Part 13

With fancies like these, Lydia, now banished from the favour and the presence of Hildegard, was wandering along the garden-terraces, now dissolved in tears and lamenting her bitter lot, now smiling complacently and congratulating herself upon a happiness which was all the more precious the longer she had been compelled to wait for it. If she were now to meet Erna, if she could have an explanation with her, become reconciled to her, prove to her in very truth how well she meant by her! She was in the very mood for this, and here was Erna coming along! The shrinking which she often felt in the presence of the proud and self-willed girl was making itself perceptible again, but one swift glance showed her that Erna had been weeping quite recently, and that she could risk it now.

Erna had been weeping quite recently, and so indeed she had done ever since last night, whenever she felt sure that no one was looking upon her despair. For the gentle creature was in despair. All through the long sleepless night she had seemed to hear Agatha's whispered question, "What will you do if it comes out that Kurt is innocent?" She had seemed to hear it like the voice of a warning angel, and neither head nor heart had been able to reply anything but, again and again: "In that case I have betrayed him, and I have made him unhappy." Could he be innocent? She had struggled so long against the belief in Kurt's guilt, and had only accepted it when he declared that he could not explain his relations to the Russian lady; no, not even to her, from whom, for the sake of their love, he was to expect entire confidence; for confidence was the very soul and at the same time the touchstone of love. Alas, she knew yet another and a more terrible touchstone, and that was the jealousy which she had cherished in secret towards the unknown lady, and which had blazed up brightly when yesterday she beheld her, the hated temptress, in the splendour of her youth, beauty, and grace. In vain did she struggle against the charm which the lady seemed to radiate; in vain did she declare everything about her to be unreal, except her diamonds perhaps; with every furtive glance at her rival she felt herself more and more fascinated, allured, beguiled, and, in equal measure, conquered, and at last crushed.

It was a terrible state which wrapped her poor fluttering heart in absolute night, and yet even then there was something like a faint glimmering of the star of hope. If Kurt had ever loved her--and he had--he had done so once--how could he love another woman, who, however charming and seductive, was yet in all things the very opposite of herself? Kurt, who had so often assured her that he hated all display and all vanity, that he loved her because there was nothing of display, nothing, of vanity about her, because she was his own rose, which, in its dewy freshness, he would not exchange for a world of brilliant exotics!

And his large brown eyes had shone down upon her so gravely and lovingly as he spoke, and his lips had trembled with genuine emotion--and had all this been naught but lies on the part of him whom she in her turn had loved, because he had appeared to her as a lofty and lordly image of truthfulness and fidelity?

It could not be.

But then, again, what had she done? What was she to do when the other one, that good and noble man, to whom--so Agatha said, and her own heart could not but confirm it--she had given such unequivocal proof of her affection, when he came into her presence and said: "I have come to take you at your word. Not all the Flavios in the world would have kept Hilarie from loving her uncle, had she been convinced that he truly loved her. And you know it: I love you!" What could she do, but, with Hilarie, say: "I am yours for ever"? He would not fall at her feet and exclaim: "You make me the happiest man beneath the sun," but she knew,--she knew that he would be happy!

Ah me!--why had she not obeyed the voice which called to her that first evening when she met him in the wood, and he laid his heart open to her: "Open thy heart to him too," the voice had said, "tell him all." That would have been the time, the only right time. For the very next day she had read in his eyes what now made her so proud--so happy. So happy? Gracious heavens!

This was happiness, was it, that she now desired nothing better than death, swift death, to escape from the torments that tore her heart to pieces?

Did he divine nothing of these torments! Why had he not come to her last night? He might surely have spared her a minute--he had given the Princess a full hour. It was, perhaps, a relief, a sort of recreation, for him, seeing he had so long had to dispense with any intellectual conversation. Was she perchance the beautiful widow in the novelette who consoled the uncle for the loss of Hilarie? And had Hilarie already got to the point of wishing and longing for such consolation for her uncle?

Her shamefaced gaze wandered up to Bertram's windows, under which she had arrived--not quite unintentionally. What if he were to appear above--signalling: "Wait, I am coming down!"

Like a startled fawn she flitted away to one of the terrace-walks, behind whose protecting wall she could not be seen from those windows of his, and burst into tears, as she became conscious of her cowardice. Lydia appeared at the opposite entrance; she could not avoid Lydia now; she bent toward the espalier, to dry her eyes unobserved, and lo! there was Lydia at her side, at her feet, clasping Erna's knees, pressing her face against Erna's robe, sobbing.

It was a theatrical display, such as Lydia employed on all possible occasions, suitable or otherwise; Erna knew that well enough. But she had not the courage to tear herself away; never a harsh or ironical expression came forth from her to-day; nay, she all but envied a human being that found such expression for its feelings, whatever they might be. She endeavoured to raise the kneeling lady.

