The day was an eventful one for Herr von Osternau. Scarcely had he recovered from the effects of the robbery and of the hurried drive to Station Mirbach, when he was surprised by an unexpected visit.
Herr von Wangen was formally announced by old Hildebrandt, and when he made his appearance in full dress, with a white neck-tie, and a silk hat held in his left hand, when he bowed with ceremonious observance to the mistress of the mansion and her husband, and, accepting the seat offered him on the lounge, stared into space for some minutes with an air of confusion, evidently searching in vain for words in which to explain the purpose of his coming, Frau von Osternau began to suspect what those words when found would be.
At last the young man cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Frau von Osternau's face as he began: "Pardon me, madame, pardon me, Herr von Osternau, if I express myself ill, but I come--yes, I come to you as the relatives and protectors of my betrothed--no, pardon me, I have begun at the wrong end, I ought first to tell you that I am the happiest man in the world. An hour ago I had the good fortune to meet my beloved Bertha, pardon me for not saying Fräulein von Massenburg, but she is now my betrothed. She was going for a walk to the Oster-ford, where I am superintending the work, and she allowed me to walk with her. Her heavenly kindness emboldened me to confess to her my love; she, to my intense delight, did not reject it, and we are betrothed."
Herr von Osternau was unpleasantly surprised, he could not help remembering what Lieschen had said, and whilst his wife warmly congratulated the happy lover he was silent. He could not altogether approve this hasty betrothal, and after a short pause he said, "I cannot yet congratulate you, Herr von Wangen, or consider you betrothed to Fräulein von Massenburg. Your father is my old friend, I should not be doing my duty by him if I did not beg you to reflect before taking so irrevocable a step. Do you know that Bertha von Massenburg came to Castle Osternau to escape the----"
Herr von Wangen interrupted him, saying, in a tone of entreaty, "Do not, I beg of you, allude to that slander, I know everything. Bertha has told me how magnanimously she sacrificed herself for her father, bow she consented to be betrothed to a man whom she knew only by reputation, and how evil tongues attacked her upon the disappearance of Herr von Ernau. She has acknowledged to me that she struggled against her love for me so long as there was any possibility of Herr von Ernau's being alive; she was determined to sacrifice her affection to her duty. But she is free; she learned yesterday from the Lieutenant that Herr von Ernau is really dead, and she can obey the dictates of her heart, can be happy herself and can make me so. She is mine, my own fondly-loved betrothed."
"No, Herr von Wangen, I can allow of no such betrothal beneath my roof until your father and Bertha's have given their consent."
"My father has already given his," the young man rejoined, eagerly. "I should not have ventured without it to declare my love. I wrote him more than a week ago that I should try to win my Bertha, and he answered me instantly, and told me he was rejoiced that I had chosen a lovely girl of an old family. He cares nothing for worldly possessions, but he wishes his only son to marry his equal in rank. I should love my dear Bertha all the same if she were a peasant's daughter, but I am glad that she is a Von Massenburg. I am glad of this for my dear father's sake."
"But Bertha's father has not yet given his consent."
"That is why I am come to you with an urgent request. I know it is asking a great deal, for there is so much to do at harvest-time, but I come to beg you to give me leave of absence for two days, that I may ask Herr von Massenburg's consent in person. I can leave after dinner to-day, and take the night-train for Berlin. I can be back at Castle Osternau by noon of the day after to-morrow."
There was no refusing such a request. Herr von Osternau granted it, but upon the condition that he should be allowed to speak with Bertha before the young man's departure. The lover was quite agreed to this, he was too sure of his good fortune to dread any interference. And the event showed that he was right. Herr von Osternau had a long interview with Bertha; he asked her if she were sure of her own sentiments, if it were possible for her to be happy with a husband who was in all respects the opposite of Herr von Ernau, possessing none of the latter's brilliant qualities to fit him for playing a conspicuous part in the world. He reminded her that she was undertaking to pass her life in the depths of the country, remote from all social excitement, with a husband who was content to lead the life of a simple country gentleman upon his own estate. To all which Bertha replied, with her own charming smile,--
"I really did not expect such an admonition from you, Uncle Fritz, who are always extolling the joys of home and the home circle. I should be happy with 'the man of my choice' in any solitude, and, besides, I shall not be so very lonely. One can always assemble one's friends about one in the country in summer, and the long, tiresome winters we can spend in town. Country life may be made very delightful with plenty of money. Let me choose my own lot, Uncle Fritz; it will be a happy one."
What could Herr von Osternau reply to such arguments? he did not try to reply, seeing that Bertha's mind was fully made up.
That afternoon Herr von Wangen and the Lieutenant both took their departure, and at noon of the following day a lengthy dispatch was received at Castle Osternau. It announced the full and free consent of Herr Werner von Massenburg that the betrothal should be made public, and also stated that Herr von Wangen would certainly return by noon of the next day to his fair betrothed.
He did so punctually, beaming with delight, overjoyed at the reception he had met with from his future father-in-law. In truth, Werner von Massenburg had bestowed his paternal blessing upon the union so soon as he was informed that no dowry was looked for. Of course, Herr von Wangen's delicacy led him to suppress this last fact, as also the slight circumstance of Werner's explanation as to his present pecuniary embarrassments, in view of which Herr von Wangen had signed a checque for two thousand marks to relieve the worthy gentleman from his temporary trouble. On the other hand, he told with great delight how Werner had hastened to present him to several of his friends, among whom were Herr von Sastrow and his wife, whom he had called upon, and from whom he had received cordial congratulations. Herr von Sastrow had declared that this betrothal would put an instant stop to all malicious gossip.
