There was a lonely, desolate air about the Castle in these days. Baroness Harder and her daughter had left for the capital, and if the elder lady, with her caprices, her requiring temper, and other not very amiable characteristics, was not painfully missed by the household, the absence of the younger, who had won all hearts to herself, was sincerely deplored. With her, sunshine had come into the house. During the few short months of her stay there, she had filled the great sombre spaces with light and animation, quickening and brightening their lifeless splendour. During this period Raven himself had become so much milder of mood, so much more accessible, that at times it was difficult to recognise in him the severe, imperious master who never unbent, and whose slightest words were as law. Now Gabrielle's rooms were closed and darkened, and every one about the place, from the venerable major-domo to the lowest housemaid, felt the void she had left behind.
Baron von Raven alone seemed insensible to the change; at least, he never in any way alluded to it, and it was well known that he had little time to give to his home or family affairs. All about him were accustomed to see their master grave, taciturn, and unmoved by passing events. Thus he still appeared, and yet every soul about the house knew that a tempest was fast gathering over his head. It had long ceased to be a secret.
There had been no renewal of the disturbances in the town during the course of the last few weeks; and the Superintendent, with his staff of police, had easily put down the slight ebullitions of feeling which would now and then occur. The lower classes of the population had been intimidated; to the more enlightened reflection had come. It was felt that nothing would be achieved by violence. The Burgomaster used all his influence to prevent a recurrence of the previous scenes. Experience had taught him that in such a contest the reins would soon slip from his hands, that the rougher, more dangerous elements forcing themselves to the surface, the movement, legitimate in the outset, would degenerate into a mere common rebellion against all law and order. On either side a warning had been received, and it had borne fruit. The struggle was not abandoned; it grew, on the contrary, in force and intensity, though carried on in quieter fashion; and now the city of R---- had the satisfaction of hearing that an echo of its discontent had sounded in the capital, an echo which quickly spread throughout the land. Winterfeld's pamphlet had produced a great sensation, a far greater, indeed, than its author had ever reckoned on, for it found acceptance in influential quarters, where no one, and least of all the Assessor, would have expected it to be tolerated.
In these higher circles Raven was by no means beloved. A man who had raised himself from the more modest ranks of the middle classes to one of the highest offices of the State, he had naturally aroused against himself the envy and ill-will of those whom he had overtaken and left far behind him in the race; and his proud, imperious bearing, the merciless contempt with which he exposed and thrust aside incapacity and meanness, wheresoever placed, did not tend to increase his popularity. Among his competitors there were but too many who viewed the success he had achieved, the high position he now held, as a robbery committed on themselves, an infringement of their own peculiar privileges; who could not brook the haughty composure which never deserted him, even in the presence of the most exalted personages, and who were only waiting their opportunity to inflict on thisparvenuthe humiliations which, in their opinion, he so richly deserved. Hitherto their shafts had glanced harmlessly from the Baron's armour. The Government had warmly supported him, had loaded him with distinctions and honours, and had kept silence on the subject of his arbitrary encroachments, which were perfectly well known to every man in office. For this post of R----, the Ministers were in want of just such a representative, of one who, like Raven, would with rigid consistency and unsparing energy make his authority felt, and who would keep in check the rebellious discontent which leavened the province. The Governor had been indispensable, and this fact outweighed all other considerations, and counteracted all the influences which were at work against him.
But times had changed. During the last twelve months, especially, a revolution of opinion had come about, which threatened to overturn the present system. Some of its upholders, staunch hitherto, now tried to trim their sails, and to steer with the new current; others prepared to abdicate, and, with all outward honour and dignity, to retire from the stage where their parts were played out. They had one and all, friends and connections, who were of service to them in the crisis. Arno Raven stood perfectly alone; and the dragon of spite he had provoked now reared its head and turned its poisonous fangs against him.
