"The engines have refused service for the last hour," he reported in a tone of distress. "I wanted to send word of it, for all the gentlemen were up at the house, but my messenger could not get through on account of the row there was up there, and I thought, at all events, the gang at work could ascend by the lower shaft which remained free. We have been trying hard to work them, but we can't make them move."
"Heavens and earth! that about finishes us," cried the chief-engineer, rushing by into the shed.
"But by the ladder-way?" Arthur turned hastily to the Director. "Cannot we get down there?"
The other shook his head.
"The ladder-way has not been available since the morning. You know, Herr Berkow, Hartmann had all the upper ladders destroyed, so as to prevent the descent at all hazards. He did not succeed; the men went down by the drawing-shaft, and that is the only access left us now to the mine."
Ulric appeared at this moment with Wilms and several of his usual companions.
"Down there it can't be done," cried he to the miners, while he pushed his way through their ranks. "We should sacrifice our lives all for no use, and they are needed just now to help. Perhaps up here it may be possible, we must go down with the drawing-cage."
He was pressing hurriedly on to the engine-shed, when he was suddenly confronted by Arthur Berkow, who looked sternly at him and said in a loud sharp tone:
"The engines have refused service for the last hour, and it is only ten minutes since the accident happened; there can be no connection between the two. It is just an hour since your three delegates were taken up. What had happened before that, Hartmann?"
Ulric fell back as if he had received a blow.
"I recalled the order," he gasped, "the moment my father and the rest went down. I came myself to stop it, but they had done it already. I would not have had that, I swear, I would not!"
Arthur turned from him to one of the engineers who now came out.
"Well, how goes it?" he asked, hastily.
The official shook his head.
"The engine does not act. We have not been able to find out the cause, it is certainly not the explosion, for that happened nearly an hour later, and had no effect whatever on the buildings about the shafts. This injury has been done wittingly. We must have overlooked something this morning when we examined the machinery. If we do not manage to get it into working order all access to the mine is cut off from us, and the men below are hopelessly lost, Manager Hartmann with the rest."
He had raised his voice as he spoke the last words and fixed his eyes on Ulric, who, with a deadly pallor on his face, was standing by dumb and motionless; but now he started violently and made a hasty movement forward. Arthur barred the way.
"Where are you going?"
"I must be up and doing!" groaned the young Deputy. "I must help, let me go, Herr Berkow; I must, I tell you."
"You cannot help," interrupted Arthur bitterly. "There is nothing to be done now by the sheer strength of a man's arms. You could destroy and increase the danger tenfold, leave the repairs to those who understand them. They alone can make it possible for us to come to the rescue, and they must not be hindered or interfered with at their work. Keep the space round the house clear. Director, and you, Herr Wilberg, fetch down the prisoners immediately. They must know where their hands have been busy, perhaps they can put the engineers in the right way. Be quick."
Wilberg obeyed, and the Director prepared to carry out his instructions. He found no difficulty in so doing; the crowd around knew that everything now depended upon the activity of their superiors. All felt something of that truth which Arthur had once expressed in answer to their leader's challenge.
"Try," he had said, "try to do without that powerful element you hate so much, which directs your labour, gives impulse to the machinery, and lends mind to your work."
Here were hundreds of arms, hundreds of strong men ready to help, and not one could raise his hand, not one knew how to employ his strength; the whole power to save, the whole possibility of coming to the rescue, lay now with the few, who here again must set their minds to work to discover means of even yet affording help, while the many, together with their leader, could do nothing but hurry blindly on to certain death. Those detested, much contemned officials! Every look now hung on them; directly one of them appeared, he was surrounded by an eager throng, and they and their work would at this juncture have been protected at any cost, had such protection been needed.
Minute after minute went by in anxious, torturing suspense. Wilberg had long ago come back with the three prisoners who had been confined in one of the rooms on the ground-floor of the great house. The men knew what had happened; like all the rest they came in breathless haste, to stand by, like them helpless and despairing. They were no longer wanted, for the cause of the stoppage in the engines had already been found; the injury proved to be trifling, and might be quickly repaired. The engineers, under their principal's superintendence, worked with might and main, while out of doors a plan for the rescue was being drawn up, and preparations set on foot for carrying it out.
Continued attempts were made to effect an entrance into the mine by the other shaft, but they were always made in vain. The danger had knitted together again the loosened bonds of discipline; every one obeyed orders, and obeyed more quickly, with greater alacrity, than even in former days, before the strike had broken out.
But most active and ardent of all was the master himself. His eye, his voice, were everywhere, assisting and encouraging. Arthur possessed little or nothing of the special knowledge and experience required by the occasion. The young heir to the works had been brought up in total ignorance of all that it would have been most necessary for him to know, but one thing he did possess, which no teaching could have given him, and that was the gift of command. This was exactly what was wanting now, for the only really energetic official, the chief-engineer, was detained near the engines, and the Director and the rest, half stunned by the rapid succession of events, and by the catastrophe itself, seemed, in spite of their knowledge, experience and ability, to have lost all presence of mind.
