Vineta, the Phantom City
by E. Werner · English · Gutenberg #35007 · 586,745 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Vineta, the Phantom City
Author: E. Werner
Translator: Frances A. Shaw
Release date: January 19, 2011 [eBook #35007]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35007
Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VINETA, THE PHANTOM CITY ***
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
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VINETA,
THE PHANTOM CITY.
FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
AUTHOR OF "GOOD LUCK," "BROKEN CHAINS," ETC.
BY
FRANCES A. SHAW.
BOSTON:
ESTES AND LAURIAT.
1877.
COPYRIGHT,
1877.
Estes and Lauriat.
Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
No. 19 Spring Lane.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. The Widow and her Son,
II. Waldemar,
III. Villica,
IV. The Meeting,
V. The Brothers' First Meeting,
VI. A Transformation,
VII. Strategy and Jealousy,
VIII. The Old "Wonder-City,"
IX. Dr. Fabian's Diplomatic Mission,
X. Leo's Visit to Altenhof,
XI. The New Regime at Villica,
XII. The New Conspirators,
XIII. The Young Landlord's Return,
XIV. The Hunting-Party,
XV. The "History of Ancient Germany."
XVI. Cassandrian Warnings,
XVII. The French Lessons,
XVIII. The Assessor's Wooing,
XIX. The Forest Drive,
XX. The Conflict between Love and Duty,
XXI. The Rescue,
XXII. The New University Professor,
XXIII. Brother against Brother,
XXIV. The Fatal Venture,
XXV. Hubert grows Misanthropic,
XXVI. A Dream of Exile,
XXVII. The Government Counsellor,
XXVIII. The "Frau Professorin,"
XXIX. Reunion,
XXX. Auf Wiedersehen!
VINETA.
CHAPTER I.
THE WIDOW AND HER SON.
The hot summer afternoon neared its close. The sun had already set, but
the twilight glow still lingered in the western sky, and was mirrored
in the sea, which, scarcely rippled by a zephyr's breath, caught the
last splendors of the dying day.
At some distance from the shore along which ran the great promenade of
the fashionable watering-place of C----, usually thronged with visitors
at this hour, stood a solitary country house, modest and unpretending,
but distinguished from the large and splendid villas of the
neighborhood by the beauty of its situation and its outlook over the
sea to the horizon's verge. It was a quiet, secluded spot, well fitted
to be the abode of people seeking retirement and desiring no part in
the gay, excited life around them. At an open glass door leading out
upon a balcony stood a lady in deep mourning. Her stature was tall and
imposing, and although she had reached the meridian of life, she was
still beautiful. This face with its firm, regular outlines could never
have possessed the charm of gentleness and amiability, but years had
robbed it of little of its cold, severe beauty. The black dress with
its heavy crape trimmings indicated a recent bereavement, but the eyes
bore no trace of tears; there was no touch of sensibility in the
resolute features. If sorrow had come near this woman, she had not felt
it deeply, or she had conquered it.
At the lady's side stood a gentleman of equally imposing appearance;
although very near her in age, he seemed ten years her senior, for time
and life had left deep traces as they swept over his head. The grave,
expressive face bore that impress which the world's storms and
conflicts leave behind them; the dark, abundant hair was tinged with
gray, the brow was furrowed, and the profound melancholy of the glance
was in keeping with that look of sadness stamped upon all the features.
He had been intently gazing out upon the sea, but he now turned away
with an impatient gesture.
"They are not yet in sight," he said; "they will not be likely to
return before dark."
"You should have announced your arrival," replied the lady. "We did not
expect you for some days. The boat never comes in sight until it has
doubled that wooded point yonder.--Go down to the beach, Paul," she
added, speaking to a servant, "and as soon as the boat lands, inform
your young master and mistress that Count Morynski has arrived."
The servant left on his errand, and the count, abandoning his watch on
the balcony, entered the house with the lady and seated himself at her
side. "Forgive my impatience, sister," he said; "your society ought to
content me for the present, but it is a year since I have seen my
little girl."
The lady smiled. "You will see a little girl no longer," she said. "A
year counts much at her age, and Wanda gives promise of great beauty."
"And has her intellectual culture kept pace with her physical
development? Your letters have always expressed great satisfaction in
her progress."
"Her mental attainments are beyond her years; she always outstrips her
tasks, and in this respect needs to be restrained rather than urged on.
But I must tell you that Wanda has one great fault: self-will. I have
sometimes been compelled to enforce the obedience she was inclined to
deny me."
The father smiled as he answered: "This is a strange reproach from
_your_ lips, Maryna. Self-will, you are aware, is a distinguishing
trait of your own character; it is in fact an especial trait of our
family."
"But it is not to be tolerated in a young girl of sixteen," replied the
sister. "I tell you once for all, Wanda's obstinacy must be
controlled."
This assertion did not seem to please the count, and he tried to change
the subject. "I feel sure that I could commit my child to no better
hands than yours," he said, "and I am doubly rejoiced that now I have
come to take Wanda home, she will still be near you. I did not count
upon your return so soon after your husband's death. I supposed you
would remain in Paris until Leo had completed his studies."
"I did not feel at home in Paris," replied the lady; "you know from
your own experience that exile is an unenviable lot. Although my
husband was banished for life from his native land, return was not
denied his widow and son. Leo is the last of his race; he must
represent the family. I wished to educate him at home, so that he might
become in thought and feeling a true son of his fatherland. He is still
very young, but the duties which are required of him are beyond his
years, and he must learn to fulfil them."
"Where do you think of making your home?" asked Count Morynski; "you
know that my house is at all times open to you."
"I know it," returned the princess, "and I thank you; but my great
object in life is to secure a future for my Leo worthy of the name he
bears. You understand our pecuniary circumstances; we have sacrificed
nearly all for our country and its lost cause, and our life in exile
has been full of privations. Some better fortune must be in store for
us. For Leo's sake I have decided upon a step which for myself alone
I would not have taken. Can you divine the reason why I have chosen
C---- for a summer residence?"
"No, I cannot; your choice surprises me. Herr Witold's estate lies only
ten miles distant from here, and I should suppose you would wish to
avoid such proximity. Have you lately been corresponding with
Waldemar?"
"No," replied the princess, coldly. "During our absence in France I
scarcely heard from him; in all these years he has made no inquiries
after his mother."
"And has his mother inquired after him?" asked the count.
"If I had done so, it would have been to subject myself to repulsion
and humiliation," replied the princess, excitedly. "Herr Witold has
always hated me, and has asserted his unlimited rights as guardian of
my eldest son in the most annoying ways. Here I am powerless."
"A mother's rights stand so high that if you had asserted them with
your wonted decision, Witold would not have ventured to deny you all
intercourse with your child. But you have not done this; be honest,
Maryna, you have never loved your eldest son!"
The princess leaned her head upon her hand, and was silent. She felt
the truth of her brother's words.
"I well know why Waldemar does not hold the first place in your heart,"
continued the count; "he is the son of an unloved husband whom you were
forced to accept; he reminds you of an unblest marriage. Leo is the
child of your heart and of your love."
"And his father never gave me the slightest cause for complaint," added
the princess.
"You had entire influence over your last husband," said the count; "but
we will waive this subject. You have a plan, it seems. Do you propose
to assert a mother's claims over Waldemar?"
"I propose at least to assert the right of which my first husband's
will robbed me; that unjust will, every line of which was dictated by
hatred, and a resolve that the widow, as well as the mother, should be
disinherited. Until now, the will has remained in full force, but it
declares Waldemar of age in his twenty-first year. He has reached that
age, and is now his own master. I want to put it to the test--if he
will allow his mother to seek an asylum with relatives, while he is
reckoned among the wealthiest proprietors of the country, and it will
cost him but one word to secure an honorable existence to his mother
and brother upon one of his estates."
Count Morynski shook his head. "If you reckon upon any filial
sentiments in this son, I fear you delude yourself. He has been
separated from you since infancy, and you may be very sure that he has
been taught no love for his mother. I have seen him only once; he was
then a boy of some ten years of age, and he impressed me favorably. But
I remember perfectly that he was not at all pliant in disposition."
"You may well say that," returned the princess. "He is his father's own
son, and must be, like him, rough, uncontrollable, and unsusceptible to
high and noble influences. I think I fully understand Waldemar's
character, but he will allow me to control him. Inferior natures always
yield to intellectual superiority, if it is only asserted in the right
way."
"Could you control the boy's father?" asked the count, gravely.
"You forget, Bronislaw, that I was at the time of my first marriage a
young girl of seventeen, without experience and without knowledge of
human nature. I should now know how to deal with such a character, and
to mould it to my will. Besides, in dealing with Waldemar, I have a
mother's authority; he will yield to me."
The count thought differently, but ere he had time to reply, a light,
quick step echoed on the balcony. The door flew open, a young girl
bounded into the room, and the next moment was clasped in her father's
arms.
The princess rose and advanced to meet her son who stood in the
doorway. "You have been absent a long while, Leo," she said; "we have
waited a full hour for your return."
"I beg your pardon, mamma; the sunset upon the water was so beautiful
that we wanted to gaze at it until the last moment."
With these words, Leo Zulieski took his mother's hand, and leading her
to the sofa, sat down by her side. He was very young, perhaps seventeen
or eighteen years of age, and bore a striking resemblance to his
mother; but the cold, severe expression of that older face was absent
from these youthful features, where all was warmth and animation, and
from the dark, fiery eyes, which indicated an ardent, impulsive
temperament. The young fellow was such a picture of youthful strength,
grace, and beauty, that the pride with which his mother took his hand
and led him to his uncle might well be pardoned.
"Leo has no father," she said, sadly. "Whenever he needs a man's advice
and guidance, I rely upon you, Bronislaw."
The count embraced his nephew warmly and cordially, but his glances as
well as his thoughts were centred upon his daughter. The joy of meeting
her again overruled all other emotions.
Wanda did not bear the slightest resemblance to her father; she seemed
a being unique and unlike all others. Her graceful figure, which was
still that of a child, had not attained its full stature or
development; her features were those of a child, although their
expression was firm and resolute. Her face was pale, but not with
illness: it bore the impress of perfect health; a faint flush, called
forth by the least excitement or emotion, came and went on her lips and
cheeks. The abundant, deep black hair made the exceeding fairness of
the complexion still more striking, and the large, dark, liquid eyes
were shaded by long black lashes. Wanda indeed gave promise of great
beauty. She could not now be called beautiful, but she possessed that
indefinable fascination we see in many young girls when standing upon
that charmed boundary,
"Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood sweet."
In this young girl's whole appearance there was a delightful blending
of the petulance and innocence of the child with the gravity of the
young lady, who every now and then calls to mind her sixteen years, and
feels that her childhood has passed. The halo of early youth, which
surrounded her like the fragrant odor around a half-opened rosebud,
made her doubly enchanting.
The first joy and surprise of reunion were over, and the conversation
began to flow in quiet channels. The count drew his daughter closer to
his side, and playfully chided her for not having returned sooner.
"I did not know you had come, papa," she said; "and, besides, I had an
adventure in the forest."
"In the forest?" interrupted her aunt. "Were you not with Leo upon the
sea?"
"Only upon our return, Aunt Maryna. We had planned a sail to
Buchenholm; Leo thought the distance by water less than that by the
forest-path; I maintained the contrary. We disputed a while, and at
last concluded to prove which was right. Leo sailed away alone, and I
took the path through the forest."
"Who guided you?" asked the count.
Wanda smiled archly. "O, some satyr!--one of those old giant-ghosts
which now and then flit around here. But you must question me no
further, papa. Leo is dying of curiosity to know; he tormented me with
questions all the way home, and for this very reason I will not tell
him a syllable."
"This is all a made-up story," cried Leo, laughing; "a subterfuge to
explain your late return. You would invent a whole fairy-tale rather
than own I was in the right."
"Subterfuge or not," interposed the princess, "this solitary walk was
highly improper. I gave you permission to take a short sail with Leo,
but I had no idea he would leave you for hours alone in the forest."
"Wanda insisted upon it," replied Leo. "She was determined to settle
our dispute about the distance."
"Yes, Aunt Maryna, I _would_ have my own way," said Wanda,
emphatically, "and Leo knew that he could not keep me back."
The princess was about to reprimand her niece for this new exhibition
of self-will, but her brother said, hastily, "I feel somewhat fatigued
with my journey, and would like to retire to my room. I would also
speak with Wanda alone. Good night."
He rose, took his daughter's arm, and left the room.
"My uncle seems perfectly bound up in Wanda," said Leo, as the father
and daughter disappeared.
The princess gazed after the two retreating forms, and said, half
audibly,--
"He will spoil her. He idolizes her blindly, as he once idolized her
mother. Wanda will all too soon learn her power and exercise it. I
feared this before his return; I now see that my apprehensions were
just. What about this forest adventure, Leo?"
"I do not know. It is very likely one of Wanda's jests. She first
roused my curiosity by all sorts of hints, then obstinately refused to
explain, and made herself merry over my resentment. You know her way."
"Yes, I know it," the princess said, with a slight frown. "Wanda loves
to make sport of us all. You should not let this be so easy for her,
Leo, where you are concerned."
Leo flushed to the forehead. "_I_, mamma? I often quarrel with Wanda."
"And yet you allow yourself to be a mere tool for her caprices. I am
well aware, my son, who wins in all your quarrels. But this is mere
childishness. I wish to speak with you of serious matters. Close the
balcony door, and sit down by me."
Leo obeyed, but his face and manner showed that he was offended,
perhaps less at his mother's reprimand than at the word "childishness."
Without taking the slightest notice of her son's mood, the mother
began: "You know that I was a widow when I married your father, and
that there is a son of the first marriage still living. You also know
that he has been reared in Germany. You will soon see him and make his
acquaintance."
"Do you mean my brother Waldemar?"
"Yes, Waldemar Nordeck. He lives here in the neighborhood, upon his
guardian's estate. I have written to him of our arrival, and hope to
see him in a few days."
Leo's ill-humor vanished, and he showed deep interest in the subject of
conversation. "Mamma," he said, hesitatingly, "will you not tell me
something definite concerning these family matters? I only know that
your first marriage was unhappy, that you had a falling out with
Waldemar's relatives and his guardian, and I learned this by hints from
my uncle and the old servants of our house. I never questioned my
parents; I saw that this topic wounded my father and angered you, and
that you both strove to banish its remembrance."
The lady's features assumed a rigid expression, and her voice was hard
and cold as she replied,--
"We do best when we shroud mortifications and humiliations in
forgetfulness, and I have sought to do so in regard to that unhappy
marriage, which was full of both. Do not ask an explanation from me,
Leo; you know the sequel,--let that suffice. I cannot and I will not
initiate you into this family tragedy, which I never recall, even at
this late day, without hatred toward the dead. I have striven to blot
those three years from my life; I did not dream that I should be forced
to recall them."
"And what forces you to recall them?" asked Leo, excitedly. "My uncle
has offered us his protection; are we not going to his house?"
"No, my son; we are going to Villica."
"To Villica!" echoed Leo, in surprise. "That is Waldemar's estate."
"It should have been my widow's dower," said the princess, resentfully;
"it is now the property of my son, and ought to afford his mother a
refuge."
Leo started. "What does this mean?" he said, excitedly. "I know that we
are poor, but I will endure all privations and renounce all worldly
advantages, rather than allow you for my sake--"
The princess rose majestically. Her glance and bearing were so
imperious that her son was awed into silence. "Do you think your mother
capable of humiliating you?" she asked. "Do you know her so
superficially? Leave to me, my son, the care of your position, and of
my own. You certainly need not define limits for my actions; I alone
understand them."
Leo cast down his eyes and ventured no reply. His mother drew near him
and took his hand.
"Will this fiery head never learn to think dispassionately?" she said,
gently. "You have great need of calm deliberation before entering upon
the life before you, my son. I shall carry out alone my plans
concerning Waldemar; you, my Leo, shall experience none of the
bitterness which is perhaps in store for me. You must keep your vision
clear and your courage unshaken for the future that awaits you. This is
your task; mine shall be to secure that future at any price. Trust your
mother."
She clasped her son to her heart, and he pressed his mother's hand to
his lips, as if in mute entreaty for forgiveness. As she bent to kiss
the handsome young face, so bright with hope, so radiant with the
promise of high achievement, it was evident that this cold, proud woman
possessed all the self-forgetful care and tenderness of a mother, and
that, in spite of the rigor with which she treated him, Leo was still
her idol.
CHAPTER II.
WALDEMAR.
"Doctor, will you have the kindness to stop once for all these
everlasting complaints! Nothing can be done with the lad, I tell you. I
have tried often enough to make him change his ways, and have called in
six private tutors to help me. We could not manage him, and you can
not; so let him have his own way!"
It was the rich proprietor, Herr Witold of Altenhof, who gave this
advice to his ward's tutor. Both gentlemen sat in the large corner room
of the Altenhof dwelling. The windows were wide open on account of the
heat, and all the surroundings showed that the people who dwelt here
held such things as elegance and comfort superfluous if not
disgraceful. The shabby, old-fashioned furniture was shoved here and
there as convenience demanded, and without the least regard to taste or
order. On the walls hung a confused medley of fowling-pieces, hunting
implements, and deer-horns. Wherever a vacant space offered, a nail had
been driven, and some nondescript object had been hung upon it without
the least concern for appearances. Upon the writing-desk lay household
accounts, tobacco-pipes, spurs, and half a dozen new riding-whips; a
pile of daily newspapers upon the floor afforded a luxurious couch to
the large hunting-dog, and gave evidence of frequent use. Nothing was
in its place; but there was one article in the room which gave a hint
of the artistic tastes of the inmates of the house; this was a very
gaudy, highly-colored hunting-piece which hung over the sofa, occupying
the place of honor upon the blank, grimy wall.
Herr Witold sat in his arm-chair at a window, but his face and head
were quite lost in dense clouds of smoke from his meerschaum pipe. In
spite of his white hair and his sixty years, he had a fresh, youthful
look, and was in the fulness of strength and health. The very tall
figure showed a proportionate rotundity; the ruddy face did not
indicate great intelligence, but it bore the unmistakable impress of
good-nature. The dress, a combination of house and hunting costume, was
rather negligent, and the powerful frame and loud voice formed a
striking and almost painful contrast to the slender form and timid
accents of the tutor.
The doctor was evidently a little past thirty; he was of medium height,
although his bowed form made him appear shorter; his face was not
really plain, but it bore so marked an impress of ill health and of a
subordinate place in life, that it could not be called attractive. His
complexion was pale and sallow, his brow was wrinkled, and his eyes had
that absent, uncertain glance peculiar to people whose thoughts seldom
or never descend to the level of real and practical things. His black
suit betrayed the most scrupulous care, and there was something timid
and anxious in the man's whole appearance. This timidity and anxiety
pervaded the tones of his voice, as he answered, mildly,--
"You know, Herr Witold, that I come to you only in cases of extreme
necessity; this time I must ask you to assert your authority; I see no
other way."
"What has Waldemar been doing?" asked the guardian, in a tone of great
annoyance. "I know as well as you that he is ungovernable, but I cannot
help you. The youngster has outgrown my authority, he no longer obeys
any one. You say he runs away from his books, preferring to drive
around with the hunters; that is nothing; I did the same thing when I
was a lad, and I could never get this learned nonsense into my head any
better than he can. You say also that he has no manners; well, they are
not at all necessary. We live here all by ourselves, and if we happen
to meet our neighbors, we feel no embarrassment; our manners are as
good as theirs. You must admit this, doctor, if you do take to your
heels whenever we have our hunting and drinking parties."
"But these are only companies of men; supposing Waldemar, with his
uncultivated manners, should enter other circles and the society of
ladies; supposing he should some day marry--"
"_Marry!_" echoed Herr Witold, really wounded at such a supposition.
"He will not do that. Why need he marry? I have lived a bachelor all my
life, and I am very happy and comfortable. My deceased relative,
Nordeck, would have done far better to remain single. But we need not
trouble ourselves about Waldemar's marrying, Heaven be praised! He runs
away from all the girls, and there he is right!"
The old bachelor leaned back in his arm-chair with an air of supreme
comfort and satisfaction. The doctor drew nearer.
"To return to the first topic of conversation," he said, hesitatingly;
"you must admit that my pupil has passed entirely beyond my control,
and it is high time he was sent to the university."
Herr Witold gave such a violent start that the affrighted tutor stepped
back several paces.
