Life at the Castle during the last few weeks had been anything but
agreeable. To be sure, things had outwardly taken their usual course.
The family met and talked at table, and fulfilled all their social
duties; but the former easy, familiar intercourse had given place to a
stiff reserve and constraint, which weighed heavily on each separate
member of the party. The Baroness, shallow-minded and superficial as
ever, was, perhaps, the least affected by it. She could not understand
how an insignificant, fleeting love-affair, which, after all, was
nothing more than a piece of childish folly, should have so deep and
lasting an influence on her brother-in-law's humour. To her thinking, a
complete end had been put to the matter by the Baron's decided refusal,
and by Winterfeld's departure from R----. There could be no doubt that
Gabrielle would now listen to reason. The mother had, as she supposed,
an unfailing resource at her disposal, one which would speedily drive
that romantic youthful fancy into the background. Lieutenant Wilten's
admiration for the young Baroness was growing day by day more evident,
and but little encouragement was needed to embolden him to press his
suit openly.
Ever since the night of the ball, when Colonel Wilten had remarked how
much his eldest son was taken by the appearance and manners of
Gabrielle von Harder, that gentleman had held tenaciously to the idea
of bringing about a marriage between the two. As Raven had shown
himself impervious to the slight hints he had let fall on the subject,
the Colonel had recourse to the lady of the house, whom he found far
more amenable, and quite disposed to favour his wishes. There was not,
indeed, much to be urged against the match, which was one to satisfy a
more requiring mother than the Baroness. The Wiltens came of a good old
house, and were connected by blood, or by alliance, with some of the
foremost families of the land. They were not rich, certainly, but this
want would be supplied by Gabrielle's dowry and future fortune, in
case, as might confidently be expected, the Baron should give his
consent to the marriage. Albert von Wilten was a good-looking young
officer, whose uniform became him exceedingly well, and who rode and
danced to perfection. He was a model partner and an agreeable
companion, and he appeared to be sincerely attached to Gabrielle. In
short, he possessed all the qualities which Madame von Harder desired
in her future son-in-law; and the Colonel and his wife, to both of whom
the presumptive heiress of Baron von Raven seemed a most desirable
connection, were diligent in their attentions to mother and daughter.
The Baroness began by sounding her brother-in-law. She soon made the
unpleasant discovery that Gabrielle, by her rebellious wilfulness and
obstinacy, had altogether trifled away the kindly feeling which her
guardian had formerly entertained towards her. This was very evident,
for he listened to the proposed scheme with icy indifference;
declaring, indeed, that he had no objection to offer, but that he must
decline to interfere, and leave the matter entirely to the Baroness's
generalship. On the other hand, that lady obtained the comforting
assurance that, as Baroness Wilten, her daughter would remain in
undiminished possession of all the advantages secured to her by her
guardian's will. This did away with any lingering hesitation, Gabrielle
herself was to know nothing of the plan. She seemed to like the young
officer, but was rather cool and reserved in her manner towards him,
and evidently attached no serious importance to the homage he paid her.
She, therefore, readily consented to accompany her mother when the
latter accepted an invitation to the Wiltens' country-house, which was
situated some miles from the town, at the foot of the mountains. The
Colonel's wife, whose health was delicate, generally spent the summer
there. She had not yet returned to town, and as there was still a
prospect of a few fine, sunny autumn days, Lieutenant Wilten never
rested until he obtained from the ladies the promise of a visit. He, of
course, at once applied for leave, in order to be with them during
their sojourn in the country; and the Colonel, too, managed to get free
of the duties of his service for a short space. The matter was thus set
in train, and it was agreed that the rest should be left to the young
people themselves.
The Baron, who was included in the invitation, excused himself on the
plea of the pressure of business. Besides, he said, he felt it
necessary to remain at his post on account of the uneasiness still
prevailing in the town. So the ladies set out on their expedition
alone, and Gabrielle breathed freely as the carriage rolled out from
the portico of the Government-house. She, poor girl, had suffered most
from the experiences of the last few weeks, yet Raven had kept his
word. Not a look, not a word, had recalled to her that "unguarded
moment" which she was to forget, as he seemed to have forgotten it.
