When Runeck entered his chief's work-room, he found him at his desk, and there was nothing unusual in the manner of his reception and the way in which his salutation was returned. Not until he took out a portfolio and opened it did Dernburg say:
"Let that be, you can report to me later; for now I must talk with you about something more important."
"I should like to have your attention for a few minutes, beforehand, if you please," said Egbert, taking a number of papers from the portfolio. "The works at Radefeld are almost finished, the Buchberg is tunneled, and the whole water-power of the estate available for Odensburg. Here are the plans and the drawings; the only thing to do now is to conduct the supply to the works, and this can be done by some one else if I withdraw."
"Withdraw? What does that mean? That you will not carry the works on to completion?"
"No. I have come to--to beg my dismissal."
The words sounded low, and were evidently hard to utter, and the young engineer avoided looking at his superior. The latter gave no sign of surprise. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"That, indeed! Well, you must know what you have to do. If you really want to go, I shall not detain you. But I believed that you would at least complete the work you had undertaken. It has not otherwise been your way to half do things."
"I am going for that very reason. The voice of another duty calls me, that I must obey."
"And which makes it impossible for you to remain at Odensburg?"
"Yes!"
An infinitely bitter expression flitted across Dernburg's features. Here was the confirmation of that which he had not wanted to believe; there was hardly any need to put the question.
"You mean the approaching elections?" said he with freezing calmness. "It is said that the Socialists are going to put up a candidate of their own for our district, and you, I suppose, are determined to vote for him. In that case, I can well understand how you should ask for your discharge. Neither the confidential position that you hold at Radefeld, nor your relations to me and my family comport with such a step as that. There is no deceiving of ourselves into imagining that the antagonism here is against any one but myself."
Egbert stood there speechless, his eyes fixed on the ground. One could see how hard it was for him to make a confession, which was not lightened for him by word or hint. But suddenly he straightened himself up with determination stamped upon his face.
"Herr Dernburg, I have a disclosure to make to you, which you will misinterpret, but which you must hear nevertheless. The candidate whom my party has nominated is--I."
"Do you actually demean yourself so far as to make me such a communication?" asked Dernburg slowly. "I hardly believed it. The surprise intended would have been more complete, if I had learned it through the newspapers."
"What, you know already----" exclaimed Egbert.
"What you have found good to hide from me until today. Yes, I knew it and wish you good luck in your schemes. You are not timid, with your eight-and-twenty years; you already boldly grasp at an honor which I first felt to be my due after the toil of a lifetime. You have barely left apprentice-years behind you, and already allow yourself to be lifted upon the shield, as tribune of the people. Well, good luck to you!"
Listening to the bitter sarcasm of this speech, Runeck's complexion changed rapidly, the color coming and going, while his voice had not its wonted firmness, when he replied:
"I have feared that you would take such a view of the matter, and this makes yet more painful the position into which I have been forced by the action of my party. I resisted to the last moment, but at last they----"
"Forced you, did they?" interrupted Dernburg with a bitter laugh, "of course you are nothing but a victim to your convictions. I foresaw that you would screen yourself thus. Give yourself no trouble, I understand."
"I speak truth, I think, you know that," said Egbert, solemnly.
Dernburg got up and stood close in front of him.
"Why did you come back to Odensburg, if you knew that the difference between us was an irreconcilable one? You did not need the position that I offered you. The whole world stood open to you. Yet why do I ask? The thing was to prepare for the contest with me; to undermine the ground upon which I stand; to betray me first on my own soil, and then strike----"
"No, I did not do that!" impetuously declared Runeck. "When I came here, nobody dreamed of the possibility of my election, and I least of all. Landsfeld was alone in our eye. This plan did not loom up until last month, and culminated only within the last few days, despite my opposition. I durst not speak sooner, because it was a party-secret."
"Really! Well, the calculation is very cleverly made. Neither Landsfeld nor any other person would have had the least prospect of success. Where the matter in hand was to unseat me the plan would have been wrecked at the very outset. You are the son of a workman, have grown up among my people, gone forth from among their midst, and, in short, they are all proud of you. If you make it clear to them that I am, at bottom, a tyrant, who has been oppressing them and consuming all their substance all these years, if you promise them a return of the golden age--it takes hold upon and leads the people astray--you they will believe, perhaps; doubtless you are a distinguished orator. If the man, who has been treated almost like my own son, puts himself at their head, to lead them into battle against me, then their cause must be the right one, then they will swear by it."
These were almost the identical words which the young engineer had heard months ago from the mouth of Landsfeld, and his eyes fell before the piercing looks of Dernburg, who now drew himself up to his full height, as he continued:
"But we are not at that point yet. It still remains to be seen if my workmen have forgotten that I have labored with them and cared for them these thirty years, if a bond that has been forging for a whole generation is so easily broken. Try it. If any one can succeed, it will be you. You have been trained in my school and mayhap have learned how to strike down the old master."
Egbert had turned pale as death; upon his features was mirrored the conflict that was raging within his soul. But now he slowly raised his eyes.
"You condemn me, and yet, if put in my place, would perhaps not act differently. I have often enough heard from your own mouth that discipline is the first and highest law of every great undertaking. I have bowed and must bow to this iron law--what it has cost me, nobody but myself knows."
"I ask obedience from my men," said Dernburg coldly. "I do not compel them to commit treason."
Egbert writhed, and a glance almost threatening flashed from his eyes.
"Herr Dernburg, I can take much from you, especially in this hour; but that word--that word I cannot bear."
"You will have to bear it. What have you done out yonder at Radefeld?"
"What I can answer for, to you and myself."
"Then you have performed your task poorly and they will have their revenge upon you. Yet, why bring up the past? The question is about the present. You are the candidate of your party, then, and have accepted the nomination?"
"Since it is a party measure--yes! I must submit to it."
"Youmust!" repeated Dernburg with bitter scorn. "That is every third word with you, now; formerly you were a stranger to it. Then it was only you would. You deemed me a tyrant, because I would not forthwith adopt your sublunary ideas about the welfare of the people, and rejected this hand, that would have guided you. You wanted your course in life to be unimpeded. And, lo! now you bow your neck to a yoke, that enchains your whole being, forcing you to break with all that is dear to you, that lowers you even down to treachery--do not flare up so, Egbert, it is so! You should not have come back to Odensburg, if you had known that such an hour as the present must come. You should not have remained when you learned that they would force you to heed the opposition against me--but you did come back, and stayed because they bade you do it. Call it what you like, I call it treachery! And now go, we are done with one another!"
