"It is perfectly unprecedented! Such a thing was never heard of! I cannot believe my own eyes! This undermines all government, saps the foundations of all authority, shakes the very pillars of the State. It is horrible--horrible!"
Thus, in a burst of noble pathos, did the Councillor unburthen himself of his pent-up indignation, addressing the Superintendent of Police, who was just coming down the stairs from an interview with the Governor.
"Do you mean the disturbances in the town?" asked the latter, with a slight and rather scornful smile. "Yes, it was rather noisy down there last night, certainly."
"Who is thinking of the town?" cried the Councillor. "Those disturbances go for nothing. It is the mere rioting of a mob, which can be subjugated, which will be subjugated, by military aid, if necessary. But when revolutionary ideas invade official circles--when men, whose business it is to represent and to support the Government, attack it in such a way as this, there is an end to all order. Who would have thought it of Assessor Winterfeld! A young man who has been looked on as a model to the whole Civil Service! I, indeed, have always had my suspicions of him. His questionable loyalty, his bias in favour of the Opposition, his treasonable connections, have long inspired uneasiness in my mind; and on several occasions I have expressed as much to his Excellency, but he would not listen. He had a predilection for the Assessor. Quite lately even, by getting him transferred to the capital, he opened to this favoured subaltern the most brilliant prospects; and now the traitor rewards him by the blackest ingratitude."
"Ah, you are alluding to Winterfeld's pamphlet!" said the Superintendent. "Have you had the book in your hands already? Why, it can only have reached R---- this morning."
"I got it accidentally, from a colleague who had just received it. A most abominable composition! It is open rebellion, sir--open rebellion! There are things in it addressed to his Excellency--things ... Well, I don't know how such a work came to be printed and circulated. Have you taken no steps to suppress it?"
"I have no orders and no motive for doing so," declared the Superintendent, whose coolness formed a strange contrast to Moser's indignant excitement. "The pamphlet was brought out in the capital, and there was not time, I suppose, to prevent its circulation. Besides, such unpalatable publications are no longer suppressed in a summary manner, as was the custom formerly. Times have changed. As to this brochure, I am quite of your opinion. I doubt if a more virulent attack has ever been made on a statesman holding office under the Crown."
"And it comes from a member of the Service, from one who has worked under my eyes, in my bureaux!" cried the Councillor, in despair. "But he has been seduced, led astray. I always told him that his connection with that clique of Swiss Socialists would bring him to ruin. I know who is at the bottom of the whole business--who is alone to blame for this scandal. It is that Dr. Brunnow who has been staying here for weeks, under pretext of settling some succession business, and who has not yet taken his departure."
"Because in his case there has been even more than the usual circumlocution. Endless difficulties have been raised touching this matter of his reversion. The gentlemen of the law-courts have, with rather unnecessary severity, let him feel the drawbacks under which he labours in being his father's son and, for the time being, representative. Finding this, he set upon them a little while ago, and subjected them to so drastic a treatment, that they were quite taken aback, and now really seem as if they meant to hasten on the affair. You have a prejudice against the young doctor, Councillor. He is not such a bad fellow as you think."
"This Brunnow is a most dangerous man," said the Councillor, all his wonted solemnity returning to him with this topic. "I knew it from the first day I saw him, and my instinct in such matters is infallible. Since he has been in our midst, we have had these troubles in the town, open resistance to the appointed authorities; and now comes this printed assault on his Excellency. I hold to my opinion: this man came to R---- with the intention of setting the city, the province, ay, the whole land in a blaze of insurrection."
"Why not say the whole of Europe, while you are about it!" exclaimed the Superintendent, impatiently. "You are completely mistaken. Merely on account of the name he bears, we have kept an eye on the young man, and I can assure you he has not given the slightest cause for any such suspicions. He has entered into no political relations here, and took part neither directly nor indirectly in the late disturbances; he just simply attends to his own private affairs. If I, as head of the police, can bear him this testimony, you may, I think, admit and put faith in it."
"But he is the son of an old revolutionary democrat," persisted the Councillor; "and he is an intimate friend of Assessor Winterfeld's."
"What does that prove? His father was once an intimate friend of the Governor here."
"Wh--what?" cried Moser, starting back. "His Excellency Baron von Raven and that man Rudolph Brunnow----"
"Were university chums, bosom friends even. I have it from the best source. I suppose you are not going to accuse Baron von Raven of socialist, revolutionary tendencies. But my time is limited, I must be off. Good-morning, Councillor."
So saying, the Superintendent turned his back on the worthy Councillor, who was standing dazed with surprise, and left the Government-house. On his way to the town he encountered the Burgomaster.
"You come from the Castle?" asked the latter. "Have you seen the Governor? What has he determined on doing?"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"What he threatened yesterday--he will proceed with the utmost rigour. If there is any repetition of the riots, the troops will be called out. All the necessary preparations are made. Precisely as I was leaving, Colonel Wilten came in to consult with him personally on the subject, and there can be no doubt as to the result of the conference. You know the Baron. He will recoil from no measures which may effect his purpose."
"This must not be," said the Burgomaster, uneasily. "The popular exasperation is so great that any display of military force would only add fuel to the flame. There would be resistance and bloodshed. I had made up my mind not to set foot in the Castle again, unless absolutely compelled to go there; but now I think I must make one last attempt to dissuade them from any extreme course."
"I would advise you not to go," returned the Superintendent. "I can tell you beforehand, you will get nothing by it. The Baron is not in a forbearing mood to-day. He has had news which will ruffle his temper for weeks to come."
"I know," put in the other. "Assessor Winterfeld's pamphlet. I received it from the capital this morning."
"What, you have heard of it too? Well, I must say they have lost no time in circulating the book. They seem to have feared it might be suppressed, and to have done what they could to forestall the edict. I think there were no grounds for the apprehension, however. It looks very much as though in high places the intention were to let the matter take its course."
"Really; and what says Raven to all this? The attack can hardly have come upon him unawares. He must have received some hint of what was brewing."
"I am afraid he received no hint whatever. His whole manner betrays the fact that he has been taken by surprise. He wraps himself in his usual reserve, but he cannot altogether conceal that he is perturbed and frightfully irritated. My allusions to the matter in question were met so ungraciously that I thought it better to drop the subject. It is really an unprecedented attack, and an outrageously imprudent one into the bargain. When such opinions are to be disseminated among the people, they are generally given to the public in an anonymous form. The author lets the first fury of the storm wear itself out before he gives his name; he allows himself to be sought out and divined, and only emerges from his retirement when obliged or encouraged so to do. But the Assessor signs in full, and leaves no doubt to the world in general, and the Governor in particular, as to who is the assailant. I can't think how he has found courage to challenge his whilom chief in this manner. He throws down the gauntlet to him in the face of the whole country--the book is one long accusation from beginning to end."
