HIS SIN HAD FOUND HIM OUT.
"Where are Frau Dernburg and Fräulein Maia? They have stayed in the
park, I hope, or are safe at home?" With this eager question Dr.
Hagenbach entered the parlor, where, for the present, only Fräulein
Friedberg was to be found.
"The ladies set out to visit the young gentleman's grave, that is all I
know about it," answered she in alarm. "Has anything happened?"
"Not yet, but one cannot know what the next hour may bring forth. So
the ladies have gone to the grave, have they? Well, it lies at the end
of the park, in the opposite direction from the works, so that I trust
there is nothing to fear. It would be well, though, for them to come
back soon."
"I expect them every moment. Is it so threatening, then, over at the
works?"
Hagenbach nodded and took a seat opposite the lady.
"Alas! the officers are doing their very best to get through with
paying off and discharging the workmen in peace and quiet, but this
does not suit Fallner and his crew, who want to have a row, whether or
no. A portion of the men have announced their intention to resume work
to-morrow morning, the others have responded by threats and curses:
finally, here and there it has come to deeds of violence, and it seems
as if an insurrection may break forth this very evening."
Leonie folded her hands with anxious mien. "Dear me! what is to be the
end of all this? Herr Dernburg is as hard and inaccessible as a rock.
You have no idea in what a mood he is. He will bid defiance to all--I
am distressed to death."
"Why, there is no need of that! What am I here for?" said Hagenbach,
with emphasis. "I should protect you in case of necessity, but such
necessity is not likely to occur. This house and its inmates are
unconditionally safe, even if there should be some excesses committed
over there. In that case you can depend upon me."
"I know that," replied Leonie, warmly, holding out her hand to him,
which he took, too, readily enough; he kept it likewise, and did not
think of releasing it from his clasp.
"I called to see you this morning," he began again, "but was not
admitted!"
Leonie cast down her eyes and her voice trembled, as she softly
answered:
"You will understand that it was painful for me, after the events of
yesterday----"
"I beg your pardon, I came only as a physician to inquire as to your
health," remarked Hagenbach. "You look worn, have had a sleepless
night--for that matter, so have I!"
"You, Doctor?"
"Why, yes, so many things were racking my brain. For example, I thought
you were quite right in regarding me as a half bear. The only question
is, whether the attempt would be worth while to try and make something
human out of me. What is your opinion?"
"My opinion? I have not thought on the subject," said Leonie, with a
vain effort to disengage her hand.
"But your opinion is a great deal to me," continued he. "You see,
Fräulein Friedberg, if one goes through life as a bachelor, without
caring for anybody in particular, and knowing that no one cares
particularly about him--it is a bad case. If one has, at least, a
mother or sister, then one can get along somehow; but I have only that
silly fellow Dagobert, and what I have in him you know yourself."
"But, Doctor, must we discuss this subject just today?" said Leonie,
trying to evade an answer. "At this hour, when all Odensburg----"
"Odensburg will, I hope, do me the pleasure to defer its rebellion
until we have arranged our matters," interposed Hagenbach. "And
arranged they must be now, that I solemnly swore to myself during that
aforesaid sleepless night. I called upon you, for the second time,
awhile ago, but did not find you, because you were with Frau von
Ringstedt. Nevertheless, I took the liberty of going in, because I
wanted to take a peep at your desk. Over it hangs now the picture of
your blessed mother, and I yield her that place cheerfully, for she is
a saint in heaven. You have made short work of it, and bravely
abandoned old memories and the like--and therefore--yes. What was it
that I wanted to say?"
The doctor began to get rather entangled in his talk. When he offered
himself for the first time, he had gone ahead without calculation of
any kind, and now, this second time, he wanted to proceed most gently
and considerately--but here he stuck fast. But he made a quick resolve,
got up and approached the lady of his choice, saying, with simple
heartiness:
"I love you, Leonie, and although I am a rough fellow--one cannot alter
the old habits in a trice--yet I mean well, and if you would risk it
with me, your consent would make me very happy. You say nothing:
Nothing at all? May I take this as a good sign?"
