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The Northern Light

by E. Werner · English · Gutenberg #16095 · 629,303 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Northern Light

Author: E. Werner

Translator: Mrs. D. M. Lowrey


        
Release date: June 20, 2005 [eBook #16095]
                Most recently updated: April 21, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN LIGHT ***




THE NORTHERN LIGHT

From the German of E. WERNER

Author of "At a High Price," "His Word of Honor," etc.

Translated by MRS. D. M. LOWREY

1891







CHAPTER I.


The grey mist of an autumn morning lay upon forest and field. Through
its shadowy vapors a swarm of birds were sweeping by, on their Southward
way, now dipping low over the tops of the tall fir forest, as if giving
a last greeting to their summer homes, and then rising high in the air;
turning their flight due South, they disappeared slowly through the fog.

At the window of a large manor-house, which lay at the edge of the
forest, two men stood, watching the course of the birds and conversing
earnestly with each other. One was a tall, stalwart figure, whose firm
and erect bearing betokened the soldier fully as much as the uniform he
wore. He was blonde and blue-eyed, not handsome, but with a strong and
speaking countenance; a typical German in form and feature. Yet
something like a shadow lay upon the man's face, and there were,
wrinkles, on his brow which surely were not the result of age, for he
was yet in the prime of life.

"The birds have started already on their journey to the south," said he,
after watching the flight attentively until they had finally disappeared
in the cloud of mist. "The autumn has come to nature and to our lives as
well."

"Not to yours yet," objected his companion. "You are just in the hey-day
of life, in the full strength of your manhood."

"True enough, as to years, but I have a feeling that age will overtake
me sooner than others. I often feel as if it were autumn with me now."

The other man, who might have been a few years the speaker's senior, was
slender, and of middle height, and clad in civilian's dress. He shook
his head impatiently at his companion's last observation. He appeared
insignificant when compared with the strong, well-built officer near
him; but his pale, sharply cut face wore a look of cold, superior
repose, and the sarcastic expression around the thin lips, together with
his aristocratic air and bearing, suggested a hidden strength behind a
feeble exterior.

"You take life too hard, Falkenried," he said reprovingly. "You have
changed strangely in the last few years. Who would recognize in you now,
the gay young officer of other days? And what's the reason of it all?
The shadow which once darkened your life has long since disappeared. You
are a soldier, heart and soul, and have repeatedly distinguished
yourself in your profession. A high position awaits you in the future,
and the thing above all others is--you have your son."

Falkenried did not answer; he folded his arms and looked out again into
the mist, while the other continued: "The boy has grown handsome as a
god in the last few years. I was quite overcome with surprise when I
saw him again, and you yourself, told me that he was unusually gifted
and in many things showed great talent."

"I would that Hartmut had fewer talents and more character," said
Falkenried, in an almost acrid tone. "He can make verses quick enough,
and to learn a language is child's play to him, but as soon as he tries
some earnest science, he's behind all the others, and in military
tactics I can make nothing of him at all. You cannot comprehend,
Wallmoden, what iron severity I am constantly compelled to employ."

"I fear you accomplish little by this same severity," interrupted
Wallmoden. "You should take my advice and leave your son to his studies.
He has not the qualifications for a soldier. You must see that for
yourself by this time."

"He shall and must acquire those qualifications. It is the only possible
career for such an intractable nature as his, which revolts at every
restraint and to which every duty is a burden. The life of a student at
the university would give him unrestrained liberty; only the iron
dicipline of the service will force him to bend."

"The only question is, how long will you be able to force him to do your
will? You should not deceive yourself; there are inherited tendencies
which will not allow themselves to be repressed or eradicated. Hartmut,
now, is in appearance the counterpart of his mother; he has her features
and her eyes."

"Yes," assented Falkenried gloomily, "her dark, demoniacal, glowing
eyes, which cast their spell upon all who knew her."

"And were your ruin," supplemented Wallmoden. "How often did I warn and
advise you then; but you would not listen. Your passion had seized you
like a fever and held you like chains. I declare I never have been able
to understand it."

Falkenried's lips were drawn in with a bitter smile.

"I can readily believe that you, the cool, calculating diplomat, you,
whose every word is weighed, are protected against all such witcheries."

"I should at least be cautious in my choice. Your marriage carried
unhappiness on its face from the very beginning. A women of a foreign
race, with strange blood in her veins and the wild, passionate Sclave
nature, without character, without understanding of what we here call
duty and morality; and you with your rigid principles, with your
sensitive feeling of honor, it could ultimately lead to but one end. And
I believe you loved her in spite of all, until your separation."

"No," said Falkenried, in a hard tone, "the fire burned out in the first
year; I saw that only too clearly. But I shrank back from publishing to
the world my household misery by a legal separation. So I bore it until
no choice remained, until I was forced. But enough of this."

He turned abruptly on his heel and looked from the window again; but the
quick movement betrayed rather than concealed the torture which he with
difficulty repressed.

"Yes, it takes a great deal to tear up a nature like yours by the
roots," said Wallmoden earnestly. "But the divorce freed you from the
unhappy bond, and why should you not bury the memory as well?"

Falkenried shook his head and sighed heavily. "One cannot bury such
memories; they are forever rising from their supposed sepulchres, and
just now--" he broke off suddenly.

"Just now; what do you mean?"

"Nothing; let us speak of other things. You have been in Burgsdorf
since day before yesterday; how long do you expect to remain?"

"About two weeks. I haven't much time at my disposal, and am for that
matter only nominally Willibald's guardian, for my diplomatic position
keeps me out of the country most of the time. The guardianship really
rests in the hands of my sister, who rules over everything."

"Well, Regine is equal to the position. She governs the great estate and
the numerous servants as though she were a man."

"And gives her orders like a cavalry officer from morning to night," put
in her brother. "Recognizing all her excellent qualities, I,
nevertheless, feel a slight creepy sensation whenever I am constrained
to visit Burgsdorf, and I always leave the place with shattered nerves.
They live in a most primitive fashion over yonder. Willibald is a
perfect young bear, and of course at the same time the apple of his
mother's eye, and she, by the way, is doing her best to bring him up as
a bluff country squire. It's useless to enter any protest, and, for the
matter of that, it seems just what the youngster's good for."

Their conversation was interrupted at this moment by a servant, who
entered and handed his master a card. Falkenried glanced at it.
"Counsellor Egern? I am glad of that. Tell the gentleman to come in."

"You have a business engagement I see," said Wallmoden rising. "Then
I'll not disturb you."

"On the contrary I beg you to remain. I have had an intimation of this
visit and its purpose, and know what will be the result of our
conversation. The question is--" He did not finish, for the door opened
and the lawyer entered. He seemed surprised not to find the officer
alone, as he had fully expected, but Falkenried took no notice of his
ill-concealed astonishment.

"Herr Counsellor Egern--Herr von Wallmoden, secretary of legation," said
the host, presenting them. The man of law bowed with cool politeness as
he took the seat offered him.

"I have the honor of being known to you, I believe, Herr Major," he
began. "As your wife's attorney at the time the suit for divorce was in
progress, I had the opportunity of making your acquaintance." He paused
as if expecting an answer; but Major Falkenried gave no sign beyond an
affirmative nod.

Wallmoden was all attention. He could understand now his friend's
irritation on his arrival.

"I come to you to-day in the name of my former client," continued the
counsellor. "She has authorized me--have I your permission to speak
freely?"

He glanced at the diplomat, but Falkenried answered shortly: "Herr von
Wallmoden is my friend, and knows all about this affair. So you may
speak freely."

"Very well. The lady has, after an absence of many years, returned to
Germany, and naturally enough wishes to see her son. She has already
written you about the matter but has received no answer."

"I should think that was answer enough. I do not wish any such meeting,
and I will not permit it."

"That sounds very blunt, Herr Major. Frau von Falkenried, in that case,
has--"

"Say Frau Zalika Rojanow, if you please," interrupted the Major. "I
believe she assumed her maiden name again when she returned to her own
country."

"The name does not signify on this occasion," responded the lawyer
composedly. "The question concerns only and alone a mother's natural
desire, which the father neither can nor dare refuse, even though, as
in this case, the son has been unconditionally adjudged to him."

"Dare not? But suppose he does dare?"

"In so doing he will overstep the limit of his rights. I beg you, Herr
Major, to consider the matter quietly before giving so decided a no. A
mother has rights of which no judicial decree can ever divest her, and
one of those rights is the privilege of seeing her only child again. In
this case my client has the law on her side, and she will appeal to it,
too, if my demand meets with the same refusal as did her written
request."

"Very well, she can make the attempt. I'll run the risk. My son does not
know that his mother is living, and shall not learn it now. I will not
have him see her or speak with her, and I will know how to prevent it,
too. My no is absolute under all circumstances."

This declaration left nothing to be wished for as regarded energy; but
Falkenried's face was deathly pale, and his voice had a hollow, menacing
sound. One could see how fearfully the interview had excited him. He was
scarcely able to preserve the semblance of outward composure.

The attorney seemed to see the uselessness of further endeavor, and only
shrugged his shoulders.

"If this is your last word, then my errand is at an end, and we will
determine hereafter what our next step will be. I regret having troubled
you about the matter, Herr Major." He bowed himself out with the same
cool, indifferent manner with which he had entered. As the door closed
upon him, Falkenried sprang up and began pacing excitedly up and down
the room; there were a few minutes of oppressive silence, then Wallmoden
said, half aloud: "You should not have done that. Zalika will not resign
herself readily to your no; she made a desperate struggle for her child
in the beginning."

"But I obtained the victory. It is to be hoped she has not forgotten
that."

"At that time the question concerned the possession of the child,"
objected the secretary. "Now the mother only asks permission to see him
again, and you will not be able to refuse her that, if she demands it
peremptorily."

The Major stopped suddenly, and his voice was full of undisguised
contempt as he answered:

"She will not venture to do that after all that has happened. Zalika
learned to know me in the hour of our separation; she'll be cautious
about driving me to extremes a second time."

"But perhaps she will seek to accomplish secretly what you have openly
refused."

"That is impossible; the discipline of our institution is so severe
there could be no intercourse here of which I should not learn at once."

Wallmoden did not seem to share his friend's confidence. He shook his
head doubtfully.

"To speak openly, I regard it as a great mistake that you are
obstinately silent toward your son concerning his mother and the fact
that she is living. When he learns it from some other source, what then?
And sometime you must tell him."

"Perhaps, in a couple of years, when he'll have to enter the world. Now
he's only a student, a half-grown boy, and I cannot disclose to him the
drama which was once played in his father's house--I cannot."

"So be it. You know the woman who was once your wife, and know what to
expect from her. I fear there is nothing impossible for this woman to
accomplish."

"Ah, I know her," said Falkenried with intense bitterness, "and because
I know her I will protect my son from her at any price. He shall not
breath the poisonous breath of her presence; no, not even for an hour. I
do not under estimate the danger from Zalika's return, but as long as
Hartmut remains at my side he is safe from her, for she will never come
near me, I give you my word for that."

"We will hope so," answered Wallmoden, as he rose and reached out his
hand at parting. "But do not forget that the greatest danger with which
you have to contend lies in Hartmut himself; he is in every trait the
son of his mother. You are coming over to Burgsdorf with him day after
to-morrow, I hear?"

"Yes, he is to spend his short autumn vacation with Willibald. I shall
be able to remain a day only, but I'll surely come for that time.
Good-bye."

The secretary left the house, and Falkenried returned once more to the
window, but he only gave a fleeting glance after his friend, who waved
him a parting greeting, then returned gloomily to his own thoughts.

"The son of his mother." The words rang in his ears, but the thought was
not new to him; he had known it a long time, and it was this knowledge
which had furrowed his brow so deeply, and wrung from him many a deep
sigh. He was a man who could brave any outward danger; but against this
unfortunate heritage of blood in his only child he had battled with all
his energy for years, but in vain.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Now I tell you for the last time that all this noise and confusion must
come to an end, for my patience is finally exhausted. Such goings on as
we have had for the last three days are enough to make one think that
all Burgsdorf is bewitched. That Hartmut is full of mad tricks from his
head to his feet. When he once gets loose from the reins which his
father holds tight enough, I'll admit that, there's no getting on with
him, and of course you follow after him through thick and thin, and obey
your lord and master's slightest behest. Oh, you are a fine pair."

This philippic, which was delivered in a loud tone, came from the lips
of Frau von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf, while sitting with her son and
mother at breakfast. The great dining-room lay on the ground floor of
the old mansion, and was an extremely simple room, with glass doors
leading out upon a broad stone terrace, and to the garden beyond. On the
brightly tinted walls hung a number of antlers, which bore witness to
the sporting tastes of former possessors, but these were the only
adornments of the room.

A dozen high-backed chairs, arranged stiffly in rows like grenadiers, a
cumbrous dining-table and a couple of old-fashioned sideboards
constituted the entire furniture of the room; and one could see at a
glance that they had already done service for several generations. Such
luxuries as wall-paper, paintings or carpet could not be found here.
Evidently the occupants were contented to live on just as their
ancestors had done, although Burgsdorf was one of the richest estates in
the district.

The appearance of the mistress of the house was in keeping with her
surroundings She was forty years old or there abouts, with a large,
strong figure, cheeks glowing with health, and firm, solid features,
which could never have been called beautiful, but denoted great energy.
Very little escaped the sharp glance of her gray eye, her dark hair was
brushed back smoothly, her gown was of coarse texture, simply made, and
looking at her hands, you saw at once that they were made for work.

There was nothing attractive in her appearance, and her manner and
bearing were thoroughly masculine.

The heir and future master of Burgsdorf, who had just been reprimanded
so sharply, sat opposite his mother, listening, as in duty bound, while
he helped himself liberally to ham and eggs. He was a handsome,
fresh-looking youth, about seventeen years old, whose appearance
indicated no great intellectual strength, but he seemed to beam with
good nature. His sun-burned face was the picture of health, but
otherwise he showed little resemblance to his mother. He lacked her
energetic expression, and the blue eyes and blonde hair were not from
her, but were an inheritance from his father. With his large, but very
awkward limbs, he looked like a young giant, and formed a striking
contrast to his more delicately formed, aristocratic looking uncle,
Wallmoden, who sat next him, and who said now with a slight _soupcon_ of
irony in his tone: "You certainly cannot hold Willibald answerable for
all these mad pranks; he certainly is a model son."

"I would advise him not to be anything else; who lives with me must obey
orders," cried Frau von Eschenhagen, as she struck an emphatic blow upon
the table, which made her brother wince.

"A man is bound to obey orders under your government," he answered. "At
the same time I would advise you, dear Regine, to do something more for
the intellectual development of your son. I have no doubt that under
your guidance he will become, in time, a most excellent farmer, but to
the education of a future landed proprietor, something more than that is
needed. Willibald has outgrown home instructors and should be sent away
now."

"Sent a--?" Frau Regine laid down knife and fork in unbounded
astonishment. "Sent away," she exclaimed, greatly irritated, "and in the
name of common sense, where?"

"Well, first to the university, and later to travel, that he may learn
something of the world and of men."

"That he may be altogether ruined by this world and these men, and no
comfort to me at all! No, Herbert, I'll never do that, and I tell you so
now, once for all. I have educated my son to be honest and fear God, and
do not think I shall turn him loose in your Sodom and Gomorrah which the
dear Lord in his forbearance has yet spared from the fire and brimstone
which it so richly deserves."

"You only know this Sodom and Gomorrah by hearsay, Regine," interrupted
Herbert, sarcastically. "You have lived in Burgsdorf ever since your
marriage; you must acknowledge that yourself!"

"I acknowledge nothing at all," declared Frau von Eschenhagen,
obstinately. "Will shall become a capable farmer; he is qualified for
that, and for that he needs no cramming at your universities. Or perhaps
you'd like to educate him in your own school, and make a diplomatist of
him? That would be too great an honor."

She began to laugh loudly, and Will, to whom the whole conversation had
appeared very comical, joined in in the same key. Herr von Wallmoden
took no part in this sudden explosion of gaiety; he only winced again,
as though his nerves were affected, and shrugged his shoulders.

"No, I had not thought of that. I know full well I should have my
trouble for my pains. But Willibald and I are the only representatives
of our family, and if I should not marry--"

"Should not? You are not thinking of marrying in your old age?"
interrupted his sister, sharply.

"I am in my forty-fifth year, dear Regine, and a man is not usually
considered old at that age," said Wallmoden, somewhat vexed. "Above all
things I consider marriages made late in life by far the happiest; one
is not influenced then by passion, as Falkenried was, to his lasting
wretchedness, but gives to reason the decisive word."

"The saints protect us! What if Willibald should wait to marry until he
is fifty years old and gray-headed?" cried Frau von Eschenhagen, greatly
vexed.

"As an only son and future heir he will have to consider such matters;
as for the rest, the main point will be his own inclinations. What do
you think, Willibald?"

The young heir, who had disposed of his ham and eggs by this time, and
with undiminished appetite was now attacking the sausage, was evidently
much astonished that his opinion had been asked. Such a thing had never
happened before, and he was obliged to reflect deeply before he could
answer at all.

At length he reached a conclusion. "Yes, of course I must marry some
time, but mamma will choose a wife for me when the right time comes."

"She will indeed, my boy," assented his mother, warmly. "That is my
affair, so you need not trouble your head about it, and until then you
will remain here in Burgsdorf where I can have my eye upon you. As to
the university and traveling, that matter is--settled."

She threw a defiant glance at her brother, but he was gazing with a look
of horror at the enormous sausage to which his nephew and ward was
helping himself for the second time.

"Have you always such a large appetite, Will?" he asked.

"Always," Will assured him complacently, as he helped himself to a
large slice of bread and butter.

"No, we don't suffer thank God, with indigestion or any other stomach
trouble," said the mistress of the house tartly, "but we earn our bread
honestly here. First pray and work, then eat and drink, but what we do,
we do thoroughly, and that keeps body and soul together. Just look at
Will, now, and you will see that what I say is true." She gave her
brother a friendly slap on the shoulder with her last words, but this
token of her good will was so energetic that Wallmoden shrank back in
his chair, and immediately moved it sidewise to be out of the reach of
that muscular hand.

The expression of his face showed clearly that the "creepy sensation"
was coming over him again. In the presence of these patriarchial
conditions, he thought it best to forego any attempt to enforce his
prerogative as guardian, an office, moreover, which, so far as he was
concerned, had always been purely nominal. It was plain from Will's
manner that his mother's praise was highly gratifying to the young man's
feelings.

"And Hartmut is not here for breakfast again, this morning. He seems to
think there is no necessity for being punctual at Burgsdorf, but I will
enlighten the young gentleman when he comes and make it clear to him
that--"

"There he is now," exclaimed Willibald. On the clear sunshine which
flooded the room through the open windows, there fell a shadow, and a
tall, slender figure appeared suddenly at the window and vaulted upon
the high sill.

"Well, what kind of an imp are you anyway, that you can only come in
through the window?" said Frau von Eschenhagen indignantly. "What are
the doors for?"

"For Will and all other well-ordered human beings," laughed the
new-comer good-naturedly. "I always take the nearest way, and that led
this time through the window." So saying he gave one spring from the
high seat into the middle of the room.

Hartmut Falkenried, like the young heir of Burgsdorf, stood upon the
boundary line where boyhood and manhood meet, but it needed only a
glance to recognize that he was his friend's superior in every respect.
He wore a cadet's uniform which became him well, but yet there was
something in his whole appearance which seemed to be at war with the
military cut and fit. The tall, slender boy was a true picture of youth
and beauty, yet there was something odd about this beauty, something
wild in his motions and appearance, with absolutely nothing to remind
one of the martial figure and earnest repose of his father. The
luxuriant, curly locks which crowned the high forehead, were of a deep,
blue black, and the warm, dark coloring of the skin betokened rather a
son of the south than of German parentage. Neither did the eyes, which
flashed in the youthful countenance, belong to the cool, earnest north;
they were enigmatical eyes, dark as the night, and full of hot,
passionate fire. Beautiful as they were, however, there was something
uncanny hidden in their depths, and though the laughter which
accompanied Hartmut's words was free and unrestrained, it was not a
hearty, merry boy's laugh.

"You certainly conduct yourself in a very free and easy manner," said
Wallmoden, sharply. "You evidently take advantage of the fact that the
inmates of Burgsdorf think little of etiquette. I have no doubt,
however, that your father would protest against such an entrance into
the dining-room."

