A BETROTHAL.
Nearly four weeks had gone by, and July was approaching its close, when
President Nordheim returned to his mountain-villa. Meanwhile, the
engineer-in-chief, whose ill health had long necessitated his resigning
his position into Elmhorst's hands in all save the name, had died, and
there had been but one opinion as to the man who should succeed him;
the future son-in-law of the president, the engineer of the Wolkenstein
bridge, was unanimously chosen to fill the vacant post. He was thus at
the head of the huge undertaking now so near its completion.
Several hours after Nordheim's return he retired with Wolfgang to his
study, there to discuss the matter, which they had not done hitherto
save by letter. Both were well content.
"Your election was a mere form," said the president. "There was
no name save yours mentioned; nevertheless I congratulate you, Herr
Engineer-in-Chief."
Elmhorst smiled slightly, but with none of that proud
self-consciousness with which he had formerly achieved his appointment
as superintendent, and yet that had been only the starting-point of the
career the goal of which was now attained so brilliantly. A change had
taken place in him: he looked pale and depressed, and in the keen eyes,
whose depths had seemed so cold, there glowed from time to time a fire
which leaped to light, only to flicker unsteadily and then to be as
quickly extinguished. In conversation, too, he no longer preserved his
old deliberate composure; in spite of all his self-control the man
seemed to be consumed by some inward struggle, which did not permit him
to march forward to gratify his ambition without looking either to the
right or to the left,--some racking, tormenting struggle barred his
path.
"Thank you, sir," he replied. "I value highly the proof thus given me
of the confidence reposed in me, and I confess, besides, that I take
satisfaction in knowing that the completion of the work to which I have
given the best that is in me should be connected with my name."
"Do you set such a value on that?" Nordheim asked, indifferently.
"True, such an ambition is still natural at your age; but you will soon
outgrow it when loftier interests come to the fore."
"Loftier than the honour that attaches to the creation of a great
work?"
"More practical interests, I mean,--interests of more decisive
weight,--and it is precisely of them that I wish to speak with you. You
know that I have long cherished the desire to retire from the company
as soon as the railway shall be opened?"
"I do; you mentioned it to me some months ago, and surprised me
exceedingly. Why should you wish to retire from an undertaking which
you practically called into existence?"
"Because it no longer seems to me sufficiently profitable," the
president replied, coolly. "The costs of construction are very
heavy,--much heavier than I thought; in fact, there was no possibility
of foreseeing all the difficulties in our way, and then your
predecessor had such a mania for building with solidity. He sometimes
drove me to despair with that solidity of his; it was terribly costly."
"Excuse me, sir, but I share that same 'mania,'" Wolfgang declared,
with some emphasis.
"Of course. Hitherto you have been simply an engineer of the railway,
and it could make but little difference to you if it cost a few
millions more or less. But when in future you engage in such
undertakings as my son-in-law you will think very differently."
"On such points--never!"
"Oh, you must learn to do so. In this case we can specially emphasize
the admirable quality of the structure when the appraisement is made,
which will probably be this year. The stockholders must own the
railway; I have resolved upon that, and have already taken steps to
have it so arranged. My shares stand for millions where others have
invested tens of thousands at the most; I can consider myself the
practical proprietor of the entire concern. Consequently I can impose
my own conditions, and therefore I am especially glad to have you at
the head of affairs as engineer-in-chief; we need take no stranger into
counsel, but can work together."
"I am entirely at your service, sir, as you know; as matters stand, the
appraisement will be tolerably high."
"I hope so," Nordheim said, slowly and significantly. "Moreover, the
calculations are for the most part already made. They should be ready
long beforehand, and they demand the work of a thorough man of
business. I could not, therefore, call upon you to make them; you have
enough to do in the conduct of the technical part of the enterprise.
You will merely be called upon to review and approve the appraisement,
and in this regard I rely upon you absolutely, Wolfgang. The unbounded
confidence which you enjoy, as the result of your labours hitherto,
will make matters very easy for us."
Wolfgang looked somewhat puzzled; it was a matter of course that he
should do his duty and assist his father-in-law to the best of his
ability, but there seemed some other meaning hidden behind the
president's words: they sounded odd. There was no opportunity for
further explanation, however, for Nordheim looked at his watch and
arose.