"And from beginning to end it is one long truth," answered the Burgomaster, warmly. "This young man puts us all to shame. What he has now ventured to do, should have been done long ago. When the resistance of a whole city proves fruitless, when all appeals to the Government fail, the dispute should be brought before the forum of public opinion, and there decided. Winterfeld has been clear-sighted enough to see this, and courageous enough to speak the first word. Now that the way has been thrown open for them, all will be ready to follow him."
"Yes, but he is hazarding his position and very livelihood on the die," remarked the Superintendent. "This pamphlet of his goes too far, and brilliantly as it is written, its author will have to smart for it. Raven is not the man to allow himself to be insulted and attacked with impunity. This bold knight-errant may find himself worsted in the tourney. He may fall a victim to his own audacity."
"Or he may at a blow demolish the Governor's supremacy. But, however the affair may end, it is sure to make a tremendous sensation; and here in R---- it will be the spark to fire the powder-train."
"I am afraid so too," assented the police magnate. "It stands to reason that the Baron will go all lengths now, in order to remain master of the situation. Well, whatever he may do, will be done at his own risk and peril."
While the two gentlemen thus discoursed, going on their way together, the conference, to which allusion had been made, was being pursued between the Governor and Colonel Wilten, in the former's private study. The topic under discussion must have been one of importance, for the Colonel looked exceedingly grave. Raven was, to all appearance, unmoved; the ashy paleness of his countenance and the deep furrows of his knitted brow alone betrayed that some unusually disturbing influence had been at work. His bearing and speech were, as ever, perfectly assured and under control.
"The thing is settled," he said. "You will hold the troops in readiness for an immediate intervention, and you will proceed unsparingly, should resistance be offered. I will take the responsibility and all the possible consequences on myself."
"If it must be ... it must," replied the Colonel. "You know my scruples, and I do not disguise from you that, in case of any difficulty arising, I shall leave the responsibility of this step with you."
"I hold myself answerable, solely and entirely. This rebellious city of R---- must be reduced to submission, be the cost what it may. It is now more than ever incumbent on me to uphold my authority. It must not be thought for a moment that the mischievous blow which has been directed against me has had power to slacken my rein."
"What blow?" asked the Colonel.
"You have not heard the latest news from the capital?"
"No; as you are aware, I have only been back in town a few hours."
Raven rose, and paced rapidly up and down the room. When he returned and stood before the Colonel, his agitation could be read in his features, in spite of all his efforts to keep it down.
"I recommend you, then, to read Assessor Winterfeld's pamphlet," he said, in a tone which was meant to be only sarcastic, but which vibrated with fierce anger. "He feels himself appointed to denounce me to the country at large as a despot who regards neither law nor justice, who has become a scourge, a pestilent source of harm, to the province committed to his charge. A long list of crimes is therein imputed to me; abuse of power, arbitrary action, illegal violence, and all the usual catchwords. It really is worth while to read the precious composition, if only to marvel at the presumption with which one of the youngest and lowliest of my subalterns ventures to arraign his chief. So far, only a chosen few have cognisance of this brochure; to-morrow, the whole town will ring with it."
"But why do you take it so quietly?" exclaimed the Colonel. "These things do not spring up in a day, of themselves. You must have been prepared for it--have had news of what was coming."
"Oh yes; the news reached me yesterday evening, just about the time that the book was being hawked about the streets of the capital, and when many copies of it were on their way hither. The same courier brought me an assurance of the Minister's 'sincere regret' that it had not been possible to prevent the publication; the matter had now gone too far for suppression."
"That is strange!" said Wilten, in surprise.
"More than strange. They are generally well informed at head-quarters as to all that is in the press, and they do not readily suffer anything to appear that is likely to prove dangerous. With the work in question, there could have been no difficulty. They had only to consider the insults offered to me as levelled at the Government, and to suppress the entire edition. But it seems that the will so to act was wanting, and as they feared that I should energetically insist on such a course being pursued, they purposely left me in complete ignorance of the matter, and only warned me when it was too late for the intimation to be of use."
The Colonel looked down meditatively.
"You have few friends in the capital and at court--I told you so months ago. There are constant intrigues on foot against you there, and no stone is left unturned to damage your credit and undermine your influence. If a fitting instrument has been found ready to hand ... Assessor Winterfeld is engaged at the Ministry now, I think?"
"Yes," said the Baron, bitterly. "I opened its doors to him. I myself sent my denunciator to the capital."
"They have got hold of the young man at once, it being known that he came direct from your Chancellery. Perhaps he only contributes his name, and the onslaught really comes from a far different quarter."
Raven shook his head moodily.
"He is no instrument in the hands of others; he acts spontaneously, and the scheme cannot have been concocted in the few weeks which have elapsed since he left R----. The book is the result of much thought and labour. It has taken months, perhaps years, to prepare. Here in my own bureaux, under my very eyes, the plan of it has been sketched out and designed. Every word shows that it has been slowly, carefully written."
"And the Assessor never betrayed himself to you or any one?" asked Wilten. "He must have had associates, confidential friends."
The Baron's lips worked, and his eyes were fixed on the window-recess from which Gabrielle had yesterday stepped forth to welcome him.
"One of his confidants I know, at least," he said; "and that one shall render account to me. As to the young man himself--well, we shall see later on. There can be but one manner of settling such a matter between us two. Just at present I have to reckon with other enemies. It is of little consequence that an Assessor Winterfeld should rise up in virtuous indignation, and declare me a tyrant and my tenure of office a public calamity--others have done this before him. But that he should venture to cry it aloud in the ears of all the world, that such a venture should be tolerated, perhaps encouraged--this is what gives a serious colour, a certain importance, to the affair. I shall at once demand ample satisfaction from the Government, which is attacked with me and in my person; and should they show signs of refusing it, I shall know how to bring them to reason. It is not the first time I have had to set a plain alternative before these gentlemen. I have frequently found it necessary to clear the air a little by some sharp, decided action when the intrigues became too annoying to be borne in silence."
"You take too grave a view of the matter," said the Colonel, reassuringly; "and it is strange in you, who generally meet every attack with absolute, unruffled calm. Why do you now allow yourself to be irritated by mere lies and calumnies?"
The Baron drew himself up proudly.