George Winterfeld's name had not passed his lips since the day on which
he had informed her that the Assessor had left R---- to enter on his
new post in the distant capital; but since then the Baron himself had
become more reserved and unapproachable than ever. He governed and
ordered everything with his accustomed promptness and energy; but
between him and Gabrielle a great cleft seemed to have opened,
rendering all friendly communication impossible. He was frigid as ice
in his behaviour to her; thus it came about that she grasped eagerly at
the chance now offered her of escaping for a while from the life in
common which was every day growing more unendurable. Raven, too, seemed
to desire a separation, for he at once concurred in the plan, and
expressed no disapproval when his sister-in-law thought fit to prolong
her absence for a full fortnight.
On the last day of their _villeggiatura_, the Governor drove out to the
Wiltens' country-seat to fetch the ladies home. But the Baroness had
taken cold, and, the weather being raw and inclement, could not venture
to undertake so long a drive. She had decided on staying the night, and
returning to town the following day with Colonel Wilten and his wife.
It was arranged, however, that Gabrielle should avail herself of her
guardian's escort. Raven, who had come over in the morning, wished to
start again directly after dinner, and Colonel Wilten in vain sought to
detain him.
"I cannot stop," said the Baron, as the two talked together, pacing the
garden-room the while. "In the present state of affairs it would not do
for me to leave the town for more than a few hours. Even for this short
absence I had to take my precautions, leaving word that I was to be
sent for should anything happen."
"Is the situation so critical, then?" asked the Colonel, who had been
out of town for the last week.
"Critical?" Raven shrugged his shoulders. "There is rather more
brawling and noise than usual, and every now and then we have an
attempt at a riot; the good citizens, in short, are sufficiently giving
me to understand the dislike entertained by them towards my person and
government. I have had one or two apostles of liberty, who were
decreeing my deposition in open assembly, arrested, and hold them
safely under lock and key. The whole city is in a state of sedition in
consequence. The burgomaster came up to me himself to demand the
release of the prisoners, 'in the name of justice.' I was obliged to
make known to that gentleman that my patience is at length exhausted,
and that I shall now proceed with more vigour than I have hitherto
cared to display."
In spite of their ironical inflection, his words betrayed deep
irritation and annoyance. Wilten, too, had grown serious.
"The ferment has been going on for months," he observed. "If the
outbreak, which is always threatening, has been avoided so far, we owe
it to the tact and discretion of the police authorities--of the
Superintendent, in particular."
"He and his officials will be powerless soon in face of this growing
agitation. The Superintendent is too fond of half-measures for me to
put my trust in him. No matter what orders I give, I am met with a
great show of ready compliance and prompt adhesion; but when it comes
to executing my orders, there are endless difficulties and delays, and
we make no progress at all. I am glad you are coming back to town
tomorrow; but for that, I must have asked you to shorten your leave.
You are the commandant of the garrison, and there is no saying how soon
strong arguments may be needed."
"Your Excellency would do well to avoid any violent measures," said the
Colonel, impressively. "Once taken, they cannot be retracted, and you
know my despatches----"
"Instruct you to place the troops of the garrison at my disposal."
"No; they only instruct me to lend you assistance in case of extreme
necessity," replied the Colonel, a little irritated at the other's
imperious tone; "and at army head-quarters it is earnestly desired that
such a necessity may be avoided. It is really rather difficult to draw
a line, to say where your responsibility ends and mine begins. I should
hesitate to interfere in this early stage of affairs."
"That is natural," said Raven, curtly. "You are a soldier, and
accustomed to submit to discipline. My position has always permitted me
to retain my freedom of action and independence. Nevertheless, you may
rest assured that I shall do all in my power to save you from any such
dilemma."
"Let us hope that it will not come to the worst," struck in the
Colonel, who had no desire to excite the other's anger. Wilten was
counting a good deal just now on the Baron's friendly feeling, and,
foreseeing that this topic of conversation might give rise to fresh
unpleasantness, he let it drop, and passed to another which lay very
near his heart.
"Well, I shall return to my post to-morrow, certainly," he began again.
