"I will soon procure the solution," cried Reinhold. "I know where to seek it. You go first to Ella, Hugo! I will follow--perhaps with the child."
The more thoughtful Hugo caught him quickly by the arm.
"Reinhold, I implore you, do not be too hasty! We do not know the particulars so far. The child may have strayed away, and, as it does not speak Italian, not have found its way back yet. Perhaps it has already been brought home to its mother. What are you going to do?"
"Demand the restoration of my son," cried Reinhold, with fearful wildness. "That, then, was the vengeance which this fury had thought of. Ella and me--she would strike us both with one single deadly blow! but I will succeed in reaching her. Let me alone, Hugo! I must go to Beatrice."
"That would be of no use," cried Captain Almbach, whom the expression on his brother's face alarmed, and who endeavoured in vain to restrain him. "If your suspicion be well founded, she will know, too, how to play her part. You will only irritate her more. We must adopt other means."
Reinhold broke away by main force. "Leave me alone; if any one can, I shall compel her to deliver up my child! If I do not compel her--well, a catastrophe must ensue."
He rushed away. Beatrice's house lay rather far from his; yet he traversed the distance in less than a quarter of an hour. Usually, he required no announcement there; all the doors flew open before him; he was wont to be considered as master here. To-day the servant who opened the door assured him positively the Signora could not be spoken to by any one, not even Signor Rinaldo; she was very ill, and had strictly forbidden--
Reinhold did not let the man complete his sentence. He thrust him aside, hurried through the ante-room, and tore open the drawing-room door. The room was empty, equally so the adjoining boudoir; the doors of the remaining rooms stood wide open, nowhere was she whom he sought, not a sign of her; she had evidently left the house.
Reinhold saw that he came too late, and in the overwhelming consciousness of this discovery, he felt vaguely that Beatrice's flight had saved him from a crime. In his present state of mind he would have been capable of anything towards the abductor of his child. By calling all his strength together, he forced himself to be calm, and returned to the servant, who had not dared to follow him, but stood frightened and uncertain in the anteroom.
"Signora has gone then--since when?"
The servant hesitated in his reply. The questioner's face appeared to betoken no good.
"Marco, you must answer me! You see that I shall not be deterred by any excuse; you seek to deceive me, according to the Signora's commands. Once more, when did she go, and where?"
Marco was evidently not initiated into the secret, as he was not at all prepared for this question. However, he may have listened to part of the scene which took place the preceding evening between his mistress and Signor Rinaldo, and explained to-day's affair in his own way. It was quite in keeping with Beatrice's violent character, that she should now have left the town for a few days, if only to render it impossible to continue the performance of Rinaldo's opera, and that the latter should be beside himself with anger was easily comprehended. It was not, indeed, the first disagreement between the two, and all quarrels so far had always ended in a reconciliation. With the prospect of such a readjustment of affairs, the servant was clever enough not to injure himself with the ruling side, and therefore intimated that Signora had left the house early this morning, with the distinct order that all enquiries were to be replied to "that she was ill." She had driven away in her own carriage; where, he did not know.
"And where did she drive to?" asked Reinhold, breathlessly. "Have you not heard what address she gave the coachman?"
"I believe--to Maestro Gianelli's house."
"Gianelli! then he, too, is in the plot. Perhaps he may still be reached. Marco, so soon as Signora arrives, or any news of her, let me know at once! At once! I will pay you with gold for every word. Do not forget this!"
With these words, almost thrown at the servant in his flight, Reinhold hastened away. Marco looked astounded after him. To-day's scene was enacted much more tempestuously than any former ones under similar circumstances, and Signor Rinaldo's excitement surpassed anything he had seen before. What then had happened? The maestro could not possibly have eloped with Biancona? It really almost looked like it.
In Consul Erlau's house naturally intense confusion and excitement reigned. Captain Almbach, who had hurried there without delay, undertook at once the management of the enquiries which had been already set on foot with the greatest energy and caution, but even he could not discover anything. In the meanwhile, the one fact was clear--that the child had disappeared tracelessly, and so remained. As to whether it had left the garden voluntarily, whether it had been tempted out, all supposition was at a loss. No one had noticed anything unusual, no one had missed the little one until the moment when Annunziata returned to fetch him. The poor little Italian was dissolved in tears, and yet she was quite blameless in the occurrence, as her young mistress herself had called her into the house. The boy was old enough not to require constant supervision, and he often played alone in the perfectly enclosed place. Hugo had not yet dared to give words to the suspicion which he shared with his brother, and which every moment became more lively. He had only hinted slightly at an abduction, and was at once met with utter incredulity. Robbers in the middle of the street, in the most aristocratic quarter--impossible! A misfortune was more likely. Once more they began a search, notwithstanding the approaching darkness, in the neighbouring gardens and the rest of the vicinity.
