Title: Too Rich - A Romance
Author: Streckfuss, Adolph, 1823-1895
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Too Rich - A Romance" ***


Transcriber's Notes:
   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/tooricharomance00stregoog

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].



                    POPULAR WORKS AFTER THE GERMAN,

                           AFTER THE GERMAN,

                         BY MRS. A. L. WISTER.



A FAMILY FEUD. After the German of Ludwig Harder. 12mo. Fine cloth.
$1.25.

AT THE COUNCILLOR'S; or, A Nameless History. After the German of E.
Marlitt. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.

THE SECOND WIFE. After the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo. Fine cloth.
$1.75.

THE OLD MAM'SELLE'S SECRET. After the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo. Fine
cloth. $1.50.

GOLD ELSIE. After the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

COUNTESS GISELA. After the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo. Fine cloth.
$1.50.

THE LITTLE MOORLAND PRINCESS. After the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo.
Fine cloth. $1.50.

THE GREEN GATE. After the German of Ernst Wichert. 12mo. Fine cloth.
$1.75.

ONLY A GIRL. After the German of Wilhelmine von Hillern. 12mo. Fine
cloth. $1.75.

ENCHANTING AND ENCHANTED; or, Fairy Spells. From the German of
Hackländer. Illustrated. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

WHY DID HE NOT DIE? After the German of Ad. von Volckhausen. 12mo. Fine
cloth. $1.75.

HULDA; or, The Deliverer. After the German of F. Lewald. 12mo. Fine
cloth. $1.75.


                           *  *  *  *  *

*** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage paid,
upon receipt of price by  _J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers,
Philadelphia_.



                                TOO RICH


                               A ROMANCE



                            AFTER THE GERMAN
                                   OF
                           ADOLPH STRECKFUSS



                          BY MRS. A. L WISTER
        TRANSLATOR OF "THE SECOND WIFE," "ONLY A GIRL," "THE OLD
           MAM'SELLE'S SECRET," "HULDA," "A FAMILY FEUD," ETC.



                              PHILADELPHIA
                         J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
                                  1878



                             *  *  *  *  *
               Copyright, 1878, by J. B. Lippincott & Co.
                             *  *  *  *  *



                               TOO RICH.



                               CHAPTER I.


It was a very warm day in summer. The lindens on either side the broad
promenade drooped their thirsty dusty leaves above the pedestrians
sauntering beneath their shade. These loitered along as slowly as
possible, but the heat was really too oppressive, and many of them soon
turned into narrower and cooler side streets, resigning all attempts to
meet the various acquaintances who usually at noon thronged the gay
promenade of K----. Others indeed took refuge beneath the tempting
awning of some one of the various fashionable restaurants on the
promenade, where, secluded from the burning rays of the midday sun,
they refreshed themselves with ices, and were at leisure to recognize
and criticise all who drove, rode, or walked past.

On a day like the present "Büchner's restaurant," famous for its
sherbet, and a favourite lounging-place with young sprigs of fashion,
was sure to be thronged. Here might be seen the officers of the various
regiments in garrison at K---- and numerous civilians whose rank
entitled them to such distinguished companionship, and here the choice
of amusements for the evening was discussed,--whether, in spite of the
intense heat, the charms of the lovely S---- were sufficiently great to
make the theatre endurable, or whether preference should be given to an
open-air entertainment at some favourite concert-garden.

In the world of fashion it was eminently 'the thing' to pass half an
hour every afternoon on the veranda beneath the awning at "Büchner's,"
and consequently in the afternoon the place was so thronged that
scarcely a seat was to be had at any of the numerous tables there,
while on warm days it was quite full at noon, for there could hardly be
a more commodious and pleasant point of observation on the entire
promenade.

The guests at Büchner's were of the most select,--to see that they were
so was a chief care with the attentive head of the establishment, who
thought no pains lost which secured to him the custom of the officers.
He still recalled with vivid melancholy the war-time, and the deserted
aspect of his veranda while it lasted; he knew that he owed his
brilliant success in business to the officers and to please them he
displayed the greatest zeal. Was he not always on the watch to keep
away from the veranda any persons supposed to be obnoxious to these
distinguished guests? All such, even although there was still room
beneath the awning, were shown to seats far back in the inmost recesses
of the place. Only to the young officers and their intimates of the
first rank in society was it permitted to lounge indolently upon the
veranda, their cigars in their mouths, their chairs tipped back, and
their legs resting either upon other chairs or upon the wrought-iron
balustrade, in which graceful and easy attitude they could observe the
passers-by at their leisure.

Thus elegantly posed on this same sunny noon, two young cavalry
officers were scanning, eye-glass in eye, the passers-by, negligently
returning the greetings of acquaintances, and, careless as to whether
their remarks were overheard or not, ruthlessly criticising in a loud
voice the occupants of the various equipages rolling by.

In their immediate neighbourhood two infantry officers were seated near
the balustrade, scorning however the negligent attitude of the two
dragoons; one of them was reading a newspaper, while the other was
gazing out at the passers-by.

"I believe you mean to learn that paper by heart, Leo," one of them, a
young fellow of about three-and-twenty, remarked to his comrade, his
senior by two or three years, and also in rank as the star upon his
shoulder indicated.

The man thus addressed looked up with a smile, disclosing a handsome,
expressive countenance of a forcible manly type. His thick, fair
moustache became him well, concealing somewhat as it did the rather
hard outline of the mouth and thus softening a certain sternness of
expression which had characterized his face while absorbed in his
newspaper, but which vanished entirely as he smiled. The mild lustre of
large dark eyes made the handsome face still more attractive.

"You're an awful bore to-day, Leo," the younger man continued; "we've
been sitting here full half an hour, and you have hardly opened your
lips. I cannot imagine what you find to read in that wretched 'Daily
Post;' it makes me yawn only to look at it; nothing would induce me to
read a line of it; 'tis full of such stupid stuff in these tiresome
times of peace."

"You're mistaken; the proceedings in Chambers are extremely interesting
to-day."

"The proceedings in Chambers!" the other cried, with comical dismay.
"Good heavens, the fellow is reading politics! Leo, Leo, as your true
friend, I must warn you: you are in perilous paths; read everything
else that you choose,--the trashiest novels, and even poems if you
insist upon it, but no politics; you will lose caste. Already you are
looked upon askance as a genius, more than half an artist; if it should
be whispered about that you are a politician you are ruined, Leo. An
officer with an interest in politics is a lost man; if my warning voice
has any influence Leo von Heydeck shall never fall so low. Throw the
paper away, my dear fellow, and be a man; let us follow the example of
our comrades the dragoons, Herr von Bertram and Count Waldheim, and
criticise the lovely ladies driving past; this is just the time for it.
Look! there comes the fairest of the fair, the richest of the rich, the
loveliest of the lovely, divine Eva Schommer!"

Leo von Heydeck suddenly dropped his newspaper and glanced in the
direction indicated by his friend, but on the instant his face
darkened; he hastily looked around him to observe the effect produced
upon the group of officers beneath the awning by the approach of the
celebrated beauty, and then quietly took up his paper again and seemed
to become more than ever absorbed in it. He did not even look up as the
barouche in which the object of so much admiration sat rolled past.

He was, however, the only one upon the veranda who accorded no notice
to the fair occupant of the barouche; every officer present gazed after
her with the greatest interest, and some few, who had enjoyed the happy
privilege of an introduction, saluted her with distinguished courtesy.
Among these fortunate individuals were the two dragoons, Herr von
Bertram and Count Waldheim; as soon as they were aware of the approach
of the equipage each started up from his negligent attitude and
standing close behind the balustrade bowed low as if to some princess.
Certainly no princess could have acknowledged their salute with a
slighter or haughtier inclination of the head than that with which it
was received in this instance.

Carelessly leaning back among the satin cushions of the elegant
barouche of which she was the sole occupant, Fräulein Eva Schommer
seemed to receive the homage offered her but as a fitting tribute to
her beauty; no smile played about her pensive mouth as she thus
slightly bowed, and her large dark eyes scarcely deigned to rest for an
instant upon the two dragoons. Suddenly her cheek flushed a little, and
a degree of animation lit up her face for an instant as she shot one
fleeting glance at the figure sitting absorbed in the newspaper and not
even looking up as her barouche drove past. The next minute she turned
away her head and replied most courteously to the passing salutation of
a rider, who cantered on a blood horse past her equipage.

Like an apparition the barouche drawn by its pair of thoroughbreds
flashed past Büchner's awning and was soon lost to sight as it turned
almost immediately into a cross street. With it the degree of
excitement which its approach had produced also vanished; the two
dragoons took their seats again, put their feet up upon the rail of the
balustrade, and balanced themselves after their old elegant fashion.

The younger infantry officer, who had also sprung from his seat and
bowed to the lady most courteously without however receiving any
acknowledgment in return, now resumed his seat, and regarded his friend
still zealously perusing the newspaper with immense astonishment. "This
is too much, Leo!" he exclaimed. "There you sit and never even look up
as she drives past; have you a heart of stone? You were the only one
whom she looked at; the only one of us to whom she deigned a glance,
and you pore over your politics all the while as if you meditated
mounting the rostrum yourself. 'Pon honour, Leo, she did bestow a look
upon you which would have driven many a fellow who had chanced to get
it wild."

"You must have been mistaken, Kuno," Leo replied, indifferently,
although his friend's words did not seem quite devoid of interest for
him, for he folded his paper and laid it aside; perhaps he had entirely
finished his perusal of the most interesting proceedings in Chambers.

"Kuno von Herwarth is never mistaken," the young officer said, with
mock heroism. "I beg you to remember that I said, 'Upon my honour she
bestowed a look upon you,' which entirely forbids all possibility of a
mistake on my part."

"Of course," Leo replied, good-humouredly. "I do not doubt you for an
instant. Why should the young lady not have accorded us a fleeting
glance? I only cannot believe that it rested especially upon me."

"And why not? Were you not presented to Fräulein Schommer by her uncle
at the _fête-champêtre_ at Schönsee?"

"True: the young lady was so gracious as to accede to her uncle's
request on the occasion, and I could not without discourtesy refuse to
be presented."

"Refuse to be presented? Really, Leo, I cannot understand you. There is
not one of our comrades who would not think himself lucky if he could
contrive an introduction to Fräulein Schommer, and you----"

"I do not join in the universal adulation, the nonsensical idolatry,
offered to the lady," Leo interrupted his friend. "I very unwillingly
consented to be presented to her, and was justly punished for my
consent by the negligent hauteur with which I was received. She
scarcely deigned me a glance, and received the few polite remarks which
I made to her after my presentation in so indifferent a silence that I
had no inducement to pursue a conversation evidently distasteful to
her. Afterwards, when by chance my seat was next hers in the boat upon
the lake, I again, as courtesy I thought required, said a few words to
her, to which however she returned such icy monosyllabic replies that I
gladly left her to her conversation with her neighbour on the other
side, the old Privy Councillor's wife, Madame von Sturmhaupt, with whom
she could talk fast enough."

"Take care of yourself, Leo!" Kuno replied, with a laugh. "This
indifference of yours towards Fräulein Schommer does not seem quite
genuine. Else why should you be so offended by her cold reception of
you when you were presented to her?"

"You are wrong; I am not in the least offended, for I do but share the
fate of all those who do not possess at least a million. Otherwise you
are perfectly correct in saying that I am not indifferent to Fräulein
Eva Schommer,--I do not like her! I will not deny that she is
handsome,--extremely handsome,--but her whole bearing is distasteful
to me. Pride or, to speak more correctly, self-conceit I always
dislike,--purse-pride is inexpressibly odious to me. But enough of
this, Kuno; do not let us talk of it: this at all events is not a fit
place for such discussion."

"You should have thought of that before, Herr von Heydeck," Lieutenant
von Bertram interposed at this point. He had been an attentive listener
to the foregoing conversation, and now rose and approached Leo with
much arrogance of manner.

Guido von Bertram was about as old as Leo von Heydeck; if mere
regularity of features constitute beauty he was the handsomer man, but
in his face there was none of the frank manliness which lent such a
charm to Von Heydeck. He evidently affected the man of extreme fashion:
the eye-glass stuck in his right eye, and the drawling tone of his
voice, were in harmony with his entire bearing.