At any other time, a pamphlet such as Winterfeld's would have been instantly suppressed, and its author would have paid for his audacity with the loss of his position; now the work, with its accusatory eloquence, was eagerly turned to account--made to serve as an arm against the object of their hatred; and the young official, who had furnished the welcome opportunity, was raised to hero-rank. George's name, altogether unknown but a little while before, was now in everybody's mouth. He himself was sought, made much of, admired for his courage in boldly speaking out that which, of course, every one had known. People said the brochure was really admirably written, that it evinced unusual knowledge and talent, and bore the stamp of a clear, incorruptible judgment--and, indeed, the book was completely devoid of the acrimony which would have lowered it to the level of a diatribe. The Governor's great qualities were thoroughly recognised; anything like a personal attack was carefully avoided. The entire accusation rested on facts; but these facts were demonstrated with such clearness and precision, and subjected to so incisive a criticism, that some answer to the charges must, it was thought, necessarily follow.
To the R---- province and its chief town, these printed pages had been, as the Burgomaster expressed it, as a spark in a powder-barrel; for they gave form and substance to the universal feeling, setting it forth in the most pointed and striking terms. The crippling fear, the dread of the Governor's omnipotence, was shaken: it was seen that he was assailable, vulnerable, like other mortals; and all the bitterness, so long cherished against him, now broke out with tempestuous violence. No one gave a thought to the benefits the town and province had reaped from the Baron's vigorous administration. Not a voice was raised to recall them to mind. Hatred of the despotic yoke, beneath which the people had so long sighed, spoke loudly and alone; and, as often happens in this world, those who had been bound to the Governor by interest, and had ranked among his partisans, were, now that it could be done with impunity, the first to cast a stone at him.
Most men, so situated, would have retired, have voluntarily vacated a place it seemed now impossible to hold. A recommendation to resign was, indeed half hinted to the Baron from the capital; but his pride revolted against such a step. To yield, now that compulsion was being tried--to flee, as it were, from his enemies, routed by their denunciations and attacks, was out of the question. He knew that to go at such a moment would be to recognise his defeat. To those half-hints from the capital, he had, therefore, returned the haughty answer that he had assuredly no intention of remaining at his post for any length of time; but that, before relinquishing it, he would see the fight out, overthrow his enemies, and silence their tongues, as he had done on first coming to R----, when a similar storm had burst upon him--then he would go, and not before. Perhaps the Baron would have shown himself less obstinate, had the signal for the general onslaught been given by any other than George Winterfeld. The thought of owing his fall to the man whom of all men he most ardently hated, as standing between himself and Gabrielle, made Raven desperate, and robbed him of his wonted clearness of judgment.
It was, indeed, by no means certain, as yet, what the issue of the struggle would be. As yet, the Baron stood firm, though the ground beneath him heaved, and seemed to menace his fall. He could allege that all he had done had been done with the full authorisation and support of the Government; and the Ministers hesitated to abandon thus, at a moment's notice, the man who had so long acted in their name. The weakness and half-heartedness, which Raven had so often condemned, again came to light. The attack upon him had been tolerated, secretly favoured; but now that he unexpectedly stood his ground, they ventured neither to give him up nor heartily to espouse his cause.
Public attention was so engrossed by this all-absorbing topic, that other matters receded into the background. This was the case even with the arrest of Dr. Brunnow, who was still confined in the R---- city prison; though, on the first tidings of it, the event had been much talked of, and had created a painful impression. It was known, of course, that the law demanded the recapture of an escaped prisoner; still, people thought it hard and cruel that a father who had hurried to his son's sick-bed should atone for the step by years of captivity, especially as so long a period had intervened since the original sentence had been pronounced.
One forenoon, at rather an early hour, the Superintendent presented himself in person at the prisoner's door. There was, however, nothing official in his bearing or manner of salutation, which were simply courteous and affable, as though nothing more than a mere ordinary call were intended.
"I have come to announce to you a visit from your son, Doctor," he began. "You have, I believe, been kept regularly informed as to his state of health, and are aware that he is now well enough to undertake the short drive without incurring any risk. He will be with you about twelve o'clock. I could not refuse myself the gratification of bringing you the news."
"You are most kind," replied Brunnow, politely, but laconically and with visible reserve.
"I wished, at the same time, to assure myself that my instructions had been duly carried out," continued the Superintendent. "I trust that every alleviation has been afforded you of which a state of confinement admits. Pray say if you have any complaint to make."
"Certainly not. On the contrary, I am curious to know to whom, or to what, I owe the unwonted attention which has been paid to my comfort since the first moment of my coming hither."
"Well, principally, no doubt, to the peculiar circumstances attending your arrest. Respect is felt for a father's anxiety on his son's behalf."
