RUNECK LEAVES ODENSBURG.
When Runeck entered his chief's work-room, he found him at his desk,
and there was nothing unusual in the manner of his reception and the
way in which his salutation was returned. Not until he took out a
portfolio and opened it did Dernburg say:
"Let that be, you can report to me later; for now I must talk with you
about something more important."
"I should like to have your attention for a few minutes, beforehand, if
you please," said Egbert, taking a number of papers from the portfolio.
"The works at Radefeld are almost finished, the Buchberg is tunneled,
and the whole water-power of the estate available for Odensburg. Here
are the plans and the drawings; the only thing to do now is to conduct
the supply to the works, and this can be done by some one else if I
withdraw."
"Withdraw? What does that mean? That you will not carry the works on to
completion?"
"No. I have come to--to beg my dismissal."
The words sounded low, and were evidently hard to utter, and the young
engineer avoided looking at his superior. The latter gave no sign of
surprise. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"That, indeed! Well, you must know what you have to do. If you really
want to go, I shall not detain you. But I believed that you would at
least complete the work you had undertaken. It has not otherwise been
your way to half do things."
"I am going for that very reason. The voice of another duty calls me,
that I must obey."
"And which makes it impossible for you to remain at Odensburg?"
"Yes!"
An infinitely bitter expression flitted across Dernburg's features.
Here was the confirmation of that which he had not wanted to believe;
there was hardly any need to put the question.
"You mean the approaching elections?" said he with freezing calmness.
"It is said that the Socialists are going to put up a candidate of
their own for our district, and you, I suppose, are determined to vote
for him. In that case, I can well understand how you should ask for
your discharge. Neither the confidential position that you hold at
Radefeld, nor your relations to me and my family comport with such a
step as that. There is no deceiving of ourselves into imagining that
the antagonism here is against any one but myself."
Egbert stood there speechless, his eyes fixed on the ground. One could
see how hard it was for him to make a confession, which was not
lightened for him by word or hint. But suddenly he straightened himself
up with determination stamped upon his face.
"Herr Dernburg, I have a disclosure to make to you, which you will
misinterpret, but which you must hear nevertheless. The candidate whom
my party has nominated is--I."
"Do you actually demean yourself so far as to make me such a
communication?" asked Dernburg slowly. "I hardly believed it. The
surprise intended would have been more complete, if I had learned it
through the newspapers."
"What, you know already----" exclaimed Egbert.
"What you have found good to hide from me until today. Yes, I knew it
and wish you good luck in your schemes. You are not timid, with your
eight-and-twenty years; you already boldly grasp at an honor which I
first felt to be my due after the toil of a lifetime. You have barely
left apprentice-years behind you, and already allow yourself to be
lifted upon the shield, as tribune of the people. Well, good luck to
you!"
Listening to the bitter sarcasm of this speech, Runeck's complexion
changed rapidly, the color coming and going, while his voice had not
its wonted firmness, when he replied:
"I have feared that you would take such a view of the matter, and this
makes yet more painful the position into which I have been forced by
the action of my party. I resisted to the last moment, but at last
they----"
"Forced you, did they?" interrupted Dernburg with a bitter laugh, "of
course you are nothing but a victim to your convictions. I foresaw that
you would screen yourself thus. Give yourself no trouble, I
understand."
"I speak truth, I think, you know that," said Egbert, solemnly.
Dernburg got up and stood close in front of him.
"Why did you come back to Odensburg, if you knew that the difference
between us was an irreconcilable one? You did not need the position
that I offered you. The whole world stood open to you. Yet why do I
ask? The thing was to prepare for the contest with me; to undermine the
ground upon which I stand; to betray me first on my own soil, and then
strike----"
"No, I did not do that!" impetuously declared Runeck. "When I came
here, nobody dreamed of the possibility of my election, and I least of
all. Landsfeld was alone in our eye. This plan did not loom up until
last month, and culminated only within the last few days, despite my
opposition. I durst not speak sooner, because it was a party-secret."
"Really! Well, the calculation is very cleverly made. Neither Landsfeld
nor any other person would have had the least prospect of success.
Where the matter in hand was to unseat me the plan would have been
wrecked at the very outset. You are the son of a workman, have grown up
among my people, gone forth from among their midst, and, in short, they
are all proud of you. If you make it clear to them that I am, at
bottom, a tyrant, who has been oppressing them and consuming all their
substance all these years, if you promise them a return of the golden
age--it takes hold upon and leads the people astray--you they will
believe, perhaps; doubtless you are a distinguished orator. If the man,
who has been treated almost like my own son, puts himself at their
head, to lead them into battle against me, then their cause must be the
right one, then they will swear by it."
