Hélène found her father awaiting her in the library. His manner was
excessively nervous. He seemed to be labouring under a strain.
"Sit down," he said briefly. His voice was harsh, his manner
commanding. Hélène sat down. In front of Mr. Stanton lay a pile of
letters. He pointed to them.
"Here are your letters to this man, and his letters to you. They were
withheld by my orders."
"Then Joles," began Hélène.
"I am responsible, not Joles," he interrupted.
Hélène arose; the blood mounted to her face.
"Why have you done this?" she demanded.
"I wished to bring your association with this man to an end. I ordered
him to be turned from the house, his letters kept from you and yours
from him."
"But, father, why did you not come to me?" cried Hélène.
"Please don't interrupt me!" thundered Stanton. "I won't have that man
in this house! Please understand that. Send for him, tell him you do
not wish to continue your lessons, and dismiss him definitely, finally."
"Father, I cannot." Hélène could scarcely go on.
"You must, Hélène; you must," insisted Mr. Stanton.
"I cannot!" she repeated.
"You can say you have changed your mind."
"Impossible!"
"But I tell you you must! I won't have this man in my house again."
"What has he done? Tell me, what has he done?" demanded Hélène.
Stanton paused. "He--he is a scoundrel, a disgrace to
society--to--to--" Then in sudden fury he went on: "When a man gets
down to playing for a mere pittance, as he does, in a disreputable
theatre, and dwelling in a squalid neighbourhood, with low
companions----"
"Can he help his poverty?" interrupted Hélène, now thoroughly aroused.
"The man has pride, he refuses to take money; he is a gentleman! You
have no right to insult him because he is poor."
"There are other reasons," said Stanton quickly.
"What are they?"
Stanton was silent.
"What are they?" again demanded Hélène.
"It is enough that I know," replied Stanton. "It is enough for you to
know that I know."
Hélène shook her head. "It is not enough," she said.
"If you don't tell him to go at once, you will force me to have him
ordered from the house!"
"Father," Hélène was almost calm now. "Tell me, for God's sake, tell
me what has he done?"
Stanton bit his lip with anger. The obstinacy of the girl was fast
driving him to extremes. "He is not fit to be in this house," he
almost shouted, "or to associate with gentlefolk."
"But he is so good, so gentle! How can I suddenly tell him to go?
Father, I cannot believe that."
"You don't believe me? Has it come to a question of my word--your
father's word against a stranger, a beggar! Do you know I can have the
man put in prison?"
Hélène stopped suddenly; she was very quiet now. "Is it as bad as
that?" she asked almost in a whisper. Stanton was silent. "Father,
can you--put--him--in prison?"
Stanton felt that it was necessary to convince her.
"I think the situation speaks for itself," he said. He, too, was calm
now, for he felt that he had to resort to extreme measures. "The man
leaves his own country, where he is successful, and comes here, and
lives with the lowest of the low. Would a man do that if he were
not--afraid--or in danger?"
Hélène's heart sank.
"Don't say any more, don't please!" She felt that her father had good
reasons for speaking as he did.
"If you had only told me before," she said plaintively; "if you had
only confided in me it would have saved so much suffering. Why didn't
you speak before, father?"
Stanton shook his head.
"Very well, you--you shall be obeyed, father." she said in a low
voice. "I'll tell him that you----"
"No," he interrupted quickly. "No! I don't wish him to know that I'm
in any way cognisant of his presence here. Simply dismiss him and let
him go. Above all, make him understand that he is never to come here
again."
Hélène nodded. "If his coming here is likely to endanger his liberty,
he must not come," she thought Stanton thanked her, but she did not
hear his words. Silently, sorrowfully, she returned to the music room,
where she found Von Barwig awaiting her.
The old man looked up as she entered the room. She came toward him and
looked at him a few moments in silence. The same tender, gentle smile
that had so endeared him to her from the first was on his face. She
could not bear to look at him, so she turned her gaze away and spoke
without seeing him.
"Herr Von Barwig," she said, and then she paused. It was so hard, so
very hard, to say what she had to say. He stood there expectantly,
waiting for her to continue, as a little child looks up at the sound of
its mother's voice.
"I'm very sorry," she said in a deep, low voice. "I--don't," still she
hesitated, then finally, with much effort she said: "I cannot take any
more lessons from you."
Von Barwig looked at her as if he did not comprehend her meaning.
"Not to-day, no, but to-morrow?"
Hélène shook her head.
"Ah, the next day!"
Again Hélène shook her head. "No," she said in an almost inaudible
voice. Von Barwig noted that her face was sad, that her tone was low
and mournful and his voice faltered as he asked, with his usual smile,
"The day after that, perhaps?"
