Dr. Brunnow was, unfortunately, soon to learn from experience that the
quality he vaunted in his colleague may, under given circumstances,
lead to serious complications. The day passed by quickly enough, and,
in spite of all the excitement he had gone through, the patient found
himself in such excellent case that even Agnes, in whose mind grave
doubt had lingered, began to believe in the fact of his safety.
Evening was drawing on apace, and it was quite dusk out of doors when
Agnes came in, carrying a carefully-shaded lamp, and informed Max that
an elderly gentleman, a certain Dr. Franz, had just arrived, and after
inquiring minutely and with much interest as to the state of his, Dr.
Brunnow's, health, had begged to be allowed to see him. He called, he
said, at the request of a professional friend, and was anxious
personally to convince himself of the well-being of the patient, to
whom he sent a written message.
Max took the card, on which a few words were pencilled.
"Dr. Franz? I suppose my respected colleague cannot get over this
morning's astounding resurrection, and means to have an official report
of the case drawn up in due form. I will give the gentleman----"
Suddenly he stopped. As his eye fell on the handwriting, he started
violently, and an expression of alarm came over his features, while his
fingers closed convulsively on the card. Agnes, who had raised the
lamp-shade to enable him to read it, was struck by the change in him.
"What is it, dear?" she asked, "Do you know this Dr. Franz?"
In spite of the convent education, they had got so far as this
caressing little epithet "dear" in the course of the day.
"Yes, I have known him some time," said Max, collecting himself with an
effort--try as he would, however, he could not speak with quite his
wonted steadiness. "I will see him, certainly, at once; and do me a
favour, Agnes. Leave us together while he is here, and take care that
we are not disturbed."
Agnes looked a little puzzled. Max had hardly let her stir from his
side during the day, and now he was sending her from him. Fortunately,
the light was too subdued for her to notice the young man's suppressed
agitation; she quieted herself with the thought that, no doubt,
a medical consultation was to be held, and went away to tell the
new-comer he was expected.
The stranger, a grey-haired man of meagre form and stooping gait, at
once obeyed the summons. On entering, he closed the door of the
sick-room quickly behind him, and hurried up to the invalid, who had
raised himself in his bed, and stretched out both hands to his visitor.
"Father! For God's sake, what brought you here? How could you run such
a risk?"
For all answer, Dr. Rudolph Brunnow put his arm round his son's
shoulders, and scanned his features with a careful, anxious scrutiny.
"You are better? They told me so outside. Thank God!"
"But how did you hear of my accident?" questioned Max. "You were not to
have been told until it was all happily over. I did not want to cause
you useless anxiety."
"I received a telegram from your doctor, yesterday. He communicated to
me that you were badly wounded and in a critical condition. I was to
hold myself prepared for the worst. An hour later I was on the road
hither, and I reached this town by the next express."
"A confounded old fool!" burst out Max, in a fury. "Is it not enough
that he has tormented me and all the people about me with this rubbish,
that now he must bring you here, too? If I could have guessed it, this
morning, I would have taken him to book in another fashion."
Dr. Brunnow looked at his son in speechless amazement. Then he heaved a
deep-drawn sigh of relief.
"Well, if you can fulminate in that manner, things cannot be so very
bad, I fancy. I feared to find you in a very different state. How was
the danger so speedily averted?"
"There never was any danger. A good deal of fever, a little weakness
through loss of blood, that was all. But now tell me, father----"
"By-and-by. I must look at this wound first myself" interrupted his
father, still visibly agitated. "I shall not be easy until I have
satisfied myself with my own eyes."
He took off the bandage, and began to examine the appearance of the
wound. During this investigation his brow cleared, and at length he
said, with a little shake of the head:
"You are right. The wound is deep, and may have produced some serious
symptoms at first, but it is not one involving danger to life, I don't
understand your surgeon."
"Heaven have mercy on the patient who falls into his hands!" said Max,
emphatically. "But notwithstanding that unlucky telegram, I cannot
think how you could resolve on coming to this place. You know that you
are under a ban--that the old sentence is still in force. Directly they
recognise you, you will be arrested, and imprisoned in the citadel
again."
