Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/nosurrender00wern
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. The author's name E. Werner is a pseudonym for
Elisabeth Buerstenbinder.
NO SURRENDER.
NO SURRENDER.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
E. WERNER.
BY
CHRISTINA TYRRELL.
_A NEW EDITION_.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1881.
[_All Rights Reserved_.]
NO SURRENDER.
CHAPTER I.
The whole landscape lay in bright sunshine. Clear as a mirror gleamed
the broad smooth surface of the lake, faithfully reflecting the image
of the town which rose in picturesque beauty on its shores, whilst in
the distance, vividly distinct, appeared the jagged peaks and dazzling
summits of the snow-mountains.
A suburb rich in villas and gardens lined the shore. In its midst stood
a pretty, detached habitation of modest aspect. It was a one-storied
cottage, by no means spacious, and showing signs of no special luxury
within or without. An open vine-traceried veranda formed well-nigh its
sole ornament; yet there was an air of refinement about the little
place, and it had a right friendly pleasant look, thanks to its fresh
white walls and green jalousies; while the surrounding garden, not very
large, truly, but highly cultivated, and stretching away to the border
of the lake, had a peculiar charm of its own, and greatly added to the
general attractiveness of the little country-house.
In the veranda, which afforded ample protection from the sun's ardent
rays, and where, even at noonday, a certain degree of coolness might be
enjoyed, two gentlemen were pacing, talking as they walked.
The elder of the two was a man of, it might be, about fifty years; but
old age seemed to have come upon him prematurely, for his form was bent
and his hair as grey as it could well be. The deeply-furrowed face,
too, bore evidence of bygone struggles, perhaps of sorrows and
sufferings of many kinds endured in the past, and the sharp, bitter
lines about the mouth gave a harsh and almost hostile expression to a
countenance which must once have been bright with ardour and
intelligence. In the eye alone there still blazed a fire which neither
years nor the hard experiences of life had had power to quench, and
which was in singular contrast with the silvered head and drooping
carriage.
His companion was much younger; a man slender of build and of average
height, with features which, though not strictly regular, were yet in
the highest degree attractive, and grave, earnest blue eyes. His light
chestnut hair waved over a fine open forehead. There was that slight
paleness of complexion which tells not of sickliness, but of keen
intellectual activity and a constant mental strain; and the predominant
expression was one of quiet steadfastness, such as is but rarely
stamped on a face at seven or eight and twenty. There could hardly be a
sharper contrast than that afforded by these two men.
"So you are really going to leave us already George?" asked the elder,
in a regretful tone.
The young man smiled.
"Already? I think I have made claim enough on your hospitality, Doctor.
When I came, I had no intention of staying on for weeks; but you
received me with such hearty kindness, I might have been some near and
dear relation, instead of a stranger who could only boast a college
friendship with your son. I shall never forget----"
"Pray do not thank me for that which has been a pleasure to myself,"
the Doctor interrupted him. "I only fear that at home you may have to
pay a penalty for the hospitality you have here enjoyed. To have stayed
at my house will be accounted a crime in Assessor Winterfeld--a crime
which will hardly meet with forgiveness. I have never concealed from
you the fact that your visit here is a venture which may compromise
your whole position."
The ironical tone of this warning called up a transient flush to young
Winterfeld's brow, and accounted for the vivacity with which he
answered:
"I think I have shown you that I am capable of maintaining my own
independence under all and any circumstances. My position, I should
hope, lays me under no obligation to avoid friendly relations which are
of a purely private nature."
"You think not? I am convinced of the contrary. On your return we shall
see which of us is right. Remember this, George; you are under Baron
von Raven's regime."
"I do not imagine that my chief troubles himself greatly about the
holiday excursions of his officials," said George, quietly. "He is
severe, inexorable even, in all matters relating to the service, but he
never interferes in our private concerns. That justice I must do
him, though I do not rank among his friends, I am, as you know, a
thorough-going opponent of the tendencies he represents, and therefore
personally opposed to himself; albeit, as his subordinate, I find
myself for the time being compelled to silence and obedience."
