It seemed that the long-looked-for spring had indeed conquered her
kingdom by the might of yesterday's storm, with such magic swiftness
had the weather changed over night. Fog and cloud had vanished without
leaving trace behind, and with them were gone also both wind and cold.
The mountains lay clear and distinct, bathed in bright sunshine, the
air around them was warm and balmy, and so at last one might dare to
hope that the continual rain and tempests of the last few weeks were
over at last, over for the long sunny spring and summer time.
Eugenie had stepped out on to her balcony, and was looking at the
landscape from which the veil had at length been lifted. Her eyes were
fixed dreamily on the mountains out yonder. Perhaps she was thinking of
yesterday's mists up on the heights, perhaps the rustling and swaying
to and fro of the great pine branches still sounded in her ears, but
all these recollections were suddenly put to flight. The note of a
post-horn was heard close by, and immediately afterwards a chaise drew
up before the terrace below. With a cry of joyful surprise she flew
back from the balcony.
"My father!"
Yes, it certainly was Baron Windeg who stepped so quickly from the
carriage and up into the hall, where he found his daughter already
waiting to welcome him. It was the first time they had met since her
marriage, and, in spite of the presence of two servants who had rushed
to the door to receive so distinguished a guest, the father took his
child in his arms, eagerly, as he had done on the evening of her
wedding-day, when she had come in her travelling dress to take leave of
him. At length she drew herself gently free and led him with her to her
favourite room, the little blue boudoir.
"What a surprise, papa!" said Eugenie, radiant with joyful agitation.
"I had no idea of this visit."
The Baron, with his arm still round her, sat down by her side on the
sofa.
"And I did not propose to visit you, dear, but I had to make a journey
to this part of the country, and I neither could nor would resist going
a few miles out of my way that I might see you again."
"A journey?" Eugenie looked up enquiringly at her father and met his
eyes, which were searching her face, as though trying to read there the
story of the weeks during which she had been separated from him. As her
look fell accidentally on the hat he was still holding, she shrank
back, pale and startled.
"For Heaven's sake, papa! tell me the meaning of that crape. My
brothers" ...
"They are well and send their love," said the Baron soothingly. "Do not
be alarmed, Eugenie, you have no cause to fear for any who are dear to
you. The mourning which has fallen on our house does not, I regret to
say, deeply affect our hearts. But you shall hear all about that later
on, now you must tell me" ...
"No, no," interrupted his daughter uneasily. "I must know first for
whom you wear this crape. Why are you in mourning?"
"Windeg placed his crape-bound hat on one side and drew his child more
closely to him; there was something convulsive, something painful, in
the manner of his tenderness towards her.
"I am on my way to pay the last marks of respect to our cousin Rabenau.
His property lies in this province."
Eugenie started up. "Count Rabenau? the owner of the entailed estates?"
"Is dead," continued the Baron, speaking with difficulty. "In the
fulness of life and strength, a few weeks before his intended marriage.
No one could have foreseen that."
Eugenie had grown deadly white. It was evident that the news awakened
in her some terrible emotion which yet was not grief. She said no word,
but her father seemed to understand her agitation.
"You know that we have been strangers to each other for a long time,"
he went on sadly. "Rabenau's rough, fierce ways made it impossible for
us to be on good terms, and I shall never forget the bitter repulse I
met with from him six months ago. He could have saved us if he would,
it would have been but a light thing to him. He refused harshly and
peremptorily, and now he is dead, leaving no issue. I succeed to the
entailed property, now that it is too late, that I have sacrificed my
child!"
There was such misery in his tone that Eugenie made a great effort to
control herself, and succeeded after the lapse of a minute or two.
"O papa, you must not think of me now! I--I am quite relieved to know
that you will be so richly compensated for all the past humiliations. I
was only a little startled, taken by surprise at the sudden news. We
never could have counted on the succession."
