They began to speak now of "our principal," as if it were a thing of course. In one hour Arthur had won the title for himself; it seemed now the only proper designation for him. He must indeed have shown himself well fitted to rule.
The three delegates had left the house, and walked away in the direction of the works. Ulric spoke no word, but Lawrence said in a low voice:
"You were saying a little while ago that if some one knew when to show his teeth, and when to give them good words, then .... Well, Ulric, I think there is some one up there that does know."
Ulric did not answer. He cast a look up at the windows, and a thunder-cloud gathered on his brow.
"So all that lay hidden behind those sleepy eyes of his, which looked fit for nothing in the world but napping," he murmured between his tightly set teeth. "'So long as I stand here, I am master of these works!' I really believe the man has the making of it in him."
They here met a group of miners, special partisans of Ulric, who had not made the descent into the mine with the others, and who now pressed round the three ambassadors with much noisy questioning.
"Ulric will tell you all about it," said Lawrence, drily. "I think we have gone to the wrong man. He does not mean to give way."
"Not?"
All the miners looked disappointed. They had evidently reckoned on another answer. Some angry exclamations and menaces against the young proprietor were heard, and his name was several times mentioned in terms of undisguised contempt.
"Hold your tongues, lads!" called out Ulric imperiously. "You don't know the man we have just seen. I thought we should have had easy work, now that the father is out of the way. We have all been mistaken in the son. He has got something no one would have looked for in such a milksop; he has got a will of his own. I tell you, he will give us some trouble yet."
It was quite early morning. Mountains and woods were sparkling in the dewy freshness of the young spring day, and the air was full of balmy odours, as Eugénie Berkow rode alone and unattended along the forest path. She was an excellent horsewoman and passionately fond of riding, yet here in the country she had indulged in it much less frequently than had been her wont.
At first the weather had not permitted of any long excursions, later on she had lacked all inclination for it; but the chief reason, no doubt, was that her beautiful mare had been a present from her husband in the days of his courtship, and that her dislike to the donor was habitually transferred to everything that came directly from him. On her wedding day it had cost her a struggle to put on the costly diamonds which had been his bridal gift, and, since that day, they had never been taken from their cases.
In the midst of the luxury and splendour which had surrounded her since her marriage, she had moved as one constrained and ill at ease. Even the beautiful creature, which had cost a fabulous sum, and had excited the admiration of the whole city when Eugénie appeared on it for the first time, riding by her betrothed's side, was neglected by its mistress in a remarkable manner, and altogether given over to the care of the domestics.
These latter were, therefore, not a little surprised when her ladyship that morning ordered Afra to be saddled, and intimated to the servant who was preparing to accompany her that she wished to ride alone. Though her commands caused no little wonder, they were, of course, obeyed, and she set out on her journey without any attendant.
Arthur, naturally, knew nothing of it. She saw him now more rarely than ever, for he frequently excused himself from dining with her, and their lives were so entirely separate, that it was a most unusual thing for one to know what the other intended doing on such and such a day.
Eugénie trotted quickly through the forest, without meeting a human being. It was, indeed, most solitary up here in the woods, but the freshness and beauty of the morning, the very solitude itself, had a reviving effect upon the young wife, who for several days had not been beyond the park-gates.
The works lay idle; an unnatural calm brooded over the whole settlement, contrasting with its usual restless activity, for now the centre of action was transferred to the master's study, which the latter but rarely left.
The officials came and went, conferences were held, books and papers were examined; Schäffer was continually on the road between the capital and the estates; letters and despatches flew backwards and forwards; but a shade of sombre gravity hung over all this zeal and busy movement, as though some misfortune were looming in the distance, which they were striving to avert or, at all events, preparing to meet.
Eugénie knew, of course, that a disagreement existed with the work-people; Arthur had told her so himself, and had added that the matter was of no importance and would very soon be settled. He had spoken very quietly and coolly, and had only begged her, if she went out to drive, to avoid the miners' villages as much as possible, a somewhat irritable spirit being abroad just now. The officials must have received hints not to alarm her ladyship, for when Eugénie endeavoured to learn from them something more definite, she was always met by a polite evasive answer, or by some comforting assurance.
They told her there was really nothing to be uneasy about, the difficulty was not of a serious nature, and an arrangement might be looked for any day. Yet Eugénie had a distinct perception of the danger which was thus denied, and a perception as keen of the change which had come over her husband since the elder Berkow's death, though his behaviour to her was just the one point which remained unaltered.
The young wife was of too fearless and too proud a nature not to feel as a sort of offence the being thus shut out, and so obviously spared all unpleasant knowledge. True, she had no right to exact a frank and open statement, no right to share the anxieties and, perhaps, perils, which might assail her husband. That privilege, to which other women could assert a claim, lay immeasurably removed from her.
