Two days had passed since the morning upon which Helene had, as she
thought, won such a victory over herself, and had been convinced that
the conflict within her would be quieted by absolute certainty. But she
had been far from fathoming the depths of her sentiments; she had
snatched at a straw in the whirling flood, and it had afforded her not
one instant's support. Only two days!--but they outweighed in suffering
her whole previous life. She constantly repeated to herself that the
long desired repose that she had dreamed of was close at hand, and yet
she shuddered at the thought of the time that must intervene before
death should bring her release, with the same horror with which the
sceptic looks forward to the moment of dissolution. She became
distinctly aware that her promise to pass her days at Odenberg converted
her remaining years into a period of superhuman self-sacrifice, and yet,
for worlds, she would not have retracted one iota of all that she had
vowed to Hollfeld. She would be worthy of his love. No sacrifice was
too great that was rewarded by his esteem. Poor dupe!
Her nerves suffered intensely during this protracted mental conflict.
She had constant fever, and could scarcely sleep at all. The subject
that occupied her whole mind was constantly hovering upon her lips, but
she refrained from all mention of it in accordance with Hollfeld's
request. He had also entreated her to forego Elizabeth's society for a
few days; he feared that, in her agitation, she might stand in the way
of his wishes. He himself had already taken the first steps towards a
continuation of his pursuit of Elizabeth. He had twice presented
himself at Gnadeck at the gate in the wall, to make inquiries after the
health of the "von Gnadewitzes," but although he had nearly pulled off
the bell-handle the door had not been opened. The first time no one had
been in the house, and upon the last occasion Elizabeth had observed him
coming. Her parents had gone with little Ernst to the Lodge, and Miss
Mertens had agreed to Elizabeth's idea of not admitting the unwelcome
visitor. They sat together in the dwelling-room, laughing, while the
little bell rang till it was quite hoarse. Of the conspiracy against
his admission the visitor of course had no suspicion.
It was seven o'clock in the morning; Helene was already lying dressed
upon her lounge, she had passed a restless, sleepless night. The
baroness was still in bed, and Hollfeld had not yet made his appearance;
but the little lady could not be alone, and therefore her maid was
sitting sewing in the room. Her replies to Helena's remarks were
unheard by the poor sufferer, but there was something soothing in the
mere sound of a human voice after her wretched, lonely night.
The noise of an approaching carriage was heard. Helene opened the window
and leaned out. Her brother's travelling carriage was just driving up
the sweep, its wheels sinking deep in the smooth gravel; but it was
empty.
"Where is your master?" Helene cried out to the coachman, as the vehicle
passed beneath her window.
"My master got out at the entrance of the park road," the old man
replied, taking off his hat, "and is coming home on foot over the
mountain, past Castle Gnadeck."
The little lady shut the window, and shivered as though she were cold;
the single word "Gnadeck" had acted upon her nerves like an electric
shock. Every word that brought Elizabeth to her mind produced the same
effect upon her that one's imagination would experience from some sudden
apparition.
She arose, and leaning upon the arm of her maid, went down to her
brother's apartments. She ordered breakfast to be served in the room
opening with glass doors upon the grand staircase, and seated herself in
an armchair to await the traveller's return. She took up one of the
gorgeously bound books that were lying about, and mechanically turned
over the leaves; but, although her eyes rested upon the engravings that
filled its pages, she could not have told whether it were portrait or
landscape that lay open before her.
After she had waited half an hour, her brother's tall form appeared
behind the glass door. The book slipped from her lap as she held out
her hands to welcome him. He seemed surprised at this reception; but he
was evidently much pleased at finding his sister alone and glad to see
him. He hurried towards her, but started in alarm at a nearer view of
her face.
"Do you feel worse, Helene?" he asked with anxious tenderness, as he
seated himself beside her. He put his arm around her and raised her
head a little, that he might see her face more closely. There was so
much kindness and caressing sympathy in his accent and manner that
suddenly it was as if the warm air of spring breathed over her heart,
that had been as it were congealed with pain. Two large tears rolled
down her cheeks as she leaned her head upon her brother's shoulder.
"Has not Fels been to see you while I have been away?" he asked
anxiously. The little lady's aspect evidently caused him great alarm.
"No. I gave express orders that he should not be sent for. I am taking
the drops that he prescribed for my nervous attacks, and he can do
nothing more for me. Don't be concerned, Rudolph, I shall be better
soon. You have had a sad time at Thalleben?"
"Yes," he answered, but his eyes still rested anxiously upon his
sister's altered features. "Poor Hartwig died before I arrived; he
suffered fearfully. He was buried yesterday afternoon. You would
scarcely know his unfortunate wife, Helene; this blow has added twenty
years to her life!"
