Dr. Brunnow was, unfortunately, soon to learn from experience that the quality he vaunted in his colleague may, under given circumstances, lead to serious complications. The day passed by quickly enough, and, in spite of all the excitement he had gone through, the patient found himself in such excellent case that even Agnes, in whose mind grave doubt had lingered, began to believe in the fact of his safety.
Evening was drawing on apace, and it was quite dusk out of doors when Agnes came in, carrying a carefully-shaded lamp, and informed Max that an elderly gentleman, a certain Dr. Franz, had just arrived, and after inquiring minutely and with much interest as to the state of his, Dr. Brunnow's, health, had begged to be allowed to see him. He called, he said, at the request of a professional friend, and was anxious personally to convince himself of the well-being of the patient, to whom he sent a written message.
Max took the card, on which a few words were pencilled.
"Dr. Franz? I suppose my respected colleague cannot get over this morning's astounding resurrection, and means to have an official report of the case drawn up in due form. I will give the gentleman----"
Suddenly he stopped. As his eye fell on the handwriting, he started violently, and an expression of alarm came over his features, while his fingers closed convulsively on the card. Agnes, who had raised the lamp-shade to enable him to read it, was struck by the change in him.
"What is it, dear?" she asked, "Do you know this Dr. Franz?"
In spite of the convent education, they had got so far as this caressing little epithet "dear" in the course of the day.
"Yes, I have known him some time," said Max, collecting himself with an effort--try as he would, however, he could not speak with quite his wonted steadiness. "I will see him, certainly, at once; and do me a favour, Agnes. Leave us together while he is here, and take care that we are not disturbed."
Agnes looked a little puzzled. Max had hardly let her stir from his side during the day, and now he was sending her from him. Fortunately, the light was too subdued for her to notice the young man's suppressed agitation; she quieted herself with the thought that, no doubt, a medical consultation was to be held, and went away to tell the new-comer he was expected.
The stranger, a grey-haired man of meagre form and stooping gait, at once obeyed the summons. On entering, he closed the door of the sick-room quickly behind him, and hurried up to the invalid, who had raised himself in his bed, and stretched out both hands to his visitor.
"Father! For God's sake, what brought you here? How could you run such a risk?"
For all answer, Dr. Rudolph Brunnow put his arm round his son's shoulders, and scanned his features with a careful, anxious scrutiny.
"You are better? They told me so outside. Thank God!"
"But how did you hear of my accident?" questioned Max. "You were not to have been told until it was all happily over. I did not want to cause you useless anxiety."
"I received a telegram from your doctor, yesterday. He communicated to me that you were badly wounded and in a critical condition. I was to hold myself prepared for the worst. An hour later I was on the road hither, and I reached this town by the next express."
"A confounded old fool!" burst out Max, in a fury. "Is it not enough that he has tormented me and all the people about me with this rubbish, that now he must bring you here, too? If I could have guessed it, this morning, I would have taken him to book in another fashion."
Dr. Brunnow looked at his son in speechless amazement. Then he heaved a deep-drawn sigh of relief.
"Well, if you can fulminate in that manner, things cannot be so very bad, I fancy. I feared to find you in a very different state. How was the danger so speedily averted?"
"There never was any danger. A good deal of fever, a little weakness through loss of blood, that was all. But now tell me, father----"
"By-and-by. I must look at this wound first myself" interrupted his father, still visibly agitated. "I shall not be easy until I have satisfied myself with my own eyes."
He took off the bandage, and began to examine the appearance of the wound. During this investigation his brow cleared, and at length he said, with a little shake of the head:
"You are right. The wound is deep, and may have produced some serious symptoms at first, but it is not one involving danger to life, I don't understand your surgeon."
"Heaven have mercy on the patient who falls into his hands!" said Max, emphatically. "But notwithstanding that unlucky telegram, I cannot think how you could resolve on coming to this place. You know that you are under a ban--that the old sentence is still in force. Directly they recognise you, you will be arrested, and imprisoned in the citadel again."
"Do not make yourself uneasy," replied his father. "There is no fear whatever of discovery. I am staying at an inn in one of the suburbs under an assumed name; besides, I am quite a stranger to this town. No one here is personally acquainted with me except ...."--a cloud came over his face--"except the Governor, and it is not likely I shall meet him. We have both of us good reasons to avoid each other."
"No matter; with every hour you spend here, you are incurring fresh risk to your freedom, your life. Did not you think of all this when you undertook the journey?"
"No," returned Brunnow, his voice faltering with deep emotion. "I heard that my only son lay at death's door, and I said to myself that, as a professional man, I might possibly find a way to save him. I had no time to think of anything else."
Max clasped his father's hand tightly, and tears glistened in his eyes, as he answered:
"I did not think you set so much value on my life, father. Forgive me if I have sometimes doubted your affection for me. I have not deserved that you should sacrifice yourself in this way. I have caused you worry and care enough with my obstinacy, which has long refused to bend to any authority."
His father stopped him.
"Let that be, Max," said he, with a wave of the hand. "We will forget all that has come between us hitherto. The terrible anxiety of the last four-and-twenty hours has taught me what it would be to lose the one source of happiness, the one hope which remains to me in life. Do not accuse yourself. I, too, have been unjust. I have never been willing to understand that your nature is so differently constituted to mine, you cannot think on all points as I do. But I trust this hour will have shown you what you are to your father, in spite of any little misunderstandings. Only get strong again, then all will be well."
He stooped, and pressed his lips to his son's forehead--a mark of tenderness which had long been out of use between them. Since his childhood. Max had received no such caress from his father; he responded to it with the heartiest warmth.
"You shall not have to complain of your stubborn son, the 'realist,' again," he said in a low voice. "I shall never forget, father, all that you have risked in my behalf. But now, promise me to leave again at once. You have convinced yourself that I am in no sort of danger. A real peril, however, exists for you so long as you are on this side the border. I entreat you once again, return as quickly as possible."
"I will start to-morrow morning," declared Brunnow; "but I shall come up again early to see you before I go. No remonstrances, Max. Do not distress yourself with needless anxiety. I tell you, discovery is out of the question. But now I will leave you. You are greatly in want of rest, and have had far more excitement than is good for you in your condition."
"Bah! it won't do me any harm. I have a first-rate constitution," replied Max, reflecting that he had that day gone through a lively professional skirmish and a betrothal without detriment to his health. He preferred, however, to say nothing to his father of his love-affairs for the present, so he chose another topic.
"You must have been not a little surprised to have to come and look me up here at the Government-house?"
