Again I awoke early in the morning. I did not need much sleep for physical refreshment, and although it had lasted but a few hours, I felt quite fresh and well. The beautiful morning should serve me for another expedition, and I wished to start as early as possible; in Southern Ukraine only the early morning hours are suitable for mountain walks and climbing. As long as the dew still glitters on the grass, wandering in the Ukraine mountains is indescribably delightful, but when the glowing sun has absorbed the last dewdrops, when its direct rays are reflected from gray rocks, when no breath of air fans the climber's cheek, mountain-climbing becomes altogether too hard a task for an old man. I finished my breakfast before six o'clock and was all ready for a start. Whither should I turn my steps! The forest above the Chapel of St. Nikolas allured me. I had found such entomological treasures there on the previous day that I surely could do nothing better than go thither again. I could not collect too many specimens of the grub of theSaturnia cæcigena, for, unfortunately, I could not be sure that each larva would produce a butterfly. To St. Nikolas, then, I took my way and by the narrow path. I had succeeded in descending it without accident the day before, and it was surely not too dangerous for me to ascend it. I set out. The path certainly was better than its reputation. It had no danger for a climber not subject to dizziness, and was quite firm beneath the foot. I had often ascended far more steep and dangerous pathways in my search for some rare plant.
The easy footpath leading to the Lonely House was soon reached, and I strode forward sturdily. On the previous day I had hurried along it, only desirous to reach Luttach as quickly as possible. To-day I feasted my eyes with the view of the charming country upon which I looked down, while at the same time I scrutinized with the keenness of a collector the gentle ascent on my left where I might perhaps discover some treasure growing among the rocks. Not far from the Lonely House I perceived to my great joy in a spot which could be reached without difficulty many beautiful specimens of the very orchidOphrys Bertoliniwhich the Judge had brought to me yesterday. This was an unexpected delight. In yesterday's excitement I had neglected to put the charming flowers in water, and when I returned from the investigation they were so withered that they were not worth preserving for my herbarium. Now I could gather many glorious specimens without any trouble.
I left the path and easily climbed the rocks soon reaching the spot where the orchids grew. But no sooner had I arrived there than to my astonishment several trampled flowers showed me that another had been before me, who was also a collector, and had plucked many blossoms of the rareOphrys.
One spot showed me that whoever he was, he had been no true botanist; a true botanist would have taken the plants, roots and all, not the blossoms only. He who collected the flowers here must have been in a hurry; he had dropped several blossoms which lay wilted on the ground and had evidently been plucked yesterday.
Was this the spot where the Judge had collected the beautifulOphrysfor me! The specimens which he had brought me were without roots. I now recalled this circumstance, which had escaped my notice on the previous day; but he had said that it had cost him some trouble and even danger to reach the rare plants with the habitat of which he was acquainted. He had fallen in doing so and had lacerated his hand. It was impossible that he could have done so here; for here was no possible danger; no flowers on the mountains could be plucked with more facility than these.
And yet here the Judge had been. He had certainly gathered theOphrysfor me here. I found one unmistakable proof of his presence. On the ground lay a red and yellow silk pocket handkerchief, just exactly such a handkerchief as the Judge had carried the day before yesterday. I remembered it perfectly. Of course he had lost it here while plucking the flowers.
Involuntarily I smiled at the good man's boast; in order to give his gift a higher value, he had talked of danger in procuring it. I would tease him a little for his bragging. When I returned his handkerchief I would expatiate on the terrible danger of the place where theOphrys Bertoliniwas to be found.
Still the plucking of the flowers had not been entirely without danger for him. I could not comprehend how he could have fallen on this smooth spot and wounded his hand, but that he had done so the handkerchief testified. On the yellow silk there were several brown stains, which I recognized as blood. The hackneyed old saying, "No fall so slight but may kill you quite," occurred to me. With a smile I put the handkerchief in my pocket to return it to its owner when I got back to the inn. I dug up a number of the beautifulOphrys Bertolinigrowing here by hundreds, and then, walking on quickly, in scarcely five minutes I reached the Lonely House. I was going to pass it, but from a window of the upper story the Captain called, begging me to wait a moment and he would join me.
He came and greeted me with great cordiality. He had passed a melancholy night. Old Johanna had been half crazy with fear and was absolutely useless. He had tried to persuade her to occupy one of the two rooms on the right of the hall, but she had fled to her bed in the upper story and locked herself in. Therefore the Captain had earnestly entreated Anna to leave the Lonely House, but all his words had been in vain. Anna displayed wonderful composure in her profound grief, but at the same time a firmness of purpose bordering on obstinacy. She had declared that she would not leave the Lonely House as long as it sheltered her father's body. She could not leave it all alone there. She would stay with him until he was buried, and she watched beside the corpse for half the night. Morning had dawned before she betook herself to rest.
"Anna is a strange child," said the Captain. "There are odd contradictions in her character. She is gentle and yielding and at the same time absolutely firm, open to no persuasion; sometimes frank and confiding; at others reserved and almost suspicious even of me, although she has repeatedly assured me that she trusts no human being as she does me and my brother, the Burgomaster. With entire frankness she has given me a detailed account of all the misery and wretchedness which has existed here in the house ever since the day when Franz Schorn asked her in marriage of her father. Towards herself the old man was kind and caressing, although she declared to him that she never would forsake Franz Schorn, that she never would marry the Judge; but to every other human being, and particularly to Franz, he displayed positive hatred, regarding all with profound suspicion, even old Johanna. He was completely dominated by the fear that some day he should be attacked and murdered. Wherefore he always bolted himself into his room, and if he admitted any one was armed with a dagger-like knife. He kept this terrible knife in his hand even whilst old Johanna arranged his room; even from her he feared some secret attack. No entreaty of Anna's could induce him to moderate his savage hatred of Franz. She, on her part, declared that she never would forsake Franz as long as she lived. This had led to continual strife between herself and her father, for she had told him frankly that he must shut her up in a close prison if he wished to prevent her from seeing Franz, and she had seen him almost daily; when her father locked himself up in his room after the midday meal to sleep for an hour, she always left the house to see Franz, who awaited her beneath the large oak not far away. Her father knew this, but had done nothing to prevent it, after she had declared to him that she should continue to do it, and if he locked her in the house, she would try to break the locks. The strange girl told me all this with reckless frankness, while at the same time she refused me any explanation, although I begged her to give it, of what she meant yesterday when she declared that she perhaps was guilty of her father's death. My little Anna is a riddle to me," the Captain thus closed his long account, "but I love her none the less and I shall stay here to protect her. I will not leave her all by herself in the Lonely House. Now you can do me a favour, Herr Professor. When you return at midday from your excursion to St. Nikolas, stop here before the Lonely House once more, and I will give you some directions to take to Luttach for my brother, the Burgomaster. He must provide a suitable home for Anna in Luttach if she refuses to accept the doctor's invitation after her father's funeral, for which he must also give directions. I will put all this down in a letter, which you will have the kindness to give to my brother yourself."
