At the end of the extended grounds of Odensburg, where they bordered on the wooded mountain, lay the "Rose Lake," a small sheet of water, that took its name from the water-roses, with which its surface was covered in summer. Now, indeed, none of the white blossoms had opened, only the whispering reeds and sedge-grass edged its shores; a huge beech-tree stretched its branches over it, with its foliage of fresh and tender green, and a dense thicket of blooming shrubbery fenced it in on all sides. It was a snug and quiet retreat, made, as it were, for solitary dreams.
Upon a bench beneath the beech-tree sat Maia, her hands full of flowers that she had plucked on her way, and now wanted to arrange. But this task was not accomplished, for by her sat Oscar von Wildenrod, who had accidentally sought the same spot, and managed to fascinate her so by his conversational powers, that she forgot flowers and everything else in her absorption.
He spoke of his travels at the North and South, there was hardly a land in Europe that he was not acquainted with, and he was a masterly narrator. His descriptions shaped themselves into pictures, in which landscapes, people and events came forth as though living before the listener. Maia followed him in his narrative with breathless sympathy, it all sounded so strange and unreal to her, whose world had hitherto been confined to the family circle.
"Oh! what have you not seen and experienced!" cried she admiringly. "What an entirely different sphere you moved in before you came to us at Odensburg!"
"Another, but not a better one," said Wildenrod earnestly. "It has, indeed, something blinding and intoxicating--this living in boundless freedom, with its perpetual change and fullness of impressions, and it blinded me, too, once upon a time, but that has long since past. There comes a day when one awakens from his intoxication, when one feels how hollow and empty and vain all this is, when one finds himself alone in that concourse of men and in that longed-for freedom--quite alone."
"But you have your sister!" Maia put in reproachfully.
"How long, though! In a few months she deserts me to belong to her husband, and I have a regular horror of going back to that empty and aimless existence. You have no idea, Maia, how I envy your father. He stands firmly and surely upon the foundation of his own labor and its results; to thousands he gives bread, and the blessings, love and admiration of all compass him about, and will follow him to the grave. When I sum up the results of my life--what is the remainder?"
Perplexed, almost shocked, Maia looked up at him who had uttered these bitter words. It was the first time that Wildenrod had adopted such a tone in her presence; she knew him as the brilliant man of the world, who, even when he approached her confidentially, always maintained the character of the elderly man, who conversed half-jocularly with the half-grown girl. To-day he spoke very differently, to-day he had let her have a glimpse of his inner life, and that overcame her shyness. "I have always thought that you were happy in that life, which seems lovely as a fairy-dream, when you tell about it," said she softly.
"Happy!" repeated he gloomily. "No, Maia, I have never been so, not for a day, nor for an hour."
"Yes, but--why did you lead that life so long?"
Oscar looked into those clear child-eyes, that looked up at him with earnest questioning in their depths, and involuntarily his eyes sought the ground.
"Why? Yes, why does one live at all? To win that happiness, of which they sing to us while we are still in our cradles, and of which we think in youth that it lies out in the wide world, in the dim blue distance. Restlessly, feverishly, we pursue it, ever thinking to attain to it, while it retreats farther and farther from us, until at last it fades away like a shadow until finally we give up the restless chase--and with it hope."
In spite of his strong effort to command himself, the disquiet of a tortured spirit was but only too transparent in these words, that had the ring of perfect sincerity. None knew better than Oscar Wildenrod what was that wild chase after happiness, which he had sought all these years--by what paths, indeed, he alone knew.
That woful confession sounded strange in these surroundings, at this season of spring, when everything breathed only beauty and peace. Bright lay the sunshine upon the mirror of the little lake, over which the dragon-flies were hovering dreamily, with their gay-colored, scintillating wings. Golden rays stole through the young leaves of the beech and played in the tender May-green. Round about bloomed the lilac, filling the air with its fragrance, varied by clumps of the yellow laburnum, covered with its rich freight of pendant clusters of bloom, and the lower shrubbery was strewn over, as it were, with wild hedge-roses. There was no end to the blooms, and in the background rose a distant chain of blue mountains, gravely taking a look into this little sunny paradise.
Wildenrod's chest heaved with his deep and heavy breathing; it seemed as though he wanted to inhale the peace and purity of his environment. Then he looked upon the young being at his side, upon the innocent, rosy countenance, that was so untouched by the slightest breath of that life which he had drunk of to its very dregs. But the brown eyes that were now fixed upon him were swimming in tears, and a low, quivering voice said:
"All that you have just been saying sounds so hard, so desperate. Do you really believe no longer in any happiness?"
"Oh, yes, now I believe in it!" cried Oscar with enthusiasm. "Here at Odensburg, I have learned again to hope. It is the old story of the jewel that one goes out into the world to look for, in a thousand ways, meanwhile it rests hidden in the deep and silent woods, until the happy man draws near, who finds it--and perhaps I am such a lucky fellow!"
He had caught the young girl's hand and clasped it firmly in his own. With sudden force, Maia recognized in these words, this movement, what had hitherto been but a dim, half-understood impression resting in her soul; there sprang up within her a sweet sense of joy and yet, at the same time, again came that mysterious, uneasy sensation, which she had experienced already at their first meeting, the dread of that dark, flaming glance, which seemed to magnetize her, as it were. Her hand trembled in that of the Baron.
"Herr von Wildenrod----"
"My name is Oscar!" interposed he beseechingly.
"Oscar--leave me!"
"No, I will not leave you!" ejaculated he passionately. "I have found the jewel, now I will catch it and keep it all my life long. Maia, years, tens of years part us, I have no longer youth to offer you, but I love you with all the fervent ardor of youth. From the instant when you advanced to meet me on the threshold of your father's house, I knew that you were my destiny, my all. And you love me too, I know it--let me hear it now from your own lips. Speak, Maia, say that you will be mine! You have no idea what power this word will exert over me--to deliver and to save."
He had thrown his arm around her, his passionate, glowing words passing over the trembling girl like the breath of a burning flame. Her head rested upon his bosom, and fixedly she looked up at him. Now she no longer shrank from meeting his eyes, she only saw the melting tenderness in them, heard only the confession of his love, and that bodeful dread was lost in triumphant rapture.
"Yes, I do love you, Oscar," said she softly. "Dearly love you."
"My Maia!"