Leonie sat with glowing cheeks and downcast eyes, conscious of all the
magnanimity and goodness of heart displayed by the man, whom she had so
harshly rejected, and who now again offered her his heart and hand. He
also understood this perfectly, and brought the matter into shape now,
as quickly as possible, by taking his betrothed into his arms and
kissing her.
"God be thanked that we have at last got so far," said he, from the
bottom of his heart. "I shall write to-morrow to that fellow Dagobert.
Now he can make a wedding-song for us, and celebrate the praises of his
future aunt--a poem that I shall certainly permit him to indite."
"But, Doctor," admonished Leonie, reproachfully.
"I am called Peter," interposed he. "The name does not please you, I
know that of old--it is not poetical enough for you--but I was baptized
so, and you will have to get used to it. Fräulein Leonie Friedberg and
Dr. Peter Hagenbach--that is the way it will stand on our betrothal
cards."
"But surely you have other baptismal names besides that one?" the
bride-elect ventured to suggest.
"Of course. Peter Francis Hugo."
"Hugo, how pretty! I shall call you by that in the future."
"That I protest against," declared Hagenbach, with a positiveness that
already bespoke the future husband. "I am named Peter after my father
and grandfather, so I have been always called, and so will my intended
wife call me too."
With timid familiarity that became her very well, Leonie placed her
hand on her lover's arm and pleadingly looked him in the eye. "Dear
Hugo--do you not like the sound of that already?"
"No," growled the doctor, while he turned away.
"Well, as you choose, Hugo. I shall conform in this respect entirely to
your wishes. But Peter and Leonie do not suit together at all, you must
perceive that yourself."
Again Hagenbach growled, but this time in a much more subdued tone. He
did not find his new name so bad, after all, when pronounced in this
tone. But immediately there loomed up before him the horrors of
petticoat government, and he felt himself pledged to guard his
supremacy once for all.
"Peter it stands," he decided. "You must submit to me in this, Leonie."
"I submit myself in everything," asserted Leonie in tenderest tone. "I
am, in general, a weak, dependent creature, who has no will of her own.
You shall never listen to a contradiction in the whole course of our
married life, dear Hugo--but surely you will not refuse the first
request I make of you, and that on our betrothal-day?"
Dear Hugo began to melt under the softening influence of this gentle
voice and these pleading eyes, and his constancy as well as supremacy
showed signs of giving way.
"Well, if it gives you such great pleasure, you can call me so
yourself," he admitted. "But on the cards of invitation it shall
stand----"
"Leonie Friedberg and Dr. Hugo Hagenbach! I thank you, Hugo, with all
my heart, for this proof of your love!"
What was poor Peter Hagenbach to do? He pocketed the thanks and covered
his shameful retreat by bestowing a kiss upon his beloved. In this
first dispute the "weaker" half had come off with flying colors and the
stronger had had to lower his flag--it might be an omen----
Meanwhile Dernburg was in his office, receiving announcements from the
works that were anything but quieting. At other times, any unusual
occurrence had found him either in the midst of or at the head of his
workmen, but now he avoided any contact with them. Of late he had not
spoken a word to any of the men, or taken the least notice of any,
although he went daily to the works.
He stood at the window, lost in melancholy brooding, for the moment
entirely alone, and slowly turned around when the door was opened,
believing that some new announcement was about to be made. In the next
second, though, he shrank back and stared at the intruder, as though he
could not believe his own eyes.
"Egbert!"
Egbert closed the door behind him, but paused on its threshold, while
he said in a low voice:
"I beg your pardon for having once more made use of my old privilege,
of entering unannounced--it happens for the last time."
Dernburg had already recovered his self-command, his eyes flashed
portentously, and his voice was chilling in the extreme.
"I certainly did not expect to see you again at Odensburg. Here Runeck,
pray what leads the new delegate to me? I thought that we two were to
have no more to say to one another."
Runeck might have expected such a reception, but his glance was fixed
reproachfully upon the speaker.
"Herr Dernburg, you are too just to make me responsible for the
excesses of election-day evening. I was in town----"
"I know--with Landsfeld. And from there the movement was directed."