I at once promised what he asked, and we parted the best of friends. The Captain returned to the Lonely House to write his letter, which, as he said, was quite a task for an old soldier unaccustomed for many years to hold a pen.
I continued my walk and soon reached the little Church of St. Nikolas. Again I fed my eyes on the charming prospect and then proceeded to collect. I scrambled about in the forest, hither and thither, for some hours; then up on the bald rocky side of Nanos, and not until my bottles and boxes were so full that I could accommodate no more treasures, and the heat had become oppressive, did I take my way back towards noon by the same path which I had followed yesterday. In a little while I reached the footpath leading to the Lonely House, and on the very same spot where I had yesterday encountered Franz Schorn I found him again to-day, but he did not avoid me; he awaited me. He was not alone; beside him, with his arm around her waist, stood pretty Anna. They were a charming pair. I delighted in the sight of the two beautiful young people. Franz was certainly a handsome fellow. Now, as he looked down on his lovely companion, with eyes full of the tenderest affection, the beauty of his features, which a gloomy expression had hitherto concealed, was plainly visible.
When the young man observed me, a shadow crossed his brow. Without releasing his companion, with his left hand he took off his straw hat in greeting. Then Anna, too, saw me, and with a blush beckoned to me kindly. She made no attempt to release herself from the embracing arm of the young man.
"We were awaiting you here, Herr Professor," said Franz, as I reached them. "Captain Pollenz informed my betrothed that you, in coming from St. Nikolas, had promised to stop, towards noon, at the Lonely House; therefore we came to meet you to make a request of you."
"Which I shall certainly comply with if possible," I replied, regarding the young girl with genuine delight. She blushed, but looked up with kindling eyes at Franz as he uttered the word "betrothed."
"It is a request that may seem strange to you, Herr Professor," Franz continued, "but, nevertheless, I will make it; I am convinced that you would not wish to cause annoyance either to myself or to my dear betrothed."
"Most certainly not. Pray tell me quite frankly what you wish."
"It is not much. I would only ask you not to mention to any one our meeting yesterday here in this place."
The request in itself seemed trivial enough, but the look which accompanied it was far from meaningless. It betokened intense anxiety as to whether or not I would accede to what he asked.
In truth, the young man's request was a strange one. Involuntarily my eyes turned to his wounded right hand. All diverse thoughts ran riot in my brain. I remembered the large double-edged knife with its bloody handle lying on the floor of the room in the Lonely House, and then came the memory of the cut on a brown hand and the doctor's voice saying, "That looks as if you had grasped a knife by the blade." Again I saw Franz turn from me to hurry through the undergrowth, and again I saw him with eyes gloomily cast down as he listened to the physician's words. I recalled his bitter hostility to old Pollenz, and the old man's words, "That fellow will kill me one of these days." Hitherto I had entertained no downright suspicion of the young fellow, but it suddenly stirred within me.
"Why do you wish me not to mention our meeting?" I asked in reply.
"Because I begged Franz to ask you this," Anna replied for the young man, whose features as I spoke resumed their wonted gloomy expression. "Franz told me that yesterday he turned away from you because he wished to avoid any meeting with you. He feared it might cause you annoyance, if you had happened to be seen by any chance passer-by walking with him. He had been waiting for me a long time in vain beneath the old oak where we are used to meet every day at noon. I could not come because my father had sent me down to Luttach. Franz was in a very bad humour when he met you, and so, to avoid greeting you, he turned away into the forest."
Anna's words had a peculiar effect upon me. They strengthened my suspicions. If he were not guilty, would Franz have thought it necessary to have the young girl explain to me why he was in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House at noon, and why he had turned away from me with such sullen looks?
"You have not yet told me why I should not mention my meeting with Herr Schorn," I replied.
"I will explain that to you myself," Franz said hurriedly, "my betrothed thinks that if Foligno should learn that I was seen yesterday here in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, the malice and hatred with which he regards me would find expression in vile suspicion of me."
"It would certainly be so. I entreat you, dear Herr Professor, do not tell a human being that you met Franz yesterday."
As she spoke the young girl looked up at me with such entreaty in her beautiful eyes that my heart was softened. I was in an awkward position. Ought I to tell her that I could not comply with her request, because I had already informed the Judge of my meeting Franz? This I could not do. I could not warn Franz without perhaps injuring the investigation; but, on the other hand, I certainly could not make a promise which it was already impossible to keep.
"I can promise nothing," I replied guardedly; "in an official examination one is bound to conceal nothing."
"Oh, Herr Professor, I beg, I entreat you----"
Franz interrupted her, and, casting at me a look which was almost menacing, exclaimed, "Do not say another word, Anna; the Herr Professor is right; it was folly, yes, wrong, for me to yield to your desire and make this request of the Herr Professor, who ought not to comply with it. If that scoundrel, Foligno, suspects me, I know how to meet his suspicion. Come, Anna, we ought not to detain the gentleman any longer."
He lifted his hat by way of farewell, and walked towards the forest with the young girl. My mind was filled with contradictory thoughts. Can that proud, self-assertive young man be a miserable criminal! I would so gladly have banished all suspicion of him, but--how terrible it was that so lovely and charming a girl had perhaps bestowed the wealth of her affection upon her father's murderer!
I walked slowly towards the Lonely House, where the Captain, sitting before the door, was awaiting me. He handed me the letter for his brother, gave me various verbal commissions, and I left with a promise to visit him shortly in the Lonely House.
"Shall I bring the Herr Professor's lunch into the garden?" Mizka asked me as I entered the kitchen of the Golden Vine on my return from my excursion. "The Judge has been lunching in the garden, and is sitting with his coffee beneath the great linden."
TheOphrys Bertolinioccurred to me. I smiled at the remembrance of the Judge's boast and was pleased at the idea of teasing him. Of course I ordered my lunch in the garden and betook myself thither.
The Judge was sipping his coffee and smoking his long cigar at the round table beneath the spreading linden. He seemed sunk in a profound reverie, leaning his head upon his hand and with downcast eyes. I was struck with his pallor and with the sallowness and the drawn look of his features. At my first words he started violently, and for a moment gazed at me with terror, almost as if awaking from an oppressive dream, but in an instant he recovered his self-control, and greeted me with a smile.
"I think I was dozing," he said; "the terrible heat makes me sleepy."
Why should he have told such an untruth? He had not been dozing; just before he started he had raised his hand to his cigar and had taken a long whiff.
"I admire you, Herr Professor," he said, "for being able to climb about in such heat. I suffer from it even here in the shade of the linden. I trust you were richly rewarded for your trouble."
"I was indeed," I replied smiling. "I have had great luck. I have been so fortunate as even to discover the place where, yesterday, you plucked for me the charmingOphrys Bertolini."
My jesting words produced a strange effect. Herr Foligno stared at me blankly; his sallow face grew ashy pale; his mouth twitched convulsively as he said brokenly, "No, impossible! How--how--could you--how could you get there?"