He turned off. Egbert, however, did not obey, but drew nearer, yielding to an irresistible impulse.
"Herr Dernburg--do not let me go thus! I cannot part from you in this way--you have been like a father to me!"
There was in this outbreak of long-pent-up anguish, an intensity of grief that was truly appalling in one usually so self-contained as Runeck, but the sorely provoked man, who stood before him did not, or would not, see it, but drew back; and his whole attitude and manner were expressive of repulse, when he said:
"And the son lifts his hand against the 'father.' Yes, I would gladly have called you son--you above every one else in the world; I showed it to you, too, plainly enough. You might have been lord of Odensburg. See if your comrades will thank you for the immense sacrifice which you have made for their sakes. And now this is all over--go!"
Egbert was effectually silenced; he made no further attempt at reconciliation, slowly he turned to go; only one last agonized glance he sent back from the threshold, then the door closed behind him.
Dernburg threw himself back in a chair and put his hands over his eyes. Of all the trials that had come down upon him to-day, like an avalanche, this was the heaviest. In Egbert he had admired the brave, strong spirit, so like his own, that he had wanted to bind to himself for the rest of his life, and now it seemed to him that in parting from this young man, the best part of his own power and his own life had also taken their departure, never to return.
With heavy heart Runeck hurried through the entrance-hall, rushing along as though the ground burned beneath his feet. It was plain how much this hour had cost him, the hour in which he had torn loose from all that was dear to him, how dear, he now felt fully for the first time when he had lost it. "You might have been lord of Odensburg!" In that one sentence lay the greatness of the sacrifice, which he had offered up--and offered up to whom?
It had been long since he had felt any of that joyful enthusiasm which neither asks questions nor doubts. However, to resolve and act were no longer left to his free choice; it was no longer for him to will--he must.
Just then there was heard, quite close to him, the rustling of a woman's silk skirt: he looked up and found himself face to face with Baroness Wildenrod. For one instant he stood as it were, transfixed, then was about to pass by with a profound bow. But Cecilia stepped close up to him and said, in a low tone:
"Herr Runeck!"
"Gnädiges Fräulein?"
"I must speak to you."
"Me?" Egbert thought that he could not have heard aright, but she repeated in the same tone:
"Speak with you alone--please let me!"
"I am yours to command."
She took the precedence, he following her into the parlor. There was nobody there, and even if any one had appeared, the meeting might have passed for an accidental one. Cecilia had stepped up to the fireplace, as though she wanted to take refuge from the sunshine, which poured in its bright golden rays, through the lofty windows. A few minutes passed ere she spoke. Runeck, too, was silent; his eyes scanning her countenance, which was so entirely different from what it had appeared earlier.
Eric was right; the radiantly beautiful creature that he had brought home as his promised bride had strangely altered. She was no longer the gay, captivating girl, whose whole being sparkled with high spirits and the joy of existence. A pale, trembling girl leaned against the marble pillars upon which rested the mantelpiece, with downcast eyes, a painfully drawn look about the mouth, and she sought after words thatwouldnot cross her lips.
"I wanted to write to you, Herr Runeck," she finally began. "Then I heard to-day that you were in the Manor-house, and determined to speak to you in person. There is need of an explanation between us."
She paused, seeming to expect an answer, but as Egbert only bowed in silence, she continued with visible effort: "I must recall to your mind our interview on the Whitestone; you will have forgotten it as little as I have forgotten the words, the threats which you hurled at me. They were darkly mysterious to me at the time and are still so, even now; but, from that hour, I have known you to be the implacable foe of my brother and myself----"
"Not of you, Baroness!" exclaimed Egbert. "I had been in grievous error, which was explained away at that time. I begged your pardon, which, however, you would not grant. My words like my threats had reference to another."
Cecilia lifted her eyes to him, and the deprecatory look in them was touching to behold.
"But that other is my brother, and what touches him touches me as well. If you ever confront him as you did me that time, the issue will be a bloody, a horrible one. For weeks I have been trembling at the thought of it, and now I can stand it no longer. I must have certainty,--what do you intend to do?"
"Does Herr von Wildenrod know of that scene on the Whitestone?" asked Egbert with strong emphasis.
"Yes!" This word was well-nigh inaudible.
Runeck asked no farther. In the first place, he had no need to hear what Wildenrod's answer had been, it was written clearly enough in Cecilia's distressed looks, and he spared her the painful question.
"Compose yourself," said he earnestly. "The meeting which you fear will not take place, for to-morrow morning I quit Radefeld and Odensburg. And inasmuch as you are going to the South with Eric, Herr von Wildenrod will have no further occasion nor pretext for remaining longer after your marriage. That will rid me of the necessity for meeting him in a hostile manner. But that there is no need to protect Odensburg and the Dernburg family against you, I well know now."
He little suspected what a blow these words inflicted upon Cecilia. She knew Oscar's vaulting schemes, she knew that through her betrothal, he had only paved the way for the accomplishment of his own aims, that the knot between him and Maia, would, sooner or later, be tied, and make him master of Odensburg; but she kept her lips tightly closed, closed although fully conscious of the wrong that she committed, in order that the specter of dread which had just been exorcised, should not again be called up, to haunt her again with new terrors.
It was still as death through the length and breadth of that vast apartment, only the monotonous ticking of the great standing-clock made itself heard, marking the flight of seconds, of minutes--how fast they did fly in that farewell hour!
Then Egbert drew one step nearer, and with a peculiarly vibrant sound in his voice said:
"I did you great injustice, with those unsparing words of mine, so great that you cannot forgive me. I had to believe that you stood, with open eyes, in the midst of the relations that encircled you; how could I imagine that they had left you in perfect ignorance? Will you, in spite of all that has happened, hear from me, one last entreaty, one warning?"
The young girl silently nodded her head in the affirmative.
"Your marriage sunders all such connections, and frees you from your brother's control--then free yourself from his influence, at any price! Let him no longer have any power over your future life, for it is unwholesome and brings destruction. What I only suspected formerly, I now know for a certainty. The Baron's path leads to an abyss--who can say where it will end?"
Cecilia shuddered at these last words. She thought of Oscar's dark threat, when she refused to stay at Odensburg, and the image of her dead father loomed up before her.
"No farther, Herr Runeck," said she, forcibly recovering her self-control. "You are talking of my brother!
"Yes, of your brother," repeated he, with marked emphasis. "And you have nothing to say in refutation of my charge. You know then----"
"I know nothing,willknow nothing--Oh! my God, have pity on me!"
