The Lover's Accusation.
Fernow had not counted too much on the hospitality of his comrades; the
major more than fulfilled his promise. The journey could under no
circumstances be pursued, but all were ready to receive the strangers
for the night into the castle, where a number of finely-furnished
unoccupied apartments stood at their disposal. Unfortunately, the hopes
of the younger gentlemen as to a nearer acquaintance with the beautiful
millionaire were doomed to disappointment. They only saw enough of her
to verify the doctor's words that she was young and very beautiful; but
Miss Forest did not seem inclined to receive the homage of this warlike
circle. She was weary from excitement and the long journey, and after
the unavoidable greeting and presentations, she withdrew at once to her
chamber.
Doctor Behring looked melancholy, the other gentlemen disconcerted; but
the young lady had really been pale as marble, and the few words she
had spoken had cost her such apparent effort, that they could not seek
to deny her the repose she so much needed. But her two companions could
not decline the invitation of the gentlemen to join their social
circle. Atkins, as usual, shone through his sarcastic humor, which
to-night was more brilliant than ordinarily, since the test was imposed
upon it of atoning for the silence of his companion. Here Alison's
ignorance of German came to his aid, but the doctor, who politely
assumed the office of interpreter, could scarce draw the simplest
answers from the melancholy guest. He laid the fault of this persistent
silence to his own defective English, and consoled the young man with
assurances of the speedy return of his friend Fernow, who was perfect
master of the language. Henry's lips quivered; with icy politeness, he
begged the doctor to give himself no anxiety on his account, and as for
Lieutenant Fernow, his rounds to-night, seemed endless, he did not
come. But the major received an evidently important piece of tidings in
place of the Lieutenant; he beckoned to the adjutant, and withdrew with
him. This was a signal for the breaking up of the party; and the two
American gentlemen were at liberty to withdraw.
The carriages had meantime arrived, and the baggage was brought in. It
was already quite dark when the two Americans entered the apartment
assigned them, and which, like that given to Jane, lay in the second
story of the castle, while the officers were quartered in the first, so
as to be at hand in case of alarm. Atkins, with a sigh of relief, threw
himself upon a sofa, Alison began to pace silently up and down the
room. In vain did his companion wait for a word, a remark; not a
syllable came from his lips; he still paced dumbly to and fro, his arms
crossed, his head bowed. The continuous silence at length became
oppressive to Atkins.
"Things cannot go on in this way, Henry!" he said. "Your betrothal must
be acknowledged. You saw that strange meeting in the village as well as
I. What do you think of it?"
Alison paused, and lifted his head. "Why did you come here with Miss
Forest?" he asked in a cutting tone.
"Henry, I beg you----"
"Why did you come here with Miss Forest?" repeated Alison, but this
time a repressed fury pulsed through his voice.
"To look after a family affair!"
Henry laughed bitterly. "Spare yourself this deception. I now know
all!"
"Then you know more than I!" declared Atkins gravely. "I at least only
half understood that scene. This Fernow--well, his sentiment scarce
needed expression, he betrayed it plainly enough; but why Miss Jane, at
sight of him, shrank back horrified as if she had seen a ghost, is
incomprehensible to me."
"And to me also," said Alison with icy scorn. "One is not usually
frightened at sight of anything reached at last after such a painful
effort."
Atkins frowned. "It is fortunate that Miss Jane does not hear you; she
would never forgive you this suspicion. You ought to know her too well
to suppose she would start out on a mere aimless adventure, and now you
accuse her with a contempt for all the proprieties and moralities, with
having come here in pursuit of a man almost a stranger. Do you believe
this of Miss Forest? Fie, Henry!"
Alison remained immovable at this reproach; but the old, chilling irony
was in his voice, as he replied:
"I know that Miss Forest would die sooner than make the slightest
advance of this kind to me; but, well this is not the first time that a
woman's pride has been annihilated before a pair of dreamy blue eyes
like these."
"You are going too far!" cried Atkins, indignantly. "I promised to be
silent, but in answer to accusations like this, Jane herself ought to
speak, and if she will not speak, I will! Well then, we are seeking
some one here in France; we are in pursuit of a man, but this man is
not named Fernow, and does not offer you the least occasion for
jealousy. He bears Miss Forest's name and is her brother!"
"Her brother?" repeated Alison in bewildered surprise.