"He would not do it if his father were here," said Frau von Eschenhagen,
who did not seem to notice the stab intended for herself in her
brother's remark. "And so you have come to your breakfast at last,
Hartmut. But laggards get nothing to eat; did you know that?"

"Yes, I know that," replied Hartmut, quite undisturbed, "so I got my
breakfast some time ago from the housekeeper. You can't starve me, Aunt
Regine. I stand on too good a footing with your people."

"And so you think you can do as you please and go unpunished," cried the
irate lady. "Break all the rules of the house, leave no one and nothing
in peace, and stand all Burgsdorf on its head; but I'll soon stop all
this business, my lad. To-morrow I'll send a messenger over to your
father requesting him to come and take home his son who knows neither
punctuality nor obedience."

The threat had its effect. The youth was frightened, and thought it well
to surrender at discretion.

"Oh, you are only jesting; shall I not enjoy my short vacation with--"

"With all manner of folly?" Frau von Eschenhagen added for him. "Will
has not done so much mischief in all his life as you have accomplished
in the last three days, and you'll spoil him with your bad example and
lead him into all manner of misdoing."

"Oh, Will is not the kind to be spoiled. I could not do it if I tried,"
said Hartmut very warmly.

The young heir, who certainly did not look as if he could be led into
any impropriety, ate on, untroubled by these personal allusions, until
he had finished the last slice of bread on the table; but his mother was
highly incensed at this remark.

"That must grieve you greatly," she retorted. "It is certainly not your
fault, for you have tried hard enough to ruin him; but as I just said I
will write to your father to-morrow."

"That he is to come and fetch me away? You won't do that Aunt Regine,
you are far too good. You know how very strict papa is, how severely he
can punish; you won't complain of me to him; you have never done it
yet."

"Leave me alone, don't bother me with your flatteries." Frau Regine's
face was as inflexible as ever, but her voice had a certain unsteadiness
which made Hartmut feel he had won the day. He laid his arm upon her
shoulder with the freedom of a child.

"I believe you do love me a little, Aunt Regine, and I--I have been
happy for weeks over the thought of my visit to Burgsdorf. I have been
sick with longing for woods and sea, for the green meadows and the far
blue heavens. I have been so happy here; but of course, if you really do
not want me, I'll go away from the place. I won't wait to have you send
me."

His voice had sunk to a soft, seductive whisper, while his eyes spoke
more eloquently than his tongue. They could plead more powerfully than
the lips, and Frau von Eschenhagen, who yielded to no one, from her only
son to the lowest tenant on the estate, permitted herself to be
persuaded by them now.

"You are incorrigible, you merry-andrew" she said, brushing the curls
from his forehead. "And as to sending you away, you know only too well
that Will and all my people are always ready to make fools of themselves
for you, and I, too, for that matter."

Hartmut laughed aloud at the last words, and kissed her hand with
impetuous gratitude, then he turned to his friend, who, having finally
ended his meal, was looking on in silent wonderment.

"Have you finished your breakfast at last, Will? Come, we'll go to the
Burgsdorf fishing pond--don't be so vexatiously slow. Good-bye, Aunt
Regine, I can see Uncle Wallmoden does not approve of your having
pardoned me. Hurrah, now we're off for the woods." And away he rushed
over the terrace and across the garden. There was something attractive
in his exuberance and enthusiasm. The lad was all life and fire. Will
trotted after him like a young deer, and in a few moments the two
disappeared behind the trees.

"He comes and goes like a wind storm," said Frau von Eschenhagen, gazing
after them. "That boy is not to be restrained once the reins are
slackened."

"A dangerous youth," said Wallmoden. "He even understands how to manage
you, who usually have all your commands obeyed. It is, within my
knowledge, the first time you have ever forgiven disobedience and lack
of punctuality."

"Yes, Hartmut has something about him which bewitches one," exclaimed
Regine, half angry at her own irresolution. "If he did not look at me
with those big black eyes of his while he begged and flattered, I might
be able to resist him. You are right, he is a dangerous lad."

"Well, we've had enough of Hartmut for this morning. The question which
interests me concerns the education of your own son. You have really
decided--"

"To keep him here. Don't bother yourself about him, Herbert; you may be
a great diplomatist, and have the politics of the whole country in your
pocket, but I wont give my boy into your keeping; he belongs to me
alone, and I intend to keep him, and--that's enough."

A sounding blow on the table accompanied the "that's enough." Then the
ruling lady of Burgsdorf rose from her chair and left the room. Her
brother shrugged his shoulders and said half aloud: "He can grow up an
ignorant country squire for all of me--perhaps it's the best thing for
him after all."

Hartmut and Willibald had, in the meantime, reached the tolerably
extensive forest which belonged to the estate. The Burgsdorf fish pond,
a lonely, reedy sheet of water in the middle of the wood, lay glittering
in the sun in the still morning hours. Willibald had chosen for himself
a shady place upon the bank, and gave himself up, with as much
perseverance as comfort, to the delights of angling, while the impatient
Hartmut wandered here and there, now scaring a bird, now breaking off a
branch for the blossoms, and at last, after a series of gymnastic
performances, seating himself on the trunk of an old tree which lay half
in the water. "Can you never be quiet in any place? You frighten the
fish away every time," exclaimed Will, out of humor. "I've caught
nothing at all to-day!"

"How can you sit for hours on the one spot waiting for the stupid fish
to bite?" retorted Hartmut. "Ah, you can spend the whole long year in
the woods if you desire, you are free, free."

"Are you a prisoner, then?" asked his friend. "You and your comrades are
out daily, are you not?"

"But never alone, never without supervision and control. We are always
and eternally in the service, even in recreation hours. O how I hate it,
this service, and the whole slavish life."

"But Hartmut, what if your father heard you?"

"Oh, then he would punish me again as he always does. He has nothing
else for me but force and punishment, all for my own good--that goes
without saying."

He threw himself full length on the grass, but hard as the words
sounded, there was a tremor in his tone which told of pain and passion.
The young heir only shook his head soberly while he put a new bait on
his hook and for a few minutes there was perfect silence.

Then suddenly something black swooped down like a flash of lightning
from the height above them into the water, and a second later rose again
in the air with the slippery, glittering prey in its beak.

"Bravo, that was a good catch!" cried Hartmut, rising. But Will spoke
angrily.

"The wretched robber robs our whole pond. I will speak to the forester
and tell him to fill him full of lead."

"A robber?" repeated Hartmut, as his glance followed the heron who was
just disappearing behind the high tree tops. "Yes, of course, but how
fine it must be to live such a free robber's life up there in the air.
To descend like a flash for your booty and be up and off again where no
one can follow; that's a hunt that pays."

"Hartmut, I verily believe you'd take pleasure in such a wild, lawless
life," said Willibald, with the repugnance of a well-trained boy for
such sentiments.

His companion laughed, but it was the same bitter laugh without the
joyousness of youth in its sound.

"Well, if I had any such desire, they'd take it out of me at the
military academy. There obedience and discipline is the Alpha and Omega
of all things. Will, have you never wished that you had wings?"

"I, wings?" asked Will, whose whole attention was again directed to his
bait. "How ridiculous! Who would wish for impossibilities?"

"I only wish I had them," cried Hartmut excitedly. "I would I were one
of the falcons from whom we take our name. Then I would mount higher and
always higher in the blue sky towards the sun, and never come back
again."

"I believe you're crazy," answered his listener good-naturedly. "Well, I
wont catch anything, if I sit here all day, for the fish wont bite. I
must move to another place."

With that he gathered up his fishing tackle and crossed to the other
side of the pond, while Hartmut threw himself on the ground again.

It was one of those autumn days which during the midday hours recall
thoughts of early spring. The sunshine was so golden, the air so mild,
the woods so fresh and odorous. Upon the glistening little lake danced
thousands of shining sparks, and the long grass whispered softly and
mysteriously to itself whenever a breath of wind passed over it.

Hartmut lay stretched out motionless on the grass as if listening to the
secrets it told to the autumnal wind. The wild passion and excitement
which flashed from his eyes when he spoke of the bird of prey had all
vanished. Now the eyes which looked into the heavens above were sad and
dreamy, and there rested in them an expression of ardent longing.

A light step, almost unheard on the soft ground, approached, and the low
bushes rustled as if against a silk garment. Then they parted and a
woman's figure appeared and stood looking intently at the young dreamer.

"Hartmut!"

The boy started and sprang up instantly. He knew neither the voice nor
the apparition which stood before him, but saw it was a lady, and he
made her one of his courtly bows.

"Pardon, Madame--"

A slender, trembling hand was laid quickly and restrainingly on his arm.

"Be quiet, not so loud; your companion might hear us, and I want to
speak to you, and to you alone, Hartmut."

She stepped back again into the thicket and motioned him to follow.
Hartmut hesitated a moment. How came this heavily-veiled and
richly-attired stranger into the lonely wood, and why did she speak so
familiarly to him whom she had never seen before? But the mysteriousness
of her behavior beginning to charm him, he followed.

She stood now in the shadow of the low trees, where she could not be
seen from the lake, and slowly threw back her veil. She was not very
young, a woman of more than thirty, but her face with its great burning
eyes, possessed an indefinable witchery, and a certain charm lay in her
voice, which, though she talked in whispers, had a soft, deep tone, and
an odd intonation, as though the German which she spoke so fluently was
not her mother tongue.

"Hartmut, look at me. Do you really not know me any more? Does no memory
of your childhood come back to you, to tell you who I am?"

The young man shook his head slowly, and yet some dreamy and obscure
memory did come to his recollection, of having heard this voice before,
and of this face which had looked into his at some far distant period.
Half shy, half fascinated, he stood looking at this stranger, who
suddenly threw her arms around him.

"My son, my only child! Do you not know your own mother?"

"My mother is dead," he answered, half aloud.

The stranger laughed bitterly, shrilly, and her laugh seemed but an echo
of the hard, joyless sounds which had come from Hartmut's lips a few
moments since.

"So that's how it is. They would even say I was dead and not leave you
the memory of a mother. It is not true, Hartmut. I live, I stand before
you; look at me, look at my features, are they not your very own? That
at least they could not take from you. Child of my heart, do you not
feel that you belong to me?"

Still Hartmut stood motionless, looking into that face in which his own
was so faithfully mirrored. He saw the same lines, the same luxuriant,
blue-black hair, the same dark, flashing eyes; and the same demoniacal
expression which was a flame in the eye of the mother, was a spark in
the eye of the son. Their close resemblance to one another was witness
enough that they were of one blood. The young man felt the influence of
the mysterious tie.

He demanded no explanation, no proof; the dreamy, confused recollections
of his childhood were suddenly clear, and after a second's hesitation he
threw himself into the arms which were stretched out to him.

"Mother!"

In this cry lay the whole fervid intensity of the boy, who had never
known what it was to have a mother, and who had longed for one with all
the passion of his nature. His mother! And now he lay in her arms, now
she covered him with warm kisses, and called him by sweet, tender names,
which had been strangers to his ear until that moment--everything else
seemed forgotten by him in this flood of stormy ecstasy.

After a few minutes Hartmut loosed himself from the arms which still
enfolded him.

"Why have you never been with me, mamma?" he asked vehemently. "Why have
I always been told that you were dead?"

Zalika stepped back, and in an instant all tenderness had died out of
her eyes, and in its place was a wild, deadly hate, as the answer came
like a hiss from between her set lips.

"Because your father hates me, my son--and because he wishes to deny me
the love of my only child since he thrust me from him."

Hartmut was silent. He knew well enough that the name of his mother
dare not be mentioned in his father's presence, and that he had been
sharply reproved once for doing so, but he had been too much a child at
the time to ask "why." Zalika gave him no time to do so now. She brushed
the thick locks back from his brow and a shadow crossed her face.

"You get your forehead from him," she said slowly. "But that is the only
thing that reminds me of him, all the rest belongs to me and me alone.
Every feature tells that you are mine--I always knew that."

She suddenly clasped him in her arms again with unspeakable tenderness,
and Hartmut returned the embrace with ardor. It seemed to him like the
fairy tales which he had so often dreamed, and he gave himself up
unresistingly to the spell of happiness which some wonderful magic had
cast over him.

Just at that moment, Will called loudly to his friend from the opposite
shore to come on, that it was time to go home. Zalika spoke at once.

"We must part now. Nobody must learn that I have seen and spoken with
you; above all things your father must not know it. When do you return
to him?"

"In eight days."

"Not for eight days?" The words sounded almost triumphant.

"Until then I can see you daily. Be here by the pond to-morrow at this
same hour; make some pretext for leaving your friend behind, so that we
may be undisturbed. You will come, Hartmut?"

"Certainly, mother, but--"

She gave him no time for any objection, but continued in a passionate
whisper:

"Above all things maintain absolute silence toward every one. Do not
forget that. Good-bye, my child, my own dear son, good-bye."

Another kiss and she had retreated in the woods as noiselessly as she
had come. It was high time, for Willibald appeared at this moment,
though not noiselessly by any means, for he broke the twigs with many a
crackle as he stepped heavily on them.

"Why didn't you answer me?" he asked. "I called you three times. You
have been asleep; you look as if you were dreaming."

Hartmut did have a dazed look as he stood gazing at the trees behind
which his mother had disappeared. Now he straightened himself and drew
his hand across his forehead.

"Yes, I have been dreaming. A very strange, marvelous dream," he said
slowly.

"You had better have been fishing," returned Will. "See what a fine
catch I have made. A man should never dream in daylight--that's the time
to be at something serious--mother says."




CHAPTER II.


The Falkenried and Wallmoden families had been on friendly terms for
years. Living upon adjoining estates, their intercourse was frequent,
and their children grew up together, while many common interests united
the bonds of friendship still more closely. Neither of the families were
wealthy, and the sons, after completing their education, always had to
make their own way in the world, and this in their turn Major Hartmut
von Falkenried and Herbert von Wallmoden had done.

They had played together in their youth, and as men had remained true to
their boyhood's friendship. At one time it looked as if they would be
more closely allied, for their parents had planned a marriage between
Lieutenant Falkenried, as he was then, and Regine Wallmoden. The young
couple seemed to understand one another fully, and everything stood on
the happiest footing, when an event occurred which put an abrupt
termination to all their plans.

A cousin of the Wallmoden family, an incorrigible idler and spendthrift,
who had made his longer residence at home an impossibility by his wild
conduct, had gone out into the world years before, and after much
wandering, and an adventurous career, had finally turned his steps in
the direction of Roumania, where he obtained the management of a wealthy
Bojar's estate. After the Bojar's death he succeeded in winning the
widow's hand, and once more regained the position among the nobility
which he had lost earlier in life, through his own folly. And now, after
an absence of more than ten years, he returned with his wife to make a
long visit to his kinsfolk.

Frau von Wallmoden was by no means a youthful bride. She had long since
reached maturity, but she was accompanied by her daughter by her first
marriage, Zalika Rojanow; and this young Sclave, scarcely seventeen
years old, turned the heads of the simple country gentry, who after all
had seen but little of the world, by her grace and strange beauty, and
the fascination of her warm southern temperament. She was a strange
enough figure in this little circle, whose forms and customs she set
aside with such sovereign indifference. But there was many an earnest
shake of the head, many a word of blame, which was not outspoken,
because they only considered the girl a fleeting guest; she would vanish
again as suddenly as she had appeared on their little horizon.

Then Hartmut Falkenried came home from his garrison on leave, and met
the new family in the house of his friends. He saw Zalika, and his
life's destiny was sealed. It was a sudden and blinding passion, for
which one too often pays with the peace of a whole life.

He forgot the wishes of his parents, their plans for his future, and his
quiet, warm attachment for his youth's playfellow, Regine. He had eyes
no longer for the simple woodland flower, which yet bloomed young and
fresh for him; but, inhaling the fragrance of the strange and beautiful
exotic, all else sank into insignificance. In an unguarded hour he threw
himself at her feet, and told her of his love.

Strangely enough, Zalika returned his affection. Perhaps it was
according to the old adage of extremes meeting, for this man was, in
every particular, her opposite; perhaps it flattered her to see that a
word, a glance from her, could so powerfully effect this earnest, quiet
officer, who, even then, had a touch of melancholy in his disposition.
Enough, she accepted him, and with joy he clasped his affianced bride in
his arms.

The news of their betrothal aroused a storm in the family circle. From
all sides came objections and warnings. Zalika's mother and step-father
were sorely opposed to it, but resistance only increased the ardor of
the young lovers. The engagement, in spite of kinsfolk, was soon an
established fact, and six months later Falkenried took his young bride
to his own house.

But the voices which had foretold unhappiness from this marriage were
prophetic.

It was not long before the brief intoxication of joy was followed by
bitter disenchantment. It had been a fatal error to believe a woman like
Zalika Rojanow, who had grown up in the unrestrained freedom of a
disorderly, extravagant Bojar family, could accommodate herself to the
rules and restrictions of a settled German household.

The only life she had ever known, and the only life which suited her
temper, was one of excitement and outward splendor. A house full of
guests, horses, cards, hunting, racing, and the utmost liberty of
conversation with the men of her acquaintance; this was the life she had
led in her Roumanian home.

She had no notion of duty and no understanding for the obligations and
requirements of her new position. And this was the wife who must adapt
herself to the narrow life of a little German garrison town, and direct
the household of a young officer with but limited means at his command.
That it was impossible for her to do so, was shown within the first few
weeks. Zalika began at once; regardless of all prudent considerations,
to order her house after the same fashion as her father's, and
squandered her large marriage portion right and left.

In vain her husband pleaded with and admonished her; she paid no heed to
him. She had nothing but jeers for forms and ceremonies which were
sacred to him, only a shrug of the shoulders for his strict ideas of
honor and propriety. Soon there were violent quarrels, and Falkenried
recognized, too late, what his precipitancy had done for him.

He had had great faith in the power of love, notwithstanding all the
warnings he had received about Zalika's foreign birth, and the seal
which her erratic education had stamped upon her character. But he had
now to learn that she had never loved him; that it was the whim of the
hour, or, more probably, the fleeting passion of a moment, which had
made her throw herself into his arms. And she saw in him only an
uncomfortable companion, who spoiled all her pleasure in life with his
foolish pendantries and his laughable notions of honor with which he
wished to bind her hand and foot. But with it all, she feared this man,
who, in his energy and force, was striving to bend her characterless
nature to his will.

The birth of little Hartmut did nothing to relieve the strain of this
unhappy marriage, but it was a tie which, outwardly at least, still
bound them together. Zalika loved her child passionately, and she knew
her husband well enough to recognize fully, that if it ever came to a
separation between them, he would demand the boy. That thought alone
kept her by his side, while Falkenried suffered intensely, hid his
misery in his own breast, and gave a brave front to the world.

But, in spite of all, the world knew the truth; it knew things of which
the husband had never dreamed, and was only silent out of compassion for
him. But at last there came a day when his eyes were opened, and what
had been so long an open secret to all his little world excepting
himself, was known to him.

The immediate consequence of this knowledge was a duel, in which
Falkenried's antagonist fell.

Falkenried was sentenced to a long imprisonment, but very soon released,
for every one recognized that he had only fought to vindicate his
wounded honor.

In the meantime the suit for divorce had been begun, and a decree
obtained; Zalika made no contest, nor did she venture to approach her
husband again.

Since the last terrible hour when he had called her to account, she
trembled at the thought of him. She made desperate efforts however to
secure possession of her son, but all in vain.

Hartmut was given to the father unconditionally, and Falkenried barred
the mother's every effort with iron inexorableness. Zalika made many
attempts to see her son once more, but to no purpose, and fully
convinced at last, that she could accomplish nothing, she returned to
her own country and her mother's house.

For years her husband had heard nothing from her, until now when she
suddenly and unexpectedly appeared in the neighborhood of the German
capital, where Major von Falkenried had assumed control of a large
military school.

It was the eighth day since Hartmut's arrival at Burgsdorf. Frau von
Eschenhagen was in her sitting-room, and opposite her sat the Major, who
had arrived but fifteen minutes before.

Her conversation must have been as disagreeable as it was earnest, for
Falkenried listened with a face which grew darker at every word, as she
went on with her account.

