A FORCED RESOLVE.
On the morning of his departure from Castle Osternau Egon had packed up
enough clothing to last him for a few days, and carried it himself to
Station Mirbach, whence he took the next train to Breslau.
He did not know himself what course he should take. He trusted, as he
had formerly been wont to do, to the impulse of the moment. Only one
thing was clear to him, he needed rest and solitude, and a forcible
severing of the ties which bound him to Castle Osternau, before he
could come to any clear decision as to his conduct.
Arrived in Breslau, he first attended to Herr von Osternau's
commission, and dispatched the money to him. At the same time he
enclosed to Herr Pastor Widman, in Wennersdorf, the sum owing him. "No
need of a letter of explanation," he said to himself, as he sealed the
envelope. "I am a fool to send this money, but I promised Herr von
Osternau, and I wish the Herr Pastor joy of his good luck."
As he sauntered through the streets of Breslau after posting his
letters, whiling away the time before the departure of the noonday
train, which was to carry him to the mountains, he tried in vain to
collect his thoughts, to arrange his ideas. It was in vain, his mind
was a chaos; he seemed walking in a confused dream; old impressions
recalled by the busy life of the streets, from which he had so long
been absent, struggled with those of the last few weeks, and he
attained some degree of calm only when, after a couple of hours in the
railway-carriage, he arrived at the little mountain village whence he
was to set out upon his pedestrian excursion. He strapped upon his back
the knapsack which he had purchased at Breslau to contain his few
effects, and set out; it was not long before the physical effort
necessary for mountain-climbing had its usual beneficial effect.
His rebellious thoughts would still revert to Castle Osternau, and
refuse to be held captive by the changing landscape on either hand, but
they were no longer so confused and unsteady as they had been early in
the day, and when, after a long walk, he retired for the night,
tolerably late in the evening, at a little mountain inn, he soon fell
into a dreamless sleep.
He waked in the early morning refreshed and invigorated mentally and
physically. The weather was glorious, and most propitious for mountain
travel on foot; Egon felt awaken within him an old longing for some
days alone with nature in her grand, careless mood. It was long since
he had felt so fresh and strong, and as he walked upwards among the
odorous pines he calmly reflected upon his life at Castle Osternau.
Could he return thither? He was able now to ponder the question
quietly. His position there was uncertain; Pastor Widman's letter had
raised doubts in Herr von Osternau's mind which an accident might
reawaken, he might naturally make investigations as to his tutor's
past, and then? The inevitable consequence would be the ruin of the
false structure erected, as Egon was forced with shame to confess, upon
falsehood. The unmasked impostor would be thrust in disgrace from the
castle, despised by those whom he held so dear.
No, he could not expose himself to such a peril; if he returned he must
confess the whole truth to Herr von Osternau. But could he do this?
There rang in his ears all the words of disapproval and condemnation
uttered by almost every member of the Osternau circle with regard to
Herr von Ernau. Lieschen had called him a wretched, detestable man, and
her father and mother had openly expressed their contempt for him.
Should he say to them, "I am that Egon von Ernau whom you so despise!"
Could he defend himself against the accusations brought against him? He
had tried once to do so to Lieschen, and how incredulously she had
shaken her lovely head! with what surprise, nay, dismay, she had looked
at him! Had not his former life justified all that was said of him? Had
he not given additional reason for it by carrying on a deception for
weeks, living under an assumed name among those who had trusted him?
In imagination he saw Lieschen turning from him indignantly, as she
exclaimed, "There is nothing I detest as I do falsehood!" He heard the
Lieutenant's scornful laughter. And Bertha! Should she too witness his
humiliation?
No; he could not return and run the risk of being discovered, nor could
he confess his deceit. Both were alike impossible.
But if he did not return to the castle, what was he to do? Go back to
Berlin! And why not? Formerly the thought of falling in with his
father's plans had filled him with disgust; now his heart beat quicker
at the thought of calling Bertha von Massenburg his wife.
And yet he hesitated and could come to no decision. Always in the midst
of the intoxication of the senses that accompanied the remembrance of
Bertha, a lovely girlish image would rise before his mental vision to
calm and soothe him, and no sacrifice seemed to him too great to
purchase a gentle word of pardon from Lieschen, one look of love from
her eyes.
He could not decide. For three days he wandered about the mountains,
pursuing those paths least frequented by tourists, and lodging at night
in some lonely, retired little inn, determined to avoid any chance
encounter with acquaintances. But on the fourth day of his wanderings
he was slowly descending the agate rocks towards Hermsdorf, lost in
thought, his eyes bent upon the ground, when he was roused from his
revery by a clear, merry voice: "All good spirits praise the Lord!
Positively this is a capital joke! Day before yesterday we buried you,
Herr von Ernau, and to-day I meet you, sound in body and limb, upon
this far from delightful ascent!"
Egon looked up startled. Before him stood an old acquaintance from
Berlin,--Baron von Freistetten, a wealthy young nobleman, whom he had
often met in society, and whom he had liked rather better than most of
his associates, since in the preference shown him by the young fellow
there could be no suspicion of interested motives.