"Who says they are lies? The animus which pervades the book is stamped on every page, but it does not contain palpable untruths, and I have no intention of calling in question one of the facts adduced against me. I am ready to answer for my acts, but only to those who are entitled to require an account from me, and not to the first man who may feel disposed to sit in judgment on me and my proceedings. To him and to his fellows, I shall give the one answer they deserve."
At this point of the conversation they were interrupted. A report was brought in to the Governor, which the Superintendent of Police had just sent over from the town. Colonel Wilten rose to depart.
"I will go and see that the measures we have agreed upon are taken at once. The Baroness arrived safely, I hope? She came with us to town, but declined our escort up to the Castle. And how is Fräulein von Harder? She must have seen something of the rioting last night."
"I do not know," said Raven shortly, almost roughly. "I have not seen her to-day, and I was too busy to receive my sister-in-law in person. I shall go over to them a little later."
He gave his hand to the Colonel, who, after a few parting words, left the room, while the Baron returned to his writing-table, on which last night's despatches still lay, and began a letter to the Minister.
Baroness Harder had reached the Castle some hours previously, and had been received by her daughter alone, a circumstance which had given umbrage to the lady. It argued, she said, great disrespect on her brother-in-law's part that he could not tear himself away from his business, for a few minutes at least, to welcome her. And to this other annoyances were added. The cold from which she had been suffering for several days past had been increased by the drive through the morning air. Madame von Harder declared herself to be very ill, and at once retired to her bedroom to get a little rest, giving orders that she was on no account to be disturbed--this to the intense relief of her daughter, who was thus again left free to pursue her troubled thoughts.
Gabrielle had, indeed, hardly been able to conceal from her mother the agitation and anxiety which were consuming her. The Baron had not shown himself all day; he had even sent in an excuse at breakfast-time. She knew that, in consequence of last night's events, he had been incessantly occupied from early morning, that special messengers had pressed on each other's heels, and that audiences and conferences without respite were being held in his study; but she knew also that, in spite of everything, he would find time, must find time, to come to her, if only for a few minutes. "Until to-morrow." The words, spoken with passionate tenderness, still rang in her ears. The morning had come; all the forenoon had passed. Raven did not appear; he sent no word, no line, and a very mountain-load of care seemed to weigh on the young girl's heart. What could have happened?
Twelve o'clock struck. Gabrielle was sitting alone in her mother's little boudoir, when at length she really heard, in the anteroom, the quick steady steps which a hundred times that morning she had heard in fancy. She drew a deep breath, and listened with a beating heart. Her cheeks, so pale a minute before, were dyed now a deep crimson. Anxiety, care, apprehension, all were forgotten in this moment, as the door opened and the Baron came in.
"I wish to speak to you," he said briefly, without any preface. "Are we alone?"
Gabrielle bent her head affirmatively. Her impulse had been to hasten towards him; but she stopped, confounded by his tone, which grated oddly, harshly on her ear. Now, looking more closely, she saw the strange change that had come over his features. This was not the Arno Raven who had yesterday held her in his arms and poured out to her the tale of his love, with an ardour and a passion which had metamorphosed the man's whole being, inspiring her with warmth and tenderness. To-day he stood before her gloomy, reserved, icily severe. The lips which had given utterance to those fervent, loving words were firmly set; in the dark, rigid countenance no trace could be seen of the play of feeling which had yesterday irradiated it, and the eyes flashed fiercely, menacingly, as they met the young girl's timid gaze.
"You expected me earlier, perhaps," went on the Baron. "I had need of some time to make myself acquainted with certain--certain communications which had reached me, and I felt that our present interview would come soon enough. It is unnecessary for me to enter into explanations, for, though not generally familiar with my official concerns, on this occasion you probably know as well as I do what has occurred."
"I? No," said Gabrielle, with failing breath. "How should I know?"
"Do you mean to deny it? But of this we will speak later. In the first place, I must ask what led you to enter on this miserable comedy, the farcical part of which was reserved for me? Beware, Gabrielle. As I told you yesterday, I have but little talent for such arôle. The man who is duped and betrayed is only ridiculous while he patiently endures it. I am not inclined to do this. The sorry game you have played with me will be fraught with danger both to yourself and to another."
"But what do you mean? I do not understand you," cried the girl, whose distress was momentarily increasing.
Raven came close up to her, and fixed a keen, searching gaze on her countenance.
"What was the meaning of those warning words which you whispered to me yesterday, as we drove home? How did you know that I was in any way threatened, and why did you start and turn deadly pale when that courier from the capital was announced? Speak; I insist upon an answer."
Gabrielle listened with growing consternation. She began to suspect whither these questions tended, but was quite in the dark as to the event that had prompted them. Raven must have seen that she did not understand him, for he drew the pamphlet from his breast-pocket and threw it on the table.
"This little book will perhaps help your memory. It is the most contumelious, the most astounding attack which has ever been made upon me. You probably read it in an unfinished state; it has, no doubt, been completed, perfected in the capital, in the Ministerial bureaux. Do not look at me as though I were speaking in some foreign tongue. This name, which stands on the title-page, is, I think, not unknown to you."
Gabrielle had taken up the pamphlet mechanically. Her eye fell on the page mentioned, on the name inscribed thereon. She started: "From George? He has kept his word!"
"Kept his word?" repeated Raven, with a bitter laugh. "So you had his word for it. You were his confidante, his confederate? But, indeed, how could I doubt it for an instant? It was clear from the first--clear as the noonday sun."
The young girl was too stunned and confused to defend herself with skill or energy. The unfortunate exclamation which had escaped her could but confirm the Baron in his suspicion that she had been an accomplice.
"I had a presentiment of some coming evil," she replied, summoning up all her courage; "but I knew nothing decided. I thought----"
Raven did not let her finish. He grasped her hand, and held it tightly.
"Had you really no suspicion that there was some scheme on foot to injure me? Were the hints you let fall yesterday purely accidental and devoid of any special aim? Did it not occur to you, when those despatches were brought in upon us in hot haste, that perhaps 'some one had kept his word?' Look me in the face, and say it was not so. I will try to believe you."
Gabrielle was silent. She could not answer in the negative, and the thought that, in truth, she had known of George's intention, at least, robbed her of her presence of mind. The low words which the young man had spoken when parting from her acquired a fatal importance now; they weighed on the young girl, and seemed to crush her with a sense of guilt.
Raven's eyes had never quitted her face. His fingers slowly relaxed; he let her hand fall, and stepped back.