"In the easiest way in the world," I replied, tickled that the discovery of his boast had so startled the worthy gentleman. "The spot, so difficult and even dangerous to attain, in reaching which you fell on the rocks and wounded your hand, I found right on the road to the Lonely House and most easy of attainment. From the path I saw theOphrysblooming, and mounted without any difficulty to where it grew."
"Then you have had the good fortune to discover a new home for it which I had not known," Herr Foligno replied, having regained his self-control with surprising celerity. "I found the orchid on an overhanging rock in quite a distant part of the country."
"Indeed, that is very remarkable. Did you, by chance, lose your pocket handkerchief there? I found it in my spot--or is it not yours? Look, the yellow silk shows some spots of blood, probably from a wounded hand."
With a laugh I drew out the handkerchief and handed it to him; the black gloved hand with which he took it trembled. He examined it quite attentively for some time, and then said quietly, "This certainly is a remarkable coincidence. The handkerchief actually belongs to me, and I probably lost it yesterday in climbing about the rocks, but certainly not where you found it, for I was not even in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House. Probably one of the young goatherds here who scramble about everywhere in the mountains found it, and lost it again where you discovered it."
With the greatest calmness he put the handkerchief in his pocket. I could not refuse him my admiration, for his barefaced explanation struck me as quite brilliant. Whether I believed him or not, I must pretend to do so. Laughing heartily, I replied: "I congratulate you, Herr Foligno, on the happy chance which led the little goatherd and the old Professor to the same place, one losing, the other finding your handkerchief to restore it to you."
The Judge probably felt the irony in my words, but he took no notice of it. He offered me his hand cordially.
"It certainly is a very strange coincidence," he said. "If my acquaintances here should hear of it, it might give them material for teasing me quite unpleasantly. You will oblige me, Herr Professor, if you will not mention this little occurrence. May I rely upon you?"
"Certainly; I will be silent as the grave," I replied, still laughing, but the suspicious and evil glance which he cast at me quickly silenced my laughter. He said nothing further about the handkerchief or theOphrys; he only made a few remarks about the unusual heat of the weather so late in the season, and then arose, saying that he was obliged to return to his office, and, therefore, to his regret, must leave me.
The first eventful days which I passed in Luttach were followed by weeks that were more serene. Favoured by the beautiful weather, I made daily excursions in every direction, reaping a rich harvest everywhere. I grew more and more familiar with the peculiar features of the country, and every day I grew more in sympathy with the smiling, charming valley shut in by mountains crowned with bald summits. The contrast between the barren gray rocks and the luxuriant valley at their feet particularly charmed me, and I especially delighted in the view when the sun sank behind the mountains, which were quickly enveloped in a soft twilight mist, the noble outlines of their peaks showing clear against the sky in the light of the setting sun.
The character of the inhabitants of Southern Ukraine soon grew familiar to me. Intercourse with the country folk whom I met on my excursions was, of course, very limited; we could not understand each other's language. Here and there a man who had served in the army could speak German, but only brokenly. The women for the most part spoke scarcely a German word, and they found it very difficult to understand the few Slavonic words which I had learned from Mizka and which I certainly pronounced very badly. There could be no attempt at conversation, but nevertheless the Slavonic country folk tried to testify kindness and cordiality for the stranger.
The peasants evidently held it their duty to offer the hospitality of their fields to the "flycatcher," as they dubbed me, although sometimes they found the grass trodden down where he had been. Unlike the Swiss peasantry, who load with abuse any stranger venturing to trespass in their fields, these Slavonic country folk seemed glad to have me pluck flowers and pursue butterflies wherever I would; nay, they would at times even point out places among the rocks most easy of access and would assist in my search, never asking for money, accepting at most, with many Slavonic words of thanks, a cheap cigar. Scarcely ever in all my travels have I met a peasantry so amiable and kindly as these much slandered Slavonic country folk. I never heard a harsh word or found a trace of that hatred of Germans against which I had been cautioned.
And yet it was none the less there at the bottom of all their hearts; but it was not for the German proper, as the Burgomaster had told me on that first evening, but for those Ukrainers who in a Slavonic country aimed at remaining faithful to Germany. Of this I had daily proof in the expressions which I heard with regard to Franz Schorn.
The young man interested me greatly and I took every opportunity to inform myself as to his circumstances, his earlier life, and everything regarding him. What I learned was not of a nature either to weaken or strengthen my suspicion, and, besides, I could not but acknowledge to myself that all the sources from which I could gain information were unfit to give me a true, distinct picture of a young fellow living in brooding seclusion, as it were, in a community rife with party hatred. The Clerk, the Captain, and the Burgomaster were the only men who could sufficiently rid themselves of prejudice to speak really well of the young man.
All acknowledged that Franz Schorn was an industrious, capable farmer, who took admirable care of the estate inherited from his father; that he was well educated, to a degree above his station; but no praise was accorded to his character; he was said to be an obstinate, sullen fellow, ready for deeds of violence, filled with party hatred, maltreating his Slavonic labourers, covetous and hard-hearted. He had no pity for the poor; his only desire was to gain money and increase his patrimony, which was the reason why he had cast his eye on the rich and pretty Anna Pollenz, not because he loved her, but from greed of gain. This was the verdict of his enemies concerning him. The Captain and the Clerk alone maintained that he was a man of honour, incapable of mean or avaricious conduct; that he was reserved and defiant, willing to defend himself with some violence against all party hatred, and in other respects the victim of slander and low suspicion. How could I find the truth in these conflicting descriptions? I pondered the question in vain. It was certainly remarkable that a handsome, well-to-do, educated young man should be so generally detested, and it was hard to believe that such widespread hatred was entirely without foundation.
I now had many opportunities of observing him. He came almost regularly every evening to the Golden Vine and took the place at the round table which the Clerk always reserved for him. It seemed to me that this was done in order to establish a more kindly social feeling between Franz and the rest of the company who nightly assembled in the inn. The Clerk evidently endeavoured in the kindest way to draw him into the conversation, which he knew how to conduct so that Schorn would have an opportunity to be heard to the very best advantage in displaying his clear judgment and admirable intelligence.
The Captain, the Burgomaster, and the doctor aided the Clerk in his endeavour to establish peace between Franz and the rest of the company, who, out of regard for these gentlemen, became less antagonistic, to be sure, but still remained decidedly indifferent. They were content to do what was required of them socially, greeting the young man when he entered, but in conversation they avoided all direct talk with him, and since he addressed all that he said to the three above-named members of the party, he rarely exchanged a word with the others. The antipathy existing between Franz and the Judge was especially observable. Between these two there was an insurmountable barrier of profound dislike. They never exchanged either a greeting or a word. Franz never even looked at the Judge, although Herr Foligno watched him narrowly.
