Down the steep road which led from the village, came, or rather flew, a
carriage, the horses of which, startled probably by the salutes fired,
had shaken off all control, and were careering wildly down the hill.
The carriage rocked to and fro on the uneven ground, and was in
imminent danger, either of being thrown down the precipitous incline to
the right, or of being dashed to pieces against the great trees which
bordered the road on the other side. The coachman seemed to have lost
all presence of mind. He had let fall the reins, and was clinging
desperately to his seat, while from the hill behind, the gunners,
prevented by the trees from seeing the accident they had brought about,
crashed forth report after report, spurring the terrified animals on
and on in their mad course. What the fearful issue must be, was only
too plainly visible. At the bridge below a catastrophe would be
inevitable.
The people assembled before the house did what crowds mostly do on such
occasions. They screamed, ran helplessly hither and thither, but it
occurred to no one to give that practical help which was so urgently
needed. In that moment upon which everything depended, not one,
even among the miners, had the courage, or the quick wit, to rush
forwards. Yes, there was a single exception, one man who preserved his
self-possession! To take in the whole danger at a glance, to thrust
aside his father and comrades, and to spring out from among them, was
for Ulric the work of an instant.
In three bounds he had reached the bridge; a scream of horror from
Martha rang out after him--too late! He had already thrown himself
before the horses and had grasped the reins. High in the air reared the
affrighted creatures, but instead of stopping, they set out with fresh
fury, dragging him along with them. Any other man must have been thrown
to the ground and trampled under foot, but Ulric, by his giant
strength, succeeded, at last, in getting the mastery. A tremendous pull
at the reins, on which he had never slackened his hold, made one of the
horses stagger and lose its footing. It fell, and in its fall, dragged
the other down with it. The carriage stopped.
Ulric went up to the door, confidently expecting to find its
occupants, or at least the lady, in a swoon. According to his
notions, that was the usual condition of fine ladies and gentlemen who
found themselves exposed to any danger; but here, when, if ever, a
fainting-fit might have been justifiable, there was absolutely nothing
of the sort. The lady stood upright in the carriage, holding to the
back seat with both hands, her eyes, fixed and dilated, still intent on
the chasm before her, where the journey would, probably, next minute
have come to a frightful end; but no sound, no cry of alarm, escaped
her firmly closed lips. Ready, if it came to the worst, to risk
springing out, an attempt which, however, would certainly have proved
fatal, she had looked death in the face silently and without shrinking,
with how thorough a sense of the peril incurred, her countenance
showed.
Ulric seized her quickly and lifted her out, for the horses struggling
on the ground, and striving wildly to free themselves, were still
dangerous. It only took a few seconds to carry her over the bridge;
but, during these few seconds, the dark eyes were fixed steadfastly on
the man who, with such disregard of his own life, had almost thrown
himself under her horses' feet. Perhaps it was all too unusual a
sensation for the young miner to bear in his arms a burden clothed in
silken sheen, to feel waving round him, fluttering over his shoulder, a
gauzy white veil, for as his eyes rested on the beautiful pale face
which had made so brave a stand in the moment of danger, a bewildered
look passed over his features, and he set down his charge hastily
almost roughly, in a place of security.
Eugenie still trembled slightly, and she drew a long breath of relief,
but there was no other sign of the terrible alarm she must have
undergone.
"I--I thank you. Pray look to Herr Berkow!"
Ulric, already turning to leave her, stopped with a shock of surprise.
"Look to Herr Berkow," the young wife had said, at a time when most
women would have called in anguish on their husband's name, and she had
said it quite coolly and quietly. A dim notion of that which the
gentlemen on the terrace had so freely discussed, dawned on the young
man as he turned and went to look after "Herr Berkow."
This time there was, however, no need of his assistance. Arthur Berkow
had got out of the carriage and crossed the bridge alone. The passive
indifference of his nature had not belied itself during this critical
time. When the danger had come upon them so unexpectedly, and his wife
moved, as if about to spring out, he had laid his hand on her arm, and
said in a low tone:
"Sit still, Eugenie; you are lost if you attempt to jump."