It rang out like a shout of joy. Oscar folded her in his arms, kissing again and again the light hair and rosy lips of his beloved. An intoxication of bliss had come over him. The past, with its dark shadows, sank into oblivion, and to the man who was already approaching the autumn of life sounded joyously the message that every blossom was repeating: Spring is here!
After a while Maia gently extricated herself from his arms, her lovely face all aglow.
"But my father, Oscar, will he consent?"
Wildenrod smiled. He knew that the difference of age between himself and his betrothed would be an objection hard for Dernburg to overcome, that his consent would neither be easily nor quickly obtained, but this did not frighten him. "Your father desires only to see you beloved and happy, I know that from his own mouth," said he with overflowing tenderness. "And my Maia, my sweet, pretty child, you shall be happy and beloved!"
Dernburg sat in his office at the desk. He had just had a lengthy talk with the director of his works and was looking over the papers which he had left when the door was again opened. Count Eckardstein entered, who, as a guest of the house, needed no special announcement.
"I just saw the director leave," said he. "May I disturb you for a few minutes? I only come, preparatory to bidding adieu."
"Why, you will not be at dinner, as usual?" asked Dernburg, somewhat surprised.
"I thank you, I must return to Eckardstein.--Must I really have to report to my brother that you decline his invitation? We had depended so confidently upon your presence and that of your family."
"I am sorry. You have already heard that we have invited company to dinner, ourselves, for the day named."
This refusal of the invitation sounded just as positive as chilling, and so the young Count could but feel it to be. He impulsively drew a few steps nearer, and asked in a whisper:
"Herr Dernburg--what have you against me?"
"I? Nothing! What put such an idea into your mind, Sir Count?"
"Your very address proves it to me. This morning you called me Victor and treated me with your wonted kindness. Have I, then, become a stranger to you in the course of a few months? I am afraid that another influence has been brought to bear upon you, that I can guess."
Dernburg frowned, the hint at Wildenrod, which was only too intelligible, wounded him, but he was accustomed to go about things in a direct manner. Why seek to find out what he wanted to know by indirect methods. He looked at the handsome, open countenance of the young man, then he said slowly:
"I do not allow myself to be influenced, and it is not my way to condemn any one unheard, least of all you, Victor, whom I have known from the days of your earliest boyhood. Now that you introduce the subject yourself, it may as well be discussed between us. Will you answer me a few questions?"
"With pleasure, proceed."
"You stayed away from home a long while, and did not set foot on Eckardstein soil for years. Why was that?"
"It resulted from personal, family relations----"
"Which you would rather not talk about--I perceive."
"No, Herr Dernburg, I do not care to have concealments with you," said Victor, in a low tone. "My relation to my brother was never an especially friendly one, and since the death of our father has grown to be positively painful. Conrad is the elder, and heir of the entailed property, I am dependent upon him, and cannot maintain my rank as an officer without his assistance. He has often enough made me feel his unwillingness to do this, and in so insulting a manner, that I prefer to keep aloof from him."
One could see that it was exceedingly trying to the young Count to give this explanation, and still he was telling nothing that his hearer did not already know. The strained relations existing between the brothers was known to the whole neighborhood, but the main fault was attributed to the elder. Count Conrad, who, at the time, was still unmarried, and the senior of Victor by only a few years, was regarded as haughty and unmindful of the rights of others, and his ambition was a fact known to all. He was, therefore, anything but popular. Dernburg knew this likewise, but made not the slightest allusion to it, only asking:
"And yet you have come now?"
"This happened by my brother's express desire."
"He has concocted plans in conjunction with you--I know."
Victor started, and the blood began slowly to mount into his cheeks. Dernburg watched him sharply and inquisitively, while he continued:
"You apprehend, without doubt, what I mean. I shall be quite candid with you, but shall expect just as candid an answer. It is said that you have been summoned by Count Conrad to Eckardstein, in order to turn to account your former intimacy at Odensburg."
Victor started at this insulting speech.
"Herr Dernburg!"
"Victor, I ask you, is that so?"
The young man cast down his eyes in painful embarrassment.
"You put the question in a way----"
"That admits of no evasion. Yes or no, then?"
"You seem to take my courtship as an insult," said Victor, without lifting his eyes from the floor. "Is it such a crime, then, to seek the renewal of youthful friendship with such thoughts? Well, yes, I came here to seek a happiness that in memory took the shape of a bright little elf. What is there bad about that? At my age you would probably have done the same."
"But not at the behest of another person!" said Dernburg cuttingly. "And when I went courting I had a different fortune to offer from what you have, Herr Lieutenant."
The young Count was incensed, and with difficulty restrained himself, but his voice trembled, when he answered:
"You make poverty very bitter to me."
"Such is not my desire, for poverty is no disgrace in my eyes. You only share the fate of the younger sons in those families whose whole property is entailed upon the oldest. But they say that your brother has still more pressing reasons for exhorting you to make a so-called good match. I am sorry, Sir Count, to hurt your feelings, but you have sought this interview yourself, not I."
"So they have informed you of that, too, and you put the most shameful interpretation upon it," said Victor bitterly. "If I have been indiscreet, my brother has already given me good cause to rue it, and I repent tenfold at this moment. Well, yes, I did not keep free of debt, could not do so with the small means that were at my command. It would have been an easy thing for Conrad to release me from my obligations, but he did not do it, even putting before me the possibility of being obliged to send in my resignation, and then----"
"Then you acceded to his proposition!" Dernburg's voice had a harsh, contemptuous intonation. "I understand that perfectly; but you, on your side, will also understand that I am not willing to give my daughter as a prize in a financial operation."
The color came and went in the young man's face, but at the last word he sprang to his feet with a half-suppressed shriek, and shook his fist in the face of the elder man, who looked at him steadily.
"To what end is this, Count Eckardstein? Will you challenge me to a duel because I undertake to tell you my view of this matter? A man of my years and station does not commit such follies."
Again Victor let his hand drop and stepped back.
"Herr Dernburg, you have been a fatherly friend to me for years, Odensburg has been a second home for me, and you are the father of Maia, whom I----"
"Whom you love," said Dernburg, with bitter irony, "you were about to say."
"Yes, I do love her!" cried Victor, drawing himself up to his full height, and his eye met clearly and openly that of the infuriated man. "This became clear to me the moment when I met again as a blooming girl the child who still lived in my memory. After what you have said nothing is left for me but to leave your house, never to enter it again; but in bidding farewell, I at least challenge your faith in the truth of my feelings for Maia--although she is lost to me."