These were almost the identical words which the young engineer had
heard months ago from the mouth of Landsfeld, and his eyes fell before
the piercing looks of Dernburg, who now drew himself up to his full
height, as he continued:
"But we are not at that point yet. It still remains to be seen if my
workmen have forgotten that I have labored with them and cared for them
these thirty years, if a bond that has been forging for a whole
generation is so easily broken. Try it. If any one can succeed, it will
be you. You have been trained in my school and mayhap have learned how
to strike down the old master."
Egbert had turned pale as death; upon his features was mirrored the
conflict that was raging within his soul. But now he slowly raised his
eyes.
"You condemn me, and yet, if put in my place, would perhaps not act
differently. I have often enough heard from your own mouth that
discipline is the first and highest law of every great undertaking. I
have bowed and must bow to this iron law--what it has cost me, nobody
but myself knows."
"I ask obedience from my men," said Dernburg coldly. "I do not compel
them to commit treason."
Egbert writhed, and a glance almost threatening flashed from his eyes.
"Herr Dernburg, I can take much from you, especially in this hour; but
that word--that word I cannot bear."
"You will have to bear it. What have you done out yonder at Radefeld?"
"What I can answer for, to you and myself."
"Then you have performed your task poorly and they will have their
revenge upon you. Yet, why bring up the past? The question is about the
present. You are the candidate of your party, then, and have accepted
the nomination?"
"Since it is a party measure--yes! I must submit to it."
"You _must_!" repeated Dernburg with bitter scorn. "That is every third
word with you, now; formerly you were a stranger to it. Then it was
only you would. You deemed me a tyrant, because I would not forthwith
adopt your sublunary ideas about the welfare of the people, and
rejected this hand, that would have guided you. You wanted your course
in life to be unimpeded. And, lo! now you bow your neck to a yoke, that
enchains your whole being, forcing you to break with all that is dear
to you, that lowers you even down to treachery--do not flare up so,
Egbert, it is so! You should not have come back to Odensburg, if you
had known that such an hour as the present must come. You should not
have remained when you learned that they would force you to heed the
opposition against me--but you did come back, and stayed because they
bade you do it. Call it what you like, I call it treachery! And now go,
we are done with one another!"
He turned off. Egbert, however, did not obey, but drew nearer, yielding
to an irresistible impulse.
"Herr Dernburg--do not let me go thus! I cannot part from you in this
way--you have been like a father to me!"
There was in this outbreak of long-pent-up anguish, an intensity of
grief that was truly appalling in one usually so self-contained as
Runeck, but the sorely provoked man, who stood before him did not, or
would not, see it, but drew back; and his whole attitude and manner
were expressive of repulse, when he said:
"And the son lifts his hand against the 'father.' Yes, I would gladly
have called you son--you above every one else in the world; I showed it
to you, too, plainly enough. You might have been lord of Odensburg. See
if your comrades will thank you for the immense sacrifice which you
have made for their sakes. And now this is all over--go!"
Egbert was effectually silenced; he made no further attempt at
reconciliation, slowly he turned to go; only one last agonized glance
he sent back from the threshold, then the door closed behind him.
Dernburg threw himself back in a chair and put his hands over his eyes.
Of all the trials that had come down upon him to-day, like an
avalanche, this was the heaviest. In Egbert he had admired the brave,
strong spirit, so like his own, that he had wanted to bind to himself
for the rest of his life, and now it seemed to him that in parting from
this young man, the best part of his own power and his own life had
also taken their departure, never to return.
With heavy heart Runeck hurried through the entrance-hall, rushing
along as though the ground burned beneath his feet. It was plain how
much this hour had cost him, the hour in which he had torn loose from
all that was dear to him, how dear, he now felt fully for the first
time when he had lost it. "You might have been lord of Odensburg!" In
that one sentence lay the greatness of the sacrifice, which he had
offered up--and offered up to whom?
It had been long since he had felt any of that joyful enthusiasm which
neither asks questions nor doubts. However, to resolve and act were no
longer left to his free choice; it was no longer for him to will--he
must.
Just then there was heard, quite close to him, the rustling of a
woman's silk skirt: he looked up and found himself face to face with
Baroness Wildenrod. For one instant he stood as it were, transfixed,
then was about to pass by with a profound bow. But Cecilia stepped
close up to him and said, in a low tone:
"Herr Runeck!"
"Gnädiges Fräulein?"
"I must speak to you."
"Me?" Egbert thought that he could not have heard aright, but she
repeated in the same tone:
"Speak with you alone--please let me!"
"I am yours to command."
She took the precedence, he following her into the parlor. There was
nobody there, and even if any one had appeared, the meeting might have
passed for an accidental one. Cecilia had stepped up to the fireplace,
as though she wanted to take refuge from the sunshine, which poured in
its bright golden rays, through the lofty windows. A few minutes passed
ere she spoke. Runeck, too, was silent; his eyes scanning her
countenance, which was so entirely different from what it had appeared
earlier.