As soon as Franz appeared among the company in the evening, the Judge fell silent. Even though he might before have talked continually, and at times had even attempted to monopolize the conversation, from the time when Franz appeared he confined himself to monosyllables or a word thrown in here and there. He listened to all that was going on and with special interest when the talk turned upon the failure to discover the perpetrator of the crime committed in the Lonely House. At such times his gaze would be riveted with a strange intensity upon Franz Schorn. No word that the young man spoke, no expression of his countenance, escaped him then. It was the gaze of the serpent upon the bird which he is about to devour. This is perhaps an unsuitable simile, but it occurred to me involuntarily as I saw the Judge watching Franz. I knew his suspicions of the young man, and knew that he was secretly trying to accumulate fresh grounds for it. I knew also that his desire was great to gather from Franz some word that could be used against him, and I fervently thanked my Creator that after going through two terms as a student of law, I had given up all legal aspirations and devoted myself to natural science. There is something positively detestable to me in the thought of a man like the Judge sacrificing all humanity in an eagerness to discover the traces of a crime. My discomfort increased from day to day as I observed the stealthy manner in which he watched Franz's every word and motion.
Sometimes I actually hated the Judge, but I reflected that I had no right to do so. He was simply fulfilling the duty of his office, and probably such fulfilment was most obnoxious to him; he certainly had before him a most unpleasant and arduous task.
As yet there had been no light thrown upon the mysterious crime in the Lonely House. The necessary papers had been sent to the court at Laibach, and there the matter rested for the present. The investigating Judge and the Attorney General had come to Luttach in person to convince themselves that there was no trace of the criminal. The stolen bonds and banknotes had not been found, and, in fact, identification of these would have been impossible, as there had been no registration of them.
Nor could the minutest search among the papers of the murdered man give any evidence as to the amount of his property. The Judge and the tradesman Weber, each of whom had formerly had dealings with old Pollenz and occasion to speak with him about his money affairs, maintained that the old man had kept a list of all bonds in his possession, and of his outstanding investments, in order that he might always be fully conscious of the amount of his wealth, but such a list was not among the papers left behind by the thief. The miserly old man had speculated with a kind of passion. He was in correspondence with several bankers in Vienna; no one could tell with how many. These bankers he commissioned partly by letter and partly through a Luttach firm of tradesmen, Weber & Meyer, as to the purchase and sale of various stocks. He excluded every one from all knowledge of his speculations, and never sold his stock through the same banking house that had purchased it for him. As no one knew how many banking houses he employed, it seemed quite hopeless to discover what stock and government bonds he had possessed, and this, of course, diminished the chances of the discovery of the murderer should he attempt to sell the papers.
It must have been a really humiliating reflection for Herr Foligno that within his district a crime should have been committed without any possibility of the discovery of the criminal. He might well fear that those above him would accuse him of a want of acuteness, or of activity in the performance of his duties. His clear, excellently composed deposition had evidently not brought him the credit that it should have done in higher places. When the two officials from Laibach had made their visit to Luttach, they had put all their questions to the Clerk and not to himself.
"Perhaps I have been wrong," he said to me after the visit of the two men from Laibach, "I ought to have required you to give me a sworn report of your encounter with Herr Franz Schorn in the forest near the Lonely House. I thought of doing so, but the same feeling which forbade me to do it upon the first discovery of the murder actuated me to-day and with renewed strength. Your meeting with him, and the wound in his hand, now entirely healed, are the only grounds of suspicion against him, and you yourself proved to me how insignificant they are by your simple remark that I, too, might be subjected to suspicion from the same causes. I assure you, Herr Professor, that I cannot be sufficiently grateful to you for preventing me from taking a step which I might have repented forever. I do not deny that my suspicion of the man is even more deeply rooted now than it was then, but it behooves me to be all the more strict with myself, for hitherto I have discovered nothing which could justify me in accusing the man whom, nevertheless, I detest profoundly. Should I do so, all the world would believe that I was endeavouring to be rid of a hated rival."
I could not but admit that he was right. Circumstances were really most unfortunate for him. The Lonely House deserved its name now still more than formerly. It was utterly lonely. After the body of its owner had been interred in the graveyard of the village of Oberberg, the Captain had closed it. Anna and her old maid had come to Luttach; she had at last yielded to the persuasions of the Captain, the Burgomaster, and the doctor, and had accepted an asylum in the doctor's house. A couple of unused rooms were quickly furnished for herself and old Johanna. They did not live there as guests of the owner, but as lodgers. It was only with the stipulation that there should be no restriction of her freedom that she had yielded to the wishes of her relatives, and the first use which she made of this freedom was to declare that Franz Schorn was her future husband, who should lead her to the altar at the expiration of her year of mourning. In vain did the Burgomaster, the Captain, and the doctor entreat the young girl to reserve for a time such a declaration. Anna was not to be persuaded.
"It is just because all are against him; just because all seem to hate him in spite of his noble, lofty nature, that I will be true to him. I have been betrothed to him for two years. As long as my father lived I could not declare this boldly against his will, but now I can do so."
Anna's declaration produced a disagreeable impression in Luttach. The little social circle there was greatly scandalized, but even the loudest scandalmonger had to be silent, since Anna with delicate tact avoided all occasion for calumny. Her lover never visited her; her only times for seeing him were when he was invited to the house by its owner, the doctor, who had at first been really provoked at the girl's obstinacy, but who now found it impossible to say enough of her truly enchanting disposition. He had always loved her, ever since she had been a little child, but had never dreamed of her becoming so charming, so tender and caressing. His wife, too, was perfectly delighted to have the lovely girl beneath her roof. He now comprehended perfectly how that stony-hearted miser, old Pollenz, had yielded to the charm of this girl, and, being quite unable to resist her, had not ventured to oppose her meeting Franz beneath the oak daily at noon, for fear of her forsaking him entirely. But, docile and amiable as Anna showed herself among her relatives and friends, the Burgomaster, the Captain, the doctor and his wife, she was correspondingly hard and repellent towards the Judge. From the Captain, with whom I had a daily gossip in the early morning in the garden, I learned that Herr Foligno still entertained a foolish hope of conquering the dislike which Anna felt for him. Several times since she had taken up her dwelling at the doctor's he had made an attempt to approach her, but had always been repulsed with signs of the greatest aversion. The Captain and the doctor had represented to her that she should at least treat him with conventional courtesy, but she had declared that for him she had no courteous, kindly word; she detested and despised him, not only because her father had once wished to force her to marry him, but because she had a firm conviction that he was at heart a wicked man. She would give no grounds for this belief, but she was quite sure it was justified.
The Captain and the doctor must have mentioned to others Anna's behaviour in this respect; it was known throughout Luttach. There was much laughing gossip in the little town about the Judge's unfortunate love. Every evening Mizka detailed to me some town tattle, which was sure to have for its subject pretty Anna and her two adorers. Perhaps it was not quite right that I should lend an ear to such downright gossip, but I do not deny that it interested me, and I could not make up my mind to interrupt the garrulous maid as she told me of all that was discussed in the town.