There was intense anguish, genuine emotion manifest in these last words, which would have convinced anybody else but Dernburg. But that grave, earnest man there at the desk had never known the frivolities of youth, and hence had no idea how to make allowance for its errors. Perhaps, too, he, was convinced at this moment, but he could not pardon any one for presuming to court his darling for the sake of her wealth.
"I am not authorized to judge of your feelings, Sir Count," said he, with a coldness that forbade any further attempt at reconciliation: "and yet I understand perfectly why you should avoid Odensburg after this conversation. I am sorry that we must part thus, meanwhile as things stand, there is no help for it."
Victor answered not a word, but silently bowed and withdrew. Dernburg looked after him moodily.
"He, too!" murmured he half aloud. "The honest, open-hearted fellow, who, in earlier days, did not know the meaning of calculation! Everything goes to destruction in this wild chase after wealth, that they call good fortune!--"
At the foot of the broad staircase, that led to the upper story, stood Wildenrod and Eric, engaged in conversation. The latter had just come in from the park, and, meeting with Oscar, poured out his heart to him.
"I am afraid Cecilia is seriously unwell," said he excitedly. "She complains of severe headache and looks dreadfully pale, but has forbidden me in the most positive manner from having Hagenbach called. She protests that a few hours of undisturbed repose will restore her quicker than anything else. I saw her only a few minutes after her arrival, and have not been able to learn where she has really been, for she preserves an obstinate silence on the subject."
Oscar smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "And you, I suppose, are beside yourself over it. I told you awhile ago, that you must calculate upon the self-will of our spoilt little princess. When Cecile is in a bad humor, she stretches herself on the sofa and will have naught to do with anybody; happily she does not keep in this mood long, I can tell you that for your comfort. Your father, to be sure, is of opinion that you must break her of such whims, but you are not the man for this, my dear Eric. There is nothing, then, left for you to do, but to possess your soul in patience, and already make preliminary studies for the pattern husband, which you will undoubtedly make."
Eric looked at him in amazement. "What has come over you, Oscar? Your face fairly beams with joy. Has something very pleasant happened to you?"
"Who knows--perhaps!" said Oscar, with a flash of his dark eyes. "And therefore I want to take you in hand. You do look desperate. I have always had a great deal of influence over my sister, and shall give her to understand how unwarrantable a thing it is of her to make you taste already the miseries of the married state--properly she has no right to do this, until after the wedding is over. You see if she does not appear at dinner in as good spirits as ever, and then you, too, I trust, will wear a different face--you poor, maltreated lover, who take so much to heart the caprices of his ladye-love."
He laughed with a superior air, and waving back a salutation, he mounted the stair. Eric looked at him, shaking his head dubiously. Such radiant gayety of mood was not at all natural to Oscar von Wildenrod, who was hardly recognizable to-day. What could have happened to him?
Up in the parlor, the Baron was met by his sister's maid, who informed him that her lady had given her strict orders not to allow her to be disturbed, under any circumstances--without exception, no one was to be admitted. Not even Herr Dernburg.
"Pshaw, such orders do not include me, you know, Nannon," said Wildenrod, cutting her speech short, without ceremony. "I want to speak to my sister. Open the door!"
Nannon courtesied, and obeyed, for she knew very well that the Baron was not one to brook contradiction. Without further ceremony, he entered his sister's chamber, which was next door.
Cecilia lay upon the sofa, with her face buried in a cushion. She did not stir, although she must have heard the opening and shutting of the door, but her brother evinced no surprise at this, and quietly drew nearer.
"Are you once more in an ill-humor, Cecile?" he asked, still in a playful tone. "You really do treat Eric in a most unwarrantable manner. He has just been pouring his laments into my ears."
Cecilia remained silent and motionless, until Wildenrod finally lost patience.
"Will you not at least have the goodness to look at me? I should like to ask you in general--" he hushed, for his sister suddenly sat bolt upright, and he looked into a face so pale and distorted, that he almost shrank back in dismay.
"I have something to say to you, Oscar," said she, softly. "To yourself alone. Nannon is in the parlor--send her away, that we may be undisturbed."
Oscar knitted his brows,--he could not yet believe that anything serious was in question; but in his joyous mood, he was more inclined than usual to indulge the whim of another. He therefore went into the parlor, sent the maid away on a message, and then turned back.
"Am I finally to learn what all that signifies?" he asked, impatiently. "Where in the world were you, Cecile, and what means this early morning trip to the mountains? Dernburg has already noticed it with much displeasure! You must know that Odensburg is not the place for such escapades."
Cecilia had gotten up, and said not a word in her own defense, but breathed out in a whisper:
"I have been on the Whitestone."
"On the Whitestone?" exclaimed Oscar. "What foolhardiness! What incredible rashness!"
"Let that be, the question is about something else," she interrupted him vehemently. "I met up there with--with that friend of Eric's youth, and he has said things to me,--Oscar, what happened between you two the first time that you met?"
"Nothing!" said the Baron, coldly. "Perhaps I did see him then; it is possible; one easily overlooks such people. At all events, I did not speak with him, and did not know that he was witness of a painful event that took place on that evening."
"What sort of an event was it?"
"Nothing for your ears, my dear, and therefore I should not like Runeck to talk with you on the subject. By the way, tell me exactly what he did say."
The question was apparently thrown off indifferently, and yet keen suspense was apparent in the dark eyes of the questioner.
"He seemed to take for granted my cognizance of the affair, and passed on to make insinuations which I did not rightly understand, but behind which looked something horrible."
"How? Did he dare to?" said Oscar, flaring up.
"Yes, he did dare to impugn your honor, and treat me as your accomplice. He spoke of knowing more about your life than would be agreeable to you; he called us adventurers--do you hear?adventurers!But you will have your revenge, will give him the answer that he deserves, and avenge both yourself and me!"
Wildenrod had turned pale. He stood there with darkened brow and clinched fists, but he was silent. The passionate outburst of indignation, and wrath, that Cecilia had looked and hoped for, did not come.
"Did he actually say that to you?" he slowly inquired at last.
"Word for word! And you--you make no answer?"
Wildenrod had recovered his self-possession. He shrugged his shoulders with a mocking air of superiority. "What answer am I to make? Would you have me take such nonsense seriously?"
"He was in sober earnest, and if, as he maintained, proofs are lacking up to this time----"
"Actually?" Oscar laughed, scornfully and triumphantly, while he drew a deep, long sigh of relief.
"Well, let him search for those proofs; he will not find them!"