"For the time being?" echoed the Doctor, sarcastically. "I tell you, he
means to teach you lasting silence and obedience, and if you do not
show yourself teachable he will crush and ruin you. That is his way, as
it is the way of all such despicable parvenus."
George shook his head gravely,
"You go too far. The Baron has many enemies, and I do not doubt that in
secret much hatred and bitterness are entertained towards him, but as
yet no one has ventured to speak his name with contempt."
"Well, I venture it then," said the Doctor, with sudden vehemence;
"and, truly, not without good grounds."
The young man looked at him in silence, then, after a pause of a
second, he laid his hand on his arm.
"Dr. Brunnow, forgive me if I ask you a question which may, perhaps,
seem indiscreet. What is this matter between you and my chief? Whenever
his name is mentioned, you betray an amount of bitterness which cannot
possibly have its origin in mere political opposition. You seem to know
him intimately."
Brunnow's lips twitched:
"We were friends once," he answered, in a low voice; "young men
together."
"Impossible!" exclaimed George. "You and----"
"His Excellency Baron Arno von Raven, Governor of the Province of
R----, and closest friend and confidant of our present rulers,"
completed the Doctor, laying a sharp, scornful emphasis on each word.
"That surprises you, does it not?"
"Certainly. I had no notion of any such acquaintance between you."
"How should you? it dates almost half a generation back. In those days
he was only plain Arno Raven, and as poor and unknown as myself. We
learned to know each other in stormy, troubled times, meeting in the
ranks of the party to which we both belonged. Raven with his splendid
talents and restless energy soon worked to the front, and became leader
of us all. We followed him with blind confidence--I more especially,
for I loved him as I have loved no human being since, not even my wife
or child. All the enthusiasm of my youth was lavished on him. He was
my hero, to whom I looked up with ardent admiration--my ideal, my
pride--until the day when he betrayed and deserted us all, when he
sacrificed honour to ambition, and sold himself body and soul to our
enemies, giving us up at the same time to perdition. They call me
'misanthropic,' those wise folk who have never had their illusions
rudely dispelled--who have never met despair face to face. If indeed I
am a misanthrope, my nature was warped to bitterness on that day when,
losing my friend, I lost with him all faith in mankind."
He turned away in great agitation. Evidently the memory of that long
bygone event still shook the man's whole being to its depths.
"So there is some foundation for those reports which hint at a dark
spot in the Baron's past," remarked George, thoughtfully. "I have heard
rumours and vague allusions, but no one ever appeared to have any
positive knowledge on the subject. The matter must always have escaped
publicity, for Raven is only known as the energetic, unyielding
representative of the government."
"Renegades are ever the most untiring persecutors of the faith they
have abandoned," said Brunnow, gloomily; "and there was always a
dangerous element at work in Arno Raven, a fierce, consuming,
all-mastering ambition. This was his ruling passion, the true
mainspring of his actions; and this it was which finally brought about
his fall. His thoughts were constantly running on power and greatness
to be achieved in the future; he longed to govern, to command, cost
what it might, and he has obtained his heart's desire. His career is
absolutely unexampled. From poverty and obscurity he has risen step by
step from one dignity, from one high distinction to another. On
becoming the son-in-law of the minister whose acknowledged favourite he
had ever been, he was exalted to the rank of Baron, and at this moment
he is the well-nigh omnipotent governor of one of the principal
provinces of the land. He stands on the lofty pinnacle whereof he used
to dream; but I, whom he drove into prison and into banishment, who can
look back only on a weary course of years full of the most bitter
disappointments, and who, standing now on the threshold of old age,
have still to wrestle with the material cares of life--I would not
exchange my lowly lot for his greatness. He has paid for it a heavy
price--the price of his honour."
The speaker was terribly agitated. He broke off, and, turning, strode a
few times up and down the veranda, striving to conquer his emotion.