Herr von Wangen was in such a state of rapture that there were positively no shadows in the picture which he painted of his journey. The Lieutenant had been the most delightful travelling companion, only unfortunately they had not seen each other after parting at the Berlin railway-station. Werner von Massenburg was a fine, open-hearted man, just such a father-in-law as he had always wanted, and Herr von Sastrow and all the father-in-law's friends were most delightful people. But what filled the young man with the wildest joy was that Werner had expressly desired that the marriage should take place as soon as possible, since he disliked long engagements.
When Bertha declared with a blush that she should be guided entirely by the wishes of her betrothed, and when Herr von Osternau expressed himself willing to dispense with the services of his third inspector so soon as harvest should be over, that the young man might immediately betake himself to West Prussia and undertake the charge of the family estates, Herr von Wangen was transported to the highest heaven of felicity.
He adored his charming betrothed, and never noticed that Lieschen's manner towards her was more coolly reserved than ever, nor dreamed that he was the object of the sad, compassionate expression that sometimes appeared in the young girl's eyes. He was fairly intoxicated with bliss. He was perpetually with his betrothed. She paid him visits in the fields, she went to meet him when he returned to the castle. And then the evenings, the delicious evenings! Herr von Wangen did not observe that the little circle was in general silent and monosyllabic, that Lieschen bent silently over her embroidery, and that Herr von Osternau frequently resigned himself to revery. So long as he could exchange glances with Bertha and hang upon every word she uttered, his cup of happiness was full to the brim.
Herr von Osternau was far from easy in his mind. He could not forget the sad event that had so lately occurred, and he shared his wife's anxiety upon another point. Since Lieschen had so boldly entered the lists for Pigglewitch against the Lieutenant, Herr von Osternau had agreed with his wife in believing that the young girl's feelings for the tutor were warmer than those of a pupil for a teacher. He took a lively interest in the young man, indeed he was surprised to find how much he missed his conversation and his charming music, but he could not but see that his wife was right in regarding the tutor as a most undesirable son-in-law. Lieschen's attachment to him caused him all the greater anxiety since he could not reconcile it with his sense of justice to dismiss the young man as his wife advised.
The old Herr really dreaded, therefore, the Candidate's return, and he had a sense of relief when day after day passed and the tutor did not come back to the castle.
Five days had thus gone by without bringing tidings of either the Lieutenant or the Candidate, when the post-bag brought two letters for Herr von Osternau, one from Berlin addressed in the Lieutenant's handwriting, and the other postmarked Hirschberg and addressed by Pigglewitch. This last Herr von Osternau opened first, read it, and then turned to his wife. "A strange letter!" he exclaimed, "as strange and enigmatical as its writer. Only listen." And according to his custom of reading aloud to his family all his letters which contained nothing private and confidential, he read aloud: "Farewell! I cannot tell you how hard it is for me to part from you, from the generous, high-hearted man whom I so respect, from my dear pupil Fritzchen, who has grown into my heart, and from the kindly family-circle where I have passed such happy hours. But it must be done in spite of the pain it gives me, pain increased by a sense of guilt. You trusted me and I deceived you. My entire life in your home was a lie. Even now, when I am going from you, I cannot tell you the truth, I can only pray you to forgive a most unhappy man, who never can forget the gratitude he owes you. Farewell!"
"There is no signature," said Herr von Osternau, handing the letter to his wife. "The man is in all respects a riddle, only one thing seems clear, and that is that we shall not see Herr Pigglewitch again."
"I knew he would not return," Lieschen said, with a strange quiver in her voice. "He could not."
"He could not?" her father asked, in surprise.
"No, he owed it to himself to flee. He was on the brink of an abyss. It was well for him that he had the strength to save himself."
"Lieschen, what nonsense are you talking?" her mother exclaimed, in dismay. "You do not know what you are saying!"
"I wish I did not," Lieschen replied, glancing for an instant with scorn in her eyes at Bertha, who, paying no apparent attention to what was going on, was engaged in a whispered conversation with her betrothed.
"There is no use," Herr von Osternau said at last, after reading the letter again over his wife's shoulder, "in our beating our brains over this mystery. The Candidate's going, like his coming, will always be a riddle for us."
After this he opened the Lieutenant's letter and began to read it, but he had not read far before he turned to his wife again, with: "This is absolutely incredible, Emma! Only hear what Albrecht writes: 'My dear Cousin,--First of all forgive me for not returning, and for delaying to write until now. After many tedious transactions, of which I will inform you more minutely by word of mouth if you desire it, I have concluded the affair you know of, and should have returned to you to-morrow, but that I think it best to remain here a day or two longer in the interest of our family. You will allow this, I am sure, when I tell you of the astounding news which I have learned to-day. Herr Egon von Ernau, whose body it was affirmed was found in the Spree, has returned from quite a long journey, and is now here in Berlin!'"
An exclamation of surprise from Bertha interrupted Herr von Osternau. He turned towards her. She had grown very pale, and her large eyes were riveted upon his face. "He is alive!" she almost whispered.
"He is alive, and you are betrothed to Herr von Wangen," Lieschen said, quietly.