In the meanwhile, Erlau essayed in vain to pacify his adopted daughter, and to point out to her the possibilities and probabilities which still might let her hope for a happy termination; Ella did not hear him. Silent and deadly pale, without shedding a single tear, she sat by his side now, after having taken part for hours in the vain researches, which she even to some extent had conducted herself. Although Hugo had not alluded to that possibility by a syllable, the mother's thoughts took the same direction, and the more inexplicable the child's disappearance remained, the more irrepressibly did the recollection of her yesterday's encounter force itself upon her, the recollection of Beatrice's wild hatred, and burning threats of vengeance; and clear, and ever clearer arose the presentiment that this was no case of accident or misfortune, but that it was one of crime.
A carriage dashed madly up the street, and stopped before the house. Ella, who started at every noise, imagined in every arrival a messenger bringing news, flew to the window; she saw her husband descend and enter the house. A few minutes later he stood before her.
"Reinhold, where is our child?"
It was a cry of deadly fear and despair, but also a reproach more wounding than could be conceived. She demanded her child of him! Was he alone to blame that it had been torn from the mother?
"Where is our child?" repeated she, with a vain attempt to read the answer in his face.
"In Beatrice's hands," replied Reinhold, firmly. "I came too late to rescue it from her; she has fled already with her prey, but at least I know her track, Gianelli betrayed it to me; the rogue was cognizant, if he were not literally an assistant, but he saw plainly that I was in earnest with my threat to shoot him down if he did not tell me the road she had taken with the child. They have fled to the mountains in the direction towards A----. I shall follow them at once. There is not a moment to be lost, only I wished to bring you the information, Ella. Farewell!"
Erlau, who had listened to all much shocked, wished now to interpose with questions and advice, but Ella gave him no time for it. The certainty, fearful as it was, restored her courage; she stood already at her husband's side.
"Reinhold, take me with you!" implored she, determinedly.
He made a gesture of refusal. "Impossible Eleonore! It will be a journey as for very life, and when I reach the goal, perhaps even a struggle between it and death. That were no place for you; I must fight it out alone. Either I shall bring you your son back, or you see me now for the last time. Be calm! The possibility of his rescue is now in his father's hands."
"And the mother shall, in the meanwhile, despair here?" asked his wife, passionately. "Take me with you! I am not weak--you know it. You need fear no tears or fainting from me when action is required, and I can bear all, only not the fearful uncertainty and inactivity, only not the anxious waiting for news, which may not arrive for days. I shall accompany you!"
"Eleonore, for God's sake!" interposed Erlau, horrified. "What an idea! It would be your death."
Reinhold looked at his wife silently for a few seconds, as if he would examine how far her strength went.
"Can you be ready in ten minutes?" asked he, quietly. "The carriage waits below."
"In half the time."
She hurried into the adjoining room. The Consul wanted to forbid, beg, entreat once more, but Reinhold cut him short.
"Leave her alone, as I do," said he, energetically. "Wecannotgive way now to cold consideration. I do not see my brother here, and I have not time to seek him. Tell him what has happened, what I have discovered. He must take the necessary steps here at once to ensure us help, which we may perhaps require, and then follow us. We shall first take the direct route to A----. There Hugo will find farther information about us."
He turned, without waiting for a reply, to the door, where Ella already appeared in hat and cloak. The young wife threw herself, with a short tempestuous farewell greeting, on to her adopted father's breast, to whose protest she would not listen; then she followed her husband. Erlau looked out of the window as Reinhold lifted her into the carriage, entered it himself, shut the door, and the horses started off in full gallop. This was too much for the shaken nerves of the old gentleman, especially after the alarm and excitement of the last few hours; almost unconscious, he sank into an arm-chair.
Hardly ten minutes later Hugo entered; he had already heard from one of the servants of his brother's sudden arrival and equally sudden departure with Ella. At his first hasty questions, Erlau recovered a little. He was beside himself at his daughter's decision, still more at the independence of her husband, who had borne her away without any more ado. Arrival, explanation and departure, all had taken place as in a hurricane; this mode of action resembled a regular elopement, and what could the poor wife do on such a journey? What might not occur, what happen, if they really overtook this dreadful Italian? The Consul was nearly in despair at the thought of all the possibilities to which his favourite was exposed.
Hugo listened silently to the report, without betraying especial surprise or horror. He appeared to have expected something of the sort, and when Erlau had ended, laid his hand soothingly on the latter's arm, and said quietly, but yet with a slight tremor in his voice--
"Let it be, Herr Consul! The parents are now on their child's track; they will, it is to be hoped, find the little one and--each other also."