Though I had but very little sympathy for the Judge, I felt rather sorry for him; he apparently suffered from the unfortunate circumstances in which he was placed. He had proved, too, that at bottom he was not a bad man by the consideration which he had shown for his inveterate enemy, against whom he endeavoured to harbour no suspicion. It was most unfortunate that he should bestow his affection upon a young girl who detested him. I could not excuse him for continuing to sue for her favour after she had shown him her dislike, and he exposed himself to the ridicule of the townfolk and fell in my esteem when every evening he sought to drown his woes by drinking immoderately.
Nevertheless I pitied him. To me he was all amiability and courtesy. He usually postponed his midday meal until I returned from my excursions and could partake of it with him. He took much interest in my collections, particularly in my botanical treasures, and really showed, for a layman, no little knowledge of the subject. If I had lit upon some rare plant, he would learn from me its locality, and in the afternoon would scramble about among the rocks and boast to me in the evening as he displayed the plucked flowers of the result of his labours, and that he had discovered another spot rich in such treasures. If on the following morning I endeavoured to find according to his directions the place he had described, I became aware that it could be attained only by what was almost dangerous climbing. The ascent to a place where he told me I should find quantities of theOphrys Bertoliniwas so hazardous that I might easily have come to grief had I not been a practised mountaineer. On returning, although I strictly followed his directions, I could not have rightly understood them, for I entered a perfect labyrinth of dangerous ravines. It was almost by a miracle that at last I found my way out of it and succeeded in descending by an unused breakneck path.
Exhausted beyond measure by such unexpected exertion, I returned to Luttach at noon and rehearsed to the Judge the danger through which I had passed.
He replied with a smile, "You must have missed the path in descending which I described to you. It is not without danger, but still not very bad. I am glad, however, that you are now convinced of the difficulty which I had two weeks ago in plucking theOphrys Bertolini. That is the spot where I found the flowers that I brought you. I still do not understand how you found the charming plants in a place easy of access."
So he had sent me upon this dangerous excursion just to rid himself of the imputation of bragging. This was very clear. I really did not thank him for it. I said nothing, but determined in future not to explore any of his wonderful localities. I am not such a passionate enthusiast for botany as to expose myself, for the sake of a beautiful flower, to the risk of breaking my neck.
One evening there was so full an assembly round the table in the inn that all the gentlemen with whom I had become acquainted in Luttach were present, with the exception of Franz Schorn. He, as the Burgomaster told us, had driven in the early morning to Görz to bring thence some expensive agricultural machines which he wished to employ on his farm. He had promised the Burgomaster to come to the inn late in the evening to give an account of his purchases, and he was expected to appear any minute.
Since the young man had of late been a constant attendant at the round table, the conversation which had formerly been quite lively with regard to him had ceased. It was all the more lively on this evening, and the subject of it was the purchases he had gone to Görz to make. Several of the men present were the owners of large estates. They at least knew something of agriculture, and yet they were the very ones who expressed themselves as disapproving of the novelties which Franz was trying to introduce.
"He is always endeavouring to use something new-fangled and peculiar," Herr Gunther, one of the richest of the land-owners in the county, declared. "These machines are probably useful enough in Germany, in countries where labour is perhaps very expensive, but they do not suit us here, where they are a ruinous innovation. We have so many poor people about us who want work, that it is a positive crime to deprive them of it by the use of machinery."
"That is just why Schorn buys the machines," another interposed, a man by the name of Mosic. "He hates our poor Slavonic labourers and would like to be independent of them. He has probably heard that many of our best labourers have combined against him and will not work for the German. Where does he get the money he is spending upon such expensive machines?"
"The harvests for several years have not been so plentiful as to enable a farmer to accumulate much cash," said another.
"Perhaps he buys on credit," said the notary, Dietrich.
"Not at all," rejoined the merchant, Meyer. "I have often offered him credit, but he has never accepted it. 'What I cannot buy with ready money I will go without; I will not burden myself with debt,' has always been his reply to me."
"He does not need to do so; he is always economical, and has money enough," remarked the shopkeeper, Weber. "As he was paying me yesterday for his clover seed, I saw that his pocket-book contained a roll of hundred-gulden notes."
"He has certainly spent a deal of money lately; he has purchased two splendid horses, and they were really not necessary, for the two which he gave in part payment to Schmelzigsohn were good enough. He is squandering money at present. People whisper queer things of him. In fact, they are beginning to whisper no longer, but to talk loudly, and before long what they say will be proclaimed in the market place."
"It certainly is strange that Schorn has so much money at his command. Before old Pollenz was murdered he seemed to have very little."
For an instant profound silence followed the last remark of Mosic's. A strange expression spread over the countenances of those present. The innuendo in the words just spoken made a most painful impression upon all. The Clerk was the first to recover himself. With an angry look at Mosic, he said in a tone of harsh reproof:
"How dare you, Herr Mosic, utter such an accusation against an absent member of our circle? I shall inform Herr Schorn of what you have said that he may call you to account for it."
Herr Mosic changed color.
"Oh, pardon me, sir," he said, and his voice trembled; "you entirely misunderstood me. I have no idea of uttering an accusation against Herr Schorn. I only repeated the stupid talk of the townsfolk. Of course I attach no importance to it; it is not my fault if people will talk."
"You ought not to repeat such nonsensical gossip," the Clerk said angrily.
Hitherto the Judge had taken no part in the conversation. He had sat silent drinking glass after glass of wine, but now he turned to the Clerk, and in a very odd tone said, with a glance toward me:
"You judge rather hastily, sir; you should remember that the voice of the people is the voice of God."
"Pardon me, Judge," cried the doctor; "in this case the despicable gossip is the voice of the devil; no honest man should repeat or defend it."
"So say I. 'Tis a cowardly, unworthy accusation!" exclaimed the Captain, and the Burgomaster nodded assent. "Franz is a rough, morose fellow, but a man of honour through and through, incapable of committing a crime."
"Besides," added the doctor, "very little understanding is necessary to perceive that he never could have committed the murder. Even if he had been a hard-hearted wretch quite capable of it, no suspicion ofthiscrime could attach to him."
"Indeed!" said the Judge, contemptuously; "I really am curious to learn why no possible suspicion in this case could attach to Schorn."
"Upon my word, it is sad to think that I, an old doctor, understanding nothing of criminal law, should have to instruct a learned Judge as to what his simple, sound, good sense should teach him, but since it is so, since such ridiculous gossip has found no one in this circle to expose it as such, it must be. The murderer was certainly a man with whom old Pollenz was very intimate; Franz he hated like sin and held him to be his mortal enemy.
"When little Anna went to Luttach with old Johanna, her father locked the front door behind them, and, as always when resting at noon, withdrew to his own room and bolted himself in. Whoever wished to enter the house or to see its owner would be obliged either to break down the door or be admitted by old Pollenz himself. Now, no sensible human being could believe that the old man would have opened his door for Schorn, to allow himself to be murdered--for Franz Schorn, of whom he was afraid, of whom he always said, 'Schorn will kill me one of these days.' He would have drawn a double bolt on every door if Franz had asked for admittance, but on this occasion he drew back the bolt and opened the door. There is no trace of any violence used in opening it, and a bolted door cannot be opened unless from within, or with violence; therefore I maintain that the murderer must have been an intimate friend of old Pollenz, and in no case can the slightest suspicion attach to Franz Schorn. I think I have now proved this clearly."