"I must remain on my knees until you have pardoned me," murmured Lydia.

"I'll do anything you wish--but rise, rise, I entreat you!"

She had drawn Lydia up and away into a niche in the wall, thus gaining at least some shelter from the eyes of the servants, many of whom were still busy everywhere up and down the terraces with the preparations for the illumination. There was a stone bench with a stone table in front inside the niche. Lydia sank down upon the bench, laid her face, covered by her hands, against the edge of the table, and murmured her miserable confession of guilt in a voice which was scarcely audible, owing to her constant weeping and sobbing. She had, she whined out, found out by questioning the servants that the letter had not been sent, which Erna had on the morning in question written beneath the plantain tree, and which, she assumed, was certainly addressed to Agatha; and she had, moreover, learned from Agatha--who evidently suspected nothing--that she had received no letter just before her departure from home. Then, passing through Erna's rooms, she had seen her blotting-book lying about, unlocked, as she had been astonished to notice. Then she had been unable to resist the temptation of trying if the letter was still there. The letter had been there--a sort of dizziness had come over her, and--

"I said to myself," she went on, "that you have no secrets from Agatha, that you were likely to have written to her what you felt towards Bertram, whether you loved him--I required to know it--my future, my happiness, my salvation--all, all depended upon that one question. Have pity on a poor wretched woman whom jealousy made a criminal--against her own child, too! for I have ever loved you as my own child, ever, and would gladly have sacrificed all for you, all, only not this--the trial was too much for my strength."

Then Lydia in her self-abasement and grief wept bitterly. Again Erna felt it strange that she did not spring up from her place beside the weeping old woman, did not leave her alone with her silliness and her lies; that she could listen to her exaggerated and sentimental twaddle without positive disgust. There was something stirring within her that she was frightened at herself--something almost like a wish that, this time, Lydia might not be lying.

Lydia noticed through the veil of tears in which she had wrapt herself that Erna was accepting her confession much more favourably than she had dared to hope. This gave her courage enough to pursue to the utmost the advantage thus already gained.

"I cannot and will not try to prove that I have been quite free from blame," she cried. "I have been vain and frivolous. I did yield to the temptation of becoming Countess of Finkenburg! Many more would have yielded who cannot retrace, like one of the family of von Aschhof, the long line of their ancestors to the time of the Crusaders, and who do not, as we do, have Moors' heads in their escutcheons! But vanity and frivolity alone did not make me do it. I was honestly convinced that this alliance with a poor lady of high lineage, who would bring him no other dower but her many claims and wants, could be nought but a hindrance to Bertram; that he might have made, and probably thereafter would make, a better and a more suitable choice if I released him from his engagement. Indeed, indeed; if I could but have divined how he would take it to heart, nothing in the world would have made me act as I did. And now I would give everything in the world to atone, as far as I still may, for what I did. Must it really be out of the question, dearest? Look here. He is about fifty years of age, and how long will it be before he is an old man? He is very delicate too. His servant tells me that he suffers from palpitation of the heart, and from insomnia, and that his Berlin doctor has enjoined upon him no end of precautions and care for these travels of his. Why then, he really needs some one who will nurse him and who will patiently bear with all his sickly caprices--all sick folk are capricious, don't you know? I know it but too well; I saw it in the case of my own uncle, the Minister of State, whom every one thought a very lamb in the way of kind, gentle equanimity, and who was so until one of his asthmatic attacks came upon him; and then never a living soul could bear to stay near him. Yes, yes, one must have gone through these things to know; and may God in His mercy keep you, my own dear, sweet, good child, from ever knowing it, from mourning away your sweet young life by the side of a broken-down man who has no passion left, save his books and his politics. If his politics call him he must needs follow, and poor Konski must pack the trunks. Poor fellow, Konski! I spoke to him a little while ago; he'd like to stay and see all the fun that is coming now with these man[oe]vres here, and what not. Besides, I rather think he is in love with Aurora. But he says there is no help for it, and off they go to-morrow, his master and he. Perhaps it is right enough, for the Baron is furious with him, and I really know not what the Baron will do, unless you convince him that he has been mistaken, like the rest of us. Oh, that we had! My own sweet child, you would be restoring peace and happiness to us all, and I would never weary of kissing your dear hands, nay, the very hem of your garment!"

She covered Erna's hands and robe with kisses. Erna let her have her way, she paid no heed to what Lydia was saying and doing; there she sat gazing fixedly across the gardens and across the village on the mountain slope, where a portion of the high road was visible which led from the north across the hills to Rinstedt. Lydia, following the direction of Erna's gaze, saw what Erna saw--a great cloud of dust, with occasional flashes of bright arms, winding down the high road, and now there came, softened by the great distance but still distinctly audible, the sound of the drum; and below, at the entrance to the village, they fired a cannon as a signal that the regiment was coming up.