"Yes!" And Atkins now began in a brief, lucid way, to tell the young
man all; of Mr. Forest's dying request, of the trace found in Hamburg,
and of the subsequent investigations, up to the time of their departure
from N. Alison listened in silence for a moment, he seemed to breathe
more freely, but his brow remained clouded.
"You are right," he said, "I believe you now; that meeting was not
pre-arranged."
Atkins gazed at him in speechless astonishment. And was this all? He
had expected another reception of his tidings.
"You seem to quite forget, Henry, how nearly this matter concerns you,"
he said impressively. "If, as we have reason to believe, this young Mr.
Forest lives; if we find him, as we hope to do, it will cost you half
the fortune you expect with your bride."
"Ah, is that so?" muttered Alison. "And I would give the other half if
she had never set foot on this German soil!"
Atkins started back. He had not thought this possible. If Henry could
so entirely forget and deny the merchant in his character; if he could
speak in this way of the loss of a fortune, he must be terribly in
earnest. He approached the young man and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Jealousy makes you blind," he said in a pacific tone. "Whatever there
may between these two, and it is doubtless some secret, it cannot be
love; Jane's terror at the unexpected meeting, betrayed anything but
that."
Alison glanced at him coldly and derisively. "You are very unfortunate
in your powers of observation, Mr. Atkins. Who was it that in B.
derided my presentiment that I saw danger to my hopes in this
consumptive professor? Does he still seem to you laughable and of
little account, or do you know at least what powers have lain dormant
in this man?"
"I have misjudged him, but I defy anyone to estimate justly the
character of a man who for years long, plays the role of a misanthropic
hermit and learned investigator, then all at once really explodes as a
poet, soars aloft as a hero in war, where to all human foresight it
seemed clear that he would subside at the first roar of the cannon;
and, at an unexpected meeting, flames up like an eighteen-year-old
enthusiast. I tell you it takes a long time to find out these Germans!
Once tear them from their commonplace ruts in which they have been wont
to tread, and they go on in unaccountable ways. It is so with solitary
individuals, it is so with the whole nation. They hurl the pen into a
corner, and draw the sword from its scabbard, as if this had been their
sole business their whole life long. I fear that for the next hundred
years we shall not forget in what hand the pen lay!"
Atkins said all this in a peculiar tone of grumbling admiration; but he
remembered at the right time, that such observations were not designed
to pacify his young companion, and dropping the subject, he said
consolingly:
"But Henry, however things may turn out, Jane remains yours. You have
her promise; you have received it of her own free will, and the Forests
are wont to keep their word to themselves and others. In whatever
manner this Fernow may cross her path, I know her, she will be yours
notwithstanding."
"She will!" replied Alison morosely. "You may rely upon that, Mr.
Atkins! Either with or against her consent; my determination is
irrevocable, even though--" and here the former ill-omened expression
reappeared upon his face--"even though a pair of blue eyes should have
to close forever!"
Atkins recoiled in horror; he made no reply. Darkness had fallen; from
the village, in tones long drawn out, came the evening signal; Henry
started up and took his hat from the table. With a hasty step the old
man stood at his side, and grasped his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Out into the open air. To the park."
"Now? It is quite dark."
"But I must go out for all that; the air here oppresses me. Perhaps--"
he smiled strangely--"perhaps I shall bring better thoughts in with me.
Good-night."
Freeing his arm by a hasty movement, he left the room. Atkins gazed
uneasily after him.
"Something terrible may happen. If they should chance to meet just
now!--Foolishness!" he cried interrupting himself. "Just as if Henry
were such a lunatic as to stake life, honor, and future for a mad
jealous whim! If he were to meet this Fernow alone in the mean time, I
would answer for nothing; but hero among his comrades, where discovery
would be inevitable, and revenge sure--no, he would not venture it!"
He opened his door to listen if any sound came from Jane's chamber
which lay opposite. "She shut herself in immediately upon our arrival,"
he said to himself, "and called out to me that she had already lain
down--a pretence! I heard her plainly pacing to and fro; but it is of
no use to renew my effort to force a conversation with her; perhaps her
intervention would only make matters worse.--I had better see that we
leave early to-morrow morning, for no matter where; if things come to
the worst we can go back to B. When this Fernow is only out of sight,
it will be an easy matter to keep our betrothed couple together, and
until then--well in any event they can only sleep one single night
under the same roof!"
With this consoling thought, Mr. Atkins closed the door, and returned
to his chamber.