The dwellers at Altenhof had passed a week of great suspense and anxiety. When Herr Witold returned home on the evening of the accident, he found the whole house in commotion. Dr. Fabian lay bleeding and still unconscious in his room; and Waldemar, with a face which terrified his guardian even more than the sight of the sufferer, was endeavouring to stanch the wound. Nothing could be extracted from him, save that he had been the cause of the misfortune which had occurred; so the Squire was obliged, in a great measure, to rely on the reports of the servants. From them he learned that the young master had returned at dusk, bearing in his arms the injured man, whom he must have carried from a distance, and that he had immediately sent off messengers to the nearest doctors. A quarter of an hour later, the horse had come in in his turn, exhausted, and bearing all the traces of fast and furious riding. The animal, on being abandoned by its master, had taken the familiar road home--that was all the servants knew. The wound on the Doctor's head, evidently caused by a blow from the hoof, seemed of a serious nature; and the great loss of blood and weakly constitution of the patient aroused for some time fears of the worst. Herr Witold, thoroughly sound and healthy himself, and accustomed to a like vigour in Waldemar, had no experience of sickness or suspense, and swore often enough that for all the gold in the world he would not live through that week again. To-day, for the first time, the Squire's face wore its accustomed cheery look, as he sat by the bed in the patient's room.
"So we have tided over the worst," said he. "And now, Doctor, you will do me the favour to have a little rational talk with Waldemar." He pointed to his adopted son, who stood by the window, leaning his head against the panes, and looking out absently into the court. "I can do nothing with him, but you can obtain what you like from him now; so try and bring him to reason, or I shall have the boy ruined for life through this unhappy business."
Doctor Fabian, who wore a broad white bandage across his brow, still looked very weak and wasted; but he was sitting up, supported by pillows, and his voice, though faint, was quite clear as he asked--
"What do you wish Waldemar to do?"
"I wish him to be reasonable," returned Witold, emphatically; "to be reasonable, and to thank God that things have gone so well with us; instead of which he goes about tormenting himself, as if he really had a murder on his conscience. I was anxious enough myself for the first two or three days, when your life hung on a thread; but now that the doctor has declared you to be out of danger, one may breathe freely again. There is no good in overdoing a thing, and I can't bear any longer to see the boy wandering about with such a face, and hardly saying a word for hours together."
"But I have told Waldemar over and over again that I alone am to blame for the accident," said the Doctor. "His attention was quite taken up with his horse; he could not see I was standing so near. I was imprudent enough to seize the animal's veins, and it pulled me to the ground."
"You caught hold of Norman's reins?" asked the Squire, petrified with amazement. "You, who will go ten paces out of any horse's way, and have never ventured to approach the wild beast? How did you come to do that?"
Fabian glanced across at his pupil. "I was afraid of an accident," he answered, gently.
"Which would unquestionably have happened," went on Witold. "Waldemar could not have all his five senses about him that evening, to want to leap the ditch just at that spot, at dusk too, and with a horse dead beat! I have always told him that temper of his would get him into trouble some day. Now he has had a lesson--but he takes it rather too much to heart. So, Doctor, you just read him a sermon--you are allowed to talk now, you know--and persuade him to be reasonable. He will do what you tell him now, I am certain."
Saying which, the Squire rose and left the room.
The two who remained behind were silent awhile. At last the Doctor began--
"Did you hear what I have been charged with, Waldemar?"
The young man, who up to this time had stood by the window, silent and abstracted, as though the conversation in no way concerned him, turned round at once, and went up to the bed. At first sight, Witold's anxiety might have appeared exaggerated. Such a nature as Waldemar's does not succumb so easily to moral influences. He only looked somewhat paler than of yore; but any one who observed him closely would have discerned the change.
There was a strange, new expression in his face, well calculated to excite uneasiness--a peculiar rigidity of feature, as though all emotion had died out within him. This, however, might only be the vizier behind which some deeply wounded feeling hid itself from the outer world. His voice, too, had lost its full strong ring; it sounded weary and spiritless as he replied--
"Don't listen to my uncle. There is nothing the matter with me."
Dr. Fabian took his pupil's hand between his own, the young man submitting unresistingly.
"I have not ventured to touch on the subject yet," went on the Doctor, timidly. "I see it still gives you pain. Shall I be silent?"
Waldemar drew a deep, long breath.
