In the forenoon of a cool but sunny May day, Herr Frank was returning
from L---- whither he had been to fetch his daughter and son-in-law.
Professor Fabian and his wife were seated in the carriage with him. The
former's new academical dignity seemed to agree right well with him; he
looked in better health and spirits than ever. His young wife, in
consideration of her husband's position, had assumed a certain
stateliness of demeanour which she did her very best to maintain, and
which was in comic contrast to her fresh, youthful appearance.
Fortunately, she often fell out of her role, and became true Gretchen
Frank once more; but at this moment, it was the Professor's wife who
sat by her father's side with much gravity of deportment, giving him an
account of their life in J----.
"Yes, papa, it will be a great relief to us to come and stay with you
for a time," said she, passing her handkerchief over her blooming face,
which certainly did not look as though it needed relief. "We University
people have so many claims upon us. We are expected to interest
ourselves in every possible subject, and our position requires so much
from us. We Germanists stand well to the front in the scientific
movement of the age."
"You certainly appear to stand very much to the front," said the
steward, who was listening with some wonder. "Tell me, child, which of
you really fills the professorial chair at J----, your husband or
yourself?"
"The wife belongs to the husband, so it comes to the same," declared
Gretchen. "Without me Emile never could have accepted the post,
distinguished scholar as he is. Professor Weber said to him the day
before yesterday in my presence, 'My worthy colleague, you are a
perfect treasure to the University, as regards science, but for all the
details of practical life you are worth absolutely nothing. In all such
matters you are quite at sea. It is a mercy your young wife is so well
able to supply your deficiencies.' He is quite right, is he not, Emile?
Without me you would be lost in a social point of view."
"Altogether," assented the Professor, full of faith, and with a look of
grateful tenderness at his wife.
"Do you hear, papa, he owns it," said she, turning to her father.
"Emile is one of the few men who know how to appreciate their wives.
Hubert never would have done that. By-the-by, how is the Assessor? Is
not he made Counsellor even yet?"
"No, not yet, and he is so wrath at it that he has given in his
resignation. At the beginning of next month he quits the service of the
State."
"What a loss for all the future ministries of our country!" laughed
Gretchen. "He had quite made up his mind he should come into office
some day, and he used to practice the ministerial bearing when he was
sitting in our parlour. Is he still tormented with the fixed idea of
discovering traitors and conspirators everywhere?"
Frank laughed in his turn. "I really don't know, for I have hardly seen
him since your engagement was announced, and never once spoken to him.
He has laid my house under a ban ever since that time. You might
certainly have told him the news in a more considerate manner. When he
comes over to Wilicza, which does not happen often, he stops down in
the village, and never comes near the manor-farm. I have no
transactions with him now that Herr Nordeck has taken the direction of
the police into his own hands--but the Assessor may pass for a rising
man nowadays: he inherited the greater part of Schwarz's fortune. The
Professor died a few months ago."
"Of bilious fever, probably," put in Mrs. Fabian.
"Gretchen!" remonstrated her husband, in a tone between entreaty and
reproof.
"Well, he was of a very bilious temperament. He went just as much into
that extreme as you do into the other with your mildness and
forbearance. Just fancy, papa, directly after his nomination to J----,
Emile wrote to the Professor, and assured him that he was quite
innocent of all the disputes which had taken place at the University.
As a matter of course, the letter was never acknowledged,
notwithstanding which, my lord and husband feels himself called upon,
now that this disagreeable but distinguished person has betaken himself
to a better world, to write a grandiloquent article on him, deploring
the loss to science, just as if the deceased had been his dearest
friend."
"I did it from conviction, my dear," said Fabian, in his gentle,
earnest way. "The Professor's ungenial temper too often acted as a
hindrance to that full recognition of his talents which was due to
them. I felt it incumbent on me to recall to the mind of the public
what a loss science has sustained in him. Whatever may have been his
defects of manner, he was a man of rare merit."
Gretchen's lip curled contemptuously.
"Well, he may have been; I'm sure I don't mind. But now to a more
important matter. So Herr Nordeck is not in Wilicza?"
"No," replied the steward, laconically. "He has gone on a journey."
"Yes, we know that. He wrote to my husband not long ago, and said he
was thinking of going over to Altenhof, and that he should probably
spend a few weeks there. Just now, when he has his hands so full of
business at Wilicza!--it seems strange!"
"Waldemar has always looked on Altenhof as his real home," said the
Professor. "For that reason, he never could make up his mind to sell
the estate which Herr Witold bequeathed to him by his will. It is
natural he should wish to revisit the place where all his youth was
passed."
Gretchen looked highly incredulous. "You ought to know your former
pupil better. He is not likely to be troubled by any sentimental
reminiscences of his youth at a time when he is engaged in the
tremendous task of Germanising his Slavonian estates. No, there is
something in the background, his attachment to Countess Morynska,
probably. Perhaps he has resolved to put all thoughts of her out of his
head--it would be the wisest thing he could do! These Polish women
sometimes get quite absurd and irrational with their national
fanaticism, and Countess Wanda is to the full as great a fanatic as any
of them. Not to give her hand to the man she loves, just because he is
a German! I would have taken my Emile, if he had been a Hottentot! and
now he is always fretting over the supposed unhappiness of his dear
Waldemar. He seriously believes that that personage has a heart like
other human beings, which I, for one, emphatically deny."
"Gretchen!" said the Professor again, this time with an attempt to look
severe, in which laudable effort he signally failed.
"Emphatically!" repeated his young wife. "When a man has a grief at his
heart, he shows it one way or another. Herr Nordeck is as busy as
possible, making such a stir here in Wilicza that all L---- is clapping
its hands to its ears, and when he acted as best man at my wedding,
there was not a trace of trouble to be seen in him."