As he stood before Leo von Heydeck he adjusted the said eye-glass more
firmly in position, and scanned his opponent most offensively. Leo
looked up in surprise; he had been on terms of intimacy with the
dragoon in former years, but this intimacy had long since ceased.
Bertram's sudden interruption therefore took him quite by surprise;
before he could reply Bertram continued, emphasizing each word
as he drawled it out, "You have allowed yourself to speak in a
highly-offensive manner of a young lady with whom I have the honour to
claim acquaintance; I must beg you to retract all that you have said."

The words were too distinct to be misunderstood. Leo perceived that
Bertram was endeavouring to step forward as Fräulein Schommer's
champion; the tone of the dragoon's voice and his words were so
insulting that Leo's eyes flashed angrily; but the next instant he
mastered his first impulse of indignation at the sudden attack and
admitted to himself that he had been indiscreet. He should never have
allowed himself to indulge in any criticism of a lady in so public a
place; he was ready to atone as far as was possible for such an
indiscretion.

"I regret, Herr von Bertram," he said, quietly, "that words spoken in a
strictly private conversation with my friend Herr von Herwarth, and
intended solely for his ear, should have reached yours. I can assure
you that nothing was further from my thoughts than any insult to
Fräulein Schommer."

"This excuse does not satisfy me, Herr von Heydeck. As you spoke
sufficiently loud for me involuntarily to overhear every word, your
conversation with Herr von Herwarth cannot be considered 'strictly
private.' You spoke of annoyance, of conceit, of purse-pride. Although
Fräulein Schommer is above all possibility of insult from you, I will
not suffer a young lady whose acquaintance I have the honour to claim
to be thus spoken of in a public place. I therefore require you
instantly to declare your expressions a calumny and to retract them
upon the spot."

"Herr von Bertram, let me entreat----" Kuno von Herwarth exclaimed, in
dismay; but before he could proceed the dragoon interposed.

"Lieutenant von Herwarth, I must protest against any interference upon
your part in this matter between Herr von Heydeck and myself. Since you
are a witness to this conversation, you may shortly perchance act the
same part in another affair, where you may congratulate yourself upon
occupying a neutral position. Therefore I must beg you not to interrupt
this conversation." Then, turning to Leo and raising his voice, he
continued: "You have heard my demand, Herr von Heydeck; I require
immediate compliance with it."

Leo von Heydeck started from his seat at these insolent words; his
cheek glowed with indignation, his hand involuntarily sought his
sword-hilt, but he quickly recovered himself. He folded his arms,
looked down thoughtfully, and then, after a pause that lasted but for
an instant, he replied to his insolent opponent with perfect repose of
manner, looking him full and calmly in the face the while,--

"You have no right to make any such demand, Herr von Bertram. If you
are not bent upon a quarrel you will be satisfied by my reiterated
assurance that I had no intention of insulting Fräulein Schommer, and
that I regret that words which I had best not have uttered should have
been regarded as intentionally insulting. I hope this declaration will
satisfy you."

"No, it does not satisfy me. As you do not retract your assertions, you
of course maintain them, and force me to assert myself! It is
dishonourable,--understand me, Herr von Heydeck,--I repeat, grossly
dishonourable to calumniate thus publicly a young lady who cannot
defend herself! It is a grossly dishonourable act, which I shall
chastise as it deserves!"

Again Leo's eyes flashed, again his cheek flushed scarlet, but he gave
no words to his anger. One glance of intense scorn he cast at Bertram,
who stood insolently awaiting his reply, and then without a word he
turned and left the veranda.

This extraordinary scene had arrested the attention of the other
officers present. Bertram's last words had been intentionally spoken so
loudly and with such emphasis as to be heard by all, and most of his
auditors were justly indignant.

When the dragoon after Leo's departure went with a triumphant smile to
take his seat again beside his friend Count Waldheim, he was regarded
by his comrades with much disfavour, and expressions of their
displeasure reached his ears such as, "An insolent attack!" "An
entirely unjustifiable insult!" but he apparently cared little about
these utterances of opinion. Perfectly satisfied with his conduct, he
began to balance himself again comfortably on the hind legs of his
chair, and preserved his self-conceited smile even when Kuno von
Herwarth, without a word and with a glance of evident contempt, passed
by him to follow his friend.

Count Waldheim however was far from sharing in his content; moving his
chair more closely to Bertram's side, he whispered, "What do you mean,
Bertram? You have got yourself into trouble, I am afraid, and, if you
will pardon the expression, you've committed a great folly."

"Do you think so?" Bertram rejoined in as low a tone, twirling the ends
of his moustache. "I assure you I never committed an act of less folly
in my life, or one more entirely successful."

"What! you were not carried away then by the impulse of the
moment?--you intentionally and designedly offered so deadly an insult
to Herr von Heydeck?"

"Intentionally and designedly. I was not in the least irritated, but as
calm as ever I was in my life."

"I understand you less than ever then. I am certainly not ignorant in
such matters, but I cannot conceive of provoking a mortal quarrel
without the slightest provocation. You know Heydeck's reputation as a
pistol-shot; he is famous for absolute certainty of aim and steadiness
of hand. Are you tired of life, Bertram?"

"Not at all; it is in no danger from Herr von Heydeck," Bertram
replied, with the same serenity of manner. "Will you bet with me,
Count? I wager ten Friedrichs-d'or that Heydeck pockets my affront,--he
will not call me out. Eh?"

"Impossible! You accused him of dishonourable conduct; he must resent
such an insult, and----"

"Will you wager?"

"If you choose; but you have lost already. In return I will act as your
second."

"No need; Heydeck is too much of a coward to send me a challenge."

"Heydeck a coward? You're dreaming, Bertram. Why, his thorough scorn of
danger got him the iron cross at Gravelotte. He is known throughout the
entire regiment for his cool courage in facing deadly peril. I know
what I am saying; one of my cousins serves in his battalion and is very
intimate with him."

Bertram shook his head with a contemptuous smile. "I know him better:
we were at school together; I tell you he is a coward who will never
dare to call me out. You say he showed courage in the field? Bah! what
is courage in the field? Every plough-boy displays it. The coward
pushes on there because he is sure of a bullet through his brains if he
runs away. You will soon learn to your cost, as far as your purse is
concerned, that I am right, but even were I wrong, and he were really
to send me a challenge, I should perhaps be better pleased. Let me
explain, for I see you shake your head incredulously. I should be only
too glad to fight him if thereby I might succeed in gaining one word of
gratitude from the lovely Eva, and here I depend upon your friendly
services, Count."

"Now I begin to comprehend," Waldheim said, in a tone of surprise; "but
the game you are playing, Bertram, is a dangerous one. Are you sure the
stakes are worth the winning thus? Fräulein Schommer to be sure is
handsome----"

"Wonderfully handsome!"

"And rich too, they say."

"Two millions at least!"

"Very fair; but remember, Bertram, Fräulein Schommer comes from a very
low grade of society. Her uncle, Balthasar Schommer, is a common fellow
who submits to his niece's petting and scolding like some favourite
puppy. I believe her father was a miner, and it is extremely doubtful
whether he could read or write his own name although he died the
possessor of rich mines and a millionaire. You ought to think twice,
Bertram, before you make up your mind to marry into such a connection."

"But you visit at the Schommers', Count?"

"Why not? The old fellow is common enough, but his wine, or rather the
fair Eva's, is capital; although really that makes very little
difference to me. All the world goes to the Schommers', and why should
not I follow its example? If I ever am tired of going there, I have but
to cease my visits and cut old Schommer when I meet him. Meanwhile I
like very well to talk and dance with the girl who is certainly very
lovely; but I never should dream of making her Countess Waldheim."

"Nor should I perhaps, were I the wealthy Count Waldheim, but such
scruples are not for a poor Herr von Bertram whose debts are
considerably larger than his estate. That which you disdain I covet,
and I ask you for your assistance in obtaining it."

"I really cannot see how I can be of assistance to you in so delicate
an affair."

"Nevertheless you can. Let me be frank with you; I know you will not
abuse my confidence. You know Fräulein Eva,--you know how proud and
reserved she is. Between ourselves what Heydeck said of her was true
enough. I myself have often suffered from her pride. All my exertions,
the most delicate attentions to her that I could devise, have never
advanced me one step in her favour. I should long ago have relinquished
all pretension to it if she had not treated every one else--yourself,
Count, perhaps excepted--with the same coldness and hauteur which I
have experienced from her. She cannot be approached after any ordinary
fashion, but I hope that to-day I have found out a means of awakening
her interest. When she learns how slightingly Heydeck spoke of her,
that he was instantly called to account for his expression, and that I
was the champion who undertook to vindicate her honour, and defended
her at the peril of his life----"

"You have just wagered that Heydeck would not challenge you; the peril
then is not so very great."

"True, but she need not know that. The friend who tells her of the zeal
with which I undertook her defence might add for my sake that Heydeck
is famous as a perfect marksman, and that in case of a duel my life is
in the greatest danger."

"And you ask me to be this friend?"

"If you would so far oblige me, my dear Count, I should be forever
grateful to you. The charming Eva must take a deep interest in so
fearless a defender of her honour. She cannot treat him with the
cold formality which she accords to her other adorers. If once the ice
is broken, and the smallest opening made in her armour of cold
reserve,--if she admits me to the slightest degree of confidence, I
will take care of the rest. She is no woman if gratitude to her
champion is not at last metamorphosed into love. Will you help me,
Count?"

"Hm,--the affair is not greatly to my taste," Count Waldheim slowly
answered; "but we have always been good comrades and I will not desert
you now; especially since I believe that you really stand in peril of
your life,--a peril foolishly incurred by yourself. I will call at the
Schommers' and see what I can do for you. She has just driven home, I
shall be admitted. Besides, I must leave you at all events. I confess I
am not comfortable here where every one is looking at us, and your name
is whispered at all the tables."

"Very natural after what has passed."

"But these whispers are by no means complimental to you, my dear
fellow; and in fact these comrades of ours are not far wrong in my
opinion. In your zeal to make yourself interesting to Fräulein Eva you
treated Heydeck badly."

"Bah! he deserved nothing better."

"I will not play your Mentor, but, I do not care to stay here and be
stared at any longer,--I am going. We shall meet at dinner at
the Casino, and I will report as to my visit at the Schommers'.
Good-morning."

"I shall stay here for a while. _Au revoir_."

And Herr von Bertram stayed, balancing himself as airily as before, and
gazing out upon the promenade, but nevertheless he was not quite
comfortable. He felt himself the object of universal observation; he
noticed that every fresh-comer--each officer who strolled into
Büchner's--was informed immediately in a low tone by some one of his
comrades of what had occurred. Among these new-comers were several of
his own intimates, but none of them, after hearing what there was to
tell, came near him or accorded his presence any acknowledgment save by
the most commonplace salutation.

At last he rose, and walked through the rows of tables, bowing here and
there. He soon perceived how unanimous was the disapproval of his
comrades. His more intimate associates who had reason to expect that he
would address them evidently avoided him, and the other officers
returned his salutation in the coldest manner; some indeed turned away
and made as if they were so absorbed in conversation as not to notice
him.

He bit his lip angrily and asked himself whether he had not a right to
demand an explanation of such conduct. Once when Baron Feldkirch of his
own regiment and his intimate acquaintance turned away with only the
salutation required in the service, he paused, half resolved to call
him to account, but he instantly reflected that it would only make
matters worse, and refrained.

He hastily passed on, and felt wonderfully relieved when he reached the
open street; really he seemed to have been morally running the gauntlet
during the last few moments.

Leo von Heydeck had only gone a few steps after leaving Büchner's when
he was joined by Lieutenant von Herwarth. The two young men walked on
together for a while in silence, each too busy in reflecting upon the
previous scene to care to continue their former conversation.