"Albert has been back in town for more than a week. It was hard on him
to tear himself away at the call of duty. He lies bound hand and foot,
a captive to the charms of a certain young lady."
Raven was silent. He stopped, accidentally, as it were, by the window
which opened on to the balcony, and, turning slightly away, looked out
into the garden.
"I may take it for granted, I think, that my son's wishes and hopes are
no secret to you now," continued Wilten. "In these wishes my wife
and I most cordially share. If we may reckon on your support in the
matter----"
"Has Lieutenant Wilten declared himself as yet?" interrupted the Baron,
still preserving the same attitude.
"Not yet. We fancied there was a little reserve in Fraeulein von
Harder's manner to him, and Albert had not the courage to speak out. He
will call on you in the course of the next few days. May he hope that
you will favour his cause? A father's good word is often a powerful
aid."
"A father's good word!" repeated Raven, his voice grating with harshest
irony.
"Well, or his who stands in the father's place. The Baroness is of
opinion also, that your counsels will have great weight with her
daughter."
Raven passed his hand across his brow, and turned slowly round to face
the speaker.
"When Lieutenant Wilten has communicated with me, I will acquaint
Gabrielle with his proposal, and ask for her answer; but I neither can
nor will attempt to influence my ward."
"Of course not, of course not," replied the Colonel; "but, next to the
young lady's consent, her guardian's approval is, naturally, the first
thing to be thought of. The Baroness has led my son to hope that he may
count on you."
"I have already told my sister-in-law that I have no objection to
offer," said the Baron, whose lips twitched, as though he were enduring
an inward martyrdom, albeit his voice retained its wonted calm. "But
the decision must rest solely and entirely with Gabrielle. If her
mother chooses to throw her influence into the scale, she can do so. I,
personally, shall not interfere."
The Colonel seemed surprised and a little offended at this very cool
reception of his overtures, but he ascribed the other's ungenial manner
to the annoying occurrences in the town, which had evidently ruffled
his temper.
"I can well understand that your head is full of other things just
now," he half apologised; "but when a hot-headed young fellow of my
Albert's stamp falls in love, he does not stay to inquire whether time
and circumstances are favourable to his suit; he cannot be induced to
sit down soberly and wait. But to come back to where we started. Would
it not be better to leave the ladies here awhile? R---- is not a very
pleasant place of residence just in these difficult times, and my wife
would gladly prolong her sojourn in the country if it would be any
convenience to her dear visitors."
"Thanks, no," declined Raven. "It shall not be said that my relations
remain absent from the town because I hold the situation to be
seriously menacing. Some such reports have arisen already, and it is
high time they should be refuted."
Colonel Wilten saw that this ground was untenable, so he yielded. The
previous arrangements as to the journey therefore held good, and a few
hours later the Baron set out in Gabrielle's company on his return to
the town, leaving the remaining trio to follow at their ease.
It was a cool and rather stormy autumn day, with heavy showers of rain
and glimpses of sunshine alternating. The heaviest downpour had,
however, ceased about noon, and the sun, already declining to its rest,
struggled still for the mastery, breaking through the dark clouds with
which the sky was covered. In spite of the uninviting weather, Raven,
as was his wont, had driven out in an open carriage, and the handsome
horses, celebrated throughout the province for their swiftness and the
beauty of their proportions, almost flew along the road with the light
britzska. Its occupants were very silent during the greater part of the
drive. The Baron seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and Gabrielle sat
mutely gazing out at the country through which they passed. The wind
blew keenly down from the hills, and the girl drew her mantle more
closely about her shoulders. Raven noticed the movement.
"You are cold," he said; "I should have remembered that you are not
accustomed to drive in an open carriage in such weather. I will have
the hood put up."
He would have at once given the coachman the order, but Gabrielle
stopped him.
"No, thank you. I prefer even this chill keen air to a close carriage.
My cloak protects me perfectly."
"As you like."
Raven stooped, drew up a rug which had slipped to their feet, and
wrapped it round his companion's slender form. Then she said, in a low
and almost timid voice:
"Uncle Arno, I have a request to make to you."
"I am listening," he replied laconically.
"If this close intercourse with Colonel Wilten's family is to be kept
up in town, let me be dispensed from sharing in it."