"So you knew it," he said; "and with that knowledge you stood quietly by and saw me wrestle with a senseless passion; saw me finally succumb to the weakness. You allowed me to believe that my affection was returned, and so pricked me on to madness, while secretly you were counting the days and hours to the time when the blow--the mortal blow, as you fancied, should strike me. Certain of a future triumph, you could yesterday let me fold you to my breast and speak to you words of love. By Heaven! it is too much, too much!"
His voice was still constrained and low, but something in it foretold the coming outbreak.
Gabrielle felt herself powerless, defenceless, against his accusations. She made an attempt, however, to meet and refute them.
"Hear me, Arno. You are mistaken. I have not deceived you, nor betrayed you. If I knew anything----"
"Say no more!" he interrupted her, with terrible vehemence. "I will hear nothing. I know enough. Your silence just now spoke more plainly than words. Justify your conduct to him, to your 'George;' confess to him that you could not keep his secret to the last moment. He will perhaps forgive you. The warning would, any way, have come too late. This I will own, I did him an injustice in declaring him to be a commonplace person, not above the ordinary run of men. Evidently he is not afraid to leave accustomed grooves, to undertake feats which no one has ventured on before him, and which no one, I think, in future will care to emulate. He may possibly make his way with it, this young Assessor whom yesterday nobody knew, and whose name will to-morrow be in everybody's mouth, simply because he has had the audacity to whet his sword and attack me. But he will pay dearly for the notoriety, I give you my word for that. As yet I have never feared a foe, nor shrunk from a contest, and this onslaught would have moved me as little as the rest. The thought that you were in league with him, that you--youhad betrayed me, this, and only this, it is which has procured my enemies the satisfaction and triumph of seeing me for once thrown off my balance."
His voice faltered a little as he spoke the last words. Through the man's fierce wrath at seeing himself, as he believed, wounded in his love as in his honour, came the sharp quivering pang of an exceeding bitter pain. At this tone Gabrielle forgot all else. She flew to him, laid her two hands on his arm, and would have spoken, have implored; but it was useless. With a rough, angry movement he freed himself, thrusting her from him.
"Go! I have been a fool, I own, but the illusion is dispelled now. I will not let myself be lured on a second time by those eyes, which have lied to me once with their feigned anxiety and tenderness. Tell your George he has not well reflected what it is to challenge me to single combat. He will soon make the experience. Between us two all is over, now and for ever!"
He went. The door fell to behind him with a crash, and Gabrielle remained alone. She looked down at the pamphlet lying on the table, at the name printed thereon, but saw neither. Echoing and re-echoing through her mind in dismal iteration came those last cruel words. Ah, yes; all was over now, now and for ever!
The fears entertained that fresh disturbances might break out in the town were but too speedily realised. All the military measures had been taken in the most ostensible manner possible, it being hoped that they would intimidate the population; they had, however, a contrary effect, and only served to increase the general bitter animosity against the Governor. A low ferment of discontent had been going on for months; but the popular demonstrations of ill-feeling had only assumed a serious character within the last few days. Signs of the hostile spirit prevailing throughout the city had not been wanting, but there had previously been no attempt at open insurrection. People in R---- had so long been accustomed to bow to the Governor's will, it was not easy for them to shake off the habit. Moreover, the Baron's temper was pretty accurately known. It was felt that neither weakness nor concessions were to be expected from him--so for weeks the citizens contented themselves with grumbling and murmuring their dissatisfaction. The energetic inflexible mind in authority over them exerted its wonted sway. So far, Raven had restrained the threatening elements, and held the storm in check. By his personal intervention he had quelled a riot and dispersed the rebellious masses; but, even in that hour of apparent success, it had been made evident to him that his power was on the wane.
Things now seemed to have reached a crisis. Much exasperation was felt at the arrests which had been made by the Baron's order some days before, and at the extreme harshness and rigour with which the offenders were treated. By this incident the long-smouldering fire was fanned to a flame. A tumult was raised with a view to release the captives, and when the attempt failed, and the Governor still opposed to all the popular protests and all the importunate clamouring the same unvarying resolute answer, the agitation, which had been temporarily allayed, broke out afresh with redoubled force.
Evening had come again. The Government-house was in a state of turmoil and excitement. Every door, even to the main entrance, was barred and guarded. The panic-stricken servants thronged the corridors and staircases, and outside, before the long line of windows, glittered a file of bayonets. A strong detachment of troops was stationed round the Castle-hill, the soldiers having arrived in time to secure the Governor's residence from attack. The roads leading to it had been cleared, and the crowd driven back; but the uproar in the neighbouring streets had increased proportionably, and at any moment a collision between the armed force and the populace might be expected.
The Governor's apartments were the focus of all the busy movement. Messages flowed in one upon the other; police officers and orderlies came and went. Councillor Moser had hurried to the side of his chief, who was to him a stronghold and rock of defence in every time of danger. Lieutenant Wilten, appointed to command the Castle garrison, was with the Baron, and an ambassador from the insurgent camp was also present--the worthy Burgomaster, who had come up the hill, resolved on making that last attempt which in the morning he had been induced to forego.
Raven himself stood cool and unmoved in the midst of all this hurry and commotion. He listened to the reports and gave his orders, not for an instant disturbed from his perfect equanimity; but those about him had never seen his face so hard, so rigidly set, as on this evening. The stormy passages of the last four-and-twenty hours had, no doubt, helped to grave that harsh inexorable expression on his features; but whatever internal struggles he might have fought through, whatever he might have suffered since the preceding evening, to all bystanders he was the same haughty imperturbable Baron von Raven, in whose armour there was no joint, from whom those shafts glanced innocuously which would have shattered the strength of ordinary men.
"For the last time I beg, I demand of you to abstain from these extreme measures. There is yet time--as yet no blood has been shed. In another quarter of an hour it may be too late. It is said you have given orders that no mercy is to be shown. I cannot, will not believe this."
"Am I to allow the castle to be taken by acoup de main?" the Baron interrupted him. "Am I to wait until the entrance is stormed and I am insulted here in my own apartments? I think I have sufficiently shown how distasteful it is to me to take precautions for my own personal safety, but I have to answer for the safety of others, and, above all, I have to guard the Government-house from any chance of attack. This is my simple duty, and I intend to perform it."
"We have here to do with a mere demonstration; there is no question of an attack," declared the Burgomaster. "But no matter; you say the Castle must be protected and the crowds driven back. Well, this has been done; the Castle-hill is lined with troops--let that suffice. The agitation down yonder is perfectly harmless, and will die out of itself, if left a free course."
"Colonel Wilten will clear the streets," said Raven, coldly. "Should resistance be offered, he will resort to arms."
"That would lead to incalculable trouble. All the outlets to the Castle road are beset by the military; the people are hedged in on every side, and could not take to flight. Do not let it come to this, your Excellency. Hundreds of lives are at stake."