"Clear as sunlight; the legal profession loses a shining light in you, doctor," the Judge rejoined, his thin lips curled in a contemptuous smile. "After your lucid defense," he continued, "it seems to me incumbent upon us all to say not one word to Franz Schorn of our previous conversation; he would surely be deeply offended and insulted if he could believe that any one of us entertained the smallest doubt of his innocence. We must take it upon ourselves to discountenance the town gossip wherever we hear it, always taking care that the young man learns nothing of the rumours concerning him. The object of such rumours can never combat them himself. Should he try to do so, it would but strengthen belief in them; but we can have many opportunities to silence slander. I hope you all agree with me, gentlemen."
All agreed. The doctor offered the Judge his hand in token of acknowledgment, and said with a kindly nod:
"You are a good fellow, after all, Judge, and I beg your pardon. It is fine of you to stand up so bravely for Franz, although you cannot endure him. I will not forget it of you."
That the Judge's words had produced their effect upon all present, even upon those most opposed to Schorn, was evident when the young man soon afterward entered the room; he was received with more cordiality and kindness than ever before; it really seemed as if Herr Gunther and Herr Mosic were trying by their courtesy to atone for the words spoken in his absence.
Franz was so pleasantly surprised by this friendly reception that he became far more amiable and genial than ever before. At the Burgomaster's request, he explained the new machines which he had bought in Görz and the use to which he intended to put them, not only for his own advantage, but hoping to improve the agriculture of the entire Luttach valley by introducing them generally.
This excited a little war of words between him and the two land-owners, who declared themselves opposed to the introduction of new methods, but their opposition was expressed with so much moderation that Franz could not take offense.
And the Captain, who, as a good Conservative, was strongly opposed to the introduction of machinery in agricultural operations, sided with the land-owners.
"You mean well, Franz," he said; "you would like to increase the prosperity of our valley; but with your cursed innovations you put the cart before the horse. You will never improve the labourer's condition by depriving him of his means of subsistence."
"These machines will not deprive the labourer of his work. On the contrary, they will give him an opportunity of working more effectually than has been possible for him hitherto. A more thorough cultivation of our fields and vineyards will create a fresh demand of labour, which will be better paid than ever."
"Dreams, dreams, in which I have no faith," replied the Captain. "The manufacturers of these machines and the people who sell them have started these tales. When a machine undertakes the labour hitherto performed by man, the man sinks to the machine's level. In all great manufacturing towns the labouring class, with very few exceptions, is poverty-stricken and starving. Don't tell me of such innovations. We should count ourselves happy that here in the country we have hitherto been free from machinery."
"Nevertheless, perhaps because of this, our labourers here suffer the bitterest poverty."
"That is because the last few years have been poor ones. If the peasant's harvest fails and the vineyards do not flourish, the labourer can earn nothing. Your machines cannot improve his condition; they can only make it worse. The Herr Professor has given me an idea of what would improve the condition of our people here more than ought else."
I gazed at the Captain in surprise. I did not remember that I had ever said a word to him about the poverty of the labouring class in the Luttach valley, or had ever mentioned any means whatever of improving their condition. He nodded to me with a gentle smile, and then continued:
"Yes, yes, Herr Professor, you do not recall how on the very first morning after your arrival among us we had a conversation which I remember well. Our valley should be opened to tourists; we are situated just between two important railways, not more than a league distant from each; we could be visited with the greatest facility, and where tourists are gathered together money is sure to circulate; all will be the gainers; the inns, the tradesfolk, those owning horses, who will hire out carriages; the laundresses, and even the labourers, who will be employed either as drivers or as guides for excursions among the mountains."
"What talk is this, old friend?" the Burgomaster interrupted him with a laugh. "What have we here to attract tourists? They can make the ascent of Nanos very easily from Prayvalt, and our valley has really nothing more to show. It is quite wonderful that a naturalist, our Herr Professor, should have visited us. Certainly none of those who travel for pleasure would ever contemplate coming hither."
"Therefore we must try to find something that will attract them. The Herr Professor called my attention to the fact that we live on from day to day without regard to our ignorance as to whether we do not possess a greater attraction for travellers than the Adelsberg Grotto. Does any one of us here present know how extensive are the caves which we possess, and whether they may not perhaps be finer than the grotto at Adelsberg? The only one among us who has interested himself about them is, if I do not mistake, Franz Schorn, and he has done very little in the way of exploration. How is it, Franz; am I not right?"
"It is true that I have done very little in the way of exploration. I penetrated furthest into the cave in the grove of the Rusina. It is a laborious piece of work. I lost all desire to penetrate further; it seemed useless."
"The Herr Professor thinks differently. Do you still desire to attempt to explore one of these caves, Herr Professor? I was anxious to offer you my assistance in so doing some time ago, but this horrible murder has occupied our minds to the exclusion of every other thought."
The Captain's proposal was very welcome to me. In my excursion on the forenoon of this very day I had gazed with much interest in the grove of the Rusina, at the dark opening among gigantic blocks of granite. I had an intense desire to explore it, but prudence called a halt. Overheated as I was in climbing about the mountains, I would not expose myself to the danger to which the cold, damp interior of the cave would expose me, and, besides, it would have been very foolish to attempt any exploration without companions, for the slightest slip might prove fatal. No one would ever have looked for me in the cave; if not killed, I might have starved before I was discovered.
Such considerations at the time forbade gratifying my desire to explore the cave, but it awoke again within me at the Captain's offer; it pleased me that it should be so entirely voluntary. I thanked him and declared that I would gladly take part in an exploration of the cave whenever he should arrange it.
"Bravo! Then let us set to work early tomorrow morning and begin with the cave in the grove of the Rusina. You will join us, Franz!"
"Gladly. I only fear that we shall not get far. There is a deep abyss not many yards from the entrance."
"How deep is it!"
"I do not know. I threw a lighted match into it, but it was quickly extinguished; and a stone which I cast down soon struck some rock and I could not see where it lay. I took no pains to explore further."
"Then we will try to do so to-morrow. Let us take with us a couple of sturdy fellows, who can carry torches, some lanterns and a sufficient length of strong rope, with perhaps a ladder or two. I will take with me some magnesium wire, which will give us a brilliant light in the depths."
Franz agreed. We discussed the interesting expedition further, and decided that we would start at seven o'clock the next morning.
"May I make one of your party?" the Judge asked, when we had completed our arrangements. Franz Schorn started and regarded the speaker with a searching glance. Evidently he was about to refuse decidedly, but thought better of it, bit his lip, and, with a slight gesture of his hand, referred the matter to me. I cannot say that the proposal was agreeable to me. I was surprised that the Judge should be willing to take part in an expedition to which Franz Schorn was, to a certain degree, the guide. I feared some unpleasant encounter between the two men and I should have liked to refuse. This, however, courtesy forbade. The Judge had always been so amiable and obliging in his behaviour to me that it was impossible for me to decline his company.