"That I certainly was; and the name of Councillor Moser, who, as I hear, is an official connected with the Chancellery, was quite unfamiliar to me. I suppose you have made the gentleman's acquaintance during your stay here, and have come to be on friendly terms with him."
"Well, I can't say we are exactly on friendly terms," said his son, dryly. "This Councillor is a splendid specimen of the loyal, orthodox type, the very ideal of a bureaucrat. He has a nervous attack whenever he hears the word 'revolution;' and on the first day of our acquaintance he closed his doors on me because I bear a name to which, in his opinion, the stigma of treason attaches."
"We have the more cause for gratitude that, notwithstanding his prejudices, he has received you into his house. We are both under a deep obligation to him. Unfortunately, I cannot tender him my thanks in person----"
"Don't think of such a thing, for Heaven's sake! He scents a rebel a mile off; and though he does not know you, his instinct of loyalty would infallibly warn him that a traitor was near at hand."
"Max, do not speak in such a tone of the man who has accorded to you hospitality and attention," said Brunnow, reprovingly. "You are still the same old Max, I see. But it must be owned you have a stalwart frame and a robust constitution, which would astonish more experienced people than this Esculapius of yours. Though the injury presents no actual danger, it is serious enough to deprive any ordinary patient of a fancy for conversation, and here are you indulging in quips at the expense of your host!"
Max thought to himself that he owed his welcome to that house to other influences than the generosity of its master. He did not explain this, however; but with very natural anxiety again urged his father to go, and to use every possible precaution to ensure his safety. Dr. Brunnow, who himself saw that a longer stay in the sick-room must excite surprise, yielded to his son's wish. He took a hasty but affectionate leave of the young man, and went.
Passing through the apartments occupied by the Moser family, he was met in the outer anteroom by Councillor Moser himself. That gentleman approached the stranger in his calm, solemn manner, and said inquiringly:
"Dr. Franz, I believe?"
Brunnow bowed consent.
"That is my name; and I probably have the pleasure of speaking to Councillor Moser?"
"Precisely," replied that personage, with a stiff inclination of the head. "My daughter tells me that you are a physician, and that you have called at Dr. Berndt's request. I should like to hear from you whether what the women say is correct. I am told that the patient's condition has greatly improved during the course of the day, and that there is now every hope of recovery. From what I gathered from your colleague this morning, I should say this is most unlikely--impossible, in fact."
"All danger is indeed over," said the other. "I have no doubt whatever that Dr. Brunnow's life will be spared. He owes his safety, of course, in a great measure to the prompt succour and devoted care he has received in your house. You must have been put to great inconvenience on his account during the last few days."
"Yes, indeed, to very considerable inconvenience," sighed the Councillor, who hardly knew whether to rejoice or to feel wrathful that the dreaded catastrophe had been averted, that there was to be no death in the house, after all. It would be just as bad to read in the papers: "The son of that Dr. Brunnow, whose name is so well known in connection with the late rebellion, has happily recovered from the effects of his severe injuries. He has throughout his illness been carefully tended at the house of Councillor Moser."
Brunnow, for his part, regarded with looks full of interest this old gentleman who appeared so perplexed and concerned. Knowing nothing of Agnes's independent action, he attributed the kind treatment his son had experienced to the Councillor himself; and judging by the hints Max had given of his host's character, he saw in Moser a man who, in a moment of need, had risen superior to all personal considerations, and had magnanimously come to the rescue of a political enemy.
"Dr. Brunnow," said he, speaking from the overflowing gratitude of a father's heart--"Dr. Brunnow will, I trust, soon be able himself to express to you his deep sense of your kindness; in the meantime, allow me, as his old friend, to address you in his name. I--we thank you, sir--thank you most heartily for that which you have done."
"It was a Christian duty," asserted the Councillor, agreeably flattered by these words, which so plainly betokened real and deep emotion; "a duty I should in any case have fulfilled; still, it is gratifying to find that one's good offices are appreciated by those to whom they have been tendered."
"Believe me, we appreciate them fully, thoroughly. We know all that a man in your position, and holding your opinions, must have had to combat in the exercise of your charity. You have acted with noble self-abnegation."
So saying, and carried away by his feelings, he held out his hand to the old gentleman.
Poor Councillor Moser! That instinct of loyalty so vaunted by Max played him false at this moment. No inward voice warned him of his error as he took that attainted hand, and gave it a friendly pressure. It was so pleasant to meet at length with some one who knew how properly to estimate his conduct in this fatal business. Agnes and Frau Christine behaved as though it had all been a matter of course, but this stranger took a truer view of the case, and thereby at once gained for himself the Councillor's highest esteem.
"Will you not come into the parlour for a few minutes?" he said. "I shall be glad----"
"Thank you, no," answered Brunnow, remembering, rather late, that it would not do for him to show too marked an interest, or to be too demonstrative in his gratitude. "I cannot possibly stay longer--I have another professional visit to make. But I will come round to-morrow morning early to see the patient, if you will permit me."
"With the greatest pleasure!" cried the Councillor. "I shall be delighted to see you again, sir. Pray be careful. The passage is but imperfectly lighted."
He had opened the door for his guest himself, but the latter stood irresolute.
"Must I take the stairs to the right or the left in order to reach the entrance? I came in hurriedly, and did not notice the way."
"I will accompany you," said Moser, courteously. "It is so easy to lose one's self among all these corridors and turnings when one is not well acquainted with them. I will take you as far as the main entrance."
Dr. Brunnow, who really could not have found his way alone, and for whom it was most undesirable to wander to and fro in these courts and galleries, accepted the offer, and they walked down the corridor together. This corridor connected the side wing, in which Mr. Moser's apartments were situated, with the main building, and led direct to the great hall of the Castle. Here, on either side, were doors giving ingress to the Chancellery and the various bureaux, and here was the foot of the grand staircase, which led up to the Governor's private dwelling above.
The two gentlemen had just stepped out of the dim corridor into the brightly-lighted hall, when Brunnow gave a great start and turned precipitately, almost as though he would have retraced his steps. It was too late. He and his companion stood close before the Governor.
The Baron appeared to have only just arrived. His carriage was still before the door, and he himself was talking to the Superintendent of Police, who was about to take his leave. A cloud lay on Raven's brow, but it cleared a little as he caught sight of the Councillor. Interrupting the conversation in which he was engaged, he asked of the new-comer, with evident interest:
"Is this true, Councillor, that I hear from Berndt? Young Dr. Brunnow is declared to be out of danger? Coming after the previous unfavourable reports, I must say the news surprised me very much."