"The order and safety of the town are at stake, and they may no longer remain at the mercy of this rabble." There was an uncompromising, determined ring in the Baron's voice. "I have dallied long enough, postponing this measure. Now it has been decided on, and will be carried into execution. If the streets are cleared at once, without opposition, there is no reason for uneasiness; in the opposite case, the consequences must be on the heads of the insurgents."
At this moment the door was opened, and the Superintendent of police came in.
"Well, how goes it?"
"I have withdrawn my men from the principal centres," replied the functionary addressed. "We can do no more. The excitement is increasing every minute; it seems they mean to resist. I have just had some wounded men brought up to the Castle. There was no possibility of getting them transported to the town. They must be taken in here for the present."
"How is it there are wounded already?" asked the Burgomaster. "Ten minutes ago, when I came up the hill, there had been no collision with the troops."
"These casualties occurred some time ago, before the soldiers were called out, while we were bearing the brunt alone. Two of my men got very roughly handled then, and, unfortunately, a third person was injured, one in no way concerned in the row, a doctor who had come to the rescue and applied bandages to the wounded. He had finished his work and was going off, when one of the stones, which were falling thick and fast, struck him and felled him to the earth. It is that Dr. Brunnow of whom we were speaking this morning," added the Superintendent, turning to Councillor Moser.
"Who?" asked Raven, quickly. He had caught the last words.
"A young doctor who has been staying here for the last few weeks. Max Brunnow by name. His father lives in Switzerland, whither he had to fly for political motives. He took a prominent part in the last revolution."
The Superintendent let fall these remarks in an easy and, apparently, pointless manner; but as he spoke, he kept a vigilant watch on the Baron. He alone saw the almost imperceptible change of colour, and heard the slight tremour of emotion in the question:
"Is the young man's wound serious?"
"I fear so--perhaps even mortal. He lies in a state of unconsciousness. The stone struck him on the head."
"Every attention shall be given to the wounded man;" the Baron stepped towards the door, but bethought himself, and paused. The Burgomaster's look of surprise, and the keen, observant glance of the lynx-eyed Superintendent, no doubt reminded him that this sudden show of sympathy on his part was in too glaring contrast to that indifference to the loss of human life he had hitherto manifested. "I will myself give all needful orders," he added slowly, and laid his hand on the bell.
"The major-domo has already made every arrangement, and has shown the utmost thoughtfulness. It is unnecessary that you should trouble yourself, your Excellency."
The Baron walked up to the window in silence. Why was the name of his old friend and companion recalled to his memory just at this moment? Was he to take it as a warning, a reminder that he himself, Arno Raven, had once belonged to those rebels whom he now declared himself ready to shoot down? A long pause followed, during which many critical minutes sped by.
"I will return to the town," said the Burgomaster breaking the silence at length. "Am I to take those words as your Excellency's final decision?"
The Baron turned. The shade of some inward conflict was on his face, as he replied:
"Colonel Wilten has the command in the town. I cannot interfere with his plans. The military arrangements rest with him."
"But the Colonel acts under your instructions. A word from you, and he will refrain from active intervention, at least. Speak the word. We are all waiting for it, earnestly desiring it."
Again some seconds passed. Deep furrows gathered on Raven's brow as he stood thinking. Suddenly he drew himself up and called the young officer to him.
"Lieutenant Wilten, can you leave your post here at the Castle for a quarter of an hour? I would ask you to go over to your father yourself."
He paused and listened. From the town there came a sound, distant but not to be mistaken--the crackle of firearms.
"Good God! those are shots!" cried Councillor Moser, starting up in terror, while the two men at his side hurried to the window.
The darkness prevented their seeing anything, but sight was superfluous in this case. A second, a third time came the sharp, quick, cracking sound--then all was still.
"The message would be useless now," said the young officer in a low voice, addressing the Baron. "They have opened fire already."
Raven answered not a syllable. He stood motionless, leaning with his hand on the table, his eyes directed towards the window; but, a minute later, as the other two came back from thence, he turned to the Burgomaster and said:
"You see it is too late. I cannot interfere now, if I would."
"I see," said the old man, with trenchant bitterness. "There is blood now between you and us, so all discussion is at an end. I have not a word more to say."
If ever any one had cause to ruminate on the strange sport of destiny, that person surely was Councillor Moser; for wayward chance had played him as sorry a trick as could well be imagined. He, the most faithful subject of a most gracious sovereign, the incarnation of loyalty, the sworn foe of every revolutionary and democratic tendency, had lived to see the son of a traitor to King and State lodged beneath his roof, admitted to the sanctuary of his home--while, bitterest reflection of all, to the imprudent and overhasty conduct of his own daughter must he ascribe the calamity which had overtaken him.
There was no denying the fact that Agnes Moser had alone been to blame for what had happened, though, no doubt, she had been actuated by the most pious motives. Agnes had always looked on the short space of time which she was to spend in her father's house before entering on her chosen vocation, simply as an interval of preparation for the life that was to follow. The law-writer's sick wife was by no means the only person on whom she had bestowed her care and attention. Wherever comfort and consolation were needed, in the Castle itself or its immediate neighbourhood, there would be found this young girl, so rarely seen at other times, ready, in her quiet self-sacrificing way, to relieve the suffering and afflicted; and what, in another case, might have appeared singular and excited remark, was from her received as a matter of course. It was generally known that Councillor Moser's daughter was to take the veil; the sanctity of the future nun was about her, and this, added to her constant willingness to render help where help was needed, procured for her from all the dwellers in the Castle a degree of respect but seldom accorded to a maiden of seventeen. It seemed perfectly natural, therefore, that when the wounded men were brought up to the Castle, Fräulein Moser should take her part in the work of succour, and her proposal to have Dr. Brunnow, whose case was by far the worst, carried to her father's room, where she could attend to him herself, met with prompt and cordial acceptance. The Governor had given orders that every care and attention were to be shown the injured men, and more especially the young doctor, who had so nearly lost his life in the exercise of his professional duty, and surely he could be entrusted to no better hands than these. His precarious condition would oblige him to remain at the Castle for the present, whilst the two policemen, whose injuries were of a less serious nature, might be transported to the town on the following day. The major-domo caught at the chance of fulfilling his master's instructions so precisely. He gave his warm support to the plan which the young lady's feelings of Christian charity had suggested, and he had the satisfaction of finding that the Baron, when informed of the arrangement, appeared well pleased and spoke his full approval.