"Hartmut seemed to me greatly altered after the third or fourth day he
was here. The first few days nothing could check his overflow of
spirits, and indeed one morning I had to threaten to send him home. But,
all of a sudden, he became silent and quite downcast. He attempted no
more of his mad pranks, spent hours by himself in wandering through our
woods, and when he returned from his solitary rambles, just sat and
dreamed with open eyes, so that we often had to arouse him as if from a
sound slumber. 'He's beginning to think of the future,' Herbert said,
but I said: 'There's something more than that wrong; there's something
back of all this.' So I took Will to task and questioned him closely; he
astonished me with what I extorted from him. He was in the conspiracy.
He had surprised the mother and the son one day at their tryst, and
Hartmut had pledged him to secrecy, and my boy had really kept silence
towards me, me, his own mother! He finally confessed the little he knew,
after I had talked to him seriously. Well, it won't happen a second
time. I'll look after my Will more sharply for the future."

"And Hartmut, what does he say?" interrupted the father hastily.

"Nothing at all, for I haven't spoken a syllable to him on the subject.
He would probably have asked why he had never been allowed to see, or
speak to his mother, and that question can only be answered--by his
father."

"He has heard it all from the other side, by this time," answered the
father bitterly. "Though, of course, he has not heard the truth."

"That is what I feared, so I didn't lose a moment in communicating with
you after I discovered the thing. And what will you do?"

"I'll have to think that over," responded the Major with enforced quiet.
"I thank you, Regine. I suspected mischief when your letter came urging
me to come over at once. Herbert was right, I should not have allowed
Hartmut to leave my side for an hour, under any circumstances. But I
believed him to be so safe from every approach here at Burgsdorf. And he
was so rejoiced at the thought of spending his little vacation here, had
so set his heart upon it, that I had not the strength to refuse
him;--and then he is seldom happy except when away from me."

A hidden pain lay in the last words, but his listener only shrugged his
shoulders.

"That's not altogether the boy's fault," she answered, outspokenly. "I
keep my Will under pretty sharp discipline, but he knows well enough, in
spite of all that, that he lives in his mother's heart. Hartmut has
never learned as much of his father; he only knows his severe,
unapproachable side. If he imagined that you almost adored--"'

"He would at once misuse the knowledge and leave me weaponless with his
flattery and caresses. He'd rule over me as he does over every one else
who comes near him. His comrades follow him blindly, and are as often
punished as he for his misdoings. He has your Willibald completely under
his control, and his teachers treat him with especial indulgence. I am
the only one whom he fears, and, as a natural consequence, the only one
whom he respects."

"And you believe fear to be the only weapon to use against him? just
now, too, when his mother is, without doubt, overwhelming him with
lavish caresses? Do not turn away, old friend, you know I have never
mentioned that name before you, but now that it is brought unavoidably
to the front again I must speak plainly. I must admit we could expect
nothing less from Frau Zalika, than that she would appear again. Nothing
would have been gained even if you had not allowed him to leave your
side, for you could not guard a lad of seventeen like a little child.
The mother would have found some way to see her child, and that is her
right--I should do the same."

"Her right?" interrupted the Major violently. "And you say that to me,
Regine?"

"I say it, because I know what it is to have an only son. It was right
for you to take your child, for such a mother was not fit to educate
him; but that you should refuse to let her see her son again, after an
absence of twelve years, is a hardness and cruelty which can only be
prompted by hate. No matter how great her guilt may have been--the
punishment is too hard."

Falkenried looked gloomily on the ground; he knew there was truth in her
words; at last he said slowly:

"I should never have believed you would espouse Zalika's cause. Once I
injured you deeply for her sake. I tore asunder a bond--"

"Which never had been united," broke in Frau von Eschenhagen, anxious to
avoid the subject. "It was only a plan of our parents, nothing more."

"But the thought was a familiar and cherished one in our childhood's
years. Do not seek to shield me, Regine, I know only too well how I
treated you then--and myself too."

Regine looked straight at him with her clear, gray eyes, but there was
something like moisture in them as she answered:

"Well, well, Hartmut, it's all over now, so many years that I do not
hesitate to admit that I would have had you then, willingly enough, and
perhaps you would have been able to make something more out of me than I
have become. I was always a headstrong creature, you know, and not
easily ruled, but I should have obeyed you, perhaps you alone, of all
the world. But when Willibald Eschenhagen led me to the altar three
months after your own marriage, the situation was reversed, and I took
the reins in my own hands and began to govern, and have had plenty of
practice since then. But let's not talk of that time so long gone by. I
never have borne any grudge against you, you know that; we have always
been friends in spite of everything, and if you want my assistance or
advice now--here I am."

She held out her hand and he placed his own in it.

"I know it, Regine, but in this matter I can only help and advise
myself. If you will send Hartmut to me now, I'll speak with him."

Frau von Eschenhagen arose at once to fulfil his wish, but as she left
the room she murmured half aloud:

"If it be not already too late. She blinded the father and made him
almost insane once; she has surely done as much for the son by this
time."

In about ten minutes Hartmut entered; he closed the door behind him, but
remained standing near it. Falkenried turned to him. "Come near,
Hartmut, I wish to speak with you."

His son obeyed, but reluctantly. He knew already that Willibald had
confessed, and that Regine had summoned his father at once, but, united
to the shyness with which he always approached his father, there was
to-day an obvious defiance, which did not escape the Major. He gave his
handsome young son a long, gloomy look.

"My sudden arrival does not appear to surprise you. Perhaps you know why
I am come!"

"Yes father, I imagine why!"

"That is well; then we need waste no time with explanatory words. You
have learned that your mother still lives, she has seen you and spoken
with you. I know that already. When did you see her first?"

"Five days ago."

"And have you seen her daily since then?"

"Yes, at the Burgsdorf fish pond?"

Questions and answers were alike short and precise. Hartmut was
accustomed to the abrupt, military manner of his father, for in all his
intercourse with him, no superfluous word, no hesitancy or evasion of an
answer, was permitted.

To-day Falkenried was especially abrupt, in order that he might conceal
his intense excitement from his son's unpracticed eye. But Hartmut saw
only the earnest, unmoved countenance, and heard only the cold, severe
accents as his father continued:

"I have nothing for which to reprove you, for in this matter I have
given you no commands and no word has ever been spoken on the subject
between us. But now I am forced to break the silence. You have always
believed your mother dead, and I have tacitly encouraged this belief,
for I have wished to protect you from recollections which poisoned my
life. Your youth at least should be free, I said. But I have not been
able to carry out that plan, I see, so now you must learn the truth."

The father paused a moment. To a man of his sensitive feelings it was
torture to discuss this subject with his son, but there was no option
now, he must speak farther.

"When I was a young man I loved your mother devotedly, and married her
against the wishes of my parents, who saw only unhappiness for me in a
union with a woman from a foreign land. They were right, the marriage
was a most unhappy one, and was finally dissolved by my desire. My son
was awarded to me unconditionally, for it was my absolute right. More I
will not tell you, for I cannot denounce a mother to her own son, so let
that be enough for you."

Short and bitter as this declaration was, it made a singular impression
upon Hartmut. His father would not denounce his mother to him, to him,
who heard daily the bitterest accusations and invectives against his
father from her lips.

Zalika had, as might be supposed, cast all the blame of the separation
upon her husband and his countless tyrannies, and her son, who had
suffered so much from his father's austerity, gave a willing ear to all
her tirades. And yet these few short, earnest words had more effect than
all Zalika's passionate outbreaks. Hartmut felt instinctively on which
side the truth lay.

"And now, to the main point," Falkenried went on. "What was the tenor of
your daily interviews?"

Perhaps Hartmut had not expected this question; a deep red overspread
his face, he was silent and cast his eyes on the ground.

"Ah, you do not care to repeat it. I desire to know it. I command you
to answer me!"

But Hartmut was still silent; he only pressed his lips closer together,
and looked defiantly at his father, who had come close to him now.

"You will not speak? Perhaps a command from the other side keeps you
silent? No matter, your silence tells me more than any words. I see how
much you are estranged from me already; a little longer with such
influences, and you would be lost to me forever. These meetings with
your mother are now at an end. I forbid you to see her again. You will
go home with me to-day and remain under my protection. Whether that
appears cruel to you or not, it must be, and you must obey."

But the Major erred when he believed his son would, as formerly, bow to
his stern decree. Hartmut had been for the past few days in a school
where all the antagonism of his nature had been aroused against his
father.

"Father, you cannot, you dare not order me thus," he cried out now in
great excitement. "It is my own mother whom I have found at last, the
only one in the whole world who loves me. I will not be separated from
her again as I once was. I will not be forced to hate her; threaten,
punish me, do what you will with me, but I will not obey this time, I
will not obey!"

All the ungovernable passion of his nature broke out in these words; an
unearthly fire gleamed in his eyes, and his hands were clenched; every
fiber quivered in wild revolt; he was resolved to fight out this battle
with his father to the bitter end.

But the burst of anger which he expected did not come. Falkenried looked
silently at him, but with a glance of earnest, sad reproof.

"The only one in the whole world who loves you," he repeated slowly.
"You seem to forget that you have a father."

"Who has never loved me," cried Hartmut with excessive bitterness.
"Since I have found my mother, I have learned for the first time what
love is."

"Hartmut!"

The boy seemed almost staggered by this strange tone, vibrating with
pain, which he had never heard in all his life before, and the defiance
which was about to break forth anew, died on his lips.

"Because I have had no flattering words and caresses for you, because I
have been strict and severe in my training, have you doubted my love?"
said Falkenried, even in that same strange tone. "Do you know what that
severity has cost me against my only, my dearly loved child?"

"Father!" The word had a shy, hesitating sound, but it was not the old
shyness and fear; there lay in it a joyful, almost incredulous
astonishment, and Hartmut gazed on his father's face as if he could
never take his eyes from it. Falkenried put his hand on his son's arm
and drew him nearer, while he continued:

"Once I was ambitious, had proud hopes of life, great plans and
projects, but I received a blow from which I could never recover. If I
strive and struggle now, Hartmut, the only spur I have in life, besides
my sense of duty, is you, my son. All my ambitions are centered in you.
I strive for nought else on earth but to make your future great and
happy; and you can become great my boy, for your talents are unusual,
and your mind is as capable for good as for evil. But there is
something more, there are dangerous elements in your nature which are
less your fault than your fate, and which must be curbed in time, before
they obtain a mastery over you, and plunge you into misery. I have been
severe with you in order to expel the germs, but it has not been easy
for me."

The youth's countenance was in a glow, he hung with bated breath upon
his father's every word, and now he said in a whisper, behind which he
could scarcely conceal his joy:

"I never dared to think you loved me, you were always so inflexible, so
unapproachable--" he broke off and looked up at his father, who put his
arm around him and drew him closer to himself. Their eyes met in a long,
tender gaze, and the iron man's voice broke as he said softly:

"You are my only child, Hartmut, all that remains to me of a dream of
happiness which vanished, leaving only bitterness and disenchantment in
its wake. I lost much and bore it;--but if I were to lose you, you,--I
could not bear it."

He held his son close in his arms, and the boy threw himself sobbing on
his breast, and in this passionate embrace all else seemed to sink from
view. They had both forgotten the threatening shadow from the past which
was forcing itself between them.

In the meantime Frau von Eschenhagen was harangueing Will in the
dining-room. She had already performed that duty once this morning, but
she thought the occasion required a second portion. The young heir
looked sorely disturbed, he felt himself in a false position both as
regarded his mother and his friend, and yet he was quite innocent in the
matter. As a dutiful son he listened patiently to the tirade, and only
threw a wistful glance now and then toward the table upon which the
evening meal was already spread, and of which his mother took not the
slightest notice.

"This is what comes of it, when a boy has secrets behind his parents'
back," she said in conclusion. "Hartmut will be well watched now, and
the Major won't deal any too gently with him, either, and you, I think,
will refrain from assisting in any more plots, if I have anything to
say."

"I had nothing to do with it," said Will, defending himself. "I only
promised to be silent, and I had to keep my word."

"You should never keep silence toward your mother. She is always and
ever an exception," said Frau Regine, decidedly.

"Yes, mamma, that was probably what Hartmut thought; that's how he acted
toward his mother," said Willibald, and the remark was so just that
nothing could be said in contradiction; it provoked Frau von
Jischenhagen none the less, on that account.

"That's something different, something quite different," she answered
shortly. But her son asked obstinately:

"Why is it something different here, then?"

"Do not bother me any more with your talk and your questions," his
mother went on angrily. "That is a thing which you do not understand,
and about which you have no business to trouble your head. It's bad
enough that Hartmut has brought you into the affair at all. Now be
quiet, and don't trouble me any more about it. Do you understand?"

Will was silent as requested. It was the first time in his life that he
had been catechised so sharply and had received so severe a lecture. At
this moment his uncle Wallmoden, just back from a walk, entered the
room.

"I hear Falkenried has come already?" he said to his sister.

"Yes," she answered. "He came immediately upon receipt of my letter."

"And how did he take the news?"

"Quietly enough, outwardly; but I saw only too well that he was moved
to his very soul. He is alone with Hartmut now, and the pent-up storm
will burst."

"How unfortunate. But I warned him of all this as soon as I heard of
Zalika's return. He should have spoken to his son at once. Now I fear he
is adding a second blunder to the first in seeking, with commands and
force, to prevent further meetings. That fatal stubbornness of his,
which knows no alternative, is terribly out of place now."

"Yes, and their talk has lasted a long time already. I'll just go and
see how they're getting on, and whether the Major is too severe or not.
You remain here, Herbert. I'll be back immediately."

She left the room, and while Wallmoden paced the floor dejectedly, his
nephew sat alone at the supper-table, which no one but himself seemed to
notice. He did not venture to eat his supper, for his mother was in
anything but a pleasant humor to-day, and he felt no liberties were to
be taken. Fortunately she came back in a short time with a gleam of
bright sunshine across her face.

"It's all right," she said shortly and concisely. "He has the boy in his
arms and Hartmut is clinging to him. They can do as they please now. God
be praised! Now you can eat your supper, Will; the confusion that the
house has been in all day is over at last."

Will didn't wait to be told twice, but began his meal at the word.
Wallmoden shook his head and said half aloud:

"If it only really is over at last!"

Neither Falkenried nor his son perceived that the door had been softly
opened and closed again.

Hartmut still clung to his father. He seemed to have lost all shyness
and reserve in his newly found happiness. He was so tender, so
caressing, that perhaps the Major was not far wrong in saying he would
be left defenseless when his son learned of his great love for him. He
said little; but pressed his lips again and again to his boy's forehead,
and his eyes never left his son's glowing face, which was so near his
own. At last Hartmut said softly:

"And my mother?"

A shadow darkened Falkenried's face, but he did not unclasp the arms
which held his son.

"Your mother will leave Germany as soon as she learns that she must keep
aloof from you," he said, this time without harshness, but most
decisively. "You may write her that I will allow you to correspond with
her under certain conditions, but I cannot nor dare not allow any
personal intercourse."

"Father, consider--"

"I cannot, Hartmut, it is impossible!"

"Do you hate her so much, then?" asked the boy reprovingly. "It was you
that sought the divorce, not my mother; she told me so herself."

Falkenried's lips trembled, and bitter words were on them; he felt like
telling his son, once for all, that his honor had demanded the
separation; but he looked in his child's dark, questioning eyes, and the
words died on his lips. He could not betray the mother to her son.

"Let that question rest," he said gloomily. "Perhaps later, you may
learn to appreciate my reasons. Now I cannot spare you the bitter
alternative; you can only belong to one of us, and must shun the other;
you must accept that as your fate."

Hartmut bowed his head; he felt that nothing more was to be said. That
all meetings with his mother must cease when he was again under the
rigid discipline of the institute, he knew full well; now he was at
least permitted to write to her, which was more than he had ventured to
hope.

"Well, I will tell my mother," he said, dejectedly. "Now that you know
all, you will not oppose my seeing her again?"

The Major was startled; he had not thought of such a possibility.

"When were you to see her again?" he asked.

"To-day, at this hour, at the lake in the wood. She is already waiting
for me there."

Falkenried had a fierce battle with himself; a voice within him warned
him not to permit this meeting, but he felt that it would seem cruel for
him to refuse.

"Will you be back in two hours?" he asked at last.

"Certainly father, or sooner, if you desire it."

"Well, go," said the Major with a deep sigh. It was only his sense of
justice which forced the permission from his lips. "As soon as you come
back, we will go home. It is nearly the end of your vacation anyway."

Hartmut, who was on the point of starting, turned back suddenly. The
words brought forcibly to his mind, what he had forgotten in the last
hour, the compulsion and severity of the hated regimen he would again
have to endure. He had never ventured openly to avow his aversion for
the army, but this hour, which took from him all shyness towards his
father, also removed the seal from his lips. After a moment's hesitation
he returned to his father, and putting his arm around his neck, said:

"I have a request, a most earnest request to make of you, which I know
you will grant, as a proof of your love for me."

The Major's brows contracted as he asked, reprovingly:

"Do you need any proof? Well, let's hear it."

Hartmut clung still closer to him and his voice assumed its sweetest
and most flattering tones, and the dark eyes were almost irresistible in
their look of entreaty, as he said beseechingly:

"Do not let me become a soldier, father. I do not like the profession
you have chosen for me, and I shall never learn to like it. If I have
until now, bowed to your will, it has been with repugnance and secret
hatred, for I have been wretchedly unhappy; but I have never dared until
now, to tell you of it."

The frown on Falkenried's brow deepened, and he unfolded his son's arms
from his neck.

"In other words you will not obey," he said in a bitter tone, "and for
you obedience is more necessary than anything else."

"I cannot endure force and compulsion," Hartmut broke out passionately.
"And the service is nothing else but force and slavery. Always and
eternally, obedience; never to have your own way, but ever, day after
day, to bow to an iron discipline. Always the same still, cold forms,
with your own feelings never allowed to come to the surface--I cannot
bear it longer! Everything within me strives for freedom, for light and
life. Let me leave it, father; do not confine me longer in such chains.
I shall die, I shall suffocate!"

He could not have chosen more ill-advised words with which to plead his
cause, to a man who was heart and soul a soldier. They sounded
passionate and bitter, yet his arm was still on his father's shoulder;
but the Major pushed him back now.

"I had thought the service an honor, and no slavery," he said cuttingly.
"It is pretty bad when my own son is the first one to bring it to my
notice. Freedom, light and life! Perhaps you think when one reaches his
seventeenth year he has acquired the right to plunge into life without
any further care or guidance. For you, freedom from restraint would
mean destruction."

"And if it did?" cried Hartmut, quite beside himself. "Rather
destruction with freedom, than longer life with such restraint. For me
the army means bondage and slavery--"

"Silence! Not a word more," ordered Falkenried, so threateningly that
the youth, in spite of his fearful passion, was awed. "You have now no
choice, and woe to you if you forget your duty. First you must become an
officer and do your duty as such to the full, like your comrades; then,
if you are still of the same mind and I have no power to prevent it, you
can leave, but if I am alive then, I will receive my death blow when my
only son--runs away from the service."

"Father, do you take me for a coward?" interrupted Hartmut. "If there
were only a war and I could stand in battle--"

"Yes, you would plunge madly and blindly into danger, and, with that
very self-will which knows no discipline, rush on to destruction. I
know, only too well, this wild, measureless desire for freedom from
every restraint, which knows no limits, recognizes no duties; I know
from whom you have inherited it, and to what it will eventually lead.
But as long as you are under my jurisdiction I will hold you fast to
that 'slavery' whether you hate it or not. You shall obey and learn to
yield while there is yet time; and you shall learn it. I give you my
word for that."

His voice had again the old harsh sound to which his son was so well
accustomed, and every vestige of tenderness had died out of his face.
Hartmut knew that prayers or defiance were alike useless now. He uttered
no syllable, but the old demon-like gleam in his eyes, which robbed him
of all his beauty, was again manifest land on the lips so tightly
pressed together lay a strange, evil expression as he turned silently
to leave the room. His father followed him with his eyes, again he heard
the warning voice which came to him as a presentiment of coming evil,
and he called his son back.

"Hartmut, you'll be back in two hours? You give me your word for it?"

"Yes, father." The answer sounded angry, but steadfast.

"Very well, then I will treat you as a man. You have pledged your word
and may go in peace; be punctual."

The young man had only been gone a few minutes when Wallmoden entered.

"I knew you were alone," he said. "I would not have disturbed you, but I
saw Hartmut hasten across the garden just now. Where is he going so
late?"

"To his mother, to take leave of her."

The diplomatist looked up startled at this unexpected intelligence.

"With your consent?" he said surprised.

"Certainly, I gave him permission."

"How unwise. I thought you would have seen to it that Zalika did not
accomplish her ends; and now, whether it's right or wrong, you are
sending your son to her."