"I have already told you that extreme reserve is one of Waldemar's
chief characteristics," declared Fabian. "This passion might sap and
utterly ruin him without his betraying anything of it to the eyes of
others."
"A man who does not show it when he is crossed in love, can't have any
very deep feelings," persisted Gretchen. "It was plain enough in you
ten paces off. The last few weeks before our engagement, when you
thought I was going to marry the Assessor, you went about with the most
woe-begone countenance. I was dreadfully sorry for you; but you were so
shy, there was no making you speak out."
The steward had abstained from all part in this conversation, being,
apparently, fully taken up by an examination of the trees by the
wayside. The road, which ran for a short distance along the bank of the
river, became rather bad just at this place. The damage caused by the
late high tides had not yet been repaired, and in the present
dilapidated state of the quay, shaken by the constant wash of the
water, some hesitation might reasonably be felt at driving over it.
Frank, it is true, maintained that there was not the slightest danger,
adding that he had passed over that very spot on his outward journey;
but Gretchen did not place absolute reliance on these assurances. She
preferred getting out, and walking the short distance to the
neighbouring bridge. The gentlemen followed her example, and all three
set out, taking a higher footpath, while the carriage proceeded at a
slow pace over the quay below.
They were not the only travellers who considered caution the better
part of valour.
From the bridge a carriage was seen approaching, the occupant of which
appeared to share Gretchen's views. He called to the coachman to stop,
and alighted in his turn, just as Frank and his companions reached the
spot, and thus suddenly found themselves face to face with Herr
Assessor Hubert.
This unexpected meeting caused some painful embarrassment on either
side. The parties had not spoken since the day when the Assessor,
furious at the engagement so recently contracted, had rushed out
of the house, and the steward, under the impression that he had
lost his reason, had sent the Inspector to look after him; but
their acquaintance was of too old standing for them now to pass as
strangers--they all felt that. Frank was the first to recover himself.
He took the best possible way out of the difficulty by going up to the
Assessor as though nothing had happened, offering him his hand in the
most friendly manner, and expressing his pleasure at seeing him again
at last.
The Assessor stood erect and stiff, clothed in black from head to foot.
He had a crape band on his hat, and another on his arm. The family
celebrity was duly mourned, but the money inherited appeared to have
dropped some balm into the heart of the sorrowing nephew, for he looked
the very reverse of disconsolate. There was a peculiar expression on
his face to-day, an exalted self-satisfaction, a tranquil grandeur. He
seemed in the humour to forgive all offences, to make peace with his
kind--so, after a moment's hesitation, he took the offered hand, and
replied by a few polite words.
The Professor and Gretchen now came forward. Hubert cast one glance of
dark reproach at the young lady--who, in her little travelling-hat and
flowing veil, certainly looked charming enough to awaken regretful
feelings in the heart of her former adorer--bowed to her, and then
turned to her husband.
"Professor Fabian," said he, "you have sympathised with the great loss
which my family, and, with it, the whole scientific world, has
experienced. The letter you wrote to my uncle long ago convinced him
that you were blameless with regard to the intrigues which had been
directed against him, that you at least could recognise his great
merits without envy or jealousy. He expressed so much to me himself,
and did you ample justice. The eulogistic notice, which you have
dedicated to his memory, does you great honour; it has been a source of
consolation to his surviving relatives. I thank you in the name of the
family."
Fabian heartily pressed the speaker's hand, which the latter had
voluntarily extended towards him. His predecessor's hostile attitude
and the Assessor's grudge against him had weighed heavily on his soul,
innocent as he knew himself to be of the mortification endured by both.
He condoled with the afflicted nephew in terms of the sincerest
sympathy.
"Yes, at the University we all deeply regret the loss of Professor
Schwarz," said Gretchen; and she was hypocritical enough to offer, in
her turn, a long string of condolences on the death of a man whom she
had thoroughly detested, and whom, even in his grave, she could not
forgive for his criticism on the 'History of Teutonism.'
"And so you have really tendered your resignation?" asked the steward,
adverting to another topic. "You are leaving the service of the State,
Herr Assessor?"
"In a week," assented Hubert. "But, with respect to the title you give
me, Herr Frank, I must permit myself a slight correction. I ..." Here
followed a dramatic pause, far longer and more impressive than that
which in bygone days was intended to prelude his love declaration,
during which pause he looked at his auditors successively, as though to
prepare them for some most weighty intelligence; then, drawing a long
breath, he concluded, "I was yesterday promoted to the rank of
Counsellor."
"Thank goodness, at last!" said Gretchen, in a loud whisper, while her
husband caught hold of her arm in alarm, to warn her against further
imprudent utterances. Fortunately, Hubert had not heard the
exclamation. He received Frank's congratulations with a dignity
befitting the occasion, and then bowed graciously in reply to the good
wishes of the young couple. His placable frame of mind was now
explained. The new Counsellor stood high above all offences committed
against the former Assessor. He forgave all his enemies--he even
forgave the State, which had shown so tardy an appreciation of his
worth.
"The promotion will make no change in my determination," he continued,
it never having occurred to him that to this very determination he owed
his advancement. "The State sometimes finds out too late the value of
its servants; but the die is cast! I still, of course, fulfil the
functions of my former position, and in this, the last week of my
official activity, an important trust has been confided to me. I am now
on my way to W----."
"Across the frontier?" said Fabian, in surprise.
"Exactly. I have to consult with the authorities there relative to the
capture and reddition of a prisoner charged with high treason."