But the Councillor was by no means so satisfied with the position of affairs. He worked himself into a fury on seeing this treasonable patient installed in his home, and insisted on his immediate removal. Here, however, he was met by a resistance as decided as his own. For the first time in her life the gentle, quiet Agnes displayed an unyielding obstinacy, refusing absolutely to obey her father in this matter; and as that determined person, Frau Christine, declared herself on the side of her young mistress, Moser was out-voted and vanquished. He was given to understand that a man so dangerously ill could not be moved without risk to his life, and that he who turned him out of doors would incur the guilt of manslaughter; and the Councillor at length seemed to grasp the truth of this reasoning, but it did not lessen his despair. Early the next morning he rushed over to his chief to communicate the dreadful tidings, and to protest in the most solemn manner against any supposition of complicity on his part; but, in lieu of the hoped-for decree which should free him from the presence of his unwelcome guest, he was advised to acquiesce in and sanction his daughter's proceedings, of which the Baron himself seemed thoroughly to approve. Raven promised to shield the Councillor from any doubts on the score of his loyalty, and even declared that he would send round his own physician to the patient. It was incumbent on them, he said, to show all interest in the young doctor, who had behaved with so much courage and proper feeling. The Councillor was fain to submit to this high authority, but he did so with a heavy heart. He could not forgive his daughter for allowing herself thus to be led into extremes by her charitable sentiments and her pity for her suffering fellow-creatures; and though he was powerless to alter the accomplished fact, he viewed it every day with increasing abhorrence and indignation.
On the third morning after Max Brunnow's accident, the doctor who was attending him called to pay his usual professional visit. He was a small, spare man, with flaxen hair, mild-looking eyes, and a very gentle voice. On coming in, he met the master of the house, who was on the point of leaving for his office, and a short conference took place between the two gentlemen.
"No, Councillor, I have little, I may say no, hope of saving our patient. He is in a bad way--a very bad way. We must hold ourselves prepared for the worst."
"You have not seen him to-day," said the Councillor. "My daughter tells me he has passed a very quiet night."
The little doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah, weakness--coma! There was great loss of blood, and after the violent traumatic fever, extreme exhaustion was sure to follow. I tell you, in my opinion, he will not rally."
"I am sorry to hear it," said the Councillor. Before the dread shadow of Death his rancour yielded, and compassion gained the upper hand. "And my daughter will be sorry too. She has taken all the nursing on herself, and has zealously kept watch by the sick-bed. I fear, indeed, that Agnes is overtaxing her strength, for I have never seen her look so pale. I had really to insist this morning--to compel her to go and take some rest after sitting up all night."
"Yes, Fräulein Moser is an admirable nurse. She has all the zeal and devotion necessary for her future vocation, and I am persuaded that her life will be fruitful of blessing to others. In this case, however, her exertions will soon be at an end. I fear the poor fellow's hours are numbered. He will hardly last through the day."
With a melancholy shake of the head, he took his leave, and went off to see his patient. The Councillor remained behind, looking very blank and melancholy also, but from quite another cause. A fresh trouble was coming on him. There was to be a death in the house now, after these two long days of care and anxiety. And how shocking it would be to see in the papers: "The son of that Dr. Brunnow, whose name is notorious in connection with the late revolution, died on such a day in R----, at the house of Councillor Moser. His death was occasioned by injuries received in a street riot." Those wretched papers always made these announcements in a dry, matter-of-fact manner, without a word of explanation or amplification. The Councillor cast an appealing glance to Heaven. He, the most dutiful, the most conscientious of officials, to be exposed to such a fate! His head drooped dolefully over his white neckcloth as he at length set out on his way to the Chancellery.
Meanwhile the physician had betaken himself to the sick-room. He entered with the cautious, noiseless step with which it seems natural to approach the dying. Frau Christine, who had relieved her young mistress for a short time, sat by the bedside. The doctor exchanged a few words with her in a whisper, and then sent her to fetch fresh compresses. Going up to the bed, he bent over the patient, who suddenly awoke and opened his eyes, apparently in possession of full consciousness.
"How do you feel yourself, my dear sir?" asked the little doctor, in a very gentle tone.
"Pretty well, thank you," replied the sick man, whose roving eyes seemed to be seeking something. "What has been the matter with me?"
"You have been badly wounded; but make your mind easy--I will do all that can be done. You are in good hands."
Max, having searched the whole room without finding what he sought, now turned his attention to the speaker, and calmly surveyed him.
"A colleague, I presume?" said he. "Whom have I the honour----"
"My name is Berndt," replied his brother practitioner. "His Excellency the Governor, who has shown the greatest sympathy for you during your illness, would have sent his own physician. My distinguished friend, Dr. ----, is, however, unfortunately indisposed himself, so I, as his assistant, have undertaken the case. But you must not talk, nor, above all, move; answer my questions by signs if you find it difficult to speak. You are low and exhausted, and require the utmost----"
He stopped aghast, for the condemned man, having pulled himself together with a vigorous jerk, sat bolt upright, and asked, in a voice which was anything but faint:
"What has become of my nurse? She used to stay with me always."
"Fräulein Moser, do you mean? She has gone to get a little rest, after having watched by your bedside all night. You have indeed been nursed with devoted care. That young lady is an angel of mercy."
"Mercy?" repeated Max, with protracted emphasis. "Yes, as you say, a too intimate acquaintance with the pavement of your agreeable town has thrown me on the mercy of mankind. Confounded misuse of paving-stones to shy them at people's heads!"
"Do not excite yourself, my dear colleague," implored Dr. Berndt, gently. "No agitation, I beg. Quiet, rest, and the greatest caution! But now that you are yourself again, is there no wish, no desire you would like to express?"
His face said plainly that he expected nothing less than a last will or dying bequest.
Ignoring such subjects, however, the patient replied with perfect equanimity: "Certainly; I have the most pressing wish and desire for something to eat."
"To eat!" asked the doctor, in surprise. "To eat! Well, if you like, we may try a little beef-tea."
"A little won't do," said Max. "I shall want a great deal; but I think I would rather have something a trifle more substantial than beef-tea. A steak, now--in fact, I could eat two."
"Dear, dear, dear!" exclaimed the little Esculapius, laying his fingers on the sick man's pulse, for he began to think his patient was delirious. But Max drew away his hand impatiently.
"Don't make such a fuss about that crack in my head-piece. It will be well in a week. I know my constitution."
Dr. Berndt looked with commiseration at this poor deluded creature, who had so little knowledge of his situation.
"You mistake your condition, my friend. You are very ill, notwithstanding this flicker of vitality. You have lain two whole days prostrated by a violent fever."