"Do not make yourself uneasy," replied his father. "There is no fear
whatever of discovery. I am staying at an inn in one of the suburbs
under an assumed name; besides, I am quite a stranger to this town. No
one here is personally acquainted with me except ...."--a cloud came
over his face--"except the Governor, and it is not likely I shall meet
him. We have both of us good reasons to avoid each other."
"No matter; with every hour you spend here, you are incurring fresh
risk to your freedom, your life. Did not you think of all this when you
undertook the journey?"
"No," returned Brunnow, his voice faltering with deep emotion. "I heard
that my only son lay at death's door, and I said to myself that, as a
professional man, I might possibly find a way to save him. I had no
time to think of anything else."
Max clasped his father's hand tightly, and tears glistened in his eyes,
as he answered:
"I did not think you set so much value on my life, father. Forgive me
if I have sometimes doubted your affection for me. I have not deserved
that you should sacrifice yourself in this way. I have caused you worry
and care enough with my obstinacy, which has long refused to bend to
any authority."
His father stopped him.
"Let that be, Max," said he, with a wave of the hand. "We will forget
all that has come between us hitherto. The terrible anxiety of the last
four-and-twenty hours has taught me what it would be to lose the one
source of happiness, the one hope which remains to me in life. Do not
accuse yourself. I, too, have been unjust. I have never been willing to
understand that your nature is so differently constituted to mine, you
cannot think on all points as I do. But I trust this hour will have
shown you what you are to your father, in spite of any little
misunderstandings. Only get strong again, then all will be well."
He stooped, and pressed his lips to his son's forehead--a mark of
tenderness which had long been out of use between them. Since his
childhood. Max had received no such caress from his father; he
responded to it with the heartiest warmth.
"You shall not have to complain of your stubborn son, the 'realist,'
again," he said in a low voice. "I shall never forget, father, all that
you have risked in my behalf. But now, promise me to leave again at
once. You have convinced yourself that I am in no sort of danger. A
real peril, however, exists for you so long as you are on this side the
border. I entreat you once again, return as quickly as possible."
"I will start to-morrow morning," declared Brunnow; "but I shall come
up again early to see you before I go. No remonstrances, Max. Do not
distress yourself with needless anxiety. I tell you, discovery is out
of the question. But now I will leave you. You are greatly in want of
rest, and have had far more excitement than is good for you in your
condition."
"Bah! it won't do me any harm. I have a first-rate constitution,"
replied Max, reflecting that he had that day gone through a lively
professional skirmish and a betrothal without detriment to his health.
He preferred, however, to say nothing to his father of his love-affairs
for the present, so he chose another topic.
"You must have been not a little surprised to have to come and look me
up here at the Government-house?"
"That I certainly was; and the name of Councillor Moser, who, as I
hear, is an official connected with the Chancellery, was quite
unfamiliar to me. I suppose you have made the gentleman's acquaintance
during your stay here, and have come to be on friendly terms with him."
"Well, I can't say we are exactly on friendly terms," said his son,
dryly. "This Councillor is a splendid specimen of the loyal, orthodox
type, the very ideal of a bureaucrat. He has a nervous attack whenever
he hears the word 'revolution;' and on the first day of our
acquaintance he closed his doors on me because I bear a name to which,
in his opinion, the stigma of treason attaches."
"We have the more cause for gratitude that, notwithstanding his
prejudices, he has received you into his house. We are both under a
deep obligation to him. Unfortunately, I cannot tender him my thanks in
person----"
"Don't think of such a thing, for Heaven's sake! He scents a rebel a
mile off; and though he does not know you, his instinct of loyalty
would infallibly warn him that a traitor was near at hand."
"Max, do not speak in such a tone of the man who has accorded to you
hospitality and attention," said Brunnow, reprovingly. "You are still
the same old Max, I see. But it must be owned you have a stalwart frame
and a robust constitution, which would astonish more experienced
people than this Esculapius of yours. Though the injury presents no
actual danger, it is serious enough to deprive any ordinary patient of
a fancy for conversation, and here are you indulging in quips at the
expense of your host!"
Max thought to himself that he owed his welcome to that house to other
influences than the generosity of its master. He did not explain this,
however; but with very natural anxiety again urged his father to go,
and to use every possible precaution to ensure his safety. Dr. Brunnow,
who himself saw that a longer stay in the sick-room must excite
surprise, yielded to his son's wish. He took a hasty but affectionate
leave of the young man, and went.