Kuno von Herwarth was very angry; the unprovoked insult just offered to
his friend filled him with indignation against its author. He
remembered with much satisfaction the comments upon Bertram's conduct
which he had heard expressed upon all sides as he left the veranda, and
which were all indignantly condemnatory. Such a unanimous opinion on
the part of the corps of officers was very important. It made the
necessary consequences of the insult far less damaging to Leo than they
usually are in such cases to the insulted man.

"Don't look so grave, Leo," Herwarth said at last "The affair is not so
black as you think; fortunately you are sure of your man. Give him a
distinct memento--a ball in the upper arm will do--and we shall
probably be able to hush up all talk of the duel, which would really be
best since the authorities are rather hard upon duelling just now. Of
course you will choose pistols? Wing the insolent fellow and have done
with him."

Leo looked up at his friend as if awaking from a dream. "I cannot
answer you now," he replied. "I am not yet clear in my own mind. You
forget how often we have discussed this question. Must I bow now to a
prejudice against which I have hitherto contended with all my might?
Must I transgress the dictates of morality and my own profound
conviction and have recourse to arms to avenge words which, from the
lips of a scoundrel like Bertram, have really no power whatever to
injure me? You know my views with regard to duelling."

"But you cannot rest calmly beneath such an insult," his friend
replied. "Remember, he accused you of dishonourable conduct, and he
would add, of cowardice, if you failed to demand satisfaction for the
insult! And what would your brother officers think of you?"

"I know all you would say, Kuno," Leo replied, sadly. "I knew you would
reason thus, and that almost every one of my brother officers for whom
I have any real regard will agree with you. And this is just why it is
so difficult for me to come to a determination. I have a hard struggle
with myself to pass through,--give me time. Do not ask of me a decided
reply at once. This evening after I have taken counsel with myself you
shall have it, and I promise you that if I decide to bow to the
prejudice in favor of duelling you shall be my second."

"If?" Herwarth cried, indignantly. "How can there be any 'if' in the
matter? Have you no blood in your veins? Mine boiled at that
'dishonourable,'--I could hardly keep myself from inflicting summary
chastisement upon the insolent fellow. And you to whom it was applied
can talk about an 'if' when the question is of the vindication of your
honour. Really, Leo, if I had not seen you in the field I might
misconceive you! And what will others, who do not know you as I do,
think of you? The mere thought of their calling you 'coward' makes me
furious! Make up your mind instantly, Leo! Do it for my sake! Upon my
life you owe it to me, for rely upon it I never will suffer mortal man
to call you coward, and in refusing to fight one duel yourself you'll
cause me to fight a dozen."

"Coward!" How could the word fail of its effect upon Leo? His eyes
flashed, his cheek burned red to become pale the next instant, and for
a while he walked on beside his friend without a word. Then, when he
could command himself sufficiently to speak calmly, he said, "Your
words are harsh, Kuno, but I can forgive them for I know that you can
never think me a coward. Trust me, there is more courage required to
brave the condemnation of all who are dear to us than to use sword or
pistol. I do not yet know whether my courage now will stand me in
stead. I cannot yet decide what to do. Do not make the conflict with
myself in this matter harder for me than it is of necessity. If you
love me, Kuno, leave me for a while. Be sure I need all the powers of
my mind, all the strength that I possess, to come to a determination.
This evening you shall learn what that determination is."

Leo paused, shook hands with his friend, and hastily turned and left
him.



                               CHAPTER II.


"Home!"

This order came quite unexpectedly to the coachman. Fräulein Schommer
had already enumerated to him the various shops at which he was to
stop, and suddenly her plans were changed. Scarcely had the carriage
turned off the promenade into "Great Wilhelmstrasse" when she gave this
order, although she had not as yet purchased anything.

The young lady held her parasol so closely before her face that it not
only shaded it but entirely concealed it; of course she did not
perceive the numerous bows and smiles of the acquaintances whom she
passed in her short drive home, but could resign herself undisturbed to
dreamy reflection. It was of no very pleasant description, as was plain
from the grave expression of her face, the defiant curl of her
beautiful lip, and the dark almost gloomy look of her black eyes.

The carriage stopped before an elegant villa; the footman opened the
door of the barouche, but Eva stepped hastily from the vehicle,
scorning his proffered help, and hurried into the house, acknowledging
only by a haughty nod the respectful greeting of the porter who stood
in the hall. Neither did she deign to notice the footman, who followed
her awaiting orders up the broad carpeted marble staircase, until she
reached the landing, when she forbade him by an imperious wave of her
hand to follow her further, and opened a door leading into the interior
apartments of the villa. One of these she entered; it was a small room
elegantly and comfortably but by no means splendidly furnished, with
windows leading out into the garden.

A young girl coquettishly dressed who was seated at her sewing, sprang
up as the young lady entered and hastened towards her. "You are
returned very soon, my lady!" she said, as she assisted her to lay
aside her hat and light summer wrap.

"How often must I tell you, Nanette, that I detest that silly 'my
lady'?"

The reproof was administered with tolerable severity, and was by no
means grateful to Nanette, as was shown by her look as she received it.
She had learned, however, to control herself. "I beg pardon, Fräulein,"
she said, with a low courtesy; "I will try to remember, but 'my lady'
comes so naturally; and who has a better right to the title than such a
beautiful, rich lady as Fräulein Schommer?"

"Hush!" Fräulein Schommer exclaimed, in an imperious tone. "I hate all
such speeches! If you really desire to remain in my service you must
remember once for all that I forbid all flattery as well as the title
'my lady.'"

Nanette cast one more venomous glance at her mistress, and made a
deeper courtesy than before. The young lady, however, noticed neither
the one nor the other; she walked up to the mirror and repaired some
slight disorder in the arrangement of her magnificent black hair,
impatiently disdaining Nanette's proffered help as she asked, "Where is
Fräulein von Schlicht? In my room or in the garden?"

"The Fräulein is on the veranda with her embroidery."

At this reply Eva turned to her maid impatiently and asked sternly,
"Are you transgressing my orders intentionally, or do you not know that
I have especially requested that all the servants of my household shall
speak of Fräulein Aline von Schlicht as the 'Lady Aline'?"

"I cannot possibly give a hired companion a higher title than my
mistress! I thought because----"

"When I command you are not to think, but to obey," Eva interrupted the
girl; "and I require you to give Fräulein von Schlicht the title of
'Lady,' which belongs to her. Nor is Fräulein von Schlicht in my
service, as you appear to think; she is not my hired companion, but my
friend who does me the honour to reside with me, and as such you are to
respect her, and to obey her commands even more strictly than my own.
Any forgetfulness in this respect will be punished by immediate
dismissal from my service."

Of course there was no answer to be made to all this: Eva would
have suffered none; she never noticed that Nanette's face grew
scarlet,--that an ugly expression of hatred disfigured the otherwise
pretty mouth,--nor that the maid's hand trembled as she opened the door
leading into the next room for her mistress to pass. Eva left the
apartment without even glancing at the girl.

Nanette, as the door closed behind her mistress, clenched her little
fist and shook it menacingly, while her whole face showed the malice
that she felt. Suddenly her gaze fell upon the mirror, and she started
at the countenance reflected there. She stood before it and tried to
smile; at first in vain,--those hateful lines were too firmly fixed
about the mouth, but they must be banished. Nanette saw herself how
ugly they were, and what must be done she could do,--she was not
wanting in strength of will.

After spending some time before the mirror, every trace of the
disfigurement which anger at the imperiously-administered reproof had
produced, vanished. She contemplated the reflection of her pretty face
and figure with immense self-satisfaction; she nodded pleasantly to
herself, and then stepping on tiptoe to the door leading to the next
room, opened it noiselessly a very little way so that through the chink
she could command a view of the apartment and of the veranda adjoining.

She bestowed no attention whatever on the luxuriously furnished
drawing-room. It had interested her somewhat a few days before when she
had first entered Fräulein Schommer's service; she had then examined
admiringly the costly furniture and the splendid pictures upon the
walls, while a bitter feeling of envy of the possessor of all these
treasures had filled her soul. Since then she had dusted and arranged
them frequently and she no longer admired. Admiration had vanished,
envy still existed in full force.

Nanette's attention was concentrated upon the veranda, upon which the
drawing-room opened by two tall glass folding-doors. Sitting there in
the thick shade of a leafy climbing vine was a young lady, her hands
for the moment resting idly upon some embroidery in her lap. Her back
was towards Nanette so the girl could not see her face, and the
distance was too great to allow of her understanding what she
said,--the low voice reached the listener's ears only as a gentle
murmur.

Beside this young lady Eva was sitting on a garden-chair. She too was
gazing abroad into the garden with her back towards the maid. She spoke
also in her turn but in so low a tone that not one syllable could be
distinguished by the listener. In vain did she strain her ears: she so
longed to overhear what the ladies were talking about, but she soon
found that this would be impossible unless she could contrive to slip
into the drawing-room and conceal herself in the embrasure of one of
the windows.

She could not lose so delightful an opportunity of learning from the
intimate conversation of the two friends what could have put Fräulein
Schommer into such an ill humour to-day, and her resolution was soon
taken. Cautiously opening the door a little wider she entered the
drawing-room and had just noiselessly advanced to the centre of the
apartment when Fräulein Eva suddenly turned round and flashed a look of
indignant surprise upon the detected eavesdropper, who stopped short
reddening with mortification, and uncertain whether to advance or
withdraw.

"What do you want there?"

This question, conveying reproof not in words but in manner, restored
to Nanette all her wonted self-sufficiency. She quietly stepped out on
the veranda before replying, and then said, "I heard you call, Fräulein
Schommer. What are your orders?"

Eva was not misled by this reply. The maid's sudden confusion had
betrayed her, and she easily guessed for what she had been slipping so
noiselessly into the drawing-room. With undisguised contempt in her
look she said sternly, "That is a falsehood! You know that I never
call,--that I always ring for you when I have any orders to give. You
were listening!"

"Oh Fräulein Schommer what an accusation to make! I assure you----"

"Hush! Not a word! I will not be contradicted! Your colour your
confusion betrayed you. I will let it pass this time, but if ever again
I find you listening I shall dismiss you instantly!"

"But, Eva dear, do not be so hard," her companion interposed. "What
possible temptation could Nanette have to listen to our conversation?
You are wronging her!"

"Heaven knows I never wanted to listen!" Nanette cried, in an injured
tone. "I thought Fräulein Schommer called,--indeed, indeed, that was
why I came! I never listened in my life, and I would rather cut my
tongue out than tell a falsehood. I do not deserve to be accused of
such things! I am perfectly innocent, and it hurts my feelings very
much to have Fräulein Schommer suspect me so."

Nanette put her handkerchief to her eyes, and from behind it came
inarticulate sounds that were really a creditable imitation of
suppressed sobbing, but her clever acting failed to impose upon her
mistress. Eva was not easily shaken in her convictions, and least of
all could Nanette's theatrical asseverations move her.

"I will not hear another word!" she said as sternly as before. "You
know now what you have to expect if you are ever found listening again.
Go to your sewing, and if I want you I will ring for you!"

This command was so imperative that Nanette did not venture another
word in self-defence,--a very successful sob was her only reply. While
she was passing through the drawing-room she kept her handkerchief up
to her eyes, but once more alone, with the door closed behind her, she
tossed it aside and for a few minutes gave herself up to the envious
rage that possessed her. When she had grown quite calm once more, and
had, by a glance into the mirror, assured herself that her pretty face
retained no trace of her agitation, she left the little room, leaving
the door open that she might hear any summons from the veranda, and
went into the hall.

Here she found the footman who had attended his mistress during her
drive pacing slowly to and fro; he was a fine-looking young fellow,
with a fresh good-humoured face; his handsome livery became him
excellently well.

Nanette gave him her friendliest smile. "Good-morning, Wilhelm," she
whispered, evidently pleased. He returned her greeting with undisguised
admiration in look and tone.

"Don't speak so loud, Wilhelm. Fräulein Schommer need not overhear us
if I like to talk a little with you."

"Would you like to talk a little with me, Nanette? That's kindly of you
now. I thought you never meant to take notice of me; you've hardly said
one word to me in the three days since you came, and when I was so glad
that we were going to have the same mistress."