A carriage moved up the steep twisting road of the pass, which led through the mountains to A----. Notwithstanding the four powerful horses and cheering cries of the driver, it proceeded but slowly. This was one of the worst spots in the whole chain of hills. The occupants of the carriage, a lady and gentleman, had descended from it, and struck into a foot path, which shortened the road almost by half; they stood already on the summit, while the conveyance was still some considerable distance behind them.
"Rest yourself, Ella!" said the gentleman, as he led the lady into the shade of the rocky wall. "The exertion was too much for you; why did you insist on leaving the carriage?"
His wife still kept her fixed, comfortless gaze turned to the pass, which on the other side descended into the valley, and whose windings could be partly overlooked.
"We are a quarter of an hour sooner at the top, at any rate," said she, feebly. "I wanted to look out over the road, perhaps even discover the carriage."
Reinhold's glance followed the same direction, in which nothing, however, could be discerned but the figures of two men, looking like peasants, who coming down the hill lustily, sometimes disappeared in the turns of the road, soon again to reappear.
"We cannot, indeed, be so near them," said he pacifyingly, "although we have flown since last evening. You see, at least, we are on the right track. Beatrice has been seen everywhere, and the child beside her. Wemustovertake her."
"And when we do--what then?" asked Ella, listlessly. "Our boy is unprotected in her hands. God knows what plans she will pursue with him."
Reinhold shook his head--
"Plans? Beatrice never acts upon plans or calculations. The impulse of the moment decides everything with her. The thought of revenge has suddenly overcome her, and like lightning she has carried it out, like lightning fled with her prey. Where? To what end? That is not even clear to herself, and for the moment she does not enquire. She wished to strike you and me in our most vulnerable point, and she has succeeded; more she did not wish."
He spoke with great bitterness, but with most perfect certainty. They stood alone at the summit of the pass; the carriage was still far below them, and just then disappeared at the last turn of the road. The mountains here bore an abrupt, wild character; almost naked the sharp rocks rose upwards, now in mighty groups, now wildly split and broken. Only aloes could take root in the clefts of the yellow grey stone, and here and there a fig tree spread its meagre shade. Yonder, on the other side of the valley, a building hung in dizzy height on the mountain's wall, a castle or monastery, grey as the rock itself, and barely to be distinguished from it at this distance. Lower down at the edge of an abyss, a little hill-town had nestled itself, which built in and upon the rock seemed almost to form part of it, and its deserted decayed appearance harmonised with the loneliness around. Still lower, whirled the broad rushing stream, occupying almost the entire width of the valley, so that there barely remained space for the road by its side. Over the whole scene, however, lay that glowing sunlight of a southern autumn day, which is not inferior at all to the power of a northern midsummer one; although the sun had long left its noontide height, the air was still quivering with heat; sharply and harshly illuminated, every single object stood out almost painfully clear to the sight, and the heated stones literally burned under the scorching rays to which they were incessantly exposed.
"It would be folly to precede the carriage, even only by another step," said Reinhold. "It would overtake us in a moment on the downward route. Now we have a view over the whole."
Ella did not contradict him; her countenance bore plainly enough an expression of the most extreme physical and mental exhaustion. This drive of twenty hours without rest, added to the deadly fear at heart, the ever renewed agonising excitement when the track sought for now appeared and again was lost--this was too much for the mother's heart, and the woman's strength. She sat down on a piece of rock, leaned her head silently against the mountain's side, and closed her eyes.
Her husband stood by her and looked down silently at the beautiful pale countenance, which in its deadly exhaustion appeared almost alarming. The sharp points of the rock buried themselves deeply in her white forehead and left red marks there. Reinhold slowly pushed his arm between the stone and his wife's fair plaits; she did not seem to feel it, and encouraged by it he put his arm quite round her, and attempted to give her a better support against his shoulder.
Now Ella started slightly and opened her eyes; she made a movement as if she would withdraw from him, but his look disarmed her--this look which rested upon her with such painful, anxious tenderness; she saw that he did not tremble less for her at this moment than he trembled for his child. She let her head sink back again, and remained motionless in his arms.
He bent low over her--
"I fear, Eleonore," said he, with an effort, "you have had too much confidence in your strength. You will break down."
Ella shook her head denyingly--
"When I have got my boy again--perhaps then. Not before."
"You will recover him," said Reinhold energetically. "How? At what cost? I do not certainly yet know; but I know how to master Beatrice when the demon is roused in her. Have I not often stood opposed to her at times, when perhaps every other person had trembled before her, and have known how to enforce my will? Once more, for the last time I shall try it, should she and I become the sacrifice."
"You believe in danger, also for yourself?" Ella's voice sounded as if full of trembling fear.
"Not if I meet her alone, only if you approach her; promise me that you will stay behind at the last station, will not show yourself when we arrive. Remember that in the child she has a shield against every attack; every means of force on our side, and everything would be lost if she were to see you at my side."