Gretchen gave her husband a look which said plainly: "There, he is
beginning again already! Even the Counsellorship has not cured him of
it"--but Frank had grown attentive all at once; he disguised any
interest he might feel in the subject, however, and merely remarked in
a careless, indifferent way--
"I thought the insurrection was at an end."
"But there are conspiracies on foot still," cried Hubert, eagerly. "A
striking proof of this is now before us. You, probably, are not aware
as yet that Count Morynski, the leader, the soul of the whole
revolution, has escaped from prison."
Fabian started, and his wife evinced a lively surprise; but the steward
only said quietly, "Impossible!"
The new Counsellor shrugged his shoulders. "It is, unfortunately, no
longer any secret. The fact is known already all through L----, where
Wilicza and Rakowicz still form the centre of general interest. Of
course, Wilicza is beyond suspicion now, under Herr Nordeck's energetic
rule; but Rakowicz is the residence of the Princess Baratowska, and I
maintain that that woman is a source of danger to the whole province.
There will be no peace so long as she remains in the land. Heaven knows
whom she may now have stirred up to rescue her brother. Some reckless
madman it must have been, who sets no store by his life. The prisoners
under sentence of deportation are most closely guarded. Notwithstanding
this, the accessory has, or the accessories have, managed to establish
communication with the Count, and to furnish him with the means of
escape. They have found their way into the interior of the fortress,
have reached the very walls of his prison. Traces have been found which
show that the fugitive was there received by them and conveyed past
posts and sentries, over fortifications and ramparts--how is still an
enigma. Half the sentinels on duty must have been bribed. The whole
fort is in commotion at the unheard-of boldness of the enterprise.
Scouts have been out all over the neighbourhood for the last ten days,
but no clue has as yet been found."
Fabian at first had merely listened with some interest to Hubert's
story, but as he heard such repeated mention of the amazing boldness of
the undertaking, he began to be uneasy. A vague presentiment arose in
his mind. He was about to put a hasty question, but just in time he met
a warning look from his father-in-law. That look distinctly forbade him
to speak. The Professor was silent, but his heart quailed within him.
Gretchen had not noticed this dumb intelligence between the two; she
was following the tale with naive and eager attention. Hubert went on:
"The fugitives cannot be far off, for the escape was discovered almost
immediately. The Count has not yet passed the frontier, that is
certain, and it is equally sure that he will make for it and attempt to
get over on to German territory, where he would be in less danger. He
will probably turn his steps to Rakowicz in the first place, Wilicza,
thank God, being now closed to all such scheming plots and intrigues,
though Herr Nordeck does not happen to be there just at present."
"No," said the steward, speaking with much decision. "He is over at
Altenhof."
"I know; he told the President he was going there when he called to
take leave of him. This absence of his will spare him much trouble and
annoyance. It would be very painful to him to see his uncle captured
and given up, as he will be beyond a doubt."
"What, you would give him up?" cried Gretchen, impetuously.
Hubert looked at her in astonishment.
"Of course; he is a criminal, convicted of treason to a friendly State.
Its Government will insist upon his being delivered up."
The girl looked from her husband to her father; she could not
understand how it was they neither of them joined in her
expostulations, but Frank's eyes were fixed on something in the far
distance, and Fabian uttered not a syllable.
Brave Gretchen, however, was not so easily intimidated. She indulged in
a series of no very flattering comments on the 'friendly State,' and
even directed some very pointed remarks against the Government of her
own land. Hubert listened in horror. For the first time he thanked God
in his heart that he had not made of this young lady a Counsellor's
consort. She was proving herself unfit to be the wife of a loyal
official. There was a taint of treason in her too!
"In your place, I should have refused the mission," she concluded at
last. "Just on the eve of your retirement, you could very well have
done so. I would not have closed my official career by delivering up a
poor hunted captive into the hands of his tormentors."
"The Government has named me Counsellor," replied Hubert, solemnly
emphasising the title, "and as such I shall do my duty. My State
commands, I obey--but I see that my carriage has got safely over the
critical spot. Madam, adieu; adieu, gentlemen. Duty calls me away!" and
with a bow and a flourish, he left them.
"Did you hear, Emile?" asked the young lady, when they were once more
seated in the carriage. "They have made him a Counsellor just a week
before he retires, so that he shall have no time to do anything stupid
in his new capacity. Well, he can't do much harm in future with the
mere title!"
She went on in this way, discussing her old friend's advancement and
Count Morynski's escape at great length, but received only short and
unsatisfactory answers. Her father and husband had become remarkably
monosyllabic, and it was fortunate that they soon reached the Wilicza
domain, for the conversation began to flag hopelessly.
The Professor's wife found many occasions for surprise, some even for
annoyance, during the course of the day. What perplexed her most, was
her father's behaviour. He was undoubtedly pleased to have them there;
he had taken her in his arms that morning and welcomed them both with
such hearty warmth, yet it seemed as though their coming, which had
been announced to him by a telegram the day before, was not quite
opportune, as though he would willingly have deferred it a little. He
declared himself to be overwhelmed with business, and appeared indeed
to be constantly occupied. Soon after they got home, he took his
son-in-law with him into his room, and they remained nearly an hour
closeted there together.
Gretchen's indignation waxed hot within her on finding that she was
neither included in this secret conference, nor enlightened as to its
nature by her husband. She set herself to watch and to think, and
suddenly many little things, which she had noticed during the journey,
recurred to her mind. Skilfully putting these together, she arrived at
a result, the correctness of which, to her mind, admitted of no doubt.