When once the decisive word of separation has been spoken, when people are only bearing with one another for a few months "for appearances' sake," and in order to give the world as little matter for gossip as possible, there can hardly be any interests in common. She understood this, and, had she not understood it, Arthur's conduct would have made her sensible of the fact. For, as he every day roused himself more and more from his former indolence, and applied himself to the most strenuous exertion, so in proportion did he become colder and more distant in his manner to her. She was grateful to him, really, that by thus treating her already as a perfect stranger, he should seek to render the step they proposed taking easier and less painful to her.
Eugénie did not conceal from herself that Berkow's death had cleared away a great obstacle to the fulfilment of her wishes. He would hardly have consented to the dissolution of a marriage for which he, in his ambition, had so long striven, and which he had bought so dearly. His son viewed the matter in another light. To him the marriage was as indifferent as the wife, whom he, in his former easy passivity, had suffered to be forced upon him.
He had voluntarily offered her the separation before she had made any attempt to obtain his consent to it, and the step, which almost invariably costs so many a struggle, such tears and bitterness of feeling, which, not unfrequently, rouses from their depths all the passions of the human heart, would, in this case, be taken quietly and temperately, with perfect mutual accord, and in so thoroughly cold, polite and heartless a manner, it was really worthy of all admiration.
All at once Afra reared high in the air. She was not accustomed to the touch of the whip, much less to so very smart a cut as she had just received. Her mistress's impatience tried her greatly this morning, and if Eugénie had not been perfectly at home in the saddle, the fiery excitable animal would have given her trouble enough. As it was, she bridled in her horse with some little effort, but her delicate eyebrows were knitted and her lips firmly set, as if in anger. Whether this anger were aroused by Afra's opposition, or by the failure of opposition in another quarter, must remain undecided.
Meanwhile she had reached the farm, distant a mile or two from the works, and lying farther up the valley. Now she must begin to climb, not indeed by the steep footpath by which she and Arthur had made their descent, and which would have been impracticable on horseback, but by a carriage-road leading not far from thence up, by long but easy windings, to the not very elevated summit. Her horse, unused to mountain-climbing, chafed at the exertion required, and on reaching the top of the hill, she was obliged to halt to give it time to recover itself.
The veil of mist, which had hovered over the country when last she was there, had vanished now, and the clear sunshine flowed down brightly warm upon the earth, as though there had never been a time when the rain and the wind had here striven for the mastery, and when the whole landscape around had been shrouded in one grey shapeless mantle of fog.
The valleys lay once more blue and vaporous in the cool morning shade, and the mountains stood out in bolder relief by the contrast, their countless crests rising one above the other, seeming to press each other into the background; nothing but one great sea of forest, stretching right away to the range of blue peaks in the horizon. The dark pines had dressed themselves in a tender light green. Blossoms of a thousand hues and forms bloomed, not only in the fruitful soil within the woods, but in the rocky ground without, in every nook and cranny where a reed could find room for itself or a tiny plant take root, and the air was full of their sweet fragrance.
Then the brooks ran foaming down into the valleys below, the springs rippled gently, and overhead was spread a cloudless azure canopy of sky. All around was so golden clear, so grand and free, it seemed as though the newly awakened life of Nature must have power to heal every wound, to break every fetter, as though here nothing could draw breath that was not allied to freedom and to happiness.
And yet Eugénie's look was strangely thoughtful. There was a tension of pain in her face, as if for her there lay some secret torture in all this surrounding beauty. She should have breathed freely now, remembering the promised liberty which would be hers before the earth had been greeted by another spring.
Why could she feel no relief? Why, at this thought, did a sensation nearly akin to pain dart through her soul? Was the memory of that troubled hour still so potent within her, of that hour when, for the first time, the word of separation had been spoken and accepted? She longed so ardently for this separation, to be free to go back to her own people; she suffered so cruelly from her chains, she felt as if she could hardly bear them any longer; since their conversation up here it had become impossible for her to bear them.
Up to then she had been firm and steadfast in her self-sacrifice for her father's sake, in her resignation to the lot forced upon her and in her hatred to those who had so forced it, but, from that hour, all her feelings seemed to have undergone a change. From that hour dated the secret contest within her, the struggle against something which lay obscure and unexpressed down in the farthest depths of her soul, and which, she was determined, should never gain dominion over her.
Yet it was this indefinite something that had driven her out this morning and dragged her almost against her will up to this spot; it alone was to blame for the fact that Baron Windeg's daughter had so far lost sight of all etiquette as to leave behind the groom who always attended her on her expeditions.