"Does she hate me so much?" asked Ella, astonished. "I irritated her, it is true, but yet it was you who offended her most deeply."
"I?" repeated Reinhold. "You do not know Beatrice. If I came before her penitent, wishful to return, there would be an end of her hatred and her revenge. One single oath, that I and my wife are separated and remain so, that I have given up all idea of a reunion, she would give you back your child without a struggle, without resistance. If Icoulddo this, the danger would be over."
Ella's eye sought the ground; she did not dare to look up, as she asked almost inaudibly--
"And can you not do it, then?"
His eyes flashed, he let his arm drop from her shoulders, and stepped back--
"No, Eleonore, I cannot, and I shall not, as it would be perjury. So little as I shall ever return to the bonds which I had felt degraded me long before I saw you again, so little shall I give up a hope which is more to me than life. Oh, do not draw back so from me! I know I may not come near you with sentiments to which I have forfeited the right, but you cannot prescribe my feelings to me, and if you did not see before--would not see--Beatrice's burning hatred to you, and you alone, must show you, how much you are avenged."
Ella made a sudden deprecating motion--"Oh, Reinhold, how can you at this moment--"
"It is perhaps the only one in which you do not reject me," interrupted Reinhold. "May I not, in the hour when we both tremble for our child's life, tell the mother what she has become to me? Even then when I first trod Italy's shore, there lay upon me something like a suspicion of what I had lost. I could not rejoice over the newly-won freedom the artist's career gained at last; and the richer and more brilliant my life became externally, the deeper grew that longing for a home which yet I had never possessed. You, to be sure, do not know the dull pain which will not be still even in the midst of the whirl of passion, in the noise of triumph, in the proudest success of one's creations, which becomes torture in solitude, from which one must fly, even if only by means of intoxication, by the wildest excitement. I believed that it was only the longing for my child; then I saw the child again--saw you--and I knew what this longing craved for; then began the atonement for everything of which I had been guilty towards you."
He spoke quietly, without reproach or bitterness, and the words seemed therefore to act all the more powerfully on Ella; she had risen as if she would flee from his tone and gaze, and yet could not.
"Spare me, Reinhold!" begged she almost imploringly. "I can feel and think of nothing now but my child's danger. When I have the boy safe in my arms, then--"
"Well, then?--" asked he in breathless eagerness.
"I shall perhaps not have the courage any longer to pain his father," added Ella, while a flood of tears rushed from her eyes.
Reinhold did not say another word; but he held her hand firmly in his own as if he would never loosen it again. At the same moment, the carriage appeared on the top of the hill, and the driver stopped to give himself and the tired animals a little rest.
Almost simultaneously, the two peasants who had been visible before on the road, arrived from the other side. They stared curiously at the beautiful pale lady and strange, distinguished-looking gentleman who stepped towards them and asked where they came from. They named a place which lay at the exit of the valley, some miles distant.
"Have you seen no carriage?" enquired Reinhold.
"Certainly, Signor. A travelling carriage like yours; but they had only two horses, you have four."
"Did you see the occupants?" interposed Ella, in a trembling voice. "We seek a lady with a child."
"With a little boy?--quite right, Signora. She is a good way before you; you must drive sharply if you would overtake her," said the elder of the two men while stepping nearer, somewhat alarmed, as the lady looked as if about to sink down at the news; but at the same moment her companion threw his arm round her, and supported her.
"Courage, Eleonore! We are near the crisis; now we must act."
He lifted her into the carriage, and sprang in after her. The few words which he addressed to the driver must have contained some unusual promise, as the latter swung his whip sharply across the horses, and away they went after the object of their pursuit.
The latter had indeed gained a considerable advantage, and their carriage was also driven at a rapid pace. Beatrice was alone in it with little Reinhold, who, tired with crying and the restless, fatiguing journey, had fallen asleep. The fair, curly little head was pressed deeply into the cushions; his hands were twined instinctively around the side rests, as if they sought a support against the incessant jolting and shaking of the uneven road. The child slept soundly and deeply, but Beatrice hardly noticed it just now. She was in that state of supreme mental irritation which even puts a limit to the wildest passion. She was as if in a heavy, stupid trance, from which only one object stands out with fearful distinctness--the recollection of that hour when Rinaldo cast himself free from her, when he called her the curse and misfortune of his life, and acknowledged to her with proud defiance that his love belonged to his wife alone. These words pierced the Italian's heart ever again as if with a burning thorn. Whatever she had done, however she may have sinned, she had loved this one man with all the ardour of her soul--to this one she had been unfailingly true; she had considered his love as her right, of which no power on earth could deprive her, and now she lost it through the woman whom she feared the last of all others--through his wife. His wife and his child! They had ever been the dark shadow which menaced this happiness, and which now, coming forward out of the gloomy past, took form and life in order to destroy it.
