A few days afterward, as De Vlierbeck had predicted, the public sale of
all their property was inserted in the papers and placarded over the
city and neighborhood. The affair made some noise, and every one was
astonished at the ruin of a person whom they considered rich and
miserly.
As the sale was stated to be in consequence of his departure from the
country, the gossips would have been unable to discover the genuine
motive if the news had not come from Antwerp that De Vlierbeck had
resolved to pay his debts and was wretchedly poor. The cause of his
misfortune--that is to say, his liability for his brother--was known,
though all the circumstances were not fully understood.
As soon as the publication was made, the poor old gentleman led, if
possible, a more retired life than ever, in order to avoid explanations.
Resigned to his fate, he quietly awaited the day of sale; and, although
his feelings often strove to master his resolution, the constant care
and encouragement of his noble-hearted daughter enabled him to encounter
the fatal hour with a degree of pride.
In the mean while he received a letter from Gustave at Rome, containing
a few lines for his child. The young man declared that absence from
Lenora had only increased his affection, and that his only consolation
was the hope of future union with her by the bonds of marriage. But in
other respects the letter was not encouraging. He said with pain that
all his efforts to change his uncle's determination had, up to that
time, been fruitless. De Vlierbeck did not conceal from Lenora that he
no longer had a hope of her union with Gustave, and that she ought to
strive against this unhappy love in order to escape from greater
disappointment. Indeed, since her father's poverty had become publicly
known, Lenora was convinced that duty commanded her to renounce every
hope; yet she could not help feeling pleased and strengthened by the
thought that Gustave still loved her, and that he, whose memory filled
her heart, dreamed of her in his distant home and mourned her absence.
She kept her promises to him faithfully. How often did she pronounce his
name in the solitude of that garden! How often did she sigh beneath the
catalpa, as if anxious to trust the winds with a message of love to
other lands! In her lonely walks she repeated his tender words; and
often did she stop musingly at some well-remembered spot where he had
blessed her with a tender word or look.
But poor De Vlierbeck was obliged to undergo additional pain; for, as if
every misfortune that could assail him was to be accumulated at that
moment on his devoted head, he received from America the news of his
brother's death! The unfortunate wanderer died of exhaustion in the
wilderness near Hudson's Bay. The poor gentleman wept long and bitterly
for the loss of a brother whom he tenderly loved; but he was soon and
roughly turned aside to encounter the catastrophe of his own fate.
The day of sale arrived. Early in the morning Grinselhof was invaded by
all sorts of people, who, moved by curiosity or a desire to purchase,
overran every nook and corner of the house, examining the furniture and
estimating its value.
De Vlierbeck had caused every thing that was to be sold to be carried
into the most spacious apartments, where, aided by his daughter, he
passed the entire preceding night in dusting, cleaning, and polishing
the various articles, so that they might prove more attractive to
competitors. He had no personal interest in this labor; for, his funded
property having been sold some days before at great loss, it was certain
that the sale of all his remaining possessions would not exceed the
amount of his debts. It was a noble sentiment of honor and probity that
compelled him to sacrifice his rest for his creditors, so as to diminish
as much as he could the amount of their losses. It was clear that De
Vlierbeck did not intend to prolong his stay at Grinselhof after the
sale; for among the articles to be offered were the only two bedsteads
in the house, with their bedding, and a large quantity of clothes
belonging to him and his daughter.
Very early in the day Lenora went to the farm-house, where she remained
until all was over. At ten o'clock the saloon was full of people. Nobles
and gentlefolks of both sexes were mixed up with brokers and second-hand
dealers who had come to Grinselhof with the hope of getting bargains.
Peasants might be seen talking together, in low voices, with surprise at
Do Vlierbeck's ruin; and there were even some who laughed openly and
joked as the auctioneer read the terms of sale!