"Four o'clock already; it will soon be dinner-time. Come, Wolfgang, we
must not keep the ladies waiting."
"You brought Waltenberg with you," Elmhorst said, as he also rose.
"Yes; he met me in Heilborn, and came over with me. His patience seems
to have been put to a hard test in these last four weeks. I cannot
understand the man. He is proud and self-willed, even arrogant in a
certain way, and yet he allows himself to be the victim of a girl's
caprice. I mean to have a serious talk with my niece. The matter must
be decided."
Meanwhile, they had passed through the adjoining room and entered the
drawing-room, where a servant was employed in raising the curtains,
which had been drawn down on account of the sun. Nordheim asked if the
ladies were in the garden.
"Only the Baroness Thurgau and Herr Waltenberg," was the reply.
"Fraeulein Nordheim is in her room, where the Herr Doctor is paying her
a visit."
"Ah, the new physician whom you have discovered," said the president,
turning to Wolfgang. "One of your early friends, I think you told me.
He certainly seems to understand the matter, for Alice has changed
greatly for the better in a short time. I was quite surprised by her
appearance and her unusual sprightliness; the doctor seems to have
worked wonders. What is the name of this Oberstein AEsculapius? You
forgot to mention it in your letters."
Wolfgang had purposely avoided doing so, but he felt no longer called
upon to pay any regard to what he considered as his friend's whim, and
he replied, quietly,--
"Dr. Benno Reinsfeld."
Nordheim turned upon him hastily: "Whom did you say?"
"Benno Reinsfeld," Elmhorst repeated, amazed at the tone in which the
question was put. He had supposed that the president would scarcely
remember the name, and that he would not take the slightest interest in
the old associations so foreign now to the millionaire. That they had a
deep and lasting hold upon him was evident, however: Nordheim's face
grew ghastly pale, and expressed dismay, and even terror, which also
showed itself in his voice as he exclaimed, "What! that man in
Oberstein,--and in my house?"
Wolfgang was about to reply, but at that moment the door opened and
Benno himself entered. He started slightly upon perceiving the
president, but paused calmly and bowed. He had just heard from Alice of
her father's arrival, and was prepared for this encounter.
Nordheim immediately divined who the man was; perhaps he remembered the
young physician whom he had seen for a moment three years before at
Wolkenstein Court, without hearing his name, and he was man of the
world enough to recover himself immediately. With apparent composure he
greeted the young man whom Wolfgang now presented to him, but his
impassible features were still ghastly pale.
"Herr Elmhorst wrote me that he had availed himself of your skill on
behalf of his betrothed," he said, with frigid courtesy, "and I must
express my thanks to you, Herr Doctor, for your efforts seem to have
achieved very favourable results; my daughter looks decidedly better.
Your diagnosis, I hear, differs from that of her former physicians?"
"Fraeulein Nordheim seems to me to be suffering from a derangement of
the nerves," said Benno, modestly, "and I have treated her
accordingly."
"Indeed? The other gentlemen were tolerably well agreed in pronouncing
her heart affected."
"I know it, but I do not agree with them, and the result of my
treatment seems to prove me in the right. I have induced Fraeulein
Nordheim, who has been hitherto forbidden all exercise, to take
walks and to increase their extent daily, and I have advised some
mountain-climbing, and that she should spend as much time as possible
in the open air, since this high atmosphere seems to suit her extremely
well. Thus far I have cause to be satisfied with her improvement."
"As we all have," the president assented, gazing meanwhile at the young
physician as if to read his soul. "As I said, I am grateful to you. You
live in Oberstein, Wolfgang wrote me. Have you been there long?
"Five years, Herr President."
"And you intend to remain?"
"At least until some better position offers."
"There should be no difficulty about that," Nordheim remarked, and then
went on to converse with the young man, but with a degree of distant
courtesy that entirely precluded familiar ease. Not a word, not a look
betrayed any consciousness that the man before him was the son of his
early friend; in spite of his apparent kindliness, his reserve was also
apparent.
Benno perceived this clearly, but was not at all surprised by it, for
he had expected nothing else. He knew that the memories roused by his
name were far from agreeable to the president, and in his modesty he
never dreamed that the result of his medical treatment of the daughter
could influence the father. He never thought of recalling associations
so entirely ignored by the millionaire, and, as the meeting was an
annoying one for him, he took his leave as soon as possible.