"What else could I do? Haven't I to sit in that little den all day long
just listening for Fräulein Schommer's bell? A pretty fuss she would
make if I chanced not to hear it!"

"Come now Nanette, she is not so bad as you think,--a little strict
perhaps,--but mind your orders and you never hear a hard word from
her."

"She's a fiend! a Zantuppy!" Nanette rejoined, pettishly.

"A Zantuppy?" Wilhelm asked, astonished. "What is a Zantuppy?"

Nanette regarded the ignorant fellow with condescending compassion.
"You have had no education, Wilhelm!" she said. "Every one who knows
anything calls every scolding woman a Zantuppy. I'd Zantuppy her if I
could with her proud and haughty airs treating us as if we were the
dirt under her feet!"

Here she suddenly recollected how her anger disfigured her, and
compelling her features to a smile that contrasted strangely with her
words, she went on: "And to-day she's bristling like a porkypine; first
she scolded me for saying 'my lady' to her, and then for not saying it
to the stupid companion."

"But that's nothing, Nanette; she doesn't like to be called my lady;
and if she wants us to bow and scrape to the lady Aline von Schlicht,
'tis easy done,--and the place is a good one. I've lived in the first
families; but such meals, and such perquisites! Rely upon it, Nanette,
you'll like it and thank me yet for helping to get you here. If
Fräulein Schommer gets out of bed the wrong side now and then never
mind it,--she's the right stuff at heart. She is a little out of sorts
to-day. I saw that when she so suddenly gave orders to drive home,
although she had not been to a single shop."

"She is in a bad humour then? I knew it; she flew at me as if she would
eat me. What went amiss? Did anything vex her on the drive?"

"Not that I know of. We had scarcely driven through the promenade when
she suddenly called out, 'Home!'"

"Something's wrong. Perhaps she's in love. Did you meet any one who did
not seem pleased enough to see her?"

"What queer ideas you have, Nanette! She never thinks of such
things,--never looks at a man. With all her millions she's twenty-two
and unmarried. She might furnish a worsted-shop with all the mittens
she's given the men, if she could collect them."

"Of course any one as rich as she can give as many mittens as she
chooses; there are always men enough to hanker after money, but there
are some who don't care for it."

"And that's true enough, Nanette," Wilhelm replied, with a grin. "Now
here am I, who never think of money when I see such a pretty face as
yours."

Nanette rewarded the compliment with her best smile. "But then you're
different from most of these grand gentlemen. Still, some have ideas of
their own. Now there's Count Waldheim, whom I used to see every day
when I lived with the Privy Councillor's lady, Frau von Sturmhaupt.
This princess of ours might throw her millions at his feet and he
wouldn't stoop to pick them up. All the money in the world wouldn't
persuade him to look at any one who had not a 'von' to her name."

"You're out there, Nanette. Count Waldheim comes here often, and likes
our Fräulein extremely well. It is 'charming Fräulein Schommer,' and
'lovely Fräulein Schommer,' and she treats him better than any of the
young men who come here."

"Count Waldheim visits here?" Nanette asked, in surprise. "Well, I
wouldn't have thought it;--and our princess likes him? I'll lay my head
she's in love with him, and he wouldn't have her if she had shovelfuls
of money. I bet you she met him to-day when she was out driving, and he
never bowed to her."

"Out again, Nanette! We didn't meet him, but we saw him; he was sitting
at Büchner's under the awning with Herr von Bertram, the nephew of your
old mistress, Frau von Sturmhaupt, and he bowed so low that he almost
bumped his nose against the bar of the balustrade. Fräulein Eva has no
heart-ache for him, nor for any of the rest of them; they all bow when
she drives past, as if she were a princess. Only one man sat still and
read the newspaper without looking at us; but he does not visit here,
and I don't think our Fräulein knows him."

"Indeed! Who was he?"

"Lieutenant von Heydeck of the infantry. Why should our Fräulein look
at the infantry when she can have cavalrymen by the dozens?"

"That's just why she doesn't care for them. 'Tis sure to be Herr von
Heydeck whom she's vexed about. I don't know him. Is he handsome?"

"I don't know; he looks like all the other infantry fellows. I never
trouble my head about him. What does it all concern us?"

"It is just what does concern us!" Nanette replied, peevishly. "I'll
find out all my fine lady's tricks and teach her who I am! I tell you,
Wilhelm, we can do what we please with our masters and mistresses if we
only can find out their secrets; and to do that we must keep our eyes
and ears open and help each other, for what one doesn't see the other
may. So you must tell me everything that you learn, in or out of the
house, Wilhelm, and I'll put this and that together."

Nanette's proposition did not appear to find much favour with Wilhelm.

"I'll tell you what, Nanette," he said. "I'd like nothing better than
to please you, but you'd better leave me out of this. I've no fancy for
spying on my mistress. I do my work and no more bother."

"But if I were to beg you, dear Wilhelm?" Nanette asked, tenderly
laying her hand upon his shoulder and looking sweetly into his
face,--indeed, she was extremely pretty. "If I were to promise you a
kiss," she continued, "would you refuse to do what I ask?"

The bribe was so seductive that honest Wilhelm's principles were hardly
strong enough to withstand the maid's request, coming as it did from
lips so rosy and inviting. Her cause was half won when he asked, with
some hesitation, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing wrong, Wilhelm dear," the girl hastily answered; "nothing
wrong. I wouldn't ask it of you, but really we poor servants must stand
by each other if we wouldn't be trodden down into the very dirt. Is it
wrong in us to use the eyes and ears that God gave us? We are human
beings, and ought to know all that is going on around us. Keep your
eyes open when you drive out with our Fräulein, and never forget who
meets or speaks to her. And when you are waiting at table you can pick
up many a bit of information,--you must tell me what they talk about.
That's no wrong: you tell no one's secrets. If you'll only do this,
Wilhelm dear, I'll like you so much, and give you a kiss, or perhaps
two, for every piece of news you bring me. You shall have one now if
you'll promise to do as I say."

The temptation was too great. Wilhelm could not resist. He gave a
prompt "yes," and for his reward took not one but a dozen kisses.
Nanette seeming nothing loth, he might have gone on receiving
prepayment for his services had he not been startled by a loud
exclamation behind him, followed by the words, in most distinct Saxon
German,--

"By Jove! Deuce take the fellow! A pretty household this! and in broad
daylight, too!"

The speaker was an elderly gentleman, dressed with extreme elegance,
who had been contemplating the embrace from the staircase-landing, his
fine Panama hat on his head, and his hands resting upon his gold-headed
cane. He continued to observe the couple with a good-humoured smile, as
they stood as if spell-bound in dismay.

When, however, Wilhelm had sufficiently recovered himself to recognize
the elderly spectator, he looked much relieved. "Don't be frightened,
Nanette," he whispered; "'tis only our Fräulein's Uncle Balthasar. You
won't tell of us, Herr Schommer? 'An honest kiss ne'er comes amiss.'"

Herr Balthasar took the request in very good part, made though it was
rather familiarly than respectfully. He nodded good-humouredly to
Wilhelm, pinched Nanette's blooming cheek, and smiled broadly. "_A_
kiss," he said,--"a kiss, to be sure, is all very well, but you took a
dozen, you deuce of a fellow. If I should tell my wife or my niece
you're both done for."

Wilhelm seemed little disturbed by the threat. "You wouldn't be so hard
on us, Herr Schommer," he said; and his security was fully justified by
the good nature that characterized this uncle of his mistress.

Herr Balthasar Schommer was a personification of good humour. It beamed
pure and unadulterated from his small gray eyes, it was distinctly
stamped on the broad smile of his large mouth. Whoever had once seen
Herr Balthasar knew that he could rely with certainty upon his thorough
goodness of heart. There was no guile in the man; his round face was
the mirror of his character. Try as the old gentleman would by twirling
the ends of his gray moustache straight into the air to give himself a
stern, martial air, no one was ever deceived by it.

"I'll let you off this once, deuce take you!" he said, vainly
endeavouring to make his words sound stern and dignified; "but another
time take care. And you too, you little minx," he went on, turning to
Nanette; "for I can tell you that if my niece had seen you--ah, by
Jove!"

Again he pinched the girl's cheek, then laughed heartily, and tapped
Wilhelm on the shoulder with his cane. Then with a farewell nod he went
into the drawing-room to find his niece.

"Won't he tell?" Nanette whispered anxiously as the door closed behind
him.

"Never!" Wilhelm replied in a tone of firm conviction. "Herr Balthasar
wouldn't for the world do an unkind thing by any one. Oh, he's a
splendid old gentleman!"

"He's a foolish old fop!" Nanette rejoined, saucily; "looking at me so
and pinching my cheek. It's my belief he'd have liked a kiss himself."

"Well, you might have given him one, Nanette; I wouldn't have been
jealous."

Nanette's face grew dark, and she would have made some cutting
rejoinder, but she bethought herself in time that it behooved her to
keep Wilhelm in good humour, so she contented herself with saying,
"Thank you kindly for your permission, which I shall not need, however.
The vain old fool! He looks like a bedizened monkey in his light summer
costume. You can see with half an eye that he once weighed out sugar
and sold molasses. He can't hide that for all the big diamond in his
shirt-front. And then such language! 'Bai Chove!' and 'teuce of a
vellow!' at every third word. It is scandalous that a girl who has
always lived in the best families should have taken service with such
riff-raff!"

In her zeal and irritation she had quite forgotten her resolution
always to be amiable when Wilhelm was by; one glance into his honest
face reminded her of this, and she forthwith controlled herself. None
too soon, however; for Wilhelm had just made the discovery that pretty
Nanette could be very cross and look almost ugly.

"I don't know what you mean, Nanette," he said, with much less warmth.
"What has the good old man done to you? He is so good-hearted that I
should think no one could be angry with him."

"I am not angry with him," Nanette answered, aware that she had made a
blunder, and anxious to repair it if possible. "I see he is a very
good-humoured old man; but when a girl has lived in the first families,
it is very difficult for her to become accustomed to low-bred manners.
If you were not here, Wilhelm, I could not stand it three days longer;
but for your sake I will stay, if you will keep your promise to me. We
have talked enough now, and I must go to my sewing, or Fräulein Eva
will know where I have been."

She kissed the tips of her fingers to Wilhelm, whose irritation she had
thus quickly appeased, and returning to the small room adjoining the
drawing-room seated herself by the window and took up the sewing which
she had put down upon Fräulein Schommer's return from driving.



                             CHAPTER  III.


"You really are too severe with poor Nanette," Fräulein Aline von
Schlicht said to the young heiress.

Eva Schommer was conscious that there was justice in her friend's
reproof. Her impulsive temperament often led her to make use of hasty
expressions which she regretted afterwards, especially if she had been
actuated by anger, and she frequently seemed to show an insensibility
to the feelings of others which was by no means part of her character.
When she was irritated she would rebuke any omission of duty upon the
part of her servants with an undeserved severity, and she admitted to
herself that this had just been the case with Nanette. She had reproved
the girl upon mere suspicion as sharply as if the fault had been
proven. She was vexed with herself for her hastiness, but the dislike
with which Nanette's whole conduct had inspired her, and her conviction
that the girl had actually tried to play the part of eavesdropper, were
by no means weakened.

"You are right, Aline," she said, sadly; "I am ashamed of myself, but I
could not help it. The girl is so odious to me that I cannot conceive
how I came to take her into my service. I really think it would be best
to give her a quarter's or even a half-year's wages, and dismiss her."

"Do not be unjust, Eva. Has she given you any good reason to send her
away? Have you any right to break the contract which you tacitly
concluded with her when you engaged her as your maid?"

"But I will not break it. I will indemnify her duly."

"With money? Can it be done? If you send her away after three days in
your service, will it not be thought that she has been guilty of great
misconduct, perhaps even of dishonesty? Can money repair the harm done
to the girls reputation? How often you have told me how you despise the
wretched dross, and yet you propose to atone with money for the wrong
you will do poor Nanette by suddenly dismissing her from your service
without reason!"