"Only for an hour, and only for a farewell, which I could not refuse.
What are you afraid of now? Not that there will be any foul play?
Hartmut is no baby to be carried off in a carriage in spite of himself."

"But if he were willing it would be a different matter."

"I have his word that he'll be back in a couple of hours," said the
Major with emphasis.

Wallmoden shrugged his shoulders: "The word of a boy of seventeen!"

"Who has had a soldier's education and knows the significance of his
word of honor. That gives me no anxiety; my fears are in another
direction."

"Regine told me you and he understood one another at last," remarked
Wallmoden, with a glance at his friend's dark, gloomy face.

"For a few minutes; then I had to be the stern, hard father again, and
this last hour has shown me how hard a task it will be to conquer and
direct this unruly, undisciplined nature, but for all that, I must and
will subdue it."

His friend stepped to the window and looked out upon the garden.

"It is twilight already and the Burgsdorf fish-pond is half an hour's
walk from here," he said, half aloud. "You could have this last meeting
held in your presence if you saw fit."

"And see Zalika again? Impossible! I could and would not do that."

"If this farewell does not end as you anticipate--if Hartmut does not
come back?"

"Then he would be beneath contempt, a liar," said Falkenried, "a
deserter too, for he already carries arms at his side. But do not insult
me with such thoughts, Herbert. It is my son of whom you speak."

"He is Zalika's son also. But we won't discuss it any more. They are
waiting for you in the dining-room; you will not go to-night?"

"Yes, in two hours," answered the Major, steadily and quietly. "Hartmut
will be back by then--I'll answer for it."

The gray shadows of evening already lay on field and meadow, and they
grew each moment thicker and darker. The short hazy autumn day was at an
end, and the clouded sky brought the night down more quickly than usual.
A woman's figure could be seen pacing impatiently up and down on the
shore of the little lake. She had a dark mantle drawn closely around
her shoulders, but she paid little heed to the frosty evening air which
was blowing about her; she was feverish with expectation, and her ear
was strained to catch the first echo of approaching footsteps.

Since the first day on which Willibald had surprised them both, and they
had been forced to take him into their confidence, Zalika had chosen a
late hour in the afternoon, and a lonely place in the wood for her
meetings with her son. She was accustomed to meet him before the
twilight began, in order that he might not attract attention by
returning late to Burgsdorf. He had always been punctual, but to-day his
mother had waited already an hour, in vain. What accident had detained
him, or had their secret been disclosed? Since a third knew it, she was
prepared for such a contingency.

All was so silent in the wood that the rustle of her gown and her light
footsteps as she walked to and fro, were the only sounds which greeted
her ear.

Beneath the tall trees lay long nocturnal shadows; over the pond where
there was more light, being free from shade, hung a faint vapory cloud,
and over yonder in the meadows, where a pool of water, concealed by the
mossy moorland, had formed, the mists had gathered still more thickly
and hung like a gray-white veil over all the heath. The air from the
meadows was blowing damp and chill.

At last there was a light step, faint and uncertain--then, as it came on
quickly in the direction of the pond, firmer and more resolute. Now a
slender figure came in view, scarcely recognizable in the gathering
darkness, and Zalika flew to meet her son, who, in the next minute lay
in her arms.

"What has happened?" she asked amidst the wonted stormy caresses. "Why
are you so late? I had begun to despair of seeing you to-day. What
detained you?"

"I could not come sooner," Hartmut explained, still breathless, after
his long run. "I come from my father."

Zalika drew back.

"From your father? And he knows--?"

"All!"

"So he is at Burgsdorf? Since when? who told him?"

The young man related in a few words all that had happened, but he had
not finished when a bitter laugh from his mother interrupted him.

"Of course, they are all in the plot together to keep me from my child.
And your father? He has threatened and punished you again as if you were
a criminal, because you have been in your mother's arms?"

Hartmut shook his head. The memory of the moment when his father drew
him to his breast was yet before him, despite all the bitterness with
which the scene had ended.

"No," he said sadly, "but he has forbidden me to see you again, and
sternly commanded me to part from you."

"And in spite of all, you are here? O, I knew it!"

Her words had a joyful sound.

"Do not triumph too soon, mamma," her son answered her bitterly. "I only
came to say good-bye."

"Hartmut!"

"Father has given me permission to see you this time, and then--"

"Then he will take you away again, and you will be forever lost to me.
Is that it?"

Hartmut did not answer, he only threw himself upon his mother's breast
with a wild, passionate sob, which had as much anger and bitterness in
it, as pain.

It had now grown quite dark and the night was upon them, a cold, misty,
autumn night, without moon or starlight, and over in the meadows, where
the vapor was so dense, a light rain had just begun to fall, and
through the rain and the mist a blue shimmering light appeared, now
faint and dull, now with a clear, bright gleam like a flame.

It disappeared, then started forth again a second and a third time--the
will-o'-the-wisp had begun its unearthly, spectral dance.

"You are crying!" said Zalika holding her son fast in her arms. "I have
long foreseen this day, and if young Eschenhagen had not surprised us
the other morning. I should before this have given you the choice
between returning to your father and forming some other plan."

"What other plan? What do you mean?" asked Hartmut, perplexed.

Zalika bent over him and although they were alone, her voice sank into a
whisper.

"Will you allow this tyranny to go on, will you permit yourself to be
separated from your mother and our holy love trodden under foot, without
asserting yourself, or protecting our joint right? If you do permit it,
you are no son of mine, and my blood does not flow in your veins. He
sent you to bid me farewell, and you take his word as final. Do you
really come to take leave of me, for long years, in all probability?"

"I must do it," her son broke out despairingly. "You know my father.
Against his iron will there is no appeal."

"If you return to him--no! But who will force you to return?"

"Mamma. Do not tempt me, for the love of heaven!" he cried trying to
free himself from the arms which held him so fast, but the passionate
voice still whispered in his ear:

"What alarms you in the thought? You but go with your mother, who loves
you with a boundless love and will live only for you. You have often
complained to me that you hate the service into which you are forced.
Have you forgotten your longing for freedom? If you go back you have no
option, for your father will bind you fast in the chains, and he will
but shorten the links, when he sees you are intolerant of them."

She had no need to tell her son this, for he knew it all better than she
could tell him. Scarcely an hour since, had he not heard the words: "You
shall obey and learn to yield while yet there is time."

His voice was full of bitterness as he replied.

"In any case, I must go back. I have given my word to be at Burgsdorf
again in two hours."

"Really?" asked Zalika, sharply and scornfully. "I thought as much. I
see he treats you like a child, marks out your every step for you and
gives you your allotted time, as if you had no judgment or mind of your
own; but the time has gone by to treat you thus, you are old enough to
assume the prerogatives of a man. The day has come when you must show
that you are a man in action as well as word. A promise wrung from one
is valueless; tear asunder this invisible chain by which you are held,
and set yourself free."

"No--no," murmured Hartmut, with another effort to free himself, but his
mother held him fast in her arms. He turned his face away and looked
with hot eyes into the dark night, upon the desolate blackness of the
wood and across at the will-o'-the-wisp, still pursuing its erratic
course, now rising with convulsive, trembling flame, now sinking into
the ground beneath, only to come up again quivering and glimmering.
There was something ghostly and horrible, and withal strangely
fascinating in the ceaseless dance of this imp of night.

"Come with me, my son," Zalika begged, in those dulcet tones which were
hers, as well as her son's. "I have long since prepared all for your
coming; I knew of a certainty that this day would surely come. My
carriage is waiting a short distance from here. We can soon reach the
railway station and will be far on our way before they are any the wiser
at Burgsdorf. With me lies freedom, life, happiness! I will take you
away and show you the great world, and when you are once in it, you will
learn to breathe freely and enjoy life, as one redeemed from slavery. I
know what it is to be liberated from slavery. I, too, wore the chains
which, in an hour of foolish fascination, I forged for myself, but I
should have torn them apart in the first year had it not been for my
unborn child. O, freedom is sweet, as you will soon learn."

She knew only too well the words to choose to accomplish her purpose.
Freedom, life, happiness. They signified so much. They echoed and
re-echoed in the heart of the boy, whose longing for freedom had always
been repressed by a powerful hand. Now like a picture from a magician's
hand, the fairy-like visions of promised liberty stood before him. He
need but stretch out his hand and it was his own.

"My word," he murmured with a last feeble attempt to rescue himself. "My
father will despise me--"

"When you have attained to a great, proud future," Zalika interrupted
him excitedly, "then go to your father and ask him if he dares to
despise you; he would bind you to the earth, but you have wings to fly
above it. He does not understand a nature like yours, and never will.
Will you destroy yourself for the sake of a mere word and be a slave
forever? Come with me, Hartmut, with me to whom you are all the world."

She led him slowly away, and he did not tear himself from her, but, as
she caressed him and called him fond names she felt that his going was
under protest, and that she had needed all her wiles to accomplish it. A
few minutes later the pond was deserted, mother and son had disappeared,
and even the sound of their retiring footsteps had died out in the night
air. Over the moor moved only that weird, spectral life. The flashing
lights appeared and sank again in restless play,--mysterious breaths of
flame from the deep.




CHAPTER III.


It was autumn again, and the warm, golden light of a September day lay
upon the woodland, which stretched away like a green ocean as far as eye
could reach.

Hill and valley alternated with each other, all forest clad, and many a
mighty and moss-grown trunk in that great wilderness told of the forest
primeval which in the early days had covered all this part of South
Germany. Elsewhere in the land, railways had been built, until there was
scarcely a hamlet whose slumbers were undisturbed by the shrill scream
of the locomotive--but "the forest," as the people called it, remained
apart, cut off from the world, a vast territory many miles in width,
like a great, green island, unmoved by the waves of commotion and
progress from without.

Here and there amid the forest green a little village peeped out, or an
old castle reared its gray and weather-beaten battlements on high, as if
protesting against its impending decay. There was but one building in
the whole region which yet stood strong, intact and massive,
notwithstanding it was gray with age.

It was called Fürstenstein, and was originally built as a hunting box,
for the use of the sovereign. The duke's head forester occupied it all
the year round; and during the hunting season some members of the ducal
family always held court there for several weeks. It had been built in
the early part of the last century, with the lavish waste of room which
marked the style of that period. Standing on a high elevation, it
commanded a superb view over the surrounding country.

The approach to the castle allowed no view of its proportions, for woods
covered the hill upon which it stood, and in places tall fir trees threw
their shadows on tower and turret, so that one scarcely realized the
immensity of the building until he stood quite at the entrance gate.
There were also a number of little structures clustering around the main
edifice, which had been added at different periods. Time was not allowed
to make inroads here; everything was in perfect order and repair, and
the countless rooms on the second floor were always kept ready for the
prince, who took possession of them at any time.

The head forester, von Schönau, had occupied the immense ground floor
for years, and between filling his house with guests, and making
frequent visits to his neighbors, managed to have a very agreeable time,
notwithstanding the lonely situation.

He had visitors now; his sister-in-law, Frau Regine von Eschenhagen had
arrived yesterday, and her son was expected soon. The two daughters of
the Wallmoden family had made good marriages; while the elder married
the heir to Burgsdorf, the younger had wedded Herr von Schönau, the son
of a wealthy landed gentleman of a noble South German family.

The sisters, in spite of the distance which separated them, had always
maintained a close and affectionate intercourse, and since Frau von
Schönau's death, which occurred a few years after her marriage, Frau
Regine had kept up the intimacy with her brother-in-law.

It was a singular enough friendship which existed between these two, for
they always met, armed cap-a-pie, for battle. They were both strong,
inconsiderate natures, and every time they saw one another they
quarrelled, and as regularly made their peace again, always promising
there should be no further strife between them, which promise was kept
until their next dispute, for which some opportunity would give rise,
sometimes within an hour after their reconciliation, when another
pitched battle would begin, as passionate and wordy as the last.

At the present moment there seemed a truce between them as they sat on
the terrace in front of the reception room. The head forester, in spite
of his advancing years, was an erect, stately man, with strong, sunburnt
features; his hair and beard were slightly gray, but still luxuriant.
Now he leaned back in his chair listening to his sister-in-law, who
generally did most of the talking. Frau Regine was now in her fiftieth
year, but the last ten years had not changed her much; her life ran on
so smoothly and evenly.

A wrinkle was to be found here and there in her face, and silver threads
were weaving their way into her dark hair, but the gray eyes had lost
nothing of their clearness and sharpness, the voice was as full and
resolute as ever, and her bearing as erect and energetic as formerly.

"Willibald will be here in eight days," she was saying. "The harvesting
was not quite done; but everything will be finished within the week, and
then he can come to meet his bride. The matter has been settled between
us for a long time, but I was resolved to postpone it for some time, for
what did a young thing of sixteen or seventeen, with childish notions
still in her head know about the orderly direction of a household? Now
that Toni is twenty years old, and Will twenty-seven, it is all right.
Are you still perfectly satisfied that this betrothal is the best thing
for our children's future?"

"Perfectly satisfied," assented the head forester. "I think everything
is as it should be. One half my fortune will go, some day, to my son,
the other half to my daughter, and I think you may be well content with
the portion I have set aside as Toni's wedding gift."

"Yes, you have been very liberal. As to Will, he came into possession of
Burgsdorf three years ago; the remainder of the fortune remains, by the
will, in my hands, and at my death goes, of course, to him. But I've
seen to it that the young people won't suffer. I have made ample
provision for them."

"No need for haste. We are only going to celebrate the betrothal now;
the marriage won't be until next spring."

And now the first cloud appeared on the clear heaven of their perfect
harmony. Frau von Eschenhagen shook her head and said dictatorially:

"We won't postpone it any longer now. The wedding must take place this
winter. Willibald has no time to get married in the spring."

"Nonsense, a man always has time to get married," declared Schönau, just
as dictatorially.

"Not in the country," asserted Frau Regine. "There something else must
be considered; first work, then pleasure. That's always been the rule
with us, and that's what I've taught Will."

"I trust he'd make an exception as regards his young wife; otherwise
he's little better than a milksop," cried the forester, angrily. "Above
all, Regine, you must remember my stipulation. My Toni has not seen your
son for two years. If he does not please her--she has free choice, you
understand."

His speech touched his sister-in-law on her most sensitive point; her
motherly pride was outraged.

"My dear Moritz, I have more confidence than you, apparently, in your
daughter's good taste. As for the rest, I hold to the good old custom
that children should marry whom their parents select. It was that way in
our day, and we have found no cause of complaint. What do young people
know of such serious matters any way? But you have let your children
have their own way from the very start; any one could soon tell that
there was no mother in this house."

"Well, was that my fault?" asked Schönau, incensed. "Perhaps, I ought to
have given them a step-mother. I suggested it to you once, but you
wouldn't hear of it, Regine."

"No, I had been married once," was the dry answer, and it seemed to
increase the head forester's irritation. He shrugged his shoulders
spitefully.

"Well, I certainly think you had no cause for complaint against poor
Eschenhagen. He, and all his people at Burgsdorf danced when you piped.
With me you would not have ordered the regiment about so easily."

"In about four weeks," Frau Regine declared calmly, "you would all have
been under my command, Moritz."

"What! You say that to my face? Well, I'd just like to prove it for
once," retorted Schönau, full of wrath now.

"Thank you, I shouldn't care to marry a second time, so give yourself no
uneasiness."

"I can assure you I didn't mean an offer. I wouldn't think of such a
thing for a moment. One refusal was enough for me. So you need not
trouble giving me a second one."

With these words the master of the house rose, pushed back his chair
noisily, and left his guest abruptly. Frau von Eschenhagen remained
quietly sitting alone for some time, then she called out in a friendly
tone:

"Moritz."

"What is it?" he growled from the other side of the terrace.

"When are Herbert and his young wife coming?"

"At twelve o'clock," the voice had an ill-tempered ring yet.

"I am so glad. I have not seen him since he was sent to the South German
capital, but I have always maintained that Herbert was the pride of our
family, and he keeps up enough state for us all. Now you see he is
Prussian ambassador at your court, and is 'Your Excellency.'"

"And then he's a young husband of six and fifty, don't forget that,"
interrupted the forester spitefully.

"Yes, he took his time about marrying, but he made a dazzling match at
last. For a man of his years it was no easy matter to win such a wife as
Adelheid, young, beautiful, rich--"

"And of common birth," added Schönau.

"Stuff and nonsense! Who asks any questions now-a-days about birth when an
immense fortune stands behind it? Herbert can use money now, too; he has
been hampered for means his life long, and now, as ambassador, he needs
more to keep up the position than he could possibly supply. But my
brother need never be ashamed of his father-in-law. Stahlberg was at the
head of one of our greatest industries, and a man of honor, through and
through. It was a pity he died so soon after his daughter's marriage.
At all events they made a very sensible choice."

"So that's what you call a sensible choice, do you, when a girl of
eighteen marries a man old enough to be her father?" asked Schönau, who,
in the heat of discussion, came back to his sister-in-law again. "To be
sure she has a high place in society now, as the wife of His Excellency,
the Ambassador, and is a baroness and all that. But to me this
beautiful, cool Adelheid, with her 'sensible' ideas, which would do a
grandmother credit, is not at all sympathetic. A thoughtless maiden, who
falls over head and ears in love, and then declares to her parents,
'This one, or none,' suits me far better."

"Those are fine opinions for the father of a family to express," cried
Frau von Eschenhagen, much ruffled. "It's a good thing that Toni
inherited my sister's good sense, otherwise she would be coming to you
with some such a speech one of these days. But Stahlberg educated his
daughter better. I know it from himself. She was trained to follow his
wishes, and accepted Herbert at once when he offered himself. But of
course you know nothing about educating children; it stands to reason
that you should not."

"What? I, a man and a father, and know nothing about educating
children?" cried Schönau, red with anger. They were now both on the fair
way to have another pitched battle, when they were happily interrupted
by the appearance of a young girl, the daughter of the house, who
stepped out on the terrace at this moment.

Antonie von Schönau could never be called beautiful, but she had her
father's fine figure and a fresh, glowing face, with clear brown eyes.
Her nut-brown hair was laid in smooth braids around her head, and her
attire, although perfectly suitable for a girl of her station, was yet
quite simple. But Antonie was in the first bloom of youth, and that
charm outweighed all others. As she stepped out now, looking so fresh
and rosy and healthy, she was a daughter after Frau Regine's own heart,
and that lady immediately brought the strife to an end and gave her a
smiling nod.

"Father, the carriage is on its way back from the station," said the
young lady, in very deliberate, almost drawling tones. "It is at the
foot of the castle hill already, and Uncle Wallmoden will be here in
fifteen minutes."

"Bless me, they have driven quickly!" exclaimed her father, whose face
had cleared at the news. "Are the guest chambers in order?"

Toni nodded composedly, as if to say her duties were never neglected;
then, as her father left the terrace to watch the approach of the
guests, Frau von Eschenhagen, with a glance at the basket which the girl
carried on her arm, said:

"Well, Toni, you are always busy."

"I have been in the kitchen-garden, dear auntie. The gardener declared
there were no more ripe pears, so I went out to see for myself, and
picked a whole basket full."

"That's right, my child," said her future mother-in-law, highly pleased,
"you must keep an eye on the servants and use your hands, too,
occasionally, if you want to get on in this world. You'll make a fine
housekeeper. But come, now, we must go to meet your uncle, too."

Herr von Schönau was already far across the terrace, and was just
starting down the broad flight of stone steps which led from the castle
court, when a man stepped out from one of the side buildings, and stood,
respectful and silent, with his hat off.

"Well, Stadinger, is that you? What's brought you to Fürstenstein?" the
head forester called out. "Come here!"

Stadinger approached as commanded; in spite of his snow-white hair he
came forward with a firm, erect step, while a pair of sharp, dark eyes
peered out from his brown, weather-beaten face.

"I was with the castellan, Herr von Schönau," he explained, "and have
been asking him to lend us a few of his servants to help us, for we're
busy up to our eyes at Rodeck, and have not people enough for all the
work."

"Ah, yes, Prince Egon is back from his Oriental tour. I heard that
before," said Schönau. "But how does it happen that he's come to such a
small place as Rodeck, with little room and less comfort?"

Stadinger shrugged his shoulders. "Heaven knows! But our young prince
follows his own sweet will, and no one dare ask why. One morning the
news came, and the castle people hardly know whether they are standing
on their heads or their heels. I had enough trouble to get the place
ready in two days."