It was Arthur who gave them back composure, who, at a glance, found the right place for every man, and urged him on to do his utmost in it; Arthur who carried all with him by the fervour of his zeal. The young man's character, so long misunderstood by those about him, and most of all by himself, had never so brilliantly proved its worth as in this hour of danger.
At last the heavy creaking sound was heard of the machinery being set in motion; then followed a snorting and groaning, spasmodically at first and at intervals, then in regular cadence; the pistons rose and sank again obediently as ever. The chief-engineer came out to Berkow, but his face had not cleared.
"The engine is at work, but I am afraid it is either too early or too late to make the descent. The smoke is pouring out here now, the fire-damp must have extended. We shall have to wait."
"Wait!" said Arthur, with a hasty movement of impatience. "We have waited a full hour, and the lives of the unfortunate men may hang on each minute. Do you think it is possible to get down the drawing-shaft?"
"It may perhaps be possible. It seems to be only smoke that is coming up, but any one who goes down now will risk his life. I would not venture on it."
"But I will!" broke in Ulric's voice, speaking with great decision. As soon as the machinery had begun to move he had pushed forward, and he was now standing by the great iron cage in which the ore was lifted.
"I shall go down," he repeated, "but one man is of no use below, I must have help. Who will go with me?"
Nobody answered. All present recoiled before a journey down that steaming gulf; they had seen how the brave fellows, who had tried to force an entrance through the other shaft, had stumbled back or fallen. Lawrence still lay unconscious; he had succumbed to a venture from which his stronger companion had escaped scathless, and not one among them had the temerity to follow that companion in an expedition where return or retreat seemed almost hopeless.
"No one?" asked Ulric after a pause. "Well then, I will go by myself. Give the signal."
He sprang into the cage, but suddenly a slender white hand was laid on its grimy edge, and a clear voice said:
"Wait a moment, Hartmann, I am coming with you."
A cry of horror broke from the lips of all the officials standing round; on all sides a loud opposition was set up.
"For God's sake, do not, Herr Berkow! You will sacrifice your life uselessly. You can give no help." And so on, in every tone and alarm of anxiety.
Arthur drew himself up, looking every inch the master as he replied,
"I do not go to help but to set an example. If I start first, they will all follow. Make every arrangement in your power up here to ensure our safety; the Director will keep order outside. At this moment I can do nothing but try and give the people courage, and that I mean to do."
"But not alone and not with Hartmann," cried the chief-engineer, almost dragging him back. "Beware, Herr Berkow, it is the same situation and the same company which proved fatal to your father. You too might meet with other perils down below than any caused by an explosion of fire-damp."
It was the first time the accusation had been openly launched before witnesses; though none dared to echo it, their faces showed how fully the suspicion and fear were shared by them. Ulric still stood in his place; he neither spoke nor moved, neither contradicted nor attempted to defend himself, he only turned his eyes full upon the young proprietor, as though awaiting from his mouth an acquittal or condemnation.
Arthur's look met his; only for a second, then he freed himself from the strong arms which would have held him back.
"Below in the mine are more than a hundred lives which must be lost if we cannot come to the rescue, and there, I think, no hand will be raised except to save. Give the signal. Your arm. Hartmann, you must help me."
Ulric stretched out his arm with convulsive eagerness to give the required help. Next minute Arthur stood by his side.
"As soon as we are safely down, send after us any who can and will follow. God grant us good speed!"
"God grant us good speed!" repeated Ulric in a low voice, but with equal firmness. The words had a solemn sound; both men, as they uttered them, turned to brave the depths which were yawning to receive them. The engine was set in motion and the cage sank slowly. Those who stood above could only see how the young master, giddy with the unaccustomed journey, confused by the smoke which, happily, was now rising only in thin clouds, reeled to one side, and how Hartmann threw his arm quickly round him and supported him. They then disappeared into the reeking gulf.
Arthur was right. His example was decisive while Ulric's would have been quite ineffectual. The people were accustomed to see Deputy Hartmann set his life at stake for a much less cause and always escape uninjured, so that a sort of superstitious belief had spread among his companions that no danger could touch him.
It was he who had made the ladder-way inaccessible, who had caused the machinery to be tampered with, so that all help had been delayed for more than an hour; his father was below with the rest, lost, perhaps, through his doing--it was a thing of course that he would rush unhesitatingly forwards to face a risk which none would willingly share with him. But when the master led the way, the proud, delicately-nurtured man, who had never set foot in his own mines while they were comparatively safe, when, now that destruction impended, he pressed forward, all were ready to follow.
The next to volunteer were the three miners who had meddled with the machinery in the morning; they went down under the conduct of an engineer. Then more and more helpers came forward; there was no need to appeal for, no need to require, assistance. Soon the chief-engineer was obliged to turn back applicants, as only a certain number could admitted to the work of deliverance.
Hour after hour passed by, the sun had long since reached its meridian, had long since sunk below it, and still, down below in the very bowels of the earth, the mind of man and the will of man were struggling to snatch their prey from the revolted elements. It was a more terrible fight than any fought in the light of day. In order to advance at all, every foot of earth had to be conquered, every step forward to be painfully won at the risk of their lives, yet they did advance; and it seemed as if such incredible exertions would be rewarded by results equally incredible.
