall be exposed to no danger. I shall have to leave you; but----"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, stay with me!" cried Gabrielle. "Where would you go?"
"Whither my duty calls me--to the scene of action."
"And I?"
"You must go home alone. No one will molest you. Stop, Joseph."
The coachman obediently drew rein, and Raven rose from his seat.
"Joseph, you will take Fräulein von Harder home to the Castle at once, and as quickly as possible. There is no danger; the road is perfectly clear."
He opened the carriage-door, but the girl clung to his arm desperately.
"Do not leave me alone. Take me with you at least, if you must go."
"Nonsense!" said Raven, freeing his arm from her grasp. "You drive on to the Castle. I will come directly the disturbance is quelled, and the place quiet again."
He alighted, and turned to close the door; but in a moment Gabrielle had sprung out too, and now stood by him in the road.
"Gabrielle!" the Baron exclaimed, and there was impatient annoyance in his tone, mingled with real alarm.
But the girl only nestled more closely to his side.
"I will not let you go into the danger alone. I am afraid of nothing, of nothing in the world when you are with me. Let us go together."
Again Raven's eye blazed, and this time in the joyful flash there was swift, passionate triumph.
"You cannot accompany me," he said, in that strangely subdued tone which Gabrielle had heard but once from his lips--once only by the Nixies' Well. "You must understand that I cannot take you into the midst of that excited crowd, where I should have no possible means of protecting you. It is not the first time I have encountered such scenes. I know how to curb men's passions, but my wonted energy would fail me, were I to think that you were exposed to any danger. Promise me to return quietly home and to wait for me there. I ask this of you, Gabrielle. You will not make it hard for me to do my duty."
He took her in his arms, and lifted her into the carriage. Gabrielle offered no resistance. She knew full well that no woman could or should trust herself to the mercies of that wild, riotous mob--nothing but the mortal anxiety she was enduring would have suggested the thought to her. This anxiety was now so legibly stamped on her features that even Raven's firmness wavered. He felt he must tear himself away at once, if he would not yield to the mute prayer of those beseeching eyes.
"I must go," he said hastily. "Good-bye for the present. I shall not be long away."
He closed the carriage-door sharply, and signed to the coachman to drive on. Gabrielle, bending out, saw the tall figure turn and stride away with rapid steady steps in the direction of the square. Then the horses pulled with a will, and the carriage flew with redoubled speed on its way towards the Castle.
More than an hour had gone by, and the Governor had not yet returned. The household at the Castle was growing uneasy at his prolonged absence, for the coachman, on reaching home with the young Baroness, had reported that his master had betaken himself to the scene of the disturbances.
It was, of course, well known at the Government-house that the town was astir, but no detailed intelligence of what was going on had found its way thither; for the servants had, once for all, received instructions not to leave the Castle in the event of any such occurrence, and none of the officials who had their residence there cared to venture into the tumult. Councillor Moser alone had chanced to go down into the town that afternoon, and had, no doubt, been detained by the rioting. He had given no sign as yet, and was probably waiting until such time as order should be restored, and he could traverse the streets in safety.
The Baron's study was already lighted up. The clear flame of the lamp suspended from its ceiling illuminated every corner of the room, which yet maintained its grave and sombre aspect. One spot only, the deep recess of the great bay-window, lay in shadow; and there, half hidden by the heavy curtains, stood Gabrielle. The girl could not endure to-day to remain in her mother's apartments, which lay on the other side of the house. She had never hitherto entered her guardian's study without special permission or summons from him; but now she sought it, remembering that its window commanded a fine view of the city below. The gathering darkness soon narrowed in the range of vision; indeed, the Castle lay too far from the centre of the town for the keenest eyes, even in daylight, to observe what was going on there; but from this point the watcher could, at least, overlook some part of the lighted road which led up the Castle-hill, and could catch sight of any approaching figures in the distance--so reasoned Gabrielle, and remained steadily at her post.
Very unlike the Gabrielle Harder of the old days, truly, this pale, mute maiden, leaning against the window-frame with hands convulsively clasped, and gazing out as though her eager eyes must penetrate the growing darkness. This anxious, despairing vigil consummated the silent work of the last few weeks. It took from her, once and for ever, the old childish dream, destroyed the illusion by which she had so long deceived herself and others. In and about her all had been sunshine, until the moment when a single glance had discovered to her the depths of a passion new to her experience. In that moment the first shadow fell on her path, a shadow that had darkened it ever since. The bright "butterfly" nature which once fluttered heedlessly on its way, unmindful of care or sorrow, vanished when the sunshine faded from her life; and beneath the spell of that magic gaze a new being arose, an ardent, impassioned young creature who was to take her share of the struggle and pain which form humanity's sad heritage. As Gabrielle waited, trembling for a life she knew to be in peril, she came to understand what that life was to her--all that in this terrible hour she had at stake. It was useless longer to seek to delude herself.