"I am as much astonished as your Excellency," the Councillor assured him. "I could not believe it at first, but the statement has been confirmed to me in another quarter--by this gentleman here, Dr. Franz, a friend of the patient's, who has just left him."
Raven turned to the stranger, who was standing a little aside, and whom he had not yet observed. The full light from the great chandelier fell on the tall, bent form. For a few seconds the Baron stood motionless, rooted to the ground, while his eyes rested with a piercing gaze on the face before him. Then a sudden pallor overspread his features, and he pressed his lips tightly together, as though to keep back the exclamation which sought to escape them.
But Raven's discomposure was of short duration. Next minute his self-command had returned to him; indeed, a movement on the Superintendent's part quickly recalled to his mind the fact that he was watched. He quietly waited until the Councillor had finished what he had to say, and then addressed himself to that gentleman's companion.
"It would be a pleasure to me to hear you confirm so favourable an opinion," he said. "I had sent round my own physician to the patient, but, unfortunately, the doctor himself fell ill on the first day of the treatment, and had to abandon the case to his deputy. The bulletin I received from Dr. Berndt this morning was so vague that I think I must ask you to supplement it by a few details. Not here in the vestibule, of course. Will you come in with me for two or three minutes?"
Brunnow was less accustomed than the Baron to dissimulate his feelings; and though he succeeded in controlling his voice and features generally, his eyes glowed with a look half of pain, half of enmity, as they rested on the speaker.
"Does your Excellency take so strong an interest in this young doctor?" he returned.
"Unquestionably. Both I and the Superintendent of Police here"--Raven laid a slight but perceptible emphasis on the word, as he indicated the person named--"are under an obligation to him. You have probably heard how this accident came about. Having hastened to the assistance of this gentleman, some of whose officers had been injured, he was wounded while rendering to them medical aid. You will understand, therefore, that some detailed account of his condition will be very acceptable to me."
Brunnow understood the hint. He saw the vigilant look in the eyes of the Superintendent, who was listening with quiet and, apparently, merely casual attention to the short dialogue, keeping a sharp watch on the Baron and himself the while. He understood all the danger of his position; still he hesitated a moment, struggling, as it were, with himself.
"I am at your service," he said at length, laconically.
"Will you come with me, then?"
Raven turned, and took leave of the other gentlemen briefly; then with the doctor he mounted the stairs which led to his own private apartments.
"Who is that gentleman, may I ask?" said the Superintendent, looking after the pair as they disappeared from view.
"A most agreeable person," replied the Councillor, with an important air; "a colleague of Dr. Brunnow's, and a very near friend, I should suppose, for he seems to take a great interest in him."
"Oh, oh, a friend of Dr. Brunnow's! I thought the young man had no friends or acquaintances here, now that Assessor Winterfeld has left. Has the gentleman--Dr. Franz, I think you said--paid frequent visits to the patient?"
"No; he came to-day for the first time, but he is to call again to-morrow. I must say he thanked me most warmly for my disinterested kindness, and alluded in very delicate terms to the embarrassments which the presence--the involuntary presence, it is true--of the young man in my house must have brought upon me. An instance of the noblest self-abnegation he styled my conduct in this matter. An exceedingly agreeable person, and a clever doctor too; I could see that at a glance. My instinct in such matters rarely deceives me."
"That I can well believe," returned the Superintendent, about whose lips there played a smile half derisive, half pitying. "This exceedingly agreeable person seems to have found as prompt favour in the Governor's eyes as in yours. It is not the Baron's way, in general, to introduce a complete stranger to his private apartments in this unceremonious manner. Perhaps he was not sorry to withdraw this Dr. Franz from my society."
"Why should he wish that?" asked the Councillor, unsuspiciously. "His Excellency merely desires to obtain some reliable information as to Dr. Brunnow's state."
"Of course; and I have no doubt such information will be amply afforded him. Good evening, Councillor. Don't push the abnegation business too far. They may be asking too much of you one of these days."
With this piece of advice the Superintendent went off, and the Councillor, to whom his words were as Greek, shook his head with dignified gravity at the other's light speech; then, secure beneath the ægis of his infallible instinct, he returned to his own dwelling. The Governor and his companion had meanwhile reached the upper story, and entered the former's apartments. Raven impatiently signed to the servants to withdraw, gave brief orders that he was on no pretext to be disturbed, and shut himself in his study with Brunnow.
As yet, no word had been exchanged between them, and even now that they were quite alone, silence still reigned for a minute or two. It almost seemed as though each shrank from speaking the first word. After an interval of more than twenty years, the former friends stood face to face. In the old days they had been adolescents, fired with all the enthusiasm, replete with the vigour of youth; now they met as men who since that time had severally lived through half a generation--the one still in the prime of strength and manhood, with the tall commanding figure and proud bearing which bespeak the habit of authority, his thick dark hair showing no silver threads, his stern rigid countenance no mark of age--and, as a contrast, the other! Barely a year his companion's senior, and yet to all appearances an old man, with the grey head and stooping form of advanced years, and a face deeply lined with the furrows of care and suffering. In the eyes alone there sparkled a gleam of the old fire, the last lingering trace of a long-bygone time.
"Rudolph!" said the Baron, at length. His tone betrayed mighty, well-nigh uncontrollable emotion, and he moved forward as though he would have approached his old friend; but the latter drew back, and asked in an icy tone:
"What may your Excellency wish of me?"
Raven frowned. "Why such words between us? Will you not recognise me? I knew you at once, by your eyes. You are still the same man, though altered in much, in almost everything." His look travelled slowly over Brunnow's face and figure as he spoke. The other smiled a smile of intense bitterness.
"I have grown old before my time. A man does not wear well in exile, when each day is spent in battling with the petty cares and miseries of life. Baron von Raven has come better through the fight. Such pitiful grievances do not attain to the height on which your Excellency stands."
"Once more I beg of you to drop this tone, Rudolph," said the Baron, earnestly. "I know all that lies between us, and I have no thought of seeking a reconciliation which I feel to be impossible. We are foes now--so be it; but it is a paltry vengeance on your part to insist with such scornful emphasis on a title to which I attach as little importance as you yourself can do. However we may stand towards each other, to you I must still be Arno Raven. Call me by the name which has been familiar to you."
Brunnow stood silent, with a moody, downcast look.
"I can divine what has brought you hither," went on Raven; "but even such a motive hardly excuses the temerity of the step. You are fully aware of the risk you run on this side the border, and your son is out of danger."