Communication with the unfortunate prisoners had been established; it was hoped they might yet be saved, now that it was found they, or at least some of them, were still living. A happy chance, the finding of two lanterns which had been lost thrown away in the hurried flight, had led to the right track. The explosion seemed to have only partially destroyed the upper shaft, and the miners had apparently had time to take refuge in the side-galleries, where the fire-damp had not reached them, but where they were blocked up and completely walled in by a fall of earth in the outer chambers.
The question was how to work a way through to them, how to find a passage in which the liberating party would at least be able to draw breath, and so to carry out the prompt and efficient plan which had been conceived for their rescue.
"If the whole earth lay on them we must get through!" Ulric had cried when the first traces were found, and that had become the rallying word repeated by every man to his fellow.
Not one fell back, not one tried to evade the perilous duty of his post, yet the strength of many among them could not keep pace with their zeal, and, to avoid increasing the number of sacrifices, several of the workers had to be sent to the surface and their places filled by fresh volunteers.
Two only of the party never flagged and never wearied; Ulric Hartmann with his iron frame, and Arthur Berkow with his iron will, which steeled the nerves of the delicate, slightly-built man, and gave him power to endure on under circumstances, and in the midst of dangers, to which so many stronger than he succumbed. These two held on; side by side they pressed forward, and always in the van.
Ulric's giant strength worked marvels and overcame obstacles which seemed too great to be conquered by human hands: as for the master, it was sufficient that he should be there at their head, that he should be there at all. He could, indeed, do no more than encourage the others in their labours, but in doing this, he rendered better service than by toiling with his arms.
Three times already the hand of his more experienced companion had pulled him back, when, unacquainted with the dangers of the mine, he had exposed himself imprudently; already the engineers had entreated him to turn back, now that there were workers enough and officials enough to lead and direct. Arthur refused each time most resolutely. He felt how much depended upon his remaining among these men who had so suddenly turned from open, violent revolt, to aid and succour in the present distress.
Now all looks were on the master, who, since he had reached independence, had ever stood opposed to them, who, now for the first time, was in their midst, facing danger and death, ready to expose his life like the least among them, and, like them too, leaving above ground a young wife in the throes of a horrible suspense.
In these hours of a common work and common peril he won for himself at last that which had so long and so persistently been refused to the son and heir of a Berkow, their full trust and confidence. There, in the rocky mine below, the old hatred and the old discord were buried, there the strife came to an end.
Arthur knew that for him more was involved than a mere temporary risk, which any one in his place might have run; he knew that, by staying on to the last, he was assuring the future of his works and a future for himself, and the thought of this induced him still to leave Eugénie alone in her anxiety, and to remain at his post.
So they worked on with unabated activity and endurance, advancing slowly, it is true, and step by step, but still advancing, until at last the malevolent powers which dwell below yielded to man's potent will, and a path was opened down to the fellow-men beneath.
As the sun up above sank to its setting, the way to them was found, the rescued miners were lifted to the light of day, injured, half suffocated, stupified by fright and by the fear of death, but still living, and following them came the deliverers, worn out in their turn and half dead with exhaustion. The two who had been first in the bold undertaking were also the last to leave the field of action. They would not stir until every man was in safety.
"I can't think what is the reason that Herr Berkow and Hartmann are delaying so down below," said the chief-engineer, uneasily, to the officials round him. "They were close to the opening of the shaft when the last of the men came up, and Hartmann knows the dangers of the mines well enough not to wait a minute longer than is necessary. The cage is still below, they have given no signal, and they do not reply to ours. What can it mean?"
"I trust no misfortune has happened at the last moment," said Wilberg anxiously. "There was such a strange noise down in the shaft just as the last load came up. The distance was too great, and the noise of the engines too loud, for me to distinguish clearly what it was, but the whole ground seemed to tremble. Suppose there should have been an afterfall."
"God forbid! but you may be right," cried the chief-engineer. "Give the signal once more as loudly as possible. If that is not answered, we must make the descent again and see what is the cause of it."
But before he or the others could carry out this resolution the signal for drawing up was given below sharply and quickly. The men above ground breathed more freely and drew near to the shaft's mouth.
After a few minutes' waiting the cage appeared. Ulric stood in it, his face disfigured and blackened by perspiration and dust, his clothes torn to rags, and covered with earth and fragments of rock and stone, while blood poured from his brow and temples. As at the time of the descent, he was supporting the young master, but now Arthur was not merely staggering; his head rested on his companion's shoulder, his eyes were closed, and he lay motionless and deadly pale in Hartmann's arms, which seemed to be exerting all their strength to hold him upright.
A cry of fear resounded on all sides. Before the engine had well come to a stop, twenty arms were outstretched to receive the unconscious man and to carry him to his wife, who, like all the rest, had never once stirred from the scene of the calamity. Every one pressed round the two, help was called for, the doctor summoned, and in the general confusion no one paid attention to Ulric, who had stood strangely quiet and passive, and suffered his burthen to be taken from him.