Passing through the apartments occupied by the Moser family, he was met
in the outer anteroom by Councillor Moser himself. That gentleman
approached the stranger in his calm, solemn manner, and said
inquiringly:
"Dr. Franz, I believe?"
Brunnow bowed consent.
"That is my name; and I probably have the pleasure of speaking to
Councillor Moser?"
"Precisely," replied that personage, with a stiff inclination of the
head. "My daughter tells me that you are a physician, and that you have
called at Dr. Berndt's request. I should like to hear from you whether
what the women say is correct. I am told that the patient's condition
has greatly improved during the course of the day, and that there is
now every hope of recovery. From what I gathered from your colleague
this morning, I should say this is most unlikely--impossible, in fact."
"All danger is indeed over," said the other. "I have no doubt whatever
that Dr. Brunnow's life will be spared. He owes his safety, of course,
in a great measure to the prompt succour and devoted care he has
received in your house. You must have been put to great inconvenience
on his account during the last few days."
"Yes, indeed, to very considerable inconvenience," sighed the
Councillor, who hardly knew whether to rejoice or to feel wrathful that
the dreaded catastrophe had been averted, that there was to be no death
in the house, after all. It would be just as bad to read in the papers:
"The son of that Dr. Brunnow, whose name is so well known in connection
with the late rebellion, has happily recovered from the effects of his
severe injuries. He has throughout his illness been carefully tended at
the house of Councillor Moser."
Brunnow, for his part, regarded with looks full of interest this old
gentleman who appeared so perplexed and concerned. Knowing nothing of
Agnes's independent action, he attributed the kind treatment his son
had experienced to the Councillor himself; and judging by the hints Max
had given of his host's character, he saw in Moser a man who, in a
moment of need, had risen superior to all personal considerations, and
had magnanimously come to the rescue of a political enemy.
"Dr. Brunnow," said he, speaking from the overflowing gratitude of a
father's heart--"Dr. Brunnow will, I trust, soon be able himself to
express to you his deep sense of your kindness; in the meantime, allow
me, as his old friend, to address you in his name. I--we thank you,
sir--thank you most heartily for that which you have done."
"It was a Christian duty," asserted the Councillor, agreeably flattered
by these words, which so plainly betokened real and deep emotion; "a
duty I should in any case have fulfilled; still, it is gratifying to
find that one's good offices are appreciated by those to whom they have
been tendered."
"Believe me, we appreciate them fully, thoroughly. We know all that a
man in your position, and holding your opinions, must have had to
combat in the exercise of your charity. You have acted with noble
self-abnegation."
So saying, and carried away by his feelings, he held out his hand to
the old gentleman.
Poor Councillor Moser! That instinct of loyalty so vaunted by Max
played him false at this moment. No inward voice warned him of his
error as he took that attainted hand, and gave it a friendly pressure.
It was so pleasant to meet at length with some one who knew how
properly to estimate his conduct in this fatal business. Agnes and Frau
Christine behaved as though it had all been a matter of course, but
this stranger took a truer view of the case, and thereby at once gained
for himself the Councillor's highest esteem.
"Will you not come into the parlour for a few minutes?" he said. "I
shall be glad----"
"Thank you, no," answered Brunnow, remembering, rather late, that it
would not do for him to show too marked an interest, or to be too
demonstrative in his gratitude. "I cannot possibly stay longer--I have
another professional visit to make. But I will come round to-morrow
morning early to see the patient, if you will permit me."
"With the greatest pleasure!" cried the Councillor. "I shall be
delighted to see you again, sir. Pray be careful. The passage is but
imperfectly lighted."
He had opened the door for his guest himself, but the latter stood
irresolute.
"Must I take the stairs to the right or the left in order to reach the
entrance? I came in hurriedly, and did not notice the way."
"I will accompany you," said Moser, courteously. "It is so easy to lose
one's self among all these corridors and turnings when one is not well
acquainted with them. I will take you as far as the main entrance."