"Why?"
"Because, during our stay in the country, I have discovered that mamma
was following out a premeditated plan in accepting that invitation--a
plan which you favour."
"I favour nothing," said Raven, coldly. "Your mother is guided by her
own wishes, and acts on her own responsibility. I take no part in the
matter."
"But they will ask for your decision," returned Gabrielle. "At least,
mamma hinted to me that Albert von Wilten would shortly apply to you
with a request which----"
"Which will concern you," concluded Raven, as she paused. "That seems
probable certainly, but you alone can decide thereupon. I shall refer
him to you for an answer."
"Spare us both that," interposed the girl, hastily. "It would be as
mortifying to him to take a refusal from my lips as it would be painful
for me to speak it."
"You have made up your mind, then, to decline his offer?"
She looked up at him with great reproachful eyes.
"Can you ask me? You know that I have given my word to another."
"And you know that I do not recognise that promise, given in haste, as
a pledge which is to bind you. 'I have given my word to another.' A
little while ago it was, 'I love another!'"
The observation must have struck home, for Gabrielle's face was
suffused with a deep crimson blush, and she evaded a direct reply.
"Albert von Wilten was an object of indifference to me before," she
answered; "since I have found out that his suit is to be pressed upon
me, I have taken a dislike to him. I will never be his wife."
The Baron drew a long deep breath which seemed to expand his chest; but
he replied, in the icy tone he had maintained throughout the
conversation:
"I shall neither compel nor persuade you to make a choice. If, indeed,
you are firmly resolved to refuse young Wilten, it will, no doubt, be
better that his proposal should not be made. I will give the Colonel to
understand that there is no hope for him. It shall be done to-morrow."
Raven leaned back in his seat, and the former silence set in again.
Gabrielle nestled more closely into her corner; she, who in the old
days could not have sat for the space of a quarter of an hour without
breaking forth into a flow of merry chatter, now showed no inclination
whatever to renew the conversation. A mighty change had come over the
girl, a change which could not be said exactly to date from George's
departure; before that, long before, there had arisen within her an
enigmatic unknown something against which she had battled from the
first, and which she had so long taken for the constraint of shyness
and fear. This strange new state of mind had nothing in common with the
joyous, happy sensation which had warmed her heart like sunshine when
George first confessed his love to her, when with all the fervour of
his heart he prayed for her love in return, and she, smiling and
flushing with pleasure and excitement, spoke the word he pleaded for.
Often enough she recalled the memory of that hour, fleeing to it as to
some protecting influence--sometimes it would happen that she called on
it in vain. At such moments George's image, which she strove firmly to
grasp and to retain, would recede into the background, fading gradually
away. If separation and absence were alone to blame for this, why did
not absence work a like effect with regard to that other figure which
rose before her, grave and sombre, ever more and more distinctly in
proportion as the former vision waned? During the whole of the past
fortnight that face had been with Gabrielle.
Neither the flattering homage paid her by the young officer, nor the
thought of her absent lover, had had power to scare away the one
remembrance which by degrees was usurping absolute sway over her mind
and feelings. It was as though some sorcerer's spell had cast the young
girl's whole nature into bonds. The old merry light-heartedness, the
wilful high spirits, the childish caprices--all these had vanished, and
in their place had come dim, problematic sensations more nearly akin to
pain than pleasure; a constant flux and reflux of emotions which
Gabrielle did not understand, but which troubled her exceedingly. She
still wrestled half unconsciously against this dread unknown; for as
yet she did not divine, _would_ not divine the nature of the peril
which menaced her youthful attachment and George's happiness; she only
felt that both were in danger, and that the danger did not come from
without.