Erna started as though the shot had gone through her heart!

"For goodness sake, child, what ails you?" exclaimed Lydia, terrified on noticing the pallor of her cheek and her fixed rigid look.

And again she was terrified when Erna suddenly flung herself into her arms as seeking help from a threatening danger, and then with equal suddenness tore herself away, hurried up the walk and straightway vanished behind a projecting portion of the wall.

"What does it all mean?" Lydia asked herself.

As if in answer, there came across the garden, now more distinctly, the sound of the drum.

"Ah!" said Lydia, and a meaning smile flitted over her face. "It would not be impossible," she murmured, "and if it is the case, I'll find it out!"

She turned to enter the mansion house just as the big flag was being hoisted upon the turret as a salute to "Our Regiment," at the moment when the soldiers set foot upon the village road.

XVIII.

Bertram, too, had heard the warlike sounds. He leaned back in his writing chair and listened with bated breath.

"How her heart is sure to beat!" he said to himself.

He rose and went to the open window. From the elevation on which he was, he could see a considerable portion of the high road, could discern the flash of the bayonets through the clouds of dust which a brisk breeze was scattering at times, so that sections of the columns on the march became visible.

In the village below they were firing cannon; from the mountains yonder the echo came rolling.

"How this will resound within her heart!"

From the adjoining bedroom, where he had already begun to put up his master's things in view of their departure, fixed for the day following, Konski came hurrying in to ask, if the Herr Doctor was not going to dress? It was getting late.

"I am in no hurry," said Bertram.

"Well, sir," said Konski, "My Lady is most anxious you should be present at the reception of the officers. Aurora has twice come to the door with a message about it."

And he pointed, as he spoke, to the bedroom door and grinned.

"I do not intend to be present at the reception," Bertram said; "but I may as well dress now." And he followed Konski into the bedroom.

As Konski was assisting him, he said to him--

"Well, on what terms are you with that girl now? You will have to make haste if you wish to settle everything before we go."

"It is already settled, and settled very nicely," Konski made answer, "since last night, sir. With the like of us, such things are settled smartly, Herr Doctor, and I have a favour to ask of you in connection with it. Aurora--it's a strange name that, sir, is it not? and her two others are just as bad: Amanda Rolline--thank you, says I. Well, it is not her fault, though, poor thing, and I won't mind re-baptizing her once we, are in Berlin. But, as I was going to say, Herr Doctor, she insists upon our getting married in the beginning of October, because at the end of October Christine is going to be married to Peter Weissenborn, and she wants to annoy Christina by being married before her, so she says; but I fancy it's meant for Peter, who used to be uncommonly sweet upon her, and, I rather think, promised to marry her at one time. And if the Herr Doctor is not going to Italy at all, or leastways not now, we thought ..."

"You know," said Bertram, "how sorry I shall be to part with you; but I will not stand in the way of your happiness."

"It would be my greatest happiness, sir," said Konski, "to remain with you as long as I live. And there's just one way, so Aurora says ..."

"Well?"

Konski hesitated a little, then took heart of grace, and said, with an embarrassed sort of smirk--

"If the Herr Doctor would be so very kind as to marry too!"

"I am afraid," said Bertram, "you will have to devise some other way out of the difficulty."

Konski was meditatively removing some specks of dust from the black waistcoat which he held in his hand, and said--

"No offence, sir! These women are always a-puzzling out something or other in their brains, and Aurora's brains are by no means bad brains. She thinks it would be uncommon nice, if I would remain the Herr Doctor's valet, and she was to be maid to your lady, sir; and then, whether you went to Italy or elsewhere, we four would always be nice and snug together."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," said Bertram. "Give me my waistcoat."

"No offence, sir," Konski repeated, as he handed his master the waistcoat and took up the dress-coat; "but she leaves me no peace, she does not, and she says that it's all up with the Baron; and from what she heard My Lady say to master this morning about the Herr Doctor, says she, the Herr Doctor need but ask and they'd give him a half dozen daughters, only they have not got more than one; and that one, dear Miss Erna--why, I knows, and no one knows better than me--how fond she is of the Herr Doctor."

As Bertram had again turned away, the poor fellow, much to his regret, could not see what impression his remarks had made upon his master; and now they heard a heavy, hurried step coming through the study. There was a knock, then Otto put in his head and asked if he might trouble Bertram for a minute. Bertram begged him to come in, and beckoned his man to leave the room.

"I have been repeatedly wishing to come up and see you," said Otto; "Hildegard is so afraid that you mean to go--and--dear me, you have really been packing."

"For to-morrow," Bertram made answer. "In no case can I remain longer. For to-day I am, as you see, already, like yourself, in evening dress. Only--you must please excuse me if I do not put in an appearance before dinner; I have not finished my letters yet, and, to say the truth, I should like to cut the reception business."