"I thought you were coming round to the university! You have talked of
nothing else for a month. And what will Waldemar do at the university?
Let the professors cram his head with more learning? I thought he had
already learned quite enough from you; you have taught him all a clever
landlord needs to know. He is just as capable of managing an estate as
my inspector; he understands better than I how to make his tenants
respect him, and none excel him in riding and hunting. He is a splendid
young fellow."
The tutor did not seem to share the guardian's enthusiasm for his ward,
but he ventured no opinion; he only summoned up his little stock of
courage, and said, very timidly,--
"The heir of Villica requires something more than the knowledge which
fits a man to be a good steward or inspector; a university education
seems to me highly desirable for Waldemar."
"I do not at all agree with you," replied Herr Witold. "Is it not
enough that this boy who has grown so near my heart must soon leave me
to take charge of his estates in that accursed Poland? Shall I send him
from me to the university when he does not want to go? Don't mention
the subject again, doctor; he will remain here until he goes to
Villica."
He resumed his pipe in grim displeasure, taking such enormous puffs
that his face again disappeared behind clouds of smoke. The tutor
sighed and was silent, but even this quiet resignation seemed to annoy
the tyrannical master of Altenhof.
"You may as well be content, doctor, to give up that idea of the
university," he said, in a more conciliating tone. "You will never,
never persuade Waldemar to go there, and as for yourself, it is far
better for you to remain in Altenhof. Here you are right in your
element among these giants' graves and runic stones, and whatever else
you call that sort of stuff you are studying all day long. I can't for
the life of me understand what you find so remarkable in this old
heathen rubbish, but every living mortal has his own idea of pleasure,
and I allow you yours with all my heart, for Waldemar often makes your
lot hard enough; and so do I, for that matter."
"O, no, Herr Witold--" began the doctor, deprecatingly.
"No protestations," interrupted the old man, good-naturedly. "I know
you must abhor our outlandish way of life here; you would long ago have
left us as your six predecessors did, if it had not been for this old
pagan trash to which your heart clings, and from which you cannot tear
yourself away. You know I am, upon the whole, a rather good sort of a
man, although I flare up now and then; and as your thoughts constantly
prowl around those old barbarous times, you must feel yourself at home
in Altenhof, which is so full of relics of past ages. How can you set
such store by the people of those times, when they had such execrable
manners? Why, the best of friends among them used to beat each other to
death just for pure amusement."
Herr Witold's historical knowledge quite confounded the doctor. "I beg
your pardon," he said; "the old Germans--"
"Were not at all like you, doctor," interposed Herr Witold, laughing.
"I think of all people I know, Waldemar most resembles them, and I
can't understand why you find so much fault with him."
"But, my dear sir, in the nineteenth century--" began Doctor Fabian; he
went no further, for at this moment a shot whizzed through the open
window, and the huge antlers which hung over the writing-desk fell with
a crash.
Herr Witold sprang from his chair. "What does this mean? Is the young
upstart going to shoot us right here in our sitting-room? Wait, I'll
see about that!"
He was about to rush out of doors, but at this moment a young man burst
into the room. He was in hunting costume, a large hound followed him,
and he carried a fowling-piece in his hand. Without greeting or
apology, he marched up to his guardian, planted himself right before
him, and said, triumphantly, "Well, who was right, you or I?"
The old gentleman was really angry. "What do you mean by shooting over
people's shoulders, and endangering their lives?" he cried, excitedly.
"Did you really want to shoot the doctor and me?"
Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "O, by no means! I wanted to win my
wager. You declared yesterday, that I could not, firing from outside,
hit that nail from which the deer-antlers hung. There is the ball!"
"Yes, there it is to be sure," reiterated Witold, admiringly and quite
pacified. "But what is the matter with _you_, doctor?"
"Doctor Fabian has one of his nervous attacks," said Waldemar, with a
contemptuous shrug, laying aside his gun, but making no effort to help
his tutor who had sunk half fainting upon the sofa, and trembling from
head to foot. The good-natured Witold held him upright and tried to
reassure him.
"Don't faint because a little powder has been fired off," he said; "it
isn't worth minding. We did lay a wager, but I had no idea that the
youngster would decide it in that preposterous way. There, you are
better now, thank God!"
Doctor Fabian rose and made an unavailing effort to control his
trepidation. "You might have shot us, Waldemar," he said, with white
lips.
"No, doctor, I could not have done that," replied Waldemar,
unconcernedly. "You stood with my uncle at the window to the right, I
shot through the window to the left, at least five paces distant. You
know I never miss my aim."
"But you must stop all such foolhardy actions," said the guardian, with
an effort at asserting his authority. "Henceforth I forbid your
shooting in the yard."
The young fellow folded his arms, and gazed defiantly at his guardian.
"You can forbid, uncle, but I shall not obey," he said. "I shall shoot
wherever like."
He stood before his foster-father, the very personification of
self-will and defiance. Waldemar Nordeck was moulded after the Germanic
type, and bore no trace of his Polish origin. The tall, almost giant
figure towered even above Witold's stately form, but it lacked
symmetry; its outlines were sharp and angular. The heavy mass of blonde
hair seemed a burden to his head, for it fell low over the forehead,
and was every now and then thrown back with an impatient movement; the
blue eyes had a sullen expression, and in moments of exasperation, like
this, an almost malignant glare; the face was decidedly plain, having
neither the delicate lineaments of the boy, nor the decided features of
the man. The transition period from youth to manhood in Waldemar
Nordeck assumed an almost repellent form, and his lack of polite
culture, his entire disregard of all social customs, served to heighten
the unfavorable impression produced by his appearance.
Herr Witold was one of those men whose physique indicates an energy
they do not possess. Instead of resolutely opposing and correcting the
obstinacy and rudeness of his ward, he passively yielded to his will in
all things. "I tell you, doctor, that boy is more than a match for me,"
he said, with a tranquillity which showed that this was the usual
conclusion of all differences between them, and that if Waldemar
insisted upon having his own way, the guardian was powerless as the
tutor.
The young man took no further notice of either; he threw himself on the
sofa entirely oblivious to the fact that his boots, which were soaked
through with ditch-water, rested on the cushions. The dog, also
drenched with water, followed the example of his master, and with the
same unconcern made himself comfortable on the carpet.
An ominous pause followed. Herr Witold, muttering to himself, sought to
re-light his pipe; Doctor Fabian had fled to a window and was
contemplating the sky with an absent, restless glance which expressed
more plainly than words his exceeding discomfort in the life around
him. Herr Witold, finding his pipe empty, was meantime searching for
his tobacco-box, which he presently found on the writing-desk under the
spurs and riding-whips. While drawing the box from beneath a mass of
rubbish, an unopened letter fell into his hands. He took it up, saying,
"I had quite forgotten, Waldemar; here is a letter for you."
"For _me_?" asked Waldemar, indifferently, and yet with that accent of
surprise which accompanies an unusual event.
"Yes; and there is a coronet on the seal, and a shield with all sorts
of armorial bearings. It must be from your princess-mother. It is a
long time since she has honored us with a specimen of her dainty
handwriting."
Young Nordeck broke the seal and read the letter. It contained only a
few lines, but his brow darkened as he read.
"Well, what is it?" asked the guardian. "Is the princess still in
Paris? I did not notice the postmark."
"The Princess Zulieski is with her son at C----," returned Waldemar,
who seemed to have an aversion to the names mother and brother. "They
wish to see me there, and I shall ride over to-morrow."
"You will do no such thing!" said Herr Witold. "Your princely relatives
have for years ignored you, and now you may ignore them. We care no
more for them than they for us. You shall not go."
"Uncle Witold, I have had enough of your everlasting commands and
prohibitions," cried Waldemar so savagely that his guardian stared at
him in open-mouthed wonder. "Am I a schoolboy who must ask permission
for every step I take? At twenty-one years of age, have I not a right
to decide whether I will go and see my mother? I have already decided.
I shall ride over to C---- to-morrow morning."
"Tut! tut! don't be so furious about it," said the old gentleman, more
astonished than angry at this sudden outbreak of a fury he could not
understand. "Go where you like for all me, but I will have nothing to
do with this Polish gentry, I tell you that!"
Waldemar found refuge in an indignant silence, and ere long, taking his
fowling-piece and whistling to his dog to follow him, he left the
house. Herr Witold gazed after his ward, shaking his head dubiously,
but all at once a new idea seemed to dawn upon him; he took up the
letter Waldemar had carelessly flung upon the table, and read it
through. His brow grew dark in turn, as he read, and his voice broke
out into fury.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed, striking with his clenched hand upon the
table, "this is just like our lady-princess. In half a dozen lines she
goads the young fellow on to revolt against me; I now see what all at
once made him so defiant. Doctor, just listen to this precious
epistle."
"'My Son: Years have passed since I received a word or sign of
life from you,'--('As if she had given him one!' interpolated the
reader.)--'I know only through strangers that you are living at
Altenhof with your guardian. I am at present in C----, and it will
delight me to see you there and introduce you to your brother. I do not
really know'--, ('Listen, doctor, now comes the sting')--'I do not
really know whether you will be allowed to make this visit, as I am
told that, although you have attained your majority, you are still
entirely under your guardian's control.'--('Doctor, you yourself can
testify how that young scoundrel defies and overreaches us every
day.')--'I do not question your willingness to come, but I doubt
whether you can obtain the required permission. I have thought
best to write to you, and I shall see if you possess independence
enough to gratify this wish of your mother, the first she has ever
expressed to you, or if you _dare_ not attempt it'--('This _dare_ is
underlined.')--'In the former case, I expect you immediately, and close
with kindest greetings from your brother and myself.
"'Your Mother.'"
Herr Witold was so exasperated that he flung the letter upon the floor.
"This is a fine piece of strategy in the princess-mother," he said.
"She knows as well as I what a self-willed fellow Waldemar is; and if
she had studied him for years, she could not have approached him on a
weaker side. The mere thought of compulsion enrages him. I might now
move heaven and earth to keep him here, and he would go, merely to
prove that he has his own way. What have you to say on the subject?"
Doctor Fabian seemed fully to understand the family relations, and to
regard the approaching interview with an alarm quite equal to that of
Herr Witold; but it arose from entirely different reasons. "Heaven help
us!" said he, anxiously. "If Waldemar, with his uncultivated manners,
goes to C---- and appears before the princess, what will she think of
him?"
"She will think that he resembles his father and not her," was the
emphatic answer. "And as soon as she sees Waldemar, it will become
clear to her that she can make him no pliable tool for her intrigues;
for I will wager my head that she has some intrigue on hand. Either
the princely purse is empty--I believe it has never been any too
full--or a little government conspiracy is on the tapis, and Villica,
which lies close to the Polish boundary, is a very convenient place.
Heaven only knows what she wants of my boy, but I will find out her
plans and open his eyes in season."
"But, Herr Witold," remonstrated the doctor, "why widen this
unfortunate breach in your family just now, when the mother offers her
hand in reconciliation? Would it not be better to make peace at last?"
"You do not understand the situation," replied the guardian, with a
bitterness very unusual to him. "No peace can be made with this woman
without entire submission to her authority; and because my deceased
relative would not yield up his will to hers, he had continual discord
in his house. But I do not hold him guiltless; he had serious faults,
and made his wife's life very wretched; but this Princess Maryna was no
wife for him. Another and a different woman might perhaps have won
unbounded influence over him, and have wrought a change in his whole
character; but affection alone could have such power, and this woman
has never cared for any one but herself. She is by nature heartless and
arrogant. Well, she atoned for the supposed humiliation of her first
marriage by a second union to a Polish prince, but the one supreme
grievance of her life has been her expulsion from Villica, which would
have been her widow's dower if Nordeck had not cut her off in his will.
He left his entire fortune to Waldemar, and we have educated the lad in
such a way that he will not be likely to make a fool of himself."
"We!" cried the doctor, in consternation. "Herr Witold, I have honestly
tried to do my duty to my pupil, but I have not been able to effect the
least improvement in his manners. If I had--" He stopped short.
"They would have been different," added Witold, laughing. "Well, you
need have no twinges of conscience about that. The lad suits me
perfectly just as he is now. If you prefer to have it so, say that I
have educated him; I shall be delighted if he does not prove a suitable
instrument for his mother's intriguing plans, and if my training and
her Parisian culture are at loggerheads to-morrow, it will delight me
still more. This, at least, will be a revenge for that malicious
letter."
With these words, Herr Witold left the room. The doctor picked up the
letter from the floor, folded it carefully, and murmured, with a deep
sigh,--
"After all, it will be said that a certain Doctor Fabian educated the
young heir. O, righteous heaven!"
CHAPTER III.
VILLICA.
Villica, the inheritance of Waldemar Nordeck, was situated in one of
the eastern provinces of Germany, and consisted of several large
estates whose central point was the old castle of Villica. The manner
in which the late Nordeck had come into possession of this estate, and
had finally won the hand of the Princess Maryna, affords only a new
example of the spectacle so often repeated in our day,--the decline of
an old, noble, and once wealthy family, and the rise of a new, plebeian
element, with whose wealth comes also the power which once belonged
wholly to the aristocracy.
Count Morynski and his sister had been left orphans in childhood, and
had lived under the guardianship of their relatives. Maryna was
educated in a convent, and before she left its walls a marriage had
been arranged for her. Among noble families this is nothing unusual,
and the young countess would have made no protest if the husband chosen
for her had been her equal in birth, or a son of her own people. She
had, however, been selected as a passive instrument for the carrying
out of family plans.
In the neighborhood where the Morynski family had lived for
generations, a certain Nordeck suddenly appeared. He was a German of
plebeian birth, but he had amassed great wealth,--enough to acquire
large landed possessions in these troublous times, when the old
nobility were fugitives or impoverished in consequence of the
sacrifices they had made for their country. He had purchased several
incumbered estates at half their value, and had all at once become one
of the richest proprietors in the country.
Although the new-comer was a man of narrow culture, rough manners, and
questionable morality, his immense possessions gave him very great
influence, which he used unscrupulously against the Poles and their
cause. Through some secret means this wily stranger gained an insight
into certain party schemes, which made him a most dangerous enemy, and
his friendship must be won at any price. As the millionnaire could not
be approached with a bribe, it was thought best to flatter his vanity
by the proposal of a marriage alliance with some noble Polish family.
Villica manor had once been in the possession of the Morynski family,
and for this reason the now penniless daughter of a once wealthy house
was chosen as the sacrifice. The uncouth parvenu, who needed no dowry
with his bride, and who felt flattered at the proposal of an alliance
with a countess, eagerly consented to the plan. And so Maryna, when she
left the cloister, found a destiny arranged for her at which her whole
soul rebelled.
Her first step was a decided refusal. But what availed the No of a girl
of seventeen years, in a matter urged on by policy as well as
necessity? When commands and threats proved useless, persuasion and
flattery were tried. She was reminded of the brilliant role she could
play as mistress of Villica; of the absolute sway so young, beautiful,
and high-born a wife must gain over the mind of her plebeian husband.
Would it not be a satisfaction to her to become mistress of the
estates wrested from her ancestors; to change the dreaded enemy into a
friend,--into a pliant tool of the party which was seeking the
liberation of her native land? Persuasion triumphed where compulsion
failed. The life of a poor, dependent relation was not at all to the
taste of the young countess. She was exceedingly ambitious, and her
heart knew nothing as yet of love. Nordeck seemed very much in love
with her, and she had reason to believe that her power over him would
be boundless. So she finally yielded, and the marriage took place. All
parties were doomed to disappointment; Nordeck proved to be no such man
as they had thought. Instead of yielding to the will of his young wife,
he asserted his own authority, and could neither be cajoled nor
intimidated. When he discovered that Maryna had designed to use his
interest and his property for the benefit of her family and friends,
his love was turned to hatred. The birth of an heir made no change in
the situation; the breach between the husband and wife seemed rather to
widen. Nordeck's character was not one to win a wife's respect, and
this wife showed her contempt in ways that would have exasperated any
man. Terrible scenes followed, after one of which the young mistress of
Villica left the castle and fled to the protection of her brother.
The child, Waldemar, now scarcely a year old, was left with his father.
Nordeck, furious at his wife's departure, imperiously demanded her
return; Bronislaw did what he could to protect his sister, and the
consequences would have been serious if death had not unexpectedly
dissolved this unholy marriage. Nordeck was fatally injured by a fall
from his horse while hunting. But even when dying, he retained strength
and presence of mind enough to dictate a will, debarring his wife from
any share in his property, or any part in the education of the child.
Her flight from his house gave him the right to disinherit her, and he
used it pitilessly. Waldemar was placed under the guardianship of Herr
Witold, his father's chosen friend and distant relative, who was given
full control of the boy during his minority.
The new guardian proved his sincere friendship for his deceased
relative by rigidly executing the conditions of the will, and by
rejecting all the widow's claims. Witold was then proprietor of
Altenhof, and not disposed to reside at Villica; he therefore took his
ward to Altenhof, and from infancy to majority the young heir visited
his estates but seldom, and then in his guardian's company. The immense
income of Villica, of which no use could be made during the boy's
minority, was added to the original inheritance, and upon becoming of
age, Waldemar Nordeck found himself one of the wealthiest citizens of
the country.
For a time, Nordeck's widow lived with her brother, who had meantime
married; but a frequent visitor at the house, Prince Zulieski, fell
passionately in love with the young, handsome, and gifted woman, and at
the expiration of the conventional year of mourning they were married.
This second marriage proved very happy; and yet it was truly asserted
that the prince, who possessed a chivalrous but not energetic nature,
was entirely under his wife's control, his all-absorbing love for his
wife and son making even submission a delight.
The happiness of this union was not to remain long unclouded; but the
storm that now threatened came from without. Leo was an infant at the
outbreak of that great revolution which ere long overspread half of
Europe. In this Polish province, insurrection, so often quelled, broke
out with renewed fury. Zulieski and Morynski were true sons of Poland;
they flung themselves ardently into the strife for the independence of
their country. This revolt, like so many previous ones, was forcibly
suppressed, and the Polish provinces were treated with especial
severity. Prince Zulieski and his brother-in-law fled to France, where
they were soon joined by their wives and children. The Countess
Morynski, a delicate, sickly woman, did not long endure the sojourn in
a foreign land. She died at the expiration of a year, and Count
Morynski placed his young daughter in his sister's care.
He could not remain in Paris, where everything reminded him of the loss
of his idolized wife. He wandered to and fro, without any fixed abode,
coming only at long intervals to see his daughter. Finally a
declaration of amnesty permitted him to return home, where a large
estate had fallen to him by the death of a relative. Here he settled
down permanently. Prince Zulieski, having been one of the leaders of
the insurrection, and not being included in the amnesty, was obliged to
remain in exile. After his death, his wife and son, who had shared his
banishment to the last, returned to their native land.
CHAPTER IV.
THE MEETING.
The hour of noon had not yet struck. The Princess Zulieski sat alone in
that room of her summer villa which opened upon the balcony. She held
in her hand a letter received an hour previous, containing the
announcement of Waldemar's immediate coming. She gazed intently at the
letter, as if from its curt, chilling words, or from its handwriting,
she would read the character of the son who had become so entirely
estranged from her. During the time of her residence in France she had
neither seen nor heard from him. She retained in memory a distinct
picture of the child she had left behind her when she fled from her
husband's house, and as the infant even then resembled his father, the
picture was repulsive and seemed to correspond with all she had learned
of the youth. Now it was for her interest to win over this unloved son,
and the princess was not the woman to shrink from a difficult
undertaking. She rose, and, absorbed in thought, was walking up and
down the room, when she was suddenly arrested by the sound of heavy and
hurried footsteps in the hall. Paul at once opened the door, and
announced, "Herr Waldemar Nordeck." The young man entered, the door
closed behind him, and the mother and son stood face to face.
Waldemar advanced a few steps and then paused suddenly. The princess
sought to approach him, but she felt all at once like one paralyzed. At
this first moment of meeting it seemed as if a broad chasm had opened
between mother and son, as if the old estrangement had widened and
deepened. This moment of silence and mutual repulsion spoke more
distinctly than words; it showed that no tie of affection united these
two who should have been so near and yet were so far apart. The
princess was first to break the spell. "I thank you for coming, my
son," she said, extending her hand.