"I will not do it, my dear, good Aline!" Eva cried, kissing her friend
tenderly. "You are my good angel," she continued; "you are always
right; I see how unjust I should be. I was wrong to take the girl into
my service simply upon Frau von Sturmhaupt's recommendation and
Wilhelm's request, when, in spite of her pretty face and figure, I was
not at all prepossessed by her, but now that I have made the mistake I
must bide by the consequences. I should have trusted my first
impressions and not taken her into the house. My dislike to her, which
increases daily, may easily make me unjust to her. Her affected smile,
her hypocritical humility, and her whole manner, indeed, confirm my
want of confidence in her. I do not believe her even when she is
telling the truth. I suspect her always of some sly ulterior motive in
all she says."

"Are you not unjust again, Eva dear? You are prejudiced against the
girl, and see faults in her which I fail to discover. To me she seems
amiable and willing. I have not known her to tell a falsehood. She is
neat, capable, and industrious, pleasant in her manner, and in short,
so far as I can judge from the few days she has been in your service,
she possesses all the qualities of an excellent lady's-maid. That she
is honest and trustworthy is proved by the excellent character she
brought you from Frau von Sturmhaupt, with whom she lived several
years."

"Why did she leave if Frau von Sturmhaupt was satisfied with her?"

"Nanette told you herself that as she has an old mother dependent upon
her, she was obliged to ask higher wages than Frau von Sturmhaupt--who
is by no means wealthy--felt herself justified in giving. I cannot see
that we have any reason to doubt the truth of this explanation. Is it
not natural that a poor girl should try to improve her condition?"

"I cannot argue the matter, Aline. All that you say is perfectly
correct, and nevertheless something that I can neither explain nor
contend with convinces me that Nanette is false, that her amiability is
hypocrisy, and that she returns with interest my dislike. I know she
hates me, and that she will show me that she does so as soon as she has
the opportunity."

"You will not allow such a vague 'something' to influence you?"

"No, Aline; I will follow your advice. I will try to conquer my
prejudice--for I confess that my dislike of Nanette is prejudice--but I
cannot promise more. I will not testify towards her the dislike with
which she inspires me, but I cannot command my confidence, and I cannot
pretend to show her any."

"She has no right at present to ask that you should. Your confidence in
her must be the result of faithful performance of her duties; and I
hope she will succeed in winning it, for you are too dear and good not
to resign a prejudice as soon as you know that it is unjust."

"I will try, my darling Aline," said Eva, taking her friend's hand and
tenderly kissing it, "I will try, and perhaps I shall succeed since you
are with me, for you are, as I said, my good angel. When I look into
your kind, loving eyes, and hear your gentle words, I think I can be
better; my wild, impulsive nature grows calm. I am not dear and good,
as you call me, Aline. I know I am not, but I want to be so. When I see
your heavenly gentleness and repose, I feel how hateful are my hasty
judgments, my sharp hard words, my unfeminine obstinacy. I long to be
like you, but I cannot; I forget all my good resolutions as soon as I
am provoked. I know how odious this is, and, when I think of it, I
cannot conceive how you, who are so infinitely better and gentler than
I, can love me. Oh, if I could only be like you!"

Aline returned her friend's kiss, and said, with a smile, "Who would
believe that the charming Eva could be guilty of such folly, that the
proud beauty whom all adore could wish to resemble poor insignificant
me, whom no one cares for except the friend whose affection blinds her?
No, stay as you are, dear, for as you are you conquer every heart."

The lovely, gentle smile that had transfigured Eva's face as she had
caressed her friend vanished at Aline's last words, her dark eyes
flashed, and the lines about her mouth grew hard. "Yes," she said,
bitterly, "as I am I conquer the hearts of all the men who have set
their hearts on my wretched millions, the most unfortunate inheritance
which my good father could have bequeathed to me. He never dreamed,
while he laboured night and day to give wealth to his darling child,
that this miserable money would be the curse of her existence,
poisoning her very soul!"

Aline looked at her, with a smile. "If your wealth is your greatest
misfortune," she said, gayly, "I am afraid you will find but little
sympathy for it among your heartless fellow-mortals, and that you will
be obliged to learn to endure with stoicism the burden of your
millions."

"You too, Aline!" Eva cried, reproachfully. "Can you consider wealth a
blessing? I know perfectly well that others envy me, but if they
dreamed what misery this wretched money has brought me, how it daily
embitters every enjoyment of life, filling my mind with distrust and
suspicion, making me despise those about me, they would give me pity
instead of envy. Wherever I go I am received with delight and loaded
with courtesies. I? No, my millions! I represent to these sordid souls
their idol,--wealth. I am nothing to them but the heiress, and as such
beautiful, lovely, talented, fêted and caressed wherever I go. Have I
not known this from my earliest childhood? Gray-headed servants cringed
and yielded to every wish of the spoiled wayward child, finding all
that she did charming and attractive because she was an heiress. Can I
be happy in kindness shown not to me but to my money? As soon as I
appear in society all the men vie with each other in doing me homage.
One flatters me, another exerts all his wit to entertain me, a third
sighs and languishes at my feet,--and it is all a lie, all wretched
hypocrisy! These very men who flatter and woo me would never accord me
a moment's notice if I were poor. Oh it is hard to be obliged to repeat
over and over to one's self, 'You yourself are nothing; these wretches
adore your millions, not you!' What do they care although I treat them
with the greatest arrogance and contempt? I am rich, and all I say and
do is charming, and would be although I united in my one character
every possible vice. I despise them and show them that I do so, and
they adore me! They sue for my hand and not one thinks whether I can be
a faithful, loving wife. I bring the man whom I marry millions, and who
cares whether a heart accompanies them? The more persistently they pay
court to me the more I am humiliated in my own eyes, the more
thoroughly I hate these miserable, sordid men! Yes, I hate them so
thoroughly that even that vain aristocrat, Count Waldheim, and that
_blasé_ fop, Paul Delmar, seem delightful to me, only because I know
that they never think of marrying me; they at least are not to be
bought with my money. Waldheim's pride of birth protects him from such
degradation, and Delmar is richer than I; he wants none of my fortune."

"Poor child!" Aline said, sadly.

"Yes, you are right now!" Eva continued, with emotion. "I am poor,
terribly poor; in the midst of my wealth I am destitute of everything
that constitutes happiness. It is a sad fate, indeed, never to be loved
for one's self alone!"

"Never, Eva?" Aline asked, reproachfully. "Do you mistrust me?"

"No, never!" the girl cried. "You and dear old Uncle Balthasar are the
only people in the whole world whom I really love and trust with my
whole heart,--you two, and perhaps Aunt Minni, who, I think, gives me
as much affection as she can spare from her lap-dog Azor. If it were
not for you I should be desperate indeed in this cold heartless sordid
world!"

"Because you see the world much more cold heartless and sordid than it
really is,--because you regard men with a suspicion that they do not
deserve. I cannot comprehend how you can be so mistaken as to believe
that every one who comes near you to show you kindness or preference
thinks only of your fortune,--that every man who wooes you desires your
money only. Look in your mirror, and if you are not blind it must tell
you that your beauty----"

"Not another word, Aline! You argue against yourself. Is all their
homage paid to my beauty? Why, this is almost worse than if it were
paid to my wealth. How can beauty without mind and heart attract any
man of genuine worth? Because they all praise my beauty I despise them
the more. Has one of the crowd about me ever had an opportunity of
discovering whether I possess either heart or intellect? I scarcely
reply to their flatteries; I treat them with the cold contempt that
they merit, but they cringe all the more. Remember that fête at
Schönsee. I was in the worst of humours, and intentionally as
disagreeable as possible; you, on the contrary, were as charming, as
lovely, as--well, as you always are. You are much handsomer than I."

"But, Eva----!"

"Let me finish. You have brought this on yourself. I know that I am not
ill-looking, but I am not so conceited as to compare myself with you.
And that day you looked so lovely that I was positively enchanted with
you. The air had deepened the colour on your cheeks, your glorious blue
eyes were sparkling with pleasure, and as the wind played among the
golden curls on your forehead you looked like some angel just flown
down from heaven."

"Oh, Eva, Eva!"

"I will not be silenced; you shall hear me out. You were so lovely and
so gay, you talked so charmingly that all the women envied me for
having such a friend. And the men? they crowded about me, unamiable,
silent, repellant as I was, and neglected you who were all loveliness.
But no; now I recollect. Lieutenant von Herwarth did not neglect you;
but he was the only one who bestowed upon me no more than a due share
of attention, and therefore I liked him better than all the others."

Aline's cheeks flushed crimson at this mention of Lieutenant von
Herwarth, and Eva laughed merrily. But it was her turn to blush when
Aline, recovering from her embarrassment, said, "Herr von Heydeck
certainly paid you no especial attention,--he and Herwarth make two; so
you see all the men do not deserve your censure."

"I will except Herwarth for your sake!" Eva replied, gayly.

"And Herr von Heydeck?"

"I know him too slightly. I suppose he would have been like all the
rest, but I scarcely spoke to him when Uncle Balthasar presented him."

"And he took it very ill of you, my dear," said a deep voice behind the
two girls.

It was Uncle Balthasar who thus interrupted them; he had come through
the drawing-room without being perceived by the two friends, whose
faces were turned towards the garden, and he now stepped out upon the
veranda. Nodding pleasantly to his niece and raising his straw hat to
her friend, he drew a chair up to the table at which they were sitting
and took his place beside them.

Uncle Balthasar was conscious of the possession of an important and
interesting piece of news, and he comported himself accordingly. He did
all that he could to assume a grave and dignified expression,
succeeding but ill however, for the good-humoured smile would not
resign its wonted place upon his face and shone through his affected
gravity. He twirled his moustache until the two ends pointed directly
upwards, then folded his arms and cast down his eyes reflectively,
never stooping to pick up his gold-headed cane, usually his favourite
toy, when it fell on the floor at his feet.

The two girls exchanged a smiling glance of mutual understanding; they
knew Uncle Balthasar, and that he was longing to impart to them some
fresh piece of gossip.

Eva, always ready to please him, opened the way for him by a question:
"You come from the city, uncle? Is there any news? You look so solemnly
important that we are dying of curiosity."

Uncle Balthasar gave his moustache a fresh twirl and nodded with
exceeding gravity. "There is bad news," he said, slowly and seriously;
"yes, yes, my dear, very bad news, I can assure you. The thing occurred
as I tell you. I had just drunk my usual can, and was sauntering home,
when I met Count Waldheim, or rather he overtook me and tapped me on
the shoulder. 'Good-morning, Herr Balthasar,' said he. 'Count, your
most obedient servant,' said I. 'How is your niece to-day?' said he.
'Thanks for your kind inquiry; she is very well,' said I. And we went
on talking most sociably."

Here he paused and looked thoughtfully at the mosaic top of the table
before him, pondering how to convey his news to his listeners in the
most impressive manner.

But Eva misunderstood him; she thought he had finished, and she said,
laughing, "And is this your bad news, uncle?"

Uncle Balthasar was quite offended by his niece's tone and words, and
gave vent to this feeling with all the sharpness in voice and manner of
which he was capable,--"I take your sneer extremely ill, my dear. I
take the greatest pains to consider how best to spare your feelings in
telling you what Count Waldheim has just told me of Herr von Heydeck,
and you sneer at me. My dear, you are wrong, very wrong."

The merry smile vanished from Eva's face at her uncle's mention of the
name of Heydeck; she blushed and looked up at him eagerly. "Don't be
angry with me, uncle dear," she begged, "I did not mean to offend you.
Pray go on."

"I am not angry," the kindly old man declared, "but you have quite put
me out. I wanted to spare your feelings, and now I really do not know
how to begin."

"Spare my feelings? Has any misfortune occurred?" Eva asked, anxiously.
"But no, that is impossible! I saw Herr von Heydeck hardly half an hour
ago, under Büchner's awning."

"Just so; it was at Büchner's that the affair took place. One of them
will of course be killed; probably Herr von Bertram, for Herr von
Heydeck is sure of his man at a hundred paces."

"For God's sake what has happened? I pray you do not keep me in
suspense!"

