CHAPTER XVI.

Eugenie drew a deep breath of relief, as Afra's swift pace soon carried her from that dangerous neighbourhood. Fearless as she was by nature, she had trembled. Our heroine would have been no woman, if, after such a scene, she had not known that which she had long suspected, namely, that the man's behaviour to herself, so enigmatical and full of contradictions, concealed some other and far more dangerous feeling than hate.

Once again he had yielded to her influence, but he had been on the very point of bursting his bonds. She had a proof now that, when once the barriers were broken down, he was no whit inferior in blind and raging fury to that "untamed element of Nature" to which she had likened him.

She had reached the valley, and, bearing in mind the warning she had received, was about to turn out of the main road, when she heard the sound of a horse's hoofs, and, looking round, saw that its rider was galloping towards her at a speed which soon brought him to her side.

"At last!" cried Arthur, out of breath and reining in his horse. "What imprudence to ride out alone to-day of all days! But, to be sure, you had no notion of the risk you ran."

Eugenie looked at him in surprise, as, panting and glowing from his hasty ride, he walked his horse by her side. He was not dressed for riding, he wore neither spurs nor gloves. He must have mounted just as he was, in his house-dress, and set out in her pursuit.

"I only heard of your fancy half-an-hour ago," he continued, mastering his excitement. "Frank and Anthony are looking for you in different directions, I was the only one to find the right track. They told me at the farm you had ridden by here a little while ago."

Eugenie did not inquire as to the reason of all this uneasiness; she knew it well enough, but the uneasiness itself surprised her a little. He might simply have sent the servants out after her. No doubt, the idea that his wife might be insulted by the miners would be very distasteful to the proprietor of the works, and it was probably in his character as master of the place that he had rushed after her himself.

"I have been up there," said she, pointing to the goal of her expedition.

"Up on the heights? Where we took refuge from the storm that day? You have been up there?"

Eugenie grew crimson. Once again she saw in his eyes that strange gleam of light which had been absent from them for weeks, and then, why did he question her so eagerly, so breathlessly? Had he not long ago forgotten that hour, the remembrance of which still troubled her so often?

"I came upon the place accidentally," said she hurriedly, as though trying to acquit herself of blame. Her plea succeeded, and was at once followed by the desired result.

The light vanished from his eyes, and his voice was cold and steady again as he returned:

"Accidentally? Ah, yes, I might have known that such a mountain excursion as that would not form part of your plans. Afra always shows so much dislike to climbing. But you might also accidentally have taken the road to M----, and that was what I feared."

"And what was there to be afraid of there?" asked Eugenie, looking keenly at him, while together they left the broad high-road and entered a path which led through the woods.

Arthur tried to evade her look.

"Something unpleasant might have occurred there on this particular day. Our miners have been up to the forges in the hills to try and stir up resistance there also. Hartmann's fulminating speeches have made them all red hot. I hear there were already disturbances up there yesterday, and a band of men, returning in an excited state from the scene of such disorders, may, unfortunately, be ready for anything. They must be on their way back now."

"I should have avoided the high road in any case," said Eugenie quietly. "I had been warned already."

"Warned! By whom?"

"By Hartmann himself. I met him not a quarter of an hour ago up in the forest."

This time it was Arthur's horse which reared violently. Its rider had startled it by a sudden twitch at the reins.

"Hartmann? And he dared to go near you--to address you, after all that has happened during the last few days?"

"He only did it to warn me, to offer me his escort and protection. I declined both. I thought it was due to you and your position."

"You thought it due to me," repeated Arthur in a cutting tone. "I am immensely indebted to you for such consideration, and you did well to take it into account; for, if you had allowed yourself to be escorted by him--much as I try to avoid giving any pretext for an open conflict--I should have had to make him feel that the author and chief instigator of the whole revolt must keep himself at a distance from my wife."

Eugenie was silent. She knew him now well enough to be aware that, in spite of his apparent coldness, he was greatly irritated; she understood the close setting of the lips and the slight tremor of the hand. Just so had he stood opposite her on the first evening of their arrival, only now she knew better what lay concealed behind that calm demeanour.

They rode on in silence through the sunny woods, the horses' hoofs falling noiselessly on the yielding moss. Here, as up yonder, the scent and breath of spring were everywhere; here as there, was the clear deep-blue sky, vaulting in the pine trees overhead, and here too the secret sorrow at her heart, but keener now and far more poignant than it had been up on the heights above.

The horses walked side by side in the narrow path; as they went, the heavy folds of Eugenie's habit brushed against the bushes, and her veil went fluttering back over Arthur's shoulder. Brought into such close neighbourhood as this, she could not fail to observe that her companion was looking terribly pale, now that the exertion of his hasty ride was over. True, he had never had the fresh, healthy colour of youth, but this was quite a different pallor from that of the young dandy who spent his evenings in heated salons and his nights in play, and then, wearied out and satiated, would lie all day long on the sofa, with the curtains closely drawn, because his weakened eyes could not endure the sunlight.