"Is that the sole reason, think you?" asked the Doctor, with a keen glance at his visitor. "I know, from my previous experience of state prisons, how little such personal considerations are taken into account. My acquaintance with them has taught me another and a sadder lesson."
"Things have changed," remarked the Superintendent, suavely, not noticing the other's bitterness of tone. "Years have come and gone since the time of which you speak, years which may react favourably on your future fate."
"I knew what I risked in returning, and cherish no illusions as to my fate," Brunnow answered, almost brusquely. "You have probably come to prepare me for my removal to the citadel."
"You are mistaken. Nothing has as yet been decided with respect to a change in your quarters. That surprises you? Well, it is strange, certainly, that the decision should be so long delayed. I myself accept it as of good augury. I should not like to awaken in you any premature hopes, but it is, of course, possible that, having regard to the very peculiar circumstances of your case, a pardon may be granted."
Brunnow looked up quickly.
"You think----"
"I can advance nothing beyond my own personal impression," the other hastened to add. "But I think there is a favourable feeling towards you in high places. Perhaps all may depend on your taking suitable steps yourself. I am convinced that a petition for pardon would not be rejected, could you bring yourself to present one."
"No," said Brunnow, with the absolute decision of one whose mind is made up.
"Reflect, Doctor, your freedom may depend on it. One word from you might, perhaps, turn the scale."
"No matter, I will not sue for mercy. That word would be a confession of guilt I do not acknowledge; and for my liberty's sake even, I will not abjure the principles which have guided me through life. They may accord me a pardon or not, at their will. I will never appeal to them to show clemency."
The Superintendent inwardly cursed "the old rebel's high-flown folly and obstinacy." A petition for pardon would have smoothed the way for the concession which it was resolved should now be made to public opinion--unfortunately, he did not see his way to obtain it. Having failed in the first part of his mission, the Superintendent passed to the second division. Here, too, he naturally avoided speakingex officio, but maintained the same easy tone, pursuing, as it were, a private conversation, innocent of all secret purpose.
"Well, that is a matter for your consideration alone," he returned; "but you render it harder for your friends to help you, and most unusual exertions are being made in your behalf."
"By whom?" asked the Doctor, in amazement. "I have no friends who possess the smallest influence in Ministerial circles."
"You are better off in that respect than you suppose. Were you really not aware that the Governor himself is leaving no stone unturned to secure your pardon?"
"Arno Raven--indeed?" said Brunnow, slowly.
"Yes, Baron von Raven. It was he who, on hearing of your arrest, enjoined on me that the greatest consideration should be shown you."
Brunnow was silent. The Superintendent, having waited in vain for a reply, went on after a short pause:
"And he continues to interest himself for you. It is natural that the fate of one who was his friend in early youth should touch him nearly."
The Doctor looked surprised.
"Is that known here already? His Excellency the Governor would hardly be likely to mention it."
"Not he himself, certainly. You will easily conceive that a man in the Baron's position cannot openly avow youthful connections which are strangely at variance with the tendencies and principles he has always professed."
"With the principles he has professed in later years, you mean," Brunnow's voice rang out sharp and scornful. "His earlier tendencies were more in harmony with the connections of which you speak."
"You are not prepared to assert, I suppose, that Herr von Raven knew anything of the political vagaries for which you were indicted?" asked the Superintendent, with a smile which was intended to irritate, and fulfilled its purpose. Brunnow began to grow excited.
"I do not merely assert that he knew of them, but that he shared our views to the fullest extent," he replied hastily.
"Yes, I remember, he was suspected at the time," remarked the other, with the same incredulous smile. "But that was calumny, nothing else. The Baron must have cleared himself fully and entirely, for he was set at liberty, and was even accorded, as an indemnity for the imprisonment he had wrongfully undergone, the post of secretary to the Minister then at the head of the Government."
"It was the price of his treachery," broke out the Doctor, who had no suspicion that he was being systematically goaded on to greater anger and bitterness, and who could no longer restrain himself. "It was the first rung of the ladder by which he has mounted to his present eminence. He bought his advancement with his friends' ruin, with the sacrifice of his convictions and his honour."
"Doctor, Doctor, moderate your language," counselled the police-agent, roused, apparently, to indignation. "This is a terrible accusation which you are bringing against the Governor. There must be an error here, or a misstatement of facts."