"No, Herr Von Barwig. I cannot take any more lessons from you."
"Cannot take any more lessons," he repeated mechanically; then as he
realised her meaning he tried to speak, but his tongue clove to the
roof of his mouth. There was a long pause, during which neither of
them spoke.
"You wish me no more at all?" he asked finally.
"I am very sorry, I am very grateful; believe me I am, Herr Von Barwig,
but--" she shook her head rapidly. She could not trust herself to
speak.
"I--do--not--understand," he said, and his voice was almost inaudible,
for his heart was beating so furiously that he could feel its
palpitation. She could only shake her head in reply. Von Barwig
suddenly found his voice, for he was desperate now.
"A moment ago we were here, good friends, and--" suddenly an idea
occurred to him. "Some one has told you that I played at the Museum,
the Dime Museum. Ah, is that Indeed so terrible? I do not play there
from choice, believe me, dear--dear _Fräulein_! It is poverty."
"Yes, yes; I know, I know!" cried Hélène. She was nearly frantic now.
"It is not your fault, but please, please, dear Herr Von Barwig, let us
say no more! Good-bye," and she held out her hand, "good-bye! I hope
better fortune may come to you."
"No better fortune can come if you--if you are not there," wailed Von
Barwig. "You don't know--what I know; if you did you would realise
that--" he paused. "I cannot stay away! It is simply impossible--I
cannot!"
"You must," said Hélène firmly. "Please go! Don't you understand that
it is as hard for me as it is for you?"
"Why do you so punish me?" pleaded Von Barwig. "For what? What have I
done?"
"I am not punishing you, Herr Von Barwig. I-- Don't ask me to
explain! You must not call again. Please go; go! There, I've said
it; I've said it!" cried Hélène in despair, and she walked to the
window to hide her emotion.
Von Barwig looked at her in silence.
"Very well," he said after a few moments and then he looked around for
his hat, which he always brought into the room with him.
He realised that it was useless to try and move her and he turned to
go. He reached the door and had partly opened it when he felt impelled
to make one more effort.
"I leave the Museum," he said at the door. "I go there no more."
Hélène shook her head. The old man came toward her.
"You must forgive me, Miss Hélène, I must speak," he said in a low
voice choked with emotion; his English was very broken now. "A moment
ago I was thinking what shall be best for you, for your future, your
happiness; and I said to myself: 'Don't say that which will perhaps
hurt her prospects, her future, her marriage with Herr Beverly Cruger!'"
"I don't understand," said Hélène in surprise. "What can you say, Herr
Von Barwig, that will hurt my prospects or in any way affect my
marriage with Mr. Cruger?"
"Ah, I don't know what I say," pleaded Von Barwig, who felt at that
moment that for her sake he must not tell her who he was. "I don't
know what I say! I am struck down; I cannot rise, I cannot think! Ah,
don't discharge me, please don't discharge me!" wailed the old man
pitifully. "Let me come here as I always do; don't send me away!"
Hélène was silent; she felt that she could say no more.
"It is the first time in my life I have ever begged of a living soul,"
pleaded Von Barwig, "and now I beg, I beg that you will not send me
away! You have made me so happy, so happy, and now--please don't
discharge me, don't discharge me!" It was all he seemed able to say.
Hélène was looking at him now, looking him full in the face while a
great storm was surging in her mind. "I can't obey my father," she was
saying to herself, I can't! It's too hard--too hard! The old man
mistook her silence for the rejection of his prayer and slowly turned
to go. The shrinking figure, the concentrated misery, the hopeless
expression on his face, the tears in his eyes, the pathetic woebegone
listlessness in his walk were too much for her; she could resist no
longer.
"Herr Von Barwig," she cried, her voice ringing out in clear strong
tones, "I don't believe it, I don't believe it!" He turned with a
slight look of inquiry on his face and gazed at her through his
tear-bedimmed eyes. "I don't believe that you ever did a dishonourable
action in all your life," she cried. "My father is mistaken, mistaken!
I'm sure of it."
"Your father?" There was no hesitation in his voice now. "Your
father," he repeated, his voice rising higher. "Ah!" and a flood of
light came in upon him. "When you left me a few moments ago, you went
to him, and then, on your return--you--you sent me away; is it not so?
Tell me," he demanded, "is it not so?"
Gone was the hopeless misery, gone were the shambling gait, the
pathetic smile, the helplessness of resignation to overwhelming
conditions. Gone, too, were the tears, the pleading look, and in their
place stood Anton Von Barwig, erect and strong, his eyes glittering
with fire, the fire of righteous indignation, his voice strong and
clear. Hélène looked at him in amazement. She could not understand
the transformation.