He did not spring out of the cage with his usual rapid movement; slowly, painfully he got out, catching twice at the chains to keep himself from falling. No sound escaped him, but his teeth were tightly set as in an extremity of pain, and the blood gushed forth more violently from his wound; under that thick layer of dust it could not be seen that his face rivalled that of the master in pallor. He advanced a few paces with an unsteady gait, then he stopped all at once; grasping convulsively with both hands at the pillars before the engine-house, he managed to support himself by them.
"Make your mind easy, my lady," consolingly said the doctor, who had been in attendance on the sufferers, and had at once hastened to the spot. "I do not find that Herr Berkow has sustained the slightest injury. He will recover."
Eugénie took no comfort from his words. She only saw that white face with its closed lids, that prone inanimate form. There had been a time when, as a bride, but a few hours after her wedding, she had been snatched from peril by the hand of a stranger, and, being in uncertainty as to her husband's fate, she had coolly and quietly turned to her deliverer and said, "Pray look to Herr Berkow!"
For such cold disdain as this she had more than atoned by the torture of the last few hours. They had taught her what it is to tremble for a loved, one without having power to help, without even being near and sharing the danger. Now she would have no one at his side but herself, now, like any other wife in her anguish and distress, she was on her knees beside her husband, calling piteously on his name,
"Arthur!"
At the sound of this passionate despairing cry a great quiver passed through the miner's frame as he still stood leaning against the pillars, and he drew himself up erect. He turned his mournful blue eyes once more on those two, but there was nothing of the old defiance and hatred in his look, nothing but a dumb profound sorrow. Then all grew cloudy before him, he raised his hand, not to his bleeding brow, but to his breast where no external hurt was to be seen, as though the greater pain were there, and at the very moment that Arthur, still supported by his wife's arms, re-opened his eyes, Ulric fell heavily to the ground behind them.
Though the last man had now been brought to the surface, an uneasy silence still reigned among the assembled crowd. There were no demonstrations of joy; the sight of the sufferers forbade all rejoicing, for as yet it could not be told whether life was really saved, or whether Death would not after all come in and claim the victims who had been snatched from him at the cost of so much toil and labour.
The master had recovered from his fainting fit more quickly than had been expected. He and his companion had really been overtaken by an afterfall of earth, rudely shaken and dislodged by the recent explosion, but, marvellous to say, Arthur had escaped unhurt. Supported by his wife's arm he could stand up already, though wan still and weak, and he was trying to collect his thoughts so as to answer Eugénie's questions.
"We were close to the opening of the shaft. Hartmann was on in advance and in perfect safety. Something must have shown him what was coming. I saw him suddenly rush back to me, he seized my arm, but it was too late; all was giving way around us. I only felt that he pulled me with him to the ground, felt that with his own body he shielded me from the avalanche which was coming down upon us, then I lost consciousness."
Eugénie made no answer. She had feared this man so intensely, had been a prey to such unutterable alarm ever since she heard that Arthur had undertaken the dangerous task in his company, and now it was to this man's presence alone she owed her husband's life and rescue.
The chief-engineer came up to them. His face was very grave and his voice sounded almost solemn as he said:
"The doctor says they will all be saved, all but one; for Hartmann no help can avail! The efforts he made down in the mine to-day were too much even for his strength, and the wound has done the rest. How, in such a state as that he could possibly have worked a way for himself and you through the ruins, have raised you into the cage and held you until you were in safety, is almost incomprehensible. No one but himself could have done it; he has succeeded, but he will pay for it with his life."
Arthur looked at his wife. Their eyes met, and they understood each other. In spite of his exhaustion, he shook himself together, took Eugénie's hand and drew her with him to the spot where prompt aid and attention were being lavished on the sufferers. Only one, the last, had been carried to one side. Ulric lay stretched on the ground; his father was still unconscious and knew nothing of his son's state, but he was not therefore left alone or altogether dependent on the help of strangers.
At his side a girl was kneeling, holding the dying man's head in her arms, and gazing into his face with a look of heart-breaking anguish: she paid no heed to her lover, who was standing on the other side holding his friend's hand, now rapidly growing cold Ulric saw neither of them, perhaps no longer knew that they were there. His eyes were wide open and fixed on the flaming sky, on the setting sun, as if he would drink in one last ray of the external light and carry it with him down into the shades of the long dark night.
Arthur put a question in an undertone to the doctor standing by; he answered with a silent shake of the head. The master knew enough. He left his wife's hand free, whispered a few words in her ear, and then stepped back, while Eugénie bent over Ulric and spoke his name.
Then life leapt up within him again, flashing one last gleam through the mists of death. Perfectly conscious now, he turned upon her a look in which all the glow and passion of former days were for one moment concentrated. She put a timid low question.
"Hartmann, are you badly wounded?"
His face quivered with the old pain, and he answered in low broken tones, but quietly,
"Why do you ask about me? You havehim, why should I live on? I told you before, it should be he or I.... I meant it differently, but that was what came into my head when the wall fell in. I thought of you and your grief .... I remembered that he had held out his hand to me when no one else would .... and then .... then I threw myself over him."