Cecilia supported herself on the back of the chair by which she stood. That sigh of relief had not escaped her, and her eyes were fixed upon her brother in deadly anguish.
"Have you no other answer, when your honor is assailed? Will you not call Runeck to account?"
"That is my affair! Leave it to me to get even with that man! What is it to you?"
"What is it to me, when you and I both receive a deadly insult?" cried Cecilia, beside herself. "To call us adventurers, to whom Odensburg is to fall a prey. Shall a man dare to say such a thing and go unpunished? Oscar, look me in the eye! You shrink from chastising that man. You are afraid of him! Alas! alas!"
She broke out into a wild and passionate fit of sobbing. Oscar stepped quickly up to her, and his voice fell to a low and angry whisper.
"Cecilia, use your reason! You behave like a madwoman. What has come over you, anyhow? You have been like a different person since this morning."
"Yes, since this morning!" repeated she passionately. "Since I awoke, and oh! what a bitter awakening! Do not evade me! You told me that our fortune was gone, and I was thoughtless enough not once to inquire how it came, that, in spite of this, we lived on a grand scale. When was it lost? In what way? Iwillknow!"
Wildenrod looked at her darkly, that threatening tone in his sister was as new to her as her whole behavior; he must henceforth give up treating her as a child.
"Would you know when our fortune was lost?" asked he roughly. "At the time when our house broke with a crash. And our father--laid hands on himself."
"Our father!" The eyes of the young girl opened wide, and were full of horror. "He did not die from--a stroke of apoplexy?"
"That was what they told the world, the neighborhood, and you, the eight-year old child--I know better. Our estate had long been involved in debt, ruin was only a question of time, and when it actually came, father seized his pistol--and left us behind--beggars."
As unsparing as these words sounded, there was an undercurrent of dull grief in them, showing that the man still suffered at the recollection, after the lapse of twelve years.
Cecilia did not shriek, did not weep, her tears seeming suddenly to be stanched. She only asked dispiritedly: "And then?"
"Then the honor of our name was saved by the personal interposition of the king. He bought the estate and satisfied the creditors. Your mother obtained a pension from his bounty, and alms of residence in the place where she had been mistress, and I--well I went out into the wide world, to seek my fortune."
A momentary silence followed; Cecilia had dropped into a chair, and had clasped both hands before her face. Finally Wildenrod resumed: "That hits you hard, I well believe, but at the time it hit me yet harder. I had no suspicion of how it stood with us, and now to be snatched from supposed wealth, from a brilliant station in life, from a grand career, in order to be confronted by poverty and misery--you do not know what that means. They offered me this and that office, either in the postal service or as collector of taxes in some remote province, offeredme, whose glowing ambition had dreamed of the highest aims, beggarly positions, in which body and soul would have been destroyed in the tread-mill of a wretched existence. I was not made for that. I cast everything behind me and forsook Germany, to at least save appearances, and produce the impression that the sale of property and my resignation of office had been voluntary."
Cecilia slowly let her hands drop, and straightened herself up. "And yet you maintained your position in society? We were regarded as rich the three years that I passed with you, and were surrounded by splendor and luxury."
Wildenrod had no answer to this timid and reproachful question; he avoided meeting his sister's eye.
"Let that be, Cecilia!" said he after a while. "It was a fierce, desperate struggle to maintain that station which I did not want to give up at any price, and many a thing happened in so doing that had better not be talked about. But I had no choice. In the struggle for existence it is either sink or swim. Never mind!" He took a long breath. "Now all that trouble is over, you are Eric's betrothed bride and I--have something delightful to communicate to you."
He did not, however, get the opportunity to make his communication at present, for at the door of the parlor a gentle knock was heard, and directly afterwards Eric's voice asked:
"May I come in at last?"
"Eric," exclaimed Cecilia in dismay. "I cannot see him--not now!"
"You must talk with him," whispered Oscar softly, but dictatorially. "Is your behavior to strike him as yet more peculiar? Only for a few minutes."
"I cannot! Tell him, I am sick, or asleep, or anything you choose!"
She wanted to spring to her feet, but her brother again drew her down upon her seat, while he called out in a cheerful tone:
"Just come in, Eric! Here am I--being indulged with a half-hour's audience, by this gracious lady!"
"So I heard from Nannon!" said Eric, in a reproachful tone, as he entered, after passing through the parlor. "Is your door to remain locked to me, when it is open to Oscar? Dear me, how pale and disturbed you look! What happened on that unfortunate expedition? I implore you, speak!"
He had seized her hand and looked into her face, with deep solicitude. Her little hand trembled in his, but there followed no answer.
"You ought rather to scold her, although I have already done so sufficiently myself," said Wildenrod. "Do you know where she has been this morning? Why, on top of the Whitestone!"
"Lord of heaven!" cried Eric, horrified. "Is that true, Cecile?"
"Literally true! Of course she was dizzy on the way back, came down half dead and is now sick from overexertion and the agony endured. She was ashamed to confess to you and the doctor, but you had to learn about it."
"Cecilia, how could you treat me so?" said the young man reproachfully. "Did you not think of my distress, my despair, if anything had happened to you? Had I only suspected that it was more than a jest that time when you threatened to climb it, in your talk with Egbert and me----what is the matter with you?"
At the mention of that name, Cecilia had shuddered; now a couple of tears rolled over her cheeks, while she murmured: "Pardon me, Eric--pardon me!"
Eric had never before seen his beloved weep, nor ever heard her plead for pardon. With overflowing tenderness he kissed her hands. "My Cecile, my darling girl, I am not scolding you, I only beg of you, never, never again to undertake such an adventure. You promise me that, do you not? Done! And now----"
"Now we will indulge her with a little rest. Try to sleep a few hours, Cecile; that will soothe your overtaxed nerves. Come, Eric!"
The latter followed, evidently very unwillingly, but since Cecilia, too, urged him to go with feverish impatience, he submitted. Oscar accompanied him as far as the stairs, and then went into his own room. Hardly, however, had the sound of the young man's steps died away outside, than he returned to his sister, after bolting the parlor door.
"How can you be so wanting in self-control?" said he, in a suppressed voice. "A blessed thing it was that I was by your side. Under these circumstances, the best thing to do was to make a clean breast of your mountain adventure. But the thing now is to ward off another danger. Without proof, Runeck will not venture to undertake anything against us, and meanwhile things are coming to a pass that must necessitate a rupture between him and Dernburg. Until then--well, I have been equal to worse emergencies!" These last words once more betrayed all the rash self-confidence of the man, who had already often staked everything upon the one card and won the game.