"Your father!" repeated Von Barwig in a loud, stern voice. "So! the
time has come! I think perhaps I see your father. It is time we met;
a little explanation is due. Miss Stanton, I shall see--your--father."
"Yes, you shall see him!" said the girl. "I'll--I'll speak to him for
you; I am sure you can explain."
"Yes, I can explain," said Von Barwig with a low, hard laugh. "Where
is he?"
"In the library," replied Hélène.
"Ah? Then I go there and see him," said Von Barwig in a decided tone.
This new mental attitude of the music master amazed her. The little
low, shambling figure was transformed into an overwhelming force.
"Perhaps I had better see him first," suggested Hélène.
"No," said Von Barwig. "I see him." His tone was almost commanding.
Hélène looked at him in astonishment. She was pleased; at least these
were not signs of guilt on his part. She no longer hesitated.
"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Come, we'll see him together."
Von Barwig followed Hélène through the corridors that led to the
library. She paused a moment as she stood at the door and looked
around at Von Barwig. There was a stern, cold, hard look in his face
which was new to her. "He feels the injustice as I do," thought
Hélène, "and he is angry. Thank God, he will be able to clear
himself!" She turned the handle of the door and went in. Von Barwig
followed her. Stanton was sitting at a desk table, writing, as they
entered.
"There has been a mistake, father," she said.
Stanton looked up and started as if he had been struck. He saw his
daughter, and he saw the man he had wronged standing there in the
doorway like an avenging Nemesis. He tried to speak, but could not.
"What's the matter, father?" cried Hélène in alarm.
"Nothing--nothing!" replied Stanton incoherently. He was trembling in
every limb.
"Hélène," he said, forcing himself to speak, "I will have a word with
Herr Von Barwig alone."
"I beg your pardon for coming in unannounced, but we wanted to see you,
father," began Hélène.
"Yes, yes; please excuse us now, Hélène. I'll see him alone," said
Stanton, speaking with great difficulty. "Alone!" he repeated sharply.
Hélène turned and looked at Von Barwig. He stood there in silence, his
slight figure seeming to tower above everything in the room. Even
Stanton, tall as he was, seemed dwarfed by the strong personality of
the music master. At this moment Joles made his appearance. "A number
of ladies have arrived, miss," he said to Hélène, his quick eye
catching sight of Von Barwig without looking at him. "They are in the
reception-room."
"I must go at once," said Hélène. "I forgot all about my birthday
reception."
"Young Mr. Cruger and his father are asking for you, sir," Joles said
quietly to Mr. Stanton.
"Ask them to wait--I must see this gentleman," said Stanton, indicating
Von Barwig. Joles bowed himself out. Hélène was pleased that her
father acceded so readily to her wishes. She went to him and placing
her hand on his arm said in a low voice:
"Let him explain, father! I want him to come back to me. It will make
me very happy--please--this is my birthday."
Stanton nodded, but made no reply. Hélène gave Von Barwig an
encouraging smile and went out of the room, quietly closing the door
after her.
Von Barwig had been studying the man before him. There was quite a
silence.
"Well, Henry?" he said after a few moments.
"Anton," murmured Stanton in a low tone as if ashamed to speak. Von
Barwig's eyes glittered as he heard his name familiarly pronounced by
the man he was regarding with deadly enmity.
"The world has revolved a few times since I last saw you--but I am
here," he said, repressing his anger; and this repression gave a
curiously hard and guttural effect to his voice.
"I have been expecting this moment for a long time," said Stanton in a
conciliating tone. "I've tried to forget."
"You have been very successful," replied Von Barwig. "You have
forgotten your own name for sixteen years. A prosperous friend has a
poor memory, Henry."
"I have not prospered," said Stanton quickly; "that is, not in the real
sense of the word. I am rich, yes; but I am not prosperous."
"You have changed your name?" said Von Barwig.
"Yes; my uncle Stanton died in California. I took his name when he
left me his great fortune."
"That is why I could not find a trace of you," said Von Barwig
thoughtfully.
Stanton thought he detected signs of relenting in Von Barwig's voice.
"I suppose there's no use my telling you how sorry I am for----"
"Sorry, sorry!" almost screamed Von Barwig. "Does that bring back
anything? Does that put sixteen years in my hands? Damn the empty
phrase 'I am sorry' when there is no use in being sorry!"
"I have repented, Anton! Before God I have repented!" said Stanton
huskily. "She made me repent, and God knows she repented. She never
had one happy hour since she left you!"
Von Barwig was silent.
