The boat containing Waldemar and the young Countess Morynska sailed
merrily before the breeze. The sea was rather rough on that day, and
the waves broke foaming against the keel of the little vessel as she
shot through them, dashing their spray overboard every now and then, a
fact which in no way disturbed the two occupants. Waldemar sat at the
helm, with the calm of an experienced steersman; and Wanda, who had
placed herself opposite him under the shadow of the sail, seemed to
find great enjoyment in the quick, bounding motion of the little craft,
and in their rapid onward progress.
"Leo will go and complain of us to my aunt," said she, looking back
towards the coast, which they had already left at some distance behind
them. "He went away in a great rage, and you _were_ very unkind to him,
Waldemar."
"I don't like any one else to take the rudder when I am in the boat,"
he answered, in a curt, authoritative tone.
"And suppose I wanted to have it?" asked Wanda, mischievously.
He made no reply, but stood up at once, and silently offered her his
place.
The young Countess laughed.
"Oh no. It was only to see what you would say. There is no pleasure for
me in the sail when I have to think of steering all the while."
Without a word, Waldemar again grasped the rudder which had been the
nominal subject of dispute between him and Leo, though the real cause
of their quarrel lay elsewhere.
"Where are we going?" Wanda began again, after a short pause.
"To the Beech Holm, I think. That was what we had settled."
"Won't it be rather far for to-day?" asked the girl, a little
anxiously.
"With the wind in our favour we shall be there in half an hour, and if
I work the oars well it will not take us much longer to get back. You
wanted to see the sunset from the Beech Holm, you know."
Wanda resisted no further, though a vague feeling of uneasiness came
over her. Heretofore Leo had been the constant companion of the young
people in their excursions by sea and land; this was the first time
they had been out alone together. Young as Wanda was, she would have
been no woman not to discover, before Waldemar's second visit was over,
what had made him so shy and confused on the first. He was incapable of
dissimulation, and his eyes spoke a language all too plain, though he
had as yet betrayed himself by no word. He was still more reserved and
monosyllabic with Wanda than with the others; but, notwithstanding
this, she knew her power over him well enough--knew how to use, and
occasionally to misuse it; for to her the whole thing was a sport, and
nothing more. It pleased her that she could rule this obstinate,
masterful nature with a word, nay, even with a look; it flattered her
to feel herself the object of a certainly somewhat mute and eccentric,
but yet passionate homage; above all, it delighted her to see how angry
Leo grew over the matter. Really to give the preference to his elder
brother never once entered her mind. Waldemar's person and manners were
to the last degree distasteful to her. She thought his appearance
'horrid;' his lack of courtesy shocked, and his conversation wearied
her. Love had not made young Nordeck more amiable. He showed her none
of those chivalrous attentions in which Leo, in spite of his youth, was
already an adept. He seemed, on the contrary, to yield with reluctance
to a charm from which he was unable to escape; yet everything in him
bore witness to the irresistible power which this first passion had
gained over him.
The Beech Holm must probably one day have been a little islet, as its
name would indicate; now it was only a thickly wooded hill, joined to
the shore by a narrow strip of land, or rather by a little chain of
sandy downs, whereby access could be had to it on foot. Notwithstanding
its beauty, the place was but little frequented. It was too secluded
and too distant for the brilliant, gaiety-loving visitors of C----,
whose excursions were generally made to some of the neighbouring
villages along the coast. To-day, as usual, there was no one on the
Holm when the boat came to land. Waldemar jumped out, whilst his
companion, without waiting for help, sprang lightly on to the white
sand, and ran off up the hill.
The Beech Holm well deserved its name. The whole wood, which lined the
shore for nearly a mile, showed nowhere so many or such fine trees of
this species as were gathered together on this spot of earth. Here
mighty old beeches stood, spreading their giant branches far over the
green turf, and over the grey, weather-beaten fragments of stone which
lay scattered here and there, the relics of heathen times--tradition
said of some ancient place of sacrifice. At the landing-place the trees
stood back on either side, and the broad, beautiful sea lay as in a
frame, its deep-blue plain stretching away far as the eye could reach.
No shore, no island obstructed the view, no sail rose on the horizon,
nothing but the sea in all its grandeur, and the Beech Holm, lying
there so solitary and world-forgotten, it might really have been a
little islet lost in mid-ocean.
Wanda had taken off her straw hat with its plain black ribbon, and sat
down on one of the moss-grown stones. She still wore half-mourning for
the late Prince Baratowski. Her white dress was only relieved by a
black knot here and there, and a little black scarf was thrown round
her shoulders. This sombre hue on her white garments gave to the girl's
appearance a subdued and softened tinge which was not habitual to it.