Waldemar slowly approached his mother; he held the proffered hand for
an instant only, and then let it fall. There was no attempt at an
embrace on either side. As the princess stood there in the sunlight,
her mourning apparel falling around her like a cloud, her figure was
imposingly beautiful; but although the young man gazed at her intently,
her grace and majesty did not seem to make the slightest impression
upon him. The mother's gaze also rested upon her son's face, but she
vainly sought a single feature like her own. This son was the living
image of his father--of the man she hated even in death.
"I was sure you would come," the princess said, as she sat down and
motioned for Waldemar to take a place near her side. Waldemar remained
standing. "Will you take a seat?" she asked, and the question reminded
the young man that he could not conveniently stand during his whole
visit. He drew up a chair and sat down opposite his mother, the place
at her side remaining vacant.
The mother could not misunderstand this action. She set her lips firmly
together, but her face betrayed no emotion. Waldemar wore, as usual, a
sort of hunting costume, which, although it bore no marks of the chase,
was ill-fitting and negligent, and differed widely from an elegant
riding-suit. He wore no gloves, and in his left hand he held a round
hat and a riding-whip. His boots were dusty, and his manner of seating
himself betrayed entire ignorance of the etiquette of the _salon_. His
mother saw all this at a glance, and she also marked the defiance in
his compressed lips and his blue eyes. She felt that her task would be
no easy one.
"We have become estranged from each other, Waldemar," she began; "and
at this first meeting I cannot ask a son's embrace from you. I was
forced to commit you in your childhood to the care of strangers; I have
never been allowed to fulfil a mother's duties to you, nor to exercise
her rights."
The angry expression which accompanied these words enraged Waldemar. "I
allow no reproaches to be cast upon my Uncle Witold," he cried,
furiously; "he has been a second father to me, and if you have summoned
me here to listen to attacks upon him, I will leave at once. You and I
can never be more than strangers."
The princess saw her error in thus giving way to animosity against the
hated guardian, but it was too late to repair it. Waldemar would in all
probability go away in a rage, and yet everything depended upon his
remaining. At this critical juncture, help came from an unexpected
source. A side door opened, and Wanda entered the room. She had just
returned from a walk with her father, and knew nothing of the young
man's visit.
Waldemar, who had already risen to go, stopped suddenly as if rooted to
the spot. His face flushed so deeply that its intense glow seemed
kindled by some inward flame; all its anger and defiance vanished, and
he stood there willess and motionless, his eyes fixed intently upon the
beautiful young girl. Wanda had been on the point of leaving the room
when she perceived that her aunt had a visitor, but as this stranger's
glance met hers, she uttered a half audible exclamation of surprise.
She did not lose her self-control, however, and was not in the least
embarrassed. On the contrary, she was seized with an uncontrollable
desire to laugh. It was too late to retire, so she closed the door
behind her and took her station near her aunt.
"My son, Waldemar Nordeck. My niece, Countess Morynski," said the
princess, looking with a puzzled expression from one to the other.
Wanda had quickly overcome her childish excitement, and recalled the
fact that she was a young lady and must maintain the dignity of that
position. Her graceful bow was in strict accordance with society
etiquette, but a tell-tale smile lurked around her mouth when Waldemar
acknowledged the introduction with a movement evidently intended for a
bow, but which was only a jerk and a grimace.
"You seem to have already met your cousin," said the mother in an
inquiring tone. Reference to the cousinly relation disconcerted the
young man still more.
"I do not know," he replied, with the greatest embarrassment. "In fact,
I have--a few days ago--"
"This young gentleman was so kind as to be my guide when I lost my way
in the forest," said Wanda, coming to the rescue. "It was day before
yesterday, on our way to the beech-holm."
The princess had considered this solitary walk through the forest a
most improper proceeding; but now she had not a word of censure. She
answered, very graciously,--
"It was indeed a singular meeting. But why are you both so formal?
Among relatives this is quite unnecessary. Give your cousin your hand,
Wanda."
The young girl extended her right hand without the least embarrassment.
Her cousin Leo was gallant enough to kiss this hand when given in
reconciliation after a dispute; the elder brother possessed no such
gallantry. He took the delicate lingers timidly and hesitatingly as if
scarce daring to touch them; then he all at once pressed them so
tightly that the young lady could scarce repress a cry of pain. This
new cousin was quite as much a stranger to her as to his half-brother
Leo, and they had looked forward with equal curiosity to the expected
visit. It was evident that Waldemar's manners and appearance surprised
her greatly.
"And so you met in the woods?" resumed the princess. "Was no name
mentioned by either that would have made you known to each other?"
"Unfortunately I took Herr Nordeck for a satyr," said Wanda, heedless
of her aunt's warning glance; "and he did his utmost to confirm me in
this belief. Dear aunt, you haven't the least idea how interesting our
conversation was! During our half-hour's companionship he did not make
it clear to me whether he belonged to the human race of our own day, or
to the old-world prodigies of myth and fable. You must see that, under
the circumstances, a formal introduction was unnecessary."
Her words had an unmistakably mocking tone, but Waldemar, who had just
shown himself so excitable, did not take the least offence. His eyes
rested intently on the young girl, whose satire he scarcely seemed to
hear.
The princess considered it necessary to put a stop to Wanda's jests ere
they ended in downright impertinence. She turned to her son with the
most stately composure, and said, "Waldemar, you have seen neither your
brother nor your uncle. I will take you to them. You will, of course,
pass the day with us?"
"If you desire it," replied Waldemar, hesitatingly. The former defiance
had vanished; he evidently had not the least idea of going.
"Most certainly I desire it. Remember this is your first visit, and it
must not be broken off abruptly. Come, Wanda."
Young Nordeck still hesitated; but when Wanda seconded her aunt's
request, he had no difficulty in deciding. He laid the hat and whip he
had until now persistently held in his hand upon the chair which in the
irritated mood of a few minutes before he had thrust from him, and
passively followed the ladies. A scarcely perceptible, but still a
triumphant smile played around the lips of the princess. She
was too good an observer not to know that she already had the game in
her own hands.
CHAPTER V.
THE BROTHERS' FIRST MEETING.
Count Morynski and Leo were in the sitting-room of the princess. They
had been informed of Waldemar's arrival, but did not wish to intrude
upon this first meeting between mother and son. The count appeared
somewhat surprised at seeing Wanda enter with both, but refrained from
questioning his daughter. Young Nordeck for the moment riveted his
whole attention.
The princess took the hand of her younger son and led him to the elder.
"You two have never met before," she said, "but from this day I hope
that the estrangement may end. Leo meets you in warm brotherly love,
Waldemar, and I believe he will find a brother in you."
Waldemar measured his brother with a hasty glance, but it had no
hostility. The beauty of the young prince fascinated him, and he
cordially grasped the hand Leo extended, with a half bashful reserve.
Count Morynski now approached to greet his sister's son, but Waldemar
answered all his questions in monosyllables. The conversation which,
out of regard to Waldemar, was in German, would have been forced and
insipid if the princess had not skilfully led it. She avoided every
unpleasant topic and every offensive allusion. So admirable was her
tact that for half an hour there seemed to exist the most perfect
harmony between all present. Leo stood close to Waldemar, and the
contrast between the two brothers was very striking. The young prince,
also, had just outgrown his boyhood, and had not yet arrived at
manhood; but how different was the transition state in the two
brothers! The elder never appeared to greater disadvantage than when
near this slender, elastic, youthful figure, with perfect symmetry in
every outline, and easy assurance in every posture and movement, with
the handsome head so well poised upon the graceful shoulders. Young
Nordeck, with his sharp, irregular features, with his sullen eyes
peering forth from under the mass of blonde hair that fell low over his
forehead, justified his mother's feeling as her glance rested upon
both,--upon her idol, her handsome, spirited boy, and upon that other
one, who was also her son, but to whom she was united neither by
similarity of feature nor by one emotion of the heart. Waldemar to-day
appeared more repulsive than usual. His rude, imperious nature
ordinarily corresponded with his outward appearance, and was at least
characteristic; but now for the first time in his life he was timid and
embarrassed, for the first time he felt himself among people superior
to him in all respects. It was the presence of Wanda, more than all the
others, which gave him this timidity and self-distrust. He had come
prepared for a hostile encounter, but he now helplessly gave up the
contest. Count Morynski's questioning glance every now and then seemed
to ask if this blushing, embarrassed youth was really the Waldemar
Nordeck of whose rude, ungovernable disposition he had heard so much.
When Paul came to announce dinner, the princess said, as she rose and
took her brother's arm, "Leo, you will allow your brother to be Wanda's
escort."
"Well, how do matters stand?" asked the count in Polish, as they passed
on in advance to the dining-room.
The princess smiled significantly, then she glanced back at Waldemar
who was timidly approaching Wanda, and replied in Polish, "Do not fear;
he can be led, you may be sure of that."
Young Nordeck returned to Altenhof at nightfall. Leo accompanied him to
the porter's gate, and then returned to the drawing-room. The princess
and her brother were no longer there. Wanda stood alone on the balcony
to see her cousin ride away.
"Good heavens, what a monster this Waldemar is!" she exclaimed. "How
was it possible, Leo, for you to keep a sober face the whole time? See
here! I have torn my handkerchief in pieces trying to keep from
laughing, but now I can control myself no longer; if I do I shall
suffocate!" And throwing herself upon a chair, Wanda indulged in peal
after peal of merry laughter.
"We were prepared for Waldemar's peculiarities," said Leo, coming to
the defence of his brother. "After all I had heard, I was certainly
most agreeably disappointed in him."
"O, you have only seen him in his parlor guise," returned Wanda.
"Supposing you had, like me, met this savage in his primitive forest: I
tremble at the very thought of that meeting."
"But you haven't told me about it yet," Leo replied, excitedly. "It was
Waldemar, then, who guided you to the beech-holm day before yesterday;
at least, I infer this from your words. But why need you make such a
secret of the affair?"
"Just to tease you. You were so irritated when I spoke of that
delightful meeting with a stranger, supposing, of course, that my
escort was some chivalrous gentleman, that I just let you go on
thinking so. Now, Leo," she added, almost convulsed with laughter, "you
see there was no danger of a love-affair."
"Yes, I see," replied Leo, laughing. "But Waldemar seems to have been
gentleman enough to act as your guide."
"O, yes; and I shall always be grateful to him. I all at once lost the
path--a path that I had often travelled and thought I knew perfectly.
At every attempt to regain it I went deeper into the forest, and
finally found myself in a spot entirely new to me. I did not even know
the direction of the sea, for there was no breeze, and I could not hear
the roar of the waves. I stood there perfectly helpless and irresolute,
when all at once I heard a loud crashing in the bushes as if a whole
hunting party were driving through. Suddenly a figure stood before me
which I could take for nothing but a satyr. It seemed to have risen
from the swamp, for it was covered with mud to the knees. A young deer
just slain dangled from its shoulders, and the warm blood was trickling
down over the clothes of this grotesque being. A sort of huge, tawny
lion's mane,--I could scarce call it hair,--torn by the bushes, hung
down over the satyr's face. Thus the apparition stood before me, rifle
in hand, and a snarling hunting-hound at its heels. Could I possibly
regard this sylvan monster as a man and a hunter?"
"No doubt you were terribly frightened," said Leo, teasingly.
Wanda lifted her head in scorn. "Frightened, _I_? You know I am not
cowardly. Any other girl would no doubt have run away; but I held my
ground, and inquired the direction to the beech-holm. I repeated the
question, but received no answer. Instead of answering me, the monster
stood there as if petrified, and stared at me with his great, wild
eyes, not uttering a single word. I began to feel uncomfortable, and
turned to go; but he came up to me in two strides, pointed to the
right, and showed an unequivocal intention of guiding me."
"But it was not all in pantomime?" asked Leo. "He must have spoken to
you."
"Yes, he spoke; that is, along the whole distance he honored me with a
dozen words, but no more. When we started, I heard him say, 'We must go
to the right;' when we had reached our goal, he added, 'There is the
beech-holm.' We were a whole half-hour on the way, and these are the
only words he spoke. And what a walk it was! My amiable guide went
ahead through the thicket, breaking and treading down all the bushes
like a bear. I really believe he laid waste half the forest making a
path for me. We then came to a clearing, and pretty soon to a piece of
marshy ground. Without a single word, my companion took me up under one
arm as if I had been a feather's weight, and carried me safely over. I
really began to be afraid, and when I glanced up in the face bending
over me, I felt more uncomfortable than ever. The look in those eyes
startled me. I made up my mind that this strange apparition had just
risen from some giant's grave, and was going to carry off the first
human being he met, to offer up upon some old heathen altar as a
sacrifice to the pagan gods. Just as I had given up all for lost, I
caught a glimpse of the blue sea shimmering through the trees, and
recognized the vicinity of the beech-holm. My cavalier paused, stared
at me with open eyes and mouth, as if ready to devour me on the
spot, and turning a deaf ear to my trembling words of gratitude,
incontinently vanished among the trees. The next minute I was
on the strand, where I found you and your boat awaiting me. Imagine
my surprise, on returning home to-day, to find my satyr, my
giant-spectre,--whom I had supposed back again in his old
resting-place, the bowels of the earth,--in my aunt's reception-room,
and my utter astonishment in having this monster introduced to me as my
cousin Waldemar! He was really upon his good behavior to-day; he even
escorted me to dinner. But, good heavens, how embarrassed he was! This
must have been the first time he had ever offered a lady his arm. Did
you notice how he bowed, and how awkward he was at table? Don't be
offended, Leo; this new brother of yours is a true son of the
wilderness; he cannot appear among civilized people without convulsing
everybody with laughter. And this is the future master of Villica!"
Leo shared Wanda's opinion, but he felt in duty bound to take his
brother's part. Fully conscious of his own superiority in manners and
appearance, he could afford to be magnanimous. "It is not Waldemar's
fault that his education has been so entirely neglected," he said;
"mamma thinks that his guardian has let him run wild on purpose."
"That does not matter,--he is a monster. If such an escort to dinner is
again given me, I shall decline to appear at table."
As they talked, Wanda's handkerchief had fallen, and lay under the ivy
branches encircling the balcony. Leo politely stooped to pick it up; in
order to reach it he had to kneel upon the floor, and in this posture
he returned the handkerchief to his cousin, who, instead of thanking
him, began to laugh anew.
"Why do you laugh?" cried the young prince, hastily springing to his
feet.
"O, not at you, Leo,--not at all. I was only thinking how comical your
brother would appear in such a position."
"But you will scarcely have the pleasure of seeing him in it. Waldemar
will certainly never bend the knee to any lady, and least of all to
you."
"Least of all to _me_!" repeated Wanda, in an offended tone. "Ah, yes!
you think me such a child that no man would think of falling on his
knees to me. I have a great mind to prove the contrary to you."
"How--by making Waldemar kneel to you?" The young girl gave him a
defiant glance. "And supposing I really try to bring him to that pass?"
"Try your power over my brother as you like," said Leo, pettishly; "you
may learn to duly estimate its extent."
Wanda sprang up with the eagerness of a child delighted with a new
plaything.
"It is a bargain," she said; "what shall the wager be?"
"But it must be a genuine falling upon the knees, not a mere act of
politeness, like that which just now brought me to your feet."
"Of course. You keep laughing. Do you consider such a thing impossible?
I shall win the wager. You will see Waldemar on his knees to me before
we leave this place. I make only one condition: you are to give him no
hint of this transaction. His bearish nature would be aroused if he
should learn that we had presumed to make his formidable self the
object of a wager."
"You may rely upon my silence," Leo answered, beginning to enter into
the joke, and to share Wanda's confidence in its success. "But he will
be furious if you finally reject him and the truth dawns upon him. Or
do you intend to say Yes?"
And so these two children of sixteen and eighteen years laughed and
jested over the idea of the fine joke they were about to play upon
Waldemar. Presumptuous, thoughtless children! They were so accustomed
to each other's jests that they felt no compunction at drawing a third
party into their sport. They did not at all consider how little the
rough, intense nature of Waldemar was adapted to such foolery, and into
what terrible earnest he might turn this joke, concocted in their
mischievous and frivolous young heads.
CHAPTER VI.
A TRANSFORMATION.
Weeks had passed; the summer was drawing to a close, and the harvest at
Altenhof was unusually abundant. Herr Witold, who had been out in the
fields the whole forenoon overseeing his workmen, had returned to the
house faint and weary, intending to take a much-needed and well-earned
rest. While making the needful preparations, his glance fell upon his
foster-son, who stood at the window in riding-costume, awaiting the
appearance of his horse.
"Are you really going to C---- in the heat of the day?" he asked, in
mingled surprise and anger. "You will get sun-struck in that two hours'
ride over a shadeless road. You seem unable to exist without visiting
your mother at least three or four times a week."
The young man frowned. "I cannot go contrary to my mother's wishes when
she asks to see me," he said. "Since we are so near, she has a right to
demand frequent visits from me."
"Well, she is making good use of her authority. Still, I should like to
know how she has managed to make an obedient son of you. I have been
trying it in vain for nearly twenty years; she succeeded in a single
day. But she always did understand governing pretty thoroughly."
"Uncle Witold, you know better than any one else that I allow no one to
rule me," Waldemar replied, angrily. "My mother has met me with
overtures of reconciliation which I can not and will not reject, as you
have done ever since I was under your guardianship."
"No doubt they frequently tell you over there that you have attained
your majority. You emphasize this fact a great deal of late; but there
is no need of it, my boy. You have always had your own way, and often
sorely against my will. Your becoming of age is a mere matter of form,
so far as I am concerned, but it is a thing of more consequence to your
princess-mother. She knows perfectly well what she is about, and this
is why she is constantly reminding you that you are your own master."
"Why these everlasting suspicions? Shall I give up all intercourse with
my relatives simply because you do not like them?"
"I wish you could put the affection of your clear relatives to the
test," rejoined Witold. "They would not make such an ado over you if
you were not master of Villica. Now don't fly into a passion! We have
disputed so much of late about this matter, that I won't have my noon
nap disturbed by it to-day. Your precious relatives will soon leave
C----, and then we shall be rid of the whole pack."
Waldemar deigned no reply. He paced up and down the room impatiently.
"I'd like to know what they're about there in the stable," he muttered,
impatiently. "I gave orders to have Norman saddled, but the groom must
have gone to sleep."
"You seem in a prodigious hurry to get away," said Herr Witold. "I
actually believe they give you some magic potion over in C----, so that
you find peace nowhere else. You are always impatient now when out of
the saddle."
Waldemar's only reply was to whistle softly and beat the air with his
riding-whip.
"Will the princess return to Paris?" Witold asked, abruptly.
"I do not know; it has not been settled where Leo will finish his
studies. My mother will accompany him wherever he goes."
"I wish he would study in Constantinople, and that his princess-mother
would go with him to Turkey; then they would be out of the way,--for a
time, at least. This young Zulieski must be a prodigy of learning; you
are always harping upon his acquirements."
"Leo has learned far more than I, and yet he is nearly four years
younger."
"His mother, no doubt, has kept him constantly at his books; but he
probably has had but one tutor, while six have run away from you, and
the seventh is tempted to remain only for reasons connected with his
own scientific researches."
"And why have _I_ not been kept at my books?" asked young Nordeck,
excitedly and reproachfully.
"I really believe the boy blames me because I have let him have his own
way in everything!" exclaimed Witold, in an injured tone.
"O, no. You meant well, uncle, but you don't know how I feel at seeing
Leo ahead of me in all his studies, especially when I hear them all
speaking of his need of further culture, and I standing there so
uncultivated, so-- But, never mind, I may as well tell you at once: I
am going to the university."
Herr Witold was so astonished that he let the sofa-cushion he was in
the act of arranging, fall to the floor.
"To the _university_?" he repeated.
"Certainly. Doctor Fabian has for months been urging it."
"And for months you have refused."
"I have entirely changed my mind. Leo is going next year; and if he is
ready to enter at nineteen, it is high time I were there. I must not
remain the inferior of my younger brother. I shall consult Doctor
Fabian to-morrow. Now I will go to the stable myself and see that
Norman is saddled. I am all out of patience at waiting so long."
With these words he took his hat from the table and rushed out of
doors. Herr Witold sat motionless on the sofa, quite forgetting to
arrange the cushions for his afternoon siesta. He was too much
surprised and excited for repose.
"Doctor, what has happened to the lad? What have you done to my boy?"
he angrily cried out to the inoffensive doctor, who was just entering
the room.
"I?" echoed the poor doctor, in alarm; "nothing, Herr Witold. Waldemar
has just gone out from your presence."