He sank back, that last bright spark quenched in the effort of speaking; the life, which had been so full of fire and of wild restlessness, now ebbed gently away without struggle or pain; the man, whose whole existence had been passed in hatred of and rebellion against those set over him by fate, had come to his death in the act of rescuing his enemy.
So was the presentiment fulfilled, which had been borne in upon him yesterday as he listened to the murmuring water; from the inner depths of the earth the stream had brought Death's greeting to his victim. Ulric, truly, had no need to look beyond the morrow, shrouded from him by the impenetrable veil; all had indeed come to an end for him with that "morrow"--all and everything!
From the high-road out yonder sounded the regular march of an advancing troop, with now and again a word of command or the clashing of arms; the help, which had been requested and expected from the town, had arrived. As soon as he reached the first outlying houses of the settlement the officer in command learned what had happened. Drawing up his men in the road, he himself, accompanied by a slight escort, went over to the scene of the accident, and asked to speak to the proprietor.
Arthur went forward to meet him.
"I thank you, Captain," he said quietly and gravely, "but you have come too late. I do not need your help now. For the last ten hours we have fought together, my people and I, for the lives of some of us who were in danger, and during that time we have made peace--I trust for ever."
Summer had come again. Once more mountains and valleys lay bathed in sunshine and verdant with beauty, and down in the Berkow settlement there was busy life and movement as in the old days, only freer and more cheerful than it had ever been before. There was an atmosphere of liberty and happy contentedness about the works now; extensive as ever, they had gained all that had previously been wanting, but this had not come about in weeks or even in months. Years had been needed, and those following the catastrophe had not been years of ease. When work had been resumed, a heavy load still rested on the young master's shoulders. He had, it is true, made peace with his people, but he stood on the brink of ruin. The crisis was past, the moment of danger when personal courage and personal sacrifices could suffice to restrain the excesses of a rebellious multitude; but now came a time harder to bear, a time of constant arduous toil, of struggling, often desperate, against the force of circumstances by which Arthur was well nigh crushed. But in the first trial he had learnt to test his strength, in the second he knew how to use it.
For more than a year it remained doubtful whether the works could be kept on under their then owner, and even when this critical period had been tided over, there were still dangers and losses enough to be faced. Even during the last years of the elder Berkow's lifetime the position had been seriously shaken, the fortune impaired by his wild speculation, his lavish expenditure, and, above all, by that unscrupulous system of working which only aimed at great and immediate profits and eventually recoiled on the employer himself.
Then came the interruption of all business, which had lasted nearly a month, the accident in the shafts, requiring most important repairs; all this combined threatened completely to overwhelm a situation already greatly imperilled. More than once it seemed impossible the works could be preserved, more than once it seemed as though the memory of past wounds, caused by harsh treatment and by the late open strife, rankled too deeply ever to be allayed; but Arthur's character, aroused so late, steeled itself and grew to fuller development in this school of incessant and strenuous activity.
All the foundations were shaken and the edifice tottering to its fall when, years before, Arthur had undertaken the difficult task of bringing order out of the chaos of debts, engagements and claims upon him, which had to be met first of all, and of establishing a perfectly new system. But he had learnt confidence in himself; his wife was at his side, and on his exertions depended Eugénie's future prosperity and his own. That thought gave him courage to withstand, where any other would have yielded in despair; supported him even in moments when the task seemed beyond his strength, and obtained for him the victory at last. Now every lingering ill effect of the catastrophe had been overcome; the name of Berkow, stripped of all the evil which had attached to it, had won back for itself the old luck, and stood pure and honourable before the world.
The works, more extensive and on a greater scale than ever, were prosperous and safely established as they had never been before, and their owner's wealth now rested on a strong and sure basis. This wealth, which at one time had threatened to be, and nearly became, fatal to the young heir, accustomed to treat the gifts of fortune with contemptuous indifference because they lay ready at his feet, grew precious in his eyes now that he had reconquered it by the striving of years, and that in his hands it had become a blessing to so many.
It was getting towards noon as the Director and the chief-engineer walked home together on their way from the works. They had both grown older in the course of years, but, in other respects, they were unchanged. The one was good-natured, the other sardonic as ever; there was the old malicious ring in the latter's voice as he went on with his conversation.
"Baron von Windeg's eldest son has announced his father's intention of paying us another visit again already. It appears that our relationship may be boasted of now, though it was condescended to at first with so much repugnance. Since the government has accorded us such flattering attention and, even in higher quarters, interest has been shown in our organisation and the industry of the place, the works have become 'presentable at court' in the old aristocrat's opinion. His son-in-law has been so a long time, and I rather think we are at least on a level with the Windegs now. All the grandeur of the Rabenau property does not amount to half the value of the Berkow estates, or give its owner a tithe of our influence. The Baron is beginning to find out that with all his possessions he is lost in the crowd of wealthy men, while we have grown to be a power in the province and are recognised as such by every one."
"Greater progress has been made here than elsewhere," said the Director. "All around they are studying our improvements and our system, but as yet no one has imitated us."