"No," said he, after a minute. "I ought to thank you for withholding the truth from my uncle. He would have tortured me with questions which I should not have answered; but my madness on that evening nearly cost you your life. I cannot--I do not wish to deny to you what you, indeed, must know already."
"I know nothing," replied the Doctor, with a troubled look. "I can only form a guess from the scene I witnessed. Waldemar, tell me, for Heaven's sake, what had taken place?"
"Oh, it was nothing--a mere childish joke," said Waldemar, bitterly. "A piece of folly, which was not worthy to be taken seriously--so my mother wrote the day before yesterday. Unfortunately, I have taken it seriously--so seriously that it has wrecked part of my life for me, perhaps the best part."
"You love Countess Morynska?" asked the Doctor, in a low tone.
"Ididlove her; it is over. I know now that she was miserably trifling with me. I have done with her and her love."
Dr. Fabian shook his head, as he scanned the young man's face with deep anxiety. "Done with her? no, not for some time to come! I can see but too plainly what you are suffering at this moment."
Waldemar passed his hand across his brow. "That will pass. I have borne it, and I shall conquer it; for conquer it I will, at any cost. Only one thing I beg of you. Say no word of it to my uncle, nor--nor to me. I shall battle down the weakness, I know; but I cannot speak of it, not even to you. Let me settle the matter by myself--it will be all the sooner buried."
His trembling lips betrayed how sensitive was the wound to the slightest touch. The Doctor saw he must desist.
"I will be silent, since you wish it. You shall in future hear no word of it from me."
"In future!" repeated Waldemar. "Why, are you thinking of staying on with me? I took it for granted that you would leave us when you got well. I can hardly expect you to put up with a pupil who rides you down in return for all your care and trouble."
The Doctor took the young man's hands again soothingly between his own.
"As though I did not know that you have suffered far more than I! One good result my illness has had. It has convinced me on a point--forgive me--on which I was not fully convinced before. I know now that you have a heart to feel for others."
Waldemar seemed hardly to hear the last words. His eyes had a gloomy, absent look; but suddenly he roused himself, and said, "My uncle is right in one thing. How did you come to take hold of Norman's reins, you of all people?"
Fabian smiled. "You mean because my cowardice is notorious? It was anxiety on your account which made me courageous for once. I had, it is true, often seen you commit similar mad acts of rashness, and never ventured to interfere; but then I always knew that you were a match for the danger which you set yourself to overcome. On that evening you were not bent on overcoming a danger; you were bent on bringing about that fall, Waldemar. I saw you wished for it, saw it would be death to you, if I did not hold you back by force, and I forgot even my fear, and seized the bridle."
Waldemar looked at the speaker with wide, astonished eyes. "So it was not mere imprudence, not by any unlucky accident that you were thrown to the ground. You knew to what you were exposing yourself. Do you care at all about my life, then? I thought nobody cared for it."
"Nobody? and your guardian?"
"Uncle Witold? Yes, he perhaps; but no one else."
"I think I have shown you that somebody else cares," said the Doctor, with gentle reproach.
The young man bent over him.
"I know that I have deserved it least of all from you; but, believe me, Doctor, I have had a hard lesson, so hard a one that I shall never forget it as long as I live. From the hour I carried you home bleeding, from the two first days when the surgeon gave you up for lost, I have been learning what a murderer must feel. If you really are willing to stay on with me, you may risk it now. Here, by your bed of pain, I have for ever forsworn those violent fits of passion which blind me to everything that comes in my way. You shall not have to complain of me any more."
The words were spoken with a touch of the old energy; but Dr. Fabian still gazed anxiously into his pupil's countenance, as the latter bent over him. "I wish you could tell me that with a different face," he replied. "Of course I shall stay with you; but I would rather have your old impetuosity than this dull unnatural calm. There is a look in your eye which does not please me."
Waldemar raised himself quickly, withdrawing from the too keen observation. "Don't let us be for ever talking of me," he said. "The doctor says you may have some fresh air now. Shall I open the window?"
The sick man sighed. He saw there was nothing to be done here; moreover, the conversation was now interrupted by the entrance of Herr Witold.
"Here I am again," said he, coming in. "Waldemar, you will have to go down. Young Prince Baratowski is there."
"Leo?" asked Waldemar, in evident astonishment.
"Yes, he wants to speak to you. My presence will be superfluous, I am very sure, so I'll stay and keep the Doctor company."
The young man left the room, and Witold sat down in his former place by the bedside.