"I do not mean to reproach you," returned Herr Witold, peevishly; "it
is those Zulieskis and Morynskis. Since they have had him in hand he
has become a changed being, I can do nothing with him. Only think, he
wants to go to the university!"
"Ah, indeed!" returned the doctor, with a smile of satisfaction.
The guardian became still more exasperated at the tutor's evident
delight. "O, you seem in ecstasies," he said; "you desire nothing more
than to get away from here with your pupil, and leave me without a
living soul to keep me company."
"You well know that I have always advised a university course for your
ward. Unfortunately, I have never been listened to, and if the princess
Zulieski has persuaded Waldemar to take this step, I can only consider
her influence a salutary one."
"Go to the devil with your salutary influences!" cried the old man,
hurling the unoffending sofa-cushion into the middle of the room. "We
shall soon see what lies concealed under all this. Something has
happened to the lad: he wanders about in broad daylight as if dreaming;
he takes no interest in anything around him, and when questioned,
gives the most preposterous answers. He returns empty-handed from the
chase--he who never missed his aim; and all at once a dogged resolution
enters his head to go to the university! I must find out the cause of
this transformation, and you, doctor, shall help me. You must accompany
him to C----."
"For heaven's sake, don't think of such a thing!" cried Doctor Fabian.
"No, and a thousand times no! What should I do there?"
"Keep your eyes open. Something is going on over there, I have no doubt
of that. I cannot go myself, for I stand on a war-footing with the
princess, and there is always a pitched battle when we meet. I cannot
endure her patronizing ways, and she is horrified at my rudeness. But
you, doctor, stand on neutral ground; you are just the man."
The doctor still protested. "I am not at all qualified for such a
mission," he said; "you know my timidity and helplessness in the
presence of strangers, and particularly of ladies. And, besides,
Waldemar will never consent to my accompanying him."
"Your protests are of no avail," interrupted Herr Witold, in a
dictatorial tone. "You must go to C----, Doctor Fabian; you are the
only person in whom I can place confidence. You will not fail me when I
most need you." And he stormed the citadel of the doctor's never
stubborn will with such an avalanche of entreaties, reproaches, and
arguments, that the poor man, half bewildered, yielded, promising to do
all that was required of him.
A sound of horse's hoofs was heard outside. Waldemar gave the rein to
his fleet Norman, and without even a glance at the window where his
guardian sat watching him, galloped away.
"There he goes!" said Witold, half angrily, half admiringly, as his
adopted son swept past. "That boy sits his horse as if he and his horse
were cast in bronze. And it is no slight matter to manage Norman."
"Waldemar has a peculiar passion for riding wild, young horses,"
observed the doctor, with a touch of anxiety. "I do not understand why.
Norman should be his favorite; he is the most unmanageable beast in the
whole stable."
"That is the very reason," said the guardian, laughing. "If the young
fellow does not have something to subdue and to break, he cannot be
happy. But come now, doctor, we will talk over your mission. You must
begin the affair diplomatically."
So saying, he grasped the doctor's arm, and almost forced him to take a
seat near him on the sofa. The poor tutor could do nothing but submit
patiently; he had all his life yielded to the will of others, and now
his only protest was to murmur sadly, yet scarce audibly,--
"_I_ a diplomatist, Herr Witold? God help me!"
CHAPTER VII.
STRATEGY AND JEALOUSY.
The princess and her family mingled but very little in the society of
C----, and of late they had lived even more retired than usual.
Waldemar always found the family alone when he made his visits, which
had become very frequent. Count Morynski, after a few days' sojourn,
had departed for his estates. It had been his intention to take his
daughter along with him, but the princess considered a prolonged stay
necessary to Wanda's health, and she knew how to win her brother's
consent, which was somewhat reluctantly granted.
In spite of the excessive noonday heat, young Nordeck had ridden in
exceeding haste. Upon entering his mother's presence, he found her
seated at her writing-desk. If Leo had appeared in such a heated
condition, she certainly would have had a word of solicitude or of
admonition for him; but Waldemar's appearance, if noticed, called forth
no comment. Although this mother and son met very frequently, not the
slightest confidence or intimacy had sprung up between them. The
princess treated Waldemar with the greatest respect, and he endeavored
to restrain his rough impulses in her presence; but there was not the
least affection in this mutual effort to maintain a good understanding.
They could not cross the invisible chasm that still yawned between
them, although an unusual influence had bridged it over for the
present. They greeted each other coldly as at their first meeting, but
Waldemar's eyes wandered restlessly and inquiringly about the room.
"Are you looking for Leo and Wanda?" asked the princess. "They have
gone to the beach, and will meet you there. You have doubtless arranged
a sail?"
"Yes; and I will join them at once," said Waldemar, moving hastily
toward the door, but his mother laid her hand upon his arm.
"Before you go, I would like to speak with you a few moments. I have
something of importance to say to you."
"Will it not answer just as well after our return?" asked Waldemar,
impatiently.
"I desire to speak with you alone," the princess replied. "You will
still be in time for the sail; it can be postponed for a quarter of an
hour."
Young Nordeck showed great annoyance at this request, and accepted his
mother's invitation to be seated with evident reluctance. It was
impossible to fix his attention, for his eyes constantly turned to the
window near which he sat, and which commanded a view of the sea-shore.
"Our sojourn in C---- is drawing to a close," the princess began; "we
must soon think of departure."
Waldemar seemed unpleasantly surprised. "So soon?" he said. "September
promises to be fine; why not pass it here?"
"I must leave on Wanda's account. I cannot ask my brother to remain
much longer separated from his darling. He consented to leave her with
me for a short time after his own departure only on condition of my
taking her home in person, and the time allotted for her stay is nearly
expired."
"His estate lies quite near Villica--does it not?" asked Waldemar,
eagerly.
"It is only an hour's drive from there; about half as far as Altenhof
is from here."
The young man's face lighted up for a moment; then he gazed uneasily
out of the window,--the strand had powerful attractions for him to-day.
"Since we happen to be speaking of Villica," the princess said, with
seeming indifference, "may I ask when you think of going there? As you
have reached your majority, you will, no doubt, soon assume the
management of your estates."
"Arrangements had been made for me to go next spring," Waldemar
replied, absently, and still gazing out of the window. "I intended to
remain one more winter with my uncle, but that will be impossible, as I
am to enter the university."
The mother nodded approvingly. "This is a resolve which has my entire
approval," she said. "I have never denied that I consider the education
you have received from your guardian far too practical and one-sided. A
position like yours demands more thorough culture."
"But I should like to see Villica once more," said Waldemar. "I have
not been there since my childhood, and--and you doubtless will remain
for some time?"
"I do not know. For the present I certainly shall accept the asylum my
brother offers me and my son. It remains to be seen if we are to rely
permanently upon his generosity."
Young Nordeck started in amazement. "Asylum--generosity; what does this
mean, mother?"
The mother's lips quivered nervously--and this was the sole indication
she gave of the inward struggle the step she was taking cost her;
otherwise she appeared perfectly unmoved, as she answered,--
"Hitherto I have concealed our family affairs from the world, and I
shall continue to do so. I will, however, make no secret of them to
you. Yes, I am compelled to seek an asylum with my brother. You are
familiar with the public events that occurred during my second
marriage. I stood by my husband's side when the storms of the
revolution broke around him. I followed him into banishment, and shared
with him nearly ten years of exile. Our property was sacrificed to our
country's cause; these last years have proved the utter inadequacy of
our present means to the requirements of our position. An investigation
into our affairs soon after my husband's death showed me that I must
abandon the struggle,--our resources are at an end."
Waldemar attempted to speak, but was interrupted by his mother.
"You know what it costs me to make these disclosures, and that I never
would have done so if I had been the only one concerned; but as a
mother I have to maintain the interests of my son, and here every other
consideration sinks into insignificance. Leo is now at the threshold of
active life. I care little for the deprivations of poverty, but I
greatly fear its humiliations for him; I know that he cannot bear them.
Fortune has favored you with wealth, of which hereafter you have full
control. Waldemar, I commit your brother's future to your magnanimity."
-To any other woman it would have been a terrible humiliation to plead
for help from the son of the man she had deserted with hatred and
contempt, but this woman bore the humiliation in a manner that robbed
it of all abasement, and which did not in the least compromise her
pride. Her attitude was not that of a suppliant; she did not appeal to
a filial affection which she knew had no existence. The mother and her
rights made no assertion; she appealed to the elder brother's sense of
justice in asking him to assist the younger, and the result proved her
perfect understanding of Waldemar.
"And do you tell me this for the first time to-day!" he exclaimed,
impetuously. "Why did I not know it before?"
The princess met her son's gaze firmly. "What would you have answered
me if I had made this disclosure at our first meeting?" she asked, half
reproachfully.
Waldemar cast down his eyes. He well recalled the offensive manner in
which he had then asked his mother what she wanted of him. "You
misunderstood me," he said. "I would never permit you and Leo to seek
assistance from any one but me. Could I, the master of Villica, allow
my mother and brother to live upon the charity of others? You judge me
wrongly, mother; indeed, I have not merited such distrust."
"I did not blame you, my son; I blamed only the influences which had
hitherto surrounded you, and which may still in a measure control you.
I do not even know whether you will be _allowed_ to offer us an
asylum."
This was the dart which never failed to take effect, and which the
princess always launched at the proper moment.
"I believe I have already proved to you that I know how to assert my
independence," cried Waldemar, defiantly. "Now tell me what I am to do;
I am ready for anything."
The princess knew that she was running a great risk; still she went
firmly and deliberately to her goal. "There is only one form in which
we can accept your aid that would be no humiliation to us: you are
master of Villica; would it not be a very natural thing for you to
receive your mother and brother there as guests?"
Waldemar was startled; at mention of Villica, the old suspicion and
animosity broke out afresh. All the warnings of his foster-father as to
his mother's plans recurred to him. The princess saw the impending
danger, and knew how to ward it off.
"I only desire to reside there in order to be near my brother," she
said, "and to still supply in some measure a mother's place to Wanda."
This decided all. The young man replied with beaming eyes and glowing
cheeks, "Arrange matters to suit yourself, and I shall be satisfied. I
shall not go to Villica to remain long, but I will accompany you
thither, and every year I shall pass my vacations with you."
The princess extended her hand. "I thank you, Waldemar, in Leo's name
and my own," she said.
There was no warmth, either in the proffered thanks or in Waldemar's
answer: "No thanks, mother, I implore; none are needed. The matter is
settled. Can I now go to the beach?"
He seemed anxious to avoid further conversation, and his mother did not
attempt to detain him. She well knew to whom she owed this victory. She
stood at the window and gazed after the young man hurrying through the
garden and to the strand. She then resumed her seat at the escritoire,
to finish a letter she had begun to her brother.
The letter was finished, and the princess was about to seal it, when
Leo entered the room. He appeared flushed and excited, and approached
his mother with frowning brow and compressed lips.
"What is the matter, Leo?" she asked, in astonishment. "Why do you come
alone? Has Waldemar not joined you and Wanda?"
"O, yes; he came half an hour ago."
"And where is he now?"
"He is taking a sail with Wanda."
"Alone?"
"Yes; entirely alone."
"You know that I trust Wanda alone with no one but you, who have grown
up with her as her brother. The sail was arranged for all three; why
did you not remain?"
"Because I will not play the role of a superfluous third person;
because I take no pleasure in seeing Waldemar all the time gazing at
Wanda as if she were the only being on earth."
"I have told you my opinion of this petty jealousy," said the princess
as she sealed her letter.
"Mamma," cried Leo, with flaming eyes, "do you not, or will you not see
that Waldemar loves your niece--that he adores her?"
"And what is that to you, even if it were true? But you only imagine
it. Would you have me treat these boyish fancies seriously? You and
Waldemar are just at that age when you must have some ideal, and thus
far Wanda is the only young girl you have known intimately. She
fortunately is enough a child to treat your apparent infatuation as a
jest; if this were not so, I should not allow you to be together. If
she should ever become in earnest, I should feel in duty bound to
interfere, and prescribe limits to your intercourse. But this will
never occur. Wanda is only trifling with both of you; so dream about
her as much as you like. As to your brother, this practice in gallantry
cannot harm him. Unfortunately, he needs it only too much."
The smile that accompanied these words, and also his mother's allusion
to his sentiment for Wanda as a boyish passion, offended him. "I wish
you would talk to Waldemar about his 'boyish fancies'; he would not
bear it as calmly as I do," said Leo.
"I would as soon tell him as you that I consider this infatuation a
mere juvenile folly; if you or Waldemar, four or five years hence, tell
me of your love for Wanda, I will pay due respect to your feelings; but
for the present you may both play the cavalier to your cousin, and no
disputes need arise between you."
"I have just had a dispute with Waldemar, and given up the sail of my
own accord. I will not allow him to monopolize Wanda's company and
conversation, and I will not any longer put up with his domineering
manner; I shall let him understand that."
"You will do no such thing," returned the mother. "A good understanding
between you is more needful than ever, for we shall accompany Waldemar
to Villica."
"To Villica! And must I be his guest there, his subordinate? Never! no,
never! I will be under no obligations to him; even though my whole
future is at stake, I will accept nothing from his hands."
The princess remained calm, but her voice was proud and stern, as she
said, "Even if you are foolish enough to imperil your whole future for
a mere whim, I am at your side, and I shall not permit it. You know
that I shall never ask anything humiliating of you, but I am not at all
inclined to allow my plans to be frustrated by your jealousy. I am
accustomed to have my wishes treated with respect. Other considerations
higher than merely personal ones, urge me to make Villica my home. We
are going there, and you will treat your brother with the same respect
I show him. I demand obedience from you, Leo."
Leo understood this tone, and knew that when his mother assumed it, she
would carry out her plans at any sacrifice; but an influence mightier
than he had ever known before spurred him on to resistance. He ventured
no reply, but rebellion was written in his face.
"I shall take care that no such disputes arise between you and your
brother in the future," said the princess. "We leave within a week, and
when Wanda is at her father's house, you will see her less frequently.
To-day's solitary sail with Waldemar will be her last."
She rang the bell for Paul, and sent him to post her letter. It
announced to Count Morynski the speedy return of Wanda under the
Princess Zulieski's protection, and also informed him that the princess
and her son would not require his kindly proffered hospitality; that
the former mistress of Villica would soon be reinstated in her old
position.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE OLD "WONDER-CITY."
The boat which bore the two young pleasure-seekers sped along under
full sail. The sea was rough; the waves broke into foam, scattering
showers of spray around them; but Waldemar held the helm with a steady
hand, and Wanda, who sat opposite him, evidently took delight even in
the danger and discomfort of the passage.
"Leo will complain of us to his mother," she said, gazing toward the
shore, which was already receding in the distance. "He was very angry
when he left us; you were not courteous to him, Waldemar."
"I do not like to have another steer when I am in the boat," replied
Waldemar, imperiously.
"And what if _I_ wanted to steer?"
His only reply was to rise hastily, and offer the young girl the helm.
She burst out laughing. "O, no, thank you. I only asked the question to
see how you would answer it. I should not enjoy the sail if I had to
give my whole attention to steering the boat."
Without a word Waldemar again took the rudder which had occasioned the
dispute between himself and Leo, although its real cause had been a
very different matter, which neither would own.
"Where shall we sail?" asked Wanda, after a brief silence.
"Shall we not go to the beech-holm, as we intended?"
"Is it not too far?"
"With this favorable breeze we shall be there in half an hour. You
wanted to see the sunset from that spot."
Wanda offered no opposition, although a restless, anxious feeling came
over her. Hitherto Leo had been her constant companion in all out-door
excursions; to-day, for the first time, she found herself alone with
another. Young as she was, her womanly penetration taught her the
reason of Waldemar's timidity and embarrassment at his first visit. He
was incapable of dissimulation, and although he had not betrayed
himself by a single word, his eyes spoke only too plain a language; he
was less demonstrative towards her than towards others, but yet she was
fully conscious of her power over him and knew how to use it. She
certainly, at times, misused this power, for the whole affair was only
a jest to her. She was pleased with the idea of controlling this
obstinate, ungovernable nature by a word or a glance. Her vanity was
flattered at this mute and strange yet passionate adoration, and it
amused her prodigiously to see Leo so jealous of Waldemar. She did not
intend to give the preference to the elder brother; his exterior
repelled her, while his uncouthness horrified and his conversation
bored her. Love made him no more agreeable. He never showed that
gallantry and politeness of which Leo, although so young, was already
master. He seemed to yield reluctantly to the spell the young girl
threw around him, to resign himself to a passion from which he could
not break away--a passion that had made him its unwilling slave.
The beech-holm might once have been a small island; it was now a
densely wooded peninsula connected with the mainland by an isthmus,
across which it could be easily reached on foot. Beautiful as it was,
the place was seldom visited; it was too solitary and remote for the
pleasure-seekers at C----, whose favorite excursions were to the
neighboring villages lying along the coast. To-day, there was no one at
the holm when the boat landed. Waldemar stepped out, and Wanda, without
waiting for his help, sprang lightly upon the white sand and hurried up
the hill.
The beech-holm was rightly named. Primeval beeches spread their mighty
branches far and wide, casting their sombre shadows over the verdant
turf and weather-beaten boulders which lay scattered here and there,
marking, so tradition said, the site of an old pagan place of
sacrifice. On both sides of the landing-place the trees receded,
forming a sort of frame to the open sea, which a deep, blue,
unmeasurable expanse stretched out into the distance. No shore, no
island bounded the vision; no sail appeared on the horizon's verge;
there was nothing but the sea in its vastness and beauty and grandeur;
and the beech-holm lay there as lonely and forsaken as if it were a
small island in mid-ocean.
Wanda removed her straw hat, whose only trimming was a simple band of
black ribbon, and sat down on one of the moss-covered stones. She still
wore light mourning for her aunt's husband. Her white dress was trimmed
with black, and a black sash with long ends encircled her waist. This
white and black apparel gave a sombreness to the young girl's
appearance which did not properly belong to her. She sat there radiant
in youth, health, and beauty, with beaming eyes and clasped hands,
gazing out upon the water.
Waldemar, who had seated himself on the trunk of a beech, was lost in
admiration of the beautiful young girl. No other object, far or near,
possessed the slightest interest for him, and he started as if from a
dream when Wanda jestingly asked, pointing to her seat,--
"Is this one of your old Runic stones?"
Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "You must ask my tutor, Doctor Fabian,
about that. He is more at home in the first centuries of our era than
in the present. He would give you a very learned and exhaustive lecture
upon ancient graves, Runic stones, and all that sort of thing; and
nothing would afford him greater pleasure."
"Spare me that, for heaven's sake! But if Doctor Fabian has such an
enthusiasm for past ages, I wonder he has not instilled a similar taste
into you. You seem very indifferent to the past."
"What do I care for all this old-time nonsense? The fields and forests
of to-day interest me only on account of the game they offer."
"How prosaic! Then here upon this beautiful beech-holm you were
doubtless thinking only of the deer and rabbits possibly lurking in the
thickets."
"No," replied Waldemar, emphatically, "not _here_."
"Such thoughts would be unpardonable amid this scenery," said Wanda.
"Just look at that sunset illumination! The waves give forth rays just
as dazzling as those of the sky above them."
Waldemar gazed indifferently. "Ah, yes!" he said; "Vineta must have
sunken right there."
"What must have sunken there?" Wanda asked, eagerly.
"Have you never heard about Vineta? It is one of our sea-shore
traditions. I thought everybody knew it."
"I do not; tell me all about it."
"I am a poor story-teller. Ask any old sailor along the coast to relate
it to you; he can do it far better than I."
"But I will hear it from your lips; so tell it."
Waldemar's brow grew dark. The young lady was too imperious.
"You _will_!" he returned, rather sharply.
"Yes, I _will_," she repeated, with the same obstinacy as before. She
evidently knew her power, and meant to use it.
The frown on the young man's brow deepened. He felt like rebelling
against the spell that fettered him, but when he met the dark eyes
whose glance seemed to change from command to entreaty, his defiance
vanished, his brow cleared, and he smiled.