He noticed that I hesitated a moment, and, probably guessing whence such hesitation proceeded, continued with a smiling look at Franz Schorn:
"I am very much interested in our Ukraine caves, and I have already visited a number of them. The cave in the grove of the Rusina is not unfamiliar to me. I have not explored it to the extent of which Herr Schorn tells us, but I am familiar with the entrance and would like to penetrate its depths. Of course, I voluntarily acquiesce in the intelligent guidance of Herr Schorn, who will take command of our expedition. You would oblige me very much, Herr Professor, by your permission to accompany you."
I could not but accord it. It was impossible to do otherwise. The Judge thanked me, as he did Schorn and the Captain, so courteously that I was half inclined to suspect his sincerity. The prospect of this expedition seemed to delight him. He suddenly became talkative and showed an uncommon amiability to Schorn, although the young man met his advances with monosyllabic replies. His attempt to make himself acceptable to him was not happy; his cheerfulness seemed forced; his friendliness assumed; his gaiety feverish. In his usual attitude at the table, looking gloomily into his wineglass, he impressed me very unfavourably, but to-day, when he was talkative and gay, I was still more unfavourably impressed.
I had a very strange feeling with regard to the Judge. I could not but acknowledge that he was a good, honourable man. He had shown this abundantly; but I felt a vague, instinctive aversion to him, which, however I struggled against it, increased the more I knew him.
I was uncomfortable in his society that evening; therefore I rose from my place earlier than usual and called Mizka to light me to my room. To my surprise, the Judge followed my example, although he had just ordered another measure of wine.
"I will go with you, Herr Professor," he said, and he accompanied me without drinking his wine. "To-morrow, then, at seven o'clock, Herr Schorn."
As he spoke he offered his hand to Schorn, but the young man ignored it.
"It is to the Herr Professor or to the Captain that you owe permission to accompany us," Schorn said, with cool contempt. "I have not agreed to it. You and I have nothing in common."
"Perhaps you are wrong, Herr Schorn. I may convince you of this to-morrow. I willingly submit myself to your guidance. Good-night."
His features wore a detestable sneer as he uttered these words, and, bowing to the rest of the company, he followed me.
Upstairs on the landing I would have bidden him good-night, but he said:
"I followed you, Herr Professor, because I want to speak a few words with you alone. Allow me to go into your room with you. I'll not detain you long."
Of course I invited him to enter and to take a place on the old straight-backed sofa, curious to learn what he could have to say to me. When Mizka, after having lighted the candles, left the room, he sprang up, went to the door and opened it to convince himself that she was not listening, and then opened the door leading to the adjoining room to make sure that no one was there. Then he returned to me, and in a voice trembling with agitation said:
"I pray you, Herr Professor, to give me at once, now, your report of meeting Franz Schorn in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House."
I was startled. I had not expected this demand. Surprise made me speechless for a moment. I could only ejaculate "Herr Foligno!"
"I understand your surprise, your dismay," he continued. "Believe me, it has cost me a struggle to resolve to make this request, but it must be. I may have neglected my duty in postponing it so long. Now, when my suspicions have become almost a certainty, I can wait no longer. I am compelled to collect all the grounds for it that I possess, and among them belongs your meeting with him near the Lonely House. The paper must be sent to the Attorney General at Laibach. It must be, Herr Professor; you cannot refuse me. Every man of honour is bound to support the authorities in the investigation of crime. You could not wish to shield a criminal from the rigour of the law."
"Most certainly not; but I am more than firmly convinced that Franz Schorn is no murderer. You yourself, scarcely an hour ago, admitted the proofs of his innocence adduced by the doctor."
"Did you not perceive that my words were ironical? I was obliged to change the subject of the conversation. Franz Schorn must not be warned by his friends. He must believe himself safe from discovery, or he will betake himself to flight, for which the money gained by his crime gives him abundant opportunity. Trieste is not far off, and a guide thither is quickly found. I was obliged to conceal from him the knowledge that I have discovered his crime. I put force upon myself to control my abhorrence of him. This very night I must complete the full report showing forth all the evidence against him, and in this I must include your meeting with him near the Lonely House. An official will take the paper to Laibach and deliver it in person; then the Attorney General must decide whether the evidence it contains be sufficient to warrant Schorn's arrest. I am myself perfectly convinced of his guilt. I ought perhaps to arrest him on my own responsibility, but I will not expose myself to the reproach of acting from personal hostility. I shall watch him narrowly to prevent his flight, and therefore I begged to be allowed to join your cave exploration. His arrest I will leave to the Attorney General in Laibach. Thus I have explained to you frankly the grounds for my action, and I pray you to give me the report for the protocol, which you promised me a week ago. This report should consist, in order to save yourself and myself unpleasant after inquiries, of the declaration that to your meeting with Schorn you attached no importance in the beginning, but since you have learned that the voice of the people pronounce him the murderer you hold it to be your duty to mention seeing him in the forest. You might add that you hold this meeting to be of no importance and that you are most unwilling to arouse a suspicion of the young man, but that, nevertheless, you feel it your duty to tell of your encounter with him. I think such a report cannot outrage your sense of justice."
"It does not accord with my sense of justice to admit a suspicion which I think false. If I make my report now, it will look as though I shared this suspicion. The Attorney General would so interpret it, even though I declared the contrary. I ought to have made the report immediately after the discovery of the murder. You prevented my doing so then, and now I will not make it until I see at least the possibility of other grounds for it."
"It is the duty of the Attorney General, not yourself, to judge of the importance of your evidence," Herr Foligno replied sternly. "It is the duty of the private individual to impart to the proper authorities every circumstance that may be connected with a crime. Of course you know that."
"It is not his duty," I said angrily, "if his inmost conviction is that the circumstance he relates has no connection whatever with the crime, although it may serve to arouse suspicion. If what you maintain be correct, I ought also to advise the Attorney General that you yourself were in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House on that morning and that I found your pocket handkerchief where you had been pluckingOphrys Bertolini."
Herr Foligno shot such a look of rage at me from beneath his black brows that I started in terror. I had no idea of affecting him so deeply by my words. In a voice trembling with anger, which he vainly strove to control, he said:
"Then you would tell the Attorney General a falsehood. I have told you that I did not pluck the flowers in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, but at a great distance from it, and in a spot difficult to find, and that my handkerchief was by accident where you picked it up. Is it possible that you do not believe me, although I have told you all this distinctly?"
He probably read in my face that I was not convinced of the truth of this statement, for he continued in a sharp, angry tone:
"You doubt, in spite of my words. Perhaps you entertain the possibility of my having some connection with the crime----"
"What folly, Herr Foligno!" I cried, interrupting him. "I mentioned you and your pocket handkerchief only to contradict your assertion that it was my duty to tell of an insignificant experience. If I ought to report having seen Franz Schorn near the Lonely House, I also ought to report the finding of your handkerchief under the same circumstances."