"The Baratowskis are exceedingly anxious to get hold of him again," said he, alluding to his adopted son. "Three days ago a letter came from her Highness, our lady mamma. Waldemar has not answered it, to my knowledge; in fact, nothing would induce him to leave you, so now the brother is sent over in person. And I must say this, the young Polish shoot is of a very trim growth--a perfect picture of a boy! only, unfortunately, as like his mother as two peas, which goes strongly against him in my eyes. And now it just occurs to me, I have never asked you what discoveries you made at C----. In my worry about you, I had quite forgotten the whole affair."
Dr. Fabian cast down his eyes, and plucked nervously at the counterpane. "I am sorry I cannot give you any information, Herr Witold," he replied. "My visit to C---- was too short, too hurried, and I told you before that I had neither skill nor luck for a diplomatist."
"Ah, you are thinking of the crack in your skull," said the Squire; "but that had nothing to do with the business. However, I won't bother you with such commissions in future. So you could not find out anything? More's the pity! And how goes it with Waldemar? Did you read him a good lecture?"
"He has promised that he will endeavour to put all that has passed away from his mind."
"Thank God! I tell you, you can do anything with him now; and what is more, Doctor, we have both of us been unjust to the boy in thinking he had no feeling. I never should have imagined he would take the thing so much to heart."
On entering the study or 'den' before described, Waldemar found his brother waiting for him. The young Prince, on arriving, had been struck by the appearance of the old-fashioned, somewhat low-roofed dwelling-house, and was now examining with wondering eyes the modest arrangements of the room into which he had been shown. Accustomed from his earliest childhood to a well-appointed, elegant house, he could not understand how his brother, wealthy as he knew him to be, could possibly endure to live on here. Thesalonof the hired house at C----, which to him and to the Princess appeared miserably shabby, was splendid in comparison to this reception-room at Altenhof.
All these reflections vanished, however, on Waldemar's entrance. Leo went up to him, and said hastily, as though to get over a disagreeable but unavoidable task as speedily as possible, "You are surprised to see me here; but you have not been near us for a whole week, and you have not answered mamma's letter, so there was nothing left us but to come and look after you."
It was easy to see that, in paying this visit, the young man was not acting spontaneously. His speech and manner were decidedly constrained. He seemed on the point of holding out his hand to his brother, but evidently could not quite prevail on himself to offer such a mark of amity. The little movement was not followed up.
Waldemar either did not, or would not, notice it. "You come by your mother's, desire?" he asked.
Leo reddened. He best knew what a struggle it had cost the Princess to extort compliance; how she had needed to employ the whole weight of her authority before he would consent to take this journey to Altenhof.
"Yes," he replied, somewhat tardily.
"I am sorry you should have had to take a step which must appear a humiliating one to you, Leo. I should certainly have spared it you, if I had known anything of the matter."
Leo looked up in surprise. The tone was as new to him as the consideration for his feelings, coming from this quarter.
"Mamma declared you had been insulted in our house," he began again--"insulted by me, and that, therefore, I must make the first advances towards a reconciliation. I feel myself now that she is right. You will believe me, Waldemar"--here his voice grew agitated--"you will believe me, that without such a feeling on my part I never should have come, never!"
"I believe you," was the short, but decided answer.
"Well, then, don't make it so hard for me to beg your pardon!" cried Leo, really stretching out his hand now. His brother declined it.
"I cannot accept your excuses. Neither you nor my mother are to blame for the insult I received in your house; moreover, it is already past and forgotten. Let us say no more about it."
Leo's astonishment grew with every minute. He could make nothing of this quiet coolness which he had been so far from expecting. Had he not himself witnessed Waldemar's terrible agitation, and that scarcely a week ago?
"I did not think you could forget so quickly!" he replied, with unfeigned wonder.
"When my contempt is aroused, certainly!"
"Waldemar, that is too severe," Leo broke out. "You do Wanda a wrong. She herself charged me to say to you ..."
"Had you not better spare me Countess Morynska's message?" said his brother, interrupting him. "My view of the case is, I should imagine, the one in question now, and it differs altogether from yours--but let us drop the subject. My mother will not, of course, expect me to bid her good-bye in person. She will understand that, for the present, I shall avoid her house, and that I shall not come to Wilicza this autumn, as we had agreed. Perhaps I may see you there next year."
The young Prince drew back with a dark frown on his brow. "You do not suppose that, after this quarrel, after the cold repulse I have met with here, we can still be your guests?" he asked, angrily.