Swiftly, steadily, the carriage rolled on its way towards the town,
which still lay at some considerable distance, all wreathed around in
mist. The broad valley and its encircling hills were already robed in
russet, for here, among the mountains, autumn entered on its dominion
earlier than out in the open plain. As yet the trees and bushes stood
clothed in all their wealth of leaves, but their fresh verdure had long
ago disappeared. Everywhere nature had decked herself in rich and
varied hues, ranging from darkest brown to brightest ochre, with here
and there a flame of brilliant red or a dash of purple, deluding the
eye with the semblance of flowers still blooming in among the thickets;
though, in truth, there was nothing here but dying foliage sending
forth one last bright gleam of colour before it fell a prey to the
chill wind now rustling through the forests, and sweeping with its
cutting blasts over the bare fields and pastures. The river, swollen
with the late rains, rushed in mad haste on its course, its dark and
turgid torrent rolling onwards with a low, sullen roar. The mountains
had wrapped themselves in their veil of mist, which, tattered in places
and fluttering, would now enshroud, and now reveal, the jagged peaks
above. Lower down, among the wooded hills, the clouds pursued their
fantastic evolutions, rising out of the deep vaporous ravines and
sinking from view again in endless unrest; while, in the west, the sun
slowly declined, camped around by a dark phalanx of storm-cloud which
the great orb illumined with a ruddy glow, but which even it was
powerless to break.
This same landscape had once presented a very different aspect to the
two who were now sitting side by side, mute and reserved as strangers.
Then the valley had lain before them flooded in sunlight, bright with a
golden haze, its blue mountains and glistening distances telling of a
"Paradise" beyond; while from beneath the cool deep shade of the limes
came the sparkle of the fountain and the mysterious rippling murmur of
its waters, calling up those sweet, dangerous dream-visions! To-day the
only sound heard was the low roar of the river, as they drove along its
banks. The horizon was masked in thick fog; the mountains, all girt
around with clouds, looked down menacingly, and the sun, bereft of its
warmth and radiance, burned with a lurid fire, staining the sky a deep
blood-red, as it flamed its parting greeting to the earth.
The Baron's eyes were moodily fixed on the setting sun and the great
masses of cloud striving together for the mastery. At length, with a
strong effort, as it seemed, he roused himself from his thoughts, and
broke the long silence.
"The sky denotes a storm," he said, turning to his young companion;
"but it will probably not come upon us until night, and I hope we shall
be safely housed in R---- before dusk."
"They say the town is very disturbed just now," observed Gabrielle,
with an anxious, inquiring look up at her companion, which, however, he
did not appear to notice.
"There have been some rather noisy demonstrations of late, certainly,"
he replied. "But the troubles are not of a serious nature, and will
soon be over. You need feel no uneasiness."
"But they say that this movement is directed principally, if not
entirely, against you," continued Gabrielle, in a faltering voice.
Raven frowned.
"Who says that?"
"Colonel Wilten often lets fall hints on the subject. Is it true that
you have so many enemies in the town?"
"I never have been popular in R----," explained the Baron, with perfect
equanimity. "In the first days of my appointment, the duty devolved on
me of stifling the germs of a revolution then in active preparation. I
succeeded; but success in such matters generally breeds hostility. Well
do I know what hatred to my person the measures to which I had to
resort at that time provoked, and how obstinately the people still
persist in regarding me as an oppressor, notwithstanding all that I
have done for the city and the province. We have lived in a state of
constant warfare; but so far I have always had the upper hand, and I
mean to preserve it in this instance."
Gabrielle thought of George's enigmatic words, of which she had as yet
found no solution. He had so resolutely evaded her urgent appeal for an
explanation, and the parting had come so quickly, so unexpectedly; but
a few minutes had been allowed them for their stolen leave-taking, then
the young man, with a great effort of will, had torn himself away,
leaving Gabrielle a prey to torturing anxiety. Conjectures as to his
meaning, harassing fears and doubts, still racked her brain. Of one
thing, however, she felt certain--the Baron was in some way menaced,
and she resolved to warn him at all hazards.
"But you stand quite alone against a multitude," she said. "You cannot
tell, cannot even guess what they may be plotting against you in
secret. Suppose there should be danger in store for you!"
Raven looked at her with an expression of undisguised astonishment.
"How long have you taken an interest in such matters? They were
formerly as far from your ken as night from day."
The young girl tried to smile.
"I have learned so much of late that was once beyond my ken. But I am
now alluding to some very decided hints----"
"Which have reached you?"
"Yes."
The Baron started. He flashed upon her the old piercing, inquisitorial
look peculiar to him, and asked abruptly:
"You are in communication with the capital?"