She neither could nor would have any observant eyes upon her to-day, and it was well that she had none, for, as she halted there alone upon the heights, there came over her, in the midst of all this bright spring sunshine, a sort of vague longing for the mysterious charm of that hour when clouds and fog encircled her, when the pine crests rustled above them and the storm raged in the ravines and valleys below, when those great brown eyes, unveiling themselves for the first time, awakened within her a dim intuitive consciousness that of the man before her much, nay almost anything, might perhaps have been made, if only--before his own father's hand had drawn him down into that vortex where so many a life is wrecked--if only he could have loved and been loved in return.
And, with the remembrance of this, there welled up within her a feeling which Eugénie Windeg had never known, which it was reserved for Arthur Berkow's wife to experience, a sorrow far quieter, but also far deeper, than any she had yet endured. She laid her hand over her eyes, as a torrent of hot tears burst irrepressibly from them.
"My lady!"
Eugénie started, and, at the same moment, Afra, taking fright at the sound of a strange voice, sprang violently to one side. In an instant a powerful hand had seized her bridle, forcing the animal to be still. Ulric Hartmann stood close by its side.
"I did not know the horse was so easily scared, but I caught hold of the bridle at once," said he apologetically, casting a look half anxious, half admiring, at the young rider who had kept her seat so steadily in spite of the surprise.
Eugénie brushed her hand quickly across her face, trying to wipe away all trace of tears, but it was too late, her fit of weeping must already have been observed, and the thought of this drove a deep crimson to her cheeks and lent a tone of vexation to her voice, as she said quickly and rather imperiously:
"Let go the reins. Afra is not accustomed to be held by strangers, and it frightens her to feel their touch. You are bringing danger on me and yourself too by standing so near."
Ulric obeyed and stepped back. Eugénie passed her hand caressingly over the animal's neck, and Afra, who had never ceased snorting and fretting while she felt a strange hold on her rein, a hold too powerful, as she at once knew, to be resisted, soon quieted down under the influence of her mistress's petting.
In the meantime Hartmann's gaze had never swerved from the young horsewoman, and, in truth, few of her sex, when mounted, could show to such advantage as she. The dark habit, the little hat and veil set lightly on the rich plaits of her fair hair, and crowning becomingly the beautiful face with its heightened colour, her easy and assured bearing, quite unruffled by Afra's restlessness, all served her admirably and brought the just proportions of her slender figure into fullest evidence. As she sat her handsome horse there in the bright full sunlight, she looked a perfect picture of graceful strength.
"You were up here, Hartmann?" asked she, in the faint hope that he might only just have reached the heights at the moment he had first addressed her, and so not have seen her tears. "I did not notice you before."
"I was standing up there," he pointed to an opening in the forest which had certainly not attracted her attention. "I saw you riding up and stayed waiting for you."
Eugénie, about to ride past him into the wood, stopped at these words in surprise.
"Waiting for me?" she repeated. "And why?" Ulric evaded a reply.
"You are alone, my lady, quite alone? you have not even a servant with you as usual?"
"No, you can see I am by myself." Ulric stepped up quickly, but more cautiously this time, to the horse's side again.
"Then you must turn back at once. I will go with you, at all events until we come in sight of the works."
"But why all this?" asked Eugénie, more and more amazed at the proposal and at the young miner's darkly knitted brows. "Is there any danger here in the woods, or what else is there to be afraid of?"
Ulric cast a scrutinising look at the road below, which could be seen in most of its windings from the spot where they stood.
"We have been up to the forges in the hills, I and some of my mates," he said at last slowly. "I took the shorter cut because I wanted to get back sooner, the others followed the high road. You might come upon them, my lady, and I would rather be with you--any way."
"I am not timid," Eugénie declared firmly, "and I should suppose they will hardly go so far as to insult me. I know there is a disagreement with the miners on the works, but they tell me it is of no importance and will soon be settled."
"Then they lie to you!" broke in Ulric roughly. "It is no trifling matter, and it is not likely to be settled. Herr Berkow has declared war upon us, or we upon him, it comes to the same thing; any way, we are at war, and there will never be an end to it until one side or the other is fairly worsted. I tell you so, my lady, and I ought to know."
A slight pallor overspread the young wife's face as she heard this confirmation of the fears which had so long haunted her; but his arrogant tone and rough manner of disclosing facts offended her, and she replied with some haughtiness:
"Well, if that is the case, I cannot possibly accept the company, still less the protection, of a man who so openly avows himself to be my husband's enemy. I shall go on alone."
She would have given her horse the rein, but Ulric started forward at the movement, and, with a hasty imperious gesture, placed himself before her, barring the road.
"Stay, my lady, you must take me with you."
"I must?" Eugénie raised her head proudly. "What if I will not?"