Nordheim looked after him in silence for a few moments, and then,
turning to Wolfgang with a frown, he asked, sharply, "How came you to
make this acquaintance?"
"As I have told you, Reinsfeld is one of my early friends, whom I met
again here in Oberstein."
"And you have known him for years without ever mentioning his name to
me?"
"I avoided doing so by Benno's express desire, for your name is as well
known to him as his to you. You do not wish to be reminded that his
father was your fellow-student,--I perceived that to-day."
"What do you know about it?" the president asked, angrily. "Did the
doctor speak to you about it?"
"He did, and informed me that the former friendship had ended in entire
alienation."
Nordheim leaned his hand as if accidentally upon the back of the chair
by which he was standing; his face had grown pale again, and his voice
was rather tremulous as he asked, "Indeed! And what does he know about
it?"
"Nothing at all! He was a boy at the time, and never learned what
caused the breach; but he was much too proud to approach you in any
way, and therefore made me promise to avoid mentioning his name for as
long as I could."
Involuntarily Nordheim breathed a deep sigh; he made no rejoinder, but
walked to the window.
"It seems to me that Dr. Reinsfeld was entitled to a more cordial
reception," Wolfgang began again, evidently hurt by the cool way in
which his friend had been treated. "Of course I know nothing of what
occurred formerly----"
"Nor do I wish you to know," the president sharply interrupted him.
"The affair was of a purely personal character, and one of which I
alone can judge; but you knew that this Reinsfeld could not be
agreeable to me, and I cannot understand how you came to introduce him
into my house and intrust my daughter's health to him. It was an act of
supererogation which I cannot approve."
He was evidently much irritated by his encounter with Benno, and was
wreaking his irritation upon his future son-in-law, who was, however,
nowise inclined to submit to be addressed in a tone which he heard
today for the first time.
"I regret, sir, that the matter should annoy you," he said, coldly,
"but there is no question here of supererogation. It is certainly my
right to call in for my betrothed a physician in whom I have perfect
confidence, and who, as you yourself must admit, has entirely justified
my confidence. I could not possibly surmise that an old grudge, dating
twenty years back, and of which Benno is as innocent as he is ignorant,
could make you so unjust. Your former friend is long since dead, and
all unpleasantness should be buried with him."
"I am the only judge of that," Nordheim interrupted him, with a fresh
access of anger. "Enough. I will not have this man coming to my house.
I will send him a fee,--of course a very large fee,--and decline
further visits from him upon any pretext whatsoever. And I also request
you to discontinue your intercourse with him. I do not approve of it."
The words sounded like a command, but the young engineer-in-chief was
not the man to submit. His eyes flashed: "I think I have told you, sir,
that Dr. Reinsfeld is my friend," he said, sternly, "and of course
there can be no question of giving him up. It would insult him, after
the pains he has taken with Alice's health, to dismiss him with a fee
before her cure is complete. And I must beg you also to adopt another
tone in speaking of him. Benno is a man deserving of the greatest
regard; beneath an unpretending and even awkward exterior he possesses
characteristics and talents worthy of all admiration."
"Indeed?" The president laughed scornfully. "I am learning to know you
to-day, Wolfgang, in an entirely new character,--that of an
enthusiastic and self-sacrificing friend. I should hardly have thought
it of you."
"I am at least wont to stand up for my friends, and not to leave them
in the lurch," was the very decided reply.
"But I repeat that I do not choose to have this man in my house,"
Nordheim said, dictatorially. "I suppose I am master here."
"Certainly; but in _my_ future house Benno will always be a welcome
guest, and I shall explain this to him unreservedly, in case I should
be obliged by your dismissal of him to discuss the matter with him, and
to--excuse you."
The words left nothing to be desired in the way of emphasis. It was the
first time that there had been a difference of opinion between the two
men; hitherto their views and interests had been identical. Wolfgang;
showed in this first encounter that he was no docile son-in-law, but
could maintain his ground with entire resolution. He certainly would
not yield, as the president could clearly see; and probably Nordheim
had some reason for not pushing him to extremities, for he lowered his
tone.