"Well, then, I must tell the story in my own abrupt, _prosaic_ way," he
said, emphasizing the last adjective. "According to the legend, Vineta
was an old, fortified city by the sea, the metropolis of a people who
ruled land and water far and near, who surpassed all the world in pomp
and grandeur, and into whose lap the wealth and treasure of all lands
were poured. But the inhabitants of Vineta became so haughty, so
overbearing, and so wicked, that their pride and sin called down the
vengeance of Heaven upon their city, and it was swallowed up by the
waves. Our sailors swear that yonder, where the shore recedes, the
great city rests to-day in all its olden splendor. They declare that
they frequently catch glimpses of its towers and domes glistening
fathoms deep below the waters; that occasionally the city in its olden
magnificence rises from the sea, and that certain favored ones are
allowed to behold the enchanting sight. Indeed, there are mirages
enough along this coast, and we have here in the North a sort of _fata
morgana_ whose cause I cannot explain, although my tutor has told me
all about it--"
"Never mind the explanation," interrupted Wanda. "Who cares for that,
if the legend is only beautiful? And it is delightful--don't you think
so?"
"Well, really, I have never given its beauty a thought," replied
Waldemar.
"Have you, then, no feeling for the poetic? That is deplorable."
"Do you really think so?" he asked, in surprise.
"Indeed I do."
"No one has ever taught me to know or to appreciate what you call the
poetic," the young man said, in a tone of apology. "The poetic plays no
part in my uncle's house, and my tutors have given me only dry lessons
in practical things. I now begin to comprehend for the first time that
there is such a thing as poetry."
As Waldemar said this, his face had an unusually dreamy expression. He
threw back the hair which usually hung low over his forehead, and
leaned his head against the trunk of the tree. Wanda now for the first
time made the discovery that a remarkably high and finely shaped
forehead lay concealed under that mass of blonde hair. It was a
forehead that dignified and ennobled the plain, irregular features.
Over the left temple ran a peculiarly marked blue vein, clearly and
sharply defined even in calm, untroubled moments. Wanda had often
ridiculed that "tawny lion's mane," little dreaming of the clear, high
brow that lay beneath.
"Do you know, Waldemar, that I have just made a discovery?" she said.
"Ah! what is it?" he answered, abstractedly.
"That singular blue vein on your forehead; my aunt has one just like
it, only not so strongly defined."
"Indeed! Then this is the only point of resemblance between my mother
and me."
"That is true; you resemble her only in this one respect; but Leo is
her exact image."
"Leo!" echoed Waldemar, with a peculiar intonation. "Ah, yes! that is
very natural."
"And why ought the younger brother to have the advantage of the elder?"
"Why not in all else, since he has the first place in his mother's
love?"
"But, Waldemar--"
"Is this news to you?" interrupted the young man, almost sadly. "I
thought my relations toward my mother were known to every one. She
forces herself to treat me kindly and courteously, and effort enough it
costs her. But she cannot overcome her inward aversion--neither can I;
so we stand on the same footing."
Wanda made no reply. The turn the conversation had taken surprised her
greatly. Waldemar did not seem to notice her astonishment; he went on
in a tone of great bitterness. "The Princess Zulieski is a stranger to
me and must remain so. I do not belong to her or to her son; I have no
part in their life. I feel this more and more at every meeting. You
have no idea, Wanda, what it costs me to cross their threshold. It is a
torture I have imposed upon myself, and I would never have believed I
could endure it so patiently."
"Why do you endure it? No one forces you to come," exclaimed Wanda,
thoughtlessly.
He gazed at her intently, and his whole soul was in that gaze. The
answer beamed so plainly from his eyes that the young girl blushed
deeply. That ardent, reproachful look spoke only too plainly.
"You do my aunt injustice," she said, excitedly, trying to conceal her
embarrassment. "She must surely love her own son."
"O, most assuredly!" returned Waldemar, impetuously. "I have no doubt
that she loves Leo very much, although she treats him harshly; but why
should she love me or I her? I was only a year old when I lost both my
father and my mother. I was torn from my home to grow up in a
stranger's house. When I learned to reflect and to ask questions, I was
told that the marriage of my parents had been unfortunate for both, and
that they had parted in bitter hatred. I have since experienced the
disastrous effects of this hatred upon my own life. I was early taught
that my mother was solely to blame, but I heard such hints thrown out
in regard to my father's character that I could not hold him guiltless.
And so I grew up to dislike and suspect my parents--those two beings a
child should hold in the highest love and reverence. I cannot now rid
myself of these early impressions. My uncle--I call him uncle, although
he is only a distant relative of my father--has been very good to me,
but he could offer me nothing different from the life he himself led.
You doubtless know what that life has been; my mother's family are all
well informed on that point. And yet, knowing all this, Wanda, do you
demand from me a knowledge of aesthetics and of poetry?"
These last words had a tone of indignant reproach, but beneath them
lurked a melancholy regret. Wanda gazed with wide-open eyes at her
companion whom she did not at all understand to-day. This was her first
serious conversation with him; he had never before broken his silent
reserve toward her. The peculiarly distant relations between this
mother and son had not escaped her notice, but she had not believed
Waldemar at all sensitive upon this point. Hitherto not a syllable on
the subject had fallen from his lips, and now all at once he showed a
depth of feeling which was almost passionate lamentation. At this
moment, for the first time, the young girl realized how lonely, and
empty, and neglected Waldemar's childhood must have been, and how
forsaken and friendless was this young heir of whose wealth she had
heard so much.
"You wished to see the sunset," Waldemar said, abruptly, and with an
entire change of voice and manner. "I think it will be one of uncommon
splendor to-night."
The layer of clouds which skirted the horizon was all aflame with
warmth and glow, and the sea, flooded with light and reflecting from
its clear depths all the splendor of the illuminated sky, gave back the
farewell greeting of the departing day. From both sky and land streamed
a flood of radiance, diffusing itself far and near. But above the spot
where the wondrous city Vineta rested upon the ocean's floor, the waves
burned with a scarlet glow, and rose and fell in undulations of liquid
gold, while thousands of fiery sparks danced upon the waters.
There is in old traditions something that outlives superstition, and
however versed we may be in modern lore, there come moments when these
tales and legends loom up before our minds, and receive at least a
transient recognition. The everlasting riddles of these old legends,
like their eternal truths, even to-day lie deep in the human heart.
True, this mysterious fairy kingdom is now accessible only to favored
mortals, to poets and to those who live close to the great heart of
nature; but these two on the beech-holm must have belonged to the
favored ones, for they plainly felt the magical influence which gently
but irresistibly drew them within its circle, and neither had heart or
courage to flee from it.
Over their heads the tree-tops swayed to and fro in the wind, while the
sea surged ever more loudly at their feet. Wave upon wave came rolling
to the shore, each bearing a white crest upon its forehead, leaping up
in its giant strength for a moment, only to be dashed in pieces on the
strand. It was the grand, old melody of the ocean, a melody made up of
the whistling wind and the roaring waves, that grand, eternal diapason
which awes, yet enthralls the heart. It sings of dreamy, sun-kissed
ocean calms, of raging storms bearing terror and destruction in their
path, of restless, tumultuous billows; and from every wave comes a
tone, from every breeze an accord.
Waldemar and the young girl at his side must have understood this
language well, for they listened to it in breathless silence; and these
were not the only strains they heard. Up from the water's depths, from
the turrets of the sunken city, came a sound as of silver bells; they
listened, and their hearts felt an aching and a yearning, and at last
the premonition of a great and enduring happiness. From the gold and
purple waves rose a gleaming apparition. It hovered over the sea,
bathed in the evening sunlight; it stood in mid-air, with its roofs,
and spires, and battlements lighted up by gold and opal and sapphire
hues; the phantom-apparition, the theme of so many a song and
story--the old "wonder-city"--VINETA!
The descending sun now touched the gleaming waters with its radiant
disc, and sinking lower and lower, soon passed from sight. But the
dissolving hues gathered new brightness; once again the western horizon
was illuminated as by fire; then the light slowly paled, and the fairy
vision vanished.
Wanda sighed half audibly, and passed her hand over her forehead. Then
she said, softly, "The sun has set; it is time for us to think of
returning."
"Of _returning_?" echoed Waldemar, as in a dream. "Why so soon?"
The young girl rose quickly as if to flee from some painful emotion.
"We must reach home before dusk," she said, "or my aunt will never
forgive me for this excursion."
"I will be responsible to my mother; still, if you wish to return
immediately--"
"O, yes; please let us go!"
The young man started for the boat, and then paused suddenly:--
"Wanda, you intend to leave in a few days, do you not?"
He asked this question in a strangely excited tone, and Wanda's voice
lacked its usual composure, as she replied,--
"I must go to my father, we have been so long separated."
"My mother and Leo are going to Villica--" Here Waldemar hesitated and
gasped for breath. "There is some talk of my accompanying them. _May_
I?"
"Why do you ask me?" replied Wanda, with an embarrassment very unusual
to her. "It is for you to decide whether you will visit your estates."
The young man paid no heed to her reply. He bent over her, his voice
trembled, he was deeply moved.
"But I ask _you_, Wanda, you alone. May I come to Villica?"
"_Yes_," replied Wanda, involuntarily; but she was startled when
Waldemar seized her hand with a violent gesture, and held it clasped
tightly as if he would never let it go. She now felt what he understood
by this _yes_, and the idea terrified her. She flushed deeply like one
in a burning fever. Waldemar perceived her emotion.
"Am I too violent with you?" he asked, gently. "You must not be angry
with me, Wanda, at least not to-day. I could not bear the thought of
your departure. But now that I am sure of seeing you again, I will wait
patiently until we reach Villica."
Wanda made no reply. They walked in silence to the boat. Waldemar set
the sails, and grasped the oars. A few powerful strokes sent the tiny
bark far out upon the water. The waves were still tinged with roseate
reflections as the boat shot over them. Neither spoke during the
passage; but the sea rose and fell with a hollow murmur, while the last
flush in the sky faded away, and the first evening shadows settled down
upon the beech-holm, receding farther and farther into the distance.
The sunset vision had ended; but the ancient legend declares that the
mortal who has once seen the submerged Vineta, who has once listened to
the chiming of its bells, can never more know peace until the magical
city again rises to greet him, or draws him downward to its depths.
CHAPTER IX.
DOCTOR FABIAN'S DIPLOMATIC MISSION.
The diplomatic mission about to be intrusted to Doctor Fabian did not
seem half so difficult to Herr Witold in its execution as in its
preliminary arrangements. In order to gain reliable information of what
was going on at C----, the doctor must have access to the house of the
Princess Zulieski, and this could be obtained only through Waldemar.
But how could the old man broach this matter to his foster-son without
receiving a decided refusal? Chance came very unexpectedly to his aid.
At Waldemar's last visit the princess had expressed a desire to become
personally acquainted with her son's tutor. Herr Witold admitted, for
the first time in his life, that the princess had expressed a very
proper and reasonable wish. The doctor had indulged a secret hope that
the proposed mission would be thwarted by the obstinacy of his pupil,
but he found himself held inexorably to his promise, and was obliged to
accompany Waldemar to C----.
Waldemar went on horseback; riding was a passion with him, and he
disliked slow driving over the stony road, when he could ride at full
gallop. It did not occur to him that he ought to take a seat in the
carriage with his tutor; but Doctor Fabian was accustomed to such
slights, and being naturally timid and yielding, he neither had the
courage to resent uncourteous treatment, nor to resign his position.
Besides, he possessed no fortune, and a situation was a vital question
with him. Life at Altenhof did not please him, and he took little part
in it: he appeared in the family circle only at meals and when he
passed an occasional hour with Herr Witold. His pupil engrossed none
too much of his attention; Waldemar was always glad when study hours
were over, and his tutor was still more so. The rest of the time was
at the tutor's disposal, and he could freely devote himself to his
hobby--ancient German history. Thanks to this favorite study, Doctor
Fabian had not followed the example of his six predecessors, and run
away. Knowing that Altenhof offered him ample opportunities and
abundant leisure for historical research, he patiently endured all the
discomforts of his lot. He did not think of complaining to-day when
Waldemar galloped on ahead of him, promising to await him at the
entrance of the town, where he would arrive toward noon.
Upon their arrival they found Wanda alone in the drawing-room. Doctor
Fabian, although very much embarrassed, went through the introduction
passably well; but, unfortunately, his evident and somewhat comical
anxiety to please provoked the young girl to set about teasing him at
once.
"And so you are my cousin Waldemar's tutor?" she said; "I offer you my
sincere condolence, and pity you with all my heart."
Fabian was alarmed and astonished. He gazed, now at the ceiling, and
now at his pupil, who seemed not to have heard the mocking words, for
his manner did not betray the slightest indication of anger.
"I--I do not quite understand you, countess," stammered the doctor.
"I mean that, in educating Waldemar Nordeck, you have no enviable
task," replied Wanda, saucily, and evidently very much amused at the
tutor's embarrassment.
Doctor Fabian, knowing the extreme sensitiveness of his pupil, gazed at
him in alarm. Often enough far less offensive words from Herr Witold
had roused him to fury; but now, for some unaccountable reason, there
was not the slightest token of a storm. The young man leaned calmly
against Wanda's chair, and even smiled as, bending over her, he
asked,--
"Do you really think me so bad?"
"Of course I do. Didn't I see you in a rage day before yesterday about
a rudder?"
"But I was not angry with you," said Waldemar.
The doctor dropped the hat which he had thus far held in both hands.
What sort of a tone was this, and what meant the glance that
accompanied it? The conversation went on in the same strain. Wanda,
inclined to mischief as usual, teased Waldemar most unmercifully; but
he submitted with inexhaustible patience. It seemed that nothing from
this source could irritate or offend him. He smiled at all the young
girl's sallies; he seemed completely transformed when in her presence.
"Doctor Fabian is listening to us with the greatest interest," she
said, laughing. "He is, no doubt, delighted with our good-humor."
Poor Doctor Fabian! He was not at all delighted, he was only
bewildered. Small as was his experience in love affairs, the truth,
little by little, dawned upon him; he began to see what was going on.
This explained Waldemar's sudden reconciliation, his eagerness to ride
to C---- in sun and storm, his complete transformation. It would be a
terrible blow to Herr Witold, who cherished such a deeply-rooted hatred
of the whole "Polish party." The diplomatic mission was even at the
outset an entire success, but its result so surprised the ambassador
that he would have very likely forgotten his instructions and betrayed
his amazement, if the princess had not appeared at that moment.
The princess had more than one reason for desiring a personal
acquaintance with her son's tutor, who would also accompany his pupil
to the university. Now that she and Waldemar had become reconciled, his
immediate surroundings could not be a matter of indifference to her. A
ten minutes' acquaintance with Fabian convinced her that no opposition
need be feared from him; that, on the contrary, he would be a passive
instrument in her hands. From this constant companion much could be
learned in the future which could not be obtained from the inaccessible
Waldemar. She did Fabian the honor to regard him as a suitable
instrument for her plans; she lavished the most condescending
attentions upon him, and the humility with which he received her
condescensions pleased her greatly. She forgave his timidity and
embarrassment; or rather, she thought them quite proper in her
presence, and she was graciously pleased to enter into a prolonged
conversation with him.
Upon his mother's entrance into the room Waldemar became reserved as
usual. He took little part in the conversation, but he finally said a
few words to the princess in an undertone. She rose and walked with him
to the balcony.
"Do you wish to speak with me alone?" she asked.
"Only a moment. I merely wished to say that it will be impossible for
me to accompany you and Leo to Villica, as we had proposed."
"Why?" asked the mother, anxiously. "Have difficulties been placed in
your way?"
"Yes; there are certain formalities to be complied with on my arriving
at my majority,--certain legal transactions at which I must be present.
My father's will has specifications in this respect of which neither I
nor my uncle Witold dreamed; and just now, when I wish to go away, the
notice comes. For the present I must remain at Altenhof."
"Well, then, we too shall postpone our departure, and I must send Wanda
alone to her father."
"By no means," returned Waldemar, vehemently. "I have written to
Villica that you will arrive there in a few days, and have ordered the
preparations necessary for your reception. I shall follow you as soon
as I am at liberty to do so; in any event, I shall pass a few weeks
with you before I leave for the university."
"Does your guardian know of this, Waldemar?"
"No; I have only spoken to him of my intention to visit Villica."
"Then you will have to explain our sojourn there to him?"
"I shall do so; for the rest, I have directed the superintendent of the
estate to place himself at your disposal until I come myself. You have
only to give your orders; they will be obeyed."
The princess would fain have expressed her thanks, but the words died
on her lips. She well knew that this generosity was not for her sake,
and the peculiarly cold manner in which it was tendered compelled her
to accept it just as coldly, if she would not humiliate herself.
"We shall certainly expect you. As for Leo--"
"Leo is still sulking over our quarrel of day before yesterday. On my
arrival, he went down to the strand to avoid meeting me."
The mother frowned. Leo had received an especial command to meet his
brother kindly, and this defiance came at a most inopportune moment.
"Leo is often hasty and indiscreet; I will see that he asks your
pardon."
"O, no; don't give yourself that trouble," said Waldemar,
indifferently; "we will arrange matters ourselves."
They re-entered the drawing-room, where Wanda had been amusing herself
by throwing Doctor Fabian from one embarrassment into another. The
princess now came to his relief: she wished to speak with him privately
about her son's course of study, and begged him to accompany her into
the next room.
"Poor doctor," remarked Wanda, gazing after him. "It seems to me,
Waldemar, that you and your tutor have changed roles; you have not the
least respect for him, but he is mortally afraid of you."
Waldemar did not contradict this assertion, which was only too true. He
merely replied, "Do you consider Doctor Fabian a person calculated to
inspire respect?"
"O, no, not at all; but he seems very good-tempered and forbearing."
"That maybe; but these are qualities I do not at all appreciate,"
replied Waldemar, contemptuously.
"Must one tyrannize over you in order to gain your respect?" asked
Wanda, archly.
Waldemar drew up his chair, and sat down near her. "That depends upon
who the tyrant is," he said. "I should not advise any one at Altenhof
to try this game, and here I allow it to only one individual."
"_I_ should not dare attempt such a thing," said Wanda, in a low tone.
He made no reply; his thoughts seemed to flow in another channel.
"Did you not think it very beautiful at the beech-holm day before
yesterday?" he asked, abruptly.
The young countess blushed, but assuming a contradictory tone, she
answered, "The place seemed dismal in spite of its beauty, and as for
those sea legends of yours, I shall not listen to them at sunset again.
Ere long I might come to believe in the old traditions."
"Yes, that is true. You reproached me for not being able to comprehend
the poetry of the legend; what should _I_ know about poetry?"
Wanda was silent; that strange embarrassment she every now and then
felt in the presence of this young man, again came over her. She had
attempted to banish it by laughing and jesting, and in the presence of
others she succeeded; but as soon as they were alone, the feeling
returned with new power, and she could not assume her usual
unconstrained manner. That eventful sojourn at the beech-holm had given
a peculiar gravity to an affair which ought to be a jest and nothing
more.
Waldemar waited in vain for an answer, and felt hurt at not receiving
it. "I have informed my mother that I cannot go to Villica just now,"
he said; "I shall come in three or four weeks."
"Well, that is a very short time," Wanda observed.
"A short time! It is an eternity! You have no idea of what it costs me
to remain here and allow you to depart alone."
"Say no more, I entreat you," interrupted Wanda, with perceptible
emotion. But Waldemar went on in the same impassioned strain:--
"I promised you to wait until we were in Villica, but then I hoped to
accompany you. Now a month perhaps will pass ere we meet again, and I
cannot remain silent all this time. I cannot endure the thought of your
being with Leo so long, and not knowing that you are mine, and mine
only."
The declaration came so suddenly, so impetuously, that Wanda had no
time to avert it; and if time had been given her, the effort would have
been fruitless. He had again seized her hand, and held it firmly as at
the beech-holm.
"Do not shrink from me, Wanda; you must long have known what chains me
here. I could not conceal it; you have allowed me to come; you have not
repelled me, and so I have been encouraged to speak. I know that I am
not like others, that I am deficient in much, perhaps in everything
that would please you; but I can and will learn. It is solely for your
sake that I impose upon myself these years of study at the university.
What do I care for learning or for society? They have no charm for me;
but because I lack these advantages, I have seen you shrink from me and
make sport of me. The time will come when you cannot do this. Let me
only know that you will one day be mine, that I may come back to claim
you, and I will shrink from no effort that would make me worthy of you.
Wanda, I have been lonely and forsaken from my infancy. If I appear,
rough and uncultivated, you must remember that I have had no mother's
care, no mother's love. Do not wonder that I am not like Leo, who has
enjoyed all of which I have been deprived. But my nature is more
intense than his; I can love more warmly and deeply than he. You are
the only being I have ever loved, and a single word from you will atone
for all the past. Speak this word to me, Wanda; or at least give me the
hope that I may one day hear it from you. But do not say _No_, for I
will not bear it."