"That is no reason why I should not feel very well on the third, when the fever has left me. Flicker of vitality! Do you really imagine I am in danger?"
"I do not imagine it--it is a fact," said Dr. Berndt, a little piqued. "Seriously, I fear----"
"You need not fear anything at all," interrupted Max. "I have not the smallest intention of going over to the majority at present. But now, have the goodness to tell me exactly how I have been treated."
This clinging to life, so bluntly expressed by a patient on whom he had passed sentence of death without recall, seemed to disconcert the doctor extremely. He was silent, and looked flustered. It was only when the question was reiterated in a louder key, and with audible impatience, that he vouchsafed the desired details, and related, with much self-complacency, the various measures he had adopted to rescue the sick man from the jaws of death.
Max listened rather disdainfully.
"My respected colleague, you might have done better," said he, in his rough, outspoken way. "I don't approve of violent remedies. I never have recourse to them in slight cases, but let Nature act, doing what I can to assist her."
"But this was not a slight case," cried the little doctor, who, in spite of his mild temper, was beginning to get angry. "I tell you, your condition was a most precarious one. It is so still, indeed, as you will find when this momentary excitement is over."
"And I tell you that I am doing very well," cried Max, still louder; "and that there is not the smallest prospect of any danger. I am a decided opponent of this method of treatment. I consider it useless, injurious even. You may thank God that my robust constitution has held out under these experiments, otherwise you would have had the death of a brother practitioner on your conscience."
Dr. Berndt grew purple with indignation.
"I follow the method of my friend. Dr. ----, Professor of Therapeutics, and consulting-physician to his Excellency. The professor is one of our first authorities. He holds a most important position at the University here, and his system is attended with marvellous success."
The little doctor raised his mild voice to as loud and shrill a pitch as possible, but in vain, for Max with his strong lungs quite overpowered him.
"I don't care a rap for the Professor of Therapeutics. We have far greater authorities at our University of Z----, and our success is infinitely more marvellous. But we do not cling to tradition and routine, like you gentlemen here in this patriarchal R----."
Hereupon the two medical men fell into a professional dispute, which grew so violent that Frau Christine hurried in from the next room, in alarm. But, on crossing the threshold, she stopped, petrified with astonishment at the sight which met her view. Dr. Brunnow, who, according to all rule and precedent, should have lain calmly on his death-bed, sat upright, gesticulating, and pouring forth volley after volley of argument on his colleague, raking him with the fire of his proofs and refutations; while the colleague himself, who, ten minutes before, had, as it were, stolen into the room on tiptoe, so fearful was he of disturbing the dying man, now stood before his patient in a state of violent excitement, and fought with both arms in the air, whilst he in vain sought to stem that torrent of speech and put in a word in his turn. Failing altogether in this, he seized his hat at last in a rage, and cried:
"If you know everything so much better than anyone else, treat yourself in future, if you please. I shall let the Governor know your precise state, and shall at the same time tell his Excellency that I have never yet met with such a patient--a man who yesterday lay at death's door, and who to-day flings the grossest insults at me and at the whole body of the faculty here. You are right, sir. Such a constitution as yours is unique. You put every diagnosis to shame. I wish you a good-morning."
So saying, he left the room tempestuously. Frau Christine, who had not understood a word of the business, stared after him in astonishment, and then went up to the invalid for an explanation.
"Goodness me, what is the matter? What has happened? The doctor is running away in a perfect fury, and you----"
"Let him run," said Max, leaning back composedly. "That man and brother is bent on making of me a candidate for heaven. He has very nearly killed me with his stupid proceedings. Now I will take my treatment into my own hands, and set about it at once, too. Dear Frau Christine, I do beg of you, in the most earnest and affectionate manner, bring me something to eat."
It might be about an hour later that Agnes Moser, after a short interval of rest, of which she stood but too much in need, prepared again to take her place by the bedside whence during the last few days she had hardly stirred. Meanwhile Dr. Brunnow had followed out his own prescription with an exactitude which left nothing to be desired, much to the delight of Frau Christine, who thought the doctor showed great discernment in his mode of treatment. But in vain did she preach to him to try and get a little sleep. Max declared that he did not want to sleep, and occupied himself exclusively with watching the door through which Agnes must enter. When in the short space of a quarter of an hour he presumed to ask three times where his nurse was, and what she could be doing, Christine grew somewhat irritated. She looked the patient sternly in the face, and said, without any beating about the bush:
"What's all this that is going on between you and Fräulein Agnes, Doctor? There is something underneath, something hidden; I have seen that a long while."
Max preferred to make no answer; but this availed him little. The housekeeper went on, in her blunt, straightforward way:
"Don't trouble yourself to try and impose on me. I have not been in and out of this room all these days for nothing. Do you think I have not seen how the poor child has been fretting, and the change that came over you whenever Agnes went near you? I know all about it, I assure you; you won't deceive me."
"Frau Christine, what a wonderfully wise woman you are!" said the young doctor. "You sit there and tell me things which three days ago I did not so much as guess at, and of which Fräulein Agnes is now as ignorant as I was. But, unfortunately, you are right. Nemesis has overtaken me. I am hopelessly, head over ears, in love."
Christine nodded. "I have known that ever so long. But what is to come of it? I have not worried myself much about the matter so far, because Dr. Berndt made so sure you were going to die, and that would have ended everything; but now it seems there is no likelihood of your popping off at present----"
"No likelihood at all," interpolated the patient.
"Well, then, I should like to ask what is to become of you and my young lady?"
"What is to become of us? Why, a married couple, to be sure. What else should become of us?"
Contrary to Max's expectation, Frau Christine did not appear shocked or horrified at this answer. Though a Catholic herself, she was the widow of a Protestant, and during the course of her married life she had imbibed many heretical notions; among these figured a strong dislike to convents and the conventual system. The girl's determination to withdraw from the world had never found favour in her sight; in her opinion, a myrtle-wreath would become her young mistress far better than a nun's veil. She was far, therefore, from disapproving of the scheme so boldly proposed by Dr. Brunnow, who had taken her fancy from the first. Nevertheless, she shook her head gravely:
"There will never be any question of that. Have you forgotten that Fräulein Agnes is going into a convent?"
"Oh, that plan will come to nothing," decided Max. "She is not in yet, and I will take care she does not go in. But--this is most important--you must not tell your young lady that I am better, nor say a word to her about my discussion with the doctor, and the excellent appetite I have since developed. I will tell her all that myself."
Christine looked rather startled at receiving these instructions.
"Doctor, you will not be so unscrupulous as to go and act a part with that poor child?" she asked.