"This is the only blot on my life--the one blot on my life," cried
Stanton.
"And that one blot was my wife and child," said Von Barwig. "While you
were at it you accomplished a great deal. Mein Gott, you were
colossal! You always were a damned successful fellow, Ahlmann," he
added vindictively.
"Before God, Anton," cried Stanton with a show of emotion, "I didn't
mean to do it; I swear I didn't. It was a mad impulse! It's not in my
real nature."
"Nature never makes a blunder. When she makes a scoundrel she means
it," said Von Barwig.
Stanton started and then looked through the library window. His sharp
ear had detected the sound of carriage wheels stopping in front of the
house.
"What are you going to do?" he asked quickly. The fear of exposure was
doubly increased by knowledge of the fact that his guests were
arriving. Von Barwig made no reply.
"Barwig, for God's sake don't ruin me! At least, I've given the child
everything. She knows nothing, and the world respects----"
"The world always respects a successful rascal," interrupted Von Barwig
with a harsh laugh. "Of all people he is the most respected. Why, if
I had not found you, I have no doubt you would live on a church
window-pane after you died! But now I anticipate that everybody shall
know your virtues while you are alive. I cut off that window-pane! I
am going to baptise you, Ahlmann; I give you back your name."
"Anton, Anton! Why not sit down calmly and talk it over?" pleaded
Stanton.
"Ah, you were always a polite man, the kind women like; a man born with
kid gloves and no soul. Now we take off the gloves; we show you as you
are," and Von Barwig shook his finger at the man opposite him.
There were echoes of laughter out in the hallway; Stanton heard them
and trembled. He recognised the voices of Mrs. Cruger's nieces. If
these gossips, ever found out the truth, he thought, not a family in
New York but would be acquainted with the facts in twenty-four hours.
"Anton, be calm," he pleaded. "Give me a few days to think it over."
"No!" declared Von Barwig.
"A few hours," pleaded Stanton.
"No!" repeated Von Barwig; "not even a few minutes."
Stanton moved toward the door.
"Stay here!" commanded Von Barwig. He was plainly master of the
situation now, for Stanton instinctively obeyed him. "If I let you go
into the next room it might be sixteen years before you got back again!
Sit down."
Stanton obeyed him and there was a slight pause.
"You know what a scandal this will make," he pleaded.
"I know," replied Von Barwig in a quiet tone. "I know!"
"The whole country will ring with it," said Stanton.
"You shouldn't have prayed so loud, Ahlmann," replied Von Barwig with a
sardonic smile. "You laid too many cornerstones; your charities are
too well known. You should have kept them a secret and not blazoned
your generosity to the whole world. When you fed an orphan or a widow
you shouldn't have advertised it in the newspapers."
Stanton looked at him and saw no hope.
"You're going to ruin me?" he asked.
Von Barwig made no reply.
"You're going to tell her?" demanded Stanton.
"Yes," replied Von Barwig in a quiet tone; "I'm going to tell her."
"You'd better think first."
"I have thought."
"How will you explain her mother's shame?"
"Ah!" Von Barwig glared at him in silence. "You will shield yourself
behind the mother, eh?" he asked.
"How will you explain her mother's shame?" again asked Stanton.
"I don't explain it! You talked her mother's name away--now talk it
back! You're a clever man with words. You'll find a way out of it,
Ahlmann."
Stanton was now almost beside himself with fear and anger.
"What can you do for the girl after you have disgraced her? Think what
I have done for her," pleaded Stanton. "She is honoured, respected,
cultured, refined, a lady of social distinction. Are you going to drag
her down to Houston Street, to the Bowery, to the Dime Museum?"
Von Barwig felt the force of this argument, and he knew there was no
reply to be made. His anger was gone--he was thoughtful now.
Stanton saw that he was gaining ground. "For her sake, Von Barwig," he
pleaded; "for her sake! Just think!"
Von Barwig interrupted him with a gesture, motioning him to silence.
"Look here, Ahlmann," his voice was strangely quiet now. "I knew! I
knew an hour ago who you were, whose house I was in. As she sat at the
piano near me I could have touched her with my hand. My heart cried
out, 'I am her father; I am her father!' For sixteen years I wait for
that moment and then I get it; I get it! It's mine; but I pass it! I
put it aside; I would not tell her."
"You knew," interrupted Stanton, "and you did not speak!"