After a while he came back to George, who was standing silent and full
of thought.
"I have not touched on this subject for years," he began again; "but I
owed it to you to speak frankly. You are no blind, ductile instrument,
such as Raven requires, such as alone he suffers about him; and I fear
an hour may come when you will find yourself compelled to refuse him
obedience, if you wish to remain true to your principles, and to quit
yourself as an honourable man. What your after-fate may be beyond that
turning-point is indeed another question. Stand fast, George! Through
all the dislike and antagonism you nurture in your heart towards him,
there runs a subtle, secret vein of admiration for this man, and I can
understand it but too well. He has ever exercised a really magic
influence over all who have come into contact with him. You yourself
cannot altogether escape it, and for this reason I have thought it
necessary to enlighten you on the subject of Baron von Raven. You know
now what manner of man he is."
"I thought so, I declare! There they are again in the thick of their
politics, or immersed in some other interminable debate," said a voice
behind them. "I have been hunting for you all over the house, George.
Good-morning, father."
The speaker, who now stepped into the veranda, was, apparently,
George's junior by some years, but taller and of stronger build than
his friend--a fresh-looking, vigorous young man, with a frank open
face, clear eyes, and a plentiful crop of curly light hair. He cast one
scrutinizing glance at his father's face, still crimsoned by agitation,
and then went on:
"You should not excite yourself so much with your discussions, father.
You know how injurious it is to you; moreover, you have been hard at
work already this morning, I see."
So saying, he walked up to a table covered with books and papers, which
stood at a little distance, and began turning over some written pages.
"Let that alone, Max," said his father, impatiently. "You will
disarrange the manuscript, and you take no interest in these abstruse
scientific studies."
"Because I have no time for them," answered Max, quietly laying down
the papers. "A young assistant-surgeon at a hospital cannot sit all day
poring over his books. You know I have my hands pretty full."
"Time might be found," remarked Brunnow. "What you lack is
inclination."
"Well, inclination too, if you like. Practice is my study, and I dare
say it will get me on as far."
"As far as your ambition takes you, no doubt." There was an
unmistakable slight in the father's tone. "You will very probably found
an extensive practice, and look on your calling altogether in the light
of a lucrative profession. I do not question it in the least."
At this Max evidently had to fight down some rising irritation, but he
answered with tolerable calm:
"I shall certainly found a practice of my own at the earliest
opportunity. You might have done the same twenty years ago, but you
preferred to write medical works which bring you in very little money,
and, at the best, only obtain recognition from some few choice spirits
among your colleagues. Tastes differ."
"As our conception of life differs. You do not know what it means to
sacrifice yourself--to live for science."
"I sacrifice myself for nobody," said Max, defiantly. "I intend
conscientiously to fulfil my duties in life, and shall think that,
in so doing, I have done enough. You have a fancy for useless
self-immolation, father. I have none."
"Leave this incorrigible realist to his errors, Doctor," struck in
George, who from the irritated tone of both men began to fear a scene,
such as was not unfrequent between father and son. "I have long given
up all attempt to convert him. But now we will neither of us disturb
you any longer. Max promised to go for a walk with me to the wood this
morning, as soon as he returned."
"Now, just at mid-day?" asked the Doctor, in surprise. "Why not go
later?"
Some slight confusion was visible in young Winterfeld's face, but he
quickly mastered it.
"Later on I have to pack up and make ready for my departure, and I
should like to take one last look at the lake and the mountains. It is
hard on me, I assure you, to go away and leave them."
"That I believe," said Max, with a peculiar and rather malicious
intonation; but he relapsed into silence on meeting his friend's
half-angry, half-imploring glance.
Brunnow seemed to attach no importance to the matter. He waved them a
hasty farewell, and went up to his writing-table again, while the two
young men strode through the garden, and, Max having opened the iron
gate, struck into the footpath which ran close to the border of the
lake. They went on some time in silence. George seemed grave and
thoughtful, and the young surgeon was evidently in a very ill-humour,
to which the recent conversation with his father and the approaching
departure of his friend may have conduced in equal shares.