After dinner, the husband and wife remained alone together in the
parlour. The Professor paced up and down the room in a manner very
unusual to him, striving in vain to hide some inward uneasiness, but
too much absorbed by his thoughts to notice the silent fit which had
overtaken his young companion, generally so animated. Gretchen sat on
the sofa, and watched him for some time. At last she advanced to the
attack.
"Emile," she began, with a solemnity not exceeded by Hubert's, "Emile,
I am shamefully treated here!"
Fabian looked up, greatly shocked.
"You! Good Heavens, by whom?"
"By my papa, and, what is worst of all, by my own husband."
The Professor was at his wife's side in a moment. He took her hand in
his, but she drew it away very ungraciously.
"Shamefully!" she repeated. "You show no confidence in me whatever. You
have secrets from me. You treat me like a child, me, a married woman,
wife of a Professor of the J---- University! It is abominable!"
"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, timidly, and then stopped.
"What was papa saying to you just now, when you were in his room?"
enquired Gretchen. "Why do you not confide in me? What are these
secrets between you two? Do not deny it, Emile, there are secrets
between you."
The Professor denied nothing. He looked down, and seemed extremely
oppressed and uncomfortable. His wife darted a severe, rebuking glance
at him.
"Well, I will tell _you_, then. There is a new plot on foot at Wilicza,
a conspiracy, as Hubert would say, and papa is in it this time, and he
has dragged you into it too. The whole thing is connected with Count
Morynski's rescue ..."
"Hush, child, for Heaven's sake!" cried Fabian in alarm; but Gretchen
paid no heed to his adjuration; she went on quite undisturbed.
"And Herr Nordeck is not at Altenhof, that is pretty sure, or you would
not be in such a state of anxiety. What is Count Morynski to you, or
his escape either? But your beloved Waldemar is concerned in it, and
that is why you are in such a flutter. It has been he who has carried
off the Count--that is just the sort of thing he would do."
The Professor was struck dumb with astonishment at his wife's powers of
discernment and combination. He was much impressed with her cleverness,
but a little disturbed to hear her count off on her fingers those
secrets which he had believed to be impenetrable.
"And no one says a word to me of it," continued Gretchen, with
increasing irritation, "not a word, although you know very well I can
keep a secret, though it was I, all by myself, who saved the Castle
that time by sending the Assessor over to Janowo. The Princess and
Countess Wanda will know everything. The Polish ladies always do
know everything. _Their_ husbands and fathers make confidants of
them--_they_ are allowed to take a part in politics, even in
conspiracies; but we poor German women are always oppressed and kept in
the background. We are humiliated, and treated like slaves ..." Here
the Professor's wife was so overcome with the sense of her slavery and
humiliation that she began to sob.
"Gretchen, my dear Gretchen, don't cry, I beseech you. You know that I
have no secrets from you in anything concerning myself; but there are
others implicated in this, and I have given my word to speak of it to
no one, not even to you."
"How can a married man give his word not to tell his wife!" cried
Gretchen, still sobbing. "It does not count for anything; no one has a
right to ask it of him."
"Well, but I have given it," said Fabian in despair, "so calm yourself.
I cannot bear to see you in tears. I ..."
"Well, this is a pretty specimen of petticoat government," exclaimed
Frank, who had come in meanwhile unnoticed, and had been a witness of
the little scene. "When she talks of oppression and slavery it seems to
me my young lady makes a mistake in the person. And you can put up with
that, Emile? Don't be offended--you may be a most remarkable scholar,
but, as a husband, I must say you play a sorry part."
He could not have come to his son-in-law's aid more effectually than by
these last words. Gretchen had no sooner heard them than she went over
to her husband's side.
"Emile is an excellent husband," she declared, indignantly, the source
of her tears suddenly drying up. "You need not reproach him, papa; it
is right and proper that a husband should have some feeling for his
wife."
Frank laughed. "Don't be so hasty, child, I meant no harm. Well, you
have put yourself out quite needlessly. As you have guessed so near the
truth, we must take you into the plot now, we can't help ourselves.
News has just arrived ..."
"From Waldemar?" inquired the Professor, interrupting him with eager
anxiety.
His father-in-law shook his head.
"No, from Rakowicz. We cannot hear from Herr Nordeck. He will either
come or ... or we must make up our minds to the worst. But the Princess
and her niece are to arrive in the course of the afternoon, and as soon
as they are there, you must go up to the Castle. It may look strange
that the two ladies, who have not been near Wilicza for a year, should
come over just now so unexpectedly, and should remain there alone in
the absence of the master. Your presence will give a more harmless
colour to the business; it will seem quite a natural coincidence. You
must pay a visit to the mother of your former pupil, and present
Gretchen as your wife. That will satisfy the servant-folk. The
ladies know the exact state of the case. I shall ride over to the
border-station, and wait there with the horses, as has been agreed. And
now, child, your husband must tell you all the rest, I have no time to
lose."
He went, and Gretchen sat down on the sofa again to receive her
husband's communications, well-pleased that she was now to be placed on
a par with Polish women, and admitted to take part in a conspiracy.
Evening had come, or rather night. All was quiet and asleep at the
manor-farm, and up at the Castle the servants had been despatched to
bed as early as possible. Some windows on the first story were still
lighted up, those of the green salon and the two adjoining rooms. In
one of the latter stood the tea-table, which had been prepared as
usual--any change might have excited surprise below stairs--but the
meal was naturally a mere form. Neither the Princess nor Wanda was to
be induced to take any refreshment, and even Professor Fabian turned
rebellious, and refused to have any tea. He declared he could not
swallow a drop, when his wife urged on him the necessity of taking some
support. She had brought him to the table almost by force, and was
administering a low-toned but most impressive lecture.