"I can believe that; no one has visited Rodeck for years, but the
prince's visit will put some life in the old walls, at any rate."

"Well, it turns everything topsy-turvey," growled the castle steward.
"If you only knew how we have been upset, Herr Schönau. The hunting-room
is crammed full of lion and tiger skins, and all sorts of stuffed
animals, and monkeys and parrots are sitting around in all the rooms.
The whole place is in such an uproar from them that one can't hear one's
self speak. And now his highness has just announced to me that there are
a troop of elephants and a great sea-serpent on the way. I think I
struck a blow at them, though."

"What is on the way?" inquired the head forester, who did not believe he
had heard aright.

"A sea-serpent and a dozen elephants. I have fought against them with
all my might. 'Your highness,' I said, 'we cannot accommodate any more
animals, and as to the sea-serpent, such a beast will need water and we
have no pond at Rodeck. And if the elephants do come we'll have to chain
them to trees in the forest, I know no other way.'"

"'That's just the thing' his highness answered, 'just chain them to the
trees, that'll be very wild and picturesque, and we'll send the
sea-serpent to board at Fürstenstein; the castle fish-pond is big
enough.' Herr Schönau, he will people the whole neighborhood with these
monsters, I believe."

The head forester laughed aloud, and gave the steward, who seemed to
enjoy his special favor, a hearty slap on the shoulder.

"But, Stadinger, have you really taken all this in earnest? You ought to
know the prince better. He certainly does not seem to come back any
steadier than he went away."

"No indeed, he does not," sighed Stadinger. "And what his highness does
not devise for himself, Herr Rojanow hatches for him. He is the worst of
the two. It's hard lines that such a dare-devil should be quartered on
us."

"Rojanow? Who is he?" asked Schönau, all attention now.

"I hardly know, but he's come with the prince, who cannot live without
him. He met this friend in some heathen country. Maybe he is a
half-heathen, or Turk; he looks enough like one, with his dark face and
strange eyes. And the fellow, with his airs and orders acts as if he
were the lord and master of Rodeck. But he's as handsome as a picture,
handsomer even than our prince, who, by the way has given orders that
Herr Rojanow is to be obeyed in all things just like himself."

"More than probable it's an adventurer with whom the prince is amusing
himself," murmured Schönau, and aloud he said: "Well good-bye,
Stadinger, I must meet my brother-in-law now, and don't lose any sleep
over the sea-serpent. When his highness threatens you with it again,
tell him I will gladly keep it for him in our fish-pond, but I must see
it alive first."

He nodded laughingly to the old steward and stepped down to the entrance
gateway. Frau von Eschenhagen and her niece were already there, and a
minute after he joined them, the carriage turned into the broad, smooth
road and was driven rapidly up to the great entrance.

Regine was the first to greet the travelers. She pressed her brother's
hand so heartily that he was forced to draw it back. The head forester
was somewhat diffident; he had a certain feeling of shyness in the
presence of his diplomatic brother-in-law, whose sarcastic tongue he
secretly feared. But Toni did not allow "his excellency" her uncle, or
his wife, either, to ruffle her wonted composure.

The years had not treated Herbert von Wallmoden so gently as they had
his sister. He had aged perceptibly; his hair was grey now, and the
sarcastic lines around his mouth had deepened. But he was the same cold
aristocrat as ever, perhaps even a shade colder and more distant. With
the exalted position to which he had attained, the feeling of
superiority, which had ever been his chief characteristic, seemed to
strengthen.

The young wife by his side was always taken by strangers to be his
daughter. Unquestionably the ambassador's choice had proved his good
taste. Adelheid von Wallmoden was indeed lovely, but her beauty was of
that chill, statuesque type which awakens only cold admiration, and she
seemed to have been born to occupy the position in the world to which
her marriage had raised her. The young bride, not quite nineteen, and
only six months a wife, exhibited a coolness of behavior and as complete
a knowledge of all the forms and obligations of her social position, as
if she had been at the side of her elderly husband for half a lifetime.

Wallmoden was politeness and attentiveness itself to her. He offered her
his arm now, after the first greetings were over, to conduct her to her
own apartments, and a few minutes later returned alone to the terrace to
have a talk with his sister.

The intercourse between this brother and sister was in many respects
very singular.

Regine was as uncouth in outward appearance as she was rugged in
character, and the direct opposite of her courtly brother in every
particular; but still, as they sat side by side now, after their long
separation, there was a look on both faces which told that the
mysterious bond of kinship was much to them both, despite the antagonism
which so often came to the fore.

Herbert was made rather nervous during their conversation, for Regine
did not think it necessary to refrain from brusque questioning or candid
comment, and her brother was frequently embarrassed and annoyed by both,
but he had learned from experience the uselessness of striving to check
her open speech, so gave himself up to the inevitable with a sigh. Of
course, among other things, she spoke of Willibald's and Toni's
betrothal, of which Wallmoden fully approved.

The subject had been worn threadbare long years ago, so there was little
really to be said. And now Frau von Eschenhagen branched off on another
theme.

"Well, Herbert, how do you feel now you're a married man?" asked his
sister. "You certainly were long enough about making up your mind, but
better late than never, and I must admit that for an old gray-head like
you, you have made a very good selection."

This frank reference to his age did not seem to please the ambassador;
he pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, and then answered his
sister sharply:

"My dear Regine, you should strive to use a little tact in your
conversation. I know my age well enough, but the position which I
occupy, and to which I elevated Adelheid by marriage, more than
compensates for the difference in our ages."

"Well, that's true enough, and the marriage portion she brought you is
not to be despised," assented Regine, quite unmoved by his sharp tones.
"Have you presented your wife at Court yet?"

"Yes, two weeks ago, at the summer Capitol. My father-in-law's death
prevented my doing so before. But this winter we must keep open house,
as my position demands it. I was greatly surprised and pleased at
Adelheid's behavior at Court. She acted with a calmness and proud
security, upon this entirely strange ground, which was worthy of all
praise. I was all the more convinced how wise my choice had been in
every respect. Well now, about home matters; before everything else,
tell me about Falkenried?"

"Well, what is there for me to tell? Don't you write one another
regularly?"

"Yes, but his letters are always short and monosyllabic. I wrote him of
my marriage, but his congratulations were very laconic. You must see him
frequently, since he has been made minister of war, as you are so near
the city."

A shadow darkened Regine's clear eyes, and she shook her head sadly.
"You are mistaken, the colonel scarcely ever comes to Burgsdorf. He
grows more reserved and unapproachable each year."

"I am sorry to hear it; he has always made an exception of you, and I
hoped you could use your influence to bring him often to Burgsdorf. Have
you made no attempt to renew the old intimacy?"

"I did at first, but I have finally given it up as hopeless, for I saw
that I was only annoying him. There is nothing to be done, Herbert.
Since that unfortunate catastrophe he has been turned to stone. You have
seen him several times yourself, since then, and know he lives bereft of
hope."

Wallmoden's face clouded darkly, and his voice was very bitter as he
replied: "Yes, that boy Hartmut has done for him, that's certain. It's
over ten years ago now, however, and I did hope Falkenried would take
some interest in life again by this time."

"I never hoped that," said Frau von Eschenhagen, earnestly. "The life
has all gone from the roots. I shall never forget, as long as I live,
how he looked on that fateful evening, when we waited and waited, first
with uneasiness and apprehension, then with deadly anxiety. You grasped
the truth at once, but I would not let you say a word while there was a
chance. I can see him now as he stood at the window staring out into the
night, with drawn features and face like death, and to every word of
ours only the one answer. 'He will come! He must come! I have his word.'
And when in spite of all, Hartmut did not come, and we repaired to the
railway station at daybreak, only to learn that they two, mother and
son, had taken the express train hours before. God preserve us, may I
never see such a look on a man's face again. I made you promise to stay
by him, for I thought he would put a bullet through his heart before the
day was over."

"You were wrong there," said Wallmoden with decision. "A man of
Falkenried's temperament would consider it cowardice to commit suicide,
even though the days of his life were one continued torture. I do not
venture to think what would have happened though, had he been allowed to
carry out his intention at that time."

"I know," interrupted his sister, "that he asked for his discharge,
because, with his keen sense of honor, he could not bear to serve
longer, after his son had become a deserter. It was a step prompted by
despair."

"Yes, and it was his only salvation, that he, with his military
knowledge and skill, was not allowed to sink into oblivion. The chief of
the General's staff took up the matter and brought it before the King,
and they decided that the father should not be allowed to sacrifice
himself for a boy's rash action, and that the service could not lose
such a highly esteemed officer. So they would not accept his
resignation, but permitted him to go to a distant garrison, where the
matter was never mentioned in his presence. Now, after ten years, it's
buried and forgotten by the whole world."

"With one exception," said Regine sorrowfully. "My heart aches whenever
I think of what Falkenried once was, and what he is now. The bitter
experience of his marriage made him gloomy and unsocial, but in good
time he recovered himself a little, and his whole soul turned to his boy
and his boy's advancement. Now everything is lost and the rigid, stark
fulfilment of duty is all that remains; all else is dead within him, and
as a sequence, all his old friendships have become painful to him--we
must let him go his own way."

She broke off with a sigh, as the face of her girlhood's friend came
before her mind's eye. Then laying her hand on her brother's arm, she
said in conclusion:

"Perhaps you are right, Herbert, when you say that a man chooses more
wisely when he has come to years of discretion. You need not fear
Falkenried's fate; your wife has good blood in her veins. I knew Herr
Stahlberg well; he worked earnestly and with capability, too, or he
would never have succeeded as he did in life. And he was ever an honest
man, even after he became a millionaire, and Adelheid is her father's
daughter, bone and sinew. You have chosen well for yourself, and I
rejoice with you from the bottom of my heart."

       *       *       *       *       *

The little hunting castle of Rodeck which belonged to the princely house
of Adelsberg, lay but a few miles distant from "Fürstenstein," in the
midst of the deep forest. The small, plain building containing at most
but a dozen rooms, had been hastily prepared for the unexpected coming
of the prince. It had not been used for years, and had a neglected
appearance. But as one stepped out from the dark, gloomy forest upon the
light greensward, and saw the old building with its high, pointed roof,
and its four little towers guarding the corners, it seemed very
picturesque in its loneliness.

The Adelsbergs were old-time princes of the German empire who had long
since lost their sovereignty, but who still retained their princely
title, together with an immense fortune which included very great landed
possessions. The family had dwindled in number so that there were but
few representatives left, and only one in the direct line, Prince Egon,
and he as owner of the family estates and through kinship on his dead
mother's side with the reigning house, played a conspicuous part among
the nobility of the country.

The young prince was understood to be very wild and erratic, and a man
who was always forming eccentric attachments. He cared little for
princely etiquette, and followed the whim of the moment. The old prince
had held the reins with a tight hand, but at his death Egon von
Adelsberg became his own master, and since that time, had followed his
own free course without check or restraint.

He had just now returned from a two years' tour in the East, and instead
of going to his palace in the capital, or to one of his magnificently
appointed castles, always in readiness to receive him, no matter what
the season, he had, on the spur of the moment, decided upon this little
hunting castle of Rodeck, where he could not be comfortably housed, and
where the few retainers who took charge of the place, were ill-prepared
for such an honor. But as old Stadinger had said, no one dare ask why of
the prince; he did as the humor of the hour pleased him.

It was the morning of a sunny autumn day. Upon the broad velvety lawn,
two men attired in hunting costume, were standing talking to the
steward, while in the broad court a few yards beyond, stood a light,
open carriage, awaiting its owner's pleasure. The two young men seemed,
at a first glance, to resemble one another. Both had tall, slender
figures, deeply browned faces, and eyes in which the fiery arrogance of
youth burned fiercely; but a nearer view showed how totally dissimilar
they were, after all.

It was evident that the younger man, who was about twenty-four years
old, owed his dark complexion to his long residence beneath a fierce
sun, for his light, curly hair and blue eyes were not the fitting
accompaniments for such a browned skin, but were unquestionably German.
He had a blonde beard, curly like the hair which surrounded his
handsome, open countenance, but the face hardly coincided with one's
ideas of perfect beauty. The forehead was somewhat too narrow and the
features were not regular, but something in his expression reminded one
of clear sunshine, it was so good-natured and so winning.

His companion, who was a few years his senior, had nothing of this
sunlight in his face, although his appearance was undoubtedly the more
distinguished of the two. Slender, like his companion, he was much the
taller, and his dark skin was not the legacy of an eastern sun. It was
of that faint brown which makes the freshest face look pale, and the
blue-black hair, which fell in heavy locks on his high forehead, only
served to heighten this appearance of pallor. It was a beautiful face,
with its noble, proud lines so marked and expressive, but there were
deep shadows on it, too, on the brow and across the eyes, shadows found
but seldom in so youthful a countenance. The great, dark eyes in which a
shade of melancholy always lay, spoke of hot, unrestrained passion, and
the fire which blazed within them had a mysterious, unearthly
fascination. One felt that these orbs possessed some uncanny power, but
they were in accord with the man's whole personality, which had about it
something of this same strange witchery.

"Well, I cannot help you, Stadinger," said the younger of the men. "The
new cases must be unpacked and places found for the things. Where--that
is your business."

"But, your highness, it is absolutely impossible!" remonstrated
Stadinger, in a tone which showed that he was on a pretty sure footing
with his young master. "There's not an empty corner in all Rodeck. I
have had the greatest trouble already to house all the people your
highness brought with you, and every day chests bigger than a house are
arriving, and ever the same cry: 'Unpack that, Stadinger! Make a place
for this, Stadinger.' And hundreds of rooms empty in the other castles."

"Stop grumbling, you old ghost of the woods, and make places,"
interrupted the prince. "The chests that have come must be unpacked in
Rodeck for the time being at least, and if the worst comes to the worst,
you must find room in your own house for them."

"Yes, indeed, Stadinger has room and to spare in his own house for
them," it was the tall, dark man who spoke now. "And I'll superintend
the unpacking myself."

"That's a good plan," said the prince, heartily, "and Zena can assist
him; she is at home yet, I suppose?"

"No, your highness, she has gone away."

"Away!" cried prince Egon. "And where has she gone?"

"To the city," was the laconic answer.

"That won't do. You should keep your grandchild with you here at Rodeck
all winter."

"That matter seems to have arranged itself," answered the steward with
quiet dignity. "Just now my old sister, Rosa, is at home with me. If you
should come to my humble dwelling, Herr Rojanow, she would feel greatly
honored."

Rojanow gave him a glance which was anything but friendly, and the young
prince said sharply:

"Look here, Stadinger, you are treating us after a most unwarrantable
fashion. You send Zena away, for no reason in the world, and she's the
only one worth seeing about the whole place. There's not a woman in
Rodeck who isn't past sixty and whose head doesn't wobble from side to
side, and as to the belles of the kitchen whom you brought from
Fürstenstein to help us out, they're worse looking than our own people."

"Your highness need not look at them," suggested the steward. "I gave
strict orders that none of the maids were to come into the castle, but
if your highness goes to the kitchen, as you did the day before
yesterday--"

"Well, I must inspect my domestic arrangements once in a while. But I
won't go near the kitchen a second time, I promise you that. But I'm
provoked enough at you for having gathered together all the repulsive
looking creatures in the neighborhood as soon as you knew I was coming.
You should be ashamed of yourself, Stadinger."

The old man looked his young master full in the face, and his voice had
an impressive sound, as he answered: "I am not at all ashamed, your
highness. When that prince of blessed memory, your father, assigned me
to this peaceful post, he said to me: 'Keep everything quiet and orderly
at Rodeck, Stadinger; remember, I depend upon you.' Well, I have kept
everything in order around this castle for twelve years, and more
especially have I guarded those of my own household, and I mean to do so
for the future, too. Has your highness any other orders for me?"

"No, you old boor!" cried the prince, half amused, half angry. "Go on,
now; we don't need any sermon on morals."

Stadinger obeyed, he bowed low and marched off. Rojanow glanced after
him and shrugged his shoulders with a sneer.

"I admire your forbearance, Egon; you certainly permit your servants to
speak very freely--"

"Oh, Stadinger is an exception," declared Egon. "Of late days he has
allowed himself great latitude, but as to his sending Zena away he
wasn't far wrong. I'd have done the same thing in his place."

"It isn't the first time the old fellow has made so bold as to call us
both to account. If I were his master--he'd get his dismissal in this
same hour."

"I'm afraid if I attempted that, it would be all the worse for me,"
laughed the prince. "Such an old heir-loom, who has served three
generations already, and trotted me on his knee as a baby, deserves to
be treated with respect. I would gain nothing by commanding and calling
him to account. Peter Stadinger does what he pleases, and whenever it
suits him, reads me a little text into the bargain."

"How you can permit such liberties is incomprehensible."

"It is natural that you should not understand it, Hartmut," said his
friend, earnestly. "You only know the submissiveness of Sclavish
servants in your own home, and in the Orient. They kneel and prostrate
themselves whenever opportunity offers, and betray their masters at
every turn, when it can be done with safety. Stadinger is a man with no
civility in him. It doesn't make the least difference to him that I am
'your highness.' He is no respecter of persons, and has often said the
most insulting things to my face, but I could leave hundreds of
thousands in his hands, and he would guard every pfennig, and if Rodeck
were in a blaze, and I within it, his seventy years would not prevent
him plunging into the flames to rescue me--that's how it is with us in
Germany."

"Yes, with you in Germany," Hartmut repeated slowly, as he fixed his
eyes dreamily on the forest shadows.

"Are you as much prejudiced against us as ever?" asked Egon. "I had to
beg you hard enough to get you to come with me, for you seemed resolved
never to put foot on German soil again."

"I would I had not done so," said Rojanow, darkly. "You know--"

"That you associate bitter memories with my country--yes. You told me
that much, but you must have been a boy at the time. You should have
outgrown your dislike by now. You are, on this point, so obstinately
reserved, that to this day I have never learned what it is that you--"

"Egon, I beg you, drop the subject," said Hartmut, almost rudely. "I
have declared to you more than once, that I will not and cannot speak on
the subject of my early life. If you are suspicious of me, let me go; I
have not forced myself upon you, you know that, but I will not endure
this questioning."

The hard, proud tone which he used toward his princely friend, seemed
not unknown to the latter, who only shrugged his shoulders and said
appeasingly:

"How excited you get in a moment; I believe you are right when you
maintain that the air of Germany makes you nervous. You certainly have
changed since you set foot in the country."

"Possibly; I feel it myself, and I know I annoy you with my queer
tempers lately, so you'd better let me go, Egon."

"I will guard you well, instead. I did not catch you so easily that I
can let you fly again after all my trouble. So remember that, Hartmut,
for I won't let you go free at any price."

The words had a joking sound, but Rojanow seemed to resent them. His
eyes were dark, almost threatening, as he replied:

"But what if I will go?"

"But you won't, for I will hold you closer than ever." Egon laid his
arm affectionately on his friend's shoulder. "I wonder how this bad,
obstinate Hartmut can answer to his conscience for even thinking of
leaving me alone. Have we not lived together for nearly two years, and
shared the same dangers and pleasures like brothers? And now you talk
about deserting me, without even a question as to how I'll get along
without you. Do you think I value your friendship so little, dear old
fellow?"

The words were so warm and sincere that Rojanow's ill-temper was
conquered. His eyes lighted up at the mention of their long and close
friendship, and he answered in a voice which bespoke a sincere affection
for his friend:

"Do you think that any one but you could have drawn me to Germany at
all?" he said, softly. "Forgive me, Egon. I am an unstable nature and
have always been a rover since--since my boyhood."

"Well, learn to settle yourself here--here in my home," exclaimed Egon.
"I only stay at Rodeck that you may see its many and varied beauties.
This old building, hidden away in the midst of the forest, is a
veritable production of fairy-land, a woodland poem, such as you will
not find at any of my other castles. The others suit me better, though I
know this is to your taste. But now I must really go. You won't ride?"

"No, I will enjoy the much-praised poetry of these woods, which seem to
weary you so soon. You can make your visit alone."

"I'll admit I'm not a poet like you, who can muse and dream all day
long," said Egon laughing. "For a full week we have led hermits' lives,
but I cannot live on sunshine, woody odors and Stadinger's sermons any
longer. I must see my fellow-men, and the head forester is the only
gentleman in the neighborhood; and besides, Herr von Schönau is a
splendid, jolly fellow. You will like him when you meet him."