"Why you see, Eva my dear, I don't know very well myself. I only know
what Count Waldheim told me. He was there when Herr von Heydeck, under
Büchner's awning, abused you, and Herr von Bertram would not permit it;
and so they both went at it. The Count says there must be a duel, for
Herr von Bertram flew into such a rage that Herr von Heydeck must
challenge him and shoot him of course. But Herr von Bertram won't mind
giving his life for you in the least. That's what the Count said; and
he was coming to tell you all about it, but meeting me, he said I would
do just as well. He would send Herr von Bertram himself, who could tell
you everything. And that's all I know about it."

And Uncle Balthasar, leaning back in his chair with an air of immense
satisfaction, picked up his cane, and lightly tapped with it his patent
leather boot-tips.

Eva had listened eagerly to all he had to say, growing alternately red
and pale the while. When she heard that Herr von Heydeck had spoken ill
of her, her black eyes flashed and her cheeks burned with
mortification; when she heard that Bertram had been her champion, she
grew pale. That he--he whom of all her numerous admirers she most
hated--should have undertaken her defence, and against Heydeck! Her
heart beat violently: a mist came before her eyes; she sank back half
fainting into the arms of Aline, who kissed her brow tenderly and
compassionately.

Uncle Balthasar, seeing the effect his narrative had produced upon his
niece, started to his feet. "Eva my dear girl, what is the matter?" he
cried, frightened out of his wits. "The doctor! where is the doctor?
Where is the bell? Send Wilhelm for the doctor!"

In the wildest distress he ran hither and thither, perfectly uncertain
what to do; but his anxiety soon ceased, for Eva quickly recovered
herself and arose. "Compose yourself, uncle," she said, gently, "I am
not ill; the fright overcame me for a moment, but I need no physician.
I am quite strong again and ready for what must be done! This duel must
not take place!" She took from the table before her a little silver
bell and rang it violently.

"What are you going to do?" Aline asked, with anxiety.

"I do not know just yet; I only know that a duel must be
prevented,--prevented at all hazards."

Nanette instantly obeyed her mistresses summons, and was devoured with
curiosity at sight of Eva's pale face and flashing eyes, although she
received her orders without any sign of interest. "Send Wilhelm," Eva
said, "to Lieutenant von Bertram. If he does not find him at home, let
him go after him, wherever he is, and beg him to come to me as quickly
as possible. I will await him here on the veranda."

"But, Eva, you must not do this," Aline interposed. "What will Herr von
Bertram think of such an invitation?"

"What are conventional forms to me when two human lives are at stake?
No, Aline, I shall follow the dictates of duty; nothing that you can
say will shake my resolution. Dearly as I love to follow your advice, I
cannot do so now. What are you waiting for, Nanette? Do you not
understand my orders?"

"I thought perhaps the Lady Aline----"

Eva was about to give vent to the irritation caused her by these words,
but she remembered in time her late conversation with Aline, and she
merely said, in a gentler tone than she was used to employ towards
Nanette, "I wish Wilhelm to request Herr von Bertram to come to me as
soon as possible. Make haste and carry him my orders. Go!"

Then, when Nanette had left the veranda, she turned to Uncle Balthasar:
"Will you do me a favour, uncle dear?"

"A thousand if you will, my darling. You know I do everything that you
wish," Uncle Balthasar hastened to assure her.

"Then pray go to Count Waldheim. I am afraid Wilhelm will not find Herr
von Bertram, but Count Waldheim will surely know where he is. I must
see Herr von Bertram. Bring him to me, there's a dear good uncle!"

"You shall have him, my pet, you shall have him! I'll bring him to you,
be sure, my poor little darling! I know where to find him. Count
Waldheim told me he was to dine with him at the Casino. You shall have
him; I'll bring him."



                              CHAPTER  IV.


With feverish impatience Eva awaited the arrival of Lieutenant von
Bertram, an impatience all the more intense from her inability to
hasten his visit, accustomed though she were to an instant fulfilment
of her every wish.

Eva was one of fortune's spoiled darlings; her father, who from being a
common day-labourer had become the possessor of mines and millions,
cherished an idolatrous affection for his daughter. Was she not an only
child, the very image of the wife whom he had wooed for very many years
only to have her snatched from him by death after one short year of
marriage?

Karl Schommer was universally held to be a hard, cold, stern man,
capable of only one passion--avarice. One woman, she to whom he had
given his whole heart, knew what he really was. For her sake, to win
for his wife the daughter of his wealthy, purse-proud employer,
Schommer had laboured with superhuman energy, and embarked his first
accumulated earnings in speculation. Everything that he attempted
succeeded. He won wealth, and with wealth the woman whom he loved. Her
death was a terrible blow; it would have crushed him had he not been
sustained by a sense of duty. He had a sacred charge to fulfil in care
for the little motherless daughter whom his dying wife had put into his
arms with her last loving smile.

To little Eva he henceforth devoted himself with all the unselfish
tenderness which he had shown to his early-lost wife. For her he
continued to labour with the same restless energy and with the same
success as heretofore. The child needed a woman's care; the anxious
father would not entrust it to a hired nurse, but he bethought himself
of his sister-in-law, the wife of his brother Balthasar, and he begged
her to take charge of his motherless little one.

It was no easy matter for Aunt Minni to make up her mind to leave
beautiful Dresden, where she kept a thriving haberdasher's shop; but
persuaded thereto by her kindly husband, who loved his brother dearly,
she did leave it and undertake to preside over her brother-in-law's
household and to take charge of little Eva.

Karl Schommer could not have provided better for his child's physical
welfare than by summoning his sister-in-law to his aid. Never was there
a more devoted aunt and nurse, and she was rewarded by seeing her
charge develop into a strong, healthy child.

It was decidedly questionable however whether Aunt Minni's capacity for
undertaking Eva's mental culture were equally good; but of this Karl
Schommer thought not at all. His own education was very defective; it
never troubled him that his brother and his brother's wife were alike
uncultivated; it was enough for him that they loved his child almost as
tenderly as he did himself.

There could hardly have been worse training for a child than that under
which the little Eva grew up, and but for her admirable natural
endowments of disposition and intellect, she must have been entirely
ruined by the constant and injudicious indulgence with which she was
treated.

She was still very young when her father died; her home-education was
after this neither better nor worse than it had been before. She
tyrannized over the entire household, over her teachers and
schoolmates. Only one of these last would not bend before her: this was
Aline, her present companion.

Aline was quite as clever as Eva; they were rivals for first honours in
school and out. Out of this rivalry there grew a friendship between
them that ended only with their lives. Aline was the daughter of a man
of rank, who occupied a high position under government, but who was
dependent upon his official salary for the means to support an
extremely expensive family. He died suddenly, and there was no course
open for his daughter but to turn her talents to account in earning her
own living.

No sooner did Eva hear of her friend's misfortune than she sought her
out, and did not relax her entreaties and persuasions until the poor
orphan had agreed to live with her, occupying the position of a dear
sister.

Since the day when Aline had obeyed the call of the young heiress and
dwelt beneath her roof a new existence had begun for Eva. She gladly
resigned herself to the guidance of her wiser and better-disciplined
friend, whom she often called her good angel, and to whom she clung
with intense affection.

To-day for the first time she had refused to listen to her friend; but
for the first time also her heart had made itself heard. Were not two
human lives at stake? While she waited she passed in review in her
memory all her past intercourse with Bertram and Heydeck, she recalled
every word spoken to her by either.

She had frequently met Bertram in society; his aunt, Madame von
Sturmhaupt, never omitted to invite Eva to every entertainment, large
or small, which she gave. The old lady appeared exceedingly fond of the
young heiress, whom she heaped with attentions; for Eva's sake she
often endured hours of ennui with Aunt Minni, upon whom she called at
least once a week. But for the most part she arranged these visits so
as to find Eva at home, and then Aunt Minni's taciturnity served her
turn well, for she could dwell without interruption upon the fine
qualities of both mind and person of her nephew, Guido von Bertram,
whom she described with enthusiasm as the cleverest, noblest, best,
bravest, gentlest, and handsomest officer in the entire German army.

Only one thing was to be regretted, and that was his insensibility to
female charms; he might have made the most advantageous alliances, so
many charming girls had been absolutely thrown in his way by their
parents, but really her dear Guido, who was possessed of every
requisite to make a wife perfectly happy, must have a heart of stone in
his breast, if indeed--and here Madame von Sturmhaupt would heave a
melancholy sigh--an unfortunate passion had not steeled that heart
against all the rest of the fair sex.

When the good lady reached this climax, which was sure to crown all her
descriptions of Guido, she would cast a meaning look at Eva. An
unfortunate passion! Poor Guido, he was so sensitive, so unselfish! The
mere thought that perhaps a wealthy girl might suspect him of being
mercenary would drive him wild; his aunt was sure that the fear of
laying himself open to such a suspicion would deter him from ever
confessing his love to a girl who had money.

That was why he was so often sad and pensive. Yes, there was no doubt
of it, he was sick at heart with an unhappy love.

Such talk was infinitely annoying to Eva, but do what she would she
could not avoid it, for with incomparable dexterity Madame von
Sturmhaupt would lead the conversation back into her favourite channel
whenever Eva contrived to divert it thence for a while, and at all the
dinners which she gave the doting aunt arranged that her Guido should
sit beside the heiress.

On such occasions Herr von Bertram played to perfection the part which
his aunt had assigned him. Sometimes he conversed fluently with Eva,
endeavouring to let his light shine and to be witty and amusing, and
then again he would sit silent, gazing moodily on the ground or casting
long melancholy looks at the heiress.

Guido was an excellent actor, and his aunt seconded him ably, but Eva's
keen insight, sharpened as it was by the distrust of others, which was
becoming her second nature, enabled her to see through their schemes.
She was not deceived either by the enthusiastic praises lavished by the
aunt or by the assumed melancholy of the nephew. All this love and
devotion were for her millions, not for herself; of this she was well
assured, and the better Bertram played his part the more odious he was
to her. She despised him as a hypocrite, and she detested him because
she could not avoid his attentions, since there was a reason, which she
thought an important one, why she did not like to refuse any of his
aunt's invitations.

At every entertainment given by Madame von Sturmhaupt Lieutenant von
Herwarth was sure to be present, and the young officer was devoted to
Aline. Eva knew that her friend did not regard him with indifference,
although she had never questioned her about him, and for Aline's sake
she endured Bertram's odious attentions, for Aline's sake she accepted
all his aunt's invitations, while all the more did she detest Bertram
himself. And he--he of all others--had stepped forward to defend her
against Leo von Heydeck!

There was a pang at her heart as she thought that Heydeck, as Uncle
Balthasar had said, had allowed himself to make offensive remarks with
regard to her. Was this conceivable? Yes, it was possible; his
arrogance was great; had he not conducted himself at the fête at
Schönsee with such hauteur and reserve as to provoke Eva to treat him
with even more than her usual coldness of manner?

She had been really glad when her uncle Balthasar presented to her the
young officer of whom she had heard so much that interested her. Aline,
who learned it all from Lieutenant von Herwarth, had told her that he
had distinguished himself as much for bravery and scorn of death in the
field as for humanity and kindness shown to the French peasantry. To
Herwarth, as he told Aline with enthusiasm, Leo von Heydeck was the
very ideal of a nobleman and officer. Herwarth could not say enough of
him, and Aline repeated faithfully to Eva all that he told her.

Thus an interest in Leo was awakened in Eva's mind before she saw him,
and when they did meet, his manly bearing, his noble, expressive face,
answered to the impression of him already existing in her imagination.

But Eva was a spoiled child of fortune. Accustomed to servile homage
from her numerous adorers, Leo's dignified quiet demeanour when they
first met, had seemed to her offensive, and she had resented it by an
increase of cold reserve on her part. And Leo hated her for it! Eva
knew it. She had watched him that day, and had detected him regarding
her with mistrust and dislike. And to-day!--he had recognized her;
their glances had met for one instant as he looked up from his
newspaper, but he had immediately and intentionally averted his eyes;
he was the only one there who had not accorded her even the simplest
salutation.