"If you really consider this your duty, I shall not gainsay you," he replied darkly, not lifting his eyes from the ground. "It is no affair of mine. My task is to send this very night my deposition, containing an account of your meeting with Franz Schorn, to the proper authorities either with or against your consent. I may find myself in a very unpleasant position and even imperil my office when I relate that I myself advised you to withhold your report concerning Schorn, but personal considerations must yield to my sense of duty. I had thought, Herr Professor," he continued, in a more friendly tone, finding me still silent, "that you would not willingly thus embarrass me. Believe me, I would not so insist upon your evidence were I not thoroughly and firmly convinced of the young man's guilt. To show you how highly I esteem you, what implicit confidence I place in your honour and silence, I will tell you, although scarcely warranted in so doing, of the results of my laborious investigations during the last few weeks. You yourself will then be convinced of your duty. It is a hard task for me to make these revelations to you, for not only do they militate against Franz Schorn, but against one who has been very dear to my heart, and for whom to-day, in spite of my better judgment, I feel warm affection; but it must be; you shall hear all."
"Proceed; you may rely upon my discretion."
I waited for what he had to say with intense eagerness. For a few moments he sat silent, with downcast looks; then he began, not once looking at me as he spoke:
"It is difficult to indicate the precise moment at which suspicions of Schorn were aroused within me. You yourself know of his bitter enmity towards old Pollenz, whose death he could not but desire, since it alone would bring him the fulfilment of his dearest wish. You know of his being near the Lonely House immediately after the murder. You know also of the wound in his hand, to account for which he told of having grasped a double-edged knife as it fell from where he had left it. His reluctance to show the wound to the doctor, and, more than all else, his sudden accession of wealth after the crime, accuses him loudly. He has made purchases which would have been impossible with his own unassisted means. All these grounds of suspicion the doctor thought to annihilate by his acute reasoning, showing that old Pollenz himself could not possibly have admitted Schorn and that the murderer had evidently entered the house without any violent breaking in of the door. How is this to be accounted for? Unfortunately, the explanation is only too clear. Fräulein Anna Pollenz, when officially examined, as well as in her words to the Captain and to the doctor, portrayed a life in her father's house absolutely opposed to reality. She maintained that her father loved her most tenderly; that he was always kind and gentle to her, and that even her connection with the hated Schorn and her refusal to give me her hand had produced no change in his demeanour toward her. Anna's words were universally believed. Who could doubt who looked into her eyes and acknowledged their spell? To see her is to love her. She wins all hearts at once. Every one believes her; every one trusts her; and nevertheless every word that she spoke is false. For years the Lonely House has witnessed terrible scenes between father and daughter. The old man abused the lovely child outrageously because she would not obey him. Unfortunately I myself was often the cause of this abuse, although I declared continually to old Pollenz that I never would claim Anna's hand unless she bestowed it upon me voluntarily; unless I succeeded in winning the young girl's love. The old fellow was a rough, heartless, violent man; a coward to those stronger than himself, brutal to those who were weaker. He locked his daughter up; he half starved her; he beat her so that she escaped from him bleeding. For years he never spoke a kind word to her. He had unbounded confidence in me; he even angrily complained to me of her disobedience. I myself have witnessed frightful scenes, and on several occasions prevented him with all my physical strength from maltreating the beautiful, unfortunate child in my presence."
"Frightful!" I exclaimed. The dreadful picture which the narrator unfolded before me filled me with horror.
"Beside myself, there is one other human being who is aware of the family life in the Lonely House. Old Johanna was a witness of the maltreatment which the unhappy girl suffered daily in our presence; in the presence of others the old man assumed a kind, mild demeanour toward his child; old Johanna suffered almost as much as Anna from the brutality of her master. She would long ago have left him if she had not been detained by tender affection for her mistress. After what you have just heard you may judge with what amazement I was filled upon learning after the death of old Pollenz that Anna had described her relations with her father as happy, peaceful, and loving, and that old Johanna in the final examination, had confirmed all that Anna said. I pondered long to discover what grounds Anna could have for such a false representation of the actual circumstances and why she should suddenly develop such inconceivable hatred for me, who had so often protected her from ill treatment. When at last I suspected the true cause I found it difficult of belief. I alone can expose the tissue of lies which she has woven around herself. I alone cannot be won over to testify to her truth, as she has won over old Johanna, who would perjure herself willingly for her darling, and Anna needs such falsehoods. It is almost impossible to believe that the daughter, driven to madness and despair by daily ill treatment, herself opened the locked doors for her lover. Spare me further words, Herr Professor. My reason becomes confused when I reflect on a deed so horrible. Ever since this solution became clear to me, sleep is banished. I toss restlessly throughout the night. My thoughts dwell perpetually in the Lonely House. At times I have feared that I should become insane. The struggle raging within me during these last few days is indescribable. I loved Anna with all my heart. I love her still, and, although it is madness, I shall love her to my last breath. Neither her crime nor the hatred which she displays towards me can kill this insane love within me, and fate has ordained that I should be the inexorable judge, the dread accuser of her lover, in ruining whom I ruin her also; but I must do my duty, let my heart bleed as it may."
He had finished. The narrative had agitated him fearfully; he trembled in every limb; his eyes glowed as with fever. I was scarcely less moved than he. His words had torn the veil from my eyes; I could now see the fearful scenes in the Lonely House clearly, and how they had led to the final deed. I was ineffably sad. Great as was my detestation of the horrible crime, I could not but pity deeply the unfortunate child whom despair had maddened. Detestation, horror and pity by turns filled my heart. I could put myself in the place of the unhappy man who had just revealed to me his innermost soul.
How long we confronted each other in silence I cannot say. We were both too deeply moved to give expression in words to our feelings. Herr Foligno recovered himself first. His voice no longer trembled as he asked, after a long pause:
"Will you now sign the report which I will write out for you?"
"Yes."
I brought him paper, pen and ink. He quickly took down the evidence I had to give, as he had before required that I should give it, and then read aloud what he had written. I had no objection to offer, and signed it.
He arose and held out his hand in farewell.
"I have another terrible night before me," he said. "To-morrow a messenger must take this early to Laibach, and a hard day will follow a weary night for both of us. It will not be easy for you, Herr Professor, to make one to-morrow of Franz Schorn's party to the cave without allowing him to perceive your detestation of him."
"I cannot; I shall excuse myself on the plea of illness."
"No, Herr Professor, you must not do this. Schorn will surely learn through Mizka that I came with you to your room; he might suspect something. A criminal of his calibre is on the watch for the merest trifle which can arouse suspicion of his discovery. You, too, Herr Professor, have a hard duty to perform, but it must be done. You must be one of the party, as I shall be. Neither the Captain nor Schorn must dream of what the near future will bring forth. I trust to your honour, and I know that I do not trust in vain."