His present paleness came, no doubt, from the same source as the dark lines of care upon his brow, and the grave, almost sombre, expression of his face which formerly bore an expression of lazy indifference only. To most men such a change would have been unfavourable, but to Arthur Berkow it proved an infinite gain.

Eugenie now saw plainly for the first time that her husband had claims to be considered handsome. In earlier days she had not been willing to see this. His languid air and evident want of interest in all around him had outweighed for her those advantages which were now, all at once, brought out into bold relief by the new and unaccustomed stamp of energy imprinted on his countenance and entire bearing; an energy which possibly may have been long latent within him, but which, like so many other qualities had been repressed, and well-nigh crushed, by too early and too satiating an experience of life and its enjoyments. Ah, yes! the world lying perdu beneath was indeed rising from its depths at last, roused by the sound of the approaching storm which alone ...!

Eugenie felt something like bitterness at the thought that she herself had had no share in this awakening, that hers was not the magic charm which had loosed the spell. He had broken through it of his own strength, and needed no help from a stranger's hand.

"I am sorry I had to spoil your ride," said Arthur, breaking the silence at last, but addressing her in his usual tone of distant politeness. "It is a glorious day."

"I am afraid you stand more in need of a ride in the open air than I." The young wife's voice betrayed a perhaps unconscious anxiety. "You are looking pale, Arthur."

"I am not used to work," said he with a kind of bitter pleasantry. "That comes from being so effeminate. I cannot do what the people I employ have to do every day of their lives."

"It seems to me, rather, that you are doing too much, you are pushing it to the very extreme," returned Eugenie, quickly. "All day long you hardly leave your study, and, at night, I see the light burning there until morning."

A sudden flush passed over the young man's face.

"And how long is it since you have favoured the windows of my room with so much attention?" asked he with quiet sarcasm. "I did not suppose you knew of their existence."

She reddened a little now in her turn, but soon overcame her confusion, and answered with firmness:

"Since I have known that the danger you are so determined to make light of is drawing nearer day by day. Why did you deceive me as to the importance of this dispute and its possible consequences?"

"I did not wish to alarm you."

She made an impatient gesture.

"I am no timid child to be so carefully spared, and if there is anything threatening us"----

"Us!" interrupted Arthur. "Excuse me, the danger threatens me alone. I have never intended to treat you as a child; but I thought it my duty not to importune the Baroness Windeg with matters which must be quite indifferent to her, and which, before long, will be as completely removed from her as the name she now bears."

The tone of his reply was frigid in the extreme. It was her own tone, one she had often enough adopted towards him, when she found it necessary to remind him of her descent or of the compulsion to which she had yielded in marrying; and now it was used as a lesson to herself! Something like anger shot up into her dark eyes as she fixed them on her husband.

"So you decline giving me any information about your affairs for the future?"

"No, not if you wish for it."

Eugenie struggled a moment with herself; at last she said,

"You have refused your people's demands?"

"All that it was possible for me to grant, and all that the people themselves required, I have granted; but Hartmann's terms are so extreme, they will not bear discussion. They would, of necessity, lead to the complete destruction of all discipline, to a state of positive anarchy, and they are in themselves a downright insult. He would hardly have ventured to propose them, if he had not known all that is at stake for me in this struggle."

"And what is there at stake?" asked Eugenie, listening with breathless attention. "Your fortune?"

"More even, my existence as a mine-owner."

"And you will not give way?"

"No."

She looked up at her husband, at the man who, barely three months before, could not endure a "scene" with her, because it affected his "nerves," and who now quietly faced a struggle on which his whole future depended. Was he really the same being? That "No" of his had an iron clang about it; she felt that the most violent threats would extract from him no other answer.

"I fear Hartmann will go all lengths," she returned. "He hates you."

Arthur smiled contemptuously.

"I know it, and the feeling is certainly mutual."

Eugenie thought of the eyes which had flashed so wildly when she pronounced her husband's name up there on the heights, and a sudden terror took possession of her.

"You must not under-estimate that man's hatred. He is terrible in his passions as in his energy."

Arthur looked her steadily in the face, frowning as he did so.

"Are you so well acquainted with him? You certainly always have had an admiration for this hero in a blouse. A cheap sort of energy, his, defiantly setting itself to work to bring about the impossible, and preferring to drag hundreds down into misfortune rather than listen to a word of reason. But even Hartmann may find a rampart against which his obstinate will may spend its strength in vain. From me, at least, he will obtain nothing, though I should have to fight on until I am completely ruined."