"I have not received a single line, not a sign of life from thence."
"No?" said Raven, more mildly. "I fancied so, because Assessor
Winterfeld has entered on his new duties at the Ministry of the
Interior, where he will no doubt meet with sympathisers, with many who
will share in his opinion that I am a tyrant unequalled in the annals
of history. I cannot take it amiss from the young man personally that
he should indulge in such views, for I was forced to assume an attitude
towards him which fairly entitles him to hate me and to revenge himself
on me, supposing revenge to be within his power."
"He will never do anything ungenerous or base," said Gabrielle.
The Baron smiled disdainfully.
"I can assure you that I attach very little weight to Mr. Winterfeld's
ill-will or opposition. I have had more powerful enemies than him, and
have managed to get the better of them. But if the hints of which you
speak do not emanate from the capital, I can only suppose that the
silly rumours which are buzzed from mouth to mouth in R---- have found
their way out to the Wiltens' country-seat. They rest on no practical
foundation whatever. I do not doubt that the malcontents have every
inclination to do me a hurt, but they will be too wise to proceed to
deeds of violence. They know well enough that I am their match, and
able to meet any attack made upon me. If the situation had really been
so full of peril, I should not have allowed you and your mother to
return. I must ask you to discontinue your drives for the next few
days, but it will not be for any length of time, I hope; and, in any
case, at the Castle, in the Governor's house, you will be safe from the
popular excesses, should any such occur."
"But you will not be safe!" cried Gabrielle, her anxiety breaking down
the barrier of her timidity at last. "The Colonel declares that you
expose yourself recklessly to every danger, and never listen to a
warning of any sort."
Raven turned his grave, dark eyes slowly upon her.
"Well, that concerns myself alone, I think, unless--unless it be that
you feel anxiety on my account."
She dared not reply in words; but the answer might be read in her eyes,
which met his with an imploring, beseeching look. The Baron bent down
to her, and there was a thrill of breathless expectation in his voice
as he repeated:
"Speak, Gabrielle; are you anxious about me?"
"Yes," came trembling from her lips. It was but a single word, yet it
wrought a marvellous effect.
Again Gabrielle saw his whole face kindle as with a blaze of light, met
the ardent gaze which had struck her dumb once before; and the flame of
that mighty up-springing passion melted the panoply of ice in which the
proud man had wrapped himself. One moment sufficed to destroy the
barriers which the self-control of weeks had laboriously built up. The
dream was _not_ over. The sudden fire in his eyes flashed out his
secret.
Close to them the river ran with a loud and angry murmur, while out
yonder in the autumnal forests the wind rustled and blew with sharper,
stronger blasts. The wall of cloud, which rose more and more
threateningly in the west, parted, and once again the red sun shone out
clear and full. For a few seconds, mountains, woods, and stream
appeared bathed in a purple light; a transfiguring glory streamed over
the earth, and the whole broad valley glowed in supernatural splendour.
For a few seconds only--then the great disc sank out of sight, the
glory died away, and there remained nothing but the darkening autumn
landscape with, overhead, the heavy masses of storm-cloud, and far away
in the distant horizon a lingering crimson flush. A half-melancholy,
half-weird aspect came over the scene, and all Nature thrilled with a
presentiment of winter and of death.
"During the last few weeks, you too have thought me a tyrant, no
doubt," said Raven, in a low voice, carefully subdued, though every
word vibrated with his inward agitation. "Perhaps one day you will
thank me for guarding you from the fault of over-precipitation. You
were ignorant of your own heart and feelings, and yet you wished to
bind yourself for life. Winterfeld was the first man who approached you
after you ceased to be a child, the first who ventured to speak to you
words of love, and you shut your eyes and dreamed that you too loved,
conjuring up the phantom of that which never existed. It was a childish
illusion--nothing more."
"No, no," said Gabrielle, anxiously disclaiming the charge, and
attempting to free her hand--attempting in vain, for the Baron held it
as in a vice, as he answered:
"You feel the truth of what I say. Do not strive against it. A promise
may be recalled, an engagement cancelled by mutual consent----"
"Never!" exclaimed the girl, passionately. "I love George, him alone,
and no one else. I mean to be his wife."