"Yes, if we go on like this, we shall reach the 'philanthropic model establishment' which the late Herr Berkow used to protest against so vigorously. Well, thank God,"--the chief-engineer raised his head with self-satisfaction--"we can afford it. We are in a position to expend sums for our people's benefit which other folk would have to stow away carefully in their pockets, and certainly the sums are not small. Yet it is not so very long since we were fighting, not for influence or fortune, but for the existence of the works, and we should not have succeeded in saving that but for a few lucky chances which came to us just in the nick of time."
"Or but for the admirable way in which out people behaved," added the Director. "It was no trifle for them to remain quiet while agitation and a regular ferment were going on all around them. The accident in the mine cost money enough just at a time when every hundred was hard to spare, but I think Herr Berkow did not pay too dearly for what he gained with his people. They had not forgotten the hours of suspense and danger he shared with them down below, and they will not forget them. Such a thing as that binds men together for a lifetime. Ever since that time they have trusted him, and when he gave them his word that he would set matters straight if they would only give him a little breathing time, they waited loyally, so it is no wonder if he does more than he promised."
"Well, so far as I am concerned, he can indulge himself in the luxury for the future," said his colleague. "Besides, it is satisfactory to see that, under given conditions, philanthropy may be compatible with a good business. Our yearly balance is more considerable than under the old régime, which, certainly, could not be accused of undue tenderness; all was squeezed out of the works then that was there to squeeze."
"You are an incorrigible joker!" said the Director, "no one knows better than you do that Herr Berkow is guided by no such considerations."
"No, he is too much of an idealist for that," returned the chief-engineer, accepting the reproach with great equanimity. "Luckily, he can be practical at the same time, and he has been through too hard a school not to know that to be practical is the first condition of success in such a case as ours. I have not much opinion of the ideal myself, as you know."
The other smiled rather slily. "Yes, we all know that, but you will modify your thinking, won't you, when you get such a purely imaginative element in your family as Herr Wilberg. The time is drawing near, is it not?"
This little thrust of the Director's seemed to have told, for his colleague made a wry face, and replied angrily:
"Don't talk to me about it, I hear enough of it at home. To think that such a thing should happen to me! to me who hate nothing so much as your sentimental romantic nonsense. To think that fate should have reserved for me, of all people, a son-in-law who writes verses and plays the guitar. There is no getting rid of the fellow with his sighs and his love-making, and Mélanie will not listen to reason. But I have not given my consent yet, and I am not at all sure that I shall."
"Well, we will leave that to Fräulein Mélanie," said the Director laughing. "She has got a bit of her father in her, she knows how to have her own way. I can assure you that Wilberg goes about with the mien of a conqueror, and answers all congratulations with the words, 'No, not yet!' in a way which is exceedingly eloquent. The two young people must be pretty sure of their affair. Good-bye. Mind, I am to be told first of the happy event."
This time it was the Director's turn to be mischievous, and not without result, for the chief-engineer looked greatly put out as he went up the steps to his house.
Fräulein Mélanie came out to meet him, and was unusually tender in her attentions. She gave him a kiss, took his hat and gloves, coaxed him a little, and, after these preliminaries, considered that the time had now come to proffer a petition.
"Papa, there is somebody here who wants to speak to you at once, and on important business. He is in there with mamma, may I bring him to you?"
"I can't be spoken to now," growled her father, guessing what was before him, but the young lady took not the smallest notice of the refusal. She disappeared into the next room, and next minute pushed out the somebody who was there, whispering at the same time a few encouraging words in his ear.
They appeared to be much wanted, for Herr Wilberg, his hair carefully parted, dressed in a frockcoat and presenting the general appearance of an official suitor, stood rooted to the spot, as though he had fallen unawares into a lion's den. He had prepared a neat little speech for the important occasion, but his superior's grim looks and very forbidding manner as he inquired "What he wanted?" were altogether disconcerting to him.
"My hopes and wishes"--stammered the lover, "encouraged by Fräulein Mélanie's favour--the bliss of calling her my own."
"I thought as much! The fellow can't even make his offer in a rational manner!" grumbled the chief-engineer, not reflecting that his reception was of a nature to discompose any suitor; as the young man stumbled on, getting more and more confused in his speech, he cut him short.
"Well, there, that's enough. What you hope and desire can be no secret from me now. You want to have me for your father-in-law?"
Wilberg looked as if this additional blessing, so inseparable from his future marriage, did not afford him any special delight. "I beg your pardon, sir, what I want is to have Fräulein Mélanie for my wife," he replied shyly.
"Oh! and you will reluctantly take me into the bargain?" asked the irritated father-in-lawin spe. "I really don't know how you dare come to me with such a proposal. Have you not been in love with Lady Eugénie Berkow? Have you not filled reams of paper with verses addressed to her? Why don't you go on still with your platonic affection?"
"Oh, that was years ago!" pleaded the lover in his defence. "Mélanie has known that for a long time, indeed that was the very thing which brought us together. There are two sorts of love, sir: the romance of youth, which seeks its ideal in a higher sphere far removed and beyond its reach, and another more durable affection, which finds its happiness on earth."