She clasped both hands before her face, and tottered, as though she would fall. The same instant Egbert was already at her side, supporting her; just as that time on the Whitestone, the beautiful, fair head, with closed eyes, lay upon his shoulder.
"Cecilia!"
It was only a single word, but it escaped Egbert's lips in the fervent tone of passion, and at its sound, the large dark eyes opened and met his. For a second their looks mingled--rather an eternity. With loud, clear strokes, the clock told the midday hour. Egbert let his arm drop and drew himself up erect.
"Make Eric happy!" said he, with difficulty, in a hollow tone: "Farewell, Cecilia!"
In the next minute he had left the room, and Cecilia, pressing her hot brow against the cold marble of the mantel-piece, wept and wept, as though her heart would break.
The dwellings of the numerous officials attached to Odensburg, formed quite a little town of themselves; there also was Dr. Hagenbach's house, a small villa, in the Swiss style. It had evidently been built for a larger family, but this elderly bachelor had not thought of marrying, and had been living alone here for years, with an old housekeeper, to whom was now added his nephew. As physician in chief of Odensburg, Hagenbach's professional services were constantly in requisition, but he also frequently had calls from abroad.
To-day, for instance, there sat in his office a patient from abroad, who, to be sure, did not look at all like a sick man. The man was about forty years old, and very rotund in person, his hands were folded over a very capacious paunch and his eyes almost disappeared behind full, puffy, red cheeks. Nevertheless he had a long tale of miseries to relate, counting up a whole list of ailments, until Hagenbach abruptly cut him short in the midst of it.
"Oh, I know all that you are telling me, by heart, Herr Willmann. I have already told you for the last time, that you take too good care of Number One. If you will not be moderate in eating and drinking, and take no exercise, the remedies that I have prescribed for you cannot take effect."
"Be moderate?" repeated Willmann in a soft, melancholy tone. "Dear me! Doctor, I am moderation itself. But a hotel-keeper, alas! is in that particular a victim of his calling. I must occasionally sit with my guests, chatting and drinking--it brings business, you know, and----"
"You take upon yourself this martyrdom with wonderful self-denial. For all that I care--but then you have given up wanting any help from me, I perceive. I do not care at all to have outside practice; I have my hands full here at Odensburg. Why do you not consult my colleague, who has a great deal more time?"
"Because I have no faith in him," said Herr Willmann solemnly, without looking the least disconcerted by this harsh declaration. "There is something about you, Doctor, that inspires a body with confidence."
"Yes, thank God, I throw in the needful grains of rudeness," answered Hagenbach with composure of soul. "Then people always have confidence in you. You will take my prescriptions, then? Yes or no?"
"Dear me, I submit to you in every particular. If you knew what I have stood these last days--those terrible pains in the stomach----"
"For which those good meats and soups are to blame," interposed the doctor in cold blood.
"And that want of breath, that dizziness in my head----"
"Comes from the beer, to which you daily treat yourself, your own most regular customer. If you omit the beer, and limit your meals to what is absolutely necessary to sustain life--" then he began to count off a list of remedies that almost drove Herr Willmann wild.
"Why, Doctor, that is a veritable hunger-cure," lamented he. "It will put an end to me!"
"Would you rather fall a victim to your calling?" asked Hagenbach. "It is all right; but there, go off and leave me in peace!"
The patient sighed deeply and painfully. However, the doctor's faith-inspiring roughness must have won the victory over his love of good-living, for he folded his hands and looked up at the ceiling.
"If there's no help for it--in God's name!" said he unctuously.
The physician suddenly started, fastened a sharp glance upon him and then asked, wholly irrelevantly:
"Have you a brother, Herr Willmann?"
"No, I was the only child of my parents."
"Singular! I was struck with a likeness, that is to say, not exactly a likeness--on the contrary, you have not a feature like the person I am referring to."
Herr Willmann softly shook his head, in token that these dark words were unintelligible to him, while Hagenbach continued: "Can you tell me whether you have a relative who has been in Africa, in Egypt, in the Sahara or in some part of a desert in those parts?"
Herr Willmann's full cheeks lost something of their rosy tint, and he fumbled in an embarrassed way with his gold watch-chain as he answered: "Yes--a cousin."
"Was he a missionary?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"And then he died of fever?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Was his name Engelbert?"
"Yes----"
"And what is your own name, pray?"
"Pan--cra--tius," answered Willmann, drawling it out, while he still kept playing with his watch-chain.
"A fine name! Well then, Herr Pancratius Willmann, in three weeks come again, and meanwhile, if I should be passing by the 'Golden Lamb' I'll give you a call to see how you are getting along. Adieu!"
Willmann took his leave with mild thanks for the advice wasted on him, and Hagenbach was left alone.
"The thing agrees," murmured he to himself. "He is a cousin, then, of that much lamented Engelbert, whose picture is draped in mourning. They both have that pious way of turning up their eyes; it seems to be a family-failing. Shall I tell her about it? I'll take good care not to! She would send for the dear kinsman on the spot, and then there would be a repetition of that tale of woe, and a fresh eulogium of eternal constancy. As for the rest, I must give Dagobert the prescription I promised, to take with him, as he is about to set out for the Manor-house."
So saying he went across to his nephew's room, whom he was glad to find still in. The young man had already made his preparations for going out. His hat and gloves lay on the table beside a bulky blue note-book, but he himself stood before the looking-glass, carefully considering his own precious person. He tied his cravat straight, drew his fingers through his fair locks, and tried to give a bold air to his newly-budding mustache.
Finally Dagobert seemed content with the appearance of his outer man: he retired a few steps, laid his hand most touchingly upon his heart, sighed profoundly, and then began to say something in a whisper that could not be heard by the doctor, who gazed upon the scene from the threshold of the door, with increasing astonishment.
"Fellow, have you turned crazy?" asked he, in his gruff manner.
Dagobert started and turned crimson from embarrassment.
"I believe your brain is cracked, all of a sudden," continued his uncle, advancing nearer. "What is the meaning of these preparations?"
"I--I am learning English words," declared Dagobert, the doctor, meanwhile, shaking his head suspiciously.
"English words, with such heart-breaking sighs? That is a remarkable way to learn."
"It was an English poem, that I was once more----Please, dear uncle, give it to me--those are my exercises!"
Like a bird of prey Dagobert swooped upon the table, clutching at the blue pamphlet, but too late, the doctor had already opened it and begun to turn over its leaves.
"Why so excited? You evidently need not be ashamed of your work and seem to have gotten tolerably far. Miss Friedberg, too, has given herself a great deal of trouble about you, and I hope you are grateful for it."