"So this is the last day you are to spend here!" he began at length;
"and what good can I have of it--what good have I had indeed of your
visit at all? Half the time you have passed with my father, declaiming
against the condition of our beloved country in general, and the
dictatorship of Baron von Raven in particular. When, after unheard-of
efforts, I have been so lucky as to withdraw you from the political
ground, you have abused my friendship in the most shameful manner,
making me stand sentry in the noonday glare, at a temperature of 86 deg.
Fahrenheit. A most agreeable post, I must say!"
"What a way of speaking!" said George, impatiently. "I merely asked
you----"
"To keep watch that you should not be disturbed in your meetings--quite
accidental meetings, of course--with Fraeulein von Harder. That is what
we, in plain English, call 'standing sentry!' How many such chance
encounters may you, with or without my co-operation as walking
gentleman, have enacted on this stage? Take care the mamma does not get
to hear of these sociable little rambles."
"You know that my leave is out, and that I must start to-morrow," was
the rather curt reply.
Max heaved a little sigh.
"Ah, the interview is likely to last a tremendous time to-day, I see.
Don't be offended, old fellow. It may be very interesting to you to
swear eternal fidelity by the sun, moon, and stars, but, for an
outsider, the business is excessively tedious, particularly with such a
temperature as we have to-day. I may safely say it is the warmest proof
of friendship I ever gave a man in my life."
Talking thus, they had reached the "wood," really nothing more than a
group of chestnut trees shading a stretch of meadow-land on the border
of the lake. It was a favourite and much frequented resort of the
townsfolk, for from thence might be had a splendid panoramic view of
the lovely sheet of water and the grand surrounding mountains. Now, at
noonday, the spot was quite solitary and deserted. George who had
hurried on before, stood still and gazed around expectantly, but in
vain. Max sauntered up slowly after him, and in his turn took a general
survey, but with no better result. Failing to discover a figure in the
distance, he sat down beneath one of the mightiest chestnut-trees, on a
grassy bank which formed a natural resting-place, and whence the finest
prospect might be enjoyed. Leaning back in the most comfortable
posture, he watched his friend with a mixture of raillery and
compassion, as the latter paced up and down, betraying in every look
and action his feverish uneasiness.
"I say, George, what is to be the end of this love affair, this romance
of yours?" he began again, after a protracted silence.
The other frowned.
"How often have I begged you not to speak of it in that tone?"
"Did I not express myself tenderly enough? There is plenty of romance
in your love, I should fancy. A young middle-class Government clerk
without fortune or prospects, and a high-born Baroness and future
heiress--secret meetings--prospective opposition of the whole family,
struggles and emotions _ad infinitum_. I congratulate you on all these
pleasant things. I should look on the business as an awkward one
myself, I know."
"That I believe," said George, with a touch of sarcasm; "but, my dear
Max, you really are not competent to pronounce on such matters."
"My nature being an out-and-out prosaic one," concluded Max, with
perfect equanimity. "Well, I can't say you there tell me anything new.
My father perpetually impresses on my mind the fact that I lack all
tendency to the ideal. He has conscientiously striven to impart to me
these more elevated views and notions, but unfortunately, it has not
answered. I do not belong to the class of 'highly organised natures,'
such as yourself, for instance. You are far more to my father's taste,
and I think he would not hesitate a moment could he adopt you in my
place."
A smile passed over George's face.
"If you agree to it, I have no objection."
"Just try it," said Max, dryly. "He is exceptionally gracious to you,
because he happens to have taken a special fancy to you; but, in real
truth, he is within an ace of turning misanthrope and man-hater.