The second hour was creeping by. Half of it had already passed, and still no sign, no news of the Governor, Gabrielle had opened the window, hoping to hear the sound of the carriage which, as she expected, would bring him; but the road lay solitary and deserted, and the flame of the gas-lights flickered uneasily, and sometimes almost died out beneath the fierce gusts of wind, which was rising to a hurricane.
At last the longed-for sound was heard; not the roll of carriage-wheels, certainly, but the voices and tread of several persons now becoming dimly visible through the obscurity. They came on nearer and nearer, and a half-suppressed cry of joy escaped Gabrielle's lips. She had recognised Raven's figure advancing towards the Castle in the company of some half-dozen gentlemen; and a few minutes later the party stepped into the circle of light surrounding the portico.
"I thank you, gentlemen," said the Governor, coming to a halt. "You see it was quite unnecessary to enforce your escort on me. There has been no attempt to molest us on our road. As I told you, the tumult has spent itself--for to-night."
"Yes; but nothing save your Excellency's timely appearance would have dispersed the rioters,"--this in the impressive voice of Councillor Moser, who was standing next his chief. "They were about to storm the gaol and to set the prisoners free when you came up so unexpectedly--so providentially, I may say. I saw with admiration how your Excellency, by mere authority of word and look, tamed that rebellious mob, and reduced the rioters to order--a result which the Superintendent here, with his whole staff of police to back him, had vainly striven to obtain."
The Superintendent, who formed one of the group, seemed to take this observation in rather ill part; for he replied, with a spice of unmistakable spitefulness:
"Well, you were in a good position at your window, no doubt, to see how matters went, besides having the satisfaction of feeling yourself in perfect security, while Baron von Raven and I were in the thick of the fight."
"I saw that it would be impossible for me to reach his Excellency's side," declared the Councillor; "otherwise I should have----"
"No, no," the Baron interrupted him; "that would have been a most unnecessary venture on your part, whereas the Superintendent and I were only fulfilling our duty. Well, we have settled as to the measures to be taken. I hope they will suffice to preserve order during the night. Colonel Wilten will be back to-morrow, and I shall confer with him at once, and decide on some means of preventing any recurrence of such scenes. If, contrary to our previsions, any disturbance should occur, have the goodness to let me know. Good-evening, gentlemen."
He bowed slightly to his companions, and stepped into the hall. Gabrielle closed the window gently. She meant to leave the study at once--the Baron should not find her there--but it was too late for a retreat. He must have mounted the stairs in great haste, for already his steps might be heard in one of the adjoining rooms, and his voice asking:
"What? Fräulein von Harder is not in her apartments?"
"The Baroness is in your Excellency's study, and has been waiting there for more than an hour," a servant replied.
No comment was made to this, but the step approached at a quickened pace; the door was thrown open, and Raven appeared. His first glance fell on Gabrielle, who had come out from the window, and now stood before him, trembling in every limb. He guessed why she had chosen to wait for him there. In an instant he was at her side.
"T was going over to your rooms, when they told me you were here;" he spoke in a breathless, hurried tone. "I could not possibly send any news to tranquillise you. The riot is only just quelled. All is quiet for the moment. I came up here at once."
Gabrielle tried to answer him, but her voice forsook her. She could not force a sound from her lips. Raven looked at the fair, pale face, on which the torture of the last few hours was but too legibly written. He made a movement, as though to draw her to his side, but as yet the habit of self-mastery prevailed. The arm he had raised fell to his side, his chest heaved, and he drew a deep, deep breath.
"And now, Gabrielle, repeat to me the words you spoke a while ago in the carriage, the words with which you repelled me."
"What words?" asked Gabrielle, in painful embarrassment.
"Tell me again the untruth, by the help of which you tried to deceive both yourself and me. Look me in the face, and repeat to me that you love Winterfeld, and are determined to be his. If you can do that, you shall never again be troubled by a word from me. But say it, say it out plainly."
The girl drew back. "Oh, let me go! I--I--oh, let me go, for Heaven's sake!"