"A misstatement!" cried Brunnow, with a fiery outburst of passion. "I tell you it is the truth, sir--but you naturally believe the Baron von Raven to be incapable of such conduct. You prefer to look on me as a liar, a slanderer."
"I did not wish to suggest anything of the kind, but I must say I seriously doubt whether you would care to repeat the speech you have just made in the presence of others."
"I would, if necessary, repeat it before the whole world. I would cast it in Raven's teeth again, as I have once already----" Brunnow stopped suddenly. The over-eager expression on his listener's face struck him, and told him to reflect. He did not finish his sentence, but turned away with a wrathful, impatient movement.
"You were saying----" prompted the Superintendent.
"Nothing--nothing at all," was the stubborn reply.
"I really do not understand you. If the matter stands as you have put it, you have no reason whatever to wish to spare the Governor."
"I do not wish to spare him," said Brunnow, sternly. "But I will not turn informer against the man I once named friend. If I had desired to use those weapons against him, I could have done so long ago. My shafts would strike more surely, and with deadlier aim, than any in a Winterfeld's quiver, for mine are steeped in poison--the very reason which would prevent my using them."
"These are noble sentiments, very noble sentiments, no doubt, but I think----"
"Pray do not let us pursue the subject further!" the Doctor interrupted. "Why drag these long-forgotten matters before the light of day? Let the buried past rest in its grave."
This sudden diversion was, certainly, not to the Superintendent's taste. He would willingly have continued the conversation, but he saw that he should get nothing more out of the prisoner. After all, his main object was achieved. He knew now what he had wished to know: he therefore brought himself, without too violent an effort, to speak of other things, and after chatting a while on general topics, took his leave. Brunnow looked after him uneasily, as he went.
"Did he come here merely to induce me to send in a petition, or was I being cross-questioned on Raven's account? I almost fear so. That police-fellow's eager attention and desire to hear more looked suspicious. I wish I had not let myself be led away to speak so openly before him."
It was evening, but, in spite of the lateness of the hour and the chilly inclement autumn weather, the streets of the capital were yet alive with all the busy restless movement which characterises a great city. Carriages rolled hither and thither in every direction, pedestrians hustled each other on the pavement and before the brightly-lighted shops, and it was only in the more aristocratic quarter, which lay a little aside from the main streets and chief arteries of traffic, that a certain stately peace and quiet reigned supreme.
In the room which she was at present occupying in the Selteneck mansion, Gabrielle Harder sat alone, buried in one of those deep troubled reveries which so often came upon her now, and which threatened to transform the bright vivacious girl into a dreamy, pensive heroine. She was in full dress, for she was going with her party to the opera that evening; but as she lay back in her arm-chair, heedlessly crushing the dainty laces on her dress, her thoughts were evidently far from the amusements of the hour.
If anything could have diverted Gabrielle from her unwonted sadness, it would have been this visit to the capital, where she and her mother had been most graciously received. The Countess Selteneck was an old and intimate friend of the Baroness. She had been a frequent visitor at the Harders' house in the old days, and since the Baron's death had remained in constant correspondence with his widow. The pleasure felt by the ladies on meeting again was great and mutual, and the Countess, who had no children of her own, indulged and spoiled her friend's sweet daughter in every imaginable way.
The Baroness, on her arrival in town, came to hear of the attack which had been made upon Raven, but she was far too superficial to appreciate the real importance of the well-directed blow, which, in her eyes, was a mere passing annoyance, such as the rioting in R---- for instance. It never, in the remotest degree, occurred to her to suppose that the Baron's position might be imperilled by what had happened. His affairs, indeed, only interested her in so far as her own future might be involved in them. Madame von Harder did not pretend to the slightest sympathy or affection for her brother-in-law. She feared him, and that was all. Indignant she was, no doubt, at the "audacious impertinence of that Winterfeld," seeing in the young man's conduct only an act of revenge for the discomfiture he had met with, but she never for a moment doubted that the Baron would visit the rash offender with the chastisement which was his due. For the rest, she saw no reason why she should torment herself with all these tiresome, disagreeable matters, which would be set at rest long before she returned home. The autumn fashions, the evening parties, and the performances at the opera, were far more interesting, and, as she thought, better worth her attention.