He jumped into the carriage, waved a parting greeting to his friend, and
was off. Rojanow looked after him until the vehicle had disappeared
behind the trees, then he turned and struck into a path which led into
the forest.

He carried a gun over his shoulder, but his thoughts were not bent on
sport. He went on heedlessly, with no idea of direction, and with no
thought of the distance which he was putting between himself and Rodeck,
which was each moment becoming greater.

Prince Adelsberg was right when he said he knew this wild, mountain
scenery was to his friend's taste. The very air had for him a certain
sorcery. He stood still at last and took some long, deep breaths, but
the cloud on his brow had not yet disappeared; it grew darker instead,
as he leaned against a tree and cast his eyes around him.

The beauty of the sunny, autumn day, the picturesqueness of the grand
old wood, could not bring to this handsome, joyless face one expression
of peace or content.

He saw this country for the first time; his boyhood's home lay far to
the north, and yet this place, so different from his father's birthplace
and his own, brought back the past with all its painful recollections,
and awakened anew within him feelings he had thought long dead and
buried. Feelings and thoughts which had never troubled him during the
long years in which by land or sea, he had drunk of that freedom for
which he had sacrificed so much.

The old German woods! They whispered here in the South, just as they had
done in the North; the same wind moved the branches of the fir and the
oak, and whistled through the tops of the distant pine trees. Yes, these
were the self-same voices which had once told all their secrets to the
willful boy lying on the mossy bank of the Burgsdorf fish pond.

There was a stir and sound as of some one moving between the trees.
Hartmut looked up indifferently, expecting to see an animal of some kind
spring out, but he saw instead the fluttering of a light gown between
the low bushes, and from a little side path, which he had not before
noticed, a young lady stepped out, almost in front of him, and stood
hesitatingly, evidently uncertain what direction to take.

Rojanow was roused from his dreaming by this unexpected apparition, and
the stranger caught sight of him at once. She appeared surprised, too,
but only for a second, then she stepped forward, and said, with a slight
bow:

"May I beg you, sir, to show me the way to Fürstenstein? I am a stranger
here and have lost my way, and am, I fear, far from the place I seek."

Hartmut had taken in at a glance the young lady's appearance; and
resolved immediately to become her guide. He did not know the way for
which she inquired, and only had a vague idea of the direction in which
the castle lay, but that troubled him little. He bowed gracefully as he
said:

"I place myself quite at your disposal, Fräulein. Fürstenstein is some
distance from here, and it would be impossible for you to find the way
alone. I must, therefore, beg you to allow me to accompany you."

The lady had expected nothing more than that the way would be pointed
out to her; this stranger's offer was not altogether agreeable, but she
feared she might lose her way a second time, and the perfect politeness
with which the offer was made, scarcely left her any choice. After a
moment's hesitation she bowed slightly and said:

"I thank you. Pray let us lose no time, then."




CHAPTER IV.


Rojanow fastened the strap which held his gun a little more securely,
and turned at once into a narrow, half overgrown path, which lay
unquestionably in the direction of Fürstenstein.

Without further parley he assumed the role of guide, and the adventure
began to have charms for him.

The stranger was certainly lovely enough to inspire him with zeal in her
service. The clear, delicate oval of her face, the high, smooth
forehead, with its heavy crown of blonde hair, the regular features,
were all in perfect harmony. The beauty of the countenance was
faultless, though cold and symmetrical, with an expression which
betokened energy of character and great strength of purpose. The girl
was at most only eighteen or nineteen years old, but oddly enough, she
possessed none of that indescribable attractiveness which seems the
natural accompaniment of girlhood, nothing of the hilarity and naiveté
of youth. The great blue eyes gazed at you earnestly but coldly, and you
felt instinctively that the soul which looked out through them never
lost itself in girlish dreams of brave heroes and suppliant lovers. The
bearing and appearance was haughty and reserved, yet in form and gesture
she was gracefulness itself.

Rojanow had time and leisure to notice all this as he directed her
course, sometimes behind her, sometimes in front, now holding back the
low, overhanging branches, and a second later warning her of some sudden
irregularity in the ground. The narrow forest footpath was anything but
a pleasant road for a ramble, and was an especially trying passage for
the woman. Her dress caught frequently on thorn and branch, and her long
gauze veil had to be loosened from more than one bramble, while her feet
sank, time and again, in the soft, moist, moss-covered earth. It could
not be helped, and yet Hartmut felt in his self assumed position as
guide, that he was not covering himself with as much glory as be could
have wished.

"I regret extremely, Fräulein, that you are obliged to take so
uncomfortable a path," he said politely. "I fear you will be exhausted,
but we are in the thickest part of the forest and have consequently no
choice."

"I do not become exhausted so easily," was the answer. "I care little
about the disagreeable features of the way, if it will but lead me to
the goal."

The remark had a somewhat unusual sound coming as it did from the mouth
of a young girl; Rojanow thought so, at any rate, and he gave a slight
mocking smile as he repeated:

"If it lead to the goal! You are quite right, that is my idea too; but
ladies generally cherish other opinions. They prefer to be carried
quietly over all the rough places."

"Not all! You err there; many women much prefer going alone, without
submitting to watch and ward, as though they were children."

"Well, perhaps there are exceptions. I prize the accident which has
afforded me the opportunity of seeing so charming--"

Hartmut, who was on the point of uttering a very florid compliment,
stopped suddenly, for the cold blue eyes met his with such a look of
surprise and hauteur that the words died on his lips.

At this moment the lady's veil caught once more in the branch of an
overhanging thorn, which held it fast. She stopped, and her attentive
companion reached out his hand to free the delicate tissue, when she
suddenly tore it from her hat, with a quick motion, and left it
fluttering on the branch.

Rojanow bit his lips in vexation; the adventure was not at all what he
had expected. He had thought to find this young woman a dependent, timid
creature, who would be very grateful and would turn to him for
protection, just like many another with whom he had come in contact in
his rovings; but this pale girl made it very clear to him by a glance,
that he was nothing but a guide and must conduct himself as such. Who,
and what was she? Still in her teens, and yet acting with all the
reserve and self-possession of a great lady, knowing full well how to
make herself unapproachable. He resolved to enlighten himself on this
matter.

Now the narrow path ended and they stepped out into a small clearing in
the forest, with thick woods again to the left. It was not an easy thing
just here for a man who knew nothing of the region to decide which
direction to take. But Hartmut was not to be daunted, neither did he
intend to exhibit any irresolution, so with apparent security he went on
in the same direction they had followed from the beginning, and
fortunately enough soon struck into a broad wagon road which crossed
that part of the forest. Before long, thought Hartmut, they must surely
come to some place where they could obtain a view of the surrounding
country and get their bearings.

The wider road enabled him to walk beside his companion, and he resolved
to enter upon a conversation which the many obstacles in their path had
made, until now, almost an impossibility.

"I have hesitated about presuming to present myself to you, Fräulein,"
he began. "My name is Rojanow, and I am, for the time being, at Rodeck,
a guest of Prince Adelsberg, who, if you reside at Fürstenstein, has the
advantage of being your neighbor."

"No, I do not belong to Fürstenstein. I am, also, only a guest," replied
the lady. The princely neighbor and name of her companion, appeared to
be alike matters of indifference to her; neither did she deem it
necessary to give her own name in return. She merely bowed slightly as
she spoke.

"Ah, then you probably live in the capital, and are only here to enjoy a
few weeks of the fine autumn weather?" continued Rojanow.

"Yes."

The monosyllable had a very cold, reserved sound, but Hartmut was not
the man to be turned from his course by a rebuff. He was accustomed to
overcome all restraints and obstructions by the power of his
fascinations, and that one of the sex from which he had never received
anything but adulation, should refuse to succumb, was little less than
an insult. There lay a charm, too, in the thought that he would force
this lovely creature into conversation with him, notwithstanding her
reserve.

"Are you pleased with Fürstenstein?" he asked. "I have never been near
the castle, and have only seen it in the distance, but it seems to
overawe the whole region with its magnificence. A singular taste indeed
to find anything lovely in this landscape, and erect a palace here."

"Evidently not your taste, at least."

"I am not specially fond of uniformity, and here there is nothing but
sameness. Woods and woods, and nothing but woods--at times one is almost
driven to despair."

There was a hidden rancour in these words, as if the poor German forest,
with its whispers and its winds was to blame for all the bitterness
which lay in the soul of this returned wanderer; it almost seemed as if
he must flee from them, for he could hardly endure the simple, earnest
song of olden times which fluttered down to him from the tall fir trees.
But his companion only heard the slighting tone.

"Are you a foreigner, Herr Rojanow?" she asked.

A black shadow crossed Hartmut's brow, and he hesitated for a moment
before he answered, coldly:

"Yes, Fräulein."

"I thought as much from your name and appearance, and from the peculiar
opinions which you express, as well."

"At any rate, they are unbiased and candid," answered Hartmut, nettled
by the reproof which lay in the last words. "I have been pretty much all
over the world, and am just back now from the Orient. To him who knows
the ocean with its radiant, transparent blue, or its terrible, deadly
storms, to one who has basked in the witcheries of the warmth and light
of the tropics, everything here seems cold and colorless; these eternal
green forests are, in fact, the only features of a German landscape."

The compassionate shrug of the shoulders with which he concluded,
appeared to rouse his companion from her imperturbability. An expression
of displeasure crossed her face, and her voice had in it a tone of
resentment, as she answered:

"That is altogether a matter of taste. I know, if not the Orient, at
least Southern Europe very well; those sunny, glowing landscapes, with
their vivid colorings attract one in the beginning--that is true
enough--but soon, too soon, exhaust one. You lose all strength and
vitality; you can stagnate and dream, but you can never live and work.
But why discuss it? Naturally you know nothing of our great forests, or
our people either, I presume."

Hartmut smiled with an unmistakable satisfaction. He had succeeded in
breaking through this icy reserve. All his arts and blandishments had
been exercised in vain, but he now saw that the momentary resentment had
added the charm which was needed to her lovely, cold features, so he
determined to arouse her still further.

If he felt aggrieved he would also find pleasure in exciting her.

"That sounds like a reproof which I shall have to bear," he said
derisively. "Possibly I don't view the affairs of life as you do. I am
accustomed to use other scales of measurement for nature, and for
mortals as well. 'Live and work!' The whole question hinges upon the
definition of these words. I have lived, years at a time, in Paris, that
great central point of all civilization, where life ebbs and flows in a
thousand streams. He who has been wont to stem the tide in these great,
almost overwhelming waters, can nevermore find a place in the little
relations, in the narrow judgments and pedantries, in all this marasmus
which the noble Germans call life."

The insulting expression which he laid upon the last words, obtained for
him his desire. His companion suddenly stood still and measured him from
head to foot, while a flash of anger shot from her cold blue eyes. She
seemed for the minute to have an angry answer at her tongue's end, but
she forced it back, and drawing herself up to her full height, said in a
tone of contempt and disdain:

"You forget, sir, that you are speaking to a German--I now remind you
of that fact."

Hartmut colored to the roots of his hair at this merited reproof given
to a stranger, a foreigner, as she supposed, who had forgotten himself.
What if this girl knew to whom she was talking, what if she ever learned
--a feeling of shame overcame him for the second, but he was a man of
the world and controlled himself once more.

"I beg your pardon," he said, with a slight, half-mocking bow. "I was
under the impression that we were merely exchanging impersonal opinions.
I sincerely regret having annoyed you, Fräulein."

A scarcely perceptible movement of her head, and a slight shrug of the
shoulders showed him that he had no power to really annoy her.

"I could certainly not think of influencing your judgments, but as our
ideas are so radically opposed, I think it would be better to drop the
conversation altogether."

Rajanow showed no disposition to continue it. Now he knew for a surety
that the cold eyes could sparkle and blaze with anger, he had forced
them to do it, but the thing had ended otherwise than he had expected.
He gave the slight figure at his side a half-inimical glance, and then
his eyes lost themselves again in the dense green of the forest.

There was something captivating after all about this forest loneliness
under the first light breath of autumn, a breath which touched the
leaves tenderly and laid such delicate tints upon them, brightening the
lovely landscape with its vivid reds and varied browns, with its
glimpses here and there of bright gold where the sunlight pierced the
woodland shade. The branches of the tall trees, centuries old, swayed
gently to and fro, and threw long, cool shadows across the occasional
open spaces, where the wild forest flowers rested on the breast of the
moss-covered earth. An occasional pool of water, lying silent and
placid, mirrored the clear, blue sky with its fleecy clouds, which
seemed to intermingle with the tall green branches, as both cast their
reflection in the water beneath. Only the soft rustling of the leaves,
and the hum of thousands of insects as they sang together a sweet,
dreamy forest song was to be heard. The very sunbeams seemed to echo
this melody as they followed closely the two wanderers, as if this man
and woman had come beneath their ban and would have some penalty to pay
for crossing their shining path so carelessly. Suddenly an unexpected
barrier stood in their way. From a thickly wooded elevation, a broad
mountain stream came rushing down, seeking its way between bushes and
rocks. Rojanow halted abruptly and cast a quick glance up and down, to
see if any means of crossing were to be found, but his eyes could
discover nothing, and turning to his companion, he said:

"I fear we are in an unpleasant situation here. This stream barricades
our path completely. Usually it is no hard matter to cross it, for those
mossy stones make a good enough bridge, but yesterday's heavy rain has
misplaced them or covered them completely."

The young lady had stopped, too, and was looking up and down the stream
also, for some crossing.

"Could we not cross farther up?" she asked, indicating a certain spot
above them.

"No, because the water is swifter and deeper in that direction. This is
the best place to get across. There is nothing to be done but to carry
you over, and that, with your permission, I will do."

The offer was made most courteously, almost hesitatingly, but there was
a gleam of triumph in Hartmut's eye, notwithstanding his modest
demeanor. This time she must accept his assistance, even if she had
left the veil hanging in the thorns rather than do so. There was no
choice now, she must trust herself in his arms in order to reach the
opposite shore. He came up to her now as if he took her consent for
granted, but she drew back.

"I thank you, Herr Rojanow." Hartmut smiled with an irony which he made
no attempt to conceal. He was master of the situation now, and thought
to remain so.

"Would you rather go around?" he asked. "It will take us more than an
hour and here we will be across in a minute or two. You need not doubt
the strength of my arms, and I am sure footed; it is not at all a
dangerous place to cross."

"I agree with you," was the quiet answer, "and for that reason I will
essay to cross it alone."

"Alone? That is impossible, Fräulein."

"To step through a forest brook? I do not consider that an especially
difficult achievement."

"But the water is deeper than you believe. You will be wet through and
through, and besides--it is really impossible."

"A wetting will do me no harm, for I do not take cold easily. Pray lead
the way and I will follow."

That was clear enough and sounded so peremptory that further
remonstrance was impossible. Hartmut bowed without speaking, and stepped
at once into the water, his high hunting boots serving him good purpose.

He was right enough, the water was deep and swift, and the stones were
so slippery that he found it difficult enough to set his foot firmly on
them. He had a slight sneer on his lips as he stepped upon the opposite
bank and turned to wait for the girl whom he was so anxious to protect,
but who rejected all his advances so proudly. Would she venture or would
the first step terrify her and force her to call him back? No, she had
gathered up her skirts and followed without hesitation, notwithstanding
the fact that her silk stockings and thin low shoes afforded no
protection whatever. She stepped slowly and carefully on the stones over
which he had just gone, until she came to the middle of the stream.
Here, while the strong man's foot had been able to find a safe resting
place, the woman's smaller one sought in vain for a secure support on
the slimy stones. Her high heels were as much in her way as her gown,
the edges of which were already thoroughly drenched. Her courage forsook
her for the moment, she made several false steps, then stood perfectly
quiet and cast an involuntary glance toward the opposite bank, where
Hartmut stood watching her in silence, resolved to raise no hand toward
her assistance until requested to do so. Perhaps she read this in his
eyes and it gave her back her strength. With a look of decision on her
face she gave up all further search for a secure stepping stone, and
planted her foot firmly on the pebbly bottom of the stream, and a second
later, thoroughly wet now, she clutched the low bough of a tree in
preference to Hartmut's outstretched hand, and drew herself up on the
further bank. Then turning with dripping garments, to her guide, said:

"We will go on, if you please. We cannot be very far from Fürstenstein."

Hartmut gave no syllable of reply, but a feeling akin to hate rose
within him as he looked at this woman who preferred such great
discomfort rather than come into closer contact with him even for a
moment.

This proud, spoiled man whose dazzling personality won all hearts, felt
the humiliation which had been forced upon him most keenly, and
execrated within himself the chance which had brought about this
meeting.

They went on as rapidly as possible now, and Hartmut cast a glance, from
time to time, at the slender, silent figure with its heavy bedraggled
skirts, the drippings from which marked their course by a long line of
moisture. He kept an attentive eye on the woods on either side; this
dark forest road must come to an end some time.

His course had been the right one after all, which at least was some
slight satisfaction to him. After a few minutes he came to an elevation
which afforded him a view of the region round about. Yonder, across a
sea of forest trees, rose the towers of Fürstenstein, and at the foot of
the hill on which he stood a broad carriage road was plainly visible,
and this road, winding through a part of the forest, led directly to the
foot of the castle hill.

"Yonder is Fürstenstein," said he, as he turned and spoke to the young
girl for the first time since they had left the stream. "It is about
half an hour's walk from here, though."

"O, that is nothing. I am grateful to you for guiding me so
successfully, but the way is very plain now, and I will trouble you no
longer."

"I am subject to your orders," said Hartmut coldly. "If you desire to
dismiss your guide so summarily, he will no longer force himself upon
you."

The lady felt the reproof implied in his words. After a man had spent a
couple of hours in her service, he did deserve something more than a
contemptuous dismissal, even though she had found it necessary to keep
him at a distance.

"I have taken too much of your time already," she said, unbending a
little. "You have introduced yourself to me, Herr Rojanow, and I must,
in return, tell you my name before I say good morning--Adelheid von
Wallmoden." Hartmut drew a short breath, and a fleeting red colored his
face as he repeated, slowly:

"Wallmoden!"

"Are you familiar with the name?"

"I have heard it, but not here, in--in North Germany."

"Very probable; that is my husband's home, and mine, too."

Rojanow's face showed extreme surprise as he heard this young girl, whom
he had taken as a matter of course, for unmarried, speak in so
matter-of-fact a tone about her husband, but he bowed, and said most
courteously:

"I beg your pardon, my dear madame, for mistaking you for a girl, but I
could not know you were married. And I now know that I have never had
the honor of meeting your husband. The only one of the name with whom I
was ever familiar, was a gentleman now past middle life. He belonged to
the diplomatic service, and his name, if I do not mistake, was Herbert
von Wallmoden."

"That is my husband, and he is at present ambassador to this country. He
will be looking anxiously for me now, so I must not linger a moment
longer. Again let me thank you, Herr Rojanow." And with a bow of adieu,
the lady hurried down the hill toward the carriage road.

Hartmut stood looking after her, like one in a maze; heavy beads of
perspiration stood out on his forehead. So soon? He had scarcely set
foot on German soil, and here he was met at once by the old names and
all the painful memories which their mention entailed.

Herbert von Wallmoden, Frau von Eschenhagen's brother, Willibald's
guardian and his own boyhood's friend. Rojanow felt a sharp cut like a
dagger thrust through his breast. He drew himself up and threw his
shoulders back, as though he would throw from him some overwhelming
burden, and the old bitter, mocking smile came to his lips again, as he
said, half aloud:

"Uncle Wallmoden hasn't wasted any of his opportunities, that's evident.
His hair's gray by this time, but it hasn't prevented him winning a
lovely young wife. To be sure, an ambassador is a fine match, and it is
evident that Adelheid von Wallmoden was born to marry such a man. She
has all the aristocratic airs and manners which are the one thing
needful in the diplomatic circle. Doubtless he's had her well trained to
take her place in the diplomatic school. Well, he's fared well in this
world, there's no doubt of that."

His eyes followed the young wife, who had just reached the foot of the
hill, and a deep scowl settled on his brow.

"If I meet Wallmoden here, and perhaps I won't be able to avoid it,
he'll recognize me without a doubt. Then he'll tell her all about it,
and if she ever sees me again, and gives me one of her contemptuous
glances, I'll--" He stamped his foot on the ground with fury at the
thought, and then gave a bitter laugh.

"Pah! What need I care? What does this pale, blue-eyed creature, with
her cold blood, know of freedom, of the throes of passion, of the storms
which come to some lives? Let her pronounce sentence on me. Why should I
shun a meeting? I will face her and bid her beware."