Then no further word was spoken. While Eugenie stood erect in the
carriage, looking out for help, and resolved, at the last moment, to
risk a spring, Arthur remained motionless in his place; as they neared
the bridge, he just passed his hand over his eyes, and he would
probably have allowed himself to be dashed to pieces with the carriage,
if assistance had not been forthcoming at that decisive moment.
He now stood near the parapet of the bridge, perhaps a thought paler
than usual, but perfectly steady, and without a trace of emotion;
whether he had felt none, or whether he had already mastered it, Ulric
was forced to confess to himself that such equanimity was, at least,
something out of the common. The young heir had a moment ago looked
Death full in the face, and now he stood, calmly scrutinising, as some
curious phenomenon, the man whose energy had rescued him from mortal
peril.
That help, which was no longer needed, poured in now on all sides.
Twenty hands were busy raising the horses and helping down the
coachman, still half stupefied with fright. The entire swarm of
officials pressed round the young couple, giving utterance to their
regrets, their sympathy, their profound sorrow. They fairly exhausted
themselves with questions and offers of assistance, wondering how the
accident could possibly have happened, ascribing it alternately to the
report of the guns, to the driver and to the horses. Arthur stood a few
minutes passive, and let the stream flow over him. Then he stayed it
with a gesture.
"Enough, gentlemen, pray! You see we are both unhurt. Let us now go on
to the house."
He offered his arm to his wife to lead her away, but Eugenie stood
still and looked around.
"And our deliverer? I hope he has not been injured?"
"Ah yes, true!" said the Director, somewhat ashamed. "We had nearly
forgotten that. It was Hartmann who stopped the horses. Hartmann, where
are you?"
There was no answer to his call, but Wilberg, who, in his admiration
for the romantic deed, quite forgot his old grudge against the doer,
cried eagerly:
"He is standing out there yonder!" and rushed across to the young
miner.
When the gentlemen had hastened up, Ulric had at once retreated, and he
was now standing with his back turned to them, and leaning against a
tree.
"Hartmann, you must come.... Good heavens! what is the matter with you?
Where does all this blood come from?"
Ulric was visibly struggling against an attack of faintness, yet his
face flushed angrily as the other made an attempt to support him.
Indignant that he should be thought capable of such weakness, he raised
himself hastily, and pressed his clenched hand still more firmly to his
bleeding forehead.
"It is nothing--nothing but a scratch. If I had only a handkerchief!"
Wilberg was about to produce his, when suddenly a silk dress rustled
close by him. Young Lady Berkow stood by his side, and, without
speaking, held out her own little one, trimmed with costly lace.
The Baroness Windeg could never have been called upon to offer
practical help to a wounded man, or she would have said to herself that
this tiny embroidered morsel of cambric was ill-qualified to stanch
such a stream of blood as now poured forth, the thick masses of light
hair having, for a time, impeded the flow. Ulric must have known better
how useless it was, yet he stretched out his hand for the proffered
help.
"Thanks, my lady, but that will not serve us much," said the Manager,
who had come up, and now laid his arm round his son's shoulder. "Keep
still, Ulric!" and he drew out his own strong linen handkerchief, and
applied it to what appeared to be a deep wound in the head.
"Is it dangerous?" languidly asked Arthur Berkow, coming over to the
spot accompanied by the other gentlemen.
With one push Ulric freed himself from his father, and he stood erect,
his blue eyes gleaming more darkly than ever, as he answered roughly:
"Not in the least. Nobody need trouble themselves about it, I can take
care of myself."
The words had a disrespectful sound, but the recent service he had
rendered was too great for any one to find fault with them. Herr Berkow
seemed relieved that the answer spared him any further trouble about
the business.
"I will send the doctor to him," said he, in his quiet indifferent way,
"and we will reserve our thanks for another time. At present, there
seems to be assistance enough. Will you not come, Eugenie?"