She looked infinitely charming as she sat thus with folded hands,
gazing meditatively out over the sea.
Waldemar, who had taken a seat by her side on the enormous root of an
old beech, seemed to be of this opinion, for he entertained himself
exclusively with looking at her. For him the scenery around existed
not. He started as from a dream when Wanda, pointing to her stone seat,
said jestingly--"I suppose this is one of your old Runic stones?"
Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "You must ask my tutor, Dr. Fabian,
about that. He is more at home in the first century of our era than in
the present. He would give you a learned and lengthy dissertation on
Runic stones, dolmens, tumuli, and the like. It would afford him the
greatest pleasure."
"Oh no; for goodness' sake!" laughed Wanda; "but, if Dr. Fabian has
such an enthusiastic love for antiquity, I wonder he has not instilled
a taste for it into you. It seems to me you are quite indifferent on
the subject."
The young man's face took a most disdainful expression. "What do I care
for all their antiquarian nonsense? The woods and fields interest me
for the sport they can give me."
"How prosaic!" cried Wanda, indignantly. "So all your thoughts run on
your sport! I dare say here on the Beech Holm you are thinking of the
bucks and hares which may be hidden in the coverts."
"No," said Waldemar, slowly. "I am not."
"It would be unpardonable with such a prospect before you. Just look at
the evening glow out yonder! The waves seem literally to beam with
light."
Waldemar followed the direction of her hand with indifferent eyes.
"Yes; that is where they say Vineta went down."
"What went down?"
"Have not you heard? It is an old sea legend. I thought you knew it."
"No; tell me."
"I am a poor story-teller," said Waldemar, deprecatingly. "Ask our
fisher-folk about it. That old boatman yonder would give you a far
better and more complete account of it than I can."
"But I want to hear it from you," persisted Wanda. "I _will_; so go
on."
A frown gathered on Waldemar's brow. The command had been too
imperative.
"You will?" he repeated, rather sharply.
Wanda saw very well that he was offended; but she relied on her power
over him, a power she had often tested during the last few weeks.
"Yes, I will!" she declared, as decidedly as before.
The frown deepened on the young man's face. It was one of those moments
when he rose up in rebellion against the charm which held him captive;
but suddenly he met the dark eyes, and their look seemed to change the
order into an entreaty. It was all over now with his anger and
resistance. His brow cleared. He smiled.
"Well, then, I will give it you in my short, prosaic way," said he,
with an emphasis on the last words. "Vineta[1] was, so the story goes,
an old fortified place by the sea, and the capital of an ancient
nation. Her dominion extended over all the neighbouring coasts and over
the waves, where she ruled supreme. Unparalleled in splendour and
greatness, countless treasures flowed in to her from other lands; but
pride, presumption, and the sins of her inhabitants brought down the
chastisement of Heaven upon her, and she sank, swallowed up by the
waves. Our sailors still affirm and vow that yonder, where the coast
shelves back so far, the fortress of Vineta lies uninjured at the
bottom of the sea. They say that, deep down below in the water, they
catch a glimpse at times of towers and cupolas, hear the bells ring,
and occasionally, at enchanted hours, the whole fairy city rises out of
the depths, and shows itself to some specially favoured beholders.
There are plenty of strange mirage effects at sea, and here in the
north we have a sort of 'Fata Morgana,' though it comes but seldom ..."
"Oh, spare me all these tame explanations!" interrupted Wanda,
impatiently. "Who cares for them, when the legend is pretty--and
wonderfully pretty this one is, don't you think so?"
"I don't know," replied Waldemar, a little embarrassed. "I never
thought about it."
"Have you no feeling for poetry whatever?" cried the young Countess, in
despair. "Why, it is perfectly dreadful!"
He looked at her in surprise and some confusion.
"Do you think it so dreadful?"
"Of course I do!"
"No one has ever taught me to understand poetry," said the young man,
almost in a tone of apology. "In my uncle's house nobody knows anything
about it, and my tutors have never done more than give me dry, formal
lessons. I am only just beginning to see that there is such a thing in
the world."
The last words were spoken with a certain dreaminess of expression very
new to Waldemar. He tossed back the hair which, as usual, had fallen
low over his forehead, and leaned his head against the trunk of a
beech. Wanda suddenly discovered that the brow so constantly hidden
beneath those unkempt light locks was high and remarkably well-shaped.