Waldemar crossed his arms, and leaned on the bureau. "You mistake. There has been no quarrel between us. My mother, in her letter to me, condemned the late incident in very decided terms. You showed a disapproval even more marked by interfering the other day; and if I desired any formal satisfaction, you offer it me now by coming here. What has the whole business to do with your staying at my place? But you always opposed the plan, I know. For what reason?"
"Because it is humiliating to me--and what was painful to me before, has now become impossible. Mamma may determine on what she likes, but I will not set my foot ..."
Waldemar laid his hand kindly on the boy's arm. "Do not say it out, Leo. Later on you may feel yourself bound by a word spoken in haste. You are in no way concerned in the matter. I offered my mother a home at Wilicza, and she accepted it. Under existing circumstances, it was no more than my duty. I could not consent to her staying with strangers for any length of time--so the plan still holds good. Besides, you will be going to the University, and at most will only run over to Wilicza in the holidays to see my mother. If she thinks the arrangement compatible with her pride, you may very well put up with it."
"But I know that our whole living depends on it!" cried Leo, impulsively. "I have insulted you--I feel it now--and you cannot require me to accept anything at your hands!"
"You have offered me no offence," said Waldemar, gravely. "On the contrary, you are the only one who has been true to me; and if your words stung me at first, I thank you for them now. You should only have spoken sooner; but I could hardly expect you to play the part of informer. I understand that nothing but the passion of the moment would have forced the disclosure from you. Your intervention rent away a net in which I lay captive, and you do not suppose I am so weak a creature as to complain of that. Between us two all enmity is at an end."
Resentment and a feeling of shame were struggling together in Leo's mind. He knew right well that he had been prompted by jealousy alone, and felt his share in the fault the more keenly, the more he was absolved from blame. He had counted on a violent scene with his brother, of whose passionate temper he had had sufficient proofs; but now he stood before him utterly disconcerted. The young Prince was not yet experienced enough in the reading of men's hearts to see, or even to dream of, all that lay behind Waldemar's incomprehensible calm, or to guess by what an effort it was assumed. He accepted it as genuine. One thing he clearly felt, and that was his brother's evident desire that neither he nor the Princess should suffer by what had occurred--that it should still be possible for them to accept a home from him. Perhaps under similar circumstances Leo would not have been capable of a like generosity; but for this very reason he felt it to its fullest extent.
"Waldemar, I am sorry for what has happened," he said, frankly holding out his hand. There was nothing constrained about his manner this time--the impulse came straight from his heart--and this time his brother grasped the offered hand unhesitatingly.
"Promise me to go with our mother to Wilicza. I ask it of you," he went on, more gravely, as Leo was about to resist. "If you really think you have given me ground for offence, I ask this favour of you as the price of our reconciliation."
Leo drooped his head. He gave up all resistance now. "So you will not say good-bye to my mother yourself?" he asked, after a pause. "That will grieve her."
A very bitter smile played about Waldemar's lips as he replied, "She will be able to bear it. Good-bye, Leo. I am glad at least to have seen you again."
The young Prince looked for one instant into his brother's face, then, with a sudden rush of feeling, he threw his arms round his neck. Waldemar submitted to the embrace in silence; but he did not respond to it, though it was the first demonstration of the kind between the two.
"Good-bye," said Leo, somewhat chilled, and letting his arms fall to his sides again.
A few minutes later the carriage which had brought young Baratowski rolled out of the courtyard again, and Waldemar returned to the room they had just left. Any one seeing him now--seeing how his lips twitched convulsively, how his features were drawn in a tension of pain, how fixed and full of misery was his look--would have discerned the real state of the case, have understood why the cold, self-possessed tone he had maintained throughout the interview had been adopted. His pride, which had received so mortal a wound, had roused itself to action once more. Leo must not see that he was suffering, must on no account take back that report to C----. But now such self-control was no longer needed; now the wounds bled afresh. Strong and violent, as was his whole character, had been Waldemar's love, the first tender emotion that had sprung up in the heart of the desolate, uncultured youth. He had loved Wanda with all the glow of passion, but also with the reverent worship of a first pure affection; and if the discovery that he had been trifled with and scoffed at did not altogether ruin him, that hour in which his boyish ideal was shattered and destroyed took from him much that makes life desirable--took from him his youth and his trust in his fellow-men.