He reined in his horse all at once, and Eugenie instantly did the same. The path through the woods was here intersected by a bend in the high road, and there, drawn up just before them, they saw the very men they had wished to avoid. A troop of miners had come to a halt at that spot and appeared to be waiting for some one.

Arthur knitted his brows.

"It seems we are not to be spared a meeting."

"Shall we turn back?" asked Eugenie in a low voice.

"It is too late, they have seen us already. We cannot avoid them now; to turn back would savour of flight. It is a pity we are on horseback, that will irritate them still more, but we must show no weakness; we must go on."

"And yet you feared this encounter?"

Arthur looked at her astonished.

"I? It was only you who were not to meet them. It cannot be helped now; but, at all events, you are no longer alone. Keep Afra well in hand, and stay close by me. Perhaps there will be no conflict, after all."

These words were exchanged quickly and almost in a whisper as they paused for one minute. Then they rode slowly forward and out into the high road, where their approach had evidently been remarked.

Arthur was right. The circumstances of the meeting could hardly be worse. The men were in a turbulent mood, embittered and excited by the scenes which had taken place up at the forges. They were already beginning to suffer from the consequences of their resistance, and now they came face to face with the master who had refused to yield to their demands. They saw him well mounted, riding by the side of his high-born wife, and returning, as they supposed, from some excursion of pleasure.

It was a dangerous sight for men already battling with want. A significant growl of discontent was heard, some muttered threats and insulting words were spoken; but, as the two emerged from the forest on to the main road, there was silence, the troop, as if by a preconcerted movement, forming itself into a compact mass ready to bar the passage.

Arthur's lips showed that slight nervous quiver which, with him, was the only outward mark of emotion, but his hand was perfectly steady as he grasped Afra's bridle, so as, come what might, to keep her close at his side.

"Good day."

The greeting was unanswered. Not a man of the whole troop responded to it; on all sides hostile glances were showered upon the new-comers, and the men standing nearest to them pressed round more closely.

"Will you not let us through?" asked Arthur gravely. "The horses will grow restive if you press round them so. Give way."

In spite of the danger of their situation, a danger she thoroughly understood, Eugenie looked up at her husband in wonder. It was the first time she had ever heard this tone from his lips, very quiet, no doubt, but nevertheless conveying all the authority of a master over his subordinates.

This behaviour on Arthur's part was certainly full of danger at such a moment, but it would have been attended with complete success, if the troop had remained without a leader; the men would have obeyed him. But now all eyes were turned in one direction, as though awaiting from thence alone the signal for compliance or resistance.

Some little distance off stood Ulric Hartmann, who had just come down from the heights, and whom they had probably expected to meet here. He stood motionless, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on Berkow and his wife with an expression which boded them little good.

Arthur's looks had followed those of the men about him. He faced round now.

"Hartmann, are you in charge to-day? It is for you to see, then, that a way is made for us. We are waiting."

If, in these words, there had been the slightest trace of command or of entreaty, no matter which, it would have been as a spark falling into a powder-magazine, and Ulric seemed really to be only waiting for some such spark; but by thus recognising his authority and coolly calling on him to keep order, as if it were a well-understood part of his duty, Arthur took him by surprise, without, however, disarming him. He drew near slowly.

"Oh, so you want to ride on, Herr Berkow?"

"Certainly, you see we wish to pass through to the other side."

A look of withering contempt crossed Ulric's features.

"And you call on me to help you? You are master of your works and of your men. Why do you not order them to make way? Or"--here his voice took a hollow, threatening sound, "or, perhaps, you think that here _I_ am master, and that I need only say one word to prove it to you--to prove it to you both!"

Eugenie had grown very pale, and pressed her horse still closer to Arthur's. She knew that the menace in those glittering eyes was not for her, but it was not for herself she trembled. She had no courage now to try and use that power before which Ulric had so lately bent; besides, she felt the spell would not work while he beheld her at her husband's side.

"In case of assault, a hundred can always have the mastery over one," said Arthur coldly, "but I suppose you hardly mean that, Hartmann. You would feel no uneasiness yourself, would you, if you came, alone and unexpectedly, into the midst of my officials? I consider myself as safe here as in my own house."

Ulric made no answer. He looked up with a scowl at the man before him, who was facing him with such perfect composure and steadily scanning his face with those clear brown eyes, just as on the day when the strife had first broken out.

On that occasion, however, he had stood in his own committee-room, surrounded and protected by his agents; now he was alone in the midst of an excited crowd, only awaiting the signal to proceed to insults, possibly to deeds of violence, and yet not a muscle of his face quivered; his bearing was as proud and assured, his look as fearless, as though he felt and knew himself to be master even here.