"The matter is not worth a dispute," he said, with a shrug. "What, in
fact, is this Dr. Reinsfeld to me? I would rather not be reminded by
the sight of him of a disagreeable circumstance,--nothing more. In
spite of your enthusiastic eulogy, I take the liberty of finding him as
insignificant as was the incident that caused me to break with his
father. Let the matter drop, for all I care."
He could not have astounded Wolfgang more than by this unwonted
acquiescence. This indifference was in direct contrast with his former
feverish irritability. The young man was silent and appeared satisfied,
but the ancient grudge had acquired a new significance in his eyes. He
was now convinced that the cause of it had not been insignificant; a
man like Nordheim would not have preserved for twenty years the memory
of a mere bagatelle.
Alice here made her appearance, to the evident relief of her father,
who made no reference to the physician's visit, but began to talk of
other things, and Wolfgang also took pains to conceal his annoyance.
Alice did not perceive anything amiss; she was on her way to the garden
to look for Erna, and her father, as well as her betrothed, joined her.
The garden of the villa was scarcely in accord with its elevated
situation, where the usual flowers and ornamental shrubs enjoyed but a
short summer, and were buried beneath the snow during more than half
the year. The beds that had been laid out on the former meadow were
fresh and sunny, but the little pine forest adjoining the garden, and
extending to the foot of the cliffs, offered a cool, shady retreat from
the hot sun.
It formed a kind of natural park, to which the moss-grown rocks,
detached from their mountain-home in some ancient avalanche, and lying
scattered here and there, lent a romantic charm.
Upon a rustic seat at the base of one of these rocks sat the Baroness
Thurgau, and before her stood Ernst Waltenberg, but not engaged in calm
conversation; he had sprung up and planted himself before her as if to
prevent her escape. He was greatly agitated. "No, no, Fraeulein Thurgau,
you must stay and hear me!" he exclaimed. "You have repeatedly escaped
me of late when I would fain have uttered what has been upon my lips
for months. Stay, I entreat! I can endure suspense no longer."
Erna could not but be conscious that he had a right to be heard. She
made no further attempt to leave him, but the expression of her face
betrayed her dread of the coming declaration. Neither by word nor by
look did she give the slightest encouragement to the man who now
continued, with ever-increasing ardour,--
"I might have ended this uncertainty long ago, but, for the first time
in my life, I have been and am a very coward. You cannot dream, Erna,
of the misery you have caused me by your reserve, and avoidance of me!
When I would have spoken I seemed to read in your eyes a 'no,' and that
I could not endure."
"Herr Waltenberg, listen to me," the girl said, gently.
"_Herr_ Waltenberg!" he repeated, bitterly. "Have you no other name for
me? Am I still such a stranger to you that you cannot, for once at
least, let me hear you call me Ernst? You must have long known that I
love you with all a man's passion,--that I sue for you as for the
greatest of all blessings. There was a time when entire freedom was my
highest ideal of happiness; when I shrank from the thought of any tie
that could fetter me. All that is gone and forgotten. What is all the
world to me--what is unfettered freedom--without you? On this broad
earth I care for you, and for you only!"
He had taken her hand, and she did not withdraw it from his clasp, but
it lay there cold and passive, and when she raised her eyes to his they
were veiled with sadness.
"I know that you love me, Ernst," she said, slowly, "and I believe in
the depth and sincerity of your affection, but I can give you no love
in return."
He dropped her hand suddenly: "And why not?"
"A strange question to ask. Can love be forced?"
"Ah, yes. A man's boundless, passionate devotion must beget love in
return--if there is no rival in the way."
Erna shivered, and the colour mounted slowly in her face, but she was
silent. This change of colour did not escape Waltenberg, who was gazing
at her with breathless eagerness. His dark face grew pale on a sudden,
and there was something like a menace in the tone in which he said,
"Erna, why have you avoided me hitherto? Why do you refuse to return my
love? Tell me the truth at all hazards. Do you love another?"
A short pause ensued. Erna would fain have refused to reply. How could
she confess to another that which she shrank from acknowledging even to
herself? But a glance into the agitated face of the man before her
decided her.
"I will be entirely frank with you," she said, firmly. "I have loved.
It was a dream, followed by a bitter wakening."
"Then the man was unworthy of you?"
"He was unworthy of any pure and great affection, and when I learned
this, I tore my love for him from my heart. I pray you, do not question
me further. It is gone and buried."