He had literally fallen on his knees before her; but Wanda had no
thought of exultation in the triumph she in her girlish arrogance had
sought. A dim premonition had now and then come over her that the sport
might have a more serious ending than she had anticipated, that its
_finale_ would not be a mere joke: but she had banished the
apprehension with all the levity of her sixteen years. Now the decisive
moment had come, and she must speak. She must face an ardent proposal,
which inexorably demanded acceptance or refusal. True, this was no
chivalrous, attractive wooing; it had nothing of that romance and
tenderness a young girl craves. Even in the declaration of his love,
Waldemar's rude, impetuous nature was apparent, but every word
expressed violent and long pent-up emotion, and was full of the ardor
of intense passion. For the first time Wanda comprehended the deep
earnestness of Waldemar's love for her, and her conscience uttered this
burning reproach: "What hast thou done?" Her voice trembled with
anguish as she said,--
"Rise, Waldemar, I entreat you!"
"When I hear Yes from your lips, and not until then."
"I cannot answer you--not now; rise, I beg you!"
He would not listen. He still remained on his knees, when the door
unexpectedly opened, and Leo entered. For a moment he stood in the
middle of the room like one petrified. Then an exclamation of anger
passed his lips,--
"_You have won, after all!_"
Waldemar sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing with rage.
"What do you want here?" he cried.
Leo had been white with passion, but the tone of his brother's question
sent the blood mounting to his forehead. In an instant he stood before
Waldemar.
"You think my presence superfluous and intrusive, and yet I could give
you the best possible explanation of the scene that just met my eyes."
"Silence, Leo!" exclaimed Wanda, half entreatingly, half imperiously;
but jealousy made Leo forget all discretion and forbearance.
"I will not be silent; my promise extended only to the decision of the
wager, and I have now seen with my own eyes how it is decided. I have
often entreated you to stop this sport. You knew that it vexed me--that
it drove me to despair; and yet you pushed it to the last extremity.
And shall I now humbly submit to be shown the door as an intruder by
Waldemar, who exults in his supposed triumph? Shall I bear all this in
silence,--I, who have heard you boast that you would bring him as
suitor to your feet? You have accomplished your purpose, but he shall
at least know the truth."
Waldemar, thunderstruck at that word _wager_, stood motionless, his
right hand clutching the back of his chair, while his eyes were fixed
upon Wanda with a bewildered, inquiring expression.
"What does this mean?" he asked, in a scarce audible voice.
Wanda hung her head in conscious guilt. Anger against Leo struggled in
her breast with her own sense of shame. Leo did not reply to his
brother's question; the sudden change in Waldemar's face silenced him.
Moreover, he began to realize the critical position in which he had
placed Wanda, and he dared not seek to rescue her.
"What does this mean?" Waldemar repeated, starting from his momentary
stupor, and confronting Wanda. "Leo speaks of a wager, of a game of
which I am the victim. Answer me, Wanda; I can believe you, and you
only. Tell me that it is false--"
"And so you think me a liar!" broke out Leo. But his brother did not
hear him. Wanda's silence told him enough; he required no further
confirmation. As the truth was laid bare to him, the whole ferocity of
his nature broke forth; the spell that had held him so long was broken,
and passion carried him beyond all bounds.
"I _will_ have an answer," he said. "Have I been a mere plaything for
you, nothing but an object of ridicule? Have you been laughing at me
and deriding me, while I-- Wanda, you shall answer me on the spot,
or--"
He did not end the menace, but his look and tone were so threatening
that Leo stepped before Wanda to protect her. She, too, stood erect and
defiant; the half-uttered threat had exasperated her and restored her
self-control.
"I will not be called to account in this way!" she began, excitedly;
then her eye met Waldemar's, and she stopped short. Although his
features were livid with rage, his eyes betrayed the unspeakable
torture of the man who sees his love betrayed and mocked, and his
adored idol ruthlessly torn from him. Wanda's voice seemed to have
brought him back to his senses; the clenched hands relaxed, but the
lips closed firmly as if no sound must escape them. The chest rose and
fell in a violent struggle to repress its pent-up fury; but the effort
was too great, the young man staggered and sank into a chair.
"What is the matter, Waldemar?" Leo asked, becoming alarmed, and
repenting of his inconsiderate action. "If I had known that you would
take the affair so seriously, I should have remained silent."
Waldemar rose with blanched face and trembling limbs, and, with a
defiant gesture at his brother, turned to go without uttering a word.
At this juncture the princess appeared, accompanied by Doctor Fabian.
The loud talking had penetrated her apartment, and she knew that
something unusual was going on in the drawing-room. She entered softly,
and remained for a moment unobserved. Wanda still stood in her place,
oscillating between fear and defiance; but fear at length gained the
mastery, and in the tone of an offending child begging pardon, she
called the young man back.
"_Waldemar!_"
He paused. "Do you wish to speak with me, Countess Morynski?"
The young girl trembled. It was the first time such an icy, cutting,
contemptuous tone had met her ear, and the deep glow that suddenly
overspread her face showed how intensely she felt it. The princess now
confronted her son.
"What has happened? Where are you going, Waldemar?"
"Away from _here_!" he replied, morosely, without meeting her gaze.
"But tell me the reason--"
"I can not-- Let me go. I will not remain;" and pressing past her, he
hurried away.
"Explain this strange scene to me," said the princess, imperiously,
turning to Wanda and Leo. "Remain, doctor," she added, as Doctor
Fabian, who had stood nervously in the doorway, made a movement to
follow his pupil. "In any event here is some misunderstanding, and I
wish you to bear an explanation of it to my son Waldemar. I cannot do
this, his abrupt departure has rendered it impossible. What has
happened? I must and will know."
Wanda, instead of answering, threw herself upon the sofa, and began to
sob violently; but Leo followed his mother to a remote part of the
room, and told her the whole affair. At every word the lady's brow
grew darker; it evidently cost her an effort to maintain her composure,
but she at length turned to the doctor, and said, with apparent
calmness,--
"It is just as I supposed; a misunderstanding--nothing more. A foolish
wager between my niece and younger son has given Waldemar cause for
offence; I beg of you to tell him that I sincerely regret this
occurrence, but I hope he will attach as little importance to the folly
of these presumptuous children as it deserves."
"I had perhaps best seek my pupil immediately."
"Yes, certainly," replied the lady, glad to have the innocent yet
unwelcome witness of this family quarrel take his departure. "_Au
revoir_, doctor. I depend upon your speedy return in Waldemar's
company."
She spoke these words very graciously, and answered the tutor's
farewell greeting with a smile.
But as soon as the door closed behind him, she turned to Wanda and Leo
with a face and gestures that indicated, before she had spoken a word,
the violent storm that was raging in her breast.
Meanwhile Doctor Fabian learned from Paul that Waldemar had ridden
away. No alternative was left him but to follow immediately to
Altenhof, and he started at once. Upon his arrival he learned that
Waldemar had not been there, and he could not help feeling alarmed at
an absence which ordinarily he would not have noticed. The conclusion
of the excited scene he had witnessed allowed him to divine the truth;
he felt sure that something more weighty than a mere jest or a slight
misunderstanding had caused Waldemar's fit of passion and abrupt
departure. The young man who had just before borne so patiently Wanda's
whims and caprices, would not have allowed a slight matter to move him
so deeply. That whole afternoon the doctor awaited Waldemar's return to
Altenhof, but he did not appear. Herr Witold had gone to the city and
was not expected home until evening, and so the doctor was not harassed
by questions from the guardian, which he could not have answered.
Hour after hour glided away; the evening shadows began to fall, but
Waldemar was neither seen nor heard of by any one connected with the
household. Anxiety drove the doctor out of doors. He walked along the
carriage road leading to the estate, over which every visitor must
pass. A short distance from the highway lay a very wide and deep ditch,
usually full of water, but now the summer's heat rendered it perfectly
dry, and the huge stones at its bottom were exposed to view. The bridge
crossing it afforded a splendid view of the surrounding landscape. It
was still broad day in the open fields, but twilight already enveloped
the forest. As the doctor stood on the bridge considering whether he
had better go on or turn back, the figure of a horseman advancing on
the gallop appeared in the distance. The doctor heaved a sigh of
relief. He had not really known what to fear, but he now felt that his
anxiety had been groundless, and full of delight he hastened along the
edge of the ditch to meet the rider.
"Thank God, you have come, Waldemar! I have been so anxious on your
account."
Upon seeing his tutor, Waldemar reined up his horse. "Why have you been
anxious?" he asked. "Am I a child who cannot be trusted out of your
sight?"
In spite of this forced composure there was a strange ring in the young
man's voice, which again aroused the doctor's misgivings. He now for
the first time noticed that the horse was panting with fatigue, that
his nostrils were covered with foam and his breast heaved violently.
The animal had no doubt been mercilessly ridden, but the rider showed
no signs of fatigue. He sat erect in the saddle, holding the reins with
an iron grip, and instead of turning aside in the direction of the
fields, it was his evident intention to leap the ditch.
"For heaven's sake, stop!" cried Fabian. "You will not be guilty of
such rashness! You know that Norman has never leaped this ditch."
"But he will now!" replied Waldemar, plunging his spurs into the
horse's flanks. Norman sprang forward, but bolted at the margin and
refused to take the leap.
"Listen to me!" cried the doctor, imploringly, as he approached the
frantic beast. "You require an impossibility; the leap cannot be made,
and you will be dashed in pieces on the rocks below."
Without deigning a reply, Waldemar again urged Norman on. "Get out of
my way," he cried; "I shall make the leap. Get out of the way, I tell
you!"
That wild, anguished tone showed the tutor the mental condition of his
pupil, who really would as soon have been dashed in pieces as to make
the leap in safety. In his intense fear of impending calamity, the
doctor conquered his usual timidity and seized the bridle, determined
to dissuade the young man from his foolhardy attempt. But Waldemar gave
a terrific stroke of the whip to the refractory animal, which reared
and beat wildly with his fore-feet in the air, but refused to take the
leap. At this moment a faint cry of distress reached the rider's ear.
He was startled, paused, and, quick as lightning, reined back his
horse; but it was too late! As Waldemar, the next instant, sprang to
the ground, he saw his tutor lying before him motionless and bleeding.
CHAPTER X.
LEO'S VISIT TO ALTENHOF.
A week of anxiety and sorrow passed over Altenhof. Upon Herr Witold's
return on that ill-fated evening, he found the whole house in
commotion. Doctor Fabian lay senseless and bleeding in his room, while
Waldemar, with a face that startled his foster-father quite as much as
that of the tutor, was endeavoring to stanch the wound. Nothing could
be drawn from him excepting that he alone was to blame for the
accident, and his uncle was, consequently, obliged to seek an
explanation from the servants. He learned from them that young Nordeck
had come home at twilight bearing the wounded man in his arms, and had
at once dispatched a messenger for the nearest physician. A quarter of
an hour afterward, the horse had appeared panting and exhausted. On
finding himself deserted by his master, Norman had followed the
well-known road home. The servants knew nothing more.
The physician, who soon arrived and saw the state of the wounded man,
looked grave and anxious. The wound in the head, evidently caused by a
blow from the horse's hoof, seemed a serious one, while the tutor's
frail constitution and the great loss of blood rendered his case very
critical. The sufferer for a long time hovered between life and death.
Herr Witold, whose own health like that of his ward was perfect, and
who had never known what pain and illness really were, after these
mournful days were over, often declared that he would not pass through
them again for all the world. To-day, for the first time, the old
gentleman's face assumed its usual placid and unconcerned expression,
as he sat down by the sick man's bed.
"The worst is over," he said; "and now, Doctor Fabian, have the
goodness to set Waldemar's head right again. I have not the slightest
influence over him, but you can do anything you like with him, so bring
the lad back to reason, or this unfortunate affair will prove his
ruin."
Waldemar stood at a window pressing his forehead against the panes, and
gazing vacantly out into the yard. Doctor Fabian, who still wore a
broad white bandage around his head, looked pale and exhausted. He,
however, sat upright, supported by pillows, and although his voice was
weak, it had no tremor of illness as he asked,--
"What would you have Waldemar do?"
"I want him to be rational," said Herr Witold, emphatically, "and to
thank God that this affair has turned out no worse, instead of going
about silent and downcast as if he had a murder on his conscience. I
suffered enough, heaven knows, during those first few days when your
life hung by a thread; but now that the physician has pronounced you
out of danger, I again breathe freely. By-gones are by-gones, and I
cannot endure to have my boy go around with such a face, never speaking
a word for hours at a time."
"I have often enough assured Waldemar that I alone am to blame for the
accident. His attention was entirely absorbed in managing the horse,
and he could not see that I was standing near. I was so imprudent as to
seize Norman by the bridle, and he dragged me down."
"Did you take Norman by the bit--you who never venture within ten paces
of any horse?" exclaimed Herr Witold, in surprise. "What in the world
possessed you to do such a foolhardy thing?"
Fabian glanced over at his pupil, and replied, mildly, "I was fearful
of an accident."
"Which would doubtless have occurred," added the old gentleman.
"Waldemar must have been out of his senses to think of leaping the
ditch at nightfall, and with a horse half dead from fatigue. I have
always told him that some accident would happen to him for being so
venturesome. He has now learned a lesson, but he lays it too much at
heart. Doctor, give him a good talking to, and persuade him to be
reasonable."
The guardian then rose and left the room. Teacher and pupil remained
for some moments silent, and then Fabian said,--
"Waldemar, did you hear my instructions?"
The young man, who until now had stood at the window silent and
indifferent, as if the conversation in no way concerned him, turned and
approached the bed. He appeared the same as usual, except that he was
somewhat pale; at the first glance one felt that Witold's solicitude
was excessive, but closer scrutiny revealed a great change. The face
had assumed an expression of indifference and rigidity which excluded
the play of any other emotion. Perhaps this was only a mask with which
Waldemar sought to hide from the world a deeply wounded sensibility.
The voice no longer had its usually powerful ringing tone; it was
hollow and expressionless, as he replied,--
"Do not heed my uncle's words; nothing is the matter with me."
Doctor Fabian grasped his pupil's right hand in both of his, the young
man offering no resistance. "Herr Witold thinks you are still censuring
yourself for the accident which occurred to me. This, you must know, is
wholly unnecessary, now that all danger is past. I fear that the cause
of your sadness lies in quite another direction."
Waldemar's hands trembled; he turned his face away.
"Hitherto I have not ventured to allude to this subject," Fabian went
on, hesitatingly. "I see that it still pains you; shall I keep silent?"
Waldemar sighed deeply. "No," he answered; "say what you please; but
first let me thank you for not telling my uncle. He has tortured me
nearly to death with his questions, but I could not answer them. My
mood that evening nearly cost you your life. I can not and will not
deny what you already know."
"I know nothing; I only have my conjectures in regard to the scene I
witnessed. For heaven's sake, Waldemar, what happened?"
"A childish folly, nothing more," Waldemar replied, with bitter
irony; "a mere stupid whim not worth noticing,--at least so my mother
wrote me day before yesterday. But I was in earnest, so terribly in
earnest that nothing the future has in store for me can atone for my
disappointment."
"Do you love the Countess Morynski?" asked Doctor Fabian, timidly.
"I _have_ loved her--but that love is a thing of the past. She did her
best to fascinate me; I now know that she was only playing a heartless
game. The wound was deep, but it will heal. I shall conquer this
weakness. I shall learn to forget and despise the girl who trifled with
the holiest sentiment of my heart. But do me this favor: never mention
the matter to my uncle, never speak of it again to me. I cannot talk
about it, not even with you. Leave me to fight out the battle alone,
and it will end all the sooner."
His quivering lips betrayed the anguish he suffered from any probing of
the wound that was still so recent. Fabian saw that he must desist.
"I will obey your wish and be silent," he said. "You shall never hear
an allusion to this subject from my lips in future."
"In future!" echoed Waldemar; "and will you then remain with me? I took
it for granted that you would leave us immediately upon your recovery.
I would like to have you stay, but I cannot ask it when I have made so
poor a return for your kindness, and so nearly caused your death."
Doctor Fabian again grasped his pupil's hand. "I know that you have
suffered far more than I," he said; "and one good thing has resulted
from my illness. It has proved--you will pardon me for saying it--that
you really have a heart."
Waldemar did not seem to hear the words, he was lost in thought. At
length he said, "Why did you save my life at the risk of your own? I
thought no one cared for me."
"No one? Not even your foster-father?"
"Ah, yes! Uncle Witold, perhaps--but I thought him the only one."
"I have proved to you that he is not the only one," replied the tutor,
gravely.
"I deserved this of you least of all," said Waldemar. "But I have
learned a severe lesson, so severe that I shall not forget it as long
as I live. When I brought you home bleeding on that ill-fated night,
when the doctor gave you up for lost, I knew how a murderer feels. If
you are really willing to remain with me, you shall not regret it. I
have sworn by your couch of pain to overcome that ungovernable fury
which has all my life made me deaf to reason, blind to my own good and
the good of others. You will have no further cause to complain of me."
"I wish you would promise me this with another look and tone," said
Doctor Fabian. "I have no idea of leaving you, but in our future
intercourse I would rather contend with your old impetuous nature, than
endure this forced, hopeless resignation. Your manner does not please
me."
Waldemar rose with a quick, repellent movement, as if to avoid further
scrutiny. "I wish you would make your conversation less personal," he
said; "the room is close, shall I raise the window?"
The doctor sighed, feeling that he could not win his pupil's
confidence. But all further conversation was here interrupted by the
entrance of Herr Witold.
"Waldemar," he said, "Prince Zulieski is downstairs, and wishes to see
you."
"_Leo_?" asked Waldemar, in astonishment.
"Yes, Leo. Go down at once, and I will remain with Doctor Fabian."
Waldemar left the room, and Herr Witold took his place at the bedside.
"The Zulieskis are in a great hurry to get Waldemar back again,"
he said. "Three days ago a letter came from her Highness the
princess-mother. I am very sure that Waldemar has not answered it; the
mother could not induce him to leave your side, and now comes the
brother in person; and a very handsome lad the young Polish stripling
is! But he is too much like his mother to suit my taste. Speaking of
the princess and her son reminds me that I have not yet asked about
your discoveries at C---. In my anxiety for you, I entirely forgot the
fact of my sending you there on a sort of voyage of discovery."
Doctor Fabian cast down his eyes, and in his embarrassment pulled
nervously at the coverlet. "Unfortunately, I have nothing to
communicate, Herr Witold," he said; "my visit at C---- was very short,
and I told you before I went that I had no skill as a diplomatist."
"Then you learned nothing? That is unfortunate. But how is it with
Waldemar? Have you given him a good talking to?"
"He has promised me that he will endeavor to forget the past."
"God be praised! I knew that you could do anything with him you liked.
We have both done the lad wrong in thinking he had no feeling. I had no
idea he would lay the affair so to heart."
"Neither had I," said the doctor, with a sigh whose import Herr Witold
did not understand.
Waldemar found his brother awaiting him. The young prince, who upon his
arrival had been greatly surprised at sight of the old, low-roofed
house and dilapidated outbuildings of Altenhof, was still more
astonished at the plainness and bareness of the room into which he was
shown. He had all his life been accustomed to lofty and elegant
apartments, and could not understand why his brother, while possessed
of such vast wealth, could be content to live in so humble a manner.
The parlor of that hired villa at C----, which seemed so inferior
to himself and his mother, was luxurious in comparison with the
reception-room at Altenhof.
He was musing over these strange discrepancies of fortune, and asking
himself why luxurious tastes were given to him without means to gratify
them, while his brother, who was possessed of unbounded wealth, cared
little for those advantages wealth offers, when Waldemar entered the
room. Leo advanced to meet him, and said hastily, as if he would
discharge an unpleasant duty as quickly as possible,--
"You are surprised at my coming; but as you have neither visited us nor
answered my mother's letter, no alternative remained but for me to come
to you."
It was easy to see that the young man did not make the visit of his own
accord. His greeting and manner were evidently forced; he seemed to
feel in duty bound to offer his hand, but failed in the attempt to do
so.
Waldemar did not or would not notice his embarrassment. "Do you come at
your mother's bidding?" he asked.
Leo flushed deeply at the thought of his aversion to an interview,
which his mother had secured only by the exercise of her whole maternal
authority.