Nothing satisfies him. All his judgments are distorted, his views
tinged by that bitter irritability of spirit which he ascribes to an
unappeased yearning after the ideal, and that is the ground of the
incessant warfare between us. He cannot forgive me for finding myself
tolerably comfortable in this miserable, worthless world, with which he
himself is at perpetual loggerheads. In fact, matters between us are
growing more and more unbearable day by day."
"You do your father an injustice," said George, soothingly. "The man
who has given up, as he has given up, home, standing, and freedom, to
that which he calls his ideal, has a right to apply a higher standard
to the world and to his fellow-creatures."
"But I am not up to the higher standard, you see," declared the young
surgeon, testily. "You are much nearer the mark. This my father
detected at once, and sequestrated you to his own use accordingly. You
would sink wonderfully in his estimation though, if he could guess
that, in the very first days of your stay here, you committed the
boundless folly of falling in love."
"Max, I beg of you," his friend broke in angrily; but Max was now
fairly under way, and was not to be stopped.
"I repeat what I have said: it is folly," he asserted roundly. "You,
with your serious views of life, your unceasing toil, your ideal
aims--very superfluous things in reality, no doubt, but with you they
must be taken into account--and this perverse spoilt child--this
Gabrielle von Harder, who has been brought up in the midst of riches
and in the lap of luxury, and has been innoculated with all the
prejudices of her aristocratic caste! Do you really imagine that she
will ever have the smallest understanding for the things which interest
you? I tell you she will give you up directly the grave consequences of
this holiday idyll become apparent to her, and the influence of her
family makes itself felt. You will stake your all on this game, will
waste your best strength in struggling with the relations, only to be
sacrificed at last to some count or baron, who by birth will be a
suitable _parti_ for her young ladyship."
"No, no," said George, with a burst of vehemence. "You hardly know
Gabrielle. You have never been in her company more than a few minutes
at a time, whilst I----" He stopped suddenly, then went on in a
softened voice--"I know well that there is a gap between us, a great
divergence besides that of outward circumstances, but she is so young,
she has hitherto seen life's sunny side only--and there are no limits
to my love for her."
Max shrugged his shoulders in a way which plainly said that the last
reason appeared to him highly unsatisfactory.
"Every man to his taste!" he said coolly. "This limitless love would
not exactly be mine, and, so far as I see, there is very little to be
gained by it. But"--he stood up--"it is time for me to go on duty,
for I see the flutter of a light garment out yonder near those
elder-bushes, and a glow on your countenance as though the seventh
heaven had opened to your delighted vision. George, do me one favour, I
entreat. Let not the fact altogether escape your mind that there is
such a thing as the noonday hour, and that ordinary mortals are
accustomed then to take a repast. An extremely unpractical idea of
yours, this rendezvous just in the middle of the day! I hope you will
not let me perish from starvation, as a reward for my self-denying
friendship."
Having thus delivered himself. Max Brunnow beat a retreat. Young
Winterfeld hardly heard what he said. He was intently watching the
light slender figure of a girl who now approached from the outskirts of
the wood. She came swiftly and gracefully over the grass towards him,
and in a few minutes stood at his side.
"Here I am, George. Have you been waiting long? It really seemed as if
I should not get away to-day unnoticed, and I very nearly gave up the
attempt altogether. But it would have been too cruel to let my knight
languish here in vain. I believe you would never, never have forgiven
me, if I had let you depart without a solemn farewell."
George held fast the little hand, which after the first slight pressure
sought to withdraw itself, and there was a reproachful accent in his
voice, as he said:
"Is this separation so light a thing to you, Gabrielle? Have you no
other words for me at parting than these teasing quips and jests?"
The young lady looked up in surprise.
"Separation? Parting? Why, we shall see each other again in a month."
"In a month! Does that seem to you so short a time?"
Gabrielle laughed.
"It is just four times seven days. You must manage to live through them
in some way; but after that we shall be coming to R---- ourselves, you
know. You have a great deal to do with my guardian, have you not?"
"With Baron von Raven? Certainly. I work in his bureaux, as you are
aware, and have to make reports to him from time to time."