A look of positive hatred was Bertha's only reply. The next instant her colour came again, and she turned with her own lovely smile to her lover: "Yes, Hugo, and I thank God that I am so, and that I am saved the struggle between duty and affection which I must have undergone if Herr von Ernau had reappeared before I was betrothed to you."
Herr von Osternau looked rather dubiously at her as she spoke, but he said nothing, only continued the reading of his letter: "I could scarcely credit this when I heard it this afternoon from an acquaintance. Yesterday there was no doubt but that his body had been found in the Spree. It had, to be sure, been too long in the water to allow of the features being recognized, but Ernau's body-servant identified the summer suit of the dead man as positively his master's, and there was in one of the pockets a small silver card-case, which both the servant and the Councillor recognized as young Ernau's. The Councillor was so convinced that the body was that of his son that he arranged an imposing funeral, at which half the aristocratic society of Berlin was present; and yet here was the dead man alive and well. I went directly to Sastrow for further information.
"From him I received confirmation of the incredible report. Herr von Ernau did really return yesterday from a tour among the mountains. He employed his time this morning in visiting his acquaintances, apparently to convince them that he is alive. He has nothing to say of where he has been or why he left Berlin so abruptly, but he ridicules his own splendid funeral and thanks the mourners profusely for their sympathy. He is as reckless and extravagant as ever. Werner Massenburg, who has just seen Sastrow, gave him all these particulars. I shall go to him again to-morrow, when I may have more to tell you, but for the present the subject must give place to certain revelations I have for you concerning the redoubtable Herr Pigglewitch, who I was quite certain was what he proves to be,--an adventurer and deceiver."
"What a shameful calumny!" Lieschen exclaimed, indignantly.
"Hush, my child!" her father rejoined, gravely. "I neither can nor will believe that your cousin's harsh expressions are justifiable, but I hardly know what to think. Listen to what Albrecht says:
"You forbade me to put the police upon the fellow's traces, and I obeyed you, but you did not forbid my instituting inquiries as to his previous life and circumstances. This I have done, and as I have an acquaintance who is one of the superior officers of the police force, I easily learned from him the following particulars: The man calling himself Pigglewitch, who brought you a letter from Herr Director Kramser, and who lived so long at Castle Osternau, has no right to the name he bore there, and must be a mere adventurer.
"I remember perfectly well that the so-called Candidate Pigglewitch arrived at Castle Osternau on the 6th of July, and on that very day the real Pigglewitch is proved to have been in Berlin. He had informed his lodging-house keeper--a woman by the name of Wiebe--that he had obtained a situation as tutor, and that he was to be at Osternau, in Silesia, on the 6th, but after leaving Berlin on the 5th he returned on the evening of the 6th and took possession of his old quarters. Here he stayed for several days, expecting, as he told his hostess, a letter containing money, which would enable him to sail for America, and in fact on the 9th of July a letter did arrive, addressed to Herr Gottlieb Pigglewitch, and containing a large sum of money, some four thousand marks, Frau Wiebe says. She further states that Pigglewitch was overjoyed at the arrival of the letter, and told her that he should spend a few days longer in Berlin to take some recreation before sailing; that he left home early in the morning and returned late at night until the 12th of July, when he went from the house at eleven in the forenoon, and has not since been heard of. As there were no charges against him, and as it was more than probable that he had sailed for America, no search was made for him. Thus much at least is certain, that the real Pigglewitch was in Berlin from the 6th to the 12th of July, and that therefore the man who was at Castle Osternau must have been an adventurer and impostor, wearing an assumed name.
"The conclusions to be drawn from this fact I leave to you. If the sham Pigglewitch has returned from his journey, give him this letter to read. I am curious to know whether he will defend himself against the charges it contains, and whether you, Cousin Fritz, will still refuse to call in the aid of the police. I have no I doubt that they would find in his possession skeleton keys and a considerable sum of money, unless he has been prudent enough to conceal them during his absence from the castle.
"Day after to-morrow I shall return to Osternau, and in the mean time I may perhaps learn something further of Herr von Ernau and of the sham Pigglewitch.
"With great regard, faithfully yours,
"Albrecht Von Osternau."
"These are terrible revelations!" Frau von Osternau said, when her husband had finished reading the letter. "Who would have thought it? But yes, I always suspected that something was wrong. I never trusted Herr Pigglewitch. While he sat at the piano and played or sang I forgot, it is true, all my doubts, but they returned as I looked into his restless, dark eyes. You know, Fritz, how often I have warned you against him and begged you to dismiss him. Now he is proved to be an adventurer and an impostor. In his own letter he confesses that he has deceived us, that his life was a lie. He knew that discovery was imminent, and so he has not returned. Now you will change your opinion of him, and no longer delay sending an account of the robbery to the Breslau police inspector."
"No, Emma, I am as thoroughly convinced of his innocence now as I always have been," her husband replied. "Whoever the thief may have been, it was not the Candidate. I wish for no clearing up of that mystery."
Lieschen arose, went to her father, and, putting her arm around his neck, kissed him tenderly, and said, "Thank you, my own kind, darling papa!" Then she ran out of the room to hide the tears which Bertha must not see.
On the morning of his departure from Castle Osternau Egon had packed up enough clothing to last him for a few days, and carried it himself to Station Mirbach, whence he took the next train to Breslau.
He did not know himself what course he should take. He trusted, as he had formerly been wont to do, to the impulse of the moment. Only one thing was clear to him, he needed rest and solitude, and a forcible severing of the ties which bound him to Castle Osternau, before he could come to any clear decision as to his conduct.