"I am horribly unscrupulous in such matters," declared the doctor, with sweet, equable frankness. "Besides, all I ask of you is to keep silence until I have spoken to Fräulein Agnes. We'll settle the rest afterwards."
The required promise could not be given, for at this juncture Agnes came in. She did, indeed, look very pale, and the anxious inquiring look she turned on Christine told her utter despondency. With a noiseless step she went up to the sick man's bed, and, bending over him, asked in a trembling voice how he felt.
That prudent youth. Dr. Brunnow, took good care not to display the fine animation which his late medical discussion had called forth in a manner surprising as it was satisfactory. He thought fit, by way of answer, feebly to hold out his hand to the young girl. Max was well aware that in his supposed danger he had a most powerful ally, and as, according to his own confession, he was horribly unscrupulous, he did not hesitate an instant to take advantage of the situation.
Frau Christine thought he was acting abominably, but she was too well disposed towards the secret design which prompted this abominable conduct to rise in open revolt against it. She merely reported, therefore, that Dr. Berndt had called, but had left no new instructions, and seized the first opportunity of hurrying from the room and leaving the young people together.
Agnes had re-assumed her functions as nurse.
"Take your medicine now," she begged. "Dr. Berndt directed me to give it regularly. He only wrote this new prescription yesterday evening."
"Dr. Berndt gives me up for lost," replied Max, "so it is quite useless for me to take his physic."
"No, no; don't think that," entreated Agnes, soothingly, her anxious face belying her words. "He only said that your illness might take a dangerous turn----"
"I spoke to him myself this morning," interrupted the young doctor, "and heard his sentence from his own lips. He believes my wounds to be mortal."
Agnes set down the medicine bottle, and hid her face in her hands. Presently he heard a half-stifled sob.
"Agnes, would it grieve you if I were to die?"
The question came in a remarkably soft and tender tone from Dr. Brunnow's lips--mildness and tenderness not being among that gentleman's ordinary characteristics. He received no answer, but the sobs grew louder, more passionate. Taking the girl's hands, he drew them gently from her face all deluged in tears, and went on:
"I think I have betrayed so much to you, that you need not hesitate to confess those tears are falling for me. It is only within the last few days, since I have been under your care, that I have known how matters really stood with me, or, may I say, with us both?"
The girl had sunk on her knees by the bedside and buried her face in the pillows. For all reply she wept more bitterly and despairingly than ever, but she offered no resistance when the sick man put his arm round her and drew her gently to him. And then followed a wonderful event--Max Brunnow, throwing overboard his programme with its many clauses, launched into a fervent, heart-stirring declaration of love, a declaration which had but one defect--in form and vivacity of expression it was such as no dying lips could have uttered.
Poor Agnes was far too agitated to think of this; and moreover Dr. Berndt had so impressed upon her the utter hopelessness of the case, that she dared not admit to herself even the possibility of recovery. She took the patient's animation for the excitement of fever, and truly believed that she was witnessing the last transient flicker of life's flame--the gleam which precedes its final extinction.
"I shall never forget you," she sobbed. "What in life I never should have owned to you, now in the presence of death I may confess--my love is endless, unspeakable; it will reach beyond the grave. It is no sin to think of a departed one, and to send messages on the wings of prayer--this I shall do daily, when the quiet convent walls have shut me in for ever."
Earnest and touching as were her accents, this confession hardly satisfied Max. He had not the smallest wish to be worshipped as a departed spirit, and communications with the other world were by no means to his taste.
"It would be so, in case of my death," he said; "but what if I should live, after all?" Agnes raised her dark, tearful eyes, with an expression of the utmost perplexity. She had evidently not thought of this. "I believe that would not quite suit you," cried Max, resentfully.
"Not suit me? Oh, how can you say so! Why," cried the young girl, with a burst of feeling, "I would willingly give my life to save yours, if that were possible!"
"You shall not be asked to give your life," declared Max, whose conscience smote him as he saw how true and deep was the poor girl's grief. "All you will have to give up is a foolish idea which would make us both miserable were you to cling to it. Agnes, you are mistaken in thinking my condition a hopeless one. I have, in fact, hardly been in danger at all; and this morning any doubt as to my recovery has altogether disappeared. If I left you in error a quarter of an hour longer than was necessary, I did so because I was determined, at any cost, to obtain from you an avowal of your affection. As a convalescent, I well knew I should sigh for it in vain, but now you have spoken your confession, and I shall hold you to your word. It will be quite useless to go back--to try and recall what you have said. You may refuse me a hundred times, it will make no difference. In spite of all and everything, you will be my wife."
Agnes started up. "Never. You must not think of that. I have given myself to a religious life. I must return to the convent very shortly."
"Not if I know it," answered the young doctor, stoutly. "The convent people have no voice in the matter. Happily, you are quite free as yet; you have taken no vows."
"I have taken vows mentally, to myself I have promised the abbess and my confessor, and this promise is as binding as an oath taken at the altar."
"I have no objection whatever to your taking an oath before the altar," remarked Max, "but I must be present on the occasion, and swear myself in at the same time, as is usual at nuptial ceremonies. If the lady abbess and our friend the confessor attempt to interfere, they will have to deal with me. I shall soon settle them. I'll make such a stir among the whole spiritual community, that----"
"For Heaven's sake, do not be so violent!" implored the girl, with deep anxiety. "This excitement may be most hurtful, may be fatal to you. Do--do compose yourself, I entreat you!"
"We two must come to a clear understanding first," declared Dr. Brunnow, in his old dictatorial way. Then he poured forth on Agnes a torrent of argument, of reasons irrefutable, such as he had lately showered on his unfortunate colleague, proving to her, clear as day, that she was his betrothed now, and that, come what might, she must one day be his wife, until the poor girl, quite bewildered and stupefied, began at last to think he was right, and the matter really stood as he put it. It would indeed have required a more energetic nature than hers to offer effectual resistance here, when this moribund, of whom a last leave had just been taken, whose memory was to have been cherished beyond the grave, and with whom spiritual communion alone was henceforth to be held, suddenly rallied, made an unexpected sortie in the shape of a most earthly offer of marriage, and fairly took by storm the fortress which refused to capitulate. Agnes still wept, it is true, and still said No, no, it could never be, she would go back to the convent; but when Max, unheeding this, took her in his arms and kissed her, she bore it with docility, and the young man himself seemed to entertain no doubt whatever of his victory, for he murmuredsotto voce, and drawing a long breath, "Well, we have managed that business successfully, thanks to the remarkable stupidity of my worthy colleague. Blessings on the old blockhead!"