PASTOR WIDMAN AS A CORRESPONDENT.
The Lieutenant had returned from Berlin, whither he had gone upon
business for Herr von Osternau. He had driven over from the station
without waiting for the sorting of the mail, because he was in haste to
tell his cousin of the results of his mission, so he said at least to
excuse himself for not bringing with him the post-bag, but the excuse
was a very lame one, since he had but little to tell and his news could
easily have waited for an hour.
Apparently the Herr Lieutenant had found waiting at the lonely station
too tedious; he was in a mood on this particular evening to find such
waiting very irksome, for he was possessed by a spirit of unrest that
did not leave him even after he had reached the castle. Scarcely had he
taken his place at the tea-table, and communicated to Herr von Osternau
certain insignificant details relating to his visit to Berlin, when he
arose quickly and hurried to the window, declaring that it was so warm
that his head ached. After cooling his forehead against the panes he
returned again to his place, only to arise in a few moments and pace
the room hastily to and fro as he detailed some vapid anecdotes which
he had heard in Berlin.
His restlessness was so evident that Herr von Osternau looked at him
with some anxiety. "Are you not well, Albrecht?" he asked, kindly. "You
look pale and your eyes are feverishly bright. Would you not rather go
to your room?"
"No, no; nothing is the matter with me," the Lieutenant replied,
hastily. "I am only a little upset by my Berlin visit; it always is so
when I leave the quiet and repose of the country for the whirlpool of
city life and sit far into the night with my old friends."
After this he forced himself to suppress all sign of the unrest which
possessed him, but he could scarcely bear his part well in the
conversation around the tea-table. After staring for a while absently
before him, he would suddenly make some remark which showed that he had
paid no attention to what was going on, and even Bertha, to whose
slightest observation he was wont to pay great heed, could not to-night
succeed in fixing his attention.
He was usually vexed when Pigglewitch was entreated to play, but
to-night he hailed with joy Frau von Osternau's request for some music
from the Candidate. He seemed to be glad to be relieved from the
necessity of taking part in the general conversation. As soon as Egon
had struck the first chord he left his place at the tea-table, and,
exchanging a rapid glance with Bertha, retired to the recess of a
window. Contrary to her habit, Bertha rose immediately afterwards and
joined the Lieutenant in his retreat, where they were soon deeply
engaged in a whispered conversation. They might easily have continued
this unnoticed, for Herr and Frau von Osternau were absorbed in the
music, if Herr von Wangen had not followed with his eyes Bertha's every
movement. It did not escape him that the girl's cheeks were suddenly
suffused by a burning blush at the Lieutenant's first whispered words,
and that she instantly listened with the greatest eagerness to all that
he said.
Herr von Wangen heard not one note of Egon's music, his entire
attention was bestowed upon the pair whispering together in the recess;
what would he not have given to overhear what they were saying? Several
times during the month which Bertha had already passed at Castle
Osternau Herr von Wangen had been tormented by the suspicion that there
was a greater degree of intimacy existing between the Lieutenant and
the beautiful guest than either cared to have observed; he had
surprised one or two meaning glances exchanged by them, but Bertha had
always succeeded in allaying these suspicions by the easy indifference
with which she received the Lieutenant's homage. He had hovered between
fear and hope, the hope inspired by every gentle word addressed to him
by Bertha, the fear aroused by every look exchanged between Bertha and
the Lieutenant; to-night fear was in the ascendant, his jealousy was
aroused, he felt desperately wretched, but in another moment he was
lifted to heights of supreme delight, for Bertha looked across the room
at him, and there was such enchantment in her glance as he had never
seen there before. She spoke a few hasty words to Albrecht and then
returned to her place at table, excusing herself in a low whisper to
her neighbour for leaving him to learn from the Lieutenant how her
father was. Herr von Wangen was enraptured, his jealousy of a moment
before vanished, he was ashamed to have felt it. Never had Bertha been
to him so gentle, so kind, so engaging as on this evening after her
conversation with the Lieutenant. Herr von Wangen was so intoxicated
with delight that he did not notice the depression of spirits of all
the other members of the circle, Bertha alone excepted.
This melancholy mood had been induced by the contents of the post-bag,
which had brought a letter for Herr von Osternau and one for
Pigglewitch. The latter had indeed thrust his unread into his
breast-pocket, but the mere fact that it was addressed in a hand
unknown to him worried and annoyed him. Herr von Osternau, on the other
hand, read his letter not only once, but several times; it must have
contained some very depressing intelligence, for Herr von Osternau grew
graver at each perusal, now and then casting a peculiarly searching
glance at the tutor, and then continuing his reading with a shake of
the head. The contents of the letter must have occupied his mind during
the entire evening; he took scarcely any part in the conversation, and
when Egon bade him good-night he did not respond with his usual
cordiality.
Just as Egon was leaving the room Herr von Osternau recalled him:
"Excuse me for a moment, Herr Pigglewitch, I have a few words to say to
you."
Egon turned round and awaited his employer's pleasure, divided between
anxiety and curiosity with regard to what had induced Herr von Osternau
to adopt so unusual a tone in addressing him.
The old man paced the room silently to and fro for a while until the
rest of the family had retired and left him alone with the tutor. Then,
turning to Egon, he said, gravely,--
"I have received a very surprising letter that concerns you nearly,
Herr Pigglewitch, and I do not deny that its contents have affected my
good opinion of you. I do not wish to discuss them with you at present,
such a conversation would probably agitate me, and rob me of my night's
rest, which is very important for me, and then, too, I might under the
immediate influence of the letter treat you with injustice. I must
give you time to defend yourself; therefore I beg you to come to me
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and we will quietly talk the matter
over. Here is the letter, take it to your room and read it. You can
return it to me to-morrow. No more for the present. Good-night, Herr
Pigglewitch."