"No, I will not let you go, Gabrielle!" broke out Raven, passionately. "The tale must be told, once for all. I must now put into words that secret which you have long known, the secret which has been mine since I first looked into those sunny, childish eyes. Soon, very soon after that, I heard from your own lips that you loved another. I felt that a man thirty years your senior, with hair showing streaks of grey, would incur the terrible curse of ridicule, if he confessed to you his ardent, unreciprocated attachment, and I, by Heaven! I vowed none should ridicule me. But to-day I saw that you trembled for my safety, that you would have rushed into the danger yourself only to remain at my side--and now you do not dare repeat those words, because you feel they convey a lie which would cost us both all our future happiness. Now, at last, let things be made clear between us. I love you, Gabrielle, and I have fought against my love, calling to my aid all my strength and all my pride. The dreamshouldbe over, I said, and the presumptuous word has cost me dearly. When I meant forcibly to subdue and crush out the passion within me, it rose with tenfold, irresistible might, and taught me to know its power. I behaved towards you with harsh, cold reserve, wrapping myself in it as in a mantle. I sought a rescue in separation, in my work, in the battle I am ever waging with all the hostile elements arrayed against me--in vain! I had torn myself from you, but your image was ever present with me, in my dreams, as in my waking hours. It forced itself in upon me here, as I sat at work; it followed me into stirring scenes without, when all the faculties of mind and brain had need to be at full stretch; and when I faced my opponents in the struggle, it gleamed on me like a ray of light through the stormy clouds surrounding me, and compelled my heart, my mind to turn to you--it has conquered my every feeling, every thought. You must be mine, or I must let you go from me for ever. Any third course would bring destruction on us both. Answer me, Gabrielle. Say, whom do you love? For whom did your heart beat so anxiously a little while ago, and what thought aroused the apprehension and tenderness I read in your looks? Speak; I await your decision."
He stood before her, pale and eager, as though the verdict were to be one of life or death. Gabrielle listened in a sort of stupor to this passionate outbreak, which found but too ready an echo in her own heart. Raven was faithfully describing her own experience. She, too, had fought and wrestled with her love; she, too, had sought to fly from a power so strong that no escape was possible. Before the glowing lava-stream of words which burst with one great throe of Nature from the innermost heart of this man, usually so cold and so constrained, all the fairy fabrics vanished which a young girl's fancy had built up, all her childish conceptions of love and life; and with them went the foolish dream which she had once thought would fill her whole existence. It had been but a day-dream, a dim visionary foreshadowing of that which now took form and being. Gabrielle had awakened. She looked a genuine passion full in the face, and if she felt that so volcanic a nature, with its sombre depths and smouldering fires, was calculated to destroy rather than to bless, she no longer quaked before it. The thing she had hitherto called happiness paled and disappeared like some thin phantom before the fierce incandescent glow of this man's fervour.
The young girl made one last attempt to cling valiantly to the past.
"George ... he loves me--trusts me. He will be so utterly miserable, if I forsake him!"
"Do not speak his name!" cried Raven, his eye sparkling with furious enmity. "Do not remind me that this man alone stands between me and my felicity. Ill might betide him through it. Woe to him if he should try to hold you to your hasty promise! I should free you by fair means or by foul. What is this Winterfeld to you? What can you be to him? He may love you after his own fashion, but he would drag you down to a commonplace existence, and give you a commonplace affection, nothing more. If he loses you, he will overcome the pain of it; will seek consolation in his plans for advancement, in his work, in other ties. Such passionless natures do not know what despair is--nothing brings them out of their groove; they, steadily and dutifully, keep on their way. I"--here the Baron's tone sank to a lower diapason; the look of hate died out of his face, and his stern voice grew milder and milder, until at length it melted to a great softness--"I have never loved, have never known such sweet hopes or bright illusions. In the continual striving after power and greatness, I seem to have missed all real happiness, a thirst for which has now, so late, arisen within me. Now, in the autumn of my life, the veil is rent asunder, and I can see all that I have lost, lost without once tasting it. Has all chance of it gone from me for ever? Do you fear the gap of years which intervenes between us? I cannot bring you youth, my child. That is past; but the great passion of a man's mature soul is far stronger, more intense and more enduring than the fancy of any youthful enthusiast. It dies out only with his life. Say that you will be mine, and I will encompass you with love, will make you my idol. I will accept any challenge for your sake, and will come to you victorious from every struggle. All pain and sorrow shall be averted from your head; if really a storm is threatening, it shall not touch, shall not come nigh you; my arms are strong enough to protect the woman I love. You shall be the sunbeam to brighten my life, to brighten and to beautify it I have striven hard and achieved much, but no ray of happiness has gleamed upon me; and now that I have seen it shining in my path, I cannot close my eyes and shut it out. Gabrielle, be my wife, my joy, my one delight and treasure!"