Now that it was free and exposed to view, it seemed really to lend
nobility to the plain, irregular face. On the left temple a peculiarly
distinct blue vein stood out, marked and salient even in a moment of
repose. The young Countess had never noticed it before, hidden, as it
generally was, beneath the enormous lion's mane which was always an
object of derision to her.
"Do you know, I have just found out something, Waldemar," said she,
mischievously.
"Well?" he asked, without changing his position.
"That strange blue vein on your forehead. My aunt has one, too, on the
temple, just in the same place and exactly similar, only less strongly
marked."
"Really? Well, it is the only thing I have of my mother about me."
"Yes, it is true; you are not in the least like her," said Wanda,
candidly, "and Leo is her very image!"
"Leo!" repeated Waldemar, with a singular intonation. "Leo, indeed!
That is a very different matter."
Wanda laughed. "Why? Has the younger brother any advantage over the
elder in this respect?"
"Why not? He has the advantage of his mother's love. I should think
that was enough."
"Waldemar, how can you say so!" put in the young Countess.
"Is the idea new to you?" he said, looking up with a frown. "I should
have thought any third person must see how I stand with my mother. She
forces herself to be friendly to me--oh yes!--and it must cost her
trouble enough at times; but she can't overcome her secret dislike any
more than I can mine--so we have nothing to reproach one another with."
Wanda was silent, embarrassed, and greatly surprised at the turn the
conversation had taken. Waldemar did not appear to notice this; he went
on in a hard voice--
"The Princess Baratowska is, and always will be, a stranger to me. I do
not belong to her or to her son. I feel that every time we meet. You
have no idea, Wanda, what it costs me to cross that threshold
continually, to be constantly with them. It is a positive torture I
impose on myself, and I should never have thought I could bear it so
patiently."
"But what do you do it for?" asked Wanda, imprudently. "Nobody forces
you to come."
He looked at her, and the answer lay in his eyes--shone in them so
distinctly that the young girl blushed to her very forehead. That
ardent, reproachful gaze spoke all too plainly.
"You do my aunt injustice," she said, speaking quickly, as if to hide
her embarrassment. "She must, and does, love her own son."
"Oh, no doubt!" Waldemar's bitterness had now grown quite beyond his
control. "I am persuaded that she loves Leo very much, though she is so
severe with him; but why should she love me, or I her? I was hardly a
year old when I lost father and mother at one stroke. I was torn from
my home to be brought up among strangers. When, later on, I came to
reflect, to ask questions, I learned that my parents' marriage had been
an unhappy one--a misfortune for both of them--and that they had
separated in bitter hatred; and I learned, too, how this hatred had
survived the grave, and how it exerted an influence on my own life.
They told me that my mother had been to blame for all; and yet I heard
many an allusion to my father, many an expression used with regard to
him, which disturbed my judgment of him also. Where other children are
taught to love and respect, suspicion and distrust were instilled into
me--and now I cannot get free from them. My uncle has been good to me;
he is fond of me in his way, but he could not offer me anything beyond
the life he leads himself. You know pretty well what that is--I think
every one in my mother's house is well posted up on that subject--and
yet, Wanda, you expect me to have some feeling for the poetical!"
He spoke almost resentfully, and yet there was a sort of low, regretful
sadness in his words. Wanda looked up at her companion with great
astonished eyes. She could hardly recognise him to-day. It was the
first time she had ever had any serious conversation with him, the
first time he had departed from his shy monosyllabic reserve. The
peculiarly cold relations between the mother and son had not escaped
her; but she had not believed the latter to be in any way affected by
the existing estrangement. He had never alluded to the situation by a
word; and now, all at once, he showed himself to be most keenly alive
to, and deeply wounded by it. Now, in this hour, there dawned on the
girl's mind some dim notion of what Waldemar's youth had been--how
empty, lonely, and desolate, and how friendless and neglected the young
heir whose riches she had so often heard extolled.
"You wanted to see the sunset," said Waldemar, suddenly changing the
subject and speaking in quite a different tone, as he rose and came to
her side. "I think we are having a rare one to-day."
And truly the clouds which bordered the horizon were suffused with a
crimson glow, and the sun, still radiantly clear, was sinking lower and
lower towards the sea, which flashed into a sudden glory at its
farewell greeting. A flood of light streamed over its surface,
spreading ever wider and wider--only over the spot where Vineta lay
deep down at the bottom of the sea, the waves kept their sombre purple,
while in their furrows gleamed bright streaks as of liquid gold, and
above them thousands of glittering sparks danced and floated.