"Yes, indeed, she has given herself trouble--I have given myself trouble--we have given ourselves trouble," stammered Dagobert, who, manifestly did not know what he was saying, for his eyes were directed in agony to the hand of his uncle, who turned over one page after the other, while he dryly remarked:
"Well, if that is the way you are going to stammer out your thanks, she will not be greatly edified by them--yes, what is this, pray?"
He had stumbled upon a page laid loosely in, at the sight of which his unhappy nephew was ready to expire.
"'To Leonie!'" read Hagenbach aghast. "Here are verses!
"'Oh! be not angry if I fallA suppliant at thy feet----'
"'Oh! be not angry if I fall
A suppliant at thy feet----'
"Oh! Oh, what does that mean?"
Dagobert stood there like a surprised criminal, while the doctor read the poem through, which was nothing more nor less than a full declaration of love to the secretly adored preceptress, vowing that these feelings should last forever, with the most solemn of oaths.
It was some while before Hagenbach could take in the idea, so monstrous did it seem to him. But when he finally apprehended the true significance of all this, a storm as of thunder and lightning burst forth upon Dagobert's devoted head. He patiently submitted to being lectured for a long while, but since it seemed as if the tempest was to know no end, he made an attempt at retort.
"Uncle, I owe you gratitude," said he solemnly, "but when the question concerns the most sacred feelings of my heart, there is an end put to your power as to my obedience. Yes, I love Leonie, I worship her--and that is no crime."
"But it is a folly!" cried the doctor, angrily, "a folly, such as has never been before! A youth who is just out of school, and not yet a student--and in love with a lady, who could be his mother. Such, then, were your 'English words'! It was a declaration of love, then, that you were studying before the looking-glass! Well, I shall open Miss Friedberg's eyes to the character of her pretty scholar, and you may be thankful to be out of the way when she learns the story. She will be indignant, infuriated."
He grimly folded the fatal sheet together and put it in his pocket. The young man saw the verses that he had forged, in the sweat of his brow, disappear in the coat-pocket of his unfeeling relative, and the spirit of despair gave back to him his self-possession.
"I am no longer a boy," declared he, smiting upon his breast. "You have no appreciation of the feelings that stir in a young man's bosom. Your heart has long since been dead. When the hoar-frost of age already covers your head----"
He suddenly stopped and took refuge as speedily as possible behind the great arm-chair, for the doctor, who could not stand the allusions to his gray hair, advanced upon him threateningly.
"I forbid such personalities!" cried he, raging. "Hoar-frost of age, forsooth? How old do you think I am? You are fancying that this old uncle will soon be departing this life, but I shall not think of such a thing for a long while to come, mark that! I am now going to Miss Friedberg with your scribbling, and meanwhile you can let the feelings in your youthful breast storm and bluster away; it will be quite a nice little entertainment!"
"Uncle, you have no right to mock at my love," said Dagobert, somewhat dejectedly from behind his arm-chair--but the doctor was already outside the door, on his way to his sitting-room, whence he got his hat and cane.
"Hoar-frost of old age!" growled he. "Silly fellow! I'll teach him whether my heart is dead or not! You are to be surprised!" And so saying, at a rapid pace he set off for the Manor-house.
Leonie Friedberg sat at her desk, finishing a letter, when the doctor was announced; amazed she looked up:
"What, is that you, Doctor? I was just looking for Dagobert, he is generally so punctual."
"Dagobert is not coming to-day," answered Hagenbach shortly.
"Why not? Is he unwell?"
"No, but I have ordered him to stay at home--the accursed boy!"
"You are too hard upon the young man. You always treat him as though he were still a boy, although he is twenty years old!"
The doctor hardly listened to the fault found with him, but seated himself and continued wrathfully:
"A wretched tale he has gotten up again. I ought not to tell you, properly, but spare you the vexation. However, there is no help for it, you must learn about it."
"Heavens! What has happened?" asked Leonie, uneasily. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
Hagenbach's looks certainly portended something serious, as he drew forth his nephew's poetic effusion from his coat-pocket, and handed it to the lady with the air of one bringing the worst of news.
"Read, please!"
Leonie began to read, conning the verse from beginning to end with an indescribable tranquillity, nay, a smile even quivered about her lips. The doctor, who waited in vain for an expression of indignation, saw himself, finally, compelled to come to the aid of her understanding.
"It is a poem," he enlightened her.
"So I perceive."
"And it is addressed to you."
"According to all probability, inasmuch as my name stands at the head."
"Why, is that pleasant to you?" cried Hagenbach hotly. "You find it all right, do you, for him to fall at your feet--' that is the phrase used by the scribbler."
Still smiling, Leonie shrugged her shoulders. "Let your nephew indulge his little romance; it is harmless enough. I really have no objection to it."
"But I?" exclaimed the doctor. "If the simpleton manages a single time more to praise you in song, and lay at your feet the passionate emotions of his youthful breast, then----"
"What is it to you?" asked Leonie, astonished at this vehement outbreak, for which, in her opinion, there was no ground.
"What is it to me? Ah! that indeed--You do not know yet----" Hagenbach suddenly arose and stepped close in front of her.
"Look at me for once, Miss Friedberg!"
"I find nothing especially remarkable about you."
"You are not expected to find anything remarkable about me, either," said the doctor, quite hurt. "But I look quite passable, considering my years."
"Certainly, Doctor."
"I have a lucrative position, not an inconsiderable fortune, a pretty house--that is much too large for me by myself."
"I do not doubt all this, but what is----"
"And as to my roughness," continued Hagenbach, without heeding the interruption, "it is only outwardly so. In the main I am a regular lamb."
Leonie looked very incredulous at this assertion and listened with increasing surprise.
"All in all, a man with whom one might live happily," wound up the doctor with great self-complacency. "Do not you agree with me that this is so?"
"Why, yes, but----"
"Well, then say 'yes,' then the story is done."
Leonie started from her chair and blushed crimson.
"Doctor--what does this mean?"
"What does it mean? Ah, yes, I have quite forgotten to make you a regular offer. But that will do to repeat. There, now--I offer you my hand and beg for your consent--let us shake hands on it!"
He stretched out his hand, but the lady of his choice drew three steps back and said sharply: "You must take account of my surprise; I have really never deemed it possible that you could honor me with an offer."
"You think so, because you have nerves!" said Hagenbach, quite unconcernedly. "Oh, that is nothing, I'll soon rid you of them, because I am a doctor."
"I only regret that I shall give you no opportunity for this," was the cool response, that made the doctor open his eyes in astonishment.