"But yesterday I believed him to be on his deathbed. My own safety could not be thought of at such a time. I felt I must hasten to him at all hazards."
The Baron made no reply to this; perhaps he told himself that in a like case he would not have acted differently.
"You understand why I insisted on your coming with me," he continued, after a pause. "There were witnesses to our meeting. The Superintendent of Police had his eye upon us. I almost think some suspicion was already dawning in his mind. It was necessary to crush this in the bud; and a lengthened interview with me will serve you as a sort of guarantee."
"No doubt; it would naturally be supposed that the Governor of R---- would at once give over any suspicious person into the hands of the police. I was prepared for that when you recognised me."
"Moderate your tone, Rudolph," said Raven, warningly; but the other went on unmoved:
"And I really do not know to what caprice I owe my rescue. But to be candid, Arno, I had a longing to meet you once more face to face, else I would rather have given myself up to that man's myrmidons than have followed you."
Raven bit his lip.
"Since our parting you have so boldly and openly proclaimed yourself my enemy that I ought to have been prepared for some such attitude on your part. You will remember, however, that in our young days I never submitted to an insult, and in the course of years my temper has not grown more enduring in this respect. So do not misuse your temporary advantages, or forget that your position bars me from seeking satisfaction. Let me, at least, feel that I may continue to address you without loss of dignity."
These words made little or no impression on Brunnow. His manner was, if possible, more hostile than before, as he replied:
"I see you have not unlearned the tone of command. I remember it of old. Even in those days the man who sought to rise in revolt against your will yielded in the end, cowed by that sovereign mien. As for me, though truly mine is no slavish nature, I gave myself up to you body and soul. I worshipped you with a blind worship; I followed whithersoever you led, for the goal before you must, I thought, be the highest and best--until one day my idol crumbled to dust, fell shattered to the ground. Do not try to exercise the old power over me. I bent to you only while I believed in you. That is over and past long ago; but you, in whom ambition has ever usurped the place of a heart, you little guess all that I lost when that faith went from me."
A long oppressive pause ensued. Raven had turned away, and stood some minutes in silence. At length he said:
"If once you loved me, you hate me now all the more intensely."
"True," was the short, energetic reply.
"I have proofs of it," continued Raven. "But a short time ago I was marvelling how one of my youngest subalterns had found courage to hurl insults at me openly, in the face of all the world. I forgot that he had been in your school. Of course! Winterfeld was staying at your house; he is your son's friend and yours. Well, he has shown himself an apt scholar. The thrusts he essays against me betray the master who instructed him."
"You are mistaken. George Winterfeld is displaying his own powers--admirable powers, certainly, which astonish myself. He kept his secret from me, as from others, and the book, which he forwarded to me two days ago, took me altogether by surprise. But I do not deny that my heart endorses every word that stands in it, and there are thousands who will agree with me. Beware, Arno! He is the first who ventures to defy the omnipotent Baron von Raven; this is the first storm menacing your high estate. Others will follow in its wake, and they will shake and undermine the ground on which you stand, until it trembles and yawns beneath your feet, and you will sink to depths great as the height to which you have risen."
"You think so?" asked the Baron, disdainfully. "You should know me better. I may be overthrown, and in my fall mortally injure myself and crush others. To sink would in this case imply a craven surrender, and that is not in my nature. Besides, we have not reached that point yet. I know all the enmities which this attack will let loose upon me; my foes have long waited for some such occasion; but they shall not taste the triumph of seeing me abandon a position which I have so long maintained and will never voluntarily quit. Men do not readily forgive success such as I have achieved."
"It was dearly bought," said Brunnow, coldly. "You paid for it with your honour."
"Rudolph!" thundered the Baron, with terrible vehemence.
"With your honour, I repeat it. Must I remind you of the day when our association was betrayed, our papers seized, ourselves arrested and cast into prison? Must I name to you the traitor to whom we owed all this, and who was arrested with us, merely as a matter of form? I and the others were put on our trial, and sentenced to long years of captivity, from which fate a foolhardy escape alone delivered me. After a short imprisonment that traitor was set at liberty, no charge being preferred against him. Weathering the storm which cost his friends and fellow-thinkers their freedom and their means of existence, Arno Raven emerged from it as the secretary, the familiar, the future son-in-law of the Minister in power, and commenced his brilliant career in the service of the cause he had sworn to combat with all his strength. That was the end of our dreams of liberty, of all our youthful hopes and illusions."
Every drop of blood had receded from the Baron's face. His breast heaved with a short, quick, panting movement, and his hands were clenched convulsively.
"And if I tell you now that this so-called treachery was nothing more than an imprudent act, an unhappy error of judgment, for which I have bitterly, cruelly atoned? If I tell you that you yourselves, with your over-hasty condemnation, your mad mistrust, drove me into the ranks of your enemies?"
"I make answer that you have forfeited all claim to be believed."
"Do not provoke me further, Rudolph," panted Raven. "You know that I would have borne so much from no other man. I have given you my word, and you must believe me."
"No, Arno." Brunnow's voice was hard and contemptuous. "Had you at the time I was pining in prison, when I could not understand, would not understand, that you had been the traitor--had you then stepped before me and spoken as you have spoken now, your word would have had more weight with me than the testimony of the whole world--than the clearest, most convincing proofs. The two decades which lie between now and then have taught me another lesson. Baron von Raven, whose name heads the list of the enemies and persecutors of that cause to which he once consecrated his life; the Governor of R----, whose iron despotic will sets all justice, both abstract and legal, at defiance, who but a few days since shot down the people in whose ranks he once stood--this man I utterly decline to believe."
He at whom these crushing accusations were hurled stood sombre and silent, his eyes fixed on the ground, his features working with some strong emotion; but whether it were shame, anger, or grief which moved him, who should say? As Brunnow spoke the last words, however, he suddenly drew himself up to his full height, and his eyes flashed with the old haughty, unbending spirit, as he answered in a harsh tone:
"It is useless, then, to waste another word on the subject. My explanations had reference to that first catastrophe alone. You decline to hear them--well and good, there is an end of the matter. What has come since then has come by my own deliberate choice and resolution. How I may have been driven to make such a choice need not be considered now. I allege no extenuating circumstances; enough, I have acted of my own free will, and I am ready to answer for my deeds and their consequences. Since the day when that great gap opened between us, our ways have lain so far apart that it would be useless now for us to attempt to understand the current which has borne us on. What can an idealist conceive of ambition and the desire for power? Perhaps to you it may appear as the germ of a crime, for the very idea of it is based on the subjection of others. I was not created to linger out my life in exile, to console myself for all my shipwrecked hopes and wasted energies with the thought that I had remained true to my ideal. Condemn me if you will: I do not recognise you as my judge."