"Then .... I implore you to yield."
Again there was the same abrupt transition from ruthless menace to almost supplicating entreaty which had disarmed her once already. It melted her anger now as she looked down on the young miner, dark and wrathful, but yet gazing up at her in unmistakable anxiety.
"I cannot accept your offer, Hartmann," said she gravely. "If your comrades are stirred up to such a pitch of irritation that I cannot meet them without being exposed to insult, I fear it has been your doing alone, and a man who bears us so deadly a hatred" ...
"Us!" interrupted Ulric impetuously. "I bear you no hatred, my lady, and I'll take careyouare not insulted. Not a man among them dares say a word against you when I am by, and if he dared to do it once, he would not a second time. Let me go with you!"
Eugénie hesitated a few seconds, but her fearless nature and the thought of his former hostile tone turned the scale against him.
"I will turn back and avoid the high road," said she quickly. "You must stay here, Hartmann. Consideration for Herr Berkow requires it."
At the sound of this name his long pent-up anger burst forth. His eyes flashed, and a gleam of savage hatred darted like lightning from them.
"Consideration for Herr Berkow!" he broke out, "for Herr Berkow, who shows you such tender care, allowing you to ride out alone, when he knows we have been up at the forges and must be about the woods now. But the truth is, he never has given himself any concern about you. It is all the same to him whether you are unhappy or not, and yet the whole responsibility of it lies at his door."
"Hartmann, how dare you speak so!" exclaimed Eugénie, glowing with anger and indignation, but she strove in vain to stop him. He went on with ever-growing excitement.
"No doubt, it is a great crime to have caught you crying, when you thought there was not a soul about to notice it; but I am pretty sure that you have shed tears enough, my lady, since you came here, only no one has been by to see, as I was just now. I know who is to blame for it, and I will make him" ...
He stopped suddenly, for Eugénie had drawn herself up erect in her saddle, and was looking at him with that air of crushing haughtiness she could assume at times to keep others at a distance. The tone of her voice was sharp and freezing; worse still, she spoke as a mistress addressing an inferior, ordering him now imperiously.
"Be silent, Hartmann. Say one word, one single word, more against my husband, and I shall forget that you saved his life and mine, and answer your outbreak as it deserves."
She turned her horse's head quickly, and would have ridden past him; but Ulric's giant form stood before her in the path, and he would not yield a step. At that tone of command, which he then heard for the first time from her lips, he had grown deadly pale, and the hate burning in his eyes seemed now to include her also.
"Out of my way!" commanded Eugénie still more imperatively than before. "I will pass."
But she was dealing with a man who cared little for orders given him, and who was stung to fury at receiving one from her mouth. Instead of obeying, he took one step forward, which brought him close up to her side, and again, this time with a grasp of iron, seized the bridle, paying no heed to the rearing horse or to its rider's danger.
"You should not speak so to me," he said in a deep low voice. "Don't urge on your horse," he continued desperately, as she was about to touch Afra with her whip, in the hope of breaking free from him and getting away. "You cannot ride me down; but, by Heaven, I will drag the beast to the ground, as I did that day with the other two."
The threat contained in his words was terrible enough, but there was a still worse menace in his look. For the first time Eugénie saw turned against herself that savage temper so feared by all, and she suddenly awoke to a full sense of the danger of her position. Instantly, however, with quick presence of mind, she caught at the only means which could save her.
"Hartmann," said she reproachfully, but her voice had grown gentle and almost soft, "not long ago, you offered me your protection, and now you use threats towards me yourself. Yes indeed, I can see what there might be to fear from your comrades, if you can behave so to me. I should not have ridden out to the forest if I could have had the least suspicion of it."
The reproach and, still more, the voice, brought Ulric to his senses again. His wild fury subsided, when he no longer heard that imperative tone which had exasperated him.
"Up to this time I have never feared you," continued Eugénie softly, "in spite of all the bad things they say of you. Do you wish to make me fear you now? We are close to the edge, and it is very steep below. If you go on irritating the mare in this way, if you attempt to carry out your threat, there will be an accident. Will the man who once threw himself under my horses' hoofs, that he might rescue a perfect stranger, actually bring danger upon me now? Let me go, Hartmann."
A quiver shot through Ulric. He looked down at the steep slope and saw how very near it they were. Slowly he let go his hold on the bridle, very slowly, as though yielding to some irresistible force, he stepped to one side and let her pass.
Eugénie looked back involuntarily. He was standing there silent and still, his fiery eyes fixed on the ground; without a syllable of response or of leave-taking he let her go on her way unhindered.