As the salesman put up a very handsome wardrobe, De Vlierbeck himself
entered the apartment and mingled with the bidders. His appearance
caused a general movement in the crowd; heads went together and men
began to whisper, while the bankrupt was stared at with insolent
curiosity or with pity, but by the greater part with indifference or
derision. Yet, whatever malicious feeling existed in the assembly, it
did not last long; for the firm demeanor and imposing countenance of De
Vlierbeck was never on any occasion more instinct with that dignity
which inspires respect. He was poor; fortune had struck him a cruel
blow; but in his manly look and calm features there beamed a brave and
independent soul which misfortune itself had been unable to crush.
The auctioneer went on with the sale, assisted in his description of
the various articles by Monsieur De Vlierbeck, who informed the bidders
of their origin, antiquity, and value. Occasionally some gentleman of
the neighborhood, who, in better days, had been on good terms with
Lenora's father, approached him with words of sympathy; but he always
managed to escape adroitly from these indiscreet attempts at
consolation. Whenever it was necessary for him to speak, he showed so
much self-command and composure that he was far above the idle
_compassion_ of that careless crowd; yet if his countenance was calm and
dignified, his heart was weighed down by absorbing grief. All that had
belonged to his ancestors--articles that were emblazoned with the arms
of his family and had been religiously preserved as heirlooms for
several centuries--were sold at contemptible rates and passed into the
hands of brokers. As each historical relic was placed on the table or
held up by the auctioneer, the links of his illustrious race seemed to
break off and depart. When the sale was nearly over, the _portraits_ of
the eminent men who had borne the name of De Vlierbeck were taken down
from the walls and placed upon the stand. The first--that of the hero of
St. Quentin--was knocked off to a dealer for little more than three
francs! In the sale of this portrait, and the laughable price it
brought, there was so much bitter irony that, for the first time, the
agony that had been so long torturing De Vlierbeck's heart began to
exhibit its traces in his countenance. No sooner had the hammer fallen,
than, with downcast eyes and a sigh that was inaudible even to his
nearest neighbor, the stricken nobleman turned from the crowd and left
the saloon, so as not to witness the final sacrifice of the remaining
memorials that bound him to his race.
The sun was but an hour or two above the horizon. A deathlike silence
had taken the place of the noise, bustle, and vulgarity that ruled at
Grinselhof during the morning; the solitary garden-walks were deserted,
the house-door and gate were closed, and a stranger might have supposed
that nothing had occurred to disturb the usual quiet of the spot.
Suddenly the door of the dwelling opened, and two persons appeared upon
the sill; one, a man advanced in life, the other, a pale and serious
woman. Each carried a small package and seemed ready for travel. Lenora
was dressed in a simple dark gown and bonnet, her neck covered by a
small square handkerchief. De Vlierbeck was buttoned up to the chin in a
coarse black greatcoat, and wore a threadbare cap whose large visor
nearly masked his features. Although it was evident that the homeless
travellers had literally stripped themselves of all superfluities and
had determined to go forth with the merest necessaries of decency, there
was something in the manner in which they wore their humble costumes
that distinctly marked their birth and breeding. The old man's features
were not changed; but it was difficult to say whether they expressed
pleasure, pain, or indifference. Lenora seemed strong and resolute,
although she was about to quit the place of her birth and separate
herself, perhaps forever, from all she had loved from infancy,--from
those aged groves beneath whose shadows the dawn of love first broke
upon her heart,--from that remembered tree at whose feet the timid
avowal of Gustave's passion had fallen on her ear. But a sense of duty
possessed and ruled her heart. Reason in her was not overmastered by
sensibility; and, when she saw her father tottering at her side, all her
energy was rallied in the effort to sustain him.
They did not linger at the door, but, crossing the garden rapidly,
directed their steps toward the farm-house, which they entered to bid
its occupants farewell. Bess and her servant-maid were in the first
apartment below.
"Mother Bess," said Monsieur De Vlierbeck, calmly, "we have come to bid
you good-by."