That her daughter would not dream of renewing her engagement to the Assessor after the affront which the latter had put on the head of her family, this wise lady took for granted. All her care was given to preventing a meeting between the two, which was not difficult. George did not mix in the Selteneck circles; and here, amid these strange surroundings, Gabrielle was never left alone. She had, indeed, made no attempt to inform the young man of her presence in town, trembling at the very thought of a meeting with him. How could she approach George, while her heart was beating high with love for another man? Though so much had lately come between herself and Arno, she could not forget; not even his harshness and injustice could banish his image from her mind, and the knowledge that some danger threatened him served to quicken her affection. Gabrielle was better able than her mother to estimate the true bearings of the case. For weeks she had followed the course of events with feverish interest. She, who at other times never opened a paper, now sought with avidity every notice affecting the Baron, and caught at every remark made in conversation which bore on the one subject that engrossed her thoughts. Winterfeld's book, with its long list of charges, had set before the young girl's eyes Raven's true portrait, which she was forced to recognise as a faithful likeness, had displayed to her the darker side of his character--while, as opposed to it, George's figure rose before her, so pure and steadfast and nobly courageous in the sacrifice of his entire future and prospects to that which he deemed duty. But of what avail all this? Gabrielle's whole soul went back to the sombre, despotic man, who had won her to himself. In imagination she stood by his side through the fight; for his sake she grew anxious and apprehensive of the issue, while a feeling of bitterness rose up within her against George, for was it not he who had been the first to assail, to insult the man she loved?
The clock on the mantelpiece chiming the hour awoke Gabrielle from her dreams, and reminded her that it was time to prepare for the drive to the theatre. Throwing a light cloak round her shoulders, she drew on her gloves, and went down to the drawing-room, where her mother and Countess Selteneck were already awaiting her.
Countess Selteneck was of about the same age as the Baroness, but looked considerably younger, precisely, perhaps, because she gave herself far less trouble to preserve a youthful appearance. Though not beautiful, she captivated by her prepossessing manners, and a certain air of calm intelligence which inspired confidence and respect. Both ladies were in full evening dress.
"I can understand how much you must suffer from the constraint, and from the general position of affairs in your brother-in-law's house, Matilda," the Countess remarked; "but what will not a woman endure for her child's sake? Gabrielle's whole future is in his hands, and as his heiress she will one day have an almost princely fortune at her disposal. Your brother-in-law has given you decided promises on this head, I presume?"
"Oh, certainly," replied the Baroness. "He spoke to me on the subject soon after I arrived at his house, but I am afraid this unfortunate business with Assessor Winterfeld has called the whole matter in question again."
"There is something very winning and agreeable about the Assessor, I must say," observed the Countess, changing the theme. "I think I mentioned to you that I met him some weeks ago at a soirée, where, truth to tell, he was the cynosure of interest."
"Assessor Winterfeld the cynosure of interest?" asked the Baroness, half incredulous, half disdainful.
"Certainly. He has become a sort of celebrity, and enjoys special protection at the Ministry, so they tell me. He is received in the best circles, and is distinguished wherever he goes."
"Why, this is incredible!" exclaimed Madame von Harder. "They are bound in duty to punish an affront put upon the Governor of R----. They cannot possibly reward and distinguish the aggressor."
"But so it is, nevertheless; and I fear it is done purposely, out of opposition to the Baron. I really do not see, Matilda, why the Assessor's offer should have appeared so outrageous an absurdity to you and to your brother-in-law. Instead of giving him hiscongé, and thereby driving him to this desperate step, you should have held out some hope to him."
"Held out hope to him!" repeated the Baroness. "My dear Theresa, think what you are saying. He is a man of no birth."
"That is not an insuperable obstacle," declared the Countess, a worldly-wise practical woman, who took such prejudices of rank into little account, and who was evidently prepossessed by George's manner and appearance. "What were brevets of nobility invented for? Raven was a commoner himself when your sister first engaged herself to him."
"That was an exceptional case, and Assessor Winterfeld----"
"Will be every whit as successful. You need not look so astonished, Matilda; I am only expressing the general belief. After this first stroke--a bold one, certainly, which has turned the eyes of the country upon him--he need not fear being overlooked. Had he, in addition to his other advantages, married into a noble old family such as yours, the road to eminence would have been clear before him--ay, to eminence equal to that attained by the successful Baron von Raven."