Eugénie drew a deep breath of relief, as Afra's swift pace soon carried her from that dangerous neighbourhood. Fearless as she was by nature, she had trembled. Our heroine would have been no woman, if, after such a scene, she had not known that which she had long suspected, namely, that the man's behaviour to herself, so enigmatical and full of contradictions, concealed some other and far more dangerous feeling than hate.
Once again he had yielded to her influence, but he had been on the very point of bursting his bonds. She had a proof now that, when once the barriers were broken down, he was no whit inferior in blind and raging fury to that "untamed element of Nature" to which she had likened him.
She had reached the valley, and, bearing in mind the warning she had received, was about to turn out of the main road, when she heard the sound of a horse's hoofs, and, looking round, saw that its rider was galloping towards her at a speed which soon brought him to her side.
"At last!" cried Arthur, out of breath and reining in his horse. "What imprudence to ride out alone to-day of all days! But, to be sure, you had no notion of the risk you ran."
Eugénie looked at him in surprise, as, panting and glowing from his hasty ride, he walked his horse by her side. He was not dressed for riding, he wore neither spurs nor gloves. He must have mounted just as he was, in his house-dress, and set out in her pursuit.
"I only heard of your fancy half-an-hour ago," he continued, mastering his excitement. "Frank and Anthony are looking for you in different directions, I was the only one to find the right track. They told me at the farm you had ridden by here a little while ago."
Eugénie did not inquire as to the reason of all this uneasiness; she knew it well enough, but the uneasiness itself surprised her a little. He might simply have sent the servants out after her. No doubt, the idea that his wife might be insulted by the miners would be very distasteful to the proprietor of the works, and it was probably in his character as master of the place that he had rushed after her himself.
"I have been up there," said she, pointing to the goal of her expedition.
"Up on the heights? Where we took refuge from the storm that day? You have been up there?"
Eugénie grew crimson. Once again she saw in his eyes that strange gleam of light which had been absent from them for weeks, and then, why did he question her so eagerly, so breathlessly? Had he not long ago forgotten that hour, the remembrance of which still troubled her so often?
"I came upon the place accidentally," said she hurriedly, as though trying to acquit herself of blame. Her plea succeeded, and was at once followed by the desired result.
The light vanished from his eyes, and his voice was cold and steady again as he returned:
"Accidentally? Ah, yes, I might have known that such a mountain excursion as that would not form part of your plans. Afra always shows so much dislike to climbing. But you might also accidentally have taken the road to M----, and that was what I feared."
"And what was there to be afraid of there?" asked Eugénie, looking keenly at him, while together they left the broad high-road and entered a path which led through the woods.
Arthur tried to evade her look.
"Something unpleasant might have occurred there on this particular day. Our miners have been up to the forges in the hills to try and stir up resistance there also. Hartmann's fulminating speeches have made them all red hot. I hear there were already disturbances up there yesterday, and a band of men, returning in an excited state from the scene of such disorders, may, unfortunately, be ready for anything. They must be on their way back now."
"I should have avoided the high road in any case," said Eugénie quietly. "I had been warned already."
"Warned! By whom?"
"By Hartmann himself. I met him not a quarter of an hour ago up in the forest."
This time it was Arthur's horse which reared violently. Its rider had startled it by a sudden twitch at the reins.
"Hartmann? And he dared to go near you--to address you, after all that has happened during the last few days?"
"He only did it to warn me, to offer me his escort and protection. I declined both. I thought it was due to you and your position."
"You thought it due to me," repeated Arthur in a cutting tone. "I am immensely indebted to you for such consideration, and you did well to take it into account; for, if you had allowed yourself to be escorted by him--much as I try to avoid giving any pretext for an open conflict--I should have had to make him feel that the author and chief instigator of the whole revolt must keep himself at a distance from my wife."
Eugénie was silent. She knew him now well enough to be aware that, in spite of his apparent coldness, he was greatly irritated; she understood the close setting of the lips and the slight tremor of the hand. Just so had he stood opposite her on the first evening of their arrival, only now she knew better what lay concealed behind that calm demeanour.
They rode on in silence through the sunny woods, the horses' hoofs falling noiselessly on the yielding moss. Here, as up yonder, the scent and breath of spring were everywhere; here as there, was the clear deep-blue sky, vaulting in the pine trees overhead, and here too the secret sorrow at her heart, but keener now and far more poignant than it had been up on the heights above.
The horses walked side by side in the narrow path; as they went, the heavy folds of Eugénie's habit brushed against the bushes, and her veil went fluttering back over Arthur's shoulder. Brought into such close neighbourhood as this, she could not fail to observe that her companion was looking terribly pale, now that the exertion of his hasty ride was over. True, he had never had the fresh, healthy colour of youth, but this was quite a different pallor from that of the young dandy who spent his evenings in heated salons and his nights in play, and then, wearied out and satiated, would lie all day long on the sofa, with the curtains closely drawn, because his weakened eyes could not endure the sunlight.