No reply followed. After a moment's silence, Brunnow turned to go, still without speaking. Raven stepped before him, barring the way.
"What does this mean?" asked the Doctor. "You have said it; we have done with each other; any further word between us would be superfluous. Let me go."
"Not yet; we have to think of your safety. You will start at once on your return journey?"
"I shall not leave till to-morrow. I have promised my son to see him again."
"This is a very unnecessary delay," said the Baron. "You have convinced yourself that, as regards your son's health, there is nothing now to fear; danger will continue to exist for you until you have re-crossed the frontier. An express leaves at midnight. Remain here in my house until that hour, and then you shall be taken in my carriage to the station. Whatever suspicions may be abroad, no one will, in that case, venture to molest you."
"And if, later on, it were found out that the Governor himself had helped a rebel and an escaped prisoner on his road?"
"That is my business. I shall be well able to defend myself."
"I thank you," said Brunnow, in a trenchant tone. "I shall stay to-morrow, and shall then go to the station without the cover of the Raven baronial livery. You will easily understand that I prefer even a possible risk to your protection."
"Rudolph, be reasonable," warned the Baron. "This unhappy obstinacy may cost your freedom."
"What matters it to you? We are enemies, are we not? more bitter enemies than ever from this hour. We shall hardly meet again in this life, but think of my words, Arno. As yet you stand secure on the giddy height to which you have climbed; as yet you look down disdainfully on the dangers now gathering around you. A day will come when the foundations, whereon your power rests, will rock and reel, when all the world will fail you, and then"--here Brunnow's bent form was drawn erect with a certain majesty--"then you will see that it is of some worth to have kept one's faith in one's best hopes and aspirations. The testimony of my conscience has sustained me. You will have no stay, when the glittering edifice of your ambition crashes to the ground. You have been false to yourself. Farewell."
He turned and went. Raven stood, moody and motionless, looking after him.
"False to myself!" he repeated, in a low voice. "Even so--he is right."
All was quiet in the town. The "energetic measures" had produced their effect, although they had not been carried into execution with such disastrous rigour as at first appeared. Colonel Wilten knew very well that, notwithstanding the Governor's high standing and authority, some portion of the responsibility would rest with him. On the troops being called out, he gave orders, therefore, that at the word of command the first round should be fired, not among the crowds assembled, but in the air. He counted on the blind panic which would ensue when it was found that recourse would be had to arms, and he was not deceived in his reckoning. The first discharge produced boundless fear and confusion, which were still further increased by the gathering darkness. None had sufficient calm and self-possession to note what had really happened. A wild tumult arose, but there was no attempt at the resistance which had been expected and feared. For one brief moment the masses swayed to and fro without plan or method, then all turned to seek refuge in flight. The Colonel had foreseen this, and had taken his precautions that a way should be opened for the fugitives to escape. A detachment of soldiers succeeded, without any very serious difficulty, in dispersing the dense crowds, and driving them back. Once broken up, they could not re-assemble, as all the central points of the town were occupied by the troops. After some hours, order was restored, and, thanks to the prudence and moderation of the commanding officer, this happy result was attained without bloodshed. Wounds and injuries enough had been inflicted in the press and crush of that hurried flight, but there had been no actual battle, and yet the military intervention had produced the desired effect. The more turbulent party in the town was intimidated; there was no repetition of the riots, and during the ensuing days the public peace had not been disturbed. Authority had once more triumphed, and the Governor still preserved the upper hand.
On the morning following his interview with Rudolph Brunnow, the Baron paid a visit to his sister-in-law's apartments. Madame von Harder's cold had been attended with serious consequences. She was ill, or, at least, declared herself to be so, and since her return to town had hardly left her bed. The Baron sent over regularly every morning to inquire after her health. He had seen neither her nor Gabrielle during the last few days, for the young girl had taken advantage of the pretext afforded her by her mother's illness, and had refrained from appearing at table. Since that sad, stormy interview, a meeting had thus been avoided.
The Baroness was lying on the sofa in the pose of a languid invalid, when her brother-in-law entered. He took no notice of Gabrielle, who was in the room, but went straight up to her mother, and asked, in the cold indifferent tone of one who is using a mere formula, how she felt that morning.
"Oh, I have gone through so much during all these terrible days!" sighed the Baroness. "I feel very ill indeed. The excitement and horror of that dreadful evening when they threatened to storm the Castle was too much for me."
"I expressly sent you word that every precaution had been taken to ensure the safety of the Castle," said Raven, impatiently. "You never would have been in danger, in any case. The popular demonstration was aimed at me, and me alone."
"But the noise, the advance of the troops, the firing in the town!" complained the lady. "It all had the most terrible effect on my nerves. How I wish I had complied with Colonel Wilten's wish, and had remained a few days longer in the country. But, indeed, as things now stand, that would be out of the question. Gabrielle is torturing me to death with her wilfulness and obstinacy. She declares now decidedly that she will not marry young Baron Wilten, and threatens to tell him so point-blank, if I let him come to her with an offer."
Raven took a rapid survey of the young girl, who sat at some distance from them, pale and silent, leaning her head on her hand; but even now he did not address her.
"It places me in the most embarrassing predicament," went on the Baroness. "I have given the Colonel positive assurances which cannot possibly be recalled. He and his son will be furious. Gabrielle says she has already spoken to you on the subject, Arno. Do you really approve of her conduct in this matter?"
"I?" asked the Baron, coldly. "I have renounced all pretension to influence your daughter."
"Good Heavens! what has happened?" asked the Baroness, starting up in alarm. "Has Gabrielle been showing you her stubbornness and self-will? I hope--I trust----"
"Let us not talk of it," said the Baron, cutting short her effusive speech. "This affair with Wilten must be settled by me, certainly. My own position towards the Colonel demands it. He would never forgive me if I were to allow his son to incur the humiliation of a refusal, where he confidently expects to be favourably received. I must say, the fault is altogether yours, Matilda. You will remember that I have held myself aloof from your plans from the first. You should have made sure of your daughter's consent before you committed yourself to positive promises. But now this matter must be discussed and decided. I am going over to see Wilten now, and during our conference I will take an opportunity of letting him know Gabrielle's answer. But to the subject which brought me hither. You are unwell?"
"Indeed I am--very unwell!" breathed the Baroness, faintly, sinking back in her cushions with an air of utter exhaustion.