He imparted to her some further particulars concerning the sad event,
and then passed his hand across his eyes, as though desirous of
banishing from his mind all the trouble and sorrow that he had witnessed
during the last few days.
"Well, and is all going on here as usual?" he asked after a short pause.
"Not quite," Helene replied with some hesitation. "Moehring left us
yesterday."
"Ah, Heaven speed him! I am glad that I escaped a final interview with
him. Well, I have one more enemy in the world, but I cannot help it; he
belongs to a class of men whom I despise."
"And at Gnadeck a piece of good fortune has befallen the Ferbers,"
Helene continued in an unnaturally quiet voice, averting her face.
The arm-chair in which she was sitting was suddenly pushed aside by the
arm upon which her brother had been leaning. She did not look up, and
therefore could not see the livid pallor that overspread his face for a
moment, while his quivering lips essayed twice to frame the simple
monosyllable "Well?"
Helene related the story of the ruins, to which her brother listened
breathlessly. Every word that she spoke seemed to lift a weight from
his heart, but he never dreamed how it cut into the very soul of the
narrator like a two-edged sword, and that all this was only the prelude
to her announcement of the terrible sacrifice that she was about to
make.
"This is, indeed, a most wonderful solution of an old riddle," he said,
when Helene had finished. "But I question whether the family will think
it great good fortune to belong to the von Gnadewitz race."
"Ah! you think so," Helene interrupted him quickly, "because Elizabeth
has always spoken so slightingly of the name. I cannot help, however,
in such cases, thinking of the fable of the fox and the grapes." She
spoke these last words with cutting severity. Her passionate excitement
and agitation had brought her to the point of denying her nobler nature
and of attributing mean motives to one who had never injured her, and
whom, in cooler moments, she knew to be all purity and honour.
An expression of intense amazement appeared upon Herr von Walde's
countenance. He stooped and looked keenly into his sister's averted
face, as if to convince himself that her lips had actually spoken such
harsh words.
Just at this moment Hollfeld's large hound rushed up the staircase and
into the room, where he made two or three playful bounds, and then
vanished again at the sound of a shrill whistle from the lawn without.
His master was passing by, who apparently did not know of Herr von
Walde's return, or he would certainly have appeared to welcome him. He
walked on quickly, and turned into the path that led up the mountain to
Gnadeck. Helene's gaze followed the retreating form until it was lost
to sight, and then, clasping her hands convulsively, she sank back in
her chair. It seemed as if for a moment all strength failed her.
Herr von Waldo poured a little wine into a glass, and held it to her
lips. She looked up gratefully, and tried to smile.
"I am not yet at the end of all I have to tell," she began again, rising
from her half-reclining position. "I am like all novelists,--I reserve
my most interesting facts until the last." She could not hide her
struggle for firmness and composure beneath the mask of playfulness
which she attempted to assume in these words. Her gaze was riveted upon
the trees outside the window, as she said: "A happy event is about to
take place among us,--Emil's betrothal."
She had certainly expected some instant expression of astonishment from
her auditor, for, after a moment's silence, she turned around to him in
surprise. His brow and eyes were covered by his hand, and the uncovered
portion of his face was deadly pale. At Helene's touch he dropped his
hand, arose hastily, and went to the open window, as if for a breath of
fresh air.
"Are you ill, Rudolph?" she cried, with anxiety.
"A passing faintness, nothing more," he replied, again approaching her.
His face looked strangely altered as he walked several times up and down
the room, and then resumed his seat.
"I told you of Emil's approaching betrothal, Rudolph," Helene began
again, emphasizing each word.
"I heard you," he replied mechanically.
"Do you approve this step on his part?"
"It is no affair of mine. Hollfeld is his own master, and can do as he
pleases."
"I believe his choice is made. If I dared, I would tell you the young
girl's name."
"There is no need to do so. It will be time enough to hear it when the
banns are published in church."
His expression was icy; the tone of his voice sounded rough and harsh;
the blood seemed to have forsaken his cheeks.
"Rudolph, I implore you not to be so rough," Helene begged, in a tone of
entreaty; "I know that you are no friend to much speaking, and I am
accustomed to your laconic replies; but now you are too cold and silent,
just, too, when I have a request to make of you."
"Tell me what it is; am I to have the honour of playing the part of
groomsman to Herr von Hollfeld?"
Helene recoiled at the bitter contempt expressed in these words.
"You do not like poor Emil, it is more evident to-day than ever before,"
she said reproachfully, after a little pause, during which Herr von
Walde had arisen and traversed the room with hasty steps; "I entreat you
earnestly, dear Rudolph, listen to me patiently; I must talk over this
matter with you to-day."