Madame von Harder had grown very thoughtful. She was accustomed to rely on the judgment of this friend, who was intellectually her superior, and the Countess's words brought Winterfeld before her in quite a new light. Very little was wanting to revive the old predilection which, in the early days of their acquaintance, she had cherished for George.
The entrance of Count Selteneck here put an end to the conversation. He was to accompany the ladies to the opera, but had been out to pay a visit from which he had just returned. Some indifferent questions and replies were interchanged, then the Countess remarked that it must be time to start, and would have rung for the carriage, but her husband stopped her.
"One moment, Theresa," he said carelessly. "There is a trifling matter I want to discuss with you first. The Baroness will kindly excuse us for a few minutes?"
The Baroness begged them not to think of her, and the Count stepped into the adjoining room with his wife.
"What has happened?" asked the latter, uneasily.
"I have heard some news which will affect Madame von Harder very painfully. It concerns her brother-in-law, von Raven."
He had closed the drawing-room door; but to this smaller outer salon there was a second entrance, masked only by a heavy curtain. Close to this the speakers were standing at the very moment that Gabrielle was about to enter on her way to the drawing-room. She caught the last words and the Baron's name, and that sufficed to chain her to the spot where she stood. Hidden behind theportière, she listened in breathless suspense.
"The Governor has not given in his resignation, I hope?" asked the Countess.
"There is no question of that now," said Selteneck. "If it were so, he would only be sharing the fate of many high officers of State, who temporarily retire from the scene of action. The news I have just heard at my brother's is of so grave a nature that, should it be confirmed--and we had it direct from the Ministry--the Baron will, politically speaking, have lived his day."
The Countess looked up at her husband with an expression of shocked surprise. He went on in a carefully subdued tone, which, however, was quite audible to Gabrielle's ears:
"The leading journal of R---- has published an article containing a series of damning charges against the Governor. It has often been hinted vaguely that Raven himself was not quite a stranger to the last revolutionary movement; but then, how many allowed themselves to be led away at that time! These ideas are a form of youthful extravagance to which no weight is attached, so long as they remain mere intangible ideas; but in this article it is stated that Raven was a member, a leader even, of the association with which Dr. Brunnow--the same whose recapture created such a sensation lately--was connected, and as the reputed head of which that person was condemned. It is further stated that Raven betrayed his friends in the most dishonourable manner, giving up all their papers, and thus furnishing documentary proofs. His admittance to the Ministry was, they say, the price of this infamous action. The accusation is couched in terms so decided and outspoken that it is difficult to doubt its veracity. The testimony of Dr. Brunnow himself is appealed to, as corroborative evidence."
"And what is Raven's answer to all this?" interposed the Countess, hastily.
"He declares it to be absolutely and altogether a lie. The duty of self-defence requires this from him, of course; but of counter proofs there is no mention as yet. If he does not succeed in clearing up this business, and cleansing himself from all suspicion, his part is played out."
"Poor Matilda!" exclaimed the Countess.
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"Shall we keep the knowledge of what is going on from her for a time?" "No," replied the Countess, "She will learn it tomorrow from the papers. It will be best to tell her all."
The two agreed that the intended visit to the opera should be given up, and went back to the drawing-room together.
Gabrielle's face was ashy white as she left her place of concealment, and returned to her own room. She did not for a moment deceive herself as to the importance of the tidings she had just heard. The instinct of love gave her a better insight into Raven's character than the most experienced judge of human actions might have had. She knew that the Baron was equal to any contest, strong enough to bear any stroke of Fate, except that which should come in the guise of shame and humiliation, and of this nature was the blow now levelled at him by his enemies.
While Countess Selteneck was communicating to the Baroness the painful intelligence, the young girl sat down to her writing-table, and rapidly, with feverish haste, traced some lines on a sheet of letter-paper. This note, which contained but a few words, she folded, and addressed to Assessor Winterfeld at the Ministry. It would surely find him there, she knew. It contained simply the news of her presence in town, and a request that George would come and see her on the following day at the Seltenecks' house; that was all.
In the afternoon of the following day, George Winterfeld entered the Countess's drawing-room. Gabrielle came in a few minutes later, and George hastened to greet her with impetuous joy.
"Gabrielle, my darling, so we meet again at last!"