"Don't be so anxious, Emile. I shall have you ill with the agitation,
and the two ladies in there as well. Countess Wanda looks as pale as a
corpse, and the Princess's face is enough to frighten one. Neither of
them utters a word. I can't bear this state of mute suspense any
longer, and it will be a relief to them to be alone. We will leave them
together for half an hour."
Fabian assented, but pushed away the tea-cup she had forced upon him.
"I can't think why you are all in such despair. If Herr Nordeck has
declared that he will be here with the Count before midnight, he will
be here, even if a whole regiment is posted on the border ready to take
him. That man can manage anything. There must be something in the
superstition of his Wilicza people who one and all hold him to be
bullet-proof. He has just gone through dangers, only to hear of which
makes one's hair stand on end, and gone through them unharmed. He will
get safely across the frontier, you'll see."
"God grant it!" sighed Fabian. "If only that fellow Hubert were not
over at W----, precisely to-day of all days. He would recognise
Waldemar and the Count in any disguise. Suppose he should meet them!"
"Hubert has been doing stupid things all his life, he won't be likely
to do a clever one now in the last week of his official career. It is
not in him," said Gretchen contemptuously. "But he is right in one
thing. One no sooner sets foot in this Wilicza than one finds one's
self in the midst of a conspiracy. It must be in the air, I think, for
I don't understand else how we Germans allow ourselves to be brought
into it, how it is we are made to conspire in favour of these Poles,
Herr Nordeck, papa, even you and I. Well, I hope this is the last plot
Wilicza will ever see!"
The Princess and Wanda had remained in the adjoining room. Nothing had
been changed, either here, or in any of the other apartments, since she
had left them a year before; yet there was a desolate, uninhabited look
about the house, which seemed to say that the mistress had been long
absent. The lamp, which stood on a side-table, only lighted up a part
of the dark and lofty chamber; the rest of it lay altogether in shadow.
In this deep shadow sat the Princess, motionless, her eyes fixed on
vacancy. It was the very place in which she had sat on the morning of
Leo's fatal visit, of that visit which had resulted in so terrible a
catastrophe. The mother struggled hard against the recollections which
assailed her on all sides at the return to a place so associated with
her most cruel griefs. What had become of those proud, far-reaching
plans, of those hopes and projects which had all found their centre
here. They lay in ruins. Bronislaus' rescue was the one concession
wrung from Fate, and even this rescue was but half achieved. Perhaps at
this instant he and Waldemar were paying with their lives for their
attempt to consummate it.
Wanda stood in the recess of the centre window, looking out with a
fixed, strained gaze, as though her eyes could pierce through the
darkness reigning without. She had opened the window, but she did not
feel how sharply the night air smote her, did not know that she
shivered beneath its breath. For the Countess Morynska this hour
contained no remembrance of the past, with all its shattered plans and
hopes; all her thoughts were concentrated on the coming event, as she
waited in an anguish of expectation and deadly suspense. She no longer
trembled for her father alone, but for Waldemar also--_chiefly_ for
Waldemar, indeed, her heart maintaining its rights, spite of
everything.
It was a cool and rather stormy night; there was no moonlight, and the
stars, which here and there twinkled forth in the overcast sky, soon
disappeared again behind the clouds. All around the Castle there was
peace, deep peace; the park lay silent and dark, and, in the pauses
between the gusts of wind, each falling leaf might be heard.
Suddenly Wanda started, and a half-suppressed exclamation escaped her
lips. In an instant the Princess stood by her side.
"What is it? Did you see anything?"
"No; but I thought I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance."
"Mere fancy! You have so often thought you heard it. It was nothing."
Yet the Princess followed her niece's example, and leaned far out of
the window. The two women waited, listening breathlessly. Yes, a sound
was borne over to them certainly; but it was distant and indistinct,
and now again the wind rose, and wafted it from them altogether. Full
ten minutes passed in torturing suspense--then, at last, steps were
heard in one of the side avenues of the park, where there was an outlet
into the forest--careful steps, warily approaching, and their eyes,
strained to the uttermost, could discern through the darkness two
figures issuing from among the trees.
Fabian rushed into the room. He had been watching too.
"They are there," he whispered, hardly able to restrain his emotion.
"They are coming up the side steps. The little door leading to the park
is open. I went to see not half an hour ago."
Wanda would have flown to meet the new-comers, but Gretchen, who had
followed her husband, held her back.
"Stay here, Countess Morynska," she entreated. "We are not alone in the
Castle. There is no safety but in your own rooms."
The Princess said not a word, but grasped her niece's hand to check the
imprudent impulse. They were not long kept on the rack now. Only a few
minutes--then the door flew open, and Count Morynski stood on the
threshold, Waldemar's tall figure appearing in the background. Almost
in the same instant Wanda lay in her father's arms.
Fabian and Gretchen had tact enough to withdraw, feeling that, after
all, they were but strangers, and that the family should be left alone.
But Waldemar, too, seemed to reckon himself among the strangers, for,
instead of going in, he closed the door behind the Count, and stayed
himself in the outer room. Turning to his old friend and tutor, he held
out his hand to him with hearty warmth.
"Well, we have got here in safety," said he, drawing a deep breath.
"The principal danger, at least, is over. We stand on German soil."
Fabian clasped the offered hand in both his own. "Oh, Waldemar, what a
venture for you to plunge into! Suppose you had been discovered!"
Waldemar smiled. "It does not do to suppose anything in such an
undertaking. A man, who wants to cross an abyss, must not think of
turning giddy, or he is lost. I only took such possibilities into
account so far as to provide against them. I kept my aim steadily in
view, and looked neither to the right nor to the left. You see my plan
has answered."