"So should I," said Otto, "if I could. They will be here in less than ten minutes now. I have not a minute to spare, not a minute."

But for all that he did not stir from the chair into which he had dropped. His mind was clearly far away. Presently he muttered--

"What if Parliament has decided against the railway!"

"We must be prepared for it," replied his friend.

"It is half-past four now, the sitting is sure to be over by this time."

"You will know the result to-morrow, and early enough, too!"

"I think that Lotter, who has had to go to town, will have waited to hear the result of the vote; I asked him to. He said he would be back in time for dinner. But I no longer believe in his influence."

"All the better."

Both were speaking in gloomy tones, as though a heavy pressure was weighing equally on either. Bertram was staring down in front of him with arms crossed behind his back, and Otto's eyes were wandering about the room--he was mechanically fingering the arms of his chair, then suddenly gave a convulsive clutch at them.

"I must go," he said.

He jumped up and was making for the door.

"Otto!"

"Are you coming too?"

"No; I have a small favour to ask which you are not to refuse me."

Bertram had meanwhile gone up to his friend, holding out his hand to him. Otto mechanically put his own into it.

"I wanted to ask you to make use of me in case you have not yet arranged about redeeming, to-morrow, that mortgage, and in the present hurry and worry, what more likely? I have not even had to write to Berlin about it. My Italian trip is given up. You know I had made arrangements for a very lengthened absence. My letter of credit is addressed to your own banker, as I had anyhow been intending to draw a large sum; I can get the money at once, and there will be just enough."

"Time enough to-morrow," murmured Otto; "however, I am much obliged to you for your kind intention. Perhaps I'll drive you to town to-morrow, if you insist upon going; we can then see about it."

His cheeks were burning; his hand, which Bertram was still holding, trembled like that of a man in great physical pain. Bertram noticed it all.

"I am very sorry," he said, "that I must thus torment you, but you left me no choice as to the time. I am sure I shall not be able to speak to you again to-day, and perhaps not to-morrow. Therefore, look here: I have made all the requisite preparations, with due despatch, to make as much of my fortune available as you will need for the settlement of your affairs. You remember our conversation when we were driving back from town last Saturday. I put no other conditions now than I did then; that you arrange the settlement with the help of your lawyer, that you leave him as free as possible in his dispositions regarding the factories, and lastly, that your wife is taken into your confidence--these are not so much conditions, as necessities. And of the last, and doubtless the most painful one, I am willing to relieve you."

Otto flushed to the roots of his hair.

"It is impossible!" he ejaculated. "I cannot take it."

"I am not making you a present of the money, man!"

"The money--the money--but Hildegard! To-day all this display--the Princess--all those officers--a huge party--covers for a hundred or so; and then to-morrow the most awful wretchedness--it is quite impossible. And even if you had the courage--if you were to speak to her, I mean--you are on such good terms again, she had intended to come herself and see you, and I had thought--but that, that she would never forgive you--never!"

"I am prepared for that," replied Bertram. "To be quite frank, I care infinitely more for your welfare than for your wife's favour. Otto, these is no time for long debating. A plain yes from you, and the thing is settled--now or never--do you hear me?"

From the great courtyard there came the sound of merry military music; many voices, too, were heard. Otto was still standing by the door irresolute.

He suddenly seized Bertram's other hand and exclaimed-- "Then marry Erna at least! Hildegard will get reconciled to it, once she knows all. Erna is fond of you--let me talk to her!"

"One word from you, and--I shall not alter my resolve, it is fixed for good; but you and I will never meet again."

Bertram had torn himself away and was striding along the chamber. Now he came back to Otto who was standing there in utter helplessness, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said to him--

"Otto, remember what we vowed to each other in the dear old student days in Bonn: to be and to remain friends in gladness or sadness, friends to the death! This surely is sufficient. Let us not speak of Erna, or, at least, let us not connect her name with this business; such a connection is an insult to me, because it is casting doubt upon the purity of my motives. I can tell you something else, in reference to which I must, in the meantime, request your discreet silence. I have good reasons for assuming that Erna has already disposed of her heart, and this may explain certain oddities in her demeanour which have struck us both. I believe I shall soon know if I am right. In warning you, and your wife against Lotter, I gave you a proof of my careful observation and of my faithful friendship. Confide in me further: you will not repent of it. And now, old boy, go with a lighter heart than you came, and receive your guests, or else the great event will come off without you, and for that Hildegard would never forgive you, and she would be right."

He was almost pushing poor helpless Otto out of the door, when Konski came hurrying up with an impatient message from My Lady.

"Would Otto come at once? The military were just marching up the courtyard."

Otto hurried away. Bertram was still standing near the door, his eye rigidly fixed upon it.

He was murmuring to himself: "That was the first step. I should not have thought, after all I have already endured, that it would prove so hard. But it had to be done!"

He walked slowly up and down, and paused again.