Eric was right; the radiantly beautiful creature that he had brought
home as his promised bride had strangely altered. She was no longer the
gay, captivating girl, whose whole being sparkled with high spirits and
the joy of existence. A pale, trembling girl leaned against the marble
pillars upon which rested the mantelpiece, with downcast eyes, a
painfully drawn look about the mouth, and she sought after words that
_would_ not cross her lips.
"I wanted to write to you, Herr Runeck," she finally began. "Then I
heard to-day that you were in the Manor-house, and determined to speak
to you in person. There is need of an explanation between us."
She paused, seeming to expect an answer, but as Egbert only bowed in
silence, she continued with visible effort: "I must recall to your mind
our interview on the Whitestone; you will have forgotten it as little
as I have forgotten the words, the threats which you hurled at me. They
were darkly mysterious to me at the time and are still so, even now;
but, from that hour, I have known you to be the implacable foe of my
brother and myself----"
"Not of you, Baroness!" exclaimed Egbert. "I had been in grievous
error, which was explained away at that time. I begged your pardon,
which, however, you would not grant. My words like my threats had
reference to another."
Cecilia lifted her eyes to him, and the deprecatory look in them was
touching to behold.
"But that other is my brother, and what touches him touches me as well.
If you ever confront him as you did me that time, the issue will be a
bloody, a horrible one. For weeks I have been trembling at the thought
of it, and now I can stand it no longer. I must have certainty,--what
do you intend to do?"
"Does Herr von Wildenrod know of that scene on the Whitestone?" asked
Egbert with strong emphasis.
"Yes!" This word was well-nigh inaudible.
Runeck asked no farther. In the first place, he had no need to hear
what Wildenrod's answer had been, it was written clearly enough in
Cecilia's distressed looks, and he spared her the painful question.
"Compose yourself," said he earnestly. "The meeting which you fear will
not take place, for to-morrow morning I quit Radefeld and Odensburg.
And inasmuch as you are going to the South with Eric, Herr von
Wildenrod will have no further occasion nor pretext for remaining
longer after your marriage. That will rid me of the necessity for
meeting him in a hostile manner. But that there is no need to protect
Odensburg and the Dernburg family against you, I well know now."
He little suspected what a blow these words inflicted upon Cecilia.
She knew Oscar's vaulting schemes, she knew that through her betrothal,
he had only paved the way for the accomplishment of his own aims, that
the knot between him and Maia, would, sooner or later, be tied, and
make him master of Odensburg; but she kept her lips tightly closed,
closed although fully conscious of the wrong that she committed, in
order that the specter of dread which had just been exorcised, should
not again be called up, to haunt her again with new terrors.
It was still as death through the length and breadth of that vast
apartment, only the monotonous ticking of the great standing-clock made
itself heard, marking the flight of seconds, of minutes--how fast they
did fly in that farewell hour!
Then Egbert drew one step nearer, and with a peculiarly vibrant sound
in his voice said:
"I did you great injustice, with those unsparing words of mine, so
great that you cannot forgive me. I had to believe that you stood, with
open eyes, in the midst of the relations that encircled you; how could
I imagine that they had left you in perfect ignorance? Will you, in
spite of all that has happened, hear from me, one last entreaty, one
warning?"
The young girl silently nodded her head in the affirmative.
"Your marriage sunders all such connections, and frees you from your
brother's control--then free yourself from his influence, at any price!
Let him no longer have any power over your future life, for it is
unwholesome and brings destruction. What I only suspected formerly, I
now know for a certainty. The Baron's path leads to an abyss--who can
say where it will end?"
Cecilia shuddered at these last words. She thought of Oscar's dark
threat, when she refused to stay at Odensburg, and the image of her
dead father loomed up before her.
"No farther, Herr Runeck," said she, forcibly recovering her
self-control. "You are talking of my brother!
"Yes, of your brother," repeated he, with marked emphasis. "And you
have nothing to say in refutation of my charge. You know then----"
"I know nothing, _will_ know nothing--Oh! my God, have pity on me!"
She clasped both hands before her face, and tottered, as though she
would fall. The same instant Egbert was already at her side, supporting
her; just as that time on the Whitestone, the beautiful, fair head,
with closed eyes, lay upon his shoulder.
"Cecilia!"
It was only a single word, but it escaped Egbert's lips in the fervent
tone of passion, and at its sound, the large dark eyes opened and met
his. For a second their looks mingled--rather an eternity. With loud,
clear strokes, the clock told the midday hour. Egbert let his arm drop
and drew himself up erect.
"Make Eric happy!" said he, with difficulty, in a hollow tone:
"Farewell, Cecilia!"
In the next minute he had left the room, and Cecilia, pressing her hot
brow against the cold marble of the mantel-piece, wept and wept, as
though her heart would break.