"Well, I have a proposal to make to you. The doctor talks of nervous symptoms, and recommends change of air, particularly as the autumn here with us is often rough and inclement. Besides this, in the present state of affairs, there can be no thought of receptions or any social gatherings for some time to come. I would, therefore, advise you to accept the invitation you have received from your friend, the Countess Selteneck, of which you were lately speaking to me, and with your daughter to go and spend a few weeks in the capital."
Gabrielle, who had listened to the conversation, taking no part in it, started violently at the last words, and an involuntary exclamation escaped her lips.
"Yes," said Raven, turning towards her for the first time, and speaking with caustic irony; "I know that my scheme will meet your views."
The girl made no reply; but the Baroness's languid features acquired sudden animation.
"What, you approve of this visit?" she asked. "I do not deny that a short stay in the capital would be agreeable to me--that it would be pleasant to see my old friends and acquaintances again; but my regard for your wishes, my duties as the mistress of your house----"
"Need not bind you in this case," interposed the Baron. "I repeat to you that, under the present circumstances, entertainments are out of the question. We cannot say with certainty that there will be no renewal of the disturbances; and I should be sorry to expose you a second time to the perils of so much terror and excitement. I would, therefore, beg of you to make your preparations for the journey as speedily as possible. When you return, you will find us all peaceful and settled, I hope."
"I will comply with your wishes in this as in all else," declared the Baroness, to whom, in the present case, compliance was remarkably easy. "We shall very soon be ready to start; and I hope the change may be beneficial to Gabrielle, as well as to myself. She has grown so pale and listless of late, I am really beginning to fear for her health."
Raven appeared not to hear this last remark. He rose to go.
"So that is settled. Whatever you may require for your trip is at your disposal. But now I must leave you, Matilda. The carriage is waiting for me below."
He shook hands with his sister-in-law, and went. Hardly had the door closed upon him, when Madame von Harder exclaimed, with great vivacity:
"Well, your uncle has had a sensible idea at last! I was afraid he would expect us to remain in this wretched city, where one is not sure of one's life, and where one cannot even drive out without fear of being insulted by the people. I only wonder that Arno deigns to notice my nerves or the doctor's advice at all. He is generally so hard and unfeeling in these matters; don't you think so, Gabrielle?"
"I think he is anxious to get rid of us now, at any price," replied Gabrielle, without turning her head.
"Well, yes," said the Baroness, suavely. "He must see that R---- is not a very agreeable place of sojourn just now, especially for ladies. I had something of this in my mind when I mentioned the Countess's invitation to him. I half hoped he would assent to it; but he then preserved an obstinate silence, so I did not venture to pursue the subject. How I long to see the capital again, and to renew my old connections there! Say what you will, this R---- is provincial, after all, in spite of the grand city-airs which the town gives itself. But now, in the first place, we must look over what we have to wear. Come, child, and let us consider what has to be done."
"Spare me that, mamma!" prayed the young girl, in a low, weary tone. "I am not in the humour for it now. Decide what you think best. I shall be quite satisfied with anything you do."
The Baroness looked at her daughter in unmitigated astonishment; such indifference passed the bounds of all belief.
"Not in the humour for it? Gabrielle, what has come to you? I noticed the change in you some time ago, when we were staying in the country; but now, during the last few days, you have grown so strange, I really can hardly recognise my own daughter. Something must have passed between you and your uncle during that drive home, I am afraid--something you are keeping back from me. He is evidently angry with you; he scarcely looked at you just now. When will you learn to show him the necessary respect and consideration?"
"You hear, he is sending us away," said Gabrielle, with a great, bitter rush of feeling. "He wishes to be alone if a danger threatens, if a misfortune overtakes him--quite, quite alone!"
"I do not understand you," declared her mother, pettishly. "What should threaten your uncle? He has put down the attempts at revolt with a strong hand, and there will be an end of them, I fancy; but if things should come to the worst, he has the troops to protect him."
Gabrielle was silent. She had not thought of any specific danger, but, inexperienced as she was in all the serious affairs of life, she divined that an open attack, such as Winterfeld's, would not pass by without leaving its mark, and felt, as it were, a prescience of some coming storm. She and her mother were to be sheltered from it, evidently. In no plainer language could the Baron have told her that all was really over between them. Was he not sending her to the capital, where George now lived, where a meeting with him could easily be managed? The harshness and violence with which Raven had formerly opposed this union had caused the girl far less pain than this voluntary withdrawal of all resistance on his part. He was showing her that he had ceased to protest, that he left her free to act as she pleased; and she knew him too well to cherish any hope that he would soften towards and pardon the woman whom he believed to have betrayed him. Perhaps Gabrielle might have sought to convince him of his error, to show him what injustice his cruel suspicions did her; but his icy look and manner scared her from him. That look told her that her words would find no credence, and at this thought her proud spirit rose in arms. Was she again to endure the degradation of finding her defence unheard, herself repulsed, as had happened once before? Never! never!
The Baroness was very far from divining her daughter's train of thought; she did not even remember that Assessor Winterfeld was living in the metropolis, still less that he had been sent thither expressly to prevent any intercourse between him and the Governor's heiress. The lady had weightier matters to occupy her just now. Finding Gabrielle insensible to the claims of the great "toilette" question, she rang for her maid, and at once engaged with her in a long and elaborate consultation. It was notable what a vivifying effect the prospect of this journey had on the Baroness's system. Her illness and languor seemed suddenly to have disappeared. She gave the necessary instructions with an eagerness and animation which already augured the best results from the prescribed "change of air."
On leaving his sister-in-law, the Baron had himself at once driven over to Colonel Wilten's quarters. He had always been on friendly terms with the commandant of the garrison, and latterly there had been an increase of cordiality, on the Wiltens' part at least, for the family were bent on securing an alliance between the eldest hope of their house and the young Baroness Harder.
To-day, however, there was a something unusual in the Colonel's manner and reception of his visitor, a certain constraint which he did his best to conceal by talking with more fluency than was his wont. The Baron did not heed this. His mind was busy with other thoughts, and he was not disposed to attach importance to such trifles. He was about to turn the conversation to those measures of public safety which were still to some extent in the hands of the military, when Wilten forestalled him, and said rather hurriedly:
"Have you received further intelligence from the capital yet? You are, no doubt, expecting an answer relative to that Winterfeld pamphlet."
The Baron's brow clouded over very noticeably at this question, and there was a pause of some seconds before he responded.
"Yes," he said at length. "The answer reached me this morning."
"Well?" asked the Colonel, eagerly.