Dr. Brunnow, who really could not have found his way alone, and for
whom it was most undesirable to wander to and fro in these courts and
galleries, accepted the offer, and they walked down the corridor
together. This corridor connected the side wing, in which Mr. Moser's
apartments were situated, with the main building, and led direct to the
great hall of the Castle. Here, on either side, were doors giving
ingress to the Chancellery and the various bureaux, and here was the
foot of the grand staircase, which led up to the Governor's private
dwelling above.
The two gentlemen had just stepped out of the dim corridor into the
brightly-lighted hall, when Brunnow gave a great start and turned
precipitately, almost as though he would have retraced his steps. It
was too late. He and his companion stood close before the Governor.
The Baron appeared to have only just arrived. His carriage was still
before the door, and he himself was talking to the Superintendent of
Police, who was about to take his leave. A cloud lay on Raven's brow,
but it cleared a little as he caught sight of the Councillor.
Interrupting the conversation in which he was engaged, he asked of the
new-comer, with evident interest:
"Is this true, Councillor, that I hear from Berndt? Young Dr. Brunnow
is declared to be out of danger? Coming after the previous unfavourable
reports, I must say the news surprised me very much."
"I am as much astonished as your Excellency," the Councillor assured
him. "I could not believe it at first, but the statement has been
confirmed to me in another quarter--by this gentleman here, Dr. Franz,
a friend of the patient's, who has just left him."
Raven turned to the stranger, who was standing a little aside, and whom
he had not yet observed. The full light from the great chandelier fell
on the tall, bent form. For a few seconds the Baron stood motionless,
rooted to the ground, while his eyes rested with a piercing gaze on the
face before him. Then a sudden pallor overspread his features, and he
pressed his lips tightly together, as though to keep back the
exclamation which sought to escape them.
But Raven's discomposure was of short duration. Next minute his
self-command had returned to him; indeed, a movement on the
Superintendent's part quickly recalled to his mind the fact that he was
watched. He quietly waited until the Councillor had finished what he
had to say, and then addressed himself to that gentleman's companion.
"It would be a pleasure to me to hear you confirm so favourable an
opinion," he said. "I had sent round my own physician to the patient,
but, unfortunately, the doctor himself fell ill on the first day of the
treatment, and had to abandon the case to his deputy. The bulletin I
received from Dr. Berndt this morning was so vague that I think I must
ask you to supplement it by a few details. Not here in the vestibule,
of course. Will you come in with me for two or three minutes?"
Brunnow was less accustomed than the Baron to dissimulate his feelings;
and though he succeeded in controlling his voice and features
generally, his eyes glowed with a look half of pain, half of enmity, as
they rested on the speaker.
"Does your Excellency take so strong an interest in this young doctor?"
he returned.
"Unquestionably. Both I and the Superintendent of Police here"--Raven
laid a slight but perceptible emphasis on the word, as he indicated the
person named--"are under an obligation to him. You have probably heard
how this accident came about. Having hastened to the assistance of this
gentleman, some of whose officers had been injured, he was wounded
while rendering to them medical aid. You will understand, therefore,
that some detailed account of his condition will be very acceptable to
me."
Brunnow understood the hint. He saw the vigilant look in the eyes of
the Superintendent, who was listening with quiet and, apparently,
merely casual attention to the short dialogue, keeping a sharp watch on
the Baron and himself the while. He understood all the danger of his
position; still he hesitated a moment, struggling, as it were, with
himself.
"I am at your service," he said at length, laconically.
"Will you come with me, then?"
Raven turned, and took leave of the other gentlemen briefly; then with
the doctor he mounted the stairs which led to his own private
apartments.
"Who is that gentleman, may I ask?" said the Superintendent, looking
after the pair as they disappeared from view.
"A most agreeable person," replied the Councillor, with an important
air; "a colleague of Dr. Brunnow's, and a very near friend, I should
suppose, for he seems to take a great interest in him."
"Oh, oh, a friend of Dr. Brunnow's! I thought the young man had no
friends or acquaintances here, now that Assessor Winterfeld has left.
Has the gentleman--Dr. Franz, I think you said--paid frequent visits to
the patient?"
"No; he came to-day for the first time, but he is to call again
to-morrow. I must say he thanked me most warmly for my disinterested
kindness, and alluded in very delicate terms to the embarrassments
which the presence--the involuntary presence, it is true--of the young
man in my house must have brought upon me. An instance of the noblest
self-abnegation he styled my conduct in this matter. An exceedingly
agreeable person, and a clever doctor too; I could see that at a
glance. My instinct in such matters rarely deceives me."