Egon was dismissed. He took the ominous epistle and repaired to his
room, where, his curiosity on the stretch, he lit his lamp and read as
follows:
"Most Respected Herr,--Pardon a stranger for venturing to intrude upon
you with a complaint and a request. In the unfortunate situation in
which I am placed no other choice is left me. I must appeal to you,
most honoured Herr, if I would not run the risk of losing forever a sum
of money hardly earned and accumulated only by constant self-denial.
Permit me to lay the case before you.
"Some years ago I loaned the Schulze Brandes, in Wilhelmshagen, the sum
of four hundred thalers at a reasonable rate of interest, knowing him
to be an honest man. He has justified my estimate of him as such, for
although impoverished and forced to emigrate to America, he sent me
before his departure all that he owed me, both capital and interest,
but in such a manner that I am in danger of losing my hard-won savings
entirely. Before leaving for America he gave it to my nephew, Gottlieb
Pigglewitch, commissioning him to hand it to me. Whilst on the ocean he
conceived a suspicion that Gottlieb had not fulfilled his trust, and
therefore he wrote me immediately upon his arrival in New York to ask
me if I had received the sum in question. Unfortunately his fears were
but too well grounded; my nephew has never paid me the money, it is
probably squandered, or lost at cards.
"My nephew, the son of my sister and the deceased Pastor Pigglewitch,
of Wilhelmshagen, has repaid by the basest ingratitude the benefits
conferred upon him by me when he was left a friendless orphan. He has
never concerned himself about me since he left my house to enter upon
an independent existence. He has forgotten my teachings, he has
squandered his substance, leading a dissolute life, and given over to a
passion for cards. His conduct lost him a good situation in
Wilhelmshagen, since which I have heard nothing of him until the
arrival of Schulze Brandes's letter, which has filled me with anxiety
concerning my money.
"More than four weeks had passed since this money was intrusted to
Gottlieb Pigglewitch. I did not know his address, and therefore wrote
to his patron, Herr Director Kramser, from whom I learn that my nephew
is receiving a high salary in your worshipful household as tutor to
your son. I have now written to him to beg him to restore my property
to me, but I fear that my request will be vain if it is not seconded by
yourself, respected Herr. It is not probable that the money is at
present in my nephew's possession, therefore he could not pay it even
if he wished to do so. I might easily bring him to justice, but a
feeling of kinship restrains me; I could bring myself to adopt such
extreme measures only in case my nephew should refuse to pay me the
money with interest. He can do this if he chooses.
"I learn from Herr Director Kramser that my nephew receives from your
highly-respected self a salary of three hundred thalers cash. A young
man can get along extremely well upon one hundred thalers yearly; I
myself as a Candidate did with much less than that sum; he can then pay
me at least two hundred thalers every year, if he only will.
"My humble request to you is, respected Herr, that you will compel my
nephew thus to fulfil his duty by giving him only one hundred thalers
yearly of his salary, and transmitting the two hundred to me, until the
debt is liquidated. My nephew will, I am sure, be content with this
means of returning to me my money; he will not force me to appeal for
justice to the law of the land, and you, respected Herr, will establish
a claim upon my everlasting gratitude by yielding to my entreaty.
"With devoted respect, your obedient servant,
"Widman, _Pastor of Wennersdorf_."
"A most edifying document!" Egon said to himself, when he had read the
letter. "I suppose the communication which I received this evening and
put unread into my pocket also comes from Uncle Widman." He took out
the letter and read it. Yes, it was from Widman, and contained threats
of arrest and exposure if his nephew refused to devote two hundred
thalers of his salary each year to the payment of his debt.
Egon indignantly crushed the letter together in his hand. "Gottlieb
Pigglewitch has lost his money for the third time," he muttered. "There
is no helping him, he must be left to his fate. He probably knows this,
and therefore has made no further attempt to extort money from me by
threats and promises."
Once more the young man read the letter to Herr von Osternau; it filled
him with a vague apprehension. What should he say to the kind old man
on the morrow? In his eyes, his tutor was Gottlieb Pigglewitch, the
confirmed gambler, who had actually appropriated money intrusted to him
for his uncle. 'I do not deny that this letter has affected my good
opinion of you,' Herr von Osternau had said, and certainly he was
justified in saying so.
"It is high time that this farce were ended," Egon murmured. "I must
leave this house, and break the spell that has been cast about me!"
He had often of late made this resolve; almost nightly, after he had
retired to his solitary apartment, and thought over the events of the
day, he had determined to tear asunder the bonds that were being woven
about him, but the next morning found him powerless to carry his
determination into execution. Yes, a spell had been cast upon him which
paralyzed his will, and whose this spell was, he could not rightly
tell.
When Bertha's wondrous beauty filled his mind, a wild feeling of
delight thrilled through him, his pulses throbbed, his thoughts made
chaos within him, he longed to clasp in his arms as his own her whom he
had so foolishly insulted and scorned.
But in the midst of this rapturous intoxication he was recalled to a
sober certainty of waking disgust when he remembered various
expressions of Bertha's which had revealed to him her true self; he
turned away from the thought of her, chilled and repelled, and in her
place there was a very different image,--Lieschen gazed at him with a
look of reproach, and yet of love! In thought of her he was calmed and
cheered, she incited him to continued exertion, she called forth all
his better nature,--she, the good angel who had led him out from the
slough of an existence into which the beautiful fiend with the glowing
eyes would fain drag him back!
Did he love Bertha? Did he love Lieschen? He did not know. Bertha
exercised a demoniac influence upon him, Lieschen's spell was
fairy-like, but mighty. His soul hovered between the two, in a conflict
which robbed him of repose, subjugated his will, and made any firm
resolve impossible for him.
Perhaps chance would befriend him.