His present paleness came, no doubt, from the same source as the dark lines of care upon his brow, and the grave, almost sombre, expression of his face which formerly bore an expression of lazy indifference only. To most men such a change would have been unfavourable, but to Arthur Berkow it proved an infinite gain.
Eugénie now saw plainly for the first time that her husband had claims to be considered handsome. In earlier days she had not been willing to see this. His languid air and evident want of interest in all around him had outweighed for her those advantages which were now, all at once, brought out into bold relief by the new and unaccustomed stamp of energy imprinted on his countenance and entire bearing; an energy which possibly may have been long latent within him, but which, like so many other qualities had been repressed, and well-nigh crushed, by too early and too satiating an experience of life and its enjoyments. Ah, yes! the world lying perdu beneath was indeed rising from its depths at last, roused by the sound of the approaching storm which alone ...!
Eugénie felt something like bitterness at the thought that she herself had had no share in this awakening, that hers was not the magic charm which had loosed the spell. He had broken through it of his own strength, and needed no help from a stranger's hand.
"I am sorry I had to spoil your ride," said Arthur, breaking the silence at last, but addressing her in his usual tone of distant politeness. "It is a glorious day."
"I am afraid you stand more in need of a ride in the open air than I." The young wife's voice betrayed a perhaps unconscious anxiety. "You are looking pale, Arthur."
"I am not used to work," said he with a kind of bitter pleasantry. "That comes from being so effeminate. I cannot do what the people I employ have to do every day of their lives."
"It seems to me, rather, that you are doing too much, you are pushing it to the very extreme," returned Eugénie, quickly. "All day long you hardly leave your study, and, at night, I see the light burning there until morning."
A sudden flush passed over the young man's face.
"And how long is it since you have favoured the windows of my room with so much attention?" asked he with quiet sarcasm. "I did not suppose you knew of their existence."
She reddened a little now in her turn, but soon overcame her confusion, and answered with firmness:
"Since I have known that the danger you are so determined to make light of is drawing nearer day by day. Why did you deceive me as to the importance of this dispute and its possible consequences?"
"I did not wish to alarm you."
She made an impatient gesture.
"I am no timid child to be so carefully spared, and if there is anything threatening us"----
"Us!" interrupted Arthur. "Excuse me, the danger threatens me alone. I have never intended to treat you as a child; but I thought it my duty not to importune the Baroness Windeg with matters which must be quite indifferent to her, and which, before long, will be as completely removed from her as the name she now bears."
The tone of his reply was frigid in the extreme. It was her own tone, one she had often enough adopted towards him, when she found it necessary to remind him of her descent or of the compulsion to which she had yielded in marrying; and now it was used as a lesson to herself! Something like anger shot up into her dark eyes as she fixed them on her husband.
"So you decline giving me any information about your affairs for the future?"
"No, not if you wish for it."
Eugénie struggled a moment with herself; at last she said,
"You have refused your people's demands?"
"All that it was possible for me to grant, and all that the people themselves required, I have granted; but Hartmann's terms are so extreme, they will not bear discussion. They would, of necessity, lead to the complete destruction of all discipline, to a state of positive anarchy, and they are in themselves a downright insult. He would hardly have ventured to propose them, if he had not known all that is at stake for me in this struggle."
"And what is there at stake?" asked Eugénie, listening with breathless attention. "Your fortune?"
"More even, my existence as a mine-owner."
"And you will not give way?"
"No."
She looked up at her husband, at the man who, barely three months before, could not endure a "scene" with her, because it affected his "nerves," and who now quietly faced a struggle on which his whole future depended. Was he really the same being? That "No" of his had an iron clang about it; she felt that the most violent threats would extract from him no other answer.
"I fear Hartmann will go all lengths," she returned. "He hates you."
Arthur smiled contemptuously.
"I know it, and the feeling is certainly mutual."
Eugénie thought of the eyes which had flashed so wildly when she pronounced her husband's name up there on the heights, and a sudden terror took possession of her.
"You must not under-estimate that man's hatred. He is terrible in his passions as in his energy."
Arthur looked her steadily in the face, frowning as he did so.
"Are you so well acquainted with him? You certainly always have had an admiration for this hero in a blouse. A cheap sort of energy, his, defiantly setting itself to work to bring about the impossible, and preferring to drag hundreds down into misfortune rather than listen to a word of reason. But even Hartmann may find a rampart against which his obstinate will may spend its strength in vain. From me, at least, he will obtain nothing, though I should have to fight on until I am completely ruined."