Beatrice had hated both, even before she knew them. Did she not know best what place they still maintained in Reinhold's remembrance? Had she not often enough tried in vain to tear him away from it? There must surely be something in the once despised power of sacred wedlock; it was victorious at last against the beautiful, charming Biancona--against the admired actress; and now made her taste the whole agony of being forsaken, to which she had once so indifferently condemned another, without asking if that other's heart broke under this unmerited fate. The fetters, apparently dissolved, had never quite loosed the fugitive; now they encircled him again, and Beatrice felt, with desperate certainty, that she had never possessed the place in his heart which once more his wife occupied.
The passionate woman did indeed not act upon any plan or calculation when she seized upon this last extreme means of cooling her revenge. Her appearance in the Erlau's garden entirely concerned her hated rival. She did not find Ella, but instead found the boy alone, without supervision; and the idea, as well as the execution of his abduction, were the work of a moment. At first the child willingly followed the beautiful stranger, who drew it caressingly towards her, and when he commenced to become frightened, and asked to be taken back to his mother, it was already too late. Beatrice never thought of the possible consequences of her step when she carried her prey away triumphantly; she only felt that no stroke from a dagger could hit Ella's heart so deeply and certainly as the loss of her child, and that this loss would raise an everlasting barrier between the parents. It was this which she had wished. But now she must see how to ensure the booty. Gianelli must give his hand to aid the flight so hastily undertaken.
Now more than a day's journey lay already between the child and its parents; but they must make a halt some time; some time this aimless, planless flight must come to an end.
The vengeance had succeeded beyond expectation--what now?
Little Reinhold still slept. Had he only borne his father's features, perhaps that had preserved him from all ill; but this golden fair hair, this rosy countenance, and those deep blue eyes--just now closed, to be sure--all belonged to the mother--the woman whom Beatrice hated as she had never yet hated anything in the world, and this likeness was ominous to the sleeping child. The burning eyes of his companion rested for some minutes fixedly on his face; then she suddenly started as if frightened at her own thoughts, tore her gaze away from the boy, and turned aside.
Yonder, up above, she beheld the carriage which was following theirs. A travelling carriage was very rare on this road, and it came in the same direction--came with the greatest speed. Beatrice guessed at once what it meant. So her track was already betrayed, and the pursuers were at her heels--let them, indeed! She felt herself to be all-powerful so long as she had the child in her hands.
Rising quickly, she ordered the coachman to lash the horses to their greatest pace. He obeyed, and now commenced a wild race between the two carriages. More than once the powerful animals could hardly keep up, more than once the drag threatened to break and overturn the occupants. None paid any attention to it, and promises of excessive rewards spurred the two drivers on to scorn any danger. It was a furious, reckless drive; rocks and ravines seemed to fly past on both sides; ever higher rose the mountainous wall, the more the road descended; ever nearer rushed the river; yet the four-in-hand had undeniably the best of it. Both carriages now rolled down the valley, but the space between them was diminished every moment--a few hundred yards, and the fugitives would be overtaken.
The first vehicle thundered across the bridge which here united the two banks. Beyond, it suddenly stopped. Beatrice herself had given the order to do so; she saw that now no evasion, no escape was possible, she must be prepared for extremities. The carriage stood close to the edge of the river, which shot along with intense rapidity. Slowly Beatrice opened the door, while with her left hand she grasped little Reinhold, whom the mad gallop had awoke, and who gazed affrighted into the foaming, raging waves which rushed past close below him. He did not know how near his parents were. Now the second carriage had reached the bridge, and the moment Ella beheld her child all consideration and recollection were at an end. She forgot Reinhold's warning not to show herself, to leave the decisive step alone to him; and bent far out of the door.
"Reinhold!" resounded across--it was a cry of inexpressible, trembling fear. The child cried out as it recognised its mother, and stretched both arms to her. Weeping noisily, it tried to go to her: but this sight was its ruin. Beatrice had become white as a corpse when she saw the husband and wife side by side. Together, then! What should have separated had united them, and if in the next moment Reinhold reached the fugitive, and tore his son from her, they would be bound together for ever, and for the forsaken one there would only remain contempt or revenge.
But the choice was already made. A single step, quick as lightning towards the stream, decided all. Beatrice had not loosed her hold of the child, and with the strength of despair drew it down with her into the flood of death.