Castle Wilicza, which gave its name to all the lands appertaining to it, formed, as has already been mentioned, the central point of a great agglomeration of estates situated near the frontier. Rarely indeed does so extensive a property come into the hands of one man; still more rarely does it happen that the owner shows so little interest in his possessions as was here the case. Judicious, systematic management had ever been wanting to the Wilicza domain. The late master, Nordeck, had been a speculator, and had acquired his fortune by a speculator's talents; he could play the part of a great landed proprietor neither as regards a practical nor a social point of view, and was not long in discovering that he was well-nigh at the mercy of his agents. He at once rid himself of all care for the separate outlying estates by letting them off, and they were still held by the various tenants who had leased them. Wilicza itself, his own residence, was excepted from the rule, and given over to the administration of a steward.
The chief wealth of the property consisted, however, in the extensive forests, which covered nearly two-thirds of the domain, and required for their inspection a perfect army of foresters and rangers. They formed a distinct branch of the administration, and were the principal source of those vast revenues which yearly flowed into the proprietor's coffers.
At Nordeck's death, the guardian of the infant heir, stepping into his friend's shoes, suffered all existing arrangements to remain undisturbed, partly out of a pious regard to the dead man's wishes, partly because such a course seemed to him advisable in the interest of the property. Herr Witold managed the Altenhof estate extremely well--it was on a scale small enough for him to take the entire direction of it into his own hands; but to the grander ratio of Wilicza affairs the Squire showed himself altogether unequal--he had neither measure nor grasp for them. He thought he had done his duty to the uttermost when he had gone as carefully as possible through the accounts and vouchers submitted to him, which he was necessarily obliged to take on trust--when he had conscientiously invested the incoming funds with a due regard to his ward's interests; and, for the rest, he relied on the agents, who were allowed to act in everything according to their own good will and pleasure. This sort of management would have ruined most landowners, but it could not make any very formidable breach in the Nordeck fortune; for, if hundreds were lost here and there, thousands and tens of thousands remained behind, and the enormous revenues of the domain, of which at present the young heir could only enjoy a very limited fraction, not only covered every chance deficit, but went continually to swell the capital. That the estates produced less than by skilful hands they might have been made to produce, was incontestable; but the guardian cared little for that, and young Nordeck even less.
The young man had gone to the University shortly after his coming of age, and from thence he had set out on his travels. For years he had not shown himself at Wilicza; he seemed to have no love for the place.
The Castle itself presented a striking contrast to most of the noblemen's seats around, which, with few exceptions, hardly deserved the name of castles, and whereof the decay and ruin were often not to be hidden by a certain outward splendour maintained by their owners at any cost. The exterior of Wilicza was such as became the old seigneurial residence of many a prince and count during two centuries. It dated from the country's brightest period, when the might of the nobility still went hand in hand with its wealth, when its chateaux were the scene of a luxury and magnificence hardly known in these our days. The castle could not exactly be described as beautiful, and would hardly have found grace in the eyes of an artist. The taste which gave it being was undeniably of a rude order; but it was imposing by its massive structure and by the grandeur of its design. In spite of all the changes it had undergone in the course of years, it still retained its old original character; and the great edifice, with its long rows of windows, its broad expanse of lawn, and vast, finely wooded park, stood out, somewhat sombre perhaps, but grand and majestic, from the circle of magnificent forests which surrounded it.
After the death of the late owner, the castle had stood for many years empty and deserted. At very rare intervals the young heir came in company of his guardian, but he never stayed more than a few weeks at a time. The desolate solitude of the place vanished, however, when its former mistress, the present widowed Princess Baratowska, returned to take up her abode at Wilicza. The apartments, which had been so long shut up, were thrown open once more, and the costly decorations and furniture with which Nordeck had fitted up the different suites of rooms on the occasion of his marriage, were renewed and restored to all their pristine splendour. The present proprietor had assigned to his mother's use the income arising from the Castle lands--a sum inconsiderable to him, yet sufficient to secure to the Princess and her younger son means 'suitable to their position,' however broad an interpretation she might choose to put on the words. She made full use of the funds at her disposal, and her surroundings and manner of life were ordered on the same scale as in past times, when the young Countess Morynska came to rule as mistress in Wilicza, and her husband still loved to parade his wealth before her and her relations.