Yes, Leo von Heydeck hated her, Eva knew it, and meant to give hatred
for hatred; she could have no effect upon him to prevent the duel, for
she never could so humble her pride as to address even the merest word
of friendly appeal to him. But she could prevail with Herr von Bertram.
True, it was very irksome to her to ask a favour of him for which she
should owe him gratitude, but a higher sense of duty forbade her to
yield any weight to this thought. This duel must not take place!

Eva remembered her uncle's words, that Heydeck was an unerring
pistol-shot; she had formerly heard the same thing from Aline.
Heydeck's brilliant skill with this weapon had contributed to win him
Herwarth's enthusiastic admiration.

A duel with deadly consequences! The idea was so horrible that it
banished every other consideration. A nameless, feverish horror
possessed the young girl; in imagination she saw the fatal combat: she
saw the foes stand opposite each other; the signal was given, the shots
were fired, and one sank on the ground with a bullet through his heart,
but this one was not Bertram, but Leo von Heydeck, whose pale face,
convulsed with the death-agony, seemed to hover before Eva's eyes.

The horrible waking dream was so vivid that Eva screamed aloud, and
only recovered herself when she felt Aline's gentle arm around her and
heard the kind voice in her ear begging her to be calm and composed
once more.

"You must control yourself, Eva," Aline said, gravely; "you cannot
receive Herr von Bertram while you are in this agitated state. It was
wrong to interfere as you have done, without due reflection, in an
affair between these two men. But now that you have gone so far you
must show no weakness when the lieutenant comes. You must not receive
him until you are entirely mistress of yourself. It would be better to
let me speak with him; tell me what you desire he should do; you really
are not in a condition to see him."

"No, Aline, I must see him; he will not refuse my request; I will
implore him to give up this wretched duel; I will not rest until he has
given me his promise, even although I should beg for it on my knees."

"He cannot grant it; his honour as an officer is at stake. Take my
advice, Eva, let me speak with Herr von Bertram; if it is possible to
prevent this duel I promise you it shall be done, but pray do not you
appear in the matter. It is bad enough to have your name mixed up with
a scandal, which is town-talk by this time. Do not furnish any further
food for gossip."

"What is town-talk to me? Let gossip say what it will of me, I do not
care. Do not try to shake my resolution: it is perfectly firm; I shall
see Guido von Bertram, and force him to put a stop to this unhappy
duel, but I promise you to be calm, and to control myself. You shall be
present at the interview; I will look at you if my anger threatens to
master me; but, dearest Aline, do not talk to me, leave me to myself;
do not confuse me with entreaties now, when I must be calm and clear in
my own mind if I would obtain what I desire."

"As you please," Aline replied, disappointed; "I will not thrust my
counsel upon you." She took up the embroidery which she had laid aside,
and worked away industriously, but from time to time her eyes anxiously
followed Eva, who was restlessly pacing the veranda to and fro.

An hour elapsed. Eva's state of expectancy had become almost
unendurable, when at last Uncle Balthasar's loud voice was heard at the
other end of the drawing-room.

"Come in, come in, Herr von Bertram, Eva is awaiting you on the
veranda."

Eva pressed her hand to her throbbing heart.

"Be composed, Eva," Aline whispered.

"This way, pray, Herr von Bertram," Uncle Balthasar was heard saying,
and the time consumed in traversing the drawing-room was sufficient to
restore Eva's self-possession. She was only very pale when the
lieutenant presented himself upon the veranda, followed by Uncle
Balthasar. The hand which she rested lightly upon the back of her chair
as she arose to receive her guest trembled a little, but Aline alone
perceived this; even to Uncle Balthasar his niece appeared perfectly
calm and self-possessed.

So thoroughly had she regained her self control that she greeted
Bertram with a slight smile, offering him her hand, which he kissed
with perhaps more warmth than custom warranted. This, however, Eva did
not seem to notice; she did not withdraw her hand until he relinquished
it, and then motioned him courteously to a seat.

Guido obeyed her invitation silently; even he, whose heart was not wont
to be easily thrilled, perhaps because, as both his friends and foes
averred, he really did not own the article, could with difficulty
suppress his agitation; he knew that a decisive moment was at hand.

On the way to the villa, Uncle Balthasar had told him, after his easy,
good-humoured fashion, how Eva had been quite beside herself with
terror when she heard of the impending duel. She had been half dead
with fear lest Herr von Heydeck should kill the man who had defended
her so stoutly. She had declared that she would prevent the duel at all
hazards.

Guido could not but suppose, from Uncle Balthasar's words, that Eva's
terror and her intense desire to prevent the duel arose from fear lest
his life should be in danger, and in fact this was the old man's
belief. He himself had a certain regard for the handsome young officer.

For months Guido had eagerly pursued his scheme of winning the hand of
the wealthy heiress. Hitherto he had been hopeless of success. Eva had
treated him with such cold reserve that he had frequently declared to
his aunt that he would relinquish his pursuit of her, he was but
wasting time, and his persistence had been owing to Madame von
Sturmhaupt's earnest entreaties.

The old lady frequently told him that Eva's repellent manner and her
coldness were only feigned. She wad too proud to be easily won; in the
end, she would surely grant his suit. If Eva really disliked him, she
never would accept, as she did, every invitation to her, Madame von
Sturmhaupt's, house, since she knew she should meet him there. Her
readiness to accept these invitations was the surest possible proof
that she liked to meet him, and that her coldness was only a cloak for
the preference she secretly entertained for the handsome lieutenant.

Such views harmonized so entirely with Guido's wishes that he could not
but lend them a ready ear. Still, he was not convinced, and every fresh
repulse of his attentions on Eva's part awakened fresh doubts in his
mind.

He had resolved more than once to put his fate 'to the touch' and 'win
or lose,' so unendurable did these doubts seem to him, but his prudent
aunt besought him to have patience. Undue haste in declaring himself
would, she said, lose Eva to him forever. The heiress was proud,
wayward, and self-willed, full of whims and contradictions, and these
might easily influence her to say 'No' when she really meant 'Yes.' He
must wait for the right moment, and in the mean time his aunt promised
to advise him of everything that occurred at the Schommers', so that he
should on no account lose this right moment.

It had come in a manner which the aunt had never dreamed of. After
Uncle Balthasar's communications, Bertram could not doubt that Eva was
impressed with profound gratitude for his defence of her against
Heydeck's insults, and filled with tender solicitude upon his behalf.
The smile with which she received him, in contrast to her former cold
greetings, confirmed Uncle Balthasar's words. She had not even shown
the slightest displeasure when he had bestowed so warm a kiss upon her
hand. Certainly there could be no more favourable moment than the
present for a formal declaration of his sentiments. He must use to his
advantage her solicitude for his safety, her gratitude, her emotion;
the next minute should be decisive!

"You have kindly acceded instantly to my desire to see you, Herr von
Bertram," Eva began the conversation, after Uncle Balthasar had
withdrawn. "I thank you for so doing, and I hope you will as kindly
grant the great favour which I am about to ask of you."

"Be assured of it, Fräulein Schommer. Do you not know that I desire
nothing more earnestly than to fulfil your behests?"

"You promise fairly, Herr von Bertram; I hope not too fairly."

"Put me to the proof. You can ask nothing, dear lady, that I can deny
you."

It was the first time that the lieutenant had ventured to make use of
such warmth of expression. Eva's pale cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes
flashed angrily; but bethinking herself how unadvisable it was to
provoke the man, she overlooked the familiarity of his address which
she would else have resented instantly.

"I am going to put you to the proof, Herr von Bertram," she replied,
gravely. "My uncle learned to-day from Count Waldheim that there has
arisen between Herr von Heydeck and yourself a quarrel of which I am
the unhappy cause. More my uncle did not learn; wherefore I beg you to
tell me all about it."

Guido found it difficult to suppress a satisfied smile and in its stead
to express upon his features painful regret, but he managed it very
successfully. With a sigh, he said, "After what Herr Schommer said to
me, I almost expected this demand from you; but it is, I confess,
extremely difficult for me to comply with it. My friend Count Waldheim,
with the best intentions of course, was excessively indiscreet in
mentioning to Herr Schommer what had just occurred beneath Büchner's
awning. I am greatly pained that you, my dear Fräulein Schommer, should
thus have learned what never should have reached your ears."

"Since it has reached my ears, and, but for Count Waldheim's
communication, might have reached them too late, I refuse to be
satisfied by vague declarations. I wish to know just what happened, and
therefore entreat you to tell me the truth,--and the whole truth."

"I promised to fulfil your desire, and, hard as it is for me, I must
keep my promise. As Count Waldheim told your uncle, there is a quarrel
between Lieutenant von Heydeck and myself,--a quarrel which Heydeck
provoked by the insolence with which he dared to speak of you, my dear
Fräulein Schommer."

"This explanation does not suffice me. I must know--I have a right to
know--exactly what took place. You took upon yourself the office of my
champion. Herr von Bertram, I must know what acts or expressions of
Herr von Heydeck's gave you a right to do so. I desire you to repeat to
me word for word, if possible, what was said."

There was no encouragement in the tone in which Eva uttered these
words, especially when she spoke of Guido's right to champion her. The
lieutenant's lofty hopes were suddenly dashed to the ground, for there
was certainly no gratitude, no tender solicitude as to the issue of the
strife in Eva's manner; no, the air with which she regarded him as she
made her demand seemed almost hostile.

"You ask much of me," Bertram said. "My tongue rebels against repeating
the miserable words that scoundrel used."

"But I require it. Remember your promise!"

"I obey, though with a heavy heart. You remember, dear Fräulein
Schommer, that you drove past Büchner's to-day. You probably did not
notice that Herr von Heydeck was ill-bred enough not to salute you.
That irritated me, but my indignation was aroused when the man
discussed you aloud with his friend, Herr von Herwarth, in the most
offensive manner."

Aline von Schlicht had hitherto been an attentive although silent
auditor of what passed. Now she suddenly turned to Bertram, and with a
sharpness and decision hardly to have been expected from so gentle and
retiring a young lady, said, "That cannot be true! Herr von Herwarth
never would have taken part in any 'offensive' discussion of Fräulein
Schommer. I know from himself how greatly he respects her----"

"I envy Herr von Herwarth so fair a defender," Bertram replied,
smiling, "and I willingly affirm that not the slightest reproach can
attach to him,--his expressions were perfectly respectful. I spoke only
of Heydeck----"

"Proceed! proceed!" Eva impatiently interrupted him. "What were the
offensive words used by Herr von Heydeck?"

"I obey your behest, and will repeat his words as exactly as I can
remember them, although I cannot possibly reproduce the arrogant tone,
which was more insulting than the words themselves. He first told Herr
von Herwarth that it was much against his inclination that he had been
presented to the 'fair princess,' as he expressed it, in silly
adoration of whom he never could join----"

"Why was he presented, then?" Eva angrily interposed.

Guido shrugged his shoulders, and continued: "He then proceeded in the
most reckless fashion to tell of how Fräulein Schommer had treated him
with contemptuous discourtesy, and at last dared to declare that
Fräulein Schommer was odious to him,--he hated her arrogance! her low
purse-pride! These are his very expressions!"

Eva grew deadly pale; the little hand still leaning on the back of the
chair trembled convulsively. It was not anger that thus moved her, but
pain, real pain, as she exclaimed, "Purse-pride! low purse-pride! I,
purse-proud! Oh, if he knew how I loathe and despise the wretched
money! But I will not complain; it is my destiny to be made miserable
by this unhappy wealth. Go on, Herr von Bertram. What happened next? I
must know all."

Bertram continued, thinking this the best possible opportunity to
present himself to the young girl in a favourable light: "I was
profoundly indignant at so contemptible an insult publicly offered to a
lady whom I esteem highly. I instantly required Herr von Heydeck to
retract his expressions. He refused to do so, and of course forced me
to brand him as guilty of dishonourable conduct."

"And he? How did Herr von Heydeck resent your insult?"

"How could he resent it? Conscious of his guilt, he received my words
in silence; he left Büchner's, followed by his friend, Herr von
Herwarth."

"And who authorized you to stand forth as my champion?" Eva asked, when
she could collect herself.

