A PERIOD PUT TO A LONG ROW OF FIGURES.
It was a gray, rainy day. Adela was sitting at the window watching the
falling drops and stroking Fidele, who laid his head upon her knee and
gaped.
"The world is very tiresome, Fidele," said Adela, and the dog looked at
his mistress out of his wise brown eyes, evidently with no disposition
to gainsay her verdict.
"There is nothing to be done with papa," the girl continued, still
addressing her remarks to Fidele. "Scarcely is the election over when
he buries himself in accounts, shuts himself up all day in his room,
and if ever I stay with him there he is silent and _distrait_. I wish
he had been a candidate and had been elected instead of Bernhard
Eichhof; then we should have gone for the winter to Berlin, where I
could have consoled myself for Jusak's loss. Poor wretch! he must go, I
suppose; and it's all nonsense, for Bernhard did not need his vote; the
Catholics had no chance after Herr von Wronsky withdrew his name."
The rain beat against the window-pane. Adela sighed, and then pursued
her train of thought: "I wonder if it is true that Frau von Wronsky
persuaded her husband to retire? It may have been so, for they say she
believes in nothing and has the upper hand of him; but Thea says that's
all mere gossip, and that Herr von Wronsky went to see them himself to
tell them that he did not wish to oppose Bernhard, and that he would
rather retire voluntarily than have any interruption of kindly feeling
between them. Who can tell? The Wronskys are going to Berlin this
winter, at any rate. Oh, everybody is going to Berlin; if we could only
go too!" And then she thought quite naturally of Walter, who was also
in Berlin. Her thoughts usually strayed in his direction, although she
believed herself firmly convinced that she had reason to be very angry
with him, and that she was so in reality.
Suddenly Fidele raised his head, and Adela sprang up. A carriage drove
past the window and stopped before the house.
"Thank heaven, some one is good enough to pay us a visit in this
storm!" Adela exclaimed, and hurried out of the room to receive the
guest. But when she reached the hall she started in surprise. There
stood a tall young man, who took off his overcoat and hat and stood
revealed--her brother Hugo!
"Heavens, Hugo! where do you come from?" she called out to him.
"Apparently from Berlin," he replied. "Where is my father? He is at
home?"
"Yes; but how is it that----"
"Be good enough to spare me all questions for the present," Hugo
rejoined, impatiently. "I have important matters to discuss with my
father, and I must return to Berlin to-morrow. Is my father in his
room?" And without awaiting a reply, he hurried past her and went into
his father's study.
Adela involuntarily followed him thither as far as the door; then she
suddenly paused, and turned away angrily.
"What can be the matter? More debts, I suppose," she said. "But----"
The next moment she opened the door.
"What do you want here?" the Freiherr fairly shouted, so that she
retreated in dismay.
"Curious, as women always are," Hugo said, with a shrug.
Adela shut the door behind her and ran along the passage to her room,
where she threw herself into an arm-chair and burst into a passion of
angry tears. Fidele nestled close beside her, and she stroked his head.
"You love me, Fidele, do you not?" she said, wiping away her tears.
"Ah, you dumb brutes are far better than human beings!" The girl threw
a shawl over her head, and, followed by the dog, ran out to the
stables. "Here, at least, I know that I am welcome," she said, going
from one horse to another; and finally seating herself on a bundle of
straw, she propped her head on her hand, gazing in most melancholy
fashion at her favourites.
"Fraeulein! Fraeulein Adela!" a voice near her called suddenly, and as
she sprang up from her straw seat a servant entered the stable.
"Good heavens, Anton, how you look!" the girl cried, startled by the
old servant's pale face. "What is the matter? What has happened?"
"Ah, Fraeulein Adela, do not be frightened, but the Herr Baron has had a
fainting-fit or something. I don't know----"
Adela heard not another word. Fast as her feet could carry her she ran
towards the house, and was in her father's room the next moment. The
Freiherr lay upon the lounge, his eyes wide open and fixed, while the
housekeeper and one of the younger servants were rubbing his forehead
and his hands with hartshorn. Adela took the hartshorn-bottle from the
old housekeeper's trembling hand, and bent over her father. "Dear, dear
papa!" she whispered. His eyes had a look of recognition in them,--a
spasm passed over his face, but not a word issued from his pale lips.
"Good God! how did this happen?" Adela, trembling like an aspen leaf,
asked of old Anton, who entered the room.
"I do not know," he whispered. "The Herr Lieutenant arrived suddenly,
and they were talking very loud together, and as I was carrying the
Herr Lieutenant's portmanteau past the door the Herr Baron said, 'I
cannot!' and the Herr Lieutenant cried, 'It must be done!' And then,
when I had passed by, I suddenly heard a heavy fall, and the Herr
Lieutenant called me."