Arrived in Breslau, he first attended to Herr von Osternau's commission, and dispatched the money to him. At the same time he enclosed to Herr Pastor Widman, in Wennersdorf, the sum owing him. "No need of a letter of explanation," he said to himself, as he sealed the envelope. "I am a fool to send this money, but I promised Herr von Osternau, and I wish the Herr Pastor joy of his good luck."
As he sauntered through the streets of Breslau after posting his letters, whiling away the time before the departure of the noonday train, which was to carry him to the mountains, he tried in vain to collect his thoughts, to arrange his ideas. It was in vain, his mind was a chaos; he seemed walking in a confused dream; old impressions recalled by the busy life of the streets, from which he had so long been absent, struggled with those of the last few weeks, and he attained some degree of calm only when, after a couple of hours in the railway-carriage, he arrived at the little mountain village whence he was to set out upon his pedestrian excursion. He strapped upon his back the knapsack which he had purchased at Breslau to contain his few effects, and set out; it was not long before the physical effort necessary for mountain-climbing had its usual beneficial effect.
His rebellious thoughts would still revert to Castle Osternau, and refuse to be held captive by the changing landscape on either hand, but they were no longer so confused and unsteady as they had been early in the day, and when, after a long walk, he retired for the night, tolerably late in the evening, at a little mountain inn, he soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
He waked in the early morning refreshed and invigorated mentally and physically. The weather was glorious, and most propitious for mountain travel on foot; Egon felt awaken within him an old longing for some days alone with nature in her grand, careless mood. It was long since he had felt so fresh and strong, and as he walked upwards among the odorous pines he calmly reflected upon his life at Castle Osternau. Could he return thither? He was able now to ponder the question quietly. His position there was uncertain; Pastor Widman's letter had raised doubts in Herr von Osternau's mind which an accident might reawaken, he might naturally make investigations as to his tutor's past, and then? The inevitable consequence would be the ruin of the false structure erected, as Egon was forced with shame to confess, upon falsehood. The unmasked impostor would be thrust in disgrace from the castle, despised by those whom he held so dear.
No, he could not expose himself to such a peril; if he returned he must confess the whole truth to Herr von Osternau. But could he do this? There rang in his ears all the words of disapproval and condemnation uttered by almost every member of the Osternau circle with regard to Herr von Ernau. Lieschen had called him a wretched, detestable man, and her father and mother had openly expressed their contempt for him. Should he say to them, "I am that Egon von Ernau whom you so despise!" Could he defend himself against the accusations brought against him? He had tried once to do so to Lieschen, and how incredulously she had shaken her lovely head! with what surprise, nay, dismay, she had looked at him! Had not his former life justified all that was said of him? Had he not given additional reason for it by carrying on a deception for weeks, living under an assumed name among those who had trusted him?
In imagination he saw Lieschen turning from him indignantly, as she exclaimed, "There is nothing I detest as I do falsehood!" He heard the Lieutenant's scornful laughter. And Bertha! Should she too witness his humiliation?
No; he could not return and run the risk of being discovered, nor could he confess his deceit. Both were alike impossible.
But if he did not return to the castle, what was he to do? Go back to Berlin! And why not? Formerly the thought of falling in with his father's plans had filled him with disgust; now his heart beat quicker at the thought of calling Bertha von Massenburg his wife.
And yet he hesitated and could come to no decision. Always in the midst of the intoxication of the senses that accompanied the remembrance of Bertha, a lovely girlish image would rise before his mental vision to calm and soothe him, and no sacrifice seemed to him too great to purchase a gentle word of pardon from Lieschen, one look of love from her eyes.
He could not decide. For three days he wandered about the mountains, pursuing those paths least frequented by tourists, and lodging at night in some lonely, retired little inn, determined to avoid any chance encounter with acquaintances. But on the fourth day of his wanderings he was slowly descending the agate rocks towards Hermsdorf, lost in thought, his eyes bent upon the ground, when he was roused from his revery by a clear, merry voice: "All good spirits praise the Lord! Positively this is a capital joke! Day before yesterday we buried you, Herr von Ernau, and to-day I meet you, sound in body and limb, upon this far from delightful ascent!"
Egon looked up startled. Before him stood an old acquaintance from Berlin,--Baron von Freistetten, a wealthy young nobleman, whom he had often met in society, and whom he had liked rather better than most of his associates, since in the preference shown him by the young fellow there could be no suspicion of interested motives.
Freistetten was in the act of making the ascent of the agate rocks, in company with a guide, and had paused for a moment to take breath, when he perceived Egon coming down towards him and instantly hailed him. All fatigue was forgotten; he hurried to meet him, and shook him cordially by the hand. "Upon my word, Ernau," he said, "this is the greatest pleasure I have had for years! I never believed you were dead, for did I not see you a month ago in Breslau? But when everybody insisted that your body had been found, and when I followed it to the grave, the day before yesterday, I thought I had been mistaken, and sincerely mourned you. Thank God! I was right at first. I am indeed delighted."
The young fellow's joy was so sincere that Egon could not but reciprocate his cordiality. Disagreeably surprised as he was at first at the encounter, several of the Baron's expressions had aroused his curiosity, and he agreed readily to the young man's proposal that they should find some shady spot for a half-hour's talk.