Raven leaned back in his chair, and replied in a tone wherein irony and bitterness were equally blended:
"Our friends in the capital appear to have lost sight of the fact that, as their representative, I have acted in their name, and that through long years they have seconded me in all my acts to the best of their ability. You were right in warning me against the intrigues at head- quarters, which were secretly undermining me. I see now how hollow is the ground on which I stand. A few months ago they would not have dared to give me such an answer."
"What: they have not tried to hint----" the Colonel stopped; he did not like to finish the phrase.
"They have hinted much--in the most courteous form, naturally, and with an unusually lavish expenditure of fair words--but the meaning remains the same. I think it would not be disagreeable to the gentlemen in office yonder, if I were to make my bow and withdraw from the scene. I am a stumbling-block in the way of several persons there, and they, of course, seek to profit by any attack upon me. At present, however, I am not inclined to make room for them."
Colonel Wilten remained silent, and studied the carpet diligently.
"The late events in this city have also given rise to serious differences of opinion," continued Raven. "There has been a constant interchange of despatches on the subject. They cannot be made to understand that the intervention of the troops was necessary, and preach to me of the heavy responsibility incurred, of the exasperated state of public feeling, and more in the same style. I reply simply that these matters cannot be judged from a distance. I am on the spot, and know what is necessary; and were the disturbances to break out afresh, I should do exactly as I have done."
Again there stole over the Colonel's features that look of constraint which had gradually disappeared during the course of the conversation.
"That would hardly be possible," he remarked. "It is true that the popular excitement is greater than we at first supposed, and I told you some time ago that the Government are anxious to avoid all military interference."
"It is not what the Government desire, but what is necessary," declared the Baron, with the curt, abrupt speech which with him was a sure sign of great irritation.
"We will hope, then, that the necessity will not recur," said Wilten; "for I am unfortunately ... I should have ... in a word, I should be compelled to refuse co-operation, your Excellency."
Raven started, and turned a flashing glance on the speaker.
"What does this mean, Colonel? You know that I have unlimited authority. I can assure you that it has been in no way restricted."
"I do not for a moment suppose it has; but my powers have been curtailed. In future I am to take my instructions from army head-quarters alone."
"You have received counter-orders?" asked the Baron, quickly.
"Yes," was the reply, given with some hesitation.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"May I see the despatch?"
"I am sorry--it is of a private nature."
Raven turned away, and went up to the window. When he looked round, after the lapse of several minutes, his face was almost livid in its pallor.
"This means that my hands are to be tied completely. If there is any renewal of the riots, and the police are not strong enough to suppress them, I am powerless, and the town is to be given over to the mercy of the mob."
Wilten shrugged his shoulders.
"I am a soldier, and must obey, as your Excellency knows."
"Assuredly you must obey--that I quite see."
Another uncomfortable pause followed. The Colonel seemed to be thinking how he could effect a diversion; but Raven forestalled him.
"As the matter now stands, the conference I wished to hold with you becomes superfluous," he said, with enforced calm. "No excuses, pray. I can well conceive that it is very painful to you personally, but you cannot alter the circumstances, so let us say no more on the subject. I wanted to speak to you also on a little matter of private business. You gave me to understand some time ago, that your son was likely to come to me with a request. Lieutenant Wilten has not declared himself as yet, and in these troubled, excited times it would hardly have been possible for him to do so."
"Quite impossible," assented the Colonel. "I pointed out to Albert that it would argue a want of proper feeling on his part, were he to trouble you with such matters at a time when you have so much to contend with. He admitted the justice of what I said. Besides, he is leaving us to-morrow."
"So suddenly?" asked Raven, in surprise.
"He is going to M---- on a mission connected with the service, and will probably remain there some weeks," returned the Colonel, who was growing visibly embarrassed beneath the Baron's severe scrutiny. "I had originally intended to send another officer, but I cannot dispense with his assistance now; and my son, as the youngest on my staff, can be most easily spared. So the matter we were speaking of can rest for the present. Later on, when Albert returns, we can take it up again."
There were hard, bitter lines about Raven's mouth as he answered:
"On the contrary, I wish this matter to be settled at once, and for ever. My sister-in-law regrets to find that she is not in a position to satisfy the hopes which she encouraged the young Baron to entertain. She has now convinced herself that her daughter does not possess that amount of affection for your son which would dispose her to enter into this marriage; and neither Madame von Harder nor I will exercise the slightest constraint on Gabrielle----"
"Oh! by no means. We would never consent to that," interrupted Wilten, eagerly. "No constraint, no persuasion in these matters! It will be hard for me, of course, to give up the plan I have so long cherished, and my son will be in despair. But if he may not hope that his affection will be returned, it is better he should know the truths and try to conquer his attachment. I will talk to him seriously on the subject."
"Do so," said the Baron, whom neither the other's ready zeal, nor his deep-drawn breath of relief, had escaped. "I am persuaded that you will find in him an obedient and tractable son."
He turned to go. The Colonel accompanied him politely to the door, and would have given his hand at parting as usual, but Raven passed by him with a cool, ceremonious bow, and left the room. Outside, on the stairs, he stopped a moment and glanced towards the door that had just closed, saying to himself under his breath:
"So it has come to this already! They wish to break off all connection with me. The news Wilten has received must have been strange news indeed!"
As the Governor issued from the house and was about to enter his carriage, which waited before the door, he caught sight of the Superintendent of Police, who was coming up the street, and who quickened his steps on perceiving him.
"I was just going up to see your Excellency," said he, bowing respectfully. "I thought I should find you at the Castle."
"I am now returning thither," replied Raven, pointing to the carriage. "May I ask you to accompany me?"
The Superintendent accepted the invitation, and both gentlemen entered the carriage, which started at once on its way to the Castle. The Baron listened in silence to the other's talk. He was moody and abstracted, chafing inwardly at the first humiliation openly laid upon him. So far they had left him free scope, had invested him with an unlimited authority such as no Governor before him had possessed; and now, at the present juncture, when he was more than ever in want of this authority, he suddenly found himself checked, his course of action impeded, his hands bound. They were taking from him the support whereon he had relied, the powerful ally whom he had once called to his aid, and on whom now he was forced in some measure to depend. They were purposely leaving him alone to face the struggle with the rebellious city. Raven was not at a loss to interpret this symptom.
The Superintendent had been speaking of some unimportant incidents which had occurred the preceding day. Now he went on to say: "But I have a communication to make which will surprise your Excellency. You take an interest in young Dr. Brunnow?"
Raven grew attentive.
"Certainly. What of him?"