This quiet confidence of his did not fail to have its effect upon the crowd, trained in the habit of obedience. The only question for the men now was to know whom they should follow. They turned another inquiring glance on Ulric, who stood by in silence. He looked up once more, then aside at Eugenie's white face. Suddenly he stepped back.

"Make way, let the horses through! To the left, face about!"

The order was executed with a celerity which showed it was not unwelcome. In less than a minute a broad path was opened, and Berkow and his wife rode through unhindered. They turned from the high-road into the forest again, and soon disappeared among the trees.

"I say, Ulric," Lawrence went up to his friend with a sort of good-natured remonstrance, "you flew at me just now because I preached peace up at the forges. What have you been doing here, yourself?"

The other was still gazing over at the trees. Now that the young proprietor's personal influence was no longer felt, he seemed to repent him of his fit of generosity.

"'A hundred to one,'" he murmured bitterly, "and 'I am safe among you.' Yes! they are never wanting in fine speeches when there is anything that frightens them, and such as we are always ready to catch at the old bait."

"He did not look as if he were frightened," said Lawrence decidedly. "He is certainly not at all like his father. Ulric, we ought" ...

"What ought we to do?" interrupted Ulric hastily. "To give way, don't you mean? So that you may have peace and quiet again, and that he may go on worse than his father ever did, when he sees he can succeed in everything. If I let him go to-day, I did it because he was not alone, because his wife was with him, and because" ...

He broke off suddenly. The proud self-contained man would rather have bitten out his tongue than have confessed to his comrade what influence had really compelled him to forbear.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Eugenie had ridden on in silence. Perhaps the common danger they had just passed through had linked them more closely together, for their horses went on side by side, and Arthur still held Afra's rein, though the widening path would now have afforded them room enough, though there was nothing more to fear, and all further care of so consummate a horsewoman was plainly superfluous.

"Do you understand the danger of to-day's excursion now?"

"Yes, and also the danger of your situation."

"I must bear it. You see yourself what blind obedience Hartmann can command. One word from him, and they let us ride on; not a man ventured to murmur, yet they were only waiting a sign from him to turn against us."

"But he did not give the sign," said Eugenie emphatically.

Arthur turned the same strange, searching gaze upon her.

"No, not to-day. He knows best what held him back, but it may happen to-morrow, or the next day, or whenever we meet. I am quite prepared for it."

Leaving the wood now, they set their horses into a trot and arrived a quarter of an hour later at the terrace before the chateau. Arthur swung himself from his saddle--with what elasticity compared with his former languid movements! He offered his hand to help his wife dismount. Her face was still deadly pale, and she trembled a little as he placed his arm round her, trembled still more as it held her firmly a second longer than was usual on such occasions.

"Were you frightened?" he asked softly, as he took her arm to lead her into the house.

Eugenie gave no answer. Yes, she had been a prey to mortal terror all through that scene, but she would rather he should think her a coward than let him guess it was for his sake she had felt alarm. A suspicion of this seemed, however, to dawn upon him.

"Were you frightened, Eugenie?" he asked again in soft, low tones, pressing her arm more and more firmly to his breast. She raised her eyes to his, and, once more, saw that bright illumining, more radiant now and more significant than she had ever seen it yet. He bent down to her, as if to lose no syllable of her reply.

"Arthur, I----"

"Baron Windeg and his eldest son arrived half-an-hour ago," announced a servant, hastening forward, and the words were hardly spoken when the young Baron, who had probably been watching for them from the window, rushed down the stairs with all the ardour of his eighteen years, eager to greet his sister whom he had not seen since her marriage.

"Ah, Con, is it you?"

She felt something like a pang at this arrival of father and brother, an arrival for which she had before so earnestly longed.

Arthur had let her hand fall as the name of Windeg was mentioned. She saw the glacial expression which stole over his features, and heard the freezing tone of his voice as he greeted his young brother-in-law with distant politeness.

"Will you not come up with me?" she asked, seeing that he remained standing at the foot of the staircase.

"Excuse me if I ask you to receive your father alone. I had ... forgotten something which has just been recalled to my memory. I will wait on the Baron as soon as I possibly can."

He stepped back while Eugenie and her brother went up the stairs by themselves. The latter seemed rather surprised, but a glance at his sister's pale face made him suppress the question which was on his lips. He knew pretty well, he thought, how matters stood here. Perhaps during their ride that parvenu had taken occasion to inflict some fresh mortification on his wife. The young fellow cast a threatening look below, and turned to his sister with impetuous tenderness.

"Eugenie, I am so happy to see you again, and you"----

She forced herself to smile.

"And I too am happy, infinitely happy!"

She looked down into the vestibule again. It was empty. Arthur must already have left it.

She drew herself up with a movement of wounded pride.

"Let us go to my father. He is waiting for us."