He threw off his cloak, drew a revolver from his breast-pocket, and
laid it on the table. Gretchen, who was standing by, retreated a step.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear young lady," said Nordeck, reassuringly.
"The weapon has not been used. No blood has been spilled in this
business, though at first it did not seem likely we should get through
it without. We found unexpected succour in time of need from our friend
the Assessor Hubert."
"From the new Counsellor?" exclaimed Gretchen, in astonishment.
"Yes,--is he made Counsellor? Well, he can air his new dignity over in
Poland. We came across the frontier with his carriage and papers."
The Professor and his wife uttered a simultaneous expression of
surprise.
"He certainly did not render us the service voluntarily," went on
Nordeck. "On the contrary, he will not fail to call us highway robbers;
but necessity knows no law. Life and liberty were at stake, and we did
not stay long to consider. Yesterday at noon, we arrived at an inn in a
Polish village, not much more than a couple of leagues from the
frontier. We knew that they were on our track, and we were anxious to
get over on to German territory at any price; but the host warned us
not to continue our flight before dusk. He said it was impossible, the
whole country was up after us. The man was a Pole; his two sons had
served under Count Morynski during the insurrection; the whole family
would have given their lives for their former chief. The warning was
not to be disregarded, so we stayed. Towards evening, when our horses
were standing ready saddled for us in the stables, the Assessor Hubert
suddenly made his appearance in the village on his way back from W----.
His carriage had met with some slight accident, which was to be
repaired as speedily as possible. He had left it at the village smithy,
and had come on to the inn with the main intention of finding out
whether any traces of us had been found. As he was unacquainted with
the language, his Polish coachman had to act as interpreter--he had
brought the man on with him for this purpose, instead of leaving him
with the carriage. The landlord, of course, declared he knew nothing.
We were hidden in the upper story, and could distinctly hear the
Assessor declaiming in his favourite way about traitors and criminals
fleeing from justice, adding that the pursuers were already on their
track. In this way he was kind enough to disclose to us the fact that
we really were pursued, and that it was known which way we had taken.
He had even heard there were two of us, and that we were mounted. Now
we had no choice left but to get away as quickly as possible. The
imminence of the danger inspired me with a happy thought. I transmitted
the necessary instructions to the landlord through his wife, and he
understood them at once. The Assessor was informed that it would take a
full hour to mend his carriage. He was very wrath at first, but after a
time came to the conclusion that he had better stay at the inn and have
some supper, as was suggested to him. Meanwhile we were out of the back
door, and off to the smithy. The landlord's son had taken care that the
carriage should be ready for us. I got in, my uncle"--this was the
first time Waldemar had so designated the Count--"my uncle, who had
passed for my servant throughout the journey, took the reins, and we
drove out of the village on the other side.
"In the carriage I made an invaluable discovery. The Assessor's
overcoat lay on the back seat with his pocket-book and all his papers
which this prudent official had either confidingly left in it, or
forgotten--a fresh proof of his eminent qualifications for the service
of the State. Unfortunately, with my gigantic stature, I could make no
use of his passport, but among the other papers I found many that were
likely to be of use to us. For instance, a warrant from the L----
police for Count Morynski's arrest, even upon German soil, a letter
empowering the Assessor to consult with the authorities at W---- as to
the best means of attaining this object, together with several notices
from these authorities as to the probable direction we had taken, and
the measures already adopted for our capture. We were unscrupulous
enough to turn these documents, destined for our confusion, to our own
advantage. The Assessor had said at the inn that he had come through
A---- that morning. There the carriage would no doubt be recognised,
and the change in its occupants remarked, so we made a _detour_ round
by the next military post, and drove up quite openly as Assessor Hubert
and his coachman. I showed the necessary papers, and demanded to be let
through as speedily as possible, alleging that I was on the track of
the fugitives, and that there was pressing need for haste. That plea
was irresistible. Nobody asked for our passports. We were considered as
sufficiently identified, and so got safely across the frontier. A mile
or two from it on this side we left the carriage on the high road in
the neighbourhood of a village where it is sure to be found, and
reached the Wilicza woods on foot. At the border-station we found the
steward waiting with horses, according to previous agreement. We
mounted, rode off at full speed, and here we are."
Gretchen, who had been listening with eager interest, was highly
delighted at the trick played on her former suitor, but Fabian's good
nature would not allow of his feeling any such mischievous pleasure. On
the contrary, he asked in quite an anxious tone--
"And poor Hubert?"
"He is over yonder in Poland without his carriage or papers of
identification," said Waldemar, drily. "He may think himself lucky if
he is not taken for a traitor himself this time. It is quite on the
cards. If our pursuers really do reach the inn to-night, they will find
two strangers with their horses ready saddled, and the landlord will
take care not to clear up any possible mistake which might favour our
flight. The coachman, whose every feature betrays the Pole, and who,
moreover, is rather an imposing-looking person, might at need pass for
a nobleman in disguise, and the Assessor for his accomplice and
liberator. The latter cannot prove his identity, he does not speak the
language, and our neighbours are not in the habit of using much
ceremony in the matter of arrests, or of adhering very strictly to
prescribed forms. Perhaps the eminent Counsellor is now enjoying the
little treat he wished to give us on our arrival at Wilicza, that of
being taken up as a 'suspicious character' and transported handcuffed
to the nearest town."
"That would indeed be an incomparable close to his official career,"
laughed Gretchen, disregarding her husband's grave look.
"But enough now of this Hubert," broke off Waldemar. "I shall see you
again when I come back? I am here at the Castle _incognito_ to-night.