"Am I to consider this as a rejection?" asked he, dejectedly.
"If you choose to call it so. At all events it is the answer to your offer put so respectfully and with such uncommon tenderness."
The doctor's face lengthened considerably. He had, most assuredly, not deemed it necessary to impose a bridle upon his well-known bluntness, and to make any circumlocution in his courtship. He knew very well that, in spite of his years and his gray hairs, he was "a good match," and that more than one lady of his acquaintance was ready to share his station in life and his property, and here where his offer was doubtless a great, hardly-dreamed-of, piece of good fortune for the portionless girl, he was unceremoniously discarded! He believed that he had not heard aright.
"You actually then reject my offer?" he asked.
"I regret to have to decline the honor destined for me."
There ensued a brief pause. Hagenbach looked alternately upon Leonie and upon the desk, or rather the portrait over it, but then his restrained vexation got the better of him.
"Why?" asked he brusquely.
"That is my affair."
"Excuse me, it is my affair, if I am discarded: I want, at least, to know wherefore."
At every question put, he took one step forward, and at last made such demonstrations against the portrait, that Leonie planted herself in front of it, as if for a shield.
"If you lay such great stress upon it," said she, suppressing her tears, "be it so, then. Yes, Engelbert was my betrothed, whom I shall eternally bewail. He stayed in the family as tutor where I was governess, our spirits were congenial and we plighted our troth."
"That must have been very touching," growled Hagenbach, fortunately so softly that Leonie did not hear him; she continued with quavering voice:
"Engelbert then went as traveling-companion to Egypt; there it came over him like a revelation, and he determined to devote the rest of his life to the conversion of the poor heathen. He magnanimously gave me back my word, which I would not accept, however, but declared myself ready to share with him his hard, self-sacrificing vocation. It was not to be! He wrote me once more before his departure for the interior of Africa, and then"--her voice broke into sobs--"then I heard nothing more of him."
Hagenbach did not at all share in this grief; he rather felt an extraordinary satisfaction over it, viz., that the aforesaid betrothed lover and converter of the heathen was really dead and out of the way; but the narration mitigated his displeasure. It took away every insulting feature of the rejection. He fell into a reconcilable mood, that extended even to his rival.
"Peace to his ashes!" said he. "But one day you will cease to bewail him, and not spend all your days grieving over him. That may have been the fashion in Werther's time, but at the end of the nineteenth century the betrothed sheds the usual tears over the departed lover, and then takes another one--if such an one, perchance, there be. In our case, he is here and repeats his offer. So, then, Leonie, will you have me? Yes or no?"
"No!" said Leonie, drawing herself up indignantly. "If I did not know what I possessed in the tender, devoted love of my Engelbert, your courtship would show me. Perhaps you would not have approached any other lady in such an--unceremonious fashion, but the lonely, faded girl, the poor, dependent teacher, must esteem it great good luck if a 'good support' is offered her. To what end use formalities? But I have too high a regard for matrimony to consider it only from this point of view. I would rather remain as I am, poor and dependent, than be the wife of a man, who, not even as a lover, thinks it worth his while to treat me with proper respect.--And now, Doctor, we may consider our interview as closed." She made him a bow and left the room.
Hagenbach stood there, confounded, watching her disappearing figure.
"That is what you call being lectured," said he. "And I have quietly submitted to it. As for the rest, she did not look bad in her excitement, with her crimsoned cheeks and flashing eyes. Humph! I didn't know how pretty she is.--Yes, these cursed bachelor-ways! One is utterly ruined by them."
At Odensburg, flags were flying, cannon being fired off from the surrounding heights, and triumphal arches, wreaths of evergreen, and flowers, everywhere greeted the young bridal-pair who had just returned, after the performance of the marriage-ceremony.
The service had taken place in the somewhat remote church of Saint Eustace, where Dernburg, too, had once stood before the altar with his own bride. Now the wedding-procession came back, a long line of carriages, at the head of which drove the equipage of the newly-married couple.
The works were silent to-day, as a matter of course, the workmen forming a lane all the way to the Manor-house, and the golden sunshine of this beautiful day in late summer enhanced the merriment and jollity that had taken possession of Odensburg to its utmost bounds upon this great occasion.
Now the carriage drove through the grand triumphal arch, that made a gorgeous display with its banners and green wreaths, drawing up in front of the terrace. Eric lifted his bride out. The foot of that young woman trod literally on flowers, which had been scattered along her path in profusion. The entrance-hall was transformed into a garden blooming with sweet blossoms, and the entertaining-rooms, now thrown wide open for the reception of their new mistress, were likewise adorned.
Dernburg followed, with his sister on his arm, his features betraying deep emotion, when he embraced his son and daughter-in-law. He had offered a costly sacrifice, when he consented to the separation and lasting abode of the young pair in the South, but the infinite rapture depicted upon Eric's face indemnified the father for it, in some measure. Then Dernburg's glance fell upon Maia, who now entered by Wildenrod's side. He surveyed the proud bearing and handsome appearance of the man, who seemed just fitted, one day, to be the presiding genius of Odensburg. He saw the sweet countenance of his darling equally illumined by the light of joy, and then the shadow passed away also from his own brow. Fate offered him full indemnity for what he had to give up.
Maia flew into her brother's arms and then kissed her beautiful sister-in-law with the greatest tenderness. Oscar, too, embraced the young pair, but as he stooped down to Cecilia, he gave her a dark look, half-solicitous, half-threatening: and she must have felt this, too, for she slightly shuddered, and by a quick movement, extricated herself from his arms.
Not much time was allowed, however, for family greetings, inasmuch as other carriages now drove up to the door, and the wedding-guests began to assemble. The newly-married pair were congratulated upon all sides and soon formed the center of the brilliant circle that had collected here. None of the prominent people in the neighborhood were missing, with the solitary exception of Count Eckardstein, who had declined the invitation.
The young husband was inexpressibly happy. On this day, that had witnessed the fulfillment of his most ardent desires, his health also seemed to have been given back to him. He no longer looked sickly and broken. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he accepted, with smiles, the congratulations offered him, and exhibited a cheerfulness and animation, that visually did not belong to his nature. His eyes continually turned to her, who had just linked her destiny with his own, as though he could not exist a moment without beholding her loved face.