A scene of indescribable confusion followed this horrible deed. The drivers of both carriages had sprung down from their seats and ran objectlessly up and down the banks; they did not even attempt to give any succour, which was only possible at the sacrifice of their own lives. Ella stood on the bridge; she wanted to cast herself in after those whom she could not rescue; but better help was at hand. She saw the waves splash up high as her dearest disappeared amidst them--saw how these waves also closed the next moment over her husband's head. Reinhold had thrown himself in immediately after his child, which, in the fall, had torn itself away from Beatrice, and now re-appeared at some little distance. Moments of agony ensued, in comparison with which all previous suffering was but play. For Ella, life and death were struggling together in these foaming, hissing waves, with which the two bodies fought, the one helpless, almost powerless to resist, the other toiling fiercely to the one point which at last he attained. The father grasped his child, drew it to himself, and strove to reach the shore with him. Now he planted his foot upon the rocky ground, now he seized the overhanging rocky points on which to support himself; and now, too, the mother regained power and motion. She rushed to both. Slowly Reinhold mounted the cliff; his breast heaved with fearful exertion; his arms bled, wounded by the sharp stones to which he had held, but these arms encircled his boy whom he clasped against his heart for the first time for years, and sinking down half-unconsciously, he placed the child in its mother's arms.
"Then this is really and irrevocably to be a farewell visit?" asked Consul Erlau of Captain Almbach, who sat near him. "Your departure comes very suddenly and unexpectedly. What will your brother, what will Eleonore, say to it? Both calculated quite positively upon keeping you here a few weeks longer."
On Hugo's usually light brow there lay a shadow to-day, and on his features a strange, bitter expression, as he replied--
"You will soon reconcile yourselves to the parting. Reinhold will not feel my absence in the constant society of wife and child; and Ella--" he broke off suddenly. "Consider it as being all for the best, Herr Consul. They will both be far too much occupied with each other and their newly-recovered happiness to ask afterme."
"Yes, indeed," rejoined the Consul, "and the greatest loser in this reconciliation am I. For years I have looked upon Eleonore as my child, have considered her and the little one as my indisputable property; and now, all at once, her husband makes good his so-called rights and takes them both from me, without my being able to raise any objection to it. I do not understand Eleonore, that she has pardoned him so readily."
"Well, it was not done so very readily," said Hugo gravely. "He met with resistance enough, and I hardly believe ha would ever have overcome it without that catastrophe which finally came to their assistance. He bought the reconciliation with his child's rescue. Ella would have been no wife and mother if she had turned away from him then, when he laid her boy, uninjured, in her arms. That moment atoned for all, and you know as well as I that saving the child nearly cost the father's life."
"Yes, certainly, he could do nothing more sensible than become dangerously ill after the affair," grumbled Erlau, who decidedly seemed to be in a very uncharitable mood. "That was enough to call Ella to his side at once, from which she was not to be removed again, and he very wisely would not let her leave him. One knows all that. Danger and fear, care and tenderness without end! You surely do not require me to rejoice over this reconciliation? I wish we had left this Italian journey alone, then I should have kept my Eleonore, and Herr Reinhold could have continued his genial, romantic artist's life here. That would have been perfectly right for me."
"You are unjust," said Hugo reproachfully.
"And you out of sorts," added Erlau. "I do not understand exactly what has happened to you Herr Captain; your brother is out of danger, your sister-in-law amiability itself, the little one has attached himself most tenderly to you, but your cheerfulness seems quite to have left you since everything has been swimming in love and peace around us. You play no jokes upon any one, you annoy no one with your teasings and nonsense, one hardly ever hears a word of fun from you. I fear something has got into your head, or even your heart."
Hugo laughed loudly but somewhat forcedly.
"Why not, indeed! I can no longer bear to remain such a time on shore, and give up the sea. This inactivity of months wearies me. Thank God, it is coming to an end at last. Early to-morrow I depart, and in a few more days I shall be out on the waves again."
"And then we all fly apart quite prettily to every point of the compass," said the Consul, who still could not get the better of his irritation. "You sail to the West Indies, your brother and Eleonore will also leave; I go back to H----, a most pleasant solitude which awaits me there at home! Herr Reinhold certainly was gracious enough to promise me that I should see his wife and child from time to time. From time to time! As if that could satisfy me, after having had her about me every moment for years. Of course, now the husband and father must decide about it! I am convinced he will never let her leave him for a week; he is just as overwhelming in his tenderness as he once was in his carelessness."
It almost seemed as if the subject of the conversation were painful to Captain Almbach, as he broke it off quickly by rising and taking leave of the Consul heartily, but yet rather curtly and hastily. Erlau evidently saw him go with regret, as however great was the prejudice which he entertained against Reinhold, he was as decidedly prepossessed in Hugo's favour, and if the latter had been the repentant prodigal, the Consul would have regarded the reconciliation with a much more favourable eye than he did now where every feeling of justice was lost in the pain of the impending separation from his favourite. It only slightly consoled the old gentleman that he took his restored health home with him; his house appeared very desolate to him now, and he sighed deeply as the door closed after his guest.
Hugo, in the meantime, returned to his brother's abode which he still shared. His room, in consequence of the preparations for his departure, was in the greatest disorder already. He had ordered Jonas to pack up, and put all ready for the early morning, and the sailor had partly obeyed these directions, as the boxes stood open on the floor, and the travelling requisites lay about on the table and chairs.