Cecilia had risen from her seat; her eyes were fastened upon him, with a singular expression in them. "Then we shall be no more at Odensburg," said she. "Do not flare up so, Oscar! I do not want to know what you conceal from me; what you said to me was enough. You must arm yourself against a danger that threatens you on the part of Runeck--he told the truth, then--he can accuse you. But Ishallnot be an adventuress, who has thrust herself in here and who will one day be driven away in shame and disgrace--do you hear?--Ishallnot! Let us begone, no matter whither, under some pretext or other--only away from here, at any price!"
"Are you out of your senses?" cried Wildenrod, while he seized her arm, as though he had to hinder her from taking to flight that very moment. "Away? Whither? Think you that I can again open to you our former mode of life? That is past--my sources of revenue are at an end!"
"I hate to think of those sources of revenue," cried Cecilia, trembling. "I want to work----"
Oscar laughed aloud and bitterly. "With those hands, perhaps? Do you know, what it is to toil for daily bread? One has to be brought up to it--people like us would starve at it."
"I cannot stay here, though, now, when my eyes are opened, I cannot! Do not try to force me, else I'll tell Eric this very hour, that I do not love him, never have loved him; that our engagement has been solely your work."
Oscar turned pale. Cecilia had outgrown his power, nothing was to be effected here by commands and threats, so he caught at a last expedient.
"Do so, then," said he suddenly with a cold, resolute look, "destroy yourself and me with you! For, so far as I am concerned the question here is 'to be or not to be.' An hour ago I became engaged to Maia."
"To whom?" Cecilia looked at him, as though she did not comprehend his words.
"To Maia. She loves me, and all left for me to do now, is to obtain Dernburg's consent. If you break with Eric, and tell him the truth, then to me, too, Odensburg will be closed forever and then--I follow the example of our father."
"Oscar!" It was a shriek of horror.
"I'll do it, my word upon it! Think you that it has been easy for me to lead the life of an adventurer, for me, a Wildenrod? Do you know what I suffered before it came to that? How often I sought afterwards to burst my bonds and soar upwards? Always in vain! And now at last deliverance draws near, salvation through the hand of a sweet child, now, at last, I grasp the long-sought, so ardently desired happiness--and at the very moment, when I am about to clasp it in my arms, it is again to be torn from me! Am I to be thrust back and put under the old ban? That is what I cannot endure. Rather the end!"
There was an iron determination upon his features and in his tone; that was no empty threat. Cecilia shuddered.
"No," whispered she, with failing voice. "No, no, anything but that!"
"Is what I require of you anything so dreadful?" asked Wildenrod, more mildly. "You are only to be silent and forget this unhappy hour! I wanted to save you from the life into which I had to lead you, ere your eyes were opened to its nature, and now I save myself with you. I cast behind me the past, and begin a better life. Here at Odensburg a grand new field opens before me, and Dernburg is to find in me what his son could never be to him. You will be Eric's wife; he loves, idolizes you; you can make him happy, and yourself be happy at his side!"
He had stooped over her, and his voice had a tender sound. The eyes of his sister were uplifted to him with an expression of infinite woe.
"How am I now to endure Eric's presence with his demonstrations of affection? Just now those few minutes put me on the rack. And if I meet Runeck again, and have to read in his eyes the same contempt as I did early this morning, without being able to feel that he is the slanderer of the innocent--contempt from that Runeck!"
This last sentence rang out like a scream. Wildenrod started and fixed a strange look upon her.
"Do you dread his contempt so much?" asked he, slowly. "Rest easy, after that scene he will himself avoid any meeting; independently of that, he enters the family circle no more. Leave everything else to me! You have only to keep silent and make yourself easy. Promise me that."
"Yes," murmured Cecilia almost inaudibly.
Oscar bent down and touched her forehead with his lips. "I thank you! And now I really shall leave you alone, for I see that you can no longer stand this conversation."
He turned to go, but once more paused and gazed intently upon her face. "Egbert Runeck is our foe, a deadly foe, who wants to annihilate you and me, and if I offer him battle it must be to the knife--do not forget that!"
Cecilia gave no answer, but her whole body shook as with an ague, when the door fell to behind her brother. The truth that he no longer sought to conceal from her, had wounded her to the very depths of her soul. The gay glittering world of pleasure and fashion with which alone she had been familiar up to this time, lay shattered at her feet, the rock was riven--what did it hide in its depths?
Weeks had elapsed, spring had taken her leave and summer had come in the full blaze of her glory. At Odensburg, they had already begun preparations for the wedding festivities, which were appointed for the last days in August. After the ceremony a grand entertainment was to take place, to which the Dernburg family were to invite the whole circle of their acquaintance, and immediately afterwards the young couple were to set out on their trip to the South.
The officers and operatives belonging to the Dernburg works purposed to have their share in the festivities also. They wished to do honor to their chief upon occasion of the marriage of his son and heir. The director and Doctor Hagenbach were at the head of a committee, who planned a grand festal parade, and all had gone into the affair with spirit.
But in spite of these joyful preparations, there rested, as it were, a cloud over the Manor-house and the Dernburg family. The chief himself was out of sorts on account of various annoyances, public and private; the approaching elections to the Reichstag were beginning to attract sympathy even at his Odensburg, and he knew, only too well, that his men were being tampered with. Openly, this was not done, most assuredly he held the reins too firmly in his hand for this, but he was not able to steer clear of the secret, and on that very account dangerous, activity, with which the Socialistic party encroached step by step upon his works, that had hitherto been kept so clear of any such tendencies.
Moreover, Eric's health was again causing him grave anxiety; he had been obliged almost entirely to renounce the hope of introducing his son (as he had hoped and desired) to his future calling. The young man was perpetually ailing--needed to have his strength spared just as much now as before he went South. Such a thing as his engaging in systematic work was not to be thought of. Finally came Wildenrod's wooing and Maia's openly acknowledged love for him, which Dernburg had heard of with extreme surprise, yes, almost with indignation.