He reined in his horse all at once, and Eugénie instantly did the same. The path through the woods was here intersected by a bend in the high road, and there, drawn up just before them, they saw the very men they had wished to avoid. A troop of miners had come to a halt at that spot and appeared to be waiting for some one.
Arthur knitted his brows.
"It seems we are not to be spared a meeting."
"Shall we turn back?" asked Eugénie in a low voice.
"It is too late, they have seen us already. We cannot avoid them now; to turn back would savour of flight. It is a pity we are on horseback, that will irritate them still more, but we must show no weakness; we must go on."
"And yet you feared this encounter?"
Arthur looked at her astonished.
"I? It was only you who were not to meet them. It cannot be helped now; but, at all events, you are no longer alone. Keep Afra well in hand, and stay close by me. Perhaps there will be no conflict, after all."
These words were exchanged quickly and almost in a whisper as they paused for one minute. Then they rode slowly forward and out into the high road, where their approach had evidently been remarked.
Arthur was right. The circumstances of the meeting could hardly be worse. The men were in a turbulent mood, embittered and excited by the scenes which had taken place up at the forges. They were already beginning to suffer from the consequences of their resistance, and now they came face to face with the master who had refused to yield to their demands. They saw him well mounted, riding by the side of his high-born wife, and returning, as they supposed, from some excursion of pleasure.
It was a dangerous sight for men already battling with want. A significant growl of discontent was heard, some muttered threats and insulting words were spoken; but, as the two emerged from the forest on to the main road, there was silence, the troop, as if by a preconcerted movement, forming itself into a compact mass ready to bar the passage.
Arthur's lips showed that slight nervous quiver which, with him, was the only outward mark of emotion, but his hand was perfectly steady as he grasped Afra's bridle, so as, come what might, to keep her close at his side.
"Good day."
The greeting was unanswered. Not a man of the whole troop responded to it; on all sides hostile glances were showered upon the new-comers, and the men standing nearest to them pressed round more closely.
"Will you not let us through?" asked Arthur gravely. "The horses will grow restive if you press round them so. Give way."
In spite of the danger of their situation, a danger she thoroughly understood, Eugénie looked up at her husband in wonder. It was the first time she had ever heard this tone from his lips, very quiet, no doubt, but nevertheless conveying all the authority of a master over his subordinates.
This behaviour on Arthur's part was certainly full of danger at such a moment, but it would have been attended with complete success, if the troop had remained without a leader; the men would have obeyed him. But now all eyes were turned in one direction, as though awaiting from thence alone the signal for compliance or resistance.
Some little distance off stood Ulric Hartmann, who had just come down from the heights, and whom they had probably expected to meet here. He stood motionless, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on Berkow and his wife with an expression which boded them little good.
Arthur's looks had followed those of the men about him. He faced round now.
"Hartmann, are you in charge to-day? It is for you to see, then, that a way is made for us. We are waiting."
If, in these words, there had been the slightest trace of command or of entreaty, no matter which, it would have been as a spark falling into a powder-magazine, and Ulric seemed really to be only waiting for some such spark; but by thus recognising his authority and coolly calling on him to keep order, as if it were a well-understood part of his duty, Arthur took him by surprise, without, however, disarming him. He drew near slowly.
"Oh, so you want to ride on, Herr Berkow?"
"Certainly, you see we wish to pass through to the other side."
A look of withering contempt crossed Ulric's features.
"And you call on me to help you? You are master of your works and of your men. Why do you not order them to make way? Or"--here his voice took a hollow, threatening sound, "or, perhaps, you think that hereIam master, and that I need only say one word to prove it to you--to prove it to you both!"
Eugénie had grown very pale, and pressed her horse still closer to Arthur's. She knew that the menace in those glittering eyes was not for her, but it was not for herself she trembled. She had no courage now to try and use that power before which Ulric had so lately bent; besides, she felt the spell would not work while he beheld her at her husband's side.
"In case of assault, a hundred can always have the mastery over one," said Arthur coldly, "but I suppose you hardly mean that, Hartmann. You would feel no uneasiness yourself, would you, if you came, alone and unexpectedly, into the midst of my officials? I consider myself as safe here as in my own house."
Ulric made no answer. He looked up with a scowl at the man before him, who was facing him with such perfect composure and steadily scanning his face with those clear brown eyes, just as on the day when the strife had first broken out.
On that occasion, however, he had stood in his own committee-room, surrounded and protected by his agents; now he was alone in the midst of an excited crowd, only awaiting the signal to proceed to insults, possibly to deeds of violence, and yet not a muscle of his face quivered; his bearing was as proud and assured, his look as fearless, as though he felt and knew himself to be master even here.