In his transport of delight he did not notice that her hand lay motionless in his, giving no pressure in return, and that all the answer he received to his tender greeting was a faint, sad smile. He went on, still joyously excited:
"But what does all this mean? I thought you were far away in R----, and only now hear that you are in town, living close by me. And what am I to think of the little note which summoned me hither? Does your mother know of the invitation?"
"No," said Gabrielle, in decided accents, that sounded strangely from her lips. "She has driven out with Countess Selteneck; but I mean to tell her when she comes back that I asked you to come, and why. She would not have given her consent to this interview, and I felt that Imustspeak to you."
George looked at her in some astonishment. It had not formerly been Gabrielle's way to proceed thus with plan and resolution.
"I, too, longed inexpressibly to see you again," he replied. "There was no possibility of sending you news of me. I cannot keep up any communication with the Governor's house, especially against his will. You know, I suppose, on what footing I stand towards him now?"
"I had to hear of it--from others. Your vague hints at parting were utterly unintelligible to me. You left me quite in the dark, and allowed the truth to break upon me unawares."
George understood the reproach.
"Forgive me," he entreated earnestly. "It was entirely on your account that I was silent. I could not make a confidante of you--could not let you share in the knowledge of a project which was to turn against your guardian and host. Are you angry with me for what I have done? You little know how fierce were the struggles I went through before I could resolve on taking that step."
"It has brought you good luck!"--there was a singular, almost a scornful inflection in the girl's voice. "It has raised you from obscurity to fame at a stroke. Your name is now in everybody's mouth."
Winterfeld's handsome face clouded over.
"It troubles me sorely that my fame, as you call it, should spring from such a cause. I certainly never counted on this species of success. You surely do not doubt the truth of what I said to you at parting? You do not doubt me when I say that no personal feeling of revenge spurred me on against the Baron, that the pamphlet, of which you have heard, was commenced before we knew each other? I was prepared for the worst consequences, for I knew the adversary I was provoking. My position, probably my whole future, was at stake, but it had become necessary to cripple the tyrannical power of a man whom none ventured to defy. I resolved to attempt it, and I was ready to accept the issue, whatever it might be. But no matter ever took a more unexpected turn than this of mine. I have been shielded and supported, and the Governor's cause has been abandoned. I had no suspicion of the mighty current of opinion that had set in against him in those very circles where most I feared opposition."
He had spoken clearly and quietly, but there was in his eyes an uneasy, pained inquiry which his lips did not frame. He could not understand his love. She stood before him so cold and strange, giving no sign of sympathy. Not a word of tenderness fell from her now, on meeting him after a separation of weeks. Instead of holding the sweet converse natural to lovers on such an occasion, they were discussing things which once lay worlds apart from Gabrielle, but which now seemed to monopolise her interest. What could have happened to change her thus?
"One more question, George," she began again. "This last attack, this shameful calumny which the newspapers have published--have you had any part in this?"
"No; the sudden disclosure took me as much by surprise as anyone, and I do not know how it originated. I do not war with anonymous communications which refer to a long-bygone past. If I had wished to make use of these facts, the Governor's fall would long ago have been assured, for I knew them some months back."
"The facts!" broke out Gabrielle. "The whole story is a lie. How can you doubt it for an instant?"
"They are facts," said the young man, gravely, "I heard them from the mouth of a man who was reluctant enough to raise his voice against his former friend--I mean Max Brunnow's father."
"Whoever says it, I tell you it is calumny!" cried Gabrielle, with flashing eyes. "Arno is incapable of a dishonourable action; he never has committed one. He declares this tale to be false, and, though the whole world should be of one voice to accuse him, I will believe his word, and his alone!"
"Arno? You will believe him, and him alone?" repeated George, slowly. "What ... what does this mean?"
"Every one is deserting him now," Gabrielle went on, with passionate vehemence. "Troubles are coming upon him from all sides. While he was great and powerful, no one ventured to raise a finger against him; but since you gave the signal for the onset, he has been persecuted and slandered by all his enemies, and hounded, as they hoped, to his ruin. But, seeing that in spite of them all he holds his ground, they have recourse now to their last resource, and seek to wound him mortally in his honour. Oh, I know only too well why he sent me away! He divined what was coming; he wished to be alone in his fall!"
