AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
The hall to which Elise had retired, next to her bedroom, was on the
garden side of the house, and its glass doors opened on a porch from
which handsomely ornamented bronze steps led winding down into the
garden. Notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, the night was
mild, and the moon shone brightly. Elise opened the glass doors and
stepped out on the porch to cool her burning forehead in the fresh
night air; and, leaning on the balustrade, she looked up smiling and
dreamily at the moon. Sweet and precious fancies filled the soul of
the young maiden, and brought the color to her cheeks.
She thought of her lover, who so lately had appeared to her as in a
dream; she repeated to herself each one of his words. With a sweet but
trembling emotion she remembered that he had bidden her to await him;
that he had sworn to her to come, even if his way should be over dead
bodies and through rivers of blood.
With all the pride of a loving girl she recalled his bold and
passionate words, and she rejoiced in her heart that she could call
herself the bride of a hero. Even if this hero was the enemy of
her country, what did she care? She loved him, and what to her were
nationalities or the quarrels of princes? She was his--his in love and
faith, in purity and innocence; what cared she for aught else?
Elise started suddenly from her dreams. She had heard a noise down
in the garden, and leaned listening over the balustrade. What was the
meaning of this noise? Was it perhaps some thief, who, under cover
of the general confusion, had stolen into the garden? Elise remained
motionless, and listened. She had not deceived herself, for she
distinctly heard footsteps. A feeling of fear took possession of her,
and yet she did not dare to move from the spot, nor to cry for help.
Might it not be her lover, for whom she had promised to wait?
With strained attention she gazed down into the garden; her eye seemed
to penetrate the darkness with its sharp, searching look. But she
could distinguish nothing; not an object moved through these silent
paths, where the yellow sand was sufficiently lighted up by the moon
to betray any one sufficiently bold to tread them. Every thing was
again quiet; but Elise shuddered at these long, black shadows cast on
both sides of the alleys; she was afraid to remain any longer on the
porch. She retired into the hall, the door to which she had left open
on purpose to perceive any noise coming from that quarter.
Now again she became aware of steps approaching nearer and nearer.
She wished to rise, but her feet refused their office. She sank back
powerless into her chair and closed her eyes. She could not determine
whether it was fear or happy expectation which pervaded her whole
being.
And now the footsteps ascended into the porch, and came quite near to
the window. Would a thief dare to approach these lighted windows? She
raised her eyes. He stood before her!--he, her beloved, the friend
of her heart, her thoughts, her hopes! Feodor von Brenda stood in the
doorway of the hall, and uttered softly her name. She could not rise,
her feet trembled so; and in her heart she experienced an uneasy
sensation of fear and terror. And yet she stretched her arms out to
him, and welcomed him with her looks and her smile.
And now she lay in his arms, now he pressed her firmly to his heart,
and whispered tender, flattering words in her ear.
She pushed him gently back, and gazed at him with a smile of delight.
But suddenly her look clouded, and she sighed deeply. Feodor's
brilliant Russian uniform pained her, and reminded her of the
danger he might be incurring. He read her fear and anxiety in her
countenance.
"Do not be afraid, my sweet one," whispered he gently, drawing her
into his arms. "No danger threatens us. My people are now masters of
the town. Berlin has surrendered to the Russians. _The enemy_ is now
conqueror and master, and no one would dare to touch this uniform.
Even your father must now learn to yield, and to forget his hatred."
"He will never do it," sighed Elise sadly. "You do not know him,
Feodor. His will never bends, and the most ardent prayers would not
induce him to grant that to his heart which his judgment does not
approve of. He is not accustomed to yield. His riches make him almost
despotic. Every one yields to him."
"He is the king of merchants," said Feodor, as he passed his fingers
playfully through the dark tresses of the young girl, whose head
rested on his shoulder. "His money makes him as powerful as a prince."
"That is exactly my misfortune," sighed Elise.
The colonel laughed, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. "Dreamer,"
said he, "do you call yourself miserable because you are the daughter
of a millionnaire?"
"Millions alone do not make one happy," said she sadly. "The heart
grows cold over the dead money, and my father's heart is cold toward
his daughter. He has so many thousand other things to do and think of
besides his daughter! The whole world has claims upon him; every one
requires his advice, submits to and obeys him. From all parts of the
world come letters to be answered, and, when at last, late in the
evening, he remembers he is something besides the king on 'Change, the
man of speculation, he is so tired and exhausted, that he has only a
few dull words for his child, who lives solitary in the midst of all
this wealth, and curses the millions which make her poor."
She had spoken with increasing excitement and bitterness. Even her
love had for a moment been eclipsed by the feeling of an injured
daughter, whose grief she now for the first time disclosed to her
lover.