Beneath an overhanging rock they threw themselves down upon the soft green moss.
"I cannot get used to it," said Freistetten, shaking Egon again by the hand. "This is what I call a surprise indeed. But now tell me all about yourself. Where in the world have you been hiding? What reasons could you have for vanishing so suddenly and giving no sign of life?"
"I was tired of the stupid society life of the capital, and I have been spending a few weeks quietly in the country. I really have nothing to tell. But you must satisfy my curiosity. What was it you said about finding my body and going to my funeral? What did you mean?"
"That you were buried, and have risen from the dead. But no, the matter is too serious for trifling. You shall hear the consequences of your flight from Berlin."
And he went over the whole story; how he had not been believed when he said that he had seen Egon in Breslau, how every one said that young Ernau had taken his life because of an unhappy love-affair. "You have deeply grieved your friends, Ernau," he added.
"Have I any friends?" Egon rejoined. "The few who felt some slight regret at my death were more than indemnified by the interesting gossip to which it gave occasion."
"I don't envy you such sentiments as those," Freistetten said, gravely. "They can only be entertained by one who is no man's friend, and who thinks only of himself. I am no moralist, but I cannot understand how you could make up your mind to play so reckless a game with your friends, among whom I count myself, and, above all, with your father."
Egon had no reply to make to this reproach, and Freistetten continued his narrative, telling how the dress of the corpse found in the Spree had been identified by the servant and by Councillor von Ernau, and how magnificent had been the funeral.
Egon listened eagerly, and when he heard how the body had been identified, he had a sudden conviction as to who had been so ceremoniously consigned to earth in his stead. He remembered that he had forgotten to take his empty silver card-case from the breast-pocket of the coat which he had exchanged for Pigglewitch's. The Candidate had not been heard from for weeks. Doubtless he had gambled again, had again lost all, and his second attempt at suicide had been more successful than his first. His body was now at rest in the church-yard.
"You are really dead in every one's estimation," Freistetten concluded. "It is fortunate that I chanced to meet you, and could tell you of the result of your flight from Berlin,--else you might not have thought of returning thither to put a stop to the wild rumours about you. Or were you going down to Hirschberg, to start thence for Berlin?"
"No," Egon replied, "I did not think of that. I have not yet decided what to do, and I must pray you to keep my secret, and inform no one that you have seen me."
"I shall do no such thing!" Freistetten exclaimed, indignantly. "That would be to make myself an accomplice in what offends my sense of right. Indeed, Ernau, you must return to Berlin; it would be unpardonable to allow your father to believe any longer that he has lost his only son. I know that your relations with him were never very cordial, but he is your father, and you owe him a son's duty. If you refuse to return to Berlin, I shall cut short my mountain excursion and go there myself to tell your father that his son is alive."
Freistetten had arisen, and now signed to his guide that he was ready to go on.
"Decide, Ernau," he said, gravely; "your decision will govern mine."
Egon had hoped for some chance that should force him to a resolution; his wish was fulfilled; his hesitation between Castle Osternau and Berlin was at an end. He was not angry with Freistetten for his severe, almost insulting, words: he was justified in using them.
"I thank you, Freistetten," he said, likewise rising. "Your admonition is harsh, but I will lay it to heart. Continue your tour; I promise you to go directly to Berlin from Hirschberg. Since I am, half unwillingly I admit, forced to take upon me the old yoke, I will do so without delay. Farewell!"
The young men separated with a warm grasp of the hand, and Egon walked on down into the Hirschberg valley. With a heavy heart he went his way back to the old life. Now that he was resolved not to return to Castle Osternau, existence there appeared to him in the rosiest light; he longed for each one of those of its inmates who had grown dear to him; he could not bear the thought of parting from them without one word of farewell, one prayer for pardon for having deceived them.
Lieschen's image accompanied him on his way; it seemed to beckon him on. He felt an intense desire to hasten to Castle Osternau, if only for a day, an hour, that she might decide whether he should remain there, or return to Berlin.
He lodged for the night in a little inn seldom visited by strangers. He could not sleep when he first retired to his room; the effort to abide by his resolve chased sleep from his eyelids. At last he sat down and wrote two farewell letters, one to Herr von Osternau, the other to Herr Storting. In the latter he enclosed the payment of the little debt for which Storting had so readily gone surety in Breslau. Both letters he posted the next morning before starting for Berlin, thus destroying all possibility of a return to Castle Osternau. He then grew calmer; the struggle was over, he hesitated no longer.
Privy Councillor Von Ernau was sitting in his dining-room, at the little round table, which was to-day set for but one person. He was not fond of dining alone; guests were always invited to join him at this meal, which was on table punctually at four o'clock. Certainly gay conversation is the best seasoning for delicate viands. Neither well-prepared food nor excellent wine delighted the Councillor's palate if partaken of in solitude. He therefore reflected sadly, as he sipped his soup, upon the number of days upon which he should now be obliged to dine alone,--fourteen, at the very least. He sighed profoundly. Fourteen days appeared an endless time to him. Since the finding of Egon's body had established the fact that the unfortunate Councillor von Ernau had lost his only son, eight days had passed; for eight days he had worn deep mourning. Until eight days ago there had been some doubt as to his calamity, and he had not felt it necessary to deny himself all social pleasures; but now there was no help for it. As a father overwhelmed with grief, such joys were not for him. He glanced sadly enough at the broad band of crape that encircled his left arm.