The Baron had asked her father for her hand, on the very same day that he had declared himself to the young girl, but had met with a much more decided opposition than he had expected. However much Dernburg might have been taken with him personally, Oscar was not the husband that he had selected for his daughter, and the thought of wedding the sixteen-year-old child to a man old enough to be her father, was just as repulsive to him as Maia's reciprocating this passion. His darling's entreaties availed in so far that the original No was rescinded, but just as little was he to be moved to give his consent for a speedy betrothal. He declared with all positiveness that his daughter was still much too young to bind herself already for a lifetime, saying that she must wait and put her feelings to the test; two years hence would be ample time to introduce the subject again.
Wait! That was a fatal, an impossible sentence for this man, with whom every minute counted, and yet, for the present, no alternative was left him, because Maia had been withdrawn from his influence. After that declaration he himself had received a gentle but unmistakable hint, that under these circumstances, daily intercourse between the pair was not to be kept up. But to leave Odensburg now, was equivalent to giving up his game as lost. The thing for him now to do was to be vigilant, and confront the danger which, since that threat of Runeck, had hung over his head like a thunder-cloud. And he must also stand by his sister, in order to be sure that she would keep her word with him--wrested from her, as it had been, almost by force. She was incredibly altered since that unhappy hour. Therefore he had notwantedto understand that hint, and had held his ground; but here Dernburg interposed immediately, with his wonted determination, and under pretext of her paying a visit to a friend of the family, he sent his daughter away, not to return until her brother's marriage took place.
Egbert Runeck had come from Radefeld, in order to give in his usual report to his chief. For weeks past, he had been accustomed, at these times, only to tarry awhile in the work-room and then return forthwith as soon as he had dispatched his business. He seemed to have become quite estranged from the family-circle. But to-day he had sought out Eric the first thing, who received him with joyful surprise, but also with reproaches.
"Why, Egbert, is that you,--do I actually lay eyes on you once more? I thought that you had quite forgotten me, and laid our house under a ban. Father is the only one who ever gets a sight of you."
"You know how closely occupied I am," answered Egbert evasively. "My works----"
"Oh yes, those works of yours always serve for a pretext! But come, let us have a good chat--I am so glad to have you all alone to myself once more."
He drew his friend down on the sofa beside him and began to ask questions and narrate his own experiences. He had the conversation almost entirely to himself however. Runeck showed himself strikingly taciturn and absent-minded, and meanwhile he answered mechanically as it were, as though he had his mind bent on very different things. Not until Eric began to speak of his approaching marriage did he grow more attentive.
"We want to set off on our trip immediately after the grand entertainment to be held on our wedding-day," said the latter with a happy smile. "I think of spending a few weeks, with my young wife in Switzerland, but then we shall both wing our flight to the South. To the South! You have no idea what a charm that word has for us. This cold Northern sky, these gloomy fir-clad mountains, all the bustle and stir here, all this lies so heavy upon me. I cannot get perfectly well here. Hagenbach, who just left me, thinks so too and proposes that we spend the whole winter in Italy. Alas! father, though, will not hear of this--it will cost us a battle to carry our point with him."
"Are you feeling worse again?" asked Egbert, whose eyes rested with a peculiarly searching expression upon the pale, sunken features of his friend.
"Oh, nothing to signify," said Eric, carelessly. "The doctor is only so incredibly anxious. He has prohibited my riding, gives me all manner of prescriptions, and now wants the wedding-festivities to be on a reduced scale, because they might cause me to over-exert myself. Anything but excitement. That is the first and last word with him. I am getting rather tired of this thing, for he treats me always like a very ill patient to whom any excitement might bring death."
Runeck's gaze was fixed yet more intently and gravely upon the young man, and there was restrained emotion in his features and his voice, when he asked:
"So Dr. Hagenbach dreads excitement for you, does he? To be sure, you did have a hemorrhage that time----"
"Dear me, Egbert! that was two years ago, and every trace of it has disappeared," interrupted Eric impatiently. "The only thing is, Odensburg does not agree with me, any more than it does with Cecile, who can never feel at home here. She is made for joy and sunshine, that is the element in which, alone, she can thrive; here, where all hinges upon labor and duty, where my father's stern eyes hold her spellbound, as it were, she cannot be herself. If you knew what a change has been wrought in my Cecile, who sparkled with life and exuberant spirits, who was so captivating even in her caprices! How pale and quiet she has grown in these last weeks, how strangely altered in her whole nature. Many a time I am afraid that something quite different lies at the bottom of it. If she repents of having plighted her troth to me, if--ah, I see specters everywhere!"
"But, Eric, I beseech you," remarked Runeck soothingly. "Is this the way you follow the prescription of the doctor? You are stirring yourself up in a manner wholly unnecessary."
"No, no!" cried the young man passionately. "I see and feel that Cecile is concealing something from me--day before yesterday she betrayed herself. I spoke of our wedding-trip,--of Italy, when she suddenly burst out with: 'Yes, let us be gone, Eric, wherever you will, only far, far away from this place! I can stand it no longer!' What cannot she stand? She would not let me question her on the subject, but it sounded like a shriek of despair."
Carried out of himself he sprang to his feet. Egbert, too, got up, managing as he did so, accidentally as it were, to step out of the bright sunshine, that poured in through the window, into the shade. "Do you love your betrothed much?" asked he slowly with marked emphasis.
"Do I love her!" Eric's pale face reddened and his eyes beamed with the tenderest enthusiasm.
"You have never loved, Egbert, else you could not ask such a question. If Cecilia had rejected me that time, when I courted her, I might have stood it. If I had to lose her now--it would kill me!"
Egbert was silent. He stood with his face half-averted, his features still working from the intensity of the emotions that were warring within. At those last words, however, he drew himself up, advanced to his friend and laid his hand upon his arm.
"You are not to lose her, Eric," said he firmly, although with quivering lips. "You will live and be happy!"
"Do you know that so surely?" asked Eric, looking up in surprise. "Why, you talk as if you held the keys to life and death."
"Then take it as a prophecy, which will be fulfilled to you.--But I must go, I only came to bid you farewell, for my course at Radefeld has come to an end sooner than I had supposed."
"So much the better, for then you can come back to Odensburg, and we shall see each other frequently enough, I hope, before I leave."
"I am just on my way now to talk with your father about it."
"You are an enviable fellow!" said Eric with a sigh. "Ever forward, ever upward to new aims, without allowing yourself a moment's repose! Hardly is one task over, when you are as busy as ever carving out new ones. What sort of plans are these, pray?"
"You will hear about them better from your father, now you are in no mood for it. Then--farewell, Eric!"
With emotion that struggled for utterance, he offered him his hand, which Eric took with no sign of embarrassment.