As she finished speaking, she laid her arm on Feodor's shoulder, and
clung still more closely to him, as if to find in his heart protection
and shelter against all pain and every grief. Like a poor, broken
flower she laid herself on his breast, and Feodor gazed at her
with pride and pity. At this moment he wished to try her heart, and
discover whether he alone was master of it. For that purpose had he
come; for this had he risked this meeting. In this very hour should
she follow him and yield herself to him in love and submission. His
long separation from her, his wild soldier's life had crushed out
the last blossoms of tender and chaste affection in his heart, and
he ridiculed himself for his pure, adoring, timid love. Distrust had
resumed power over him, and doubt, like a mildew, had spread itself
over his last ideal. Elise was to him only a woman like the rest. She
was his property, and as such he wished to do with her as he chose.
But yet there was something in her pure, loving being which mastered
him against his will, and, as it were, changed his determination.
In her presence, looking into her clear pure eye, he forgot his dark
designs and his dreary doubts, and Elise became again the angel of
innocence and purity, the saint to whom he prayed, and whose tender
looks shed forgiveness on him.
This young girl, resting so calmly and confidingly on his breast, and
looking at him so innocently and purely, moved him, and made him blush
for himself and his wild, bold desires. Silent and reflecting he sat
at her side, but she could read in his looks, in his smile, that he
loved her. What further need had she of words?
She raised her head from his breast, and looked at him for a long
time, and her countenance assumed a bright, happy expression.
"Oh," said she, "do I call myself poor when I have you? I am no longer
poor since I have known you, but I have been so; and this, my friend,
must be the excuse for my love. I stood in the midst of the cold
glitter of gold as in an enchanted castle, and all around me was
lifeless, stiffened into torpidity by enchantment, and I knew no
talisman to break the charm. You came, and brought with you love. The
talisman was found; a warm life awoke in me, and all the splendor of
gold crumbled into dust. I was rich then, for I loved; now I am rich,
for you love me!"
"Yes, I love you," cried he; "let your father keep his treasures. You,
and only you, do I desire."
She sprang up startled from his arms. In the overpowering happiness
of the hour she had entirely forgotten the danger which threatened her
lover. She suddenly remembered, and her cheek paled.
"My father!" cried she, "if he should come at this moment! His look
alone would be enough to kill me." And anxiously and tremblingly she
clung to Feodor.
"Fear not, dear one," he whispered, "he is not coming. God protects
and watches over those who love each other. Do not think of danger.
Banish all care, all fear. This hour belongs to us, and as I now fold
you in my arms with delight, so let it be always and forever. For you
know, precious child, that you are mine, that you can never belong to
another; that you have pledged yourself, and at some future time must
follow me as your husband."
"I know it, I know it," she murmured; and, in blissful
self-forgetfulness, she leaned her head on his shoulder, and listened
with beating heart to the burning, passionate words which he poured
into her ear.
Of a sudden, with the rapidity of lightning, she sprang up, as if an
electric shock had pervaded her body, and listened eagerly.
As Feodor was about to speak, to inquire the cause of her sudden
terror, she quickly pressed her hand to his mouth. "Silence,"
whispered she softly. "I heard it distinctly. My father is coming
hither through the garden!"
They both listened in silence. In the quiet of the night Gotzkowsky's
voice was now heard. He ordered his servants to shut the garden gates
carefully, and watch them well, as the Russians entering the town
would pass by this wall.
"You are right," said Feodor; "it is your father. Truly this is an
unlucky accident."
"He will kill me if he finds you here," murmured Elise, clinging, half
fainting, to her lover's arm.
"I will protect you with my life," said he, pressing her more firmly
to him.
"No, no!" cried she breathlessly; "he must not find you here. No one
must see you. Oh, Feodor, listen to me. He is not alone; Bertram
and his servants are with him. Oh, my God, they will kill you! Save
yourself; leave me, Feodor, and conceal yourself!" And drawing him
with irresistible strength to the door, she whispered, "In there, in
my bedroom conceal yourself."
"Never," said he firmly and decidedly. "Never will I hide myself, or
sneak away like a coward!"
"You must do it," entreated she; and as she saw that he hesitated and
drew back unwillingly, she continued: "Not for your sake--for the sake
of my honor, Feodor. Remember it is night, and I am alone with you."
"Yes, you are right," said Feodor sadly. "Hide me; no spot must
tarnish your honor."
With convulsive haste, Elise drew him to the door of her chamber.
Gotzkowsky's voice was heard just outside the window.
"Quick! hasten, they are coming!" said she, pulling the door open, and
pushing him hurriedly on.
"He is saved," cried her heart joyfully, as she closed the door after
him, and, sinking down, half fainting in a chair, her lips murmured,
"Have mercy, gracious God; have mercy on him and me!"
At this moment her father, accompanied by Bertram and the factory
workman, Balthazar, entered the room through the door of the balcony.
* * * * *