And this admiration was pardonable enough. Cecilia looked radiantly beautiful in her bridal attire. The white satin gown, costly lace veil, and--Eric's present---the diamonds that sparkled on neck and arms, enhanced the peculiar charm of her appearance. Only her beautiful face looked strangely pale beneath her myrtle-crown. She too smiled and bowed, in acknowledgment of the congratulations that were spoken, and uttered the usual grateful speeches; but there was something forced and cold in that smile, and her voice was without ring. Fortunately this attracted nobody's attention, for the right to look pale and serious was allowed a bride.
The director of the Odensburg works and Dr. Hagenbach, who were both among the guests, stood in a window, somewhat apart. The former had undertaken the superintendence of the festal arrangements, with which the employés meant to compliment the son of their chief upon his wedding-day. All had succeeded beyond their expectations,--the triumphal arches, the decoration of the road to the church, the delegations, and congratulatory addresses in prose and verse, which had been partly attended to the day before. The main thing, however, was yet to come--the grand holiday parade of the workmen themselves, who were just now forming into line out of doors. The director was mildly excited because his management had been called in question, and spoke in a low, and forcible manner to the doctor, who, however, listened abstractedly and often looked across at the young pair, who were still surrounded by a circle of friends.
"I only wish the parade had been appointed for yesterday," said he, in a low tone. "The procession will be more than an hour in passing by, and all that time the bridal pair will be kept out upon the terrace. It is too much upon Eric. The ceremony, the parade, then the state dinner, and finally the leave-taking. From the first, I have been opposed to these great and noisy festivities, but was out-voted on all sides. Even Herr Dernburg wanted the entertainment to be as magnificent as possible."
"That is quite in the nature of things, at the wedding of his only son," suggested the director, "and the participation of the Odensburg hands was not to be rejected. I think we shall gratify him with our procession; it must make a fine show in the bright sunlight. As for the rest, I cannot understand your solicitude about the young master. He looks splendidly--I have never seen him as cheerful and fresh-looking as to-day."
"That is the very thing that makes me uneasy. There is something feverish in his excitement, and in his condition any excitement is poison. Would that he were now quietly seated in the carriage by his wife's side, having left all this jubilation behind them."
They were interrupted by a servant announcing that the procession was ready to move, only awaiting the appearance of the family. The director stepped up to the young couple, and in the name of all the Odensburg employés, asked them to accept their homage.
Eric smiled, and offered his arm to his young wife, that he might escort her to the terrace. Dernburg and the guests joined them.
That was a fascinating panorama on a grand scale that now unfolded itself before their eyes, out of doors, in the bright noonday sun. The chief officers stood at the foot of the terrace, while their subordinates headed single groups of the gay procession, which had taken its position on the broad piece of level ground extending up to the works, and now put itself in motion.
In dense and endless masses, with music and waving banners, the thousands of workmen marched past, the men from the forges up in the mountains having joined them. By a very skillful arrangement they had interspersed groups of children, that with happy effect broke the monotony of the procession. The pupils of the schools founded by Dernburg stepped proudly along, in their Sunday clothes, pleasure in a holiday beaming from every face: when they caught sight of the bride they waved caps and bunches of flowers, almost splitting their little throats with the loud cheers that they gave out one after another.
It cost trouble to keep the way clear for the procession, for the wives of the workmen, with the tiniest children in their arms, lined the sides of the road, and, besides, the inhabitants of all the region round about had streamed hither. All eyes were turned towards the terrace, to the white form of the bride, before whom all standards were lowered, and for whom all this rejoicing was made: she was the one to whom the whole entertainment was given, and received honors such as usually fall only to the lot of a princess. Incessantly she bowed her head in recognition of the people's kindness, but there was something of restraint in her action, and her large, dark eyes looked coldly upon all these demonstrations of joy, as though she saw nothing of them, and as though in far, far-off space she sought something entirely different.
Eric, on the contrary, as was most unusual with him, took the liveliest interest in all that was going on. He drew Cecilia's attention to special features of the procession, turning repeatedly to the director to thank him for all the gratification that his skill was affording them, and seemed to have entirely laid aside his timidity and reserve. At other times it had been painful and oppressive to him, to be the chief person upon occasions of the sort, but to-day he hailed it with joyful pride, for the sake of his young wife.
Dernburg stood by his son's side, and received these demonstrations of popularity with kindly gravity. Who could blame him, if his chest heaved more proudly and his massive form became more erect, at sight of the thousands who were marching by? Those were his workmen to whom, for thirty long years, he had been a master, but also a father, for whose weal he had labored and toiled as for his own, and these they would estrange from him! These were to turn from him to follow another, who, as yet, had done nothing for them; who had begun his career by setting up opposition to the man who had been a greater benefactor to him than to all besides! A contemptuous smile played about the lips of the lord of Odensburg, the ground upon which he stood was firm as a rock; of that he felt impressed more strongly than ever to-day.
But still another looked with swelling bosom and flashing eyes upon the masses flowing by,--Oscar von Wildenrod, who stood with Maia under one of the orange-trees. Gigantic as had the control of the Odensburg works appeared to him, from the start, never had the power and importance of Dernburg's position struck him as it did to-day--and this was to be his future destination. To be the ruler of such a world, to guide it with a word, a sign,--that had been his aim since that first evening when he had looked over at those works, veiled as they were in the darkness of night. Now, at last, he stood close before his goal.
His glance turned to Maia, and the proud triumph resting upon his features melted into a blissful smile. The half-comic, half-solemn dignity, with which Maia wore the long train to her blue silk gown, unused, as she was to such an appendage, became her charmingly; her rosy cheeks glowed from joyous exhilaration. With the frolicsomeness of a child she let herself be borne along by the waves of joyful excitement that were bounding in her heart. She knew that her father had withdrawn his opposition to her love.
"Is it not beautiful?" asked she, lifting her radiant eyes to his face. "And Eric is so happy!"
Oscar smiled and bent over her.
"Oh, I know one who will be happier than Eric, when he stands there on yonder spot, with his young bride by his side, when----"
"Hush, Oscar!" interposed Maia with glowing face. "You know--papa will not allow a whisper of that now."
"Nobody hears us," said Oscar, and indeed the noise of the music and cheers drowned his passionate whispering. "And your papa is not so stern as he would have us believe. He has, it is true, denied my petition to have our engagement publicly announced to-day, it was hard enough to wrest a consent from him on any terms. But now you are here, and if his darling asks him, he will not say her nay. I shall renew the siege to-morrow--will you help me, my Maia?"
She did not answer, only her eyes told him, that he should not lack the support asked for: with soft but fervent pressure he took her hand. Wildenrod evidently had no objection to the company, guessing what at present they were not to be told.