It was the beginning of October. The autumnal wind was sharp already as it swept over the forests, where the foliage was gradually changing its tints, and the sun often fought its way with difficulty through the thick mists which enveloped the landscape. To-day again the veil had only lifted towards noon, but now the sun shone brightly into thesalonwhich communicated with the Princess's study, and in which she usually sat. It was a large apartment, lofty and somewhat gloomy, like all the rooms in the Castle, with deep window-niches and a spacious chimney-place, where, as a protection against the chills of autumn, a fire was sparkling. The heavy dark-green curtains were thrown far back, and the full daylight streaming in displayed the solid handsome furniture, in all which the same dark-green hue predominated.
The only occupants of the room at the present moment were Count Morynski and the Princess. The Count often came over with his daughter from Rakowicz, and would spend days, even weeks, with his sister. On this occasion he had arrived on a long visit. The years which had passed over his head had left visible traces--his hair had grown greyer, and there were more lines imprinted on his forehead--but the expression of that grave, characteristic face remained unaltered. In the Princess, on the other hand, there was hardly any change. The features of this still beautiful woman were as cold and proud, her bearing as haughty, as in the old days. Although at the expiration of the year she had laid aside her deep widow's mourning, she yet constantly dressed in black; and her dark, though exceedingly rich, attire set off her tall figure to full advantage. She was now engaged in an animated conversation with her brother.
"I do not understand why the news should surprise you," said she. "We must both of us have been prepared for it for some time. To me, at least, it has always been a matter for wonder that Waldemar should remain so long and so persistently absent from his estates."
"That is just what causes my surprise," said the Count. "He has avoided Wilicza hitherto in the most evident manner. Why should he come now so suddenly, without any previous intimation of his plan? What can he want here?"
"What should he want but to hunt and shoot?" replied the Princess. "You know he has inherited from his father a passion for sport. I am convinced that he only chose the University of J---- because it lies in a well-wooded country; and that, instead of attending the lectures, he roamed about all day with his gun and bag. It will have been the same, no doubt, on his travels. It is certain that he thinks of, and cares for, nothing but sport."
"He could not come at a worse time," said Morynski. "Just now everything depends upon your remaining complete mistress here. Rakowicz lies too far from the frontier. We are watched on all sides, hemmed in by all manner of difficulties. It is absolutely necessary we should keep Wilicza in our hands."
"I know it," said the Princess, "and I will take care so to keep it. You are right, the visit comes at a most inopportune moment; but I cannot prevent my son from visiting his own estates when he thinks proper. We must be very prudent."
The Count waved his hand impatiently.
"Prudence alone will not suffice. We ought simply to give up the whole business while Waldemar stays at the Castle, and that is impossible."
"It is not necessary either, for he will be little enough at the Castle, or I am mistaken in the charm which our forests must exercise over such a son of Nimrod. With Nordeck this passion for sport became at last a perfect mania, and Waldemar is exactly like his father in this respect. We shall not see much of him; he will be out all day in the forests, and will, assuredly, pay no attention to what is going on at Wilicza. The only thing here which can have any interest for him is the great collection of guns in the armoury, and that we will willingly leave to him."
There was a sort of half-contemptuous raillery in her words; but the Count's voice was grave and a little doubtful as he answered--
"Four years have gone by since you saw Waldemar. You could do what you liked with him then, it is true, though at first I greatly doubted your power over him. It is to be hoped you will succeed as well now."
"I think it likely," returned the Princess, with calm assurance. "Besides, he is really not so difficult to manage as you imagine. His stubborn self-will furnishes the very best hold over him. You have only to give way to his rough violence in the first moment, and maintain him in the implicit belief that his will is to be respected, come what may, and you have him altogether in your hands. If we tell him every day that he is sole and unrestricted master of Wilicza, it will not occur to him to wish to be so in reality. I do not credit him with sufficient intelligence for any very deep interest in the state of affairs on his estates. We may make our minds easy."
"I must depend altogether on your judgment in the matter," said Morynski. "I myself have only seen him twice. When did you receive the letter?"
"This morning, about an hour before you arrived. According to it, we may expect Waldemar any day; he was already on his road hither. He writes in his usual laconic way, giving no details. You know that our correspondence has never been remarkable for prolixity. We have never communicated to each other more details than were necessary."
The Count looked down thoughtfully. "Does he come alone?"
"With his former tutor, who is his constant companion. I thought at first the man might prove useful, that we might gain from him some fuller accounts of Waldemar's doings and manner of life at the University, but I was mistaken. Of course, my son's studies served me as a pretext for seeking information from him, and I received in reply nothing but learned dissertations on the subject of those studies, not a word of what I wanted to know. My questions did not appear to be understood, so at last I broke off the fruitless correspondence--otherwise, this Dr. Fabian is one of the most harmless creatures in the world. We have nothing to apprehend from his presence, and certainly nothing from his influence, for he possesses none."