Bess stared a moment anxiously at the travellers, and, lifting her apron
to her eyes, left the apartment; while the servant-maid leaned her head
against the window-frame and began to sob as if her heart would break.
In a short time Bess returned with her husband, whom she had found in
the barn.
"Alas! is it true, sir," said the farmer, in a stifled voice,--"is it
true that you are going to leave Grinselhof, and that, perhaps, we shall
never see you again?"
"Come, come, mother Bess," said the poor bankrupt, as he took and
pressed her hand; "don't weep on that account; you see we bear our lot
with resignation."
Bess raised her head, threw her eyes once more over the humble dress of
her old master, and began to cry so violently that she could not utter a
word. Her husband strove manfully to repress his emotion; and, after an
effort or two, addressed Monsieur De Vlierbeck in a manly way:--
"May I ask the favor of you, sir, to let me say a word or two to you in
private?"
De Vlierbeck entered the adjoining room, where he was followed by the
farmer, who shut the door carefully.
"I hardly dare, sir," said he, "to mention my request; but will you
pardon me if it displeases you?"
"Speak out frankly, my friend," returned De Vlierbeck, with a smile.
"Look you, sir," stammered the tender-hearted laborer. "Every thing that
I have earned I owe to you. I had nothing when I married Bess; and yet,
with your kindness, we have managed to succeed. God's mercy and your
favor have made us prosperous; while you, our benefactors, have become
unfortunate and are forced to wander away from their home,--God knows
where! You may be forced to suffer privations and want; but that must
not be: I would reproach myself as long as I live. Oh, sir!" continued
he, as his voice faltered and his eyes filled with tears, "all that I
have on earth is at your service!"
De Vlierbeck pressed the hard hand of the rustic with a trembling grasp,
as he replied,--
"You are a worthy man indeed, and I am, happy that it was once in my
power to protect and serve you; but I cannot accept your offer, my
friend: keep what you have earned by the sweat of your brow, and do not
concern yourself for our future fate, for, with God's help, we shall
find means to live."
"Oh, sir," said the farmer, beseechingly, and clasping his hands in an
attitude of entreaty, "do not reject the trifle I offer you;"--he opened
a drawer and pointed to a small heap of silver.--"See!" said he; "that
is not the hundredth part of the good you have done us. Grant me this
favor, I beseech you: take this money, sir; and if it spare you a single
suffering or trial I shall thank God for it on my knees!"
Tears streamed down the wan and wrinkled cheeks of the poor gentleman as
he replied,--
"Thanks! thanks! my friend; but I must refuse it. All persuasion is
useless. Let us leave this room!"
"But, sir," cried the farmer, in astonishment, "where do you intend to
go? Tell me, for God's sake!"
"I cannot," replied Monsieur De Vlierbeck, "for I don't know myself;
and, even if I did, prudence would make me silent."
Uttering these words, he returned to the other room, where he found
everybody in tears. He saw at once that for his own sake as well as his
daughter's he must end these trying scenes; and accordingly, in a firm
voice, he told her it was time to be gone. There were a few more tender
and eager pressures of hands, a few more farewells, a few last looks at
the old homestead and its surroundings, and the bankrupt pair sallied
forth with their bundles, and, passing the bridge just at sunset,
departed on foot across the desolate moor.
It is hard to bid farewell and quit the spots with which, even in a
summer's journey, we have formed agreeable associations: but harder far
it is to bid adieu forever to the home of our ancestors and the haunts
of our youth. This dreadful trial was passing in De Vlierbeck's heart.
From a distant point on the road where the domain of Grinselhof was
masked by thickets, the wanderer turned his eyes once more in the
direction of the old _château_. Big tears stood in his eyes and slowly
rolled down his hollow cheeks as he stood there, silent and motionless,
with clasped hands, gazing into vacancy. But night was rapidly falling
around the wayfarers; and, recalling him to consciousness with a kiss,
Lenora gently drew her father from the spot till they disappeared in the
windings of the wood.