Freistetten was in the act of making the ascent of the agate rocks, in
company with a guide, and had paused for a moment to take breath, when
he perceived Egon coming down towards him and instantly hailed him. All
fatigue was forgotten; he hurried to meet him, and shook him cordially
by the hand. "Upon my word, Ernau," he said, "this is the greatest
pleasure I have had for years! I never believed you were dead, for did
I not see you a month ago in Breslau? But when everybody insisted that
your body had been found, and when I followed it to the grave, the day
before yesterday, I thought I had been mistaken, and sincerely mourned
you. Thank God! I was right at first. I am indeed delighted."
The young fellow's joy was so sincere that Egon could not but
reciprocate his cordiality. Disagreeably surprised as he was at first
at the encounter, several of the Baron's expressions had aroused his
curiosity, and he agreed readily to the young man's proposal that they
should find some shady spot for a half-hour's talk.
Beneath an overhanging rock they threw themselves down upon the soft
green moss.
"I cannot get used to it," said Freistetten, shaking Egon again by the
hand. "This is what I call a surprise indeed. But now tell me all about
yourself. Where in the world have you been hiding? What reasons could
you have for vanishing so suddenly and giving no sign of life?"
"I was tired of the stupid society life of the capital, and I have been
spending a few weeks quietly in the country. I really have nothing to
tell. But you must satisfy my curiosity. What was it you said about
finding my body and going to my funeral? What did you mean?"
"That you were buried, and have risen from the dead. But no, the matter
is too serious for trifling. You shall hear the consequences of your
flight from Berlin."
And he went over the whole story; how he had not been believed when he
said that he had seen Egon in Breslau, how every one said that young
Ernau had taken his life because of an unhappy love-affair. "You have
deeply grieved your friends, Ernau," he added.
"Have I any friends?" Egon rejoined. "The few who felt some slight
regret at my death were more than indemnified by the interesting gossip
to which it gave occasion."
"I don't envy you such sentiments as those," Freistetten said, gravely.
"They can only be entertained by one who is no man's friend, and who
thinks only of himself. I am no moralist, but I cannot understand how
you could make up your mind to play so reckless a game with your
friends, among whom I count myself, and, above all, with your father."
Egon had no reply to make to this reproach, and Freistetten continued
his narrative, telling how the dress of the corpse found in the Spree
had been identified by the servant and by Councillor von Ernau, and how
magnificent had been the funeral.
Egon listened eagerly, and when he heard how the body had been
identified, he had a sudden conviction as to who had been so
ceremoniously consigned to earth in his stead. He remembered that he
had forgotten to take his empty silver card-case from the breast-pocket
of the coat which he had exchanged for Pigglewitch's. The Candidate had
not been heard from for weeks. Doubtless he had gambled again, had
again lost all, and his second attempt at suicide had been more
successful than his first. His body was now at rest in the church-yard.
"You are really dead in every one's estimation," Freistetten concluded.
"It is fortunate that I chanced to meet you, and could tell you of the
result of your flight from Berlin,--else you might not have thought of
returning thither to put a stop to the wild rumours about you. Or were
you going down to Hirschberg, to start thence for Berlin?"
"No," Egon replied, "I did not think of that. I have not yet decided
what to do, and I must pray you to keep my secret, and inform no one
that you have seen me."
"I shall do no such thing!" Freistetten exclaimed, indignantly. "That
would be to make myself an accomplice in what offends my sense of
right. Indeed, Ernau, you must return to Berlin; it would be
unpardonable to allow your father to believe any longer that he has
lost his only son. I know that your relations with him were never very
cordial, but he is your father, and you owe him a son's duty. If you
refuse to return to Berlin, I shall cut short my mountain excursion and
go there myself to tell your father that his son is alive."
Freistetten had arisen, and now signed to his guide that he was ready
to go on.
"Decide, Ernau," he said, gravely; "your decision will govern mine."
Egon had hoped for some chance that should force him to a resolution;
his wish was fulfilled; his hesitation between Castle Osternau and
Berlin was at an end. He was not angry with Freistetten for his severe,
almost insulting, words: he was justified in using them.
"I thank you, Freistetten," he said, likewise rising. "Your admonition
is harsh, but I will lay it to heart. Continue your tour; I promise you
to go directly to Berlin from Hirschberg. Since I am, half unwillingly
I admit, forced to take upon me the old yoke, I will do so without
delay. Farewell!"
The young men separated with a warm grasp of the hand, and Egon walked
on down into the Hirschberg valley. With a heavy heart he went his way
back to the old life. Now that he was resolved not to return to Castle
Osternau, existence there appeared to him in the rosiest light; he
longed for each one of those of its inmates who had grown dear to him;
he could not bear the thought of parting from them without one word of
farewell, one prayer for pardon for having deceived them.
Lieschen's image accompanied him on his way; it seemed to beckon him
on. He felt an intense desire to hasten to Castle Osternau, if only for
a day, an hour, that she might decide whether he should remain there,
or return to Berlin.
He lodged for the night in a little inn seldom visited by strangers. He
could not sleep when he first retired to his room; the effort to abide
by his resolve chased sleep from his eyelids. At last he sat down and
wrote two farewell letters, one to Herr von Osternau, the other to Herr
Storting. In the latter he enclosed the payment of the little debt for
which Storting had so readily gone surety in Breslau. Both letters he
posted the next morning before starting for Berlin, thus destroying all
possibility of a return to Castle Osternau. He then grew calmer; the
struggle was over, he hesitated no longer.