The last group of workmen had just gone by, the marching past was at an end, and the whole mass of spectators moved in a body to the now vacant railroad station, in order to take the next train. On the terrace, too, everything was now in motion. The director once more received the thanks of Dernburg and his son, to which were added the compliments of the guests present, for the successful manner in which the affair had been conducted, and then the young couple with their friends retired into the house.
They were greeted in the vast entrance-hall by strains of music, and a table stood in waiting, richly decorated with flowers, silver and cut-glass, whence the most tempting refreshments were served. Little as Dernburg liked ordinarily to make a display of his wealth, to-day no expenditure was spared that could add to the splendor of the occasion.
The meal passed as is usual at such times: healths were drunk, and after sitting at table for about two hours the dancing began, for which the younger portion of the company had waited longingly.
The newly-married pair only participated in the first grand promenade and then withdrew. Maia, who was escorted back to her place by Wildenrod, saw that they left the hall with some surprise.
"Why do Eric and Cecilia break up already?" asked she. "They are not to set off for an hour to come?"
"It is Dr. Hagenbach's fault," declared Oscar. "He fears that Eric has over-exerted himself--quite unnecessarily, it seems to me, for Eric has never looked better than to-day."
"So it seems to me; but Cecilia looks so much the paler. She was all the while so grave and silent--I would have imagined a happy bride looking very differently."
Wildenrod's eyes had likewise followed his sister, a dark frown gathering upon his brow the while. But then, he shrugged his shoulders and replied in a careless tone:
"She is worn out and fagged; no wonder either. The director has imposed a little too much upon us, with this endlessly long procession of his, for there we had to stay until the last company had marched by."
Maia shook her head, while her childlike features became grave and thoughtful. "Eric thinks it is something different, he is anxious to learn what."
"What is it that Eric wants to learn?" asked Wildenrod suddenly, so sharply that the young girl looked at him in surprise.
"Oh, he is mistaken perhaps, but upon my return he lamented to me the alteration that had taken place in Cecilia during the past few weeks. He is afraid that some trouble is weighing upon her mind, and hoped that she might be persuaded to confide in me, since he had failed to learn her secret. I gladly obliged him by approaching her on the subject, but got nothing for my pains. She was equally reserved with me--Eric was quite miserable about it."
Oscar bit his lip and an expression came out upon his features that terrified Maia. As soon, however, as he noticed her questioning look, he gave a short laugh and said mockingly: "I am afraid Eric will make life hard for himself and his wife, with his overstrained tenderness. Fortunately Cecilia is not attuned to such sentimentalities, and will laugh him out of his tendency to 'make mountains out of mole-hills.'"
The waltz just now beginning, interrupted the conversation between the two. A young officer to whom the daughter of the house was engaged for this dance, came up to claim her hand. Maia, who, for the first time danced in a large company, entered heartily into this amusement, but her eyes quickly turned again to the spot where the Baron stood, or rather had stood, for he was no longer there. She sought him in vain; he must have left the room.
Eric had attended his young wife to her chamber, and then repaired to his own apartments, to change his suit. He smiled over the painful solicitude of the doctor, who could never get over treating him as a sick man, no matter how well he felt, as for instance to-day. But with the prescription itself he was well pleased, for not yet had he been allowed a single minute of his wife's society in private. His traveling-suit was quickly donned, and now there was still left a half hour for a sweet, confidential chat, that nobody could disturb.
Full of impatience the young husband hurried out to go and find his wife, but at the foot of the stairs he stood still a moment and gazed through the wide-open portals of the grand reception-hall.
Out of doors lay the landscape in the full splendor of the evening-sun, whose golden light flooded also the flower-bestrewn terrace, and a broad shining beam also crossed the hall. From the works over yonder, where the festivities for the workmen took place, came sounds of music and rejoicing; and from the open windows of the ball-room, where a pause in the dancing had occurred, penetrated the gay talking and laughing of the company.
Eric's heart beat high for joy, and he drew a deep breath of satisfaction. What a lovely day it had been, this his wedding-day! And now life just began for him--now there beckoned to him the wide world, the sunny South; he would be free from oppressive, irksome duties, and there on the shore of the blue Mediterranean, with a sweet wife by his side, dream an enchanting dream of happiness. In the depths of his soul, he was pierced with gratitude to the Giver of all good, who had showered upon him all these blessings.
With quick steps he mounted the stairs and was about to enter the small parlor which separated Cecilia's chamber from that of her brother, when he remarked that it had been bolted from the inside; also nobody opened in response to his light tap. He was impatient, and took another way.
Oscar's chamber had another peculiar entrance, a little tapestry-door, that was seldom or never used. Eric opened it and traversed the apartment of his brother-in-law and the adjoining parlor. His step was not audible upon the soft carpet, and moreover the door to Cecilia's chamber was close. Eric heard Wildenrod's voice from inside and stood still.
The brother, he supposed, had sought the bride in order to see her once more alone and to say farewell. This was natural and the parting--in any case so brief--ought not to be disturbed.
Yet what was that? The Baron's voice sounded stern and threatening, and now a wild, passionate sob was heard. Was it Cecilia's voice? It could not be she who was thus distressed, weeping so despairingly! Eric turned pale, the foreboding of a great sorrow suddenly fell upon him, as though an ice-cold hand had laid its weight upon his chest. He tarried motionless in his place, every word reaching him through the closed door.
"Be reasonable, Cecilia! Have you lost all power of self-control? You must show yourself again to the guests and bid them farewell, Eric may come in any minute. Do collect yourself!"
No answer, only convulsive, inconsolable weeping.
"I dreaded something of the sort, and therefore sought you, but I was not prepared for such an outbreak as this. Cecilia, you must compose yourself."
"I cannot!" gasped Cecilia with half-stifled voice. "Leave me, Oscar! I have been obliged to smile and lie this livelong day--must do so again when I sit in that carriage with Eric--I'll die if I cannot take my cry out this once--only this single time."
The brother must have perceived that he could effect nothing here by the assumption of a domineering tone, for his voice was milder, when he rejoined:
"There it is again, that wretched passionateness of your disposition, you should say to yourself, that this is the last of all hours, in which to abandon yourself thus. I have done everything to secure to you your happiness and you----"
"My happiness?" repeated Cecilia with sarcastic bitterness. "Why that lie, Oscar?--we are alone. You managed to deceive me so long as I was a thoughtless child, but you know the day that opened my eyes. You only wanted, through me, to pave the way to your own fortune, when you set yourself to make a match between Eric and me. You wanted to be master of Odensburg, therefore, I had to be the victim."