"I would have come here, to this house," went on Von Barwig, his voice
quivering with excitement and emotion; "I would have come and gone as a
friend, an old friend, if you had kept silent. But no, two fathers
cannot live so with a child between them. One of them is bound to
speak out and that one is you, you! You spoke. 'Twas you who said to
your servants, 'Take this man and throw him into the streets like a
dog.' 'Twas you who destroyed my letters; 'twas you who destroyed my
child's letters--letters to me. 'Twas you who told my own flesh and
blood to treat me as a dog--a dog! You made me plead and beg; you made
me suffer for sixteen long and weary years. Now I take what is mine,"
screamed Von Barwig. "You hear! I take what is mine!" and he strode
over to the bell and deliberately rang it.
"Don't, don't for heaven's sake!" shouted Stanton, trying to restrain
him. It was too late and Stanton almost fell back into his chair.
"Come, stand up! To your feet, Ahlmann!" shouted Von Barwig in a loud
voice. "I cannot throw you from your house as you would me; but I can
empty it for you. Come! I want to introduce you to your friends." He
threw the door wide open. Stanton came forward as if to close it, but
Von Barwig waved him back. "Stay where you are," he cried. "I
introduce yon to your friends as you are. She shall choose between us.
Against your money and respectability I put my life. Your friends
shall choose; she shall choose; the young man she is to marry--he shall
choose." The old man was now almost incoherent. "I have her back! she
is mine, she is mine!" At this juncture Joles entered.
"Speak; tell him!" shouted Von Barwig. "If you don't, I do!"
"Call Miss Stanton," said Mr. Stanton.
"And her friends," commanded Von Barwig.
Stanton nodded acquiescence; and Joles left the room.
"You've ruined me; and you'll ruin her," said Stanton in despair.
"I get her back, I get her back!" repeated Von Barwig over and over
again. "She is mine."
"Very well! she is yours, then," replied Stanton in desperation.
"Yours with this disgraceful scandal over her head."
"I don't care! She is mine--I get her back," was all Von Barwig could
say.
"Yours with her engagement at an end, her heart broken! Yes, her heart
broken! Do you think they'll take her into that family, do you think
they will receive your daughter, the daughter of a----"
Von Barwig was now almost hysterical. "If they don't take her, I take
her! If they don't want her, I want her. She's mine, I'm going to
have her! I want my own flesh and blood. Do you hear, Ahlmann? I'm
tired of waiting, tired of starving for the love of my own. I'm
selfish, I'm selfish!" in his excitement the old man banged his
clenched fist several times on the table. "I'm selfish! I want her,
and by God I'm going to have her!" At this juncture Hélène came into
the room. There was a dead silence. Von Barwig saw her and his
clenched fist dropped harmlessly by his side. He stood there silently
waiting. Hélène looked at Mr. Stanton; his head was bowed low and he
uttered not a word. She looked inquiringly at Von Barwig. He seemed
incapable of speaking.
"Father," she said in a low, gentle voice. Neither man answered.
Stanton dared not, and Von Barwig steeled himself against telling her
the truth. Stanton's words had had their effect; Von Barwig was
unwilling to ruin the girl's chances for his own selfish interests.
"You have explained?" she asked Von Barwig. He nodded, but did not
speak. The sound of approaching voices caught their ears. Joles threw
open both doors and Mr. Cruger came into the room with his son and Mrs.
Cruger, followed by many others. They greeted Mr. Stanton, who
welcomed them as well as he could. In a few moments the conversation
became general. Von Barwig stood apart from them. Mr. Stanton,
nervous and anxious, watched him closely. Mrs. Cruger fastened a
beautiful diamond pendant on Hélène's neck. Mr. Cruger kissed her.
"We cannot give you the wealth of your father, my dear child," said he;
"but we can give you a name against which there has never been a
breath; an honoured name, a name with which we are very proud to
entrust you!"
Von Barwig heard this, and groaned aloud in his misery.
"I'm very happy, very happy!" said Hélène.
Others gathered around the happy pair and showered congratulations on
them. After a short while Beverly saw Von Barwig in the corner of the
room and went over and greeted him. Hélène joined them.
"Is it all arranged between you and father?" she asked.
Von Barwig nodded.
"I knew you could explain," said Hélène.
"Yes, he has let me explain!" said Von Barwig with a deep sigh. He was
quite calm now. "Pardon the liberty I take--I--forgive me--" he placed
Beverly's and Hélène's hands one in the other. "Pardon the liberty I
take; I am an old man," he said in a low voice. "I wish you both--long
life--much prosperity--much happiness--much joy to you both. God bless
you, children; excuse me, I speak as a father. God bless you!" and the
old man picked his hat up from the table on which he had deposited it
and wiped away the tears that were coursing down his cheeks. Stanton,
who had been watching him closely, uttered a cry of joy. Von Barwig
went out of the room slowly, shutting the door behind him.