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.