A boundless tenderness was in his words. His stormy, fiery vehemence had melted gradually into tones of pathetic pleading, and he spoke in low tremulous accents, such as surely never yet had come from Arno Raven's lips; and as he pleaded, he clasped his arm tighter and tighter round the slender form at his side, and drew her gently, but irresistibly, towards him. Gabrielle yielded passively. Again, as once before by the murmuring spring, a trance had fallen upon her--a trance half sweet, half troubling, holding her senses in thrall--and again, as then, she let herself be drawn unresistingly out of the bright sunlight, wherein she had hitherto breathed, down, down into unknown depths. It seemed to her that she had no choice but to drift deeper and deeper, and that, with him, supported by his arm, it was blessedness enough so to drift, leaving all, all behind.
A knock at the door startled Gabrielle and the Baron, and brought them back to reality. It had, no doubt, been repeated several times without obtaining a response, for it was unusually loud and sharp, and struck like a clanging dissonance on the harmony of their short-lived happiness.
"What is it?" asked Raven, with a start. "I will not be disturbed now."
"I beg pardon, your Excellency," said the servant's voice without. "A courier has just arrived from the capital. He has orders to deliver his despatches to your Excellency in person, and asks to be admitted immediately."
The Baron slowly relaxed his hold on the young girl.
"Thus am I awakened from my love-dreams!" he said bitterly. "They cannot grant me even a quarter of an hour's respite. It would seem that love and dreams are forbidden fruit to me; that the thought of them even is forbidden me.--The courier must wait a few minutes," he added aloud. "I will send for him."
The servant retired. Raven turned to Gabrielle again, but stopped, in concern and surprise, as he caught sight of her face.
"What ails you?" he said. "You have suddenly turned so deadly pale. It is only some important message from the capital which is to fall into no hands but mine; some official matter, nothing more. It might have come at a more opportune time, truly."
Gabrielle had indeed turned very white. That knock, coming just at the moment when the decisive "yes" was hovering on her lips, thrilled her as the portent of some coming evil. She herself knew not why, at that announcement, her thoughts flew back to George and to his words at parting. He was living in the capital now. A pang shot through her. Was there some plot on foot to injure the Baron?
"I will go," she said hastily. "You must receive this courier. Let me go."
Raven clasped her in his arms again.
"And will you leave me without giving me an answer? Am I still to live on, doubting and fearing lest that other should come between us again? You shall go, but speak first the one word I long for. It will take but a second to say it. Only one word, 'yes!' I will not keep you longer."
"Give me till to-morrow," the girl besought with piteous, pathetic entreaty. "Do not ask me to decide now, do not force my consent from me. Give me till to-morrow, Arno, I implore you!"
A flash of joy lighted up the Baron's features as, for the first time, he heard her pronounce his name without the adjunct of that formal word which recalled the relation and the guardian. Quickly and fervently he pressed his lips to her brow.
"It shall be so. I will force nothing from you. I will believe the language of your eyes alone, and content myself with that. Until to-morrow, then, for one short night, farewell, my Gabrielle!"
He walked with her through the adjoining room to a door which opened on the corridor, and the young girl went hastily out. Before she had reached the end of the passage, a bell sounded in the Baron's study, the signal for the courier to appear. Truly, Arno Raven had but little leisure to devote to his love-dreams. He was inexorably, ruthlessly summoned back to the hard reality of this prosaic world.
Gabrielle shut herself in her own room. As yet, the decisive word had not been spoken, but her choice was already made. The hours she had just lived through had broken down the bridge connecting her with the past--there could be no going back now. If George himself had appeared before her to assert and to maintain his rights, it would have availed nothing; it was too late--he had lost her. Where the young lover, despite his earnestness and enthusiasm, had failed, the elder man, with his tardily-aroused, but even on that account more glowing passion, triumphantly succeeded. Arno Raven had drawn the girl's whole soul to himself; there was no room in her heart now for another. Raven alone held sway over Gabrielle's thoughts and feelings, and reigned supreme in her dreams when, long after midnight, she sank into a brief uneasy slumber. George's image never once rose before her. Even during her sleep her brain was busy with the events of the last few hours, which passed in a strange fantastic medley confusedly before her.
One single figure occupied the foreground. Interwoven with the thought ofhimcame the memory of that drive through the darkening twilight of the autumn evening. She saw it all: the varied landscape with its misty outlines; overhead a sky charged with storm-cloud; and yonder on the western horizon the flaming, fiery sunset.