"That I can well believe," returned the Superintendent, about whose
lips there played a smile half derisive, half pitying. "This
exceedingly agreeable person seems to have found as prompt favour in
the Governor's eyes as in yours. It is not the Baron's way, in general,
to introduce a complete stranger to his private apartments in this
unceremonious manner. Perhaps he was not sorry to withdraw this Dr.
Franz from my society."
"Why should he wish that?" asked the Councillor, unsuspiciously. "His
Excellency merely desires to obtain some reliable information as to Dr.
Brunnow's state."
"Of course; and I have no doubt such information will be amply afforded
him. Good evening, Councillor. Don't push the abnegation business too
far. They may be asking too much of you one of these days."
With this piece of advice the Superintendent went off, and the
Councillor, to whom his words were as Greek, shook his head with
dignified gravity at the other's light speech; then, secure beneath the
aegis of his infallible instinct, he returned to his own dwelling. The
Governor and his companion had meanwhile reached the upper story, and
entered the former's apartments. Raven impatiently signed to the
servants to withdraw, gave brief orders that he was on no pretext to be
disturbed, and shut himself in his study with Brunnow.
As yet, no word had been exchanged between them, and even now that they
were quite alone, silence still reigned for a minute or two. It almost
seemed as though each shrank from speaking the first word. After an
interval of more than twenty years, the former friends stood face to
face. In the old days they had been adolescents, fired with all the
enthusiasm, replete with the vigour of youth; now they met as men who
since that time had severally lived through half a generation--the one
still in the prime of strength and manhood, with the tall commanding
figure and proud bearing which bespeak the habit of authority, his
thick dark hair showing no silver threads, his stern rigid countenance
no mark of age--and, as a contrast, the other! Barely a year his
companion's senior, and yet to all appearances an old man, with the
grey head and stooping form of advanced years, and a face deeply lined
with the furrows of care and suffering. In the eyes alone there
sparkled a gleam of the old fire, the last lingering trace of a
long-bygone time.
"Rudolph!" said the Baron, at length. His tone betrayed mighty,
well-nigh uncontrollable emotion, and he moved forward as though he
would have approached his old friend; but the latter drew back, and
asked in an icy tone:
"What may your Excellency wish of me?"
Raven frowned. "Why such words between us? Will you not recognise me? I
knew you at once, by your eyes. You are still the same man, though
altered in much, in almost everything." His look travelled slowly over
Brunnow's face and figure as he spoke. The other smiled a smile of
intense bitterness.
"I have grown old before my time. A man does not wear well in exile,
when each day is spent in battling with the petty cares and miseries of
life. Baron von Raven has come better through the fight. Such pitiful
grievances do not attain to the height on which your Excellency
stands."
"Once more I beg of you to drop this tone, Rudolph," said the Baron,
earnestly. "I know all that lies between us, and I have no thought of
seeking a reconciliation which I feel to be impossible. We are foes
now--so be it; but it is a paltry vengeance on your part to insist with
such scornful emphasis on a title to which I attach as little
importance as you yourself can do. However we may stand towards each
other, to you I must still be Arno Raven. Call me by the name which has
been familiar to you."
Brunnow stood silent, with a moody, downcast look.
"I can divine what has brought you hither," went on Raven; "but even
such a motive hardly excuses the temerity of the step. You are fully
aware of the risk you run on this side the border, and your son is out
of danger."
"But yesterday I believed him to be on his deathbed. My own safety
could not be thought of at such a time. I felt I must hasten to him at
all hazards."
The Baron made no reply to this; perhaps he told himself that in a like
case he would not have acted differently.
"You understand why I insisted on your coming with me," he continued,
after a pause. "There were witnesses to our meeting. The Superintendent
of Police had his eye upon us. I almost think some suspicion was
already dawning in his mind. It was necessary to crush this in the bud;
and a lengthened interview with me will serve you as a sort of
guarantee."
"No doubt; it would naturally be supposed that the Governor of
R---- would at once give over any suspicious person into the hands of
the police. I was prepared for that when you recognised me."