And with a haughty movement of his head he turned his back on the
slender figure, and strode back again into the woods.




CHAPTER V.


The betrothal festivities to which Baron von Wallmoden and his wife had
been bidden were carried out to the letter. Antonie von Schönau plighted
her troth to her cousin, the heir of Burgsdorf.

The young people had known their parents' plan for years, and were fully
agreed as to its accomplishment. Willibald subscribed like a dutiful
son, to his mother's opinion that she was the suitable person to choose
his life's companion for him, and he had waited patiently her pleasure
as to the time when his betrothal should become an accomplished fact;
the thought of having his little cousin Toni for a wife was very
pleasant to him. He had known her since childhood, and she suited him
exactly. She was a girl absolutely bereft of romance, and Willibald knew
she would make no sentimental demands upon him, to which he, with the
best will in the world, had not the temperament to respond. Toni, for
her part, possessed that good taste for which Frau Regine had given her
credit. Will pleased her very well, and the prospect of being mistress
of Burgsdorf pleased her still better--in short, everything was as it
should be.

The newly betrothed pair were at the piano in the drawing-room, and Toni
was entertaining her lover with music, not voluntarily, however, but at
her father's request, for she herself considered music a wearisome and
superfluous accomplishment. But the head forester had insisted that his
daughter should show she was not educated in housewifery alone, but had
learned something at boarding-school as well. He was walking to and fro
on the terrace with his sister-in-law now; they had come there to listen
to the music, and discuss for the hundredth time the happiness and
prospects of their children. They had, as usual, soon drifted away from
pleasant topics and their contention was growing fiercer each moment.

"I really don't know what to think of you, Moritz," said Frau von
Eschenhagen, very red in the face. "You don't seem to comprehend the
impropriety of permitting such an intimacy. When I ask you who is the
school-girl friend of Toni's who is expected at Waldhofen, you answer me
coolly and complacently, that she is a singer who has been on the stage
of the Court theatre for some time. An actress, a theatrical star. One
of those wretched, frivolous creatures who--"

"But, Regine, don't fly into such a passion," interrupted her host
angrily. "You speak as though the poor soul had lost her character just
because she went on the stage."

"So she has, so she has!" Regine answered excitedly. "Who ever enters
that Sodom and Gomorrah goes down to the bottom at once and can never
rise again."

"That's flattering to the Court theatre company, at least," said Schönau
dryly. "But we go to see them just the same."

"As spectators! That's quite a different thing, though, for my part, I'm
opposed to encouraging such people at all. Will goes to the theatre very
little, and never without me. But while I, in the performance of my duty
as a mother, have guarded him from any intercourse whatever with such
people, you permit his future wife to come within their poisonous
influence. It's enough to make the heavens cry out!"

She had raised her voice almost to a shriek at the last, partly from
excitement, and partly to be heard by her brother-in-law, for the
musical production was noisy now, and sent forth loud, discordant sounds
through the open glass door. Toni had good strong wrists, and her touch
on the piano reminded one of the stroke of an axe on hard wood. Her
three listeners had strong nerves, but low speech was certainly an
impossibility.

"Let me explain the matter to you," said the forester appeasingly. "I
have told you already that this was an exceptional case."

"Marietta Volkmar is the grandchild of our good old doctor at Waldhofen.
His son died while still in the flower of youth. The young widow
followed her husband the very next year, and the poor little orphan came
to her grandfather. That was ten years ago, just after I had been
assigned to Fürstenstein. Doctor Volkmar became our family physician,
and his grandchild the playfellow of my children. As the school in
Waldhofen was a miserable affair, I begged the doctor to permit his
little one to come here and share the childrens' instruction. Then while
Toni was at boarding-school for two years, Marietta was in the city
pursuing her musical education, and, as a matter of course, their daily
intercourse ceased. Marietta, however, has always visited us regularly
during her vacations, when she came home to her grandfather, and I do
not see why I should forbid her doing so as long as she remains
respectable and honest."

Frau von Eschenhagen had listened to this reasonable explanation without
unbending in the least. She now said spitefully:

"Respectable and honest in a theatre! Every one knows well enough what
goes on in such iniquitous places; but you seem to take it as lightly as
does Dr. Volkmar, who for that matter looks honest and venerable enough
with his open face and long white hair. How he can send a soul
entrusted to his care, his own flesh and blood at that, on to certain
destruction, is beyond my comprehension."

"Regine, I always thought you a most rational woman, but in this matter
you have no sense at all. The theatre and every one connected with it
has always been proscribed by you, and yet you know absolutely nothing
about it. It was no easy matter for the doctor to allow Marietta to go
on the stage. That I know, for we talked it over frequently. It is not
for us who sit in warm nests and can provide lavishly for our children,
to sit in judgment upon other parents who earn their daily food with
labor and bitter care. Volkmar, though seventy years of age, works day
and night, but his practice brings him in little, for this is a poor,
sparsely settled neighborhood, and after his death Marietta will have
nothing."

"Then he should have made a teacher or a companion of her; that is a
decent way to earn one's bread."

"God preserve me from bread so earned. No one knows how the poor thing
would be used and ill treated. If I had a child who was dearer to me
than life, whose fate it was to earn her own living, and I was told that
she would have a brilliant future, and put money in her purse if she
went on the stage, I would say 'go!' you may depend upon it."

This avowal seemed to take the ground from under Regine's feet. She
stood for a moment gazing at him with frightened face. Then she said,
solemnly:

"Moritz--it makes me shudder to hear you."

"Well, if it gives you pleasure to shudder, don't stop on my account.
But when Marietta comes as usual to Fürstenstein, I will not send her
back, neither shall I raise any objection if Toni goes to her at
Waldhofen. So we need say nothing more about it."

Then Herr von Schönau cried out to his daughter, who was still pounding
away, that the window-panes were rattling and the strings of the piano
would be ruined. He did not really care a particle how much noise she
made, neither did her aunt, who answered him now, promptly and sharply:

"Well, there's one comfort at least, Toni will soon be married. Then
this friendship with the theatrical prodigy will be at an end. I give
you my word for it, that no such guests will be allowed within the walls
of Burgsdorf, and Willibald will not permit his young wife to keep up
any correspondence either."

"That means that you will not permit it," sneered the head forester.
"There are no yeas or nays in poor Will's life, he is only the obedient
servant of his dear mother. It is really remarkable how you can keep the
fellow, a man grown and soon to be a husband, so cowed down and under
the lash."

Frau von Eschenhagen threw her head back, more insulted than ever now.

"I believe I understand my responsibilities better than you. Perhaps you
would like to reprove me for educating my son to honor and love his
parents?"

"Ah, but there's a point where love leaves off and tyranny begins. You
have made Will quite stupid under your eternal tutelage. You couldn't
let him make his own offer of marriage even. The matter was an old story
to you, so you interfered as usual, without giving the poor boy a
chance. 'The affair is all arranged for you, children. Your parents have
settled it all for you. You are to marry one another. I give you my
blessing; now kiss one another, for you are betrothed.' That's the kind
of a stand you took. I, also, was taught to love and honor my parents,
but if they had attempted to woo my bride for me, they'd have heard me
sing another tune. And that boy of yours took it as quietly as possible;
I really believe he was rejoiced that he did not have to propose for
himself."

The excitement of the two had by this time reached fever heat, and it
was a fortunate thing that the noise from the piano drowned all further
conversation. Fräulein Antonie had great strength in her hands, and her
only idea of music was to make all the noise she could; one would have
thought a regiment of soldiers was storming a fort. Just now the noise
irritated her father, who wanted to hear himself speak.

"Toni, Toni, don't break the new piano in two with your thumping," he
shouted crossly. "What is it you are playing, anyway?"

Toni was working away bravely, notwithstanding the perspiration was
running down her face. Near her sat her lover on a little sofa, his eyes
shaded by his arm as he leaned back, his very soul steeped, as it were,
in the music. At her father's question the fair musician turned slowly
on her stool and answered in a half-sleepy tone:

"That is the 'Janizary March,' papa. I thought it would please Will, as
he is a soldier, you know."

"Yes; a dragoon by accident," muttered her father, as he stepped over to
his future son-in-law, who hardly seemed to appreciate the delicate
attentions of his fiancée.

"Well Will, what do you say to all this fine music?--Will, don't you
hear me? I believe upon my life he's sound asleep."

The young heir, aroused now by the scolding voices on all sides, rubbed
his eyes and looked at them with a dazed, drowsy air.

"What--what is the matter? Yes, it was very beautiful, dear Toni."

"Yes, to be sure it was," cried the head forester with an angry flash of
his eye. "You need never trouble yourself to play for him again, my
child. But come, let us leave this ardent lover to finish his nap in
peace. He has good strong nerves, I must say that for him."

With these words the irate father gave Antonie his arm and led her from
the room. But Frau von Eschenhagen, already highly incensed, felt that
her son's inattention to his sweetheart was an additional insult, and
now turned upon poor Willibald in a fury.

"Well, you have overstepped the limits of common decency, this time!"
she cried in a rage. "Your blessed father wasn't much of a carpet knight
in his day. He was engaged to me just twenty-four hours when he fell
asleep, too, while I played for him; but I waked him up after such a
fashion he never did it a second time I can assure you. Now go after
Toni this minute and say what you can to excuse yourself; she has reason
to be sorely vexed with you."

Regine took him by the shoulder and pushed him out of the door, as she
ended her tirade.

Will took all she said quietly enough, and went at once to make his
peace with his cousin. He felt really frightened over his ill-timed
slumber, but he had been tired, and the music wearied him greatly.

So he was very contrite as he entered the room in which his cousin was
standing at the window.

"Dearest Toni, do not be angry with me," he began, apologetically. "It
was so hot, and your beautiful music had something so soothing in it
that--"

Toni turned to him. It was certainly the first time that the Janizary
March had ever been called a soothing composition; but the crushed,
penitent look of her lover, who stood like a sinner awaiting
condemnation, restored her to good humor, and she held out her hand to
him, as she said heartily:

"No, I am not in the least angry with you, Will. I never cared about the
stupid music, myself. We'll find something more sensible than that to do
when we get to Burgsdorf."

"Yes, that we will," answered Will, cordially, as he pressed the
outstretched hand warmly. He would never have thought of kissing it.
"You are so good, Toni."

When Frau von Eschenhagen came upon the lovers a few minutes later, she
found them absorbed in the milk and cream question. The mode of
conducting a dairy in South Germany differed from that common in the
North. It was a subject of which Will never tired, and his mother felt
grateful in her heart for a daughter-in-law who had no uncomfortable
sensitiveness.

A little later, Will found an opportunity to win complete forgiveness.
Toni was anxious to get the evening post as soon as it arrived. She
complained, also, that something which had been ordered for supper had
not been sent from Waldhofen, and that a message which had been
entrusted to a groom, had not, she feared, been properly delivered. So
Willibald offered to go at once, and set all these vexatious trifles to
rights, and his offer was graciously accepted.

Waldhofen was a place of great importance to the mountaineers, though in
itself it was but a small town. It was about thirty minutes' walk from
Fürstenstein, and was an important centre for all the little villages
and hamlets scattered through the forest.

There was seldom a soul to be seen on the streets during the afternoon
hours, and it seemed a deserted, desolate place to Herr von Eschenhagen,
as he crossed the dreary market-place on his way from the post-office.

He had attended to the other errands first, and delivered the message,
which concerned the sending of a chest to Fürstenstein. As the streets
were of no interest to him, he turned now into a side road, where there
were neat little houses, with fresh, green little lawns in front. The
road was uneven and muddy after yesterday's heavy rain, but Willibald
was a countryman himself, and paid no heed to bad roads, so he walked on
now without a murmur.

He was in a very contented frame of mind, both as regarded himself and
the world at large. Here he was, a strong, healthy young man, with a
generous share of this world's goods, and the pleasurable thought that
he was engaged to be married to a girl who suited him, and who would, he
knew, make him a good wife.

A heavy, lumbering carriage came up the narrow, uneven road, along which
he was trudging. There was a large trunk strapped on the back, and
various bundles and boxes covered the seats within. Willibald wondered
to himself why any one had chosen such a miserable little lane, which
the recent rains had made totally unfit for vehicles, instead of taking
the wide, decently paved street. The coachman seemed to be in anything
but a happy frame of mind. He turned now in his seat, and said to the
traveler, of whom Willibald had not caught a glimpse:

"Now really Fräulein, we can go no farther. I told you before that we
couldn't get through here, and now you see for yourself how the wheels
stick in the mud--its a pretty piece of business."

"It is not very far," sounded a clear young voice from the depths of the
carriage. "Only a few hundred steps, farther. So please go on no matter
how slowly."

"What can't be done, can't be done!" announced the driver in a
philosophic tone. "I cannot go forward through this mire, and I won't.
We must turn back."

"I will not ride through the town." The clear voice had a decided,
defiant tone this time. "If you won't go through this lane, stop, and
I'll get out here."

The driver stopped at once, clambered down from his seat and opened the
heavy door, and a second later a slender girl jumped from the carriage;
jumped skillfully, too, for she landed on a dry place without coming in
contact with the mud and mire which surrounded her on all sides. Then
she took a view of her surroundings. But just before her the road had an
abrupt turn, so she could not see very far.

The young lady was evidently annoyed to find herself farther from her
destination than she had supposed. Then her glance fell on Herr von
Eschenhagen, who, coming from the other direction, had just reached the
bend in the road.

"I beg pardon, sir, but is the road passable?"

He did not answer at once for he was dumb with admiration at the
wonderful and graceful leap which she had just made. She had gone
through the air like a feather, and landed on the only dry spot on the
whole road.

"Don't you hear me?" she repeated, impatiently. "Do you know whether the
road is passable or not?"

"I--I am on the road now," he answered, rather staggered by the sharp,
dictatorial tone.

"I can see that for myself. But I have no high boots like you. What I
want to know is whether the road is as muddy as this all the way or not?
Are there any dry places? Great heavens! can't you answer?"

"I--I believe you will find it dry after you get past this bend here."

"Very well, then, I will venture. So you can turn back, driver, and
leave my luggage at the post-office opposite the market-place, and I'll
send for it. Wait. Hand me down that black satchel, and I'll take it
with me."

"But it's too heavy for you to carry, Fräulein, and I can't leave my
horses to take it for you," objected the coachman.

"Well, then, give it to that gentleman yonder. It's not very far to our
garden gate. Will you please take that black leather satchel, sir--the
one on the back seat with the heavy straps. Can't you hurry?"

The little foot stamped impatiently on the ground, for the master of
Burgsdorf stood and stared at her with open mouth. It was something new
to him to be commanded and disposed of in this way by a young woman; but
at the last imperious words he came bashfully forward and took the
satchel from the driver's hand. The young lady evidently thought it the
most natural thing in the world to ask his assistance.

"There," she said, shortly. "Now, driver, go back to the post-office,
and I'll pick my way through the Waldhofen mud."

She gathered her gray traveling cloak and frock around her and stepped
along quickly, picking her way carefully as she went, and keeping as
close as possible to the low hedge which bordered the road, while
Willibald, of whom she took no notice, trotted on behind with her
belongings. He thought he had never seen anything half so lovely as this
graceful, slender creature, who scarcely reached up to his shoulder, and
he feasted his eyes on the little figure as he followed after.

There was something more than ordinarily gracious and pleasing in the
young girl's movements, and in her whole appearance, and she carried her
little head with its mass of curly dark hair which no hat could keep
concealed, with a jaunty air. Her features were irregular, but they
wore an expression of saucy defiance, which with her large, dark eyes
and rosy mouth, and the little dimple in the chin, made up for all
imperfections of contour. The gray traveling costume, while simple in
the extreme, was well and tastefully made, and told that its fair wearer
was of another world than that of Waldhofen.

The road, after they had rounded the bend, was, as Willibald said, much
drier, though they still had to keep close to the low, hedge-hidden
wall, and take very careful steps to avoid the wet, muddy hollows. There
was no conversation between the two. Will would never have thought of
speaking, so he trudged on patiently, while his guide hurried forward as
rapidly as the way would permit, and apparently never troubling herself
about the meek burden-bearer in the rear.

In about ten minutes they reached a low garden gate at which the girl
stopped abruptly. She leaned over, and pulling out a little wooden bar,
opened it. Then she turned to her escort, if such he could be called,
and said:

"I thank you, sir. Please give me my satchel now."

The satchel, in spite of its small size, was much too heavy for her
little hands to hold. Willibald was, for the first time in his life,
seized with a knightly impulse, and declared the satchel was much too
heavy for her, and that he would carry it to the house for her. She
accepted his courtesy with a careless nod of approval, and turning
hastily, went through the small, well-kept garden to the back door of
the little old-fashioned house, on which the long afternoon shadows were
lingering. Now for the first time, the new-comer was seen from within,
and an elderly woman started out from the little kitchen, crying:

"Fräulein! Fräulein Marietta, you have come to-day. Ah, what joy, what--"

Marietta flew toward her and put her hand over her mouth.

"Hush! hush! Babette. Speak softly, I want to surprise grandpapa. Is he
at home?"

"Yes, the Herr Doctor is at home and is in his study. Will you go right
in, Fräulein?"

"No, I'll go into the front room and play a soft accompaniment, and sing
him his favorite song! Be careful, Babette, he must not hear us."

She went in on tiptoe, as noiselessly as an elf, across the old hall,
and softly opened the door of a little, low-ceilinged corner room;
Babette, who, overcome by joy and surprise, had not noticed the stranger
standing in the shadow, followed her dear Fräulein. The door was left
open, and Willibald could hear a cover laid back cautiously and a chair
pushed gently in place. Then she began a low prelude. The sounds which
the old worn out spinet gave forth were tremulous and thin, and made one
think of an ancient harp; but the maiden's voice recalled the lark's
song of rejoicing.

The singing was not long continued, for a door opposite was opened
hastily, and an old man with white hair appeared upon the threshold.

"Marietta! my Marietta, is it really you?"

"Grandpapa!" cried the young girl exultantly, as she ceased her song and
rushed forward to throw herself in the old man's arms.

"You bad child. Why did you frighten me so?" he said, tenderly. "I did
not expect you until day after to-morrow, and intended going to the
railway station to meet you. When I heard your voice so suddenly just
now, I believed my ears had deceived me."

The girl laughed out gaily like an excited child.

"Ah, I have succeeded in surprising you, grandpapa, haven't I? I came up
the back road, but the wheels stuck so in the mud that I had to get out
and walk part of the way. I came in through the garden and by the back
door--well, Babette, what is it?"

"Fräulein, the carrier is still waiting with the satchel," Babette had
just discovered that a stranger was on the premises. "Shall I give him
money for a drink and let him go?"

The young man, thus designated as the carrier, still stood, satchel in
hand, awaiting Marietta's pleasure. Dr. Volkmar turned at once, and
recognizing who it was, cried in a frightened tone:

"Good heavens--Herr von Eschenhagen!"

"Do you know the gentleman?" asked Marietta, without any especial
interest or surprise, for her grandfather, being the only physician in
the region, of course knew every one.

"To be sure I know him. Babette, take the valise at once. I beg your
pardon, sir. I did not know that you were acquainted with my
granddaughter."

"Why, we never saw each other before to-day," explained Marietta. "But,
grandpapa, will you not introduce me to this gentleman?"

"Certainly, my child. Herr Willibald von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf--"

"Toni's betrothed!" interrupted Marietta delighted. "O, how comical that
we should meet each other for the first time in the mud. If I had known
who it was I would not have treated you so cavalierly, Herr von
Eschenhagen. I let you walk behind me as though you were a veritable
porter. But why didn't you speak?"

Willibald didn't speak now, but looked stupidly at the little hand
which was extended to him. He felt he must do or say something, and as
it was an impossibility for him to speak, he grasped the little hand in
his great, brawny palm and pressed and shook it vigorously.

"Oh!" cried Marietta as she drew back hastily. "You have a terrible
grip, Herr von Eschenhagen. I believe you have broken my finger."

Willibald, glowing from embarrassment and mortification, was about to
stammer an apology, when the doctor came to his rescue by inviting him
to come in. This invitation he accepted without speaking, and followed
his host into the house. Marietta took the principal part in the
conversation. She gave a very amusing account of her meeting with
Willibald. Now that she knew he was her dear Toni's lover, she treated
him with all the familiarity and freedom of an old friend. She asked
question after question about Toni and the head forester, and her tongue
went on without rest or intermission.