"I hardly know him," said Gabrielle, indifferently. "I have just seen
him now and again when he has come on a short visit to the capital, and
that is all. The last time was three years ago. On that occasion his
Excellency hardly deigned to notice me--treated me, in fact, exactly
like a child, though I was then quite fourteen. You may imagine that I
was in no way delighted at the prospect of living under his roof for
the future, until"--here she smiled roguishly--"until I made the
acquaintance of a certain George Winterfeld, and heard from him that he
had the privilege of being one of my guardian's secretaries."
A strange look flitted across George's features, a look which seemed to
say he was of a different opinion as to the "privilege."
"You deceive yourself if you build any hopes on that circumstance," he
replied gravely. "The intercourse I hold with the Baron is purely
official in its nature, and he well knows how to restrict it within the
narrowest possible limits. In all else I stand wide as the poles apart
from him. A young, middle-class man, holding as yet only a subordinate
government appointment, does not find admittance to the Governor's
circles, and can hardly venture to claim acquaintance with the Baroness
von Harder. There will be distance enough between us, even though I
come daily to the house in which you dwell. Here in this holiday
freedom we have had the chance of learning to know, to love each
other."
"In reality, you owe it to our boat which struck on the sand-bank just
at the right time," put in Gabrielle. "Do you remember our first
meeting, George? To this day mamma believes that she was in deadly
peril, and looks on you as her deliverer, because you brought us
cleverly through the shallow water to land. She would hardly have
consented else to receive such frequent visits from one bearing your
plebeian name; but the man who has saved one's life must be an
exception, of course. If she did but know that her hero has already
made me a declaration of love!"
The undisguised triumph expressed in the last words seemed to grate
upon the young man. He fixed his eyes on her countenance with a
scrutinising, anxious gaze.
"And if the Baroness should hear of it, sooner or later, what would you
do?"
"Present you to her in all due form as my future lord and master,"
declared Gabrielle, with comic solemnity. "There would be an explosion,
of course: tears, reproaches, hysterics--mamma is a capital hand at all
these, but it comes to nothing. She invariably gives in at last, and I
get my own way."
She said all this airily, carelessly, laughing gleefully as she spoke.
The thought of a catastrophe which would have filled any other maiden
with alarm, was, it appeared, positively diverting to the young
Baroness Harder. She had seated herself on the grassy mound, and taken
off her straw hat. The sunbeams, which here and there pierced through
the thick leafy canopy of the chestnut-trees, played on her luxuriant
fair hair and blooming face, whence a pair of great sparkling brown
eyes looked merrily forth into the world. The face, with its delicate,
pure outlines, was undoubtedly of fascinating loveliness, but it was
wanting in that soul-speaking depth of expression which gives to the
human countenance its highest charm. Beneath this radiant, beaming
gaiety, one might have sought in vain any token of graver, deeper
feeling. This want, however, hardly lessened the attractiveness of her
fresh beauty, for all about her breathed of rosy youth, of life's
happy, blossoming spring-time. She seemed the embodied reflection of
the landscape out yonder, sunny and light as herself.
George looked at her with a singular mixture of vexation and
tenderness.
"Gabrielle, you treat all this as so much sport, and seem to have no
idea of the troubles which menace us, of the battles we shall have to
fight!"
"Is the thought of battle alarming to you?"
"To me?" A flush mounted to the young man's brow. "I am ready to cope
with every difficulty, if only you will stand steadily by me. But you
mistake if you reckon on your mother's customary compliance in this
instance, when all her prejudices will be aroused, all her family
traditions evoked in opposition. And even if you should succeed in
winning her over, nothing will change your guardian's views. I know
him. He will never give his consent."
Gabrielle leaned her fair head against the tree's mighty trunk, and
plucked carelessly at some blades of grass.
"I do not care for his consent," she said. "I shall not allow him to
dictate to me one way or the other. Let him try to coerce me!"