But there seemed to be no talk of packing at present, as Jonas sat quite calmly on the lid of the large travelling chest, and near him little Annunziata, whom he had probably called to help him in this difficult business. The conversation between them, notwithstanding the young Italian's very defective knowledge of German, was in full course, and Jonas had also placed his arm, unabashed, round her waist, and was just in the act of stealing a kiss from her, which did not seem to be the first, and most likely would not have been the last, if Hugo's appearance had not put an end to any farther confidential arrangements.
The couple started up, alarmed at the unexpected opening of the door. Annunziata recovered herself first. She fled with a slight exclamation past Captain Almbach into the ante-room, where she disappeared and left the explanation of the situation to her companion. Jonas however, transfixed from fright, and stiff as a statue, stood without moving, looking at his master, who now entered completely and shut the door behind him.
"Do you call that packing the boxes?" asked he. "Then you have gone so far happily with your exercise of pity?"
Jonas sighed deeply--
"Yes, Herr Captain, I am so far," replied he, resignedly.
The confession was made with such comical humiliation, that Hugo had difficulty to suppress a smile; still he said with a grave face--
"Jonas, I never thought to experience such things in you. It is only lucky that you are a man of principles, which will not allow you to let such follies become serious. Principles before everything! Our 'Ellida,' lies ready to sail; to-morrow we start for the harbour, and when we return from the West Indies, you will have driven this love story out of your head, and Annunziata in the meanwhile will have taken another--"
"She will leave that alone," cried Jonas furiously. "I will kill her and myself too if she does anything of the kind."
"Will you not extend the killing to me also?" asked Hugo coolly. "You seem to be quite in the humour for it. You have gone so far as kissing, that is certain. I have actually witnessed with my own eyes how seaman William Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' has kissed a woman, and I should have thought that with this fact, enough to set one's hair on end, all would have stopped."
"Preserve us," said Jonas, defiantly. "That is only the beginning--then comes the marrying."
"Will you marry too?" asked Captain Almbach, in a tone of most intense indignation. "You will marry a woman? But consider, Jonas, that women are to blame for everything, that all mischief in the world originated with them, that a man only has peace and quiet when far from them, that--"
"Herr Captain," replied the sailor, who contrary to all respect, interrupted his master in the middle of his speech, as he heard his own words from the other's lips--
"Herr Captain, I was an idiot."
"Oh! your Annunziata seems to have inspired you with much self-knowledge already, and that is the more admirable as language in your conversation plays a very inferior part. Your chosen one speaks German thoroughly badly, and you have not caught much more Italian than merely her name. To be sure I saw just now how capitally you managed to help yourselves. Your conjugation of 'amare.' if not quite grammatical, was extremely comprehensible."
"Yes, indeed, we know how to help ourselves," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness. "We understand each other however always, and on the main point we understand each other at once. I like her, she will have me, and we shall marry each other."
"And so it ends!" finished Hugo. "And how about our departure, amid these suitable arrangements?"
"I shall still go to the West Indies, Herr Captain," answered Jonas eagerly. "We cannot marry in quite so head-over-heel a fashion, and my bride will meanwhile remain with young Frau Almbach, who has promised to take care of her. When I return, however, Annunziata thinks my seafaring must end. She thinks when she takes a husband that he must stay with her also, and not sail about for years on all kinds of seas. We could set up a little public house in some place, where I should not be so far from the ocean, and should always meet with my comrades, Annunziata thinks."
"Your Annunziata seems to think a great deal," remarked Captain Almbach, "and you naturally submit like a converted woman-hater and obedient bridegroom to this opinion of your 'future.' Then on this voyage, the 'Ellida' is to have the honour of counting you amongst her crew? Afterwards she must look out for another sailor and I for another servant?"
"Yes, afterwards," said Jonas, somewhat shamefacedly. "If--if you do not also--Herr Captain--you had better marry too."
"Don't come to me with your proposals!" cried Hugo, jumping up angrily. "I should have thought it would be sufficient at present, that you come under petticoat-government. Now, pack my boxes and take leave of your Annunziata! As we start very early tomorrow, I--have also still to take leave."
The last words sounded so peculiarly forced, that Jonas looked up astonished. He knew that it was not his master's wont to let farewells in any place be hard for him, and yet he fancied that this one made Hugo's heart right heavy. Fortunately the sailor was in similar plight; therefore he did not trouble much about it, but set to work to pack, while Hugo went across to the rooms which his sister-in-law inhabited now. He stood motionless for a few moments before the closed door, as if he did not dare to enter; then all at once, as if with sudden determination, he put his hand on the latch and opened it.