His wife took the arm he offered her, but she turned her head once
again, as if to assure herself that the required succour was really
there. It seemed as though she did not quite approve of the way her
husband treated the matter.
"Our whole reception is a failure!" said Wilberg to the chief-engineer
a few minutes later, as, quite dispirited, he joined the others in
escorting the proprietor's son and his bride to the house.
"And your poem into the bargain!" joked the person addressed. "Who can
think now of flowers and verses? Really, for any one who believes in
omens, this first home-coming can hardly be called promising. Deadly
peril, wounds and bloodshed! there is something romantic in it, just in
your style, Wilberg. You should write a ballad about it, only this time
you would have no choice but to take Hartmann for your hero."
"And what a bear he is after all!" said Wilberg excitedly. "Might he
not have said a word of thanks to Lady Berkow when she offered him her
own handkerchief? And then he replied to Herr Arthur in such an
ill-mannered way. But the fellow has the strength of a giant! when I
asked him why, for goodness sake, he had not put a bandage on sooner,
he answered curtly that he had not noticed the wound at first. What do
you say to that? He gets a blow on the head which would have stretched
one of us senseless, and he first tames the horses, carries the lady
away from the carriage, and only awakes to the fact that he is wounded
when the blood rushes down in a stream. I should like to see any one
else who could do it!"
The miners had gathered round their comrade in the meantime, and much
dissatisfaction was expressed among them at the way their future master
had behaved to him. It seemed to give them great offence that he should
have, for the time being at least, eluded all expression of gratitude.
Many dark looks, many cutting remarks passed; even the Manager wrinkled
his brow, and, for a wonder, uttered no word in Arthur's defence.
He was still trying to stanch the blood, and was actively aided therein
by Martha, whose face betrayed anxiety so unmistakable that it must
have struck even Ulric, had not his eyes been turned in quite a
different direction. Long and gloomily he gazed after the party which
had just left him. Clearly his thoughts were taken up by something far
other than the pain of his wound.
As the old man was placing a temporary bandage on his son's bleeding
brow, he noticed that Ulric still held the lace handkerchief in his
hand.
"That cobweb," said he, with unusual bitterness, "that embroidered
cobweb would have been a great deal of use to us! Give it to Martha,
Ulric, she can restore it to her ladyship."
Ulric looked down at the dainty little thing which lay so softly
between his fingers; as Martha stretched out her hand for it, he raised
it quickly and pressed it to his wound, staining the delicate lace a
deep red.
"What are you about?" said his father, half-astonished, half-angry.
"Are you going to stop up a hole in your head an inch deep with that
thing? I should think we had handkerchiefs enough of our own."
"Yes, yes, I did not think what I was doing," returned Ulric shortly.
"Let it be, Martha, it is spoilt now any way!" and, so saying, he
thrust it into his blouse.
The girl's hands, which had been so busy, fell down idly all at once,
and she stood by while the Manager adjusted and secured the bandage.
Her eyes were fixed wonderingly on Ulric's face. Why had he been in
such a hurry to spoil the pretty thing? Was it because he did not want
to give it back?
The young miner certainly possessed no special aptitude for the role of
a sick man. He had shown himself very impatient of the services
rendered him, and it had needed all his father's authority to induce
him to submit to them. Now he stood up and declared emphatically that
it was enough, and that he must be left in peace.
"Let him alone, an obstinate fellow!" said the Manager. "You know well
there is nothing to be done with him. We shall hear what the doctor
says. You are a pretty sort of hero, Ulric! You would not lend a
helping hand with the arch built in honour of the family; on no
account, it would be demeaning yourself! but you can throw yourself
under the horses' feet when they are running away with the said family,
without one thought for the old father who has nobody in the world but
his son to look to! You don't mind doing that! Ah! that is being what
you call 'logical' in your new-fangled speech. Now, you lads who follow
your lord and master in everything, it will do no harm this time if you
take example by him."
With these words, through which, spite of their disguise of assumed
grumbling, the pride he felt in his son and his tender love for him
showed all too plainly, the old man seized Ulric's arm and led him
away.