Egbert turned pale and quickly drew one step nearer. "Am I to bear this
reproach, too? Is it possible that you believe I could have had a share
in those insults, that I could have known of them and not prevented
them?"
"Let us leave that," said Dernburg in the same cold tone. "We are now
only political opponents, Herr Runeck. As such we shall occasionally
meet in public life, but there no longer exists between us relations of
any other sort. If you really have further communications to make to
me, I would prefer to have them in writing. Since, however, you are
here this time, what would you have of me?"
"I _could_ not select writing as my medium," returned Runeck, firmly.
"If my coming surprises you----"
"Not at all! I am only astonished that you seek me here in my office.
Your proper place is over yonder at the works among your constituents,
who are just about to repeat the proceedings of election-day. Will you
not place yourself at their head, and lead them against me? I am
prepared for that step!"
One who had looked at the young engineer must have seen how deeply he
was wounded by these cruel words, and he was no longer able to maintain
his calm demeanor. "Dernburg, not this tone!" he cried. "Shake out over
me all the vials of your wrath--I will bear it--but do not speak to me
in that tone; such a punishment I have not deserved."
"Punishment? I thought you had outgrown my discipline," said Dernburg,
with intense bitterness, although he did indeed drop the mocking tone.
"Once more, what will you have here? Would you, perhaps, offer to
protect me from those over there? They will obey the mere nod of their
own delegate. I thank you, I shall cope with them single-handed. Half
the men already repent of their enforced resolve to lay down their
work, and to-morrow will resume it. But I forbid them to go to work
unless they submit unconditionally and renounce their leaders."
"Dernburg----"
"They will not venture upon that, think you? Maybe so. You hold them
with too tight a rein. Well, then, war is openly declared. You forced
me to extremities in the first instance, now extremities I _will_
have."
Runeck was silent for a few minutes, then he said with sad earnestness:
"That is a hard saying."
"I know it. Think you I do not know the trend of coming events, if the
ten thousand engaged in my enterprises take holiday for weeks, perhaps
for months? The people will be driven to wretchedness, to despair, and
I must be the witness of it. The responsibility for this, however,
rests upon you and your fellows--you have left me no choice. For a
generation, peace and blessedness had their abode at Odensburg, and
whatever a man could do for his workmen, that I did. You have
introduced discord and hatred, the dragon-seed has sprung up. See to
it, now, how you shall manage the harvest."
He turned away impetuously, and several times strode up and down the
room. Then he paused in front of the young engineer, who, with clouded
brow and downcast eyes, stood there without attempting a reply. "You
are very likely afraid of the spirits that you have exorcised yourself,
and would now like to play the part of mediator?" he asked, with
scornful intonation. "You would be the last to whom I should accord
such a privilege. I want to hear nothing of mediation in general. The
bridges are broken down between me and these people, henceforth we have
to treat with one another only as enemies."
"I have not come as a mediator," said Egbert, straightening himself up.
"My coming, in general, has nothing to do with this affair. What leads
me here is a painful duty that I cannot escape from. It concerns Baron
von Wildenrod, to whom you have promised Maia's hand."
Dernburg started and looked at him in surprise.
"What, you know of this engagement! Never mind: I no longer make any
secret of it."
"And fortunately I have heard of it in time to interpose."
"Will you make any objection to it?" asked Dernburg, sharply. "There
was a time when I would have admitted your claim to her, when the way
to Maia's hand and heart stood open to you.--You know what blocked it
up. You have sacrificed your love, like everything else, to your
'convictions.'"
"I never loved Maia," returned Runeck, firmly. "I saw in her only my
young playmate, Eric's sister, and never entertained for her any other
feelings than those of a brother."
This explanation was given with such decision that it was no longer
possible to doubt its truth.
"Then in this, too, I have been mistaken," said Dernburg, slowly. "But
what concern, then, of yours is my daughter's marriage?"
"I want to guard Maia from becoming the prey of a--villain."
"Egbert! have you lost your senses?" exclaimed Dernburg, passionately.
"Do you know what you are saying? This mad accusation----"
"I shall prove. I would have spoken long ago, but I have only just
succeeded in obtaining the documents, only just learned of the Baron's
plan to usurp control of Odensburg, together with Maia's hand. Now, I
must speak, and you must listen to me."