"It is Waldemar who principally concerns us," said the Count. "If you think there will be no inconvenient watchfulness in that quarter ..."
"At all events, there will be none keener than that which we have had to endure day by day for months together," interrupted his sister. "I should think the steward must have taught us caution by this time."
"Yes, that Frank and his household are acting as so many spies upon us," exclaimed Morynski, hotly. "I wonder, Hedwiga, you have never been able to rid us of that troublesome personage."
The Princess smiled in her superior wisdom.
"Compose yourself, Bronislaus. The steward will very shortly give in his resignation. I could not proceed against him earlier. He has been twenty years at his post, and has always acquitted himself of his duties in an irreproachable manner. I had no grounds for requiring his dismissal. I preferred to manage so that he should give notice himself, which he did yesterday--only by word of mouth, so far, and to me; but the formal announcement of it will follow ere long. I attach much importance to its coming fromhim, particularly now that a visit from Waldemar is impending."
The Count's features, which during the whole interview had evinced unmistakable anxiety, gradually relaxed into calm.
"It was high time," said he, with evident satisfaction; "that Frank was growing to be a real danger. Unfortunately, we must still put up with him for a time. His contract stipulates for a notice of several months."
"It does; but the clause will not be insisted on. The steward has long been independent of his situation; it is even said he means to buy a place of his own. Besides this, he is a man of high spirit; one scene that hurt his pride, and he would go at once. I give you my word for it! That will not be difficult to obtain, now that he has once decided upon going. What, Leo, back from your walk already?"
The last words were addressed to the young Prince, who at that moment entered the room and came up to them.
"Wanda would not stay in the park any longer," he answered. "I was coming ... But perhaps I am interrupting a consultation?"
Count Morynski rose. "We have finished. I have just heard of your brother's expected arrival, and we were discussing the consequences, one of which will be that our present visit must be shortened. We shall remain to-morrow for thefête, but return next day to Rakowicz before Waldemar makes his appearance. He ought not, on coming home, to find us here as guests of his house."
"Why not?" asked the Princess, coolly. "On account of that old childish folly, do you mean? Pooh! who gives it a thought now? Certainly not Wanda! And Waldemar--well, in four years he has had time to get over the imagined insult! That his heart was not deeply involved in the matter we know through Leo, to whom but a week afterwards he declared that he had forgotten the whole affair. Our sojourn at Wilicza, too, is proof enough that he no longer attaches any importance to it. I consider it will be most judicious and show the best tact for us to ignore the matter altogether. If Wanda meets him without any embarrassment, in a cousinly way, he will hardly remember that he once cherished a romantic feeling for her."
"Perhaps it would be wisest," said the Count, as he turned to go. "At all events, I will talk it over with Wanda."
Leo, contrary to his habit, had taken no part in the conversation; and now that his uncle had left the room, he sat down in his place without speaking. He had looked agitated on his entrance, and there were still signs in his face of a perturbation he strove in vain to hide. His mother, at least, had remarked it at once.
"Your intended walk was soon over," she said, nonchalantly. "Where is Wanda?"
"In her room--or so I suppose."
"You suppose only? There has been a quarrel between you again, I conclude. Do not attempt to deny it, Leo. Your face tells the tale plainly enough; and, moreover, I know you never leave Wanda's side unless she drives you away from her."
"Yes, she often seems to find a peculiar pleasure in driving me from her," said Leo, with unfeigned bitterness.
"And you often torment her by your unfounded jealousy of every one who approaches her. I am convinced that has been the cause of your disagreement today."
The young Prince was silent, thereby confirming his mother's supposition. She went on a little satirically, "It is the old story: a love uncrossed makes sorrows for itself. You have the rare good fortune to be able to follow the impulse of your hearts without impediment, with the full approval of your parents, and now you make your lives uncomfortable in this manner. I will not attempt to exonerate Wanda from her share of the blame. I am not blind to her advantages, which grow more and more striking now that she has laid aside her childish ways; but what I feared from the first day I gave her back to her father has unfortunately come to pass. With his unbounded tenderness, his adoration, he has prepared a hard task for you and me. Wanda knows no will but her own. She is accustomed to have her way in everything; and you, I regret to say, do not teach her that others can be firm as well as she."