"Moderate your tone, Rudolph," said Raven, warningly; but the other
went on unmoved:
"And I really do not know to what caprice I owe my rescue. But to be
candid, Arno, I had a longing to meet you once more face to face, else
I would rather have given myself up to that man's myrmidons than have
followed you."
Raven bit his lip.
"Since our parting you have so boldly and openly proclaimed yourself my
enemy that I ought to have been prepared for some such attitude on your
part. You will remember, however, that in our young days I never
submitted to an insult, and in the course of years my temper has not
grown more enduring in this respect. So do not misuse your temporary
advantages, or forget that your position bars me from seeking
satisfaction. Let me, at least, feel that I may continue to address you
without loss of dignity."
These words made little or no impression on Brunnow. His manner was, if
possible, more hostile than before, as he replied:
"I see you have not unlearned the tone of command. I remember it of
old. Even in those days the man who sought to rise in revolt against
your will yielded in the end, cowed by that sovereign mien. As for me,
though truly mine is no slavish nature, I gave myself up to you body
and soul. I worshipped you with a blind worship; I followed
whithersoever you led, for the goal before you must, I thought, be the
highest and best--until one day my idol crumbled to dust, fell
shattered to the ground. Do not try to exercise the old power over me.
I bent to you only while I believed in you. That is over and past long
ago; but you, in whom ambition has ever usurped the place of a heart,
you little guess all that I lost when that faith went from me."
A long oppressive pause ensued. Raven had turned away, and stood some
minutes in silence. At length he said:
"If once you loved me, you hate me now all the more intensely."
"True," was the short, energetic reply.
"I have proofs of it," continued Raven. "But a short time ago I was
marvelling how one of my youngest subalterns had found courage to hurl
insults at me openly, in the face of all the world. I forgot that he
had been in your school. Of course! Winterfeld was staying at your
house; he is your son's friend and yours. Well, he has shown himself an
apt scholar. The thrusts he essays against me betray the master who
instructed him."
"You are mistaken. George Winterfeld is displaying his own
powers--admirable powers, certainly, which astonish myself. He kept his
secret from me, as from others, and the book, which he forwarded to me
two days ago, took me altogether by surprise. But I do not deny that my
heart endorses every word that stands in it, and there are thousands
who will agree with me. Beware, Arno! He is the first who ventures to
defy the omnipotent Baron von Raven; this is the first storm menacing
your high estate. Others will follow in its wake, and they will shake
and undermine the ground on which you stand, until it trembles and
yawns beneath your feet, and you will sink to depths great as the
height to which you have risen."
"You think so?" asked the Baron, disdainfully. "You should know me
better. I may be overthrown, and in my fall mortally injure myself and
crush others. To sink would in this case imply a craven surrender, and
that is not in my nature. Besides, we have not reached that point yet.
I know all the enmities which this attack will let loose upon me; my
foes have long waited for some such occasion; but they shall not taste
the triumph of seeing me abandon a position which I have so long
maintained and will never voluntarily quit. Men do not readily forgive
success such as I have achieved."
"It was dearly bought," said Brunnow, coldly. "You paid for it with
your honour."
"Rudolph!" thundered the Baron, with terrible vehemence.
"With your honour, I repeat it. Must I remind you of the day when our
association was betrayed, our papers seized, ourselves arrested and
cast into prison? Must I name to you the traitor to whom we owed all
this, and who was arrested with us, merely as a matter of form? I and
the others were put on our trial, and sentenced to long years of
captivity, from which fate a foolhardy escape alone delivered me. After
a short imprisonment that traitor was set at liberty, no charge being
preferred against him. Weathering the storm which cost his friends and
fellow-thinkers their freedom and their means of existence, Arno Raven
emerged from it as the secretary, the familiar, the future son-in-law
of the Minister in power, and commenced his brilliant career in the
service of the cause he had sworn to combat with all his strength. That
was the end of our dreams of liberty, of all our youthful hopes and
illusions."
Every drop of blood had receded from the Baron's face. His breast
heaved with a short, quick, panting movement, and his hands were
clenched convulsively.