"You do not mean this as a farewell for any length of time. You will be at Radefeld for a while yet?"
"Of course, meanwhile I may leave there very shortly, and who knows where I may have pitched my tent, by the time you come back from Italy, in the spring?"
"But then we'll see each other once more at my wedding!" remarked Eric.
"If it is possible for me----"
"It must be possible for you, I'll not let you go until you have promised me that. You will come under all circumstances, Egbert, do you hear? And now I must let you go, for I see that the ground burns under your feet. Good-bye, then--to meet again soon!"
"Yes--farewell, Eric!"
It was a vehement, almost convulsive pressure, with which Runeck clasped his old friend's hand, then he turned off hurriedly and left the room, as though he dreaded being detained. Not until he was on the pathway out of doors did he stand still, when, drawing a long breath, he murmured to himself:
"That should be overcome! He is right, it would kill him.--No, Eric, you are not to die, not through me!Thatis what I will not take upon myself."
As usual, about this time, Dernburg was found in his office. He looked grave and troubled, while he listened to Dr. Hagenbach who sat opposite to him. Oscar von Wildenrod was likewise present, but he with folded arms leaned against the window-frame, without taking any part in the conversation, the course of which, however, he followed with breathless attention.
"You give yourself too much solicitude," said the physician in a soothing tone, although his air was not exactly one calculated to inspire confidence. "Here Eric is still suffering from the after-effects of our harsh spring. He should have stayed longer in the South and then selected some half-way station; the abrupt change of climates has been injurious to him. Meanwhile, he must now return to Italy, and I have just been talking with him, persuading him to spend the winter there. He would prefer Rome, on account of his young wife. But I am for Sorrento, or if it must be a larger city than that, Palermo."
Dernburg's brow darkened yet more at these last words, and with hardly concealed displeasure he asked,
"Do you regard it as absolutely necessary for Eric to spend the whole winter away? I had hoped that he would bring his wife back to spend Christmas with us."
"No, Herr Dernburg, that will not do for this time," answered Hagenbach with decision. "That would be to stake everything that we won last winter."
"And what have we won? A half cure, that is questionable after the lapse of a few months. Be candid, Doctor. You believe that my son, in general, cannot stand this climate."
"Provisionally it would certainly be necessary----"
"Nothing about provisionally; I want to know the truth, the whole truth! Do you think that it is at all likely, that Eric can live constantly at Odensburg, that he can be my co-worker, my successor some day, as I hoped when he returned last spring, apparently cured?"
His eye hung in agonized suspense upon the doctor's lips, and Wildenrod's gaze was just as intent, as he now emerged from the window-niche.
Hagenbach was slow in answering; it seemed to cost him a great effort. At last he said earnestly:
"No, Herr Dernburg--since you desire to know the truth--as things are now, a permanent sojourn in the South is a condition of life with your son. He can come to Odensburg, for a few months in summer, but he can never stand another winter in our mountains, no more than he can the fatigues of an active calling. This is my firm conviction, and any of my colleagues will indorse my opinion."
Wildenrod made an involuntary movement when he heard this sentence pronounced so positively. Dernburg was silent; he only supported his head upon his hand, but it was easy to see what a heavy blow was inflicted upon him, by the doctor's outspoken opinion, although he must have had a foreboding of what it would be.
"That means, then, that I must bid farewell to all the plans that I have been cherishing so long," said he softly. "I hoped against hope--nevertheless, Eric is my only son. I want his life preserved, even though my dearest hopes be buried thereby. Let him, then, establish a home somewhere in the South, and limit his activity to building and adorning it--I can afford it."
A heavy, half-suppressed sigh betrayed what this resolve cost him. Then he turned to the physician and offered him his hand.
"I thank you for your candor, Doctor. Although the truth be bitter, I must accommodate myself to it. Let us speak more particularly of it another time!"
Hagenbach took his leave. For a few minutes silence prevailed in the room, then Wildenrod asked in a subdued voice: "Did that sentence surprise you? It did not me, I have long feared something of the sort. If Eric only soundly recovers, then, I hope, you and he will both find the separation a lighter trial than you apprehend."
"Eric will find it very light," said Dernburg, with swelling bitterness. "He has always dreaded assuming the position in life to which he was born. He shrank back before this mighty, restless enterprise, of which he was to be master and leader, with all its duties and responsibilities. He will far rather sit on the shore of the blue Mediterranean, making plans for his villa, and be glad if nothing disturbs him in his dreamy repose. And I am left alone here; forced, one day, to leave my Odensburg, my life-work, to pass into the hands of strangers. It is hard!"
"Must you really do that?" asked Oscar significantly, drawing nearer as he spoke. "You have still a daughter who can give you a second son, but you persistently refuse to the man of her choice the rights of a son."
Dernburg made a gesture expressive of his repugnance to the thought suggested.
"Let that be! Not now----"
"Just now, at this hour, I would like to speak to you. You have taken my wooing of Maia in a manner that I have neither expected nor deserved. You almost reproached me for it as if I had committed a crime."
"It is a crime, too, Herr von Wildenrod. You should not have spoken of love to a sixteen-year-old child, and bound her to you by the confession of your passion, without being sure of her father's consent. One pardons a youth for being carried away by the feelings of the moment, but not a man of your years."
"And yet, this moment has given me the highest happiness of my life," cried Oscar, ecstatically, "the certainty that Maia loves me. She must have repeated this confession to you--we both hoped for a father's blessing. Instead of this we are condemned to an endless probation. You have banished Maia from Odensburg, depriving yourself of her sweet presence, only to withdraw her from my neighborhood----"
"And what else was I to do?" asked Dernburg. "After your premature declaration, unembarrassed daily intercourse was no longer possible, if I did not agree to the engagement."
"Then do so now! Maia's heart belongs to me, neither time nor separation is going to alter that, rest assured, and I love her more than I can tell. You have to let your son go to a foreign land--well, then, let me step into his place! I have learned to love your Odensburg, and bring to it the unbroken energies of a man who is weary of his aimless existence and would like to begin a new life. Will you refuse me this, only because two decades divide me and her whom I love?"
He spoke with passionate entreaty, and could not have selected a better time than this hour in which the man, who sat there with darkly clouded brow, had seen shattered all the hopes which he had built upon his son and upon that other, whom he had, one day, wanted to see by the side of his weak and dependent heir--that plan, too, had been wrecked, since he knew, that Maia's heart was preoccupied. He need not be separated from his darling child if she became Wildenrod's wife, and he with his determined, strongly-marked character, offered him indemnity for all that he had lost. The choice was indeed not difficult.