"Never!" said the Baron gloomily. "Rabenau was young and strong, he was
about to be married. Who could have guessed that a three days' illness
would have carried him off? But, if he was fated to die, why, oh! why
could this event not have happened sooner? A month ago, half, nay, a
quarter of the wealth now flowing in upon me would have saved us. I
could have flung back his money to the rogue who brought my misfortunes
on me, with the hundredfold rate of usury which he claimed, and my only
daughter would not have been the price of his vile bargain. I accepted
your sacrifice, Eugenie, God knows not for my own sake, but for that of
the name we bear, and to secure my sons' future. Now, when I think that
all that bitter sacrifice was in vain, that a short chance delay of a
few weeks would have spared it us both, I cannot endure this mockery of
Fate."
He pressed her hand tightly in his. But, by this time, Eugenie had won
back all her pride and complete composure. If this "too late" were
terrible in its effect upon her, she did not allow it to be seen.
"You must not speak so, papa," she replied firmly. "It would be unjust
to your other children. Count Rabenau was such, that we can only
formally mourn his death, and it sets you free from much trouble and
embarrassment. My marriage only averted the most threatening danger.
There remained burdens enough upon us, which weighed heavily and might
one day have brought you again into degrading dependence on that man.
All fear of this is now over for ever, you can pay him back the whole
of what you have received, we shall owe him nothing more!"
"But he will owe us," interrupted Windeg bitterly, "and he will take
good care never to pay his debt; it is the thought of that which turns
my joy to gall. A short time back I should have greeted this
deliverance with delight, and with the keenest sense of relief, now it
drives me to despair on your account."
Eugenie turned away and bent over some flowers which bloomed in a vase
at her side.
"I am not so unhappy as you and my brothers perhaps fancy," said she,
in a low voice.
"Not? Do you think your letters could deceive me? I knew beforehand
that you would do all to spare us, but if I could have had a doubt,
your pale face would have told the story plainly enough. You are
unhappy, Eugenie, you must be unhappy with this man who"----
"Papa, you are speaking of my husband!" The young wife spoke with so
much warmth, and rose so hastily from her seat, that her father stepped
back and looked at her, astonished at her tone and at the crimson flush
which overspread her countenance.
"Forgive me," said he, recovering himself, "I cannot accustom myself to
the thought that my daughter belongs to an Arthur Berkow, and that I am
at the present moment in his house. They oblige me to enter it if I
wish to see my own child! But you are right, I must spare you in
speaking of the man you have married, though I can see plainly how much
you have suffered, and still have to suffer through him."
The deep glow was fading slowly from Eugenie's face, but there was
still a lingering flush on it, as she answered hurriedly,
"You are mistaken, I have no complaint to make of Arthur. He has held
himself aloof from the first with a forbearance for which I can only
thank him."
The Baron's eyes kindled.
"I would not advise either him or his father to forget the regard which
is due to you. They, of all people, least deserved the honour you have
brought to their house, where there was no great honour before. And one
satisfaction I can give you, Eugenie: you will not long have to bear a
name to which attaches so much meanness, so much roguery to us and to
others, roguery none the less shameful that the law cannot touch it. I
have taken care that, at least, there shall be an end of that."
His daughter looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean, papa? An end of what?"
"I have taken the necessary steps to obtain for your"----the Baron
seemed to have some difficulty in pronouncing the word, "your husband
an elevation to the peerage. Only for him, not for his father, I will
render _him_ no service, and I will not have him, even formally,
admitted into our ranks. It is not unusual that such a change of
position should be accompanied by a change of name, and so it shall be
in this case. You can choose yourselves among the names of your estates
that which may seem to you the most suitable for the noble race you are
about to found. Your wishes will be taken into consideration."
"The noble race we are about to found!" repeated Eugenie almost under
her breath. "You are mistaken, papa, and if you only wish for this
elevation of rank on my account ... but you are right! It will be best
in any case. The thought has been dreadful to me that I had to accept
back, as a free gift from Arthur's generosity, that which he had bought
and paid for. Now, we can offer him something for it. The patent of
nobility will be ample compensation for all that he gives up."