"No one will attempt to coerce you, but they will separate us," replied
George. "The very moment our love is discovered, our separation will be
decreed. I know it, and it is this knowledge alone which imposes
silence on me. You little guess how the secrecy, which has such a charm
for you, the continued anxious concealment, distresses and humiliates
me; how contrary it is to my whole nature. Now for the first time I
feel all the hardship of being poor and unknown."
"What does it matter if you are poor?" asked Gabrielle, carelessly. "I
shall be very rich one day. Mamma is always telling me that I am to be
Uncle Raven's sole heiress."
George was silent, setting his lips tightly as though to keep down some
bitter feeling.
"Yes, you will be rich," he said at last; "you will be only too rich."
"I really believe you mean it as a reproach," pouted the young lady,
with a highly ungracious look.
"No; but it opens out one more gap between us. If you were in the same
position of life as myself, I might come to you fearlessly, and ask,
not for your hand at once, perhaps, but for your plighted faith, until
such time as I could offer you a home of your own. As it is, what would
Baron von Raven say, I wonder, if I ventured to propose to him for the
hand of his ward and presumptive heiress? He stands in your father's
place. You are under his authority."
"Yes; but only until I come of age. In a few years, my lord's
guardianship and authority will expire together. Then I shall be free."
"In a few years!" echoed George. "And what will be your feelings then?"
There was such sorrowful apprehension in his words that Gabrielle
looked up half-frightened, half-offended.
"George, do you doubt my love?"
He clasped her hand tightly in his.
"I have faith in you, my Gabrielle; trust me in return. I am not the
first man who has worked his way up, and I have always been taught to
look forward with confidence, and to depend on my own strength. I will
strain every nerve for your sake. You shall not be ashamed of your
choice."
"Yes; you will have to make me the wife of an Excellency at least,"
laughed Gabrielle. "I shall fully expect that you will become a
Governor or a Minister some day. Do you hear, George? No other title
will suit me."
George suddenly dropped the hand which still rested in his own. He had,
no doubt, looked for some other answer to those fervent words which had
come from the very depths of his heart.
"You do not understand me. How, indeed, should you know anything of the
serious, earnest side of life! No shadow has as yet crossed your path."
"Oh, I can be serious enough," Gabrielle assured him. "Most uncommonly
serious. You do not know me, my real nature, thoroughly yet."
"Possibly," said the young man, with a rush of bitterness. "In any
case, _I_ have not had power to arouse your deeper self."
Gabrielle saw very well that he was hurt, but it did not please her to
notice his humour. She teased and jested on, giving full rein to her
high spirits, and indulging in all her wilful little ways, sure of her
influence which had often stood fiery tests, and which worked again
now. The cloud dispersed from George's brow. Anger and resentfulness
could not hold good before the chatter of those rosy lips, and when the
dear face looked up at him, roguish and smiling, it was all over with
his resistance--he smiled too.
The clocks in the town on the opposite shore began to strike twelve.
The chimes rang out distinctly over the lake, warning the young people
that it was time to part. George raised his darling's hand to his lips,
and kissed it passionately. The near neighbourhood of the high-road and
of the adjacent country houses forbade any further mark of tenderness.
Gabrielle did indeed seem to take the parting lightly. For one moment a
shade fell over her, it is true, and a tear even glistened in her brown
eyes, but next minute all was bright and sunny again. She threw a last
kiss to her faithful lover, and hurried away. George's eyes followed
her until she disappeared from view.
"Max is right," he said, dreamily. "We are ill-mated, this spoilt child
of fortune and I! Why must I love her, of all others, differing from me
as she does in all wherein we should be most united? Why, indeed? Ah, I
love her--and that is all the answer."
In spite of his indignant repudiation of it, his friend's warning
seemed to have found an echo in the young man's breast; but what could
reason and reflection avail against the passion that had taken
possession of his whole being? He knew from experience that there was
no fighting against the charm which had taken him captive on their very
first meeting, and to which on each succeeding occasion he had
succumbed afresh.