Ella sat at her writing table. She was alone, and in the act of closing a letter she had just concluded, when her brother-in-law entered, and came quickly to her.
"Have you announced your return to Germany?" asked he, pointing to the letter. "Herr Consul Erlau will make all H---- rebellious with his despair at being obliged to return without you and the little one."
Ella laid her pen aside and rose. "I am sorry that uncle should feel our parting so much," replied she; "I have already tried my utmost to procure a substitute, and by letter begged one of his relations to take my place in his house now that other duties call me. His wish for us to accompany him to H----, and for us to live with him for a time, I could not agree to on Reinhold's account. We have once already given society there cause to busy themselves about us; if we return now, there would be no end to the painful curiosity and interest, and Reinhold still so much needs consideration. He cannot bear the slightest allusion to the past as yet, without exciting himself dangerously. We must certainly seek another quieter residence."
"At all events, it is fortunate that you have decided him to return to Germany at all," said Hugo; "he has been estranged from home long enough, both as regards his life and his musical labours. It is time that he should at last take root in his fatherland."
Ella smiled. "You preach that to me and him daily, and yourself long restlessly to go far away? Confess it now, Hugo, you can hardly wait for the day of your departure, and it is difficult enough for you to endure the few weeks you still have with us."
"The difficulty is removed already," said Hugo, with feigned unconcern, "I leave tomorrow."
"To-morrow?" cried Ella, half-astonished, half-alarmed. "But you promised, though, to remain until our departure."
Captain Almbach bent low over the papers and writing materials on the table, as if searching for something amongst them.
"Things have changed since then, and I have received news from the 'Ellida' which calls me away at once. You know that with us sailors that sort of thing often happens quickly and unexpectedly. I was just going to tell you and Reinhold of it, and bid you farewell at the same time, as I must start early in the morning."
He had poured it all out hastily, without looking up. Ella's eyes were fixed gravely and searchingly upon his face.
"Hugo, that is an excuse," said she, decidedly; "you have received no news, at least, none so urgent. What has occurred? Why will you go?"
"You interrogate me like a criminal judge," said Hugo, jokingly, with an attempt to regain the old cheerful tone. "Be prudent, Ella! you have to deal with a confirmed sinner, who will indeed confess nothing."
"Yes; I see that something has happened to drive you away," said Ella, uneasily, "and for long I have known that something has come between us which estranges you from Reinhold and me more every day. Be candid, Hugo. What have you against us? Why will you forsake us now?"
She had gone closer to him, and laid her hand upon his arm beseechingly, but perfectly unembarrassed. Captain Almbach's countenance was intensely pale, as he looked silently on the ground; at last he slowly raised his eyes.
"Because I can bear it no longer," he broke out with sudden violence; "I have urged your reconciliation with Reinhold so long, and now that it has taken place, and I must look on at it daily, hourly--now only I feel how little talent I have for being a saint or for platonic friendship. I must go away if I do not wish to be ruined. My God, Ella, do not look at me as if an abyss were opened out before you! Have you really had no conception, then, of the state of mind I am in, and what these last weeks at your side have cost me?"
Ella had shrunk back at these last words, her pallor and the expression of deadly fear in her face gave an answer, even before she opened her lips to reply.
"No, Hugo, I had no conception of it," replied she, in a trembling voice. "When we first met, I felt myself obliged to repel a fleeting fancy. That it could ever be serious with you, I never deemed possible."
"Nor I either," said Hugo, glumly. "At the beginning, I too, believed I could laugh and scoff away this feeling--scoff it away like all others; and now it has become earnest, such bitter earnest, that I was on the high road to learn to hate my brother, to loathe the whole world, until the latter part of my time here became a hell--perhaps it will be better out on the sea, perhaps not either. But go I must, the sooner the better."
Something so wild, so passionate lay in those words, and Hugo's whole manner betrayed so plainly the difficulty with which he had suppressed his internal agony, that Ella found no courage for a harsh reply. She turned silently away. After a few moments Captain Almbach again came to her side.
"Do not turn from me, Ella, as from a criminal!" said he, with returning gentleness. "I am going, perhaps never to return, and the hour of my confession is also that of my farewell. I might, indeed, have spared you it, should not have made your heart heavy too with what oppresses mine. God knows I had the honest intention of being silent, and bear it until I had departed; but after all, one is but mortal, and when you begged me to remain, and looked so kindly at me, there was an end of my self-control. Reinhold himself prophesied that I should some day meet those eyes which would put a stop to all scoffing, all thoughtlessness. The only misfortune was, that I must find them in his wife. If this were not so, I had better have bid adieu to all freedom and independence for these eyes' sake, have become a quiet, steady married man, and have denied my whole nature; but it would have been a pity for old Hugo Almbach after all--therefore, probably Heaven raised an obstacle, and said 'No.'"