"Nothing personally, though I am sorry to say the matter in question touches him very nearly. You remember the gentleman who was introduced to us the other evening by Councillor Moser as Dr. Franz? You had even, I think, some lengthened conversation with him afterwards. Did nothing in his manner strike you as peculiar?"
The Baron drew himself up quickly. The allusion sufficed to show him that his suspicion had been well-founded, and that danger to Brunnow was impending. It was imperatively necessary to show a calm front, in order, if it were yet possible, to avert a catastrophe. Raven summoned up all his self-possession, and answered with a cold, imperturbable "No."
"Well, my attention was attracted to him at once," said the Superintendent. "Even during those few short minutes doubts occurred to me, doubts which were subsequently strengthened by some remarks the Councillor inadvertently let fall. So I thought it advisable to set some inquiries on foot. Now that there are so few strangers in the town, it was no difficult matter to find out where the pretended Dr. Franz had put up. He had arrived a couple of hours before at an inn in the suburbs, had displayed great solicitude in speaking of the young doctor, asking many questions about him in an agitated manner, and had then hurried off to see him. The trunk, which had been imprudently left at the inn, bore the ticket Z---- as the station of departure. There were other very suspicious circumstances in support of the evidence--in short, no doubt now exists that we have to do with Rudolph Brunnow, the father of the wounded man."
All these statements were delivered in the cool, business-like tone used by the Superintendent throughout the interview, and Raven endeavoured to preserve the same appearance of indifference as he replied:
"That is, at present, merely an assumption of yours, which will require confirmation. You cannot take any steps against this stranger on such evidence."
"We have the confirmation already," said the Superintendent. "When arrested, Dr. Brunnow admitted his name."
"When arrested!" exclaimed the Baron. "You have proceeded to arrest him without informing me of the matter--without giving me the slightest intimation?"
The police-officer stared at him in well-feigned astonishment.
"Your Excellency, I really do not understand. So far as I am aware, such measures are entirely within my competence. Had I known that you desired to be previously informed, I should, of course, have seen that a communication was made to you."
Raven clenched his right hand, crushing the glove he held in it.
"And I should certainly have dissuaded you from taking such a step. Have you thought of the excitement this arrest will produce, and of its inevitable consequences? Precisely now, when the Government is bent on adopting conciliatory measures, on creating a diversion, when everything depends on its being popular, and the Ministers are shaping their course with scrupulous care, in order to avoid a conflict--this is not the time to drag before the public old, half-forgotten reminiscences of the rebellion."
The Superintendent shrugged his shoulders.
"I have done my duty, nothing more. Dr. Brunnow was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment; this punishment he evaded by taking flight. He knew that on his return he would become amenable to the law. He came notwithstanding this, and he must take the consequences."
"I should have thought you had held your position long enough to know that the letter of the law must sometimes be sacrificed to the expediency of the moment," said Raven, with rising anger. "Why did this fugitive return? Public opinion will unmistakably side with the man who, in his anxiety for his only son, in the hope that by his medical skill he might be the means of saving that son's life, set his own danger at naught, risked everything and came; Brunnow will be raised to a martyr's pedestal, and will obtain sympathy throughout the land. Do you think this will be agreeable to us? You chose to act on a mere suspicion of your own, and you will meet with little thanks from head-quarters."
These words were spoken with a vehemence which made them almost offensive; but the Superintendent replied coolly and politely:
"Well, we must wait and see. I acted to the best of my judgment, and I regret that the course I have taken does not meet with your approbation. I was the less prepared for censure from your Excellency that you have always condemned the lukewarm attitude of the Government, and the fear they evince of provoking a conflict as weakness, whilst the line of action your Excellency is now pursuing in this town proves that you reckon on energetic and unsparing measures alone for success."
The Baron bit his lip. He felt that he had allowed himself to be carried too far. Turning the conversation, he said:
"So Dr. Brunnow at once avowed his name?"
"Yes; he seemed disconcerted at first, when his arrest was made known to him, but he soon recovered himself, and made no attempt at denial. It would indeed have been perfectly useless. I have taken care that the news of what has occurred shall not reach his son at present--at least the Councillor has promised to be silent. The poor Councillor! he almost fell down in a fainting-fit when I disclosed to him who thesoi-disantDr. Franz really was. After having all his life sedulously avoided anything like disloyal contact, he is now being drawn into the most questionable connections, and that without any fault of his own."
"You will at least, I hope, show your prisoner every consideration," said Raven, unheeding the last remark. "The motive that brought him here, and his son's noble conduct at the time of the riot, entitle him to some favour at your hands."
"Doubtless," assented the Superintendent. "Dr. Brunnow will have nothing to complain of. He is, as a temporary measure, confined in a room in the city prison, and I have been careful that in all the arrangements a due regard should be had to his comfort. Of course, he must be strictly guarded. There might be an attempt at evasion again--or at a rescue."
Raven's eyes were fixed full on his companion's face. The derisive smile lurking about the officer's lips told the Baron that his former relations with the prisoner were no longer a secret, and that the blow was directed less against Brunnow than against himself. To what end this hostile step had been taken, he did not then immediately divine; but the Superintendent of Police was not the man to be guilty of over-precipitation, or to do anything which would bring upon him a serious responsibility. He always knew very well what he was about.
"Evasion! rescue!" repeated Raven, scornfully. "It is too late for that, I fancy."
"I hope so too, but I will not neglect the necessary precautions. One can never know what connections these refugees may have, or how far their secret influence may extend. This was the communication I had to make; now I need not take up your Excellency's time any longer. We shall soon be passing my office. Might I ask to be set down there? I shall, as usual, find a deluge of work awaiting me, no doubt."
A few minutes later, the carriage stopped before the police-bureau, and the head of that department took a most affable leave of the Baron, who then drove on to the Castle. At length the respite of a few minutes' solitude was granted him. So many successive blows had fallen on him since the morning. First the Minister's letter, then the disclosure made by Colonel Wilten, now the news of Brunnow's arrest. More and more menacing were the signs of the times, and Rudolph's prophecy was perhaps nearer its fulfilment than he himself had imagined. The ground beneath the great man's feet began to quake and to give way; and for the first time he looked down from his vertiginous height, measuring how great the fall might perchance be--but Arno Raven was not one to quail before such thoughts. The proud, determined look on his face showed that he was not disposed to yield a step, that he was ready to confront any danger that might rise up before him. Though perils should surround him on all sides, there would be no surrender. Thus, with the undaunted spirit and strong will which had borne him through so many trials, he advanced to meet the approaching storm.