"My poor, poor father!" Adela whispered, bending over him again. She
thought she understood it all now, and glanced furtively at her
brother, who, having despatched a mounted messenger for the doctor, now
entered the room and approached his father. The Freiherr cast upon him
a glance of such utter agony, and his agitation so evidently increased
at sight of his son, that Adela said, "Go out of his sight, Hugo; it is
best that he should not see you."
This time she encountered no angry reply, but Hugo quietly obeyed her,
and retreated to the recess of the window, where he threw himself into
an arm-chair and sat motionless for the next fifteen minutes, his head
buried in his hands, as if his spirit were far away and his body only
present beside the couch whereon his father lay--through his fault.
At last the doctor arrived, and explained that the Herr Baron was
suffering from a stroke that had paralyzed his tongue and his right
arm. Adela and old Anton never stirred from beside him, while Hugo
wandered restlessly about the house, now looking through his father's
papers and locking up those still scattered about, now taking down the
weapons that hung upon the wall to examine them, and often opening the
Freiherr's case of pistols and passing his fingers over the smooth
steel barrels.
After midnight the Freiherr fell asleep, and Adela's eyes, too, closed,
and her head fell back against the high arm-chair in which she sat.
Hugo was in the next room, but no sound betrayed his presence there. He
was sitting at the table, upon which stood the open case of pistols,
and his head was buried in his hands. Fiery balls that turned into long
rows of figures seemed to dance before his eyes. Longer and longer grew
these rows; there seemed to be no end to them.
"And he can pay nothing more; he is bankrupt," Hugo muttered, clenching
his fist convulsively. "There will be no more Hohensteins at Rollin."
He had so often despised his home, and now he suddenly became conscious
of how closely the name of the estate was connected with that of the
family who had owned it for two hundred years. And again the long rows
of figures danced before his eyes. Could no period be put to them?
Yes, one--in the shape of a small round ball. He shuddered and shrank
back,--his hand had touched the cold barrel of a pistol. He opened his
eyes for an instant, but closed them again, and--another period that
might be put to the endless row of figures hovered before him. It was
round, too, in form, but instead of a ball it was a ring. He sprang up,
pushed away the case of pistols, and, going to the writing-table, took
a sheet of paper, and began to write. Suddenly he noticed that the
paper was edged with black. He threw it aside and took another sheet.
The sick man was still sleeping. Adela's head had sunk farther back in
her chair; she was dreaming that her father had been thrown from his
horse and was lying lifeless on the ground. Then some one suddenly came
between her father and herself and--laughed. It was a bitter, terrible
laugh. Adela started in terror, and rubbed her eyes.
The same low laugh came from the next room.
She shuddered, rose, and went to the door. There she saw her brother
sitting at the writing-desk. The open case of pistols was on the table
behind him, and before him lay a letter which he was folding to put
into an envelope, while the bitter smile had not yet faded from his
face. A fearful thought flashed upon the girl's mind. With a timid
glance at the open case, she hurried across the room and laid her hand
upon her brother's shoulder.
"For heaven's sake, Hugo, tell me what you are going to do!" He shook
off her hand.
"Go!" he said. "It is the only means of salvation!"
"Would you add suicide to all the other misfortunes overwhelming us?"
Again there came the laugh, the echo of which had roused her from
sleep.
"On the contrary," he said, "there will be joy throughout the family,
and you will shortly have an opportunity to figure as a bridesmaid."
"Oh, Hugo, how can you think of such things?"
"These are just the things that I must think about, or we should soon
cease to have need for thought of any kind. But you know nothing of it.
Go to your father, and leave the rest to me."
Adela fixed her eyes on a white sheet of paper, edged with black, that
lay on the writing-desk, and on which she read the words, "My dear
Councillor, I am a man of few words, and therefore frankly ask of you
the hand of----"
Hugo seized the paper and tore it in pieces.
"There is no need for you to look so horrified," he said. "Fraeulein
Kohnheim is a very pretty girl; her parents had her baptized some time
ago; and her father could pay the debts of an entire regiment if he
chose."
"Hugo!"
"Leave me in peace, and be thankful that there is one way out of this
for all of us. To-morrow morning this letter goes; to-morrow evening I
go, and the next day our troubles will all be over."
"And papa?"
"Our father will soon recover; the doctor says so. A first stroke is
never so dangerous----"
"Adela!" a weak voice called at this moment.
"You see he has already recovered his speech, as the doctor said he
would," said Hugo.
Adela flew to her father's side and covered his hand with kisses. For a
moment her brother was forgotten; she only felt that a change for the
better had come, that her father would recover, and that he had wanted
her--her; that the first use he had made of his returning voice had
been to call his daughter!