Dernburg had turned pale, but still revolted against giving credence to
this unheard-of thing that seemed to him inconceivable.
"I shall require the proofs of you for everything," resumed he,
menacingly. "And now go on, I am listening!"
"Baron von Wildenrod has the reputation here of being rich, but in
reality is not worth a stiver. It must be twelve years now since he
forsook the diplomatic career, because his father's loss of fortune
deprived him of all means of maintaining himself in proper style. The
old Baron shot himself, and the family had only to thank their noble
name for the interposition in their favor of the reigning Prince. He
bought the estates, that were heavily encumbered with debt, satisfied
their creditors, and granted the widow a small pension as long as she
lived. The son forsook Germany and has never since been heard of in his
native land."
Dernburg listened with darkly contracted eyebrows. He had once received
a different account, which, indeed, contained no direct untruth, but
concealed the decisive element, namely, the ruined fortunes of the
family.
"I became acquainted with Oscar von Wildenrod three years ago,"
continued Runeck. "It was in Berlin, at the house of a Frau von
Sarewski, a wealthy widow who lived in very handsome style. I gave her
children drawing-lessons, at which she was often present, and by her
desire I drew a sketch of an addition planned for her villa. This met
with her full approval, and she wanted to give me a sign of
recognition, by inviting me to one of her evening entertainments. I
dared not decline, for I was dependent upon the fees I received from
teaching drawing for the means to continue my studies. A perfect
stranger in that fashionable circle, which inspired me with not the
slightest interest, I retired that evening into a side-room, where the
brother of the lady of the house was seated at cards with a few other
gentlemen. Among them was Baron von Wildenrod, who, as I learned from
their conversation, had been in Berlin for three months, and expected
to pass the winter there. He was strikingly favored by fortune in his
play, while the others had just as decided ill-luck. The brother of
Frau von Sarewski, passionately devoted to card-playing, set the stakes
ever higher and higher, his losses being proportionate, while Wildenrod
had already won a little fortune. This whole carrying-on was repulsive
to me, and I was in the act of withdrawal, when an elderly gentleman, a
Count Almers, who was likewise among the card-players, suddenly seized
the Baron's hand, held it fast, and, in a voice quivering with rage,
pronounced him a black-leg."
"Did you see that yourself?" asked Dernburg, sternly.
"With my own eyes! I was also a witness to that which followed. The
gentlemen sprang to their feet, and everything was astir; the loud
talking pro and con brought all the other guests, Frau von Sarewski
also making her appearance. She begged and implored those present to
let the matter rest, and spare her house the notoriety of a public
scandal. Wildenrod acted the man of outraged, deeply wounded feelings:
he threatened to challenge the Count, but made use of this show of
indignation as a pretext to withdraw as speedily as possible. Now Count
Almers declared that he had been on the track of this deceiver for a
long while, but had only to-day found the opportunity to unmask him. He
insisted upon following up the investigation, since Wildenrod moved in
the first circles, and elements of this sort must be ruthlessly
ejected. The entreaties of Frau von Sarewski and the representations of
her brother finally had the effect of moving the witnesses to keep
silence, provided that Wildenrod could be induced to leave the city at
once. This was superfluous, for he had no idea of either challenging
the Count or attempting to clear himself. The next morning it was
discovered that he had taken his departure in the night."
Those were plain facts that Runeck reported, but his bearing and tone
gave to the narration a frightful emphasis. It was seen what a crushing
revelation this was to the listener, although he gave no outward sign
of sympathy.
"What else?" said he, bluntly and roughly.
"I neither heard nor saw anything more of Wildenrod until the
moment when he made his appearance at Odensburg, as Eric's future
brother-in-law. I recognized him at the first glance, while he had no
recollection whatever of my personality: a hint that I gave he repelled
with great haughtiness."
"And you concealed this from me? You did not mention it at once?"
"Would you have believed me without proofs?"
"No, but I would have set investigations afoot and learned the truth."