This quiet confidence of his did not fail to have its effect upon the crowd, trained in the habit of obedience. The only question for the men now was to know whom they should follow. They turned another inquiring glance on Ulric, who stood by in silence. He looked up once more, then aside at Eugénie's white face. Suddenly he stepped back.
"Make way, let the horses through! To the left, face about!"
The order was executed with a celerity which showed it was not unwelcome. In less than a minute a broad path was opened, and Berkow and his wife rode through unhindered. They turned from the high-road into the forest again, and soon disappeared among the trees.
"I say, Ulric," Lawrence went up to his friend with a sort of good-natured remonstrance, "you flew at me just now because I preached peace up at the forges. What have you been doing here, yourself?"
The other was still gazing over at the trees. Now that the young proprietor's personal influence was no longer felt, he seemed to repent him of his fit of generosity.
"'A hundred to one,'" he murmured bitterly, "and 'I am safe among you.' Yes! they are never wanting in fine speeches when there is anything that frightens them, and such as we are always ready to catch at the old bait."
"He did not look as if he were frightened," said Lawrence decidedly. "He is certainly not at all like his father. Ulric, we ought" ...
"What ought we to do?" interrupted Ulric hastily. "To give way, don't you mean? So that you may have peace and quiet again, and that he may go on worse than his father ever did, when he sees he can succeed in everything. If I let him go to-day, I did it because he was not alone, because his wife was with him, and because" ...
He broke off suddenly. The proud self-contained man would rather have bitten out his tongue than have confessed to his comrade what influence had really compelled him to forbear.
Meanwhile, Arthur and Eugénie had ridden on in silence. Perhaps the common danger they had just passed through had linked them more closely together, for their horses went on side by side, and Arthur still held Afra's rein, though the widening path would now have afforded them room enough, though there was nothing more to fear, and all further care of so consummate a horsewoman was plainly superfluous.
"Do you understand the danger of to-day's excursion now?"
"Yes, and also the danger of your situation."
"I must bear it. You see yourself what blind obedience Hartmann can command. One word from him, and they let us ride on; not a man ventured to murmur, yet they were only waiting a sign from him to turn against us."
"But he did not give the sign," said Eugénie emphatically.
Arthur turned the same strange, searching gaze upon her.
"No, not to-day. He knows best what held him back, but it may happen to-morrow, or the next day, or whenever we meet. I am quite prepared for it."
Leaving the wood now, they set their horses into a trot and arrived a quarter of an hour later at the terrace before the château. Arthur swung himself from his saddle--with what elasticity compared with his former languid movements! He offered his hand to help his wife dismount. Her face was still deadly pale, and she trembled a little as he placed his arm round her, trembled still more as it held her firmly a second longer than was usual on such occasions.
"Were you frightened?" he asked softly, as he took her arm to lead her into the house.
Eugénie gave no answer. Yes, she had been a prey to mortal terror all through that scene, but she would rather he should think her a coward than let him guess it was for his sake she had felt alarm. A suspicion of this seemed, however, to dawn upon him.
"Were you frightened, Eugénie?" he asked again in soft, low tones, pressing her arm more and more firmly to his breast. She raised her eyes to his, and, once more, saw that bright illumining, more radiant now and more significant than she had ever seen it yet. He bent down to her, as if to lose no syllable of her reply.
"Arthur, I----"
"Baron Windeg and his eldest son arrived half-an-hour ago," announced a servant, hastening forward, and the words were hardly spoken when the young Baron, who had probably been watching for them from the window, rushed down the stairs with all the ardour of his eighteen years, eager to greet his sister whom he had not seen since her marriage.
"Ah, Con, is it you?"
She felt something like a pang at this arrival of father and brother, an arrival for which she had before so earnestly longed.
Arthur had let her hand fall as the name of Windeg was mentioned. She saw the glacial expression which stole over his features, and heard the freezing tone of his voice as he greeted his young brother-in-law with distant politeness.
"Will you not come up with me?" she asked, seeing that he remained standing at the foot of the staircase.
"Excuse me if I ask you to receive your father alone. I had ... forgotten something which has just been recalled to my memory. I will wait on the Baron as soon as I possibly can."
He stepped back while Eugénie and her brother went up the stairs by themselves. The latter seemed rather surprised, but a glance at his sister's pale face made him suppress the question which was on his lips. He knew pretty well, he thought, how matters stood here. Perhaps during their ride that parvenu had taken occasion to inflict some fresh mortification on his wife. The young fellow cast a threatening look below, and turned to his sister with impetuous tenderness.
"Eugénie, I am so happy to see you again, and you"----
She forced herself to smile.
"And I too am happy, infinitely happy!"
She looked down into the vestibule again. It was empty. Arthur must already have left it.
She drew herself up with a movement of wounded pride.
"Let us go to my father. He is waiting for us."