In the bitterness of this outburst there was an undertone of suppressed
pain. To Windeg one was as incomprehensible as the other; his
daughter's speech was an enigma to him, and he would have asked her for
an explanation, if a servant had not just then appeared and announced
Herr Berkow, who wished to wait upon the Baron.
Arthur entered and approached his father-in-law with some polite speech
about the latter's unexpected visit. The young man had resumed his old
blase manner. He welcomed his guest as a mere matter of etiquette, and
his guest, in return, just submitted to the welcome as to a necessity.
This time no strangers were by, so even the form of shaking hands was
omitted. They contented themselves with bowing coolly, then the elder
man took up his position again at his daughter's side, and the younger
remained standing, evidently intending to shorten, as much as might be,
this enforced visit to his wife's boudoir.
Windeg would not have been the consummate man of the world he was, if,
notwithstanding the exciting nature of his talk with Eugenie, he had
failed to fall back at once into a conventional tone. The usual
inquiries were then made, and information given as to different members
of the family. Count Rabenau's decease was mentioned as the cause of
the journey, and formal condolences were offered by Arthur, who
certainly had no idea of the change which this death would bring about
in the circumstances of his new relations. At length the Baron
introduced a new subject.
"But," said he politely, "I bring some news from the city which must
have a real interest for you, Herr Berkow. I take it for granted that
your father's wishes respecting an elevation of rank have been no
secret from you, and I am in a position to assure you that they are
likely to be fulfilled. On one point, certainly, I find the obstacles
to be insurmountable. There are certain--certain prejudices against
Herr Berkow personally, which can hardly be set aside, but, on the
other hand, there is every disposition to distinguish him, as one of
the leaders of the industrial movement in this country, by conferring a
title on his son. In short, I hope soon to offer you my congratulations
thereupon."
Arthur had listened without any change of countenance. Now he raised
his eyes, and Eugenie's gaze was immediately riveted on them, with an
interest inexplicable even to herself.
For the moment, however, there was but little to be read in his face.
"May I ask, Baron, whether the wishes of my father were alone consulted
in this matter, or whether the question has been raised out of regard
to your daughter?"
Windeg felt slightly embarrassed; he had reckoned so surely on some
expression of thanks, and now instead there came this singular inquiry.
"Our wishes on the subject became naturally identical, when once the
alliance between us was accomplished," he returned rather stiffly.
"Besides, I did not conceal from Herr Berkow my doubts as to any
personal benefit accruing to himself. I received an assurance from him
that he would, if necessary, lay aside his own claims in favour of his
only son and heir, his sole anxiety being to secure for him a brilliant
career in the future."
"Then I regret that my father has not made me acquainted with the
progress of this affair. I only knew of it as a vague project," said
Arthur coolly, "and I regret still more that you should have used your
influence to procure for me an honour, which I, unfortunately, must
decline."
The Baron started up and stared at his son-in-law.
"Excuse me, Herr Berkow, did I hear aright? I understood you to speak
of declining"----
"Of declining a peerage, were it offered to me. Yes."
Windeg was utterly disconcerted, a thing which rarely happened to him.
"Well then, I must beg of you to give me your reasons for this, to use
a mild term, very singular refusal. I am extremely anxious to hear
them."
Arthur looked across at his wife. She had started as he spoke, and the
deep flush had again mounted hotly to her cheeks. Their eyes met, and
they gazed for a second at each other, but the young man found in his
wife's face no inducement to yield. He answered with a decided ring of
defiance in his voice.
"My refusal is less singular than the proposal, as it is made to me.
Had a title been conferred on my father, on account of the services he
has indisputably rendered to the industry of the country, I, as his
heir, should have joined in accepting it. Such a recognition is
honourable as any other. It has not been thought fit to grant it to
him, and I, of course, am no judge as to the prejudices which may stand
in the way. But, for my part, I have not the very smallest claim to
such a distinction, and therefore I think it better not to set afloat a
report in the city that a connection by marriage with the Windeg family
will necessarily imply a peerage."