To the young man who sat so silent and listened so eagerly, the girl's
pleasant, bird-like chatter was quite bewildering. He had met the doctor
on the previous day at Fürstenstein and had heard some talk of a certain
Marietta who was a friend of his fiancée. Who or what she was, or from
whence she came, he did not know, for Toni had not been very
communicative on that occasion.

"And to think of this excited child leaving you standing at the back
door, while she came in to play and sing to decoy me from my study,"
said Dr. Volkmar shaking his head. "That was very impolite, Marietta,
very impolite indeed."

The young girl laughed merrily, and shook her short, curly hair.

"O, Herr von Eschenhagen has not taken it amiss. But as he only heard a
bar or two of your favorite song, I think the least I can do is to sing
it all for him now."

And without waiting for an answer, she seated herself at the piano, and
again the clear, silvery voice with its bird-like notes, broke forth on
the evening air. She sang an old, simple ballad, but with such
expression, such pathos and sweetness, that a bright spring sunlight
seemed to enter and flood the little rooms of the old house. But no
sunshine was half so bright as the joy which lit up the face of the old
white-headed man, upon whose forehead lay the shadows of years and
sorrow, and on whose cheeks care had pressed deep furrows. With a
half-pathetic, happy smile he listened to the old familiar melody, which
spoke to his heart like a voice from his own lost youth.

But he was not the only attentive listener. The master of Burgsdorf, who
had fallen asleep amid the thunders of a military march, and who had
felt himself entirely in accord with Tom when she declared music to be
stupid, listened almost breathlessly to the enchanting strains. Such
music was a revelation to him. He sat, leaning forward in his chair, as
if fearful of losing a single note, with his eyes fastened upon the
pretty maiden, who, singing with all her soul, moved her little head
backward and forward with a graceful movement as she warbled forth her
sweet song. When it was ended Willibald leaned back in his chair with a
heavy sigh, and drew his hand across his eyes.

"My little singing bird," said Dr. Volkmar tenderly, as he rose and
leaned over his grandchild and kissed her forehead.

"Well, grandpapa," she said teasingly, "has my voice lost anything
within the last few months? But I fear it does not please Herr von
Eschenhagen. He has no word of commendation for me."

She turned to Willibald with the assumed sulky look of a spoiled child.
He rose now and came over to her.

A slight flush diffused his face, and in his eyes, usually so
expressionless, shone a new light.

"Oh, it was very beautiful!"

The young singer might be forgiven for having expected something more
then these few embarrassed words; but she felt the deep, honest
admiration which they conveyed, and understood at once that her song had
deeply impressed the taciturn stranger. She smiled pleasantly as she
replied:

"Yes, it is a sweet song. I have scored more than one triumph singing it
as an encore."

"As an encore?" repeated Will, with no idea of what she meant.

"Yes, at the theatre, which I have just left to visit grandpapa. I was
such a success, grandpapa, and the director wanted me to give up all my
vacation, but I had surrendered so much of it already to suit him that I
declared I would have these few weeks with you."

Willibald listened to all this with increasing astonishment. Theatre,
vacation, director, what did it all mean? The doctor noticed his
astonishment.

"Herr von Eschenhagen does not know what you are, my child," he said
quietly. "My granddaughter has been educated for an opera singer."

"How soberly you say it, grandpapa," cried Marietta, springing up and
drawing her little slender figure to its full height, as she said, with
an assumption of great dignity:

"For the past five months a member of the renowned and worshipful Ducal
Court theatre, a person in a responsible position and worthy of all
honor. Hats off, gentlemen!"

A member of the Court theatre company! Willibald drew himself together,
as it were, when he heard the fatal words. The well trained son of his
mother, he had a great abhorrence for all actors and actresses. He
stepped unwittingly, three steps back, and stared in amazement at the
young lady who had just made so startling and so frightful an
announcement. She laughed out loud as he did so.

"Oh, you need not manifest so much respect for me, Herr von Eschenhagen,
I will permit you to stand by the piano. Has Toni never told you that I
belong to the theatre?"

"Toni? No!" stammered Willibald, greatly disconcerted. "But she is
waiting for me. I must go to Fürstenstein. I have stayed here much too
long already."

"How extremely polite," laughed the girl, with a good-natured sneer. "It
is not very polite to us, but where your bride is, there should you be
also."

"Yes, and with my mother, too," said Will, who had a feeling that
something dreadful was threatening him, and to whom his mother seemed a
protecting angel. "I beg your pardon, but I have been here much too long
already."

He stopped abruptly, remembering that he had said these words once
before, but as none better offered themselves to his disturbed brain he
repeated them for the third time.

Marietta was half dead from suppressed laughter. Dr. Volkmar declared,
most courteously, that he would not think of detaining his guest a
second longer, and begged him to give his compliments to the head
forester and to Fräulein von Schönau.

The young man scarcely heard him; he reached for his hat, muttering some
word of farewell, and was off without delay. He had but one thought,
and that was to get away as quickly as possible. The good-natured,
scarcely restrained laughter confused him greatly.

When the doctor returned, after having accompanied Willibald to the
door, he found his grandchild half suffocated with laughter, while the
tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"I don't believe that lover of Toni's is quite right here," she said, as
she tapped her forehead with her finger. "First, he carried my satchel
and was as dumb as a fish; then he thawed out a little when I sang, and
now he is off on a run to Fürstenstein and his mother, before I have a
chance even to send Toni a message"

The doctor smiled, but it was a pained smile. He had observed this
stranger more closely than Marietta, and knew only too well what caused
the sudden and great anxiety to get away from the house.

"Evidently the young man is not much accustomed to ladies' society," he
answered evasively; "he's under his mother's thumb apparently, but he
seems to please his sweetheart, and that's the main thing."

"He's a handsome man," mused Marietta, "a very handsome man. But,
grandpapa, I believe he's also a very stupid one."

Willibald in the meantime had gone, almost on a run, to the nearest
street corner, and there he halted and tried to overcome his
bewilderment and collect his thoughts. It was some time before he
started slowly on his homeward way, and while standing dazed and stupid
in the little country road, he threw more than one glance back at the
doctor's house.

What would his mother say? She, who all her life had spurned the
play-actor as she would a reptile. And she was right, Will saw that
clearly; there was a sorcery about such people against which one needed
protection.

But if this Marietta Volkmar should see fit to go to Fürstenstein to
visit her girlhood's friend! The young heir was horrified at the
thought, and assured himself that he was horrified, but there was a new
light in his eyes all the while. He saw suddenly, in his mind's eye, the
reception room at Fürstenstein, and the piano at which his betrothed had
sat so long that day, but in her place was a dainty little figure, with
a perfect glory of curly brown hair around her head; and the heavy notes
of the "Janizary March" changed into the soft, pleading tones of the
old-time ballad, and in the midst of it all, broke out the clear,
bubbling laugh which sounded like music, too.

And all this sweetness was lost forever, both in this world and in the
next, because it had been seen and heard on the stage. Frau von
Eschenhagen had often expressed her views on that subject, and her son,
a good, obedient son always, looked upon her as an oracle. But now he
heaved a deep sigh, as he said half aloud:

"What a shame! What a lamentable shame!"




CHAPTER VI.


The little mountain of Hochberg rose about half way between Fürstenstein
and Rodeck. It was celebrated, and justly, for the fine and extensive
view which could be obtained from its highest point. An ancient stone
tower, all that now remained of a castle long since fallen into decay,
stood upon the extreme summit.

A few peasants, more zealous than their neighbors, had built a little
inn or house of rest and refreshment at its base. They made a pretense
of keeping the mountain roads in order, and demanded a fair toll from
the stray tourist who came to climb the winding tower stairs.

Strangers came but seldom, however, into this wild, unknown mountain
region. In the autumn especially, visitors were few and far between.
This bright, warm September day had, however, proved seductive. Two
gentlemen on horseback, attended by a groom, had dismounted at the door
and gone up into the little tower, and they had been followed, a half
hour later, by some guests from the neighborhood, who had driven up the
mountain-side in a light carriage.

The gentlemen were now standing on a little stone platform of the tower,
and one of them was talking eagerly and excitedly as he called his
companion's attention to certain newly-discovered beauties in the
landscape. "Yes, our Hochberg is celebrated, there's no doubt of that,"
he said finally. "I felt I must show it to you, Hartmut. Do you not
think the view across this far green ocean of forest is unparalleled?"

Hartmut did not answer. He seemed to be searching for some particular
place through his field glass.

"In which direction does Fürstenstein lie? Ah, I see, over yonder. It
seems to be an immense old building."

"Yes, the castle is well worth seeing," said Prince Adelsberg. "You were
quite right, though, day before yesterday, to refuse to accompany me
there. The visit worried me to death."

"Indeed! You spoke very enthusiastically of the head forester to me."

"Yes, I always enjoy a chat with him, but he had gone driving, worse
luck, and only returned just as I was leaving. His son is not at
Fürstenstein either, he's at college studying forestry, and so I was
entertained by the daughter of the house, Fräulein Antonie von Schönau.
I had a weary hour, I can assure you. A word every five minutes, and a
minute getting that one out. She's a fine housewife, I fancy, with no
brains for anything beyond. It was up hill work talking to her, and no
mistake; then I had the honor of meeting her lover. A genuine,
unsophisticated country squire, with a very energetic mother, who
evidently has both him and her future daughter-in-law well under her
control. Oh, we had a highly intellectual conversation, which ended in
their asking my advice about the culture of turnips--I'm so well up in
turnips, you know. Just then, happily, the head forester and his
brother-in-law, Baron Wallmoden, returned."

Rojanow still held the field glass to his eyes, and was seemingly
indifferent to his friend's gossip. Now he said in a questioning tone,
"Wallmoden?"

"The new Prussian ambassador to our court. A genuine diplomatist, too,
if I may judge from appearances; aristocratic, cold, dignified and
reserved to the last degree, but good form, very good form. His wife,
the baroness, was not visible, but I bore her absence with resignation,
for he's a white-haired elderly man, and I doubt not his wife's of the
same stripe."

Hartmut's lip curled as he took the glass down from his eyes. He had not
mentioned his meeting with Frau von Wallmoden. Why not forget the very
name as soon as possible?

"Our romantic loneliness will soon end, Herr von Schönau tells me,"
continued Egon. "The whole court is coming to Fürstenstein for the
hunting season, and I can count on a visit from the duke. He'll come
over to Rodeck as soon as he arrives. I'm not overjoyed, I can tell you,
for my respected uncle will preach at me about my morals in a way poor
Stadinger never thought of doing, and I'll have to stand it, too. At any
rate Hartmut, I can take this opportunity to present you."

"If you think it necessary, and the etiquette of the court permits."

"Bah! The etiquette won't be so strictly observed here, and besides the
Rojanows belong to one of the Bojarin families of your country."

"Certainly."

"Well then, there's nothing to prevent your being presented. I am very
anxious to have the duke meet you, then I'll tell him about your
'Arivana,' and as soon as he hears your play, he'll have it put on the
court stage. I've no question of it."

The words conveyed the deep, almost passionate admiration which the
prince had for his friend. The latter only shrugged his shoulders as he
replied carelessly:

"That is possible, if you intercede for me, but I do not want to owe my
success to any man's efforts in my behalf. I am no poet of repute; I
scarcely know whether I am a poet at all or not, and if my work cannot
make its own way I shall not force it on the world."

"You'll be obstinate enough to let a fine opportunity slip, that's like
you. Have you no ambition?"

"Only too much, I fear; perhaps that's the origin of what you call my
obstinacy. I have never been able to subordinate myself and conform to
the rules of every day life, and as to the restrictions and trammels of
your German courts, I could not adjust myself to them."

"Who told you you would have to adjust yourself to them?" questioned
Egon laughingly. "You will be flattered and spoiled there, as everywhere
else, for you will appear in the heavens like a meteor and no one ever
requires stars of that nature to follow a prescribed orbit. Moreover
you will be both a guest and a foreigner; and as such will occupy an
exceptional position. When in addition to that, the poet's halo shines
round your head--"

"You will have found means to bind me to your country, you think?"
interjected Hartmut.

"Well yes, I certainly have not supposed that I, myself, possessed the
power to attach to us permanently so wild and restless a spirit. But the
rising fame of a poet is a bond which is not so easily broken. This very
morning I took an oath to keep you here at any cost."

Rojanow gave him a surprised, searching look. "Why this morning?"

"Ah, that's my secret," said Egon mischievously. "But here comes some
one to join us. I hear steps on the stairs."

Yes, there were steps coming up the old stone stairway, and a second
later the bearded face of the old watchman peered out at the men on the
platform.

"Please be careful, my lady," he was saying. "The last few steps are
very steep; now here we are on the platform." He held out his hand to
assist the lady, who was following him closely, but she paid no heed to
his offer and stepped lightly out on the little stone balcony.

"What a lovely girl," whispered Prince Adelsberg to his friend; but
Hartmut, instead of answering, was making a deep and formal bow to the
lady, who could not conceal a look of surprise when she saw him.

"Ah, Herr Rojanow, you here?"

"I am admiring the fine views from Hochberg of which you, madame, have
heard also, apparently."

The prince's face bore a surprised look when he heard Hartmut address
this lovely girl as madame, and saw that she knew him. He came forward
immediately, in order that he might share his friend's acquaintance, so
Hartmut was constrained to introduce Prince Adelsberg to the Baroness
von Wallmoden; he made a passing allusion to the meeting in the wood,
for the young wife was wrapped in her mantle of icy indifference. It was
scarcely necessary to-day, for Rojanow was as fully determined as she,
to consider their acquaintance as of the slightest.

Egon cast a reproving glance toward his friend, for he could not
comprehend how any one could keep silence about such a happy accident as
that of piloting so lovely a woman through the wood. He entered at once,
and with animation, into a conversation with the baroness. He spoke of
himself as a neighbor, and of his recent visit to Fürstenstein, and his
regret, great regret, at not meeting her on that occasion. But with all
his chatter, the prince kept himself well within bounds, and was the
polite and agreeable courtier. He knew full well that the wife of the
Prussian ambassador, no matter how young and beautiful, was not to be
approached with vapid, idle compliments. Hartmut had made that error in
addressing the unknown girl in the wood, but Egon had the advantage of
knowing to whom he spoke, and succeeded at last in thawing the beautiful
baroness by his gracious, suave manner. Finally he showed her the
landscape, and pointed out and explained the especial objects of
interest.

Hartmut did not enter into the conversation at all, but after handing
the field glass to his friend, excused himself on the plea of searching
for a lost pocket-book. The watchman of the tower volunteered to go in
search of it for him, but Rojanow declared he would go and look for it
himself. He remembered the exact place, where, as he mounted the stairs,
he had heard something drop, but had paid no attention to it at the
time. He would go and find it, and then return to the platform. And
with a bow he left them.

Egon, under other circumstances, would have expressed his surprise that
Hartmut did not accept the old watchman's offer, instead of going
himself. But now he saw his friend depart without protest; he was not
unwilling to have the field to himself. The baroness had already raised
the glass to her eyes, and was following attentively his explanations
and comments on the surrounding country.

"And over yonder, behind that mountain of forest, lies Rodeck," he said
at last. "The little hunting lodge where we two misanthropes live like
hermits, cut off from all the world beside, save the apes and parrots
which we brought from the East, and they, by the way, are growing very
melancholy in their new home."

"One would never take your highness for a misanthrope," said Frau von
Wallmoden with a fleeting smile.

"I confess I haven't much taste for it, myself, but once in a while
Hartmut has a touch of the disease, and it is for his sake that I have
buried myself in this solitude."

"Hartmut? That is a Hungarian name! It's very surprising that Herr
Rojanow speaks such pure German without the slightest accent. And yet he
told me he was a foreigner."

"Yes, he is from Roumania, but he was educated, partially at least, by
kinsfolk in Germany, from whom he also got his Christian name." The
young prince explained so unconcernedly that it was evident he knew as
little about his friend's family as did his listener.

"You seem to be very partial to him." There was a slighting tone in her
voice.

"Yes, I am indeed," exclaimed Egon, roused in an instant. "And not I,
alone. Hartmut has one of those attractive, genial natures, which wins
upon all who know him. But the stranger who does not see him
unrestrained and at his best, can form no judgment of what he is. Then a
flame of fire bursts from his soul, and touches all those with whom he
comes in contact. He exercises a charm which none can resist, and where
he leads all must follow."

This glowing eulogy was listened to with cool indifference by the young
woman, whose whole attention seemed to be centered in the landscape, as
she answered:

"You are right, doubtless. Herr Rojanow's eyes indicate an unusually
fiery temperament, but their expression is uncanny and surely not
sympathetic."

"Perhaps because they have that peculiar and demoniacal expression which
is always the indication of genius. Hartmut has great talent; he
sometimes frightens me with it, and yet it attracts me irresistibly. I
really do not know how I could live without him, now. I shall do
everything in my power to make him remain with me."

"In Germany? Your highness sets yourself a hard task. Herr Rojanow has a
very contemptuous opinion of our country, I can assure you. He expressed
himself most forcibly to that effect, the other day in the wood."

The prince listened attentively. These words explained to him what he
had at first thought so singular; why Hartmut had not mentioned to him
the meeting with the baroness. He smiled as he said: "Ah, that's why he
never mentioned meeting you to me. You probably showed him you did not
approve of his candid avowal concerning Germany; you served him just
right, for there's no sense in his lying so persistently. He has often
angered me with his harangues against my country, all of which I thought
he meant, at the time, but now I know better."

"You do not believe, then?" Adelheid turned suddenly and faced the
speaker.

"No, I have the proof of it in my hand. He fairly revels in our German
scenery. Your ladyship looks at me incredulously; may I tell you a
secret?"

"Well?"

"I went to Hartmut's room, this morning, to look for him," began the
prince, "and he was not there; but I found on his desk what was better
than finding him--a poem which he had evidently forgotten to lock up,
for he never intended it for my eyes, that's certain. No pricks of
conscience prevented my stealing it, and I have it with me this minute.
If you would care to glance at it--"

"I do not understand the Roumanian tongue," responded Frau von
Wallmoden, with a slight sneer; "and I imagine Herr Rojanow has not
condescended to write in German."

For answer Egon drew a paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. "You are
prejudiced against my friend, I see, but I do not want to leave him in
the false light in which he has placed himself in your eyes. May I not
read this to you, and let his own words be his justification?"

"If you desire."

The words were spoken indifferently, but Adelheid's eyes sought the
paper with an expression of keen interest. A few verses, written in a
careless, hasty hand, covered the white page. Egon began to read. They
were indeed German verses, but in them was a pureness and euphony which
told that they could only have been written by a master of that tongue,
and the description which they gave was one well known to both
listeners. Deep, sad, woodland loneliness, pervaded by the first breath
of autumn; endless green depths which swayed and beckoned with their
gloomy shadows; fragrant meadows flooded with the golden sunlight;
silent stretches of water in the far distance, and the noisy murmur of
the mountain brook, as it rushed down from some nearer height. This
picture had life and speech in it, too, and had its echoes of an
old-time woodland song; the rustle and whisper of the swaying branches
sounded to the ear like a soft, low melody, and above all and through
all, was the deep, pent-up longing for that peace which was the
background of the whole scene.

The prince had begun with fervor, and entering into the spirit of the
poem, read clearly and intelligently. As he finished, he turned to the
baroness with a triumphant, "What do you say to that?"

Frau von Wallmoden had not lost a word; she had not looked at the
reader, though, but had gazed across the distant hills. Now, at the
prince's question, she turned slowly. "Is this the language of one who
despises our country?" he continued, confident he had the best of the
argument. And as he looked closely at her, while demanding justice for
his friend, he realized for the first time, just how lovely this Frau
von Wallmoden was. The rosy tints of the setting sun softened the look
in the lovely eyes, and added beauty to the tender oval of her face; but
there was no softness in the cold, deliberate answer: "It is really
quite surprising that a foreigner should understand our language so
well."

Egon stared at her. Was this all she had to say? He had expected
something quite different. "And what do you think of the poem itself?"
he asked.

"Very full of sentiment. Herr Rojanow seems to possess a great deal of
poetical talent. Many thanks for your field glass, and now I must go
down to my husband. I fear he is tired already, waiting for me."

Egon folded his paper without a word and returned it to his pocket. He
had been very enthusiastic over his friend's production, and this young
woman, colder and more frozen than ever now, chilled him to the bone.

"I have 

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