"I do," he finally replied.
"I am sorry, Leo, that you have been compelled to do what you must feel
to be a humiliation. I certainly would have spared you this visit if I
had been consulted."
"Mamma thinks that you have been insulted in our house, insulted by me,
and that I ought to take the first step toward reconciliation. I admit
that she is right; and, believe me, Waldemar, if it had not been for
this conviction, I would not have come--_never_!"
"I fully believe you," returned Waldemar.
"Pray don't make it so difficult for me to apologize!" Leo exclaimed,
extending his hand, but Waldemar refused to take it.
"I can accept no apology from my mother or from you; neither of you
were to blame for the insult I received in your house; and, besides, it
is already forgotten. Let us drop the subject."
Leo's surprise increased every moment; he could not reconcile himself
to this unexpected indifference, so far removed from Waldemar's
terrible excitement scarce a week ago.
"I did not think you could forget so quickly," he replied, in
undisguised perplexity.
"Where I despise, I forget easily."
"Waldemar, this is too severe!" exclaimed Leo. "You do Wanda wrong; she
has herself requested me to say to you--"
"Spare me the message, I implore you! My idea of the affair differs
entirely from yours; but let us say no more about it. Under the
circumstances, my mother cannot expect me to bid her good-by in person;
for the present I must avoid her house. I shall not go to Villica this
fall as we had arranged; I may visit it next year."
The young prince frowned. "Do you think that after this icy message I
am compelled to take home from you, we can still become your guests?"
Waldemar crossed his arms and leaned against the mantel. "You mistake;
you and my mother are not at all concerned in this affair; it has
nothing whatever to do with your stay at Villica. But you have opposed
going there from the first; may I know the reason?"
"Because to live there humiliates me. Mamma may decide upon what she
thinks best for herself, but, as for me, I shall never set foot--"
Waldemar laid his hand soothingly upon his brother's arm. "Do not say
that, Leo; the hasty promise might prove a restraint to you. I have
offered my mother a home at Villica, and she has accepted it. This was
simply my duty; it would disgrace me to have her dependent on any other
person than myself. You need have no sensitiveness in the matter; you
are going to the university, and will only pass your vacations at
Villica. A mother need feel no humiliation in accepting a home and
support from her eldest son; and what her pride can tolerate you
certainly will be able to endure."
"I know that we are both entirely dependent upon you, and I also know
that I have insulted you, although not intentionally and deliberately.
How can I accept everything from your hands?"
"You have not insulted me," said Waldemar, gravely. "On the contrary,
you are the only one who has been true to me. I thank you for opening
my eyes to Wanda's real character, and to the plot she laid for me. All
enmity between us is at an end."
Leo was overwhelmed with mortification; he well knew that jealousy
alone had driven him to the step which called forth his brother's
thanks. He had come prepared for a violent scene with Waldemar, and
this apparent indifference and self-control quite unmanned him. He was
still too superficial a judge of human nature to see or to suspect what
lay concealed beneath Waldemar's strange composure, and what it cost
him. He accepted it for genuine; but he did perceive clearly that his
brother was resolved to allow him and his mother no reparation for the
past, and that he still insisted upon giving them a home at Villica. He
knew that he himself would be incapable of such magnanimity, and on
this very account he felt it more deeply.
"Waldemar, I sincerely regret the wrong we have done you in the past,"
he said, extending his hand. This time the movement was not forced; it
came from his whole heart, and his brother accepted it.
"Promise me that you will accompany our mother to Villica," said
Waldemar; "if you really think you have wronged me, this shall be your
reparation."
Leo bowed assent, and his opposition was at an end.
"Will you not bid our mother good-bye?" Leo asked, after a slight
pause. "Your neglect to do so will pain her deeply."
Waldemar's lips curled in a derisive smile as he answered, "She will
endure it. Good-bye, Leo, I am very glad to have seen you once more."
The young prince gazed for a moment into his brother's face, and then
yielding to a sudden impulse, threw his arms around his neck. Waldemar
submitted to the embrace in silence, but did not return it, although it
was the first between them.
"Farewell," Leo said, distantly, unclasping his arms.
A few moments after, the carriage which had brought the unexpected
visitor rolled out of the gate, and Waldemar entered the house. Whoever
now saw him with his quivering lips, drawn features, and fixed
melancholy glance, must have understood the nature of the composure he
had maintained during this whole interview. His wounded pride had
asserted itself; Leo must not see that he suffered, and least of all
tell it in C----. But now that self-control was no longer needful, the
wound bled anew. Waldemar's love had been violent and impetuous like
his whole nature; it had been the first tender emotion aroused in the
heart of this isolated, uncultured youth. He had adored Wanda with all
the ardor of a first passion, and the sudden annihilation of his
cherished ideal had wrought a radical change in his whole being.
CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW REGIME AT VILLICA.
Villica Castle, which gave name to the broad territory surrounding it,
formed the central point of a large number of estates lying very near
the Polish border. So extensive a landed property is seldom found in
the possession of one individual, and seldom does a proprietor have so
little care of his broad acres as the elder Herr Nordeck had for
Villica. During his lifetime the estates had no organized, judicious
management. He had acquired his property in the way of speculation, and
remained a speculator to the end. He had been fitted neither socially
nor practically for the position of a wealthy landlord. He had leased
all his farms and estates with the exception of Villica, his own place
of residence, and this was given over to the care of a superintendent.
The chief revenue of the estates came from the extensive forests which
covered nearly two thirds of the land, and required the assistance of a
whole army of foresters, who formed a sort of society by themselves.
Herr Witold, who, at Nordeck's death, was left guardian of the infant
heir and manager of the property, did not change the existing order of
affairs. Although well fitted to control a small estate like Altenhof,
every detail of which passed through his hands, he was not qualified
for the far more difficult task of superintending the vast concerns of
Villica; he was a poor manager, and a worse disciplinarian. Having a
profound faith in human nature, and believing most persons honest as
himself, he accepted the bills and receipts handed him without
question, and conscientiously invested all returns in the interest of
his ward. While he flattered himself that his duties were thoroughly
discharged, he really allowed the officials to do as they pleased. Such
management would have brought ruin to a less valuable estate, but it
could not irretrievably injure Nordeck's property; for if thousands
were lost, hundreds of thousands still remained; the immense income of
the property not only covered any chance deficiency, but went to swell
the original amount. This income, under proper management, might have
been far greater, but neither Witold nor the young heir cared to
increase it. Very soon after attaining his majority, Waldemar went to
the university, and as he passed his vacations in travelling, he had
not visited Villica for several years.
Villica Castle formed a striking contrast to most of the residences of
the neighboring gentry, which scarce deserved the name of castle, and
whose gradual dilapidation and decay could be concealed by no attempts
at outward splendor. Villica bore its honors proudly as an old princely
and seigniorial residence, dating back for nearly two centuries, from
that brilliant epoch of Poland when the power of the nobility equaled
their wealth, and when their residences were scenes of a splendor and
luxury seldom known in our day. The palace could not really be called
beautiful; it would scarce have found favor in an artist's eye. In its
plan and construction it bore evidences of uncultivated, almost
barbaric tastes, but the massiveness of its proportions and the
grandeur of its location made its general effect very imposing. In
spite of all the changes and alterations more modern ideas had given
it, Castle Villica still retained its original character; the solid
walls, with their long rows of windows, rose grandly and picturesquely
from the extensive park encircled by primeval forests.
For many years after Herr Nordeck's death the castle had remained
uninhabited. The young heir came seldom; he was always accompanied by
his guardian, and his visits were very brief; but when the former
mistress of Villica, the now widowed Princess Zulieski, again took up
her abode there, the old place wore a different aspect. The long-closed
apartments were reopened, and their original splendor was fully
restored. Waldemar had made over to his mother all the revenues of the
estate immediately belonging to the castle; these revenues, although
forming only a small portion of his income, were ample for the princess
and her younger son, allowing the lady even that large sum which she
required to live "conformably to her position." She saved nothing of
the liberal amount placed at her disposal, and her surroundings and
style of living were as elegant as they had been when she came a young
bride to Villica, and when her husband still took delight in displaying
his wealth to her and to her relatives.
It was the beginning of October. The autumn wind blew chill over the
forests, whose foliage had begun to put on those hues so beautiful and
yet so sad, which tell of speedy decay and dissolution. The sun vainly
struggled to pierce the dense mists that enveloped the landscape, and
it was high noon today ere his rays illumined the state parlor of
Villica, and the room adjoining, which the princess called her study,
and where most of her time was spent. It was a large apartment, with
high walls and vaulted ceilings, deep window recesses, and a huge
fireplace in which a wood-fire was now burning.
The heavy, green velvet curtains were thrown back, admitting the full
sunlight, which revealed the massive splendor of the furniture, green
being the prevailing color in the carpet and upholstery. The princess
and her brother, Count Morynski, sat there alone. The count and his
daughter often came from their estate to pass days and even weeks at
Villica; and they had come to-day, intending to make a long visit. The
prince was looking much older than at our first meeting with him: his
hair was gray, his brow more furrowed; but otherwise his grave,
expressive face had not changed. The princess did not look a day older;
the features of the still handsome woman were as cold and proud, her
manner as haughty and distant, as ever. She had laid aside deep
mourning, but still wore black of a very rich material, which was
exceedingly becoming to her. She was engaged in earnest conversation
with her brother.
"I do not understand how this news can surprise you," she said; "we
should have been prepared for it long ago. I have always wondered how
Waldemar could remain so long away from his estates."
"It is this very circumstance that makes me surprised at his coming
now," returned the count. "When he has so long avoided Villica, why
does he come so suddenly, and without any previous intimation. What is
the object of his visit?"
"O, merely to hunt," said the princess; "he inherits his father's
passion for the chase. I am convinced that he chose the university of
J---- solely from its nearness to a forest, and that, instead of
attending the lectures, he has been roaming about all day long with his
rifle and game-bag. He probably passed his time in the same way on his
travels, he really understands nothing thoroughly but the chase."
"He could not come at a worse time for us. Just now everything depends
upon your remaining absolute mistress here. My estate lies too far
distant from the frontier; there we are watched on all sides, and meet
with obstacles at every turn. We _must_ retain control of Villica."
"I know it, and I shall take care that it remains in our hands. You are
right: Waldemar's visit comes most inopportunely, but I cannot prevent
his visiting his own estates. We must exercise all the greater
precaution."
"Precaution alone will not answer," returned the count, impatiently.
"As matters stand, we must give up all our plans while Waldemar is in
the house; and delays are dangerous."
"This will not be needful; he will be within doors very little, unless
I mistake the attraction our forests will have for his Nimrod nature.
Hunting was his father's mania, making him indifferent to all else;
Waldemar resembles him perfectly in this respect. We shall seldom have
sight of him; he will remain in the woods all day, and will not pay the
slightest attention to what is going on within doors. The only thing
here that can possibly interest him is his father's large collection of
weapons, which we will gladly make over to him."
The princess said this with a sort of compassionate irony; but the
count answered, doubtfully and hesitatingly,--
"You have not seen Waldemar for four years; then he obeyed you in all
things. I hope you can as easily influence him now."
"I think I can; he is not so hard to manage as you suppose. If you
yield for the moment to his rude impetuosity, and make him believe that
he will have his own way in any event, you have him completely in your
power. If we remind him daily that he is absolute master of Villica, he
will never think of becoming so in reality. I do not consider him
intelligent enough to make a thorough examination into affairs here. We
need have no concern."
"As I have met Waldemar only twice, I must depend entirely upon your
judgment. When did you receive his letter?"
"This morning, an hour before your arrival. We may expect him very
soon. He writes in his usual laconic style, avoiding all details."
"Is he coming alone?" asked the count, gravely.
"His former tutor, who is his constant companion, will be with him. I
thought I might gain some definite information from this man in regard
to my son's studies at the university; but I was deceived in him. In
answer to my inquiries, I obtained nothing but some learned
disquisitions upon special studies,--not a word of what I desired to
know. This Doctor Fabian is one of the most unobtrusive and harmless of
men. You need fear nothing from his presence nor his influence, for he
really has no influence."
"Waldemar is the one with whom we have to do; if you think we need fear
no strict observation from him--"
"No close observation, at all events; nothing like that to which we
have been subjected for months," interrupted the princess. "I thought
the superintendent had taught us precaution."
"Yes, this man Frank and his whole household are playing the spy upon
us," exclaimed Count Morynski, vehemently. "I cannot understand,
Maryna, why you do not rid yourself of such an intrusive person."
The princess smiled in conscious superiority.
"Give yourself no further uneasiness, Bronislaw," she said; "the man
will leave in a few days. I could not dismiss him; he has held his
position for twenty years, and has managed excellently. I preferred to
treat him in such a manner as to induce him to resign. He has done so
orally; the formal notice will not be long deferred. I preferred that
it should come from his side, as Waldemar's arrival is so near."
"It was high time," returned the count, with a smile of intense
satisfaction. "He was beginning to be dangerous to us. Unfortunately,
we shall be obliged to tolerate his presence a while longer; his
contract doubtless specifies some months' notice."
"Certainly; but I think he will prefer to leave at once. He has for a
long time been above his position; it is said that he proposes buying
an estate for himself; he in fact possesses a very independent spirit.
If I can only manage to bring about a scene in which he feels his pride
wounded, he will leave at once. This will not be difficult, now that he
has resolved to go.--What, Leo, are you already back from your walk?"
These last words were addressed to the young prince, who now entered
the room.
"Wanda did not wish to remain longer in the park," he said. "I hope I
do not intrude upon your conversation."
"Not at all," said the count, rising. "We have just been notified of
Waldemar's speedy return, and were discussing its unavoidable results.
One of them will be that Wanda and I must shorten our visit; but we
shall remain and take part in the festivities arranged for to-morrow
evening, and then return home the next day. I do not think he will be
here before that time; in any event, we cannot stay in the house as his
guests."
"Why not?" asked the princess. "Is it because of that childish affair?
Wanda has certainly forgotten it, and you will not find Waldemar, after
the lapse of four years, still brooding over that fancied insult. His
heart was never deeply enlisted, for only a week after he told Leo,
with the utmost composure, that he had forgotten all about the affair.
Our remaining at Villica is conclusive proof that he cherishes no
resentment. The best course for us all is to entirely ignore the whole
occurrence. If Wanda meets him cordially as his cousin, he will
scarcely recollect that he ever had a boyish fancy for her."
"I quite approve of your idea," said the count, turning to leave the
room, "and I shall mention it to Wanda."
Leo had taken no part in the conversation, but after his uncle's
departure he flung himself angrily into the vacant chair.
"Your walk ended suddenly," said the princess; "where is Wanda?"
"In her room--I suppose."
"You have had another quarrel; do not attempt to deny it, Leo. Your
face tells it plainly enough, and you would never leave Wanda if she
did not drive you from her."
"She takes a peculiar delight in driving me away," said Leo, bitterly.
"You constantly annoy her with your unfounded jealousy of every one who
approaches her," replied the princess.
Leo was silent, and his mother went on,--
"It is an old proverb that if love has no thorns, it will itself create
them. You and Wanda have no obstacles to encounter; you may follow the
bent of your affections with the full approval of your parents, and yet
you are often wretched. I do not hold Wanda blameless; I am not blind
to her talents, her accomplishments and her beauty; but her father has
spoiled her with his unreasoning indulgence. She knows no will but her
own, and even you dare not rebel against her."
"I assure you, mamma, I did rebel to-day," replied Leo, in a resentful
tone.
"Yes, perhaps you asserted yourself to-day, but to-morrow you will be
at her feet, begging forgiveness. She has many a time brought you
there. Can I never convince you that this is not the way to gain from a
proud, headstrong girl like Wanda the respect which is due her future
husband?"
"I am incapable of coolly deliberating as to what will prove for my
future advantage when I adore with all the ardor of my soul," replied
Leo, passionately.
"Then do not complain if your passion does not meet with the desired
response. My knowledge of Wanda convinces me that she will never love a
man who yields unconditionally to her control. A nature like hers needs
to be forced to love; you do not understand her."
"I have no right to Wanda's love," replied Leo, angrily. "I am not
allowed to call her my betrothed, and the time of our marriage is
indefinitely postponed."
"Because the present moment, when your country's welfare is at stake,
is no time to think of betrothal or of marriage; because you have now
other and more serious duties to perform than to worship and adore a
young wife. You need not say that the marriage is postponed
indefinitely, when the delay will not be more than a year, at the
longest. Show yourself worthy of Wanda; earn the hand of your bride;
opportunity will not be wanting. But, Leo, I have something to say to
you which must not longer be deferred; your uncle is displeased with
you."
"Has he been complaining of me?" the young man asked, morosely.
"Unfortunately, he has been obliged to do so. Need I remind you that
you owe deference and obedience to your uncle under all circumstances?
And yet you have placed yourself at the head of several young men of
your own age, and openly oppose his political plans and wishes."
"We are no longer children who must submit to be led as if we had no
will of our own," replied Leo, defiantly. "Even though we are young, we
have a right to our own opinions, and we cannot much longer endure this
everlasting hesitation and delay."
"Do you suppose that my brother will allow your youthful, fiery ardor
to lead him and his cause on to certain ruin? He finds it very
difficult to reconcile and restrain the opposing elements, and it cuts
him to the heart to see his own nephew setting an example of
disobedience?"
"I have opposed him in words only, never in deeds. I honor and love
Count Morynski as your brother and as Wanda's father, but I must be
allowed some independence of thought and action. You have often enough
told me that my name and ancestry entitle me to a leading position, and
yet my uncle requires me to be content with a subordinate one."
"He does not dare intrust momentous interests to a fiery head of
twenty-two years; you entirely misunderstand your uncle. An heir has
been denied him, and although Wanda is his idol, the hopes that can be
realized only through a son rest solely upon you, who are allied to him
in blood, and will soon be called his son. Although he considers it
necessary to restrain you for the present, you are his main dependence
in the future; he looks to you to carry out the plans his years and
failing health will not permit him to realize. I have his word that
when the decisive moment comes, Prince Leo Zulieski will assume the
position which is his due. We both hope that you may prove yourself
worthy."
"Can you doubt it?" asked Leo, with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes.
The mother laid her hand soothingly upon his arm. "We do not doubt your
courage, but we question your discretion. You have your father's
temperament; in his fiery zeal and ardor he had little thought for
consequences, and his yielding to generous but misguided impulses
brought untold sorrow upon both him and me. But you are also my son,
Leo, and I think you must have inherited some traits from your mother.
I have told my brother that I would answer to him for your loyalty and
obedience; it is for you to redeem the pledge."
So much maternal pride was expressed in these words, that Leo threw his
arms around his mother's neck, and assured her of his entire devotion
to her wishes. The princess smiled, and all a mother's tenderness lay
in her look and tone, as, returning her son's embrace, she said,--
"I need not repeat to you, Leo, the hopes I have so often expressed in
regard to your future. You have always been my only one, my all."
"Your _only_ one!" returned Leo. "Have I not a brother Waldemar?"
The princess started. At mention of this name all the tenderness
vanished from her voice and features. Her face resumed its usual severe
expression, and her voice was icy-cold, as she said,--
"Ah, yes! I had quite forgotten him. Fate has made him master of
Villica--we must endure him!"
CHAPTER XII.
THE NEW CONSPIRATORS.
Not far from the manor-house of Villica stood the dwelling of
Superintendent Frank. The castle was quite aloof from the other houses.
Whether occupied or not, it had always an air of aristocratic
seclusion. Villica itself was in charge of an official whose stately
residence, with the tenant-houses around it, nearly all of them new,
formed a striking contrast to those of the neighboring estates, and
were regarded throughout that region as unique and admirable models.
The position of superintendent of Villica was one that many a
proprietor might have craved, both for the income and the style of
living.
It was growing dark. The whole row of windows on the second floor
of the castle began to be illuminated; the princess was giving
a large party. There were as yet no lights in the superintendent's
sitting-room, the two gentlemen who sat there being so absorbed in
conversation that they did not heed the gathering darkness.
The elder gentleman, who was in the full vigor of middle life, had a
fine face, an imposing figure, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to
sun and weather. The younger man was of a pale, delicate complexion,
which bore no trace of the life and surroundings of the country.
Although below the medium height, he might still be called a handsome
man. His carefully curled hair and fashionable apparel gave him a
somewhat foppish appearance, but he was really devoid of affectation.