"And if I had this aim in view, I lifted you up with myself," cried Wildenrod with emphasis. "I have told you, often enough, that the question here for both of us is 'to be or not to be.' You consider yourself a victim do you? Why, to-day you received princely homage, and as those endless throngs of dependents marched past you, surely it must have become clear to you, what significance the name that you now bear, has in the world. That life in Odensburg, which you dreaded so, is to be spared you. You are to return to Italy. Eric worships you, he lives only in your looks, and will leave no wish of yours ungratified, showering upon you everything that wealth can give. What more can you ask of your marriage? This is good fortune, and one day you will thank me for it."
"Never! never!" cried the young woman, beside herself. "Oh! that I had fled from this good fortune! But you--you compelled my submission by the dreadful threat that you would follow our father's example, and I had to stay in order to save you. You have no idea, what torture I have endured since that time, in the midst of all Eric's goodness and tenderness. I never have loved him, never will love him, and now that the chain is irrevocably forged, I feel that it will crush me. I would rather lie down in death than in his arms!"
She suddenly hushed. "What was that?" she asked quickly.
"What?"
"I do not know--it sounded like a sigh!"
"Imagination! We are alone, I have secured ourselves against listeners. What means that desperate outbreak? Have you waited until your wedding-day to be certain that you love another? Do you not know the truth, orwillyou not? I have suspected it ever since that day when you and Runeck met on the Whitestone. It seemed as though you would lose your senses, at the bare idea of being despised by that man, of appearing before him in the light of an adventuress. I did not want to warn or frighten you--no one arouses a somnambulist upon his dangerous walk. But now it is time to wake up. Since that Egbert has crossed your path----"
"No! no!" interposed Cecilia repelling the imputation.
"Yes!" said Oscar with cold insistency. "Do you think, it has escaped me how, this morning, when I drove to church with you as bride-man, you turned deadly pale and then like one spellbound gazed at one particular spot in the woods? You had remarked him, who, I suppose, had come to take one last look at you. He was far enough off, it is true, half-hidden behind the trees. At such a distance one recognizes only his deadly foe or the man whom one loves--and we both recognized him."
His sister made no answer, but did not contradict his assertion. But now it was Oscar who started in affright. He had heard close by a noise as of a door falling gently to, and seized by an ill-defined apprehension, he hurriedly opened the door leading into the parlor. Delusion! the parlor was empty, the bolt still undisturbed. But a glance at the mantel-clock convinced the Baron that it was high time to terminate the interview; he returned to his sister.
"I must go back to the company," said he, in subdued tones, "and you too must prepare for your journey. You have had your cry out, now consider what you owe to yourself and me! You are Eric's wife, and tomorrow miles will already lie between you and that other, whom I hope you will never see again. I have seen to it, that he can do no more harm at Odensburg, and you will forget him, because you must."
He unbolted the door and rang for the lady's maid.
The tearful eyes of the bride could be explained by the pain of parting from her brother; nevertheless, he would not leave her by herself for a single minute. Not until Nannon entered did he leave the room.
Down in the front-hall the Baron met a man-servant, bearing Eric's hand-satchel and cloak, of whom he asked in passing:
"Can you tell me if Herr Dernburg is in his own room?"
"No, Baron, he is with his lady," answered the man in surprise.
"Oh, no, I have just left my sister."
"But I saw the young master go upstairs myself," the servant ventured to reply. "It was about a half hour ago. Have you not seen him yourself, sir? He went into your room through the little tapestried door."
Wildenrod turned pale to his very lips, for of this entrance he had not thought. Whether Eric had really been in the parlor, whether he had heard what Oscar dared not carry out the thought, he left the servant standing and hurried to his brother-in-law's apartments.
Nobody was in the first room, but when the Baron had opened the chamber-door, involuntarily he started back.
Eric lay stretched out on the floor, apparently lifeless, with closed eyes. The head had fallen back; and bosom, clothes, and the carpet round about were saturated with clear, red blood, that still flowed from his lips in single drops.
For the space of a few seconds Oscar stood like one transfixed, but then he pulled the bell-rope violently. With the aid of the servants, who came running up, he raised the unconscious bridegroom from the floor and laid him on his bed, at the same time ordering Dr. Hagenbach to be called, so as to excite as little attention as possible.
In a very few minutes the physician was at his post. He silently listened to Wildenrod's report, while he felt the pulse and listened to the beating of the heart; then he drew himself up and said softly:
"Bring your sister in, Baron, and prepare her for the worst. I shall have his father and Maia called."
"Do you fear?" asked Oscar just as softly, but Hagenbach shook his head.
"There is no longer room here for either fear or hope. Lead his bride here--perhaps he may once more recover consciousness."
A quarter of an hour later, the whole house knew that Eric Dernburg, whom they had just seen at the summit of human felicity, now lay on a bed of death. It had not been possible to suppress the dread tidings; they flew like wild-fire. In the ball-room, the music ceased abruptly, the guests stood around in awe-stricken silence or whispered in mournful accents, the servants, meanwhile, running to and fro, with distorted faces. Like a flash of lightning the stroke had fallen upon the festive scene.
The family had gathered around the death-bed. Dr. Hagenbach was still busied in the application of various restoratives, but it was evident that he expected nothing more from them. By the side of the couch knelt the young wife, in her white satin bridal robe that she had not yet laid aside when the message of misfortune came. She was tearless, but pale as death. She suspected some secret, strange coincidence.
On the other side stood Dernburg, in speechless grief, his eyes riveted upon his son, for the preservation of whose life he had been willing to make any sacrifice, and, in spite of it all, he was to be snatched from him. Maia sobbed on her father's bosom. Wildenrod did not dare to approach either her or the death-bed, but, silent and moody, kept in the background. He had believed his game to be lost, and now he should win anyhow. The poor man, whose life was bleeding away there so slowly, could never bring an accusation against him, but take to the grave with him what he had heard and what had given him his death-blow.
Motionless, Eric lay there with closed eyes, seeming hardly to suffer at all. His breathing became easier and easier, until presently the physician laid down the hand which he had been holding while he counted the pulse. Cecilia saw this and guessed the significance of the act.
"Eric!" she shrieked. It was a cry of despair, of deadly anguish; and it shocked the dying man out of his stupor. Slowly he opened his eyes, that, already dimmed by death, sought the beloved countenance that leaned over him, but those eyes expressed such infinite love, so deep and silent a lament, that Cecilia shuddered and shrank back. It was only an instant of consciousness--the last. One more deep sigh from that wounded breast--and all was over.