Raven let her hand drop. The gleam in his eyes died out, and the old
icy mask covered his features once more. There was hardness and
infinite bitterness in his voice as he replied:
"Lay aside, then, in future all care and anxiety for me. I will have
none of them."
They drove on in silence, no further word being exchanged between them.
The evening shadows fell gradually; the mountains were altogether lost
to view, and the mists hovering over the meadows grew denser and
denser. Dusk had fairly set in, when at length R---- was reached; but
there was still light enough to distinguish objects at some little
distance.
The carriage had passed through the outlying suburb, and had turned
into the broad high-road leading to the Castle. At the other extremity
of this road was situated one of the largest squares, or open places,
of the town. This square now seemed to be the scene of some tumult; for
from thence the shouts and cries of an angry multitude were borne over,
and, in spite of the growing darkness, surging crowds might be seen
thronging the broad space. The Baron started as the first sounds struck
on his ear. He leaned far out of the carriage, and looked keenly back
in the direction whence they proceeded; then he cast a quick, uneasy
glance at his companion.
"This comes inopportunely," he muttered. "I should have done better to
have left you with your mother."
"What is the matter yonder? Is there any danger?" asked Gabrielle,
turning very pale.
She remembered Colonel Wilten's remarks, how he had deplored the
hardihood with which the Governor would risk his safety on such
occasions. Raven saw her alarm, but ascribed it to fear on her own
account.
"There would seem to be a turbulent meeting yonder before the State
prison," he answered. "I presumed, from general appearances, that the
peace would not be broken to-day, or I should not have driven out from
the town. But do not be in the least uneasy, you shall be exposed to no
danger. I shall have to leave you; but----"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, stay with me!" cried Gabrielle. "Where would
you go?"
"Whither my duty calls me--to the scene of action."
"And I?"
"You must go home alone. No one will molest you. Stop, Joseph."
The coachman obediently drew rein, and Raven rose from his seat.
"Joseph, you will take Fraeulein von Harder home to the Castle at once,
and as quickly as possible. There is no danger; the road is perfectly
clear."
He opened the carriage-door, but the girl clung to his arm desperately.
"Do not leave me alone. Take me with you at least, if you must go."
"Nonsense!" said Raven, freeing his arm from her grasp. "You drive on
to the Castle. I will come directly the disturbance is quelled, and the
place quiet again."
He alighted, and turned to close the door; but in a moment Gabrielle
had sprung out too, and now stood by him in the road.
"Gabrielle!" the Baron exclaimed, and there was impatient annoyance in
his tone, mingled with real alarm.
But the girl only nestled more closely to his side.
"I will not let you go into the danger alone. I am afraid of nothing,
of nothing in the world when you are with me. Let us go together."
Again Raven's eye blazed, and this time in the joyful flash there was
swift, passionate triumph.
"You cannot accompany me," he said, in that strangely subdued tone
which Gabrielle had heard but once from his lips--once only by the
Nixies' Well. "You must understand that I cannot take you into the
midst of that excited crowd, where I should have no possible means of
protecting you. It is not the first time I have encountered such
scenes. I know how to curb men's passions, but my wonted energy would
fail me, were I to think that you were exposed to any danger. Promise
me to return quietly home and to wait for me there. I ask this of you,
Gabrielle. You will not make it hard for me to do my duty."
He took her in his arms, and lifted her into the carriage. Gabrielle
offered no resistance. She knew full well that no woman could or should
trust herself to the mercies of that wild, riotous mob--nothing but the
mortal anxiety she was enduring would have suggested the thought to
her. This anxiety was now so legibly stamped on her features that even
Raven's firmness wavered. He felt he must tear himself away at once, if
he would not yield to the mute prayer of those beseeching eyes.
"I must go," he said hastily. "Good-bye for the present. I shall not be
long away."
He closed the carriage-door sharply, and signed to the coachman to
drive on. Gabrielle, bending out, saw the tall figure turn and stride
away with rapid steady steps in the direction of the square. Then the
horses pulled with a will, and the carriage flew with redoubled speed
on its way towards the Castle.