"I did that in your stead. I had manifold relations with Berlin, that I
now availed myself of: I turned to Wildenrod's native place and to Nice
where Eric had made his acquaintance, and it was not my fault that
months elapsed before my inquiries were answered. What you would have
done was attended to by me, and information was given to me as a
stranger that would hardly have been obtainable by you, under the
circumstances. Nevertheless, I did think of warning you, provisionally,
but then, I suppose, you would have dissolved the tie on which depended
the happiness of Eric's life, and that would have been the death of
him. He told me himself, once--when apparently without design I
suggested such a possibility--that to lose Cecilia would be the death
of him. I knew that he spoke the truth--such consequences I could not
and would not take upon myself."
"Cecilia?" repeated Dernburg with a gleam of suspicion. "Quite right.
She too is deeply concerned in this thing. What part did she play in
the affair? What did she know about it?"
"Nothing--not the least thing! She lived unsuspectingly by her
brother's side, deeming him a rich man. Under this impression she
engaged herself to Eric, and it was here at Odensburg that she became
aware of something dark and mysterious in her brother's past. What it
was I did not have the heart to tell her, but the manner in which she
took my hints gave me convincing proof that not the slightest blame was
to be attached to her."
Dernburg's deep sigh of relief betrayed the dread that he had
entertained lest a shadow might also fall upon his daughter-in-law. A
hardly audible "God be thanked!" came from his lips.
Egbert drew out a pocket-book, and took from it a number of papers.
"Here is a letter from Count Almers, who gives his word of honor for
the assertion that he made that time; here are accounts as to what
happened at the death of the old Baron, and here information from Nice.
Eric must have been blind, or they purposely kept him aloof from other
society, else he would have known that his brother already had the
reputation of being a doubtful character throughout the bounds of Nice,
being looked upon as a professional gambler. How he managed to force
his 'luck,' was suspected here and there, perhaps, but not to be
proved, and that gave him the possibility of maintaining an appearance
of respectability."
Dernburg took the proffered papers and stepped at once to the table,
whereon stood a bell.
"First of all I must hear Wildenrod himself! You will not shrink, I
hope, from repeating your accusation in his presence?"
"I have just done that--I came from his room. It was a last effort to
end the matter in a way that would spare his exposure, but it failed.
The Baron knows that I am revealing all this to you, at this hour--he
has not followed me to answer for himself."
"Never mind, he is to render me an account!" Dernburg pressed on the
bell and called to the servant who entered: "Tell Baron von Wildenrod
to come to me, please, at once."
The servant went; along, awkward silence ensued. Nothing was heard but
the rustling of the papers that Dernburg opened one after the other and
looked through: he turned ever paler as he proceeded. Egbert tarried,
silent and motionless, in his place. Thus the minutes elapsed. It was
long, very long, before the door was opened, and then it was not
Wildenrod who entered but the servant who returned, saying:
"The Baron is not in his rooms, nor, indeed, anywhere about the house.
Perhaps he has already ridden away."
"Ridden away? Where to?"
"Apparently to the city. He ordered the horses put to the carriage and
that it should drive to the back gate of the park. He must be there by
this time."
A silent nod dismissed the servant, and then Dernburg's self-control
gave way. He sank into a chair, and a cry of despair escaped his lips.
"My child! my poor, poor Maia! She loves this man with all her heart."
There was something appalling in the grief of this man, who with lofty
brow went into a battle that threatened his existence, but who seemed
unable to bear the misfortune of his darling.
Egbert gently approached and stooped over him. "Herr Dernburg," said
he, with trembling voice.
A fierce and repellent gesture waved him back. "Go! What do you here?"
"Eric is dead, and you have to spurn from you the man who was to take
his place. Give me only this once more--only for this hour--the right
that I once possessed."
"No," cried Dernburg, drawing himself up, and his features were again
as cold and hard as ever. "You have renounced me and mine; you have
forfeited the right to endure suffering with us. Go over to your
friends and comrades, to whom you have sacrificed me, and who now rage
around me like a pack of hounds just let loose. To them you belong;
there is your place! They have treated me ill, but you worst of all,
because you stood next my heart. From you I want no sympathy and no
support--I will go to destruction first."
He walked into the adjacent library and slammed the door to behind him.
The bridge between him and Egbert was broken.