He let fall the last words very quietly, but Eugenie pressed her lips
angrily together. She knew he meant them for her alone. Was he bent on
freeing himself from everything that could justify her contempt? Her
wish to feel such contempt was stronger than ever.
"I seem indeed to have been in error as to the motives which led you to
desire our connection," said the Baron slowly, "but I must confess I
was not prepared to find that you held such views. They must be of
somewhat recent date, for, before your marriage, you appeared to
entertain quite different ideas."
"Before my marriage!" A smile of infinite bitterness played about
Arthur's lips. "I was somewhat ignorant then as to the way in which I
myself and my position in society were looked upon in the upper
circles. This has since been clearly pointed out to me in a rather
unsparing fashion, and you can therefore hardly feel surprise that I
should renounce all idea of forcing my way into them as an unwished-for
intruder."
Eugenie's fingers closed tightly round the rose which she had drawn out
of the vase and was still holding in her hand. The tender flower shared
the fate her fan had lately met with in Arthur's grasp; it fell crushed
to the ground. Arthur did not notice it, he had now almost turned his
back on her and stood facing her father, who stared as though in doubt
as to whether it really were his son-in-law he saw before him.
"I cannot, of course, divine who may have made such very exaggerated
disclosures to you," he replied gravely, "but I do beg of you in this
matter to have some consideration for Eugenie. The role she will, in
all probability, have to play in the city this winter makes it
impossible for her--excuse me, Herr Berkow--impossible, I say, for her
to bear a middle-class name. That was never intended either by your
father or by me."
Arthur looked again at his wife long and sternly. She still took no
part in the conversation, interfering by no single word, though she
generally knew right well how to make her views known and her will
felt.
"Before the winter, the situation may have shaped itself differently
than at present appears. Leave that to Eugenie and to me. For the time
being, I regret that I must maintain my decision. As this high position
is offered to me alone, I certainly have the right alone to accept or
to decline, and I must decline, for--pardon me. Baron--I do not wish to
owe it to my wife's aristocratic name."
Windeg rose offended.
"Then there is no course left open to me but to recall as speedily as
possible the steps which have already been taken in this business, so
that I may not be compromised further than I am at present. Eugenie,
you are quite silent. What do you say to the views you have heard your
husband express?"
The young wife was spared all answer, for at this moment the door was,
not noiselessly opened by the servant as was usual, but hastily flung
back, and, unannounced, with pallid face and an utter disregard of
those forms to which he was wont to pay so much attention, in rushed
Herr Wilberg.
"Is Herr Berkow here? Excuse me, my lady, I must speak to Herr Berkow
at once."
"What has happened?" said Arthur, going up to the young man, whose
disturbed countenance betrayed ill tidings.
"An accident!" said Wilberg breathless. "Down below in the shaft. Your
father is hurt, grievously hurt. The Director sent me"----
He got no further in his report, for Arthur had hurried past him to the
door. The young official was about to follow him, but outside in the
corridor he was stopped by the Baron.
"Have you told the son the whole truth?" asked he gravely. "You need
hide nothing from me. Is Herr Berkow dead?"
"Yes," gasped Wilberg. "He was ascending with Deputy Hartmann--the
ropes gave way--Hartmann saved himself by springing on to the last
stage but one--Herr Berkow was carried down into the depths. No one
knows how the accident happened, but it cannot be concealed. Prepare
her ladyship for the news, I must go."
He hastened after Arthur, while Windeg turned back into the room, where
his daughter met him in a state of great excitement.
"What have you heard, papa? The face of that messenger of woe spoke of
something more than a mere injury. What has happened?"
"The worst," said the Baron deeply moved. "But a few minutes ago,
Eugenie, we were uttering bitter accusations against the man, now all
our hatred and the enmity between us are over. Death has smoothed them
away."