It will be some days before I officially return from Altenhof, where I
am supposed to be all the time. Now I must go and see my mother and my
cousin. The first agitation of the meeting will be over now."
He opened the door, and went into the next room where his family was
assembled. Count Morynski was seated in an easy-chair, still holding
his daughter in his arms, as she kneeled before him, resting her head
on his shoulder. The Count had aged considerably. The thirteen months
of his imprisonment seemed to have been so many years to him. His hair
and beard had grown quite white, and his face showed indelible traces
of the sufferings he had undergone through captivity and sickness, and,
above all, through the knowledge of his people's fate. He had been a
robust and energetic man when, little more than a year ago, he had
taken leave of his sister and daughter at Wilicza; he came back now old
and broken, his appearance telling plainly of health irremediably
shattered.
The Princess, who was standing by the Count's side, was the first to
notice her son's entrance. She went forward to meet him.
"So you have come at last, Waldemar," she said, reproachfully. "We
thought you were going to abandon us altogether."
"I did not wish to disturb your first meeting," said Waldemar.
"Do you still insist on being as a stranger to us? You have been so
long enough. My son"--and the Princess, deeply moved, held out her arms
to him--"my son, I thank you."
Waldemar was folded to his mother's heart for the first time since his
childhood, and in that long and ardent embrace the bitter estrangement
of years gave way; all that had once been the cause of coldness and
hostility between them sank out of sight. Here, too, a barrier was
torn down, an invisible barrier, but one productive of much evil, which
had too long stood between two human beings bound to each other by the
most sacred ties of blood. At length the son had entered into his
birthright, had won for himself his mother's love.
The Count now rose in his turn, and held out his hand to his deliverer.
"You do well to thank him, Hedwiga," said he; "as yet you do not know
all that he has risked in my behalf."
"The venture was not so great as it seemed," Waldemar replied, lightly.
"I had smoothed the way beforehand. Wherever there are prisons, bribery
is possible. Without that golden key I should never have made my way
into the fortress, still less should we have forced a passage out."
Wanda stood by her father, still clinging to his arm as though she
feared he might be torn from her again. She alone had spoken no word of
thanks, but her eyes had sought Waldemar's as she turned to him on his
entrance, and their glance must have been more eloquent than words. He
seemed satisfied, and made no attempt to approach her more directly.
"The danger is not quite over yet," he said, turning to the Count
again. "We have it unfortunately in black and white that even here you
are threatened with imprisonment and extradition. At the present moment
you are safe at Wilicza. Frank has promised to keep watch for us, and
you have urgent need of a few hours' rest, but to-morrow morning must
see us on the road to S----.
"You will not take the direct route to France or England then?" said
the Princess.
"No, time is too precious, and that is precisely the route they will
expect us to choose. We must make for the sea. S---- is the nearest
port--we can be there by to-morrow evening. I have arranged everything.
An English ship has been lying in harbour for the last month, of which
I have secured to myself the sole disposal. She is ready to put to sea
at any moment, and will take you straight to England, uncle. From
thence, France, Switzerland, Italy may easily be reached. You can take
up your abode where you will. Once out on the open sea, and you are
safe."
"And you, my dear Waldemar?" His uncle now addressed him in the
affectionate tone he had so long reserved for his younger brother.
"Will you pay no penalty for your boldness? Who can tell whether the
secret of my escape will be strictly kept? There are so many in it."
Waldemar smiled. "I certainly have been forced to give the lie to my
nature on this occasion, and to make confidences right and left.
Nothing could be done without it. Happily, all my confidants have
become my accessories; they cannot betray me without exposing
themselves. The rescue will be laid to my mother's charge, and
if, at some future time, reports of the truth get wind, well, we live
here on German territory. Count Morynski was neither accused nor
sentenced in this country, his rescue cannot therefore be here
accounted as a crime. It will seem natural enough that, in spite
of our political differences, I should stretch out my hand to save my
uncle--particularly when it is known that to that relationship another
has been added--that he has become my father also."
A quiver passed over Morynski's face at this reminder. He tried to
repress it, but in vain--it told of a pain he was unable to master. He
had long known of this love, which to him, as to his sister, had
appeared as a misfortune, almost as a crime. He, too, had fought
against it with all the means in his power, and, quite lately, had
endeavoured to withdraw Wanda from its influence. He had acquiesced
when she resolved on going with him to almost certain destruction; he
had accepted her offer with the one view of preventing this marriage.
It was a heavy sacrifice--it cost him a great struggle with those
national prejudices, that national hatred, which had been the ruling
principle of his life--but he looked at the man whose hand had led him
forth out of prison, who had risked life and freedom in order to win
back both for him--then he bent down to his daughter.
"Wanda," he said in a low voice.
Wanda looked up at him. Her father's face had never appeared to her so
weary, so sorrowful, as at this moment. She had been prepared to find
him altered, but she had not expected so terrible a change, and, as she
read in his eyes all that it cost him to give his consent, her own
personal wishes receded into the background, and the daughter's
passionate love burned up brightly within her.
"Not now, Waldemar," she implored, with a trembling voice. "You see
what my father has suffered, what he is still suffering. You cannot ask
me to leave him now when we have but just met. Let me stay with him for
a time, only for one year! You have preserved him from the worst of
all; but he has to go out among strangers, into banishment. Shall I,
can I let him go alone?"
Waldemar was silent. He had not courage to recall to Wanda the words
she had spoken at their last meeting. The sight of the Count's bowed
frame forbade any touch of anger, and pleaded powerfully in favour of
the daughter's prayer, but all the egotism of love rose up in revolt
against it. The young man had braved so much to earn for himself the
hand of the woman he loved, he could not bear that the reward should
longer be denied him. With contracted brow and lips tightly pressed
together, he stood, looking to the ground, when all at once the
Princess interfered.