"Oh! and for this second matter-of-fact sort of sentiment my daughter is good enough? Deuce take you!" cried the chief-engineer, furious.
"You will not understand me," said Wilberg, deeply hurt, but still with some consciousness of the advantage of his position; he knew what a powerful reserve he had in the next room. "Mélanie understands me, she has given me her hand and heart"----
"Well, this is a very pretty business," growled the exasperated parent. "If daughters can bestow their hands and hearts in this manner without more ado, I should like to know what fathers are here for! Wilberg,"--here his face and manner became somewhat milder--"Wilberg, I must do you the justice to say that you have become more rational during the last few years, but you are far from being rational enough. You have not left off versifying for one thing. I would wager you have got some sonnets about you now."
He glanced suspiciously at the young man's frock-coat. Wilberg reddened a little.
"As an affianced husband I should be quite justified in writing them?" said be, with a sort of timid enquiry.
"Yes, and in giving serenades! We shall have a nice time of it this summer," groaned the chief-engineer, in despair. "Look you, Wilberg, if I did not know that Mélanie has got something of her father in her, and that she will soon drive out all your romantic nonsense out of your head, I would say no, once for all. But it seems to me you want a sensible wife, and more particularly a sensible father-in-law who will give you good advice from time to time, and as it appears it can't be helped--well, you shall have both!"
Whether the last-named advantage appeared as great in Herr Wilberg's eyes must remain undecided; in delight at obtaining the first he forgot everything else, and rushed up to embrace his new father-in-law, who made short work of the ceremony.
"There, don't let us have a scene," said he decidedly. "I can't stand it, and we have not time for it now. Come along to Mélanie. You two have plotted the whole matter together behind my back, but I tell you, if ever I find you at your verse-making and my girl unhappy and with red eyes, may the Lord help you!"
While the chief-engineer thus resigned himself to an inevitable fate, Arthur Berkow and Conrad von Windeg were standing together on the terrace before the château, waiting for the latter's horse to be brought round.
The thorough metamorphosis which Arthur's inner man had undergone was partly discernible in his outward appearance. He was no longer the slender pale young dandy, the strength and bloom of whose youth had nearly been destroyed by the life of the great city, but was now in all respects such as one would picture the head and administrator of so vast an undertaking. The lines, which long ago had been graven on his brow, and which years of care and hard work had furrowed there more deeply, could not be effaced by the present prosperous security. Such marks, once made, do not again disappear, but they did not ill become the manliness of his features.
Conrad was still the high-spirited young officer whose bright eyes and rosy lips had lost none of their gaiety and freshness, and for whom life was enjoyable and charming as ever.
"And I tell you, Arthur," he was asserting vehemently, "you do my father injustice if you suppose he still feels any prejudice against you. I wish you could have heard how he answered old Prince Waldstein when he said that the gentlemen up in the hill-districts could not have a very enviable time of it in the present troubled state of the working-classes.
"'That does not apply to my son-in-law, your Highness,' said my father with great aplomb. 'His position is too well assured and the authority he possesses over his people too complete for that; they are quite enthusiastic in their devotion to him, and, besides, my son-in-law is equal to any emergency.' But he has never forgiven you yet for refusing that peerage; he can't forget that his grandson will be only plain Berkow."
Arthur smiled rather ironically.
"Well, I trust the name will be no disgrace to him when he has to bear it before the world, and it is to be hoped your father may live long enough to see a Windeg at his side. How about your engagement, Conrad?"
The young officer drew a wry face. "Well, it will be coming off soon," he replied, rather slowly, "when we go back to Rabenau, probably. Count Berning's estates join ours and the Countess Alma was eighteen last spring. My father is of opinion that, as heir to the family, it is time I should be seriously thinking of getting married. I am under orders to make a declaration to the Countess this summer."
"Orders!" said Arthur, laughing. "You are going to marry by order?"
"Well, what did you do?" asked Conrad, rather piqued.
"Indeed yes, you are right But ours was an exceptional case."
"Mine is not," returned Conrad indifferently. "The thing is generally managed so in our set. My father will have it that I shall marry early and suitably, and he will stand no contradiction, except perhaps from you. You have impressed him so deeply that he will put up with absolutely anything it may please you to say or do. After all, I have nothing particular to urge against the marriage, except that I should have liked to be free a little longer."
Berkow shook his head. "I think, Con, you will do well to carry out your father's plan in this. So far as I could see during our last visit to Rabenau, Alma Berning is a charming girl, and it really is time for you to show more of the future peer and less of the wild lieutenant in your proceedings. He has got himself into some pretty scrapes, my young lieutenant!"
Conrad tossed his head.
"Yes, and on each occasion he has had to listen to a paternal lecture in which his brother-in-law has been held up as a pattern and extolled to the skies. I declare it has needed all my predilection for the model to keep me from detesting you! In fact, the whole marriage project dates from that. In one of these judicial encounters, I made the mistake of saying 'Arthur did much worse in his time; it is only since he has been married that he has become so remarkable for his excellence,' and then it immediately occurred to my father to have me married too.