"Ah, he is dead, then?"
There was a degree of savage triumph in the question, and still more
cruel was the hatred that flashed in his eyes,--hatred for one whom he
thought dead. Erna saw it, and for an instant a wave of terror
overwhelmed her. Instinctively she bowed her head as before a
threatened danger, and before she was conscious that by this gesture
she confirmed him in his error the involuntary falsehood was told.
Ernst drew a deep breath, and the colour slowly returned to his cheek:
"Well, then, it is with the dead that I must strive. I will not fear a
phantom; it must yield when once I clasp you in my arms. Erna, come to
me!"
She recoiled in dismay from the passion in his words: "What! you still
persist? When I tell you that I have no love to bestow upon you, does
not your pride stand you in stead?"
"My pride,--where has it gone?" he broke forth. "Do you suppose that I
could have gone on wooing you patiently for months without one word of
encouragement from you, had I been the same Waltenberg who thought he
needed but to ask of fate to attain his desire? Now I have learned to
beg. The sight of you threw about me a spell to escape from which I
struggle in vain. Erna, if you desire it I will resign my wandering
life, and if you should wish for home in those sunny lands which I so
long to show you, I will return with you to the cold, gloomy north, and
for your sake assume the fetters of existence here. You do not know
what a change you have already wrought in me, how all-powerful is your
influence over me. Ah, do not be thus cold and impassive as your Alpine
Fay upon her icy throne! I must win you for my own although your kiss
were as deadly as that of the phantom of your legend."
His words were prompted by passion, strong to sweep down all obstacles
in its path; such tones are always intoxicating for a woman's ear, and
here, moreover, they dropped like soothing balm upon a wound that was
still bleeding. It had been so humiliating to the girl to know herself
ignored, resigned, not for the sake of another,--Erna knew well that
that other was as nought to the man whose ambition was his god, the
idol to whom she had been sacrificed. And now she was beloved,
idolized, encompassed by a passionate regard which knew no calculation
and no bounds. She was desired for herself alone. It was a triumph for
her pride. And she was assailed, too, by pity,--by the consciousness of
power to bestow happiness. Everything urged her to utter the consent
for which she was implored, and yet she was restrained by an invisible
something, and at this decisive moment another face arose in her
memory,--a face that had looked so pale in the moonlight as the white
lips had faltered, 'And could you have loved a man who had risen thus?'
"Erna, ah, do not keep me upon the rack!" Waltenberg exclaimed, with
feverish impatience. "See! I kneel to implore you!" And he threw
himself upon his knees before her and pressed her hand to his lips.
As she turned away her eyes as if entreating help, she suddenly
started, and in a hurried whisper exclaimed, "For heaven's sake, rise,
Ernst! We are not alone."
He sprang to his feet, and, following the direction of her eyes,
perceived the president with his daughter and her betrothed just
emerging in the distance from among the trees.
They had all been witnesses of the scene for a few seconds, but
Nordheim divined that the decisive word had not been spoken, and that
his self-willed niece might thwart his plan at the last moment. He
therefore made haste to render its fulfilment irrevocable, and,
advancing quickly, exclaimed, with a laugh, "We ask a thousand pardons!
Nothing was farther from our intention than to intrude, but, since we
have done so, let me offer you my best wishes, my child, and,
Waltenberg, I congratulate you from my heart! We are scarcely
surprised, having seen for some time how matters stood with you, and
upon my arrival I perceived a betrothal in the air. Come, Alice and
Wolfgang, congratulate these lovers."
He bestowed a paternal embrace upon his niece, shook Waltenberg warmly
by the hand, and so overwhelmed the pair with congratulations and good
wishes that no denial on Erna's part was possible. She passively
allowed it all,--allowed Alice to embrace her and Ernst to clasp her
hand in his as his betrothed, only fully recovering her consciousness
when Wolfgang approached her.
"Let me add my good wishes to the rest, Fraeulein von Thurgau," he said.
His voice was calm, too calm, and his immovable countenance betrayed no
breath of the tempest raging within him. Only for one instant did his
eye meet hers, and that instant told her that she was amply revenged
upon the man who had sacrificed his love to ambition and the love of
gold. Now that he saw her in the arms of another, he felt how pitiable
had been his choice, felt that he had bartered away the happiness of
his life.