During the first few days after the finding of the body there had been some satisfaction in the sensation produced in Berlin by the actual death of Egon von Ernau. It had been very interesting to read the accounts in the papers, to receive visits of condolence, to show to each new-comer how profound was the grief that wrung the paternal bosom; then came all the arrangements for the funeral, which was magnificent. Thus occupied the time passed quickly, and the sacrifice of a solitary dinner was a matter of course, but now? The visits of condolence had ceased, the funeral was over, the newspapers said nothing more with regard to the death of Herr Egon von Ernau, the Councillor felt very lonely, and the thought that he must yet pass at least fourteen days secluded from all the delights of the capital made him very sad. It really was a hard fate to lose an only son in the bloom of youth, and to have to go into mourning for him besides!
The soup was delicate, but he did not relish it. He looked up with a sigh----The spoon dropped from his fingers and fell clinking into his soup-plate, as he gazed with staring eyes at the ghost which suddenly confronted him in broad daylight,--a ghost the very presentment of his dead son. There it stood in the open door-way. No, it did not stand; it moved as if made of flesh and blood; it walked with the elastic step that had been Egon's, through the room and directly towards its solitary occupant.
"Good-day, sir," Egon remarked, as quietly as if he had just returned from a short walk; and then, turning to the servant, who stood staring in no less terror than his master, he said, "Bring me a plate, Johann, and be quick, for I am desperately hungry."
No ghost speaks thus; no ghost coolly draws a chair up to a table and sits down.
"Good God!" exclaimed the Councillor, who could not yet collect himself, "is it really you, Egon? and alive?"
"As you see, sir, alive, and very hungry. Will you have the kindness to order Johann to bring me a plate and not to stand there staring at me? I think my appetite will soon convince both you and him that I am alive."
Johann hastened to obey the order, and the Councillor no longer doubted that his son was before him. He took up his spoon again, wiped a spot of soup off the handle with his napkin, and as he did so eyed his resuscitated son with an air of anything but delight. "You are alive, then," he said, peevishly; "and that you are so destroys the only satisfactory excuse that there could be for recklessly plunging me into the greatest embarrassment by your sudden disappearance, just when your betrothal was announced."
"Did I embarrass you, sir?" asked Egon, upon whom the paternal reproof appeared to produce but a slight impression. "I am sorry, but I should not have believed it. You are not wont to be easily embarrassed. So far as I can learn, you have had a very agreeable time. The variety which the sensation caused by my disappearance, by the discovery of my body, and at last by my funeral must have introduced into your monotonous existence has certainly been entertaining. The crape upon your arm becomes you admirably; it is a pity to have to take it off, but then you will be indemnified for its loss by the fresh sensation which the prodigal's return will-excite. We shall both form the topic of Berlin gossip for at least a week. Dead men do not rise from their graves every day. The funeral, I hear from Freistetten, was really brilliant, quite worthy of your distinguished taste. I regret not to have witnessed it. However, I can go to the church-yard tomorrow to look at my grave and admire the flowers with which you have adorned it. I must beg you to accept my thanks for them."
"Always the same," the Councillor murmured, "a venomous sneer in every word; you return as you departed."
"Does that vex you, sir? We have always got along very well together. You never troubled yourself about me, and I never annoyed you. I think we can do as well for the future. You never shall be disturbed in your enjoyment of life by me, not even now. Pray do not let your soup get cold; here comes mine. We will dine together, and consult comfortably how we can introduce to the living world in the manner most agreeable to you the son risen from the dead. But before I say another word I must take my soup; I am as hungry as a wolf."
He applied himself to his task with an excellent appetite, and the Councillor followed his example.
The Councillor did not speak until the soup was removed and Johann was busy changing the plates for the next course. Then he availed himself of the interruption of the dinner to say, "It seems high time that you should inform me of your reasons for leaving me so suddenly, of where you have been, of what you have been doing, and why we have heard nothing from you for all these long weeks? Certainly, as your father, I have a right to an explanation from you."
"There we differ, sir," Egon replied, in the same tone of cool contempt which he had thus far used in addressing his father. "Our relations have hitherto not corresponded to those usually existing between father and son. You never desired any confidence from me. You have pursued your pleasures without troubling yourself to think whether your son might not perhaps need a father's affection, and you have never required of me any explanation of my actions or sentiments. You gave the boy perfect liberty to commit any folly he chose; how can the man possibly be called to account by you? We had better continue our relations as you have arranged them. It can be of little moment to you where I have been and why I went away. It is enough that I am here again, and that you are relieved of the duty of mourning for my death. It is true that you are also deprived of the inheritance of my estate, but this is a matter of indifference to you. You never attached any great value to money, and you have probably never even remembered that my maternal inheritance fell to you at my death."
"You do me but justice. I certainly never thought of that when I saw you alive before me. I did think of what I could reply to the countless inquiries that will be made of me as to where you have been and what you have been doing all these weeks."
"Tell the truth, sir. Say that you do not know, that your son is an incorrigible fellow, with no regard for the opinion of the world or for his father's feelings, and that he is resolved to act as he himself sees fit. Say this to all eager inquirers, and if they are not satisfied send them to me, and I will so answer them that they will not repeat their questions."
"You will make yourself impossible in society!"
"Precisely. I shall remain only a few days in Berlin, and may not return here for years."