"I assure you, mother, I was not very yielding to Wanda to-day," replied Leo, in a voice still vibrating with anger.
The Princess shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps not to-day; but to-morrow you will be on your knees before her, begging her pardon. She has invariably brought you to it. How often must I explain to you that that is not the way to inspire a proud and wilful girl with the respect to which the future husband should lay claim!"
"But I am not capable of such cool calculation," cried Leo, passionately. "When I love, when I worship a woman with all my soul, I cannot for ever be thinking whether my conduct towards her is such as befits the future husband."
"Do not complain then if your passion is not returned in the measure you desire," said the Princess, coldly. "If I know anything of Wanda, she will never love the man who bows to her authority, but rather him who resists it. A nature such as hers should be forced into surrender, and that you have never understood."
He turned away, muttering in his ill humour--
"After all, I have no right to Wanda's love. I have never been permitted to make our engagement known. Our marriage is put off to some distant, indefinite time ..."
"Because it is not now the moment to be thinking of betrothals and weddings," interrupted his mother, with much decision and energy. "Because there are other and graver tasks before you than that of adoring a young wife who would banish everything else from your mind! 'Some distant, indefinite time!' when it is only a question of a year's delay! First win your bride; the opportunity will not long be wanting, and Wanda herself would never consent to marry you until you have earned her favour. But this brings us to another subject, which I am forced to touch upon. Leo, your uncle is not pleased with you."
"Has he been accusing me to you?" asked the young man, looking up with a frown.
"He has, unfortunately, been forced to speak to me. Must I remind you that to your superior in age, your relative and leader, you owe unreserved obedience? Instead of obeying, however, you place new and unnecessary difficulties in his path--put yourself at the head of a band of young men, your own contemporaries, and offer him open opposition. What does this mean?"
A look of stubborn defiance came into Leo's face, as he answered, "We are no children to be led without a will of our own. If we are younger, we have still a right to our opinion; and we are resolved not to bear this eternal hesitation, these doubts and fears which hold us back."
"Do you suppose that my brother will allow himself to be drawn by young Hotspurs such as you into a course he knows to be ruinous?" asked the Princess, sharply. "You are much mistaken. It was hard work for him before to keep all the clashing elements in check, and now he has the vexation of seeing his own nephew set the example of disobedience."
"I only contested his decision, nothing more," said the young Prince, defending himself. "I love and honour Morynski as your brother, still more as Wanda's father; but it wounds me that he will not admit my right to independence. You yourself repeat to me continually that my name and descent entitle me to the first place, and my uncle requires me to be satisfied with a subordinate one."
"Because he dares not confide the direction of all-important matters to a hot head of one and twenty. You misjudge your uncle altogether. He has been denied an heir, and, idolise Wanda as he may, those hopes which only a son can realise are concentrated on you--you who are so closely connected with him by ties of blood, and who will shortly be to him indeed a son. If, for the present, he thinks it necessary to restrain your ardour, for the future he counts upon your fresh young strength, when his own shall begin to fail. I have his word that, when the decisive moment arrives, Prince Leo Baratowski shall assume the position which is his due. We both hope you will show yourself worthy of it."
"Do you doubt it?" cried Leo, springing up with flashing eyes.
His mother laid her hand soothingly on his arm. "Most assuredly we do not doubt your courage. What you lack is reflection, and I fear you will never learn it, for you have your father's temperament. Baratowski would blaze out as you do, without considering obstacles, or staying to inquire whether things were possible, and often enough has his impetuosity brought trouble both on himself and me. But you are my son as well, Leo, and I fancy you must have inherited something from your mother also. I have answered for you to my brother. It will be for you to redeem my surety."
Earnest as were her words, they breathed of such fond, motherly pride that Leo threw his arms round her in a burst of loving emotion. The Princess smiled. She was but rarely accessible to soft touches of feeling; but at this moment all a mother's tenderness was in her look and in her tone, as, returning her son's embrace, she said, "Whatmyhopes for your future are, my Leo, I need not now repeat to you; I have told you again and again. You have ever been to me my all, my only one."
"Your only one?" the young Prince reminded her a little reproachfully. "You forget my brother?"
"Waldemar?" The Princess drew herself up. At mention of this name all softness vanished from her features, all tenderness from her voice. Her countenance was grave and severe as before, and her tone icy cold as she went on, "Yes, truly, I had forgotten Waldemar. Fate has decreed that he should be master of Wilicza. We shall have to endure him."