George had grown deadly pale. His eyes were fixed anxiously on the girl's fair face, all glowing with excitement. Her vehemence betrayed too much, and the young man's heart thrilled with a great dread. He felt that his dream of happiness was over.
"What has taken place between you and the Baron?" he asked. "It is not so that a girl defends her guardian, her relative. You might have spoken so of me, had I been exposed to any danger. What has happened during this separation of ours, Gabrielle? No, I cannot believe it. You cannot ... cannot love this Raven?"
She made no answer, but sank on to a chair, and, hiding her face in her hands, broke into loud and passionate weeping. For some minutes a direful silence reigned, broken only by Gabrielle's sobs. George stood motionless. This discovery came upon him too abruptly, too unexpectedly.
"It is so, then," he said at length, in a very low voice. "And he ... yes, now I understand his hatred of me, his fierce anger on hearing of our engagement. This is why he parted us so inexorably; this was why he took from me all hope of ever possessing you. That he would take your love itself from me, I never, never could have believed."
Gabrielle dried her tears, and rose.
"Forgive me, George. I feel how cruel a wrong I have done you, but I cannot help it. I did not know what love was when I gave you my promise. The knowledge came to me when I met Arno, and now it would be treachery to withhold the truth from you any longer. I fought against it, so long as it was possible to fight; yesterday even I doubted and vacillated. Then this news reached me, and all my doubts were at an end. I know now where my rightful place is, and nothing shall move me from it--but, first, I had to tell you all. Release me from that promise, I implore you. I cannot keep it."
The young man stood before her, rigid and pale with the fierce conflict of emotions.
"Was it for this you called me hither--to tell me this?"
"Yes," was the answer, hardly audible.
"You are free the instant you desire it," said George, with profound bitterness. "I swore to you that no power on earth should move me to renounce my hopes until I should hear from your own lips that you gave me up. I have heard it now. Good-bye."
He turned and walked to the door. Gabrielle rushed after him, and laid her hand on his arm.
"Do not go from me so, George. Say you forgive me. Do not part from me in ill-feeling and bitterness. I cannot bear that you should be angry with me."
It was the old sweet tone, which had so often worked with captivating power. It arrested the young man's steps even now, and as the lovely tear-bedewed face was raised to him with anxious pleading in the dark eyes, his wounded pride was silenced, and the deep affection of his heart welled up within him once more.
"Must I lose you?" he asked, in a voice tremulous with excessive emotion. "Think, Gabrielle, think--do not sacrifice our love, all our life's happiness so hastily. Raven's passion has misled and blinded you. He has the secret of drawing hearts to him as with a magic spell, but he would never, never make a woman happy. You, with your bright sunny temperament, would fade away by that man's side, would pine away and die. You do not know him, child; he is not worthy of your love."
Gabrielle gently freed herself from his embrace.
"Do you think it is my own happiness I am seeking? No; what I wish is to be at Arno's side when all are forsaking him, to share his fate--his disgrace, if it must be. That is the only happiness I look for, and of that, at least, no one shall deprive me!"
There was infinite, pathetic tenderness in her words. George's gaze rested sorrowfully, regretfully on the youthful creature who had so quickly learned all a woman's devotion and self-sacrifice. Thus, thus he had dreamily pictured to himself his Gabrielle, in those early days when he had set the joyous merry-hearted child on a pedestal and worshipped her as the ideal of his life! dreamily only, it must be owned, for there had been no true hope in his heart that she would ever soar to such a height. Now his ideal stood embodied before him; and now, in the self-same moment, he learned that she was lost to him for ever.
"Let us part, then," he said, calling up all his self-control. "You are right. With so absorbing a passion in your heart for another, you could not be my wife. After the avowal you have just made, I should have released you without any entreaty on your part. Do not weep, Gabrielle. I have no ill-feeling towards you; I reproach you with nothing. All my enmity is for him who has robbed me of you. You were the joy, the very life of my life. How I shall bear to live on, now that you have left me, I know not. Farewell."
He drew her to him once again, once again he pressed his lips to hers, and then hurried from the house he had entered with such high hopes, now all fatally shattered and wrecked. Gabrielle remained alone, weeping no longer, but with a dull unspeakable aching within her breast, a thrilling sense of pain and loss. She felt that, with George's love, the best and noblest part of her life had gone from her.