The Councillor stared at his son with a comical expression of dismay. To him it was inconceivable that a young and wealthy man should propose voluntarily to leave Berlin. A visit to London, Paris, or Vienna was all very well in its way; he himself had never cared to see those cities, but he could understand how they might interest some men for a while; but to leave Berlin for years without being forced to do so! the thought was preposterous. "You are going away again?" he asked, incredulously.
"Yes; I shall be here but a few days. I returned only to show you and all my acquaintances that I am alive. I am tired of this insignificant existence, and am resolved to devote my future life to some serious pursuit. I shall, I think, pursue the study of agriculture for a year or longer, and so soon as I am capable of the management of a large estate I shall retire to Plagnitz, where I hope to play the part of an able agriculturist."
"I believe you are insane!" the Councillor exclaimed. The idea that Egon von Ernau, the spoiled darling of society, could desire to establish himself upon a West-Prussian estate as a simple agriculturist was monstrous, incredible!
Egon smiled involuntarily at his father's dismay. "You see, sir, I have very sensible and rather commonplace plans for the future. I hope you will approve them, although they surprise you at present. Of course I shall also want a wife. Here I shall meet your wishes. During the few days which I shall spend in Berlin, my betrothal with your choice for me, with Fräulein Bertha von Massenburg, can be announced publicly and celebrated by a brilliantfêteafter your own heart. As soon as it is over I shall leave Berlin, and my marriage will take place when my castle in Plagnitz is put in a condition to be a worthy abode for my young wife, and when I am fitted to undertake the management of the estate."
Were the surprises which Egon had prepared for his father never to come to an end? The shock of this last announcement was too much for the Councillor's self-control, He tossed aside his napkin, rose from his chair, and hastily left the room, to return in a moment with a note, which he handed to Egon. "Read that!" he said.
"I have the honour to announce to you the betrothal of my only daughter Bertha to Herr Hugo von Wangen.
"Werner von Massenburg.
"Bertha Von Massenburg.
"Hugo von Wangen.
"Betrothed."
The blood rushed to Egon's cheeks and there was a mist before his eyes as he read these words. Bertha betrothed to that insignificant, unintellectual, good-natured young fellow! And this was the end of the struggle through which he had passed in his sleepless night at Hirschberg, where he had at last resolved upon his future career! His plans were all annihilated by a paltry bit of paper, on which was printed "Bertha von Massenburg, Hugo von Wangen, betrothed."
If the Councillor's amazement at all that he had seen and heard on this day could have been increased, it would have been so by the alteration visible in his son's features as he road this note. "What now?" he exclaimed. "You are absolutely incomprehensible! When you could have had Bertha von Massenburg for a wife by simply saying 'yes,' you ran away to be rid of her, and now you look as if the lady's betrothal to another man were an immense disappointment to you. You have never seen her; it can make no possible difference to you whether you have her or somebody else for a wife, since you are resolved to marry and settle down as a country squire."
"True, sir, it can make no possible difference to me," Egon said, slowly, his eyes still fixed upon the note in his hand.
"Besides," the Councillor continued, "betrothed is not married. If your heart is so set upon this girl, which I never should have suspected, I will speak to Werner Massenburg about it. He consented to the present betrothal only to put a stop to disagreeable gossip. It will be easy to retract his consent, especially since your appearance gives him a reason for declaring the engagement to Wangen null and void. He will be glad, and so shall I, to have matters take the course we decided upon two months ago. Since you wish it, Egon, I will speak to him."
Lost in thought, Egon had not understood a word his father had uttered. The syllables had struck upon his ear without conveying any impression to his mental sense. When he heard his name spoken he started from his revery and rose. "I must now leave you, sir," he said.
"But you cannot possibly have eaten enough. Sit down and let us consult what is to be done."
"I really am unfit for discussion at present. I will go to my room. You can employ the afternoon in acquainting your friends with my return. To-morrow I will pay the requisite visits, and then try to evoke some order out of the chaos that now reigns in my mind."
He left the room, and slowly walked through the familiar rooms and corridors until he reached his own apartments. Here nothing had been changed during his absence, and it seemed to him that he had been away but for a few hours. His lot appeared as empty and forlorn as when he had decided to put an end to his tedious existence: life was as comfortless and devoid of interest now as then. He threw himself upon a lounge, and buried his face among the cushions. He wished neither to see, to hear, nor to think. He sank into a half-unconscious state between waking and dreaming. Pictures from the past arose, mistily indistinct, before his mental vision. He saw himself as a little lonely child in his luxurious nursery, longing for affection, filled with childish envy of other children who might kiss and caress their father or mother; then he saw himself a youth among the throng of his fellow-students, all ready to flatter and fawn upon him so long as he lavished money upon them; then in society among women whom he despised and men who wearied him; then came the scene on the shore of the lake,--Pigglewitch's confession, and his own sudden impulse that led him into so wild an adventure. All these pictures were cloudy and vague, when suddenly there emerged from among them, in startling distinctness, Lieschen's image. He saw her as she looked upon the afternoon when she had asked counsel of him as she turned to him trustfully. How could he ever have forgotten for a moment that pure, confiding look?
And as once the reality, so now the remembrance affected him profoundly. He felt suddenly invigorated, strengthened for the further conflict of life; the dull despair that had assailed him when he saw all his plans crumble to ruins vanished; he was ashamed that the thought of Bertha should so have moved him, and that he should have again blindly followed the impulse of the moment. "Lieschen's pure memory shall be my guiding star," he said to himself, "in all the conflicts to come!"