"That is a serious, pregnant decision, Herr von Wildenrod," said Dernburg, whom this proposition surprised less than Oscar would have supposed. "If you really could adapt yourself to so complete a reversal of your former mode of life--it is no light task that awaits you, and perhaps the only reason that it has a charm for you is, because it is new and strange to you. You are unaccustomed to any kind of systematic business----"
"But I shall learn method," interposed Wildenrod. "You have often called me your assistant in jest, be you now in earnest my instructor and guide. You shall have no cause to be ashamed of your scholar! I have at last come to the conclusion that one must be useful and industrious in order to be happy. And now, pray, grant my request: you have allowed Eric to be happy in his own way, will you refuse Maia and me the same?"
"We shall see," returned Dernburg, but his tone showed that his point was half-conceded. "Eric's wedding will come off in three weeks, then Maia returns to Odensburg and----"
"Then I may ask for my bride," impetuously exclaimed Oscar. "Oh, thank you, we both thank our stern but good father."
A passing smile illumined Dernburg's brow, and although he had not yet given his consent, he did not refuse the expression of gratitude.
"But enough of that now, Oscar," said he, for the first time using the familiar form of address. "Else with your impetuosity you will force everything possible from me, and I have other business to attend to. Egbert ought to be here by this time; he comes in from Radefeld to day to report to me."
The radiant expression vanished from Wildenrod's features, and gave place, for an instant, to a slightly scornful smile; then, with seeming indifference he threw out this hint: "Herr Runeck is very much engrossed in another direction, at present. He bestirs himself in his party's service at every nook and corner."
"Yes, indeed," responded Dernburg quietly, without appearing to notice the insinuation implied. "The socialists begin to feel their own importance and their combs swell visibly. They even seem to want to put up a candidate of their own in our electoral district--for the first time."
"So it is said at all events. Do you know whom they have in view for it?"
"Not yet, but I suppose that it will be Landsfeld, who acts the leader upon all occasions. To be sure he is nothing but an agitator, his affair being merely to bluster, and hound others on. He is not fit for the Reichstag, and that party usually know their men pretty thoroughly. But the question in hand is, in general, only to test their power. The men are not seriously thinking of disputing my right to a seat."
"Is that your belief?" The Baron's eye rested with a peculiar expression upon the face of the speaker. "Well, perhaps, Herr Runeck can supply you with some more exact information on the subject."
Dernburg impatiently shrugged his shoulders. "Egbert will certainly be obliged to make up his mind now, that he knows as well as I do. If he votes with his party, in this case it is to go against me, and he and I part."
"He has already decided," said Wildenrod coldly. "You do not yet know the name of the opposing candidate?--Well, I know it. It touches you and Odensburg tolerably close--it is Egbert Runeck."
Dernburg started as though he had been struck; for a few seconds he stared hard at the Baron, as though he believed he were not in his right senses, but then he declared shortly and concisely: "That is not true."
"I beg pardon, I have it from the best authority."
"It is not true, I tell you! You have been falsely informed--must have been."
"Hardly, but it can soon be settled, since you are expecting Runeck."
Dernburg started up and began to pace the floor in the greatest excitement, but let him consider the matter as he would, it appeared to him as incredible as at the first moment.
"Folly! Egbert is not going to act in such a farce. He knows that he must oppose me, and enter the lists against his old friend."
"Do you believe that will hinder him?" asked Oscar mockingly. "Herr Runeck, at all events, stands high above all those old prejudices of gratitude and dependence, and who knows whether his election is so hopeless? For months past he has been out at Radefeld, withdrawn from observation, and had a few hundred workmen at his disposal. He will, at all events, have secured their votes, and each individual ensures him ten, nay, twenty votes among his comrades here at Odensburg. He has made good use of his time, you may depend."
Dernburg gave no answer, but his step grew ever more hurried, his mien more threatening, while Wildenrod continued:
"And this is the man upon whom you have showered benefits! He has to thank you for his education, his culture,--all that he is. You gave him a position that is envied by all the officers, and he makes use of it to secretly undermine your authority and to strike a blow at you here, with the votes of your own men."
"Do you deem that possible?" asked Dernburg with sharpness. "I think we need give ourselves no anxiety on that score."
"I hope not, but it will at least be attempted, and that is enough. Up to this time Runeck has very wisely been silent, although he must have known for months what was in agitation. This will finally open your eyes to your favorite, or do you still disbelieve my report?"
"I do. As for the rest Egbert will explain matters to me."
"Because he must! It will be an evil hour for you too, for I see how the bare possibility excites you, and yet----"
"Go, Oscar!" enjoined Dernburg, frowning. "Egbert may come any minute, and whatever may be the issue of the interview, I want to talk with him alone."
He held out his hand to the Baron, who took his departure; a proud passionate pride of victory flashed from his eyes, as the latter crossed the next room. Finally he had set foot upon the ground, where his ambition hailed him as future master, sole master, when the present ruler of Odensburg should close his eyes. Eric voluntarily vacated the field to him, if he took his wife to live in a foreign country and became completely estranged from his native place. Now they were to be realized--those proud dreams of power and wealth, beside them blooming a sweet joy unknown before. A little while longer, and the goal so ardently thirsted after would be attained and the past be blotted out--buried!
Wildenrod was just entering the front hall, when the door to this opened and Egbert Runeck confronted him. Involuntarily he retreated a step; Runeck, too, started and then stood still. He saw that the Baron wanted to pass him, but he tarried upon the threshold as though he would obstruct his passage. For a few seconds they stood thus regarding one another, when Oscar asked sharply:
"Have you anything to say to me, Herr Runeck?"
"For the present--no," answered Egbert coldly. "Later, perhaps."
"It is questionable, though, whether I shall then have time and inclination to listen to you."
"I believe you will have time, Herr von Wildenrod."
The glances of the two men crossed, one sparkling with fierce and deadly hatred, the other full of dark threatening; then said Oscar haughtily:
"Meanwhile may I desire you to move aside? You see that I want to go out."
Runeck slowly retired and left the doorway clear. Wildenrod passed him by, and again there played around his lips that mocking, triumphant smile. Now he no longer dreaded the danger that had hitherto hung over his head like a thunder-cloud. If his adversary now spoke, he would no longer find an auditor. The "evil hour" preparing for him in yonder must forever annihilate his foe.