It must be owned that in the old legends there is a something which
lifts them out of the domain of superstition, and even to a denizen of
the modern world an hour may come when the old enchanting glamour makes
itself felt, quickening the phantasies of the past into actual living
realities. Truly, these legends sprang from the hearts of men; and
their eternal problems, like their eternal truths, still preserve a
strong hold on the human breast. Not to every one, indeed, does the
fairy world open its gates, so closely guarded in these our days; but
the two now seated on the Beech Holm must have belonged to the elect
few, for they distinctly felt the charm which drew them gently but
irresistibly within the magic circle, and neither of them had the
courage, or the will, forcibly to break the spell.
Over their heads the wind rustled in the branches, louder still ran the
murmur and plash of the sea at their feet. Wave upon wave came rolling
up, rearing their white foam-crests aloft for an instant, then crashing
over on to the shore. It was the old mighty ocean melody, the song of
breeze and billow combined, which in its everlasting freshness enthrals
every listener's heart. It sings now of dreamy, sunshiny calm, anon of
raging storms with their terror and desolation, of restless, endless,
surging life--each succeeding wave bringing a new tone of its own, each
breath of wind echoing a responsive chord.
Waldemar and his young companion must have well understood this
language, for they listened to it in breathless silence; and as they so
sat and hearkened, another sound stole on their ears. Up from the very
depths of the ocean came the faint chiming of bells, and about their
hearts a feeling gathered as of pain and longing, mingled with a dim
far-off perception of infinite bliss. From the purple waves yonder rose
a shining vision. It floated on the waters, away into the golden glory,
and there stood bright and definite, a world of countless, unknown
treasures, a picture framed in a magic halo--the old fairy city of
Vineta!
The burning edge of the great glowing disc now touched, as it were, the
sea beneath it, and sinking ever deeper and deeper, disappeared at last
below the horizon. One more flaming, fiery blaze--then the light went
out, and the deep red hue still staining the water paled and gradually
died away.
Wanda drew a long breath, and passed her hand across her brow.
"The sun is down," she said in a low voice; "we must be thinking of
going back."
"Of going back?" repeated Waldemar, as in a dream. "Already?"
The girl rose quickly, as though to escape from some weight of
uneasiness. "The daylight will soon be gone now, and we must get back
to C---- before it grows dusk, or my aunt will never forgive me for
coming without her leave."
"_I_ will set that right with my mother," said Waldemar, and he too
seemed to speak the indifferent words with an effort; "but if you wish
to start ..."
"I do wish it, please."
The young man turned to go towards the boat, but all at once he
stopped.
"You will be going away soon now, Wanda. In a few days, will you not?"
The question was put in a strangely agitated tone, and the young
Countess's voice too had lost its natural ring, as she answered--
"I must go to my father now; he has done without me so long."
"My mother and Leo are going to Wilicza." Waldemar hesitated between
the words, as though something caught his breath. "There is some talk
of my joining them. May I?"
"Why do you ask me?" said Wanda, with an embarrassment very unusual to
her. "It depends entirely upon yourself whether you visit your own
property or not."
The young man did not heed the remark. He bent lower over her. His
voice faltered, as it seemed, with deep passionate anxiety.
"But I do ask you, Wanda--you alone! May I come to Wilicza?"
"Yes," fell almost involuntarily from Wanda's lips; but in the same
moment she started back, frightened at what she had done, for Waldemar
seized her hand impetuously, and held it fast, as though it were his
for ever and ever. The young Countess felt how he interpreted her
'yes,' and grew confused and troubled. A thrill of sudden alarm shot
through her. Waldemar noticed that she drew back.
"Have I been too rough again?" he asked, in a low voice. "You must not
be angry with me, Wanda--not to-day. It was only the idea of your going
away that I could not bear. Now I know that I may see you again--now I
will wait patiently till we are at Wilicza."
She made no reply, and they both went silently down to the boat.
Waldemar put up the sail, and settled himself to the oars. With a few
powerful strokes he sent the little craft far out to sea. A faint, rosy
glimmer still lingered on the waves as the boat glided through them.
Neither of the young people spoke during the journey. There was no
sound, save the monotonous ripple of the water; the last transient glow
died out of the sky, and the early shades of twilight fell over the
Beech Holm, as it receded farther and farther into the distance. The
sunset dream was over; but that old legend, which had woven its
threads, tells us that he who has once looked on the lost Vineta, has
once heard the sound of her bells, is pursued all his life by a longing
which leaves him no rest until the enchanted city rises before him once
more--or draws him down below into the depths.