He folded his arms and stood still, leaning against a window-frame,
whilst he said briefly: "You see I am ready to listen."
"The young girl," she began, with a hesitation which was the result less
of her own internal agitation than of her brother's icy demeanour, "the
young girl whom Emil has selected is poor."
"Very disinterested on his part; proceed."
"Emil's income is not large."
"The poor man has only ten thousand a year; starvation in his case seems
unavoidable."
She paused, evidently surprised. Her brother never exaggerated; the
sum, then, which he had mentioned, must be correct to a farthing.
"Well, he may be wealthier than I thought," she went on after a short
pause; "that is not the question at present; his choice is a girl who is
very dear to me, very dear." What effort this cost her! "She has done
what must forever fill my sisterly heart with gratitude." Herr von
Walde unfolded his arms, and drummed with such force upon the
window-pane with the fingers of his left hand, that Helene thought the
glass would be broken.
"She will be as a sister to me," she continued, "and I do not wish that
she should come into Hollfeld's house without a dowry. I desire to make
over to her the rents of Neuborn. May I?"
"The estate belongs to you,--you are of age. I have no right either to
consent or refuse."
"Oh yes, Rudolph, you are my next of kin, and should inherit all that I
have. Then I may be sure of your consent?"
"Perfectly so, if you really think it necessary----"
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" she interrupted him, extending to him her
hand. But he did not seem to notice it, although he was looking fixedly
at her. "You are not angry with me for this?" she asked, anxiously,
after a few moments.
"I am never angry when you are striving to make others happy. You must
remember how I have always encouraged and assisted you in such efforts.
But here I do think you are in too great haste. You seem to me very
ready to plunge that young creature into misery."
She started up as though a viper had stung her. "That is a cruel
accusation!" she cried. "Your prejudice against poor Emil, which is
founded, Heaven only knows upon what, leads you beyond all bounds. You
know the man far too slightly."
"I know him far too well to wish to know him any better. He is a
dishonourable villain, a miserable fellow of no character, by whose side
a woman, let her claims for honour and uprightness in a man be ever so
small, must be wretched. Woe to the poor creature when she finds him
out!" His voice trembled with suppressed pain; but Helene heard in it
only anger and violence.
"Oh Heavens! how unjust!" she cried, raising her tearful eyes to the
ceiling. "Rudolph, you are committing a great sin. What has poor Emil
done to you, that you should persecute him so unrelentingly?"
"Must a man be personally aggrieved in order to estimate correctly
another's character?" he asked, angrily. "My child, you have been
grossly deceived; but your eyes are blinded. The time will come when
you will acknowledge it with shame. If I should try to remove this cup
of suffering from your lips, it would avail nothing; you would repulse
me, seeing in me only a barbarian treading under foot all your holiest
affections. You force me to leave you to pursue your path alone, until
the moment when you will fly to me for consolation and succour. My heart
will always be open to you; but what will become of that other, bound
irrevocably to her dreadful fate?"
He went into the next room, and locked the door after him. For awhile
Helene sat as if paralyzed,--then she arose with difficulty, and
supporting herself by the walls and the furniture, left the apartment.
Her soul was filled with bitterness, almost with hatred, towards her
brother, who had to-day roughly and ruthlessly handled all that she had
tenderly encircled with the most delicate fibres of her heart. That
heart was well nigh broken as she called vividly to mind the
self-sacrifice which her lover proposed. She seemed to herself to have
already wronged him deeply in allowing such terrible abuse of him to
fall upon her ears. He should never, never learn how her brother's
prejudices had carried him away. No sacrifice, not the greatest, would
now be sufficient to atone for the injustice which he was forced
unconsciously to endure. And since her brother had so openly declared
his opinion of Hollfeld, she would not allow that he should longer share
the hospitality of Lindhof. She would herself request him to return to
Odenberg, of course suppressing her reason for such a request. But
first his engagement to Elizabeth should be concluded.
Occupied with these thoughts, she entered the dining-room, and when
Hollfeld appeared shortly afterward, she received him with a quiet
smile, and announced to him that her brother, without even hearing the
name of the future bride, had approved of her resolution with regard to
her dowry. She desired to see Elizabeth now as soon as possible, and
Hollfeld, greatly rejoiced to observe her repose of manner, assented.
It was agreed that the interview should take place at four o'clock that
afternoon, in the pavilion. Hollfeld left the room to despatch a
servant to Gnadeck with a request, in Helene's name, to that effect.
How surprised the little lady would have been, could she have heard it
expressly enjoined upon the servant to name three, as the appointed
hour, while the butler was ordered to have everything arranged in the
pavilion at that time!