"I will take any anxiety on your father's account from you, Wanda,"
said she. "I shall go with him."
Her listeners started in extreme surprise.
"What, Hedwiga?" asked the Count. "You think of going with me?"
"Into exile," concluded the Princess, with a steady voice. "It will be
no new thing to either of us, Bronislaus. We have tasted it before,
during long years. We will take the old fate on us again."
"Never," cried Waldemar, with kindling eyes. "I will never consent to
your leaving me, mother. Your place, in future, is here at Wilicza,
with your son."
"Who is busy imprinting on his land the mark of the German?"--the
Princess Baratowska's tone was almost severe in its earnestness. "No,
Waldemar, you underrate the Pole in me, if you think I could stay on in
Wilicza, in the Wilicza which is growing up under your rule. I have
given you a mother's love tardily but completely, and it will ever be
yours, though we part, though I go to a distance, and we only see each
other from time to time--but to stay here at your side, to look on day
by day while you overturn all that I have laboured to build up, to
give the lie to my whole past life by associating with your German
friends--on each occasion when our opposite opinions come into
collision to bow to your word of authority, that, my son, I cannot do,
that would be more than, strive as I might, I could accomplish. It
would rend asunder the newly formed ties between us, would call up the
old strife, the old bitterness again. So let me go, it will be best for
us all."
"I did not think any of the old bitterness would intrude upon this
hour," said Waldemar, with some reproach in his tone.
The Princess smiled sadly. "There is none in my heart against you, but
not a little, perhaps, against the Fate which has ordained our ruin.
Over the Morynski and Baratowski families the decree has gone forth.
With Leo one noble Polish house died out, which for centuries had shone
with lustre in the annals of our country. My brother is the last scion
of another. His name will soon be extinct, for Wanda is the last to
inherit it, and she will merge it in yours. Wanda is young, she loves
you--perhaps she may learn to forget, which to us would be impossible.
Life is before you, the future belongs to you--we have only the past."
"Hedwiga is right," spoke Count Morynski. "I cannot remain, and she
will not. The marriage with your father brought nothing but evil to
her, Waldemar, and it seems to me, as though no union between a Nordeck
and a Morynska could be productive of happiness. The disastrous cause
of discord, which proved so fatal to your parents, exists in your case
also. Wanda, too, is a child of our people. She cannot renounce her
race any more than you can yours. You are entering upon a hazardous
experiment in this marriage, but you have willed it, both of you--I
make no further opposition."
This was no very happy betrothal for the young pair. The mother's
suddenly announced departure, the father's resignation and ominous
warnings, cast a deep shade over the hour which generally fills two
youthful hearts with brightest sunshine. It really seemed as though
this passion, which had fought so hard a fight, had triumphed over so
many obstacles, were destined to know no joy.
"Come, Bronislaus," said the Princess, taking her brother's arm. "You
are wearied to death with the hasty ride and the agitation of the last
few days. You must rest till morning, if you are to find strength to
continue your journey. We will leave these two alone. They have hardly
spoken to each other yet, and they have so much to say!"
She left the room with the Count. Hardly had the door closed upon them
when the shadow vanished. With quick, impetuous tenderness Waldemar
threw his arms round his betrothed, and clasped her to his breast. He
had won her at last!
Fabian and his wife were still in the next room. Gretchen seemed much
put out, and cast many melancholy glances at the tea-table.
"How can people give way to their romantic feelings so as to forget all
the decent, orderly routine of life?" she observed. "The anxiety and
excitement are over now, and the joy of their first meeting too; they
might quietly sit down to table, but such an idea never occurs to one
of them. I could not persuade the Princess or Count Morynski to touch a
thing, but Countess Wanda must and shall have a cup of tea. I have just
made some fresh--she shall have it, whether she likes it or not. I will
just see whether she and Herr Nordeck are still in there in the salon.
You stay here, Emile."
Emile remained obediently in his place near the tea-urn, but the time
seemed rather long to him, for ten minutes, at least, elapsed, and his
wife did not return. The Professor began to feel uncomfortable; he felt
his presence to be quite superfluous, and yet he would so gladly have
made himself useful, like Gretchen, whose practical nature was never at
a loss; in order to be doing something, he took the ready filled cup of
tea, and carried it into the adjoining drawing-room. To his surprise,
he found it untenanted, except by his wife, who was standing before,
and very near to, the closed door of the Princess's study.
"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, balancing the cup in his hand with
as much anxious care, as if it had contained the most precious
life-elixir. "Dear Gretchen, I have brought the tea. I was afraid it
might be getting cold, if this went on much longer."
The young lady had narrowly escaped being caught in a most suspicious
attitude, namely, that of bending down with her eye to the keyhole.
Luckily, she had had time to raise herself quickly as her husband came
in. She took hold of him, cup and all, and led him back into the outer
room.
"Never mind, Emile. The Countess won't want any tea, and it will go on
ever so much longer. But you need not make yourself unhappy about your
beloved Waldemar any more. Things are going very well with him in
there, very well indeed. I'll own I did him a wrong--he has a heart
after all. That cold, stiff Nordeck is really capable of going down on
his knees and uttering the most ardent words of love. I never could
have believed it!"
"But, how do you know all this, dear child?" asked the Professor, who
in his innocence and erudition had never had anything to do with
keyholes. "You were outside."
Gretchen blushed crimson, but she recovered herself quickly, and said
with much decision--
"You know nothing about it, Emile, and it is not necessary you should.
As the tea is here all ready, we had better drink it ourselves."