His speech and manner indicated a vast amount of dignity and
importance, which formed a ludicrous contrast to his diminutive
stature.
"My mind is fully made up, I shall go," the elder man said. "I told the
princess that I would do her the favor of leaving Villica, as her
man[oe]uvres had for some time past tended in that direction. I got no
further, for her Majesty interrupted me with, 'My dear Frank, I
sincerely regret your determination, but I cannot oppose it. Be assured
that my son and I can never forget your long and faithful service at
Villica.' And she said this to me--to one, whom she has systematically
driven away! Her look and tone awed me into silence. I had resolved to
free my mind, and tell her the unvarnished truth, and--I made a bow,
and left."
"The princess is a remarkable woman," said the younger gentleman, "but
a very dangerous one. We who belong to the government have proofs of
this fact. I tell you, Herr Frank, she is a menace to the whole
province."
"I cannot see that her influence extends beyond Villica. She has done
much harm here. She has succeeded in bringing everything under her
control. I was the last stumbling-block, and she is now to be rid of
me. Believe me, Herr Assessor, I have endured this state of things as
long as possible, not for the sake of retaining my position,--God knows
I can stand upon my own feet any day,--but because it pained me to know
that all I have done in twenty years would be in vain if the old Polish
troubles should revive. I came here two years after Nordeck's death.
His son was at Altenhof with his guardian, and tenants, foresters, and
overseers were having a jolly time. Here at Villica affairs were
managed worst of all. My predecessor had stolen so openly and so
shamelessly that even Herr Witold became alarmed and suddenly
discharged him. The castle, of whose splendor wonderful tales were told
far and near, was closed, and I can give you no idea of the aspect of
things in the village and around the estate. The dwellings of the
tenants were wretched, dilapidated wood and day huts; all was chaos and
disorder. The servants were fawning, hypocritical, and full of national
hatred of the Germans; the fields were in a condition appalling to a
good farmer. It was six months before I could have my wife and children
with me, for there was not a decent place for them to live in. How
could things be otherwise? The deceased Nordeck had done nothing but
hunt and quarrel with his wife, and Herr Witold did simply nothing at
all. If the accounts were only laid before him in black and white, and
balanced the expenditures, he was satisfied, and did not ask whether
the pretended outlay had really been made.
"What prodigious sums I was obliged to ask for in the beginning! They
were granted unhesitatingly, and the fact that I did not pocket them,
as my predecessors had done, was quite contrary to the usual order of
proceedings. The old gentleman must have considered me the only honest
man among the whole pack, for after the first year he so increased my
salary that I realized more from my honesty than the others had
realized from their pilferings. If he were living now, I should not
leave Villica. The princess would know that her chicaneries must
cease--that if I wrote to Altenhof and told the whole truth, there
would be an explosion. During Herr Witold's lifetime I had peace, but
at his death two years ago, all concord was at an end. I have endured
the persecution and the interference of this woman long enough, and I
am going to leave."
"But your leaving is a great misfortune," said the assessor; "you are
the only one who can in any way thwart the princess. Your argus-eyes
impose a wholesome restraint upon her. We who belong to the
_government_" (he used this phrase often, and always emphasized it),
"we better than any other class know what the result will be if
Nordeck's estates, with their immense size and nearness to the Polish
frontier, are under the rule of a Zulieski."
"The princess has accomplished a great deal in these four years,"
resumed the superintendent, in a bitter tone. "She began her intrigues
the first day she came here, and she has gone on, step by step, with an
energy and persistency that, displayed in a better cause, would be
truly admirable. As the leases expired, she has managed to have the
farms fall into the hands of her countrymen. Every German element has
been gradually eliminated from the management of the forests, all the
servants are obsequious tools of the princess, and I have been obliged
to exert my utmost influence to keep my German inspectors and overseers
in their places. Of late they have resigned voluntarily, being no
longer able to endure the insolence of their subordinates, I think that
my successor is already appointed. He is a drinking man, who knows
almost nothing about the management of an estate, and who will ruin
Villica, as Nordeck's other estates are being ruined; but he is a Pole,
and that explains his selection for the place."
"Could you not induce young Herr Nordeck to come here?" asked the
assessor; "he can have no idea of the condition of affairs."
"Our young landlord cares nothing for Villica. He has not set foot on
the estate for ten years. There was some talk of his coming here to
live when he should reach his majority, but he chose to send his mother
in his stead. Not one of his subordinates is in direct correspondence
with him; we are ordered to render our accounts to his attorney at
L----. I however ventured to write to him four weeks ago, informing him
of the exact state of affairs. I have received no answer; nothing is to
be hoped from him. But I beg your pardon, sir, for keeping you so long
in total darkness. I cannot imagine why Gretchen does not bring in the
lamps as usual; she probably does not know that you are here."
"O, yes, she does," replied the assessor, in an aggrieved tone.
"Fraeulein Margaret was standing in the hall-door as I came up the walk;
she gave me no opportunity to greet her, but ran up stairs to the
garret as fast as she could."
"I think you must be mistaken," returned Gretchen's father.
"She ran up two flights of stairs to the garret," reiterated the small
gentleman, emphatically, and with a look of great displeasure.
"I am sorry," said the superintendent, "but I cannot help it; I have to
let the child do about as she pleases."
"Ah, but you _can_ help it!" exclaimed the assessor. "You have only to
assert your paternal authority. You can say to your daughter that it is
your desire and command--"
"Nothing could induce me to say any such thing," interrupted the
superintendent. "I place no hindrance in the way of your suit. I
believe that you have a sincere affection for my daughter, and I have
nothing against you or your position and prospects. But you must win
the girl's consent; I shall not interfere. If she voluntarily accepts
you, I shall not object to you as a son-in-law; but, honestly, I do not
think your prospects are very flattering."
"There you are in an error, Herr Frank,--most decidedly so. I know that
your daughter often treats me coldly and indifferently, but I
understand all this; it is nothing but the prudery usual to young
girls. They want to be wooed long and ardently; they strive by their
reserve and coyness to make the prize more desirable. I have made these
matters a profound study. The young lady's indifference is only
seeming; I am sure of success."
"I am happy to hear it," returned Herr Frank, as the object of the
conversation entered the room bringing a lamp.
Margaret Frank--or Gretchen, as every one called her excepting the
formal assessor--was about twenty years old. She was a beauty of no
delicate, ideal type, but a perfect picture of youth and health. Her
form was stately and robust like her father's, and her fresh, rosy
face, clear blue eyes, and the blonde braids arranged in a coronet
above her smooth, white forehead, made her so altogether lovely, that
we may well understand the assessor's forgetfulness of that offensive
flight up the garret-stairs, and his eagerness to salute his chosen
one.
"Good evening, Herr Assessor," Gretchen said, coldly, in response to
the gentleman's warm greeting. "Then it was you who drove through the
gate a little while ago? I did not imagine it could be you again, for
you were here only last Sunday."
The assessor thought proper not to answer these last words. "I come
here to-day upon official business," he said. "An affair of great
importance has been intrusted to me, and will detain me some days in
this neighborhood; I have therefore taken the liberty of accepting your
father's hospitality. We who are connected with the government are
having serious times now, Fraeulein Margaret. We find everywhere secret
intrigues and revolutionary movements; the whole province seems
involved in one great conspiracy, and Villica is in fact the
headquarters of all sorts of intrigue."
"And the most favorable place for operations," added Frank. "The
Nordeck estates are surrounded by forests, and all the foresters and
their satellites are at the beck of the princess who rules here.
Strictly as the boundary is watched, people pass too and fro every
night, and whoever comes finds the doors of Villica Castle wide open."
"We know all that, Herr Frank," returned the assessor, with a gesture
that indicated nothing short of omniscience; "but we can do nothing,
for we do not possess the slightest proof, and we can discover none,
for at our approach all operations are at once suspended. My mission is
to ferret out this affair, and since you have charge of police
regulations here, I am ordered to solicit your aid."
"I will aid you if I must, but I dislike engaging in any secret
service. They even now, at the castle, consider me a spy and an
intermeddler, because I will not voluntarily close my eyes, and because
I severely punish the disobedience of my subordinates."
"I am to-day upon the track of two very dangerous characters, who are
roaming about this neighborhood under all sorts of pretexts," said the
assessor, "and who must be secured as soon as possible. In coming here
I met two very suspicious-looking individuals, who in all probability
are the ones I am seeking. They were on foot."
Gretchen laughed. "Is that a ground for suspicion? They doubtless had
no money to pay coach-hire."
"I beg your pardon; they had money enough to hire an extra-post-chaise,
for they passed me in one; but at the last station they left the
carriage, and made many inquiries about Villica. They declined to take
a guide, and proceeded on foot, avoiding the highway, and cutting
across lots. They would not answer the postmaster's questions.
Unfortunately I did not arrive in time to make investigations to-day,
but I shall carry them on to-morrow with all possible vigor. Doubtless
both men are in the neighborhood."
"Perhaps they are up there," said Gretchen, pointing to the castle,
whose illuminated windows gleamed through the darkness. "The princess
is holding a great meeting of conspirators to-night."
The assessor sprang from his chair. "A meeting of conspirators! How?
What? Do you positively know this? I will surprise them. I will--"
"Don't make a fool of yourself," said the superintendent, laughing;
"this is only a girl's jesting--nothing more."
"But, papa, you said there were secret reasons for these frequent
festivities at the castle," interposed Gretchen.
"That is my opinion. Fond as the princess is of pomp and show, I do not
believe she would indulge in mere merry-making in times like these. Her
large balls and hunting-parties are convenient pretexts for bringing
all sorts of people to Villica, without attracting particular
attention. True, there is dancing and dining,--appearances must be kept
up,--but the greater portion of the guests remain over night, and what
occurs after the ballroom-lights are extinguished may not be of so
harmless a nature."
The assessor listened eagerly to these disclosures. Unfortunately the
superintendent was called out at this moment, and left the two young
people alone.
Gretchen's displeasure was as boundless as the assessor's delight at
this unexpected _tete-a-tete_. He twirled his moustache with an air of
satisfaction, stroked his glossy hair, and resolved to make the best
use of so favorable an opportunity.
"Your father informs me that he intends to resign his position," he
began. "The idea of seeing him and his daughter no more at Villica
would be a heavy blow, indeed a thunderbolt to me, were it not for the
fact that I do not purpose remaining much longer in L---- myself."
"Are you, too, going away?" asked Gretchen, in surprise.
The assessor smiled--and it was a smile of great significance. "You are
aware, Fraeulein Margaret, that with us government officials, promotion
usually involves a change of residence, and I hope soon to be
promoted."
"Ah, indeed!"
"There is no doubt of it. I am already government assessor, and in a
State like ours, that means everything. It is the first round of the
great ladder that leads directly to the minister's chair."
"You have some distance to travel before you reach that elevation,"
remarked Gretchen, incredulously.
The small gentleman leaned back with as much dignity as if the simple
cane-bottomed chair upon which he sat were really the longed-for chair
of the prime minister.
"True, such a position cannot be reached at one stride; but the future
is full of grand possibilities. Fraeulein Margaret, a public man ought
always to have great things in view, and to aim for the highest.
Ambition is the official's noblest incentive. I am in daily expectation
of being appointed government counsellor."
"You have been expecting that a long time."
"Yes, and the realization of my hope has been deferred because envy and
malice assail me on every side. We younger officials are kept down as
long as possible by our superiors. Hitherto I have had no opportunity
to distinguish myself, but now I have been selected as the man best
fitted to discharge the duties of a very important mission. His
Excellency, the governor of the province, has himself given me the
requisite instructions, and ordered me to report to him personally the
result of my investigations. If my efforts prove successful, I am sure
of the counsellorship."
As he said this, he gave the young lady a look so significant that she
could not possibly be in doubt as to what person he had chosen to be
the wife of the future counsellor; but she maintained an obstinate
silence.
"Then a change of residence would follow as a matter of course,"
continued the assessor. "I should probably be called to the capital.
You are not acquainted in the capital, Fraeulein Margaret?" he asked, as
he went on depicting life at the Residence, its advantages and
amusements, discoursing largely upon his influential connections there,
and making all these things add vastly to his own personal importance.
Margaret listened with mingled curiosity and incredulity. The brilliant
pictures unrolled before her had something very enticing to a young
girl reared in the solitude of the country. She rested her blonde head
in her hand, and gazed thoughtfully at the table-cover. Her sole
objection to such a life evidently lay in the fact that the present
assessor and future minister must share it. He however marked his
advantage, and was resolved to profit by it. He felt that the decisive
moment had come.
"But amid all the gayety and splendor of the capital I shall feel sad
and desolate," he said, pathetically; "my heart will remain with you,
Fraeulein Margaret--"
Margaret was startled. She saw that the assessor, who had made a long,
momentous pause after her name, had now risen with the unmistakable
intention of falling on his knees before her. But the solemnity and
ceremoniousness with which he was arranging the preliminaries of his
declaration proved fatal to its success; they gave the young girl time
to deliberate, and she too sprang to her feet.
"Please excuse me, Herr Assessor; I think--I believe that the hall-door
just closed. It has a spring lock, and papa will not be able to get in
when he returns. I will run down and open it;" and so saying, she ran
out of the room.
The assessor stood there with his dramatic pose and half-bended knees,
looking very much bewildered. For the second time to-day his chosen one
had fled from him, and her prudery began to be very annoying. It never
once occurred to him that Gretchen's opposition was serious. It was
obstinacy, coquetry, and perhaps--so the suitor thought with a
smile--fear of those fascinations and advantages which rendered him
irresistible. The girl certainly had no idea of refusing him, and in
her charming timidity she had run away from an immediate decision. This
thought greatly comforted the young gentleman, and although he
regretted the fact that no decision had been reached, he had not the
slightest doubt of ultimate triumph. He had made such matters a study,
and knew all about the coyness and playful obstinacy of young girls.
The pretext of which Gretchen had availed herself was not pure
invention. She had actually heard the front door close with a loud
bang. Although she knew that her father had only to ring, and a servant
would let him in, she ran down to the door and opened it violently at
the very moment when a hand from without was laid upon the knob. The
visitor staggered, and would have fallen if his companion had not
caught him.
"Good heavens, what has happened?" cried the young lady.
"I sincerely beg your pardon," replied a timid voice, in a tone of
unusual politeness. Before Gretchen had time to reply, the other
visitor advanced and accosted her.
"We wish to see the superintendent; is he at home?"
"Papa is not in at this moment, but he will be presently," answered
Gretchen, delighted that this late and unexpected visit relieved her
from the alternative of leaving the assessor alone or keeping him
company until her father's return. Instead of ushering the visitors
into her father's office, she conducted them to the sitting-room.
"Two gentlemen who desire to speak with papa," she said, while the
wondering assessor rose and greeted the strangers. Gretchen left the
room to send a servant in search of her father. As she was about to
re-enter, the assessor met her in the hall and asked, excitedly, if she
had sent for the superintendent; then he whispered in her ear,
"Fraeulein Margaret, these are the men!"
"What men?"
"The two suspicious characters I was speaking of; I have them fast in
my trap."
"But how do you know, Herr Assessor?"
"They are the two individuals who passed me in the extra-post-chaise,"
he said. "I shall examine them, and arrest them if necessary."
"But must this be done in our house?" asked the young girl,
indignantly.
"My official duty requires it," he answered loftily. "First of all,
egress from the house must be prevented. I will lock the door." He
double-locked the front door, and placed the key in his pocket.
"But what need is there of all these precautions?" asked Gretchen. "How
do you know they are suspicious characters?"
"Fraeulein Frank, you have not the sagacity of a professional
detective," the assessor answered, patronizingly. "I know how to read
faces, and I tell you these two physiognomies bear the unmistakable
stamp of conspirators. They are Poles; they cannot deceive me even
though they speak the purest German. I shall question them sharply
until your father appears, and then we two will consult together
concerning what had best be done. I know that I risk my life by
remaining alone with such desperate men when they know that I see into
their designs, but duty requires it, and I do not flinch."
"I will go with you," said Gretchen, courageously.
"I thank you," replied the assessor, solemnly, as if Gretchen had
promised to accompany him to the scaffold. "The moment for action has
come."
He returned to the reception-room, followed by the young girl, who was
naturally very courageous, and awaited the development of the affair
with quite as much curiosity as anxiety. The two strangers evidently
had no suspicion of the storm about to burst over their defenceless
heads; on the contrary, they seemed entirely unsuspicious of danger,
and very much at their ease. The younger man, who was of a remarkably
fine figure and a head taller than his companion, walked to and fro
with folded arms; while the elder, who had a slender form and agreeable
features, accepted the proffered seat, and sat in the superintendent's
large easy-chair, an apparently perfectly harmless individual.
The assessor put on his most authoritative air. A conviction of the
importance of the occasion, and a consciousness of acting in the
presence of his future bride, had an inspiring effect upon him. He
appeared like a personification of the day of judgment as he confronted
the two "individuals."
"I have not yet introduced myself to you," he began, politely, and yet
with a very consequential air, "I am Government Assessor Hubert, of
L----."
The two strangers could not have been novices in conspiracy, for they
did not even turn pale at this announcement of official dignity. The
elder gentleman rose, bowed very politely, and then sat down again. The
younger merely nodded, and said indifferently,--
"Happy to meet you."
"May I ask your names?" continued Hubert.
"What for?" asked the younger, abruptly.
"I wish to know them."
"But, unfortunately, we do not care to tell you."
The assessor nodded as if to say, "I thought as much." "I am connected
with the police department of L----," he added, emphatically.
"A very unenviable position," returned the younger, glancing from the
assessor to Gretchen, who was standing at the window.
Hubert was nonplussed for a moment. These must be hardened
conspirators, for they were not frightened even at mention of the
police department, and yet the words must give them a premonition of
their fate. This obduracy must be broken; the examination went on.
"You drove past me in an extra-post-chaise some two hours ago?"
The younger deigned no answer; he seemed bored beyond measure; but the
elder man replied politely,--
"Yes; and we also observed you in your carriage."
"You left the chaise at the last station, and proceeded on foot.
According to your own admission, you wished to go to Villica; you
avoided the highway and took a path across the fields." The assessor
again wore his doomsday face as he hurled these accusations one after
another at the heads of the two conspirators. They did not fail of
their effect. The elder conspirator began to grow uneasy; but the
younger, whom the piercing glance of the government official had
singled out as the most dangerous, hastily approached and placed his
hand upon the arm of his companion's chair.
"In addition to all this, we wrapped our cloaks around us when it
began to grow cold; and we accidentally left a pair of gloves in the
post-office," he said, with undisguised irony. "Do you wish to add
these two facts to your minute observations upon our proceedings?"
"Sir, a representative of the government does not allow himself to be
addressed in this disrespectful manner," exclaimed Hubert,
passionately.
The young man deigned no answer; he shrugged his shoulders and turned
toward the window where Gretchen was standing.
"Fraeulein Frank, you keep entirely aloof from us. Will you not by your
presence deliver us from the intolerable inquisitiveness of this man?"
The assessor chafed in righteous anger; this impudence was more than he
could bear, and as the superintendent was every moment expected, he
abandoned his wary manner, and broke out in an overbearing tone,--
"I fear that something more intolerable yet is in store for you. First
of all, you will give me your names, and produce your papers: I demand
it--I insist upon it! In a word, you are under suspicion."
The elder of the two gentlemen started up pale with terror, and
ejaculated, "For heaven's sake!"
"Ha, ha! your sense of guilt is aroused at last," said Hubert,
triumphantly. "And you, too, writhe," he added, turning to the younger,
and giving him a withering glance. "Do not deny it! I see a twitching
in your face."
There was indeed a peculiar play of the muscles around the young man's
mouth; it became still more marked as his companion said, in an
imploring tone, "Why do you not put an end to this nonsense?"
"Because it amuses me," he answered.
"No whispering allowed here," interposed the assessor. "Do not dare
hatch any new plots in my presence. Once again, your names? Will you
answer me?"
"And so you take us for conspirators?" said the young man, drawing
himself up and gazing contemptuously down upon his accuser.
"And for traitors also," added Hubert.
"And for traitors also? Yes, the two vocations are usually united."
The assessor was dumbfounded at such insolence. "I command you for the
last time to give me your names and to hand me your papers," he said.
"Do you dare refuse?"
The younger visitor sat down in a very unconcerned manner upon the arm
of his companion's chair, and said, coolly,--
"Yes, we _dare
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