"And if I tell you now that this so-called treachery was nothing more
than an imprudent act, an unhappy error of judgment, for which I have
bitterly, cruelly atoned? If I tell you that you yourselves, with your
over-hasty condemnation, your mad mistrust, drove me into the ranks of
your enemies?"
"I make answer that you have forfeited all claim to be believed."
"Do not provoke me further, Rudolph," panted Raven. "You know that I
would have borne so much from no other man. I have given you my word,
and you must believe me."
"No, Arno." Brunnow's voice was hard and contemptuous. "Had you at the
time I was pining in prison, when I could not understand, would not
understand, that you had been the traitor--had you then stepped before
me and spoken as you have spoken now, your word would have had more
weight with me than the testimony of the whole world--than the
clearest, most convincing proofs. The two decades which lie between now
and then have taught me another lesson. Baron von Raven, whose name
heads the list of the enemies and persecutors of that cause to which he
once consecrated his life; the Governor of R----, whose iron despotic
will sets all justice, both abstract and legal, at defiance, who but a
few days since shot down the people in whose ranks he once stood--this
man I utterly decline to believe."
He at whom these crushing accusations were hurled stood sombre and
silent, his eyes fixed on the ground, his features working with some
strong emotion; but whether it were shame, anger, or grief which moved
him, who should say? As Brunnow spoke the last words, however, he
suddenly drew himself up to his full height, and his eyes flashed with
the old haughty, unbending spirit, as he answered in a harsh tone:
"It is useless, then, to waste another word on the subject. My
explanations had reference to that first catastrophe alone. You decline
to hear them--well and good, there is an end of the matter. What has
come since then has come by my own deliberate choice and resolution.
How I may have been driven to make such a choice need not be considered
now. I allege no extenuating circumstances; enough, I have acted of my
own free will, and I am ready to answer for my deeds and their
consequences. Since the day when that great gap opened between us, our
ways have lain so far apart that it would be useless now for us to
attempt to understand the current which has borne us on. What can an
idealist conceive of ambition and the desire for power? Perhaps to you
it may appear as the germ of a crime, for the very idea of it is based
on the subjection of others. I was not created to linger out my life in
exile, to console myself for all my shipwrecked hopes and wasted
energies with the thought that I had remained true to my ideal. Condemn
me if you will: I do not recognise you as my judge."
No reply followed. After a moment's silence, Brunnow turned to go,
still without speaking. Raven stepped before him, barring the way.
"What does this mean?" asked the Doctor. "You have said it; we have
done with each other; any further word between us would be superfluous.
Let me go."
"Not yet; we have to think of your safety. You will start at once on
your return journey?"
"I shall not leave till to-morrow. I have promised my son to see him
again."
"This is a very unnecessary delay," said the Baron. "You have convinced
yourself that, as regards your son's health, there is nothing now to
fear; danger will continue to exist for you until you have re-crossed
the frontier. An express leaves at midnight. Remain here in my house
until that hour, and then you shall be taken in my carriage to the
station. Whatever suspicions may be abroad, no one will, in that case,
venture to molest you."
"And if, later on, it were found out that the Governor himself had
helped a rebel and an escaped prisoner on his road?"
"That is my business. I shall be well able to defend myself."
"I thank you," said Brunnow, in a trenchant tone. "I shall stay
to-morrow, and shall then go to the station without the cover of the
Raven baronial livery. You will easily understand that I prefer even a
possible risk to your protection."
"Rudolph, be reasonable," warned the Baron. "This unhappy obstinacy may
cost your freedom."
"What matters it to you? We are enemies, are we not? more bitter
enemies than ever from this hour. We shall hardly meet again in this
life, but think of my words, Arno. As yet you stand secure on the giddy
height to which you have climbed; as yet you look down disdainfully on
the dangers now gathering around you. A day will come when the
foundations, whereon your power rests, will rock and reel, when all the
world will fail you, and then"--here Brunnow's bent form was drawn
erect with a certain majesty--"then you will see that it is of some
worth to have kept one's faith in one's best hopes and aspirations. The
testimony of my conscience has sustained me. You will have no stay,
when the glittering edifice of your ambition crashes to the ground. You
have been false to yourself. Farewell."
He turned and went. Raven stood, moody and motionless, looking after
him.
"False to myself!" he repeated, in a low voice. "Even so--he is right."