"Well, I don't care! I have no objection to make to Alma, and besides I shall take example by you and Eugénie. You began your wedded life with the utmost indifference, if not with downright aversion, to one another, and you have ended by turning it into a perfect romance which has not spun itself out yet. Perhaps it will be the same with us."
A very sceptical smile played round Arthur's lips.
"I doubt it, my dear Con; you hardly seem to me to be cut out for a romance, and remember, every woman is not a Eugénie."
The young Baron laughed out loud.
"I declare, I thought something of that sort would come out. Just the same tone in which Eugénie said to me this morning, when we were talking of this: 'You cannot think of placing Arthur on a level with other men!' I must say you are stretching out your honeymoon to a good length."
"We had to do without it at first, and one is generally inclined to take double of a thing one has waited for. So you really cannot stay?"
"No, my leave is out this evening. I came over principally to tell you my father and brothers would soon be here. Good-bye for the present, Arthur."
His horse having been brought round while they were talking, he swung himself into the saddle, waved an adieu to his brother-in-law and galloped off. Arthur was about to return to the house, when an old miner appeared on the terrace and took off his hat to the master.
"Ah, Manager Hartmann!" said Berkow in a friendly tone. "Were you coming to me?"
The Manager came up with a respectful, but at the same time confidential, manner.
"Yes, if you will excuse it, Herr Berkow. I was out there yonder giving the orders, and I saw you come out with the young Baron. I thought I should like to thank you at once for having appointed Lawrence to be Deputy. It has brought great gladness to our house."
"Lawrence has shown himself so clever and capable during the last few years, he deserved the post, and he may want it with his ever-increasing family."
"Well, he has enough for his wife and children, I take care of that," replied the Manager good-naturedly. "It was a right good thought of Martha's to make it a condition that he should come and live in my house. I am not left quite alone in my old age so, and I can take some pleasure in their children. I have nothing else left me in all the world."
"Cannot you get over the old grief yet, Hartmann?"
The Manager shook his head.
"I cannot, Herr Berkow. He was my only son, and though he oftener gave me pain than joy, though at last he had got far beyond all control of mine with his wild ways, still I cannot forget my Ulric. Ah, well-a-day! why was an old man like me saved just for that? With him everything went down into the grave for me."
The old man wiped the bitter tears from his eyes as he took the hand Berkow held out to him in silent sympathy, and then went quietly away, Eugénie had been standing in the doorway during the last few minutes; she had paused there, not wishing to disturb the conversation. Now she came up to her husband.
"Cannot Hartmann feel resigned even yet?" she asked in a low voice. "I never thought he cared so deeply, so passionately, for his son."
"I can understand it," he said gravely, "as I could understand formerly the blind attachment of his comrades. There was something about that man which exercised a most powerful influence on all around him. If I felt this, I who was fighting for my life against him, how much more they for whom he fought! What might that Ulric not have achieved for him and his, if he had had a truer notion of the task before him, and had taken it up in another spirit than that of hatred, bent only on overturning all existing things."
His wife looked up at him half reproachfully.
"He showed us that he was capable of something better than hate. He was your enemy, but when it came to be a question of saving one of you, he snatched you from the danger and freely encountered death himself."
At the remembrance of that time a shade fell on Arthur's face.
"I, of all men, have least the right to bring accusations against him, and I never have done so since his hand rescued me from destruction. But believe me, Eugénie, a complete reconciliation would never have been possible with such a nature as his. He would always have been an element of danger, disturbing the peace between me and the people, and striving with me for the dominion over them. Things had gone so far, he could not have been allowed to go quite unpunished. If I had not accused and passed judgment on him, others would have done so. All that has been spared both him and us."
Eugénie leaned her head on her husband's shoulder. It was the same fair beautiful head, with the dark, dark eyes, but her face was fresher and rosier than of old. The former paleness and marble stillness had given way to that expression which happiness alone can bring.
"That was a bad time, Arthur, which came after the catastrophe," said she with a slight tremor in her voice. "You had hard work to fight through, so hard that at times my courage nearly failed me when I saw the cloud growing darker and darker on your brow, your eyes more and more troubled, and I could do nothing but just stay at your side!"
He bent over her with infinite tenderness.
"And was not that enough? in that long struggle I learned all the power of those two words which brace a man to exertion and make it sweet. I used to repeat them whenever the waves threatened to close over me, and they helped me to success at last: my wife and my child."
The sun stood high in the heavens, shining down brightly from the clear summer sky and pouring its rays on the château with its gardens and flowery terraces; on the works out yonder, teeming with life and manifold movement, which made it seem not a small thing to be ruler over such a world; on the mountains ranged around, forest-crowns on their lofty heads, and within, hiding far below in their depths, a mysterious busy kingdom of their own. This sombre region, which the great rocky arms would fain have shut for ever from mortal eye, has yielded to the might of man's mighty intellect, and opened to admit those forces which press ever onwards, pioneering their way despite of clefts and precipices. So the earth has been robbed of the treasures she held imprisoned in endless night, and they are borne up to the light of day, freed by the magic of human skill and industry.