He arose from the lounge, and just in time, for steps were heard in the corridor, his door was flung open, and there appeared on the threshold a man, tall and still handsome in spite of his years, followed by the Councillor. Egon recognized his visitor instantly, although he had never seen him before, so decided was his resemblance to his daughter.
"My son Egon, Herr von Massenburg," the Councillor said, introducing the young man to the stranger. But Werner von Massenburg put aside all formality, and, offering Egon his hand, said, with the greatest cordiality, "Pardon the informality of my visit, Herr von Ernau; its excuse is my great pleasure when I heard from my friend, your father, that our mourning for you is at an end, that you are restored to life. I could not but come to you immediately to express my joy."
Why should Egon be repelled by this frank display of cordiality? He could not tell. As Herr von Massenburg spoke, the resemblance between his daughter and himself increased; but this did not lessen Egon's distaste for the man. Every friendly word that he spoke seemed to the young fellow a conscious falsehood, and he reciprocated but coldly the other's kindness.
Nothing deterred by Egon's reserve of manner, Werner continued to pour forth his joy upon the occasion of this 'resurrection,' as he called it, and his self-congratulations that it was not too late to prevent the mischief which might have ensued upon any longer continuance in the belief of Egon's death. "Your father knows," he said, "how pained I was to be forced to resign all our delightful schemes for the union of our families, and that I am all the more rejoiced now that the hope of their fulfilment blooms afresh."
"If I am not mistaken, Fräulein von Massenburg is betrothed to a certain Herr von Wangen?" Egon said, quietly.
"True," Massenburg replied, no whit embarrassed. "In the distressing situation in which my daughter was placed, I was forced to have recourse to some means to vindicate her imperilled reputation. A very well-to-do landed proprietor, an honest but rather insignificant young fellow, proposed for her. I gave my consent, hard as it was for me, and harder still as it was for my daughter to submit to the lot thus decided upon for her. She considered herself, so she wrote me, as the widow of one so suddenly snatched from her and from the world. The supposition under which both Bertha and myself, as Herr von Wangen well knows, were induced to give our consent to the betrothal proves to be erroneous, and the betrothal is consequently void. I gladly consent to declare it so, since your father informs me of your readiness to accede to our old plans."
"But Fräulein von Massenburg and Herr von Wangen?" Egon asked.
"Bertha will be happy to be liberated from a tie that is odious to her, and Herr von Wangen must resign himself to the inevitable. I will write to him to-day, and shall rejoice to welcome you, my dear Ernau, as my future son-in-law."
"I regret, Herr von Massenburg," Egon said, quietly, but firmly, "that I can make no claim to the title with which you would honour me. I could never consent to be the cause of the rupture of an engagement which has been publicly announced."
"What new whim is this?" the Councillor exclaimed, angrily. "Why did you send me to Herr von Massenburg?"
"I did not send you, sir."
"But you made no reply when I told you that I would arrange that the betrothal should be declared void."
"I do not remember hearing you say a word upon the subject."
"Incredible!" the Councillor exclaimed, indignantly. "I expressly told you that I would dissolve the engagement which seemed so obnoxious to you. For your sake, to fulfil your wishes, I went directly from the dinner-table to Herr von Massenburg, and now you leave me in the lurch, for the sake of heaven only knows what insane idea. It is too much, too much!"
"Indeed, Herr von Ernau," Werner von Massenburg went on to say, "your father's anger would be justifiable if you were in earnest in what you say, but that I am sure you are not. I respect the delicacy which makes you hesitate to be the cause of the rupture of a betrothal which has been publicly announced. But my daughter's engagement to Herr von Wangen was only a sad means of putting an end to much scandalous gossip. It was but an empty form, and owes its existence to the force put upon my daughter's will by myself."
That it was an empty form Egon knew only too well. He knew how gladly Bertha would escape from it did she but know who Herr von Ernau really was. Gottlieb Pigglewitch, the tutor at Castle Osternau, had learned thus much from many a glance of the large, dark eyes that had often robbed him of his rest. One word of his, a simple 'yes,' and she might yet be his wife.
'Lieschen's pure memory shall be my guiding star in all the future conflicts of life.' These words, which he had murmured to himself a few moments before, echoed in his soul. In imagination he saw her eyes bent on him in pity,--pity for the weakness of a nature prone to yield so readily to the impulse of the moment.
He hesitated no longer. "I deeply regret," he said, gravely, "if I have been the cause of Fräulein von Massenburg's contracting an engagement to which her heart is not a party, but in my opinion, and I trust in that of the young lady, a betrothal is no empty form. I should consider it an insult to Fräulein von Massenburg to suppose her capable of being false to her betrothal vow. I certainly never can give her occasion for being so, and I beg you, Herr von Massenburg, to consider this as my irrevocable resolve."
Werner von Massenburg had much ado to preserve his self-possession. He arose, and, with rage in his heart, said, coldly, "After so decided an expression of opinion there is no reason for another word upon this subject. I can only regret having been induced to comply with your request, Herr Councillor."
He then took a formal leave of Egon, and left the room, followed by the Councillor, who did not deign to bestow one farewell glance upon his son.
When Egon was once more alone he drew a deep breath of relief. For the first time in his life he had absolutely controlled an impulse to yield to the whim of the moment. He had resisted temptation in a most alluring form, and he might hope to date from this moment the dawn of a truer and nobler existence.