This question was so sudden, and as she put it Eva's eyes flashed such
angry menace at the lieutenant, that for an instant he knew not what to
reply, and could only stammer out, "But--dearest Fräulein Schommer,
what could I do? Had I not a right, was it not my duty, to resent an
insult offered you so disgracefully--in public?"

"No! You had as little right to do so as you have to annoy me by
repeatedly addressing me as 'dearest' Fräulein Schommer. You can hardly
expect me to be grateful to you for thus, by your officious
interference, making my name the theme of common gossip throughout the
city!"

"But that fellow's insult?"

"Would have been forgotten as soon as it was uttered. Who cares, since
I do not, whether or not Herr von Heydeck hates me and thinks me
haughty and purse-proud? You had no right to accuse Herr von Heydeck of
dishonourable conduct because you overheard him make use of certain
expressions in conversation with an intimate friend. If my reputation
should suffer in this matter it is your fault, not his. He has done me
no injury; you have grossly insulted me!"

Bertram angrily bit his lip; he saw his fairest hopes shattered, and by
his own fault; unconquerable dislike of him flashed in Eva's black
eyes; he felt that she never would forgive him. This was the end of all
his schemes for winning the hand of this beautiful heiress.

With rage in his heart he turned to go, and would have left her
presence without another word, but a delicate hand laid on his arm
detained him. "You must not leave me yet, Herr von Bertram," said Eva.
"I have much to say to you; you have not even heard the favour I am
about to ask of you. Forgive my irritation; I did not mean to offend
you, and if I have done so unintentionally, you must ascribe it to the
natural agitation produced by this unfortunate occurrence. Do not go.
Must I remind you of your promise?"

What transformation was this? The angry sparkle no longer shone in the
beautiful eyes; a smile played about the lovely mouth; the young girl's
words contained no menace, but a gentle entreaty. Bertram looked at her
in amazement; he could not understand the change, nor did he dream of
the mental struggle through which Eva had just passed.

Her hasty temperament had led her against her will into a frank avowal
of her sentiments, but scarcely had the words left her lips than she
saw the mistake she had made. She wished to prevent the impending duel;
this could only be done by an appeal to Bertram, and she had so
offended him that he had turned to leave her. He must be appeased if
she hoped to attain her end, and therefore she smothered the dislike
she felt for him, therefore she smiled and spoke gently.

It had the desired effect. Bertram's anger passed away; he was induced
to take a seat and to listen to her request.

"I must recur once more to this unfortunate quarrel," Eva continued.
"You tell me that Herr von Heydeck received your insult in silence, and
immediately afterwards left the veranda. Tell me frankly, do you
believe that the quarrel will have no further consequences?"

"No; I do not."

"And what will happen now?"

"What Herr von Heydeck will do of course I cannot foresee. I only know
what a man of honour would do in his place."

Again Eva's cheeks flushed: "Herr von Heydeck is a man of honour! No
one dares to doubt it!"

"I dare to doubt it, Fräulein Schommer," Bertram rejoined, with a
scornful laugh. "I knew what I was saying when I spoke to him as I did,
for a man who does not hesitate to calumniate an unprotected woman has
no sense of honour!"

Eva, mindful of how necessary it was for her to keep her temper, made
no reply to this remark, but asked, in as quiet a voice as she could
command, "Do you think that Herr von Heydeck will accept your insult
without resenting it?"

"I do not know; but in any case he cannot escape punishment for his
unworthy conduct. If an officer should pocket calmly an accusation of
dishonourable behaviour and not challenge his accuser, he would be
outlawed from the corps of officers as a coward. Perhaps this will be
Heydeck's fate. But if he is really brave enough to challenge me, I
shall chastise him as he deserves for unworthy words with regard to a
lady for whom I have the highest esteem, although I am so unfortunate
as not to find favour in her eyes."

"A duel," Eva said, sadly, not noticing his last words, "a mortal
combat, on account of a few thoughtless words."

"A duel will ensue if Heydeck has the courage to challenge me, which I
very much doubt."

"You need not doubt it, Herr von Bertram. Herr von Heydeck has proved
upon the field that fear is unknown to him; he will call you to
account. Do you know that his skill with the pistol is unerring; that
he never misses his aim; that your life will be at his mercy?"

"I also know no fear, Fräulein Schommer. If it should be my fate to
fall in this duel, I shall die content, for my life will be a sacrifice
to my duty as a man of honour. Were the consciousness mine that you
would give a kindly thought to my memory, I should meet death
joyfully."

Bertram spoke these words with immense pathos, looking earnestly at Eva
the while. To his chagrin, however, he could not but see that his
display of feeling produced no effect whatever upon the obdurate
beauty; indeed she scarcely seemed to hear what he had said. She gazed
thoughtfully before her for a few minutes that seemed like hours to
Bertram, and then, looking up at him, said hastily and with some
agitation, "This duel must not be, Herr von Bertram. You can prevent
it, and I now remind you of the promise you made me at the beginning of
our conversation."

"I do not understand you, Fräulein Schommer. It does not depend upon
me, but upon Herr von Heydeck, to accept my reproof calmly without
sending me a challenge."

"But you can so arrange matters that it need not be incumbent upon him
to challenge you. I have read that if, in such cases, the offending man
retracts what he has said and begs pardon of him whom he has offended,
the quarrel is made up and never proceeds to a bloody issue. It is in
your power thus to prevent any combat with Herr von Heydeck. Tell him
that you recall your offensive remarks, and ask his pardon; there will
be then no reason for his calling you out. Remember your promise, Herr
von Bertram; I implore you, speak a conciliating word. You can do it,
for Herr von Heydeck did not insult you, but me, and I forgive him.
Remember that I never could have another happy moment if I thought that
I had been the cause of mortal strife between two human beings. The
blood spilled for me would cleave to me like the curse of Cain. Be
magnanimous, Herr von Bertram, not towards your enemy, but towards me,
I pray you, I conjure you. Make me the sacrifice of the pride which
prevents you from speaking the conciliating word."

The first impression produced upon Bertram by Eva's words was that of
immense surprise, her request astounded him; was it prompted by fear
for his life? No, assuredly not, he had not forgotten the look of
hatred which he had seen in her eyes a few moments before.

Suddenly another idea flashed upon him. Eva had defended Heydeck with a
warmth she had never as yet shown to any one besides. Was it his life
and his future for which she trembled if he should make up his mind to
fight? Her tender consideration was, then, all for Heydeck; for him her
intense desire that the quarrel should have a peaceful conclusion. She
loved Bertram's enemy, hence her sad surprise entirely devoid of anger,
when she heard that he had called her purse-proud. She loved Heydeck,
who despised her! For an instant, but only for an instant, this thought
filled Bertram with savage indignation; the next moment he smiled, for
there occurred to him with the swiftness of thought a scheme whereby he
might turn this love to his own account. New hopes immediately sprang
to being within him; he would not try to win Eva's heart. What did he
care for the girl's heart? She might give her hopeless, unrequited
affection to whomsoever she chose if she would give her millions to the
husband whom she hated.

Bertram needed but a few moments to decide how to act. Fortunately Eva
gave him these few moments to ponder upon her request, and when he
replied his mind was entirely made up. "You do not dream what you
require of me, Fräulein Schommer," he said with great gravity. "You ask
nothing more or less than the entire annihilation of my future. I spoke
the words in question to Heydeck in a public place before numerous
witnesses; they must be retracted in the same manner before Heydeck can
be justified in not fighting me."

"Do so, Herr von Bertram,--I implore you, do so!" Eva begged afresh.

"And if I do so, what have I to expect? I will tell you, Fräulein
Schommer; it is right that you should know the full extent of the
request you have made of me. After I have made a public retractation
all my comrades who have hitherto been my friends will fall away from
me and despise me. 'He is a coward,' they will say; 'afraid evidently
of Heydeck's well-known unerring aim.' My honour is lost, and with it
my future career. I must leave the army, my comrades disdaining to
serve with me! I am poor, Fräulein Schommer. You, rolling in luxury,
have no conception of what it means to be poor. Having left the
service, I must accept any, even the meanest, position that can insure
me sufficient income to maintain a wretched existence, if indeed I do
not have recourse to a bullet through my brains to end a life that has
been such a wretched failure. This is my future if I fulfil your
request. To-day the world stands open to me. The highest honours that
crown a military career may be mine. In a few years I shall be captain
and in a condition to offer my hand, without exposing myself to the
charge of mercenary motives, to the lovely girl to whom I long since
gave my whole heart. These hopes you ask me to destroy with my own
hand; for how could I, a beggar, degraded in my own eyes and those of
the world, ever venture to aspire to one heaped with all that can make
life desirable? I should, and justly, be repulsed with scorn. Have you
a right to require this sacrifice of me? I have given you my promise,
and if you require it I will keep it, for there is nothing that you can
ask which I will not perform, but before I do so, before you ask the
sacrifice of my entire future, you must know what are the delicious
hopes which you thus annihilate. It is you, Eva Schommer, whom I have
loved passionately from the first moment when my eyes were gladdened by
the sight of you. I have religiously concealed this love, for what
right had a poor dragoon to reveal it? The thought that you might
suppose I wooed you for your wealth, and not for your sweet self alone,
would have driven me frantic. Therefore I was silent; therefore I
curbed the wild desires of my heart. I resolved to wait until with,
increase of rank I could offer you a position not unworthy of you. Yes,
Eva, I love you with an intensity of which you cannot dream, and hence
my right to step forth as the champion of your honour; hence the wound
I felt when you so harshly rebuked my presumption. It is but just that
I should tell you all this. Now decide my fate; it is in your hands.
Ask of me my life, or, what is infinitely more dear to me, my honour, I
will sacrifice everything to you."

He ceased, and awaited Eva's reply. Possessed of histrionic talent by
no means contemptible, conscious that this was a decisive moment in his
life, he was really agitated; and this agitation lent to his words and
manner an appearance of reality that could not but impress Eva with a
belief in their sincerity. As he spoke, she grew very pale; she was not
surprised,--she had long foreseen with annoyance that she should some
day be obliged distinctly to reject his proffered affection; and yet
she had not looked for a declaration of it just at this time.

What should she say to him? Had she a right to require of him the
sacrifice of his entire future? And yet, if she did not do it, this
terrible duel, sure to end in the death of one of the combatants, would
inevitably take place. It was her sacred duty to prevent this. Bertram
had given her a glimpse of a way in which the right to ask him to
relinquish his entire future would be hers.

Sacrifice for sacrifice! Her heart seemed to cease beating at the
thought. Never had the handsome dragoon been so utterly detestable to
her as when he was pouring forth his glowing assurances of affection.
But could she hesitate to sacrifice herself? Two human lives depended
upon her decision. And what did she resign? A happy future? No! None
such could be hers with this curse of wealth cleaving to her. What did
it matter in the end whether she gave the hand so coveted to Bertram or
to another? were not all her wooers alike indifferent to her? They all
coveted her millions, and set no store by the poor girlish heart
hungering and thirsting for true affection. Bertram was no worse than
the rest; perhaps somewhat better,--at least he was willing to make a
sacrifice for her. Certainly his protestations of love had seemed
genuine.

And yet, another image would rise before her mental vision,--was there
then one to whom she was not so entirely indifferent,--one lost to her
forever? Fie! she would not think of him: he was her enemy; he hated
and despised her, although he hardly knew her.

"Is there no other way, no honourable way, in which this duel can be
avoided without imperilling your future?" Eva asked; her mind was
already half made up to sacrifice herself, but she hesitated to say the
fatal word.

"None."

"And you will keep your promise, Herr von Bertram? You will sacrifice
your future to me if I desire it? You will make the public retractation
which will prevent the duel?"

Bertram hesitated for one instant. He had read Eva's countenance; he
hoped that his scheme had been successful, but he was not quite sure.
It was possible that she might require of him the fulfilment of his
promise and yet refuse him her hand! And, if she did, was not a hasty
promise better broken than kept? Is it not the brave whom fortune
favours? "I will! I swear it by my honour! In your hands lies my fate!"
he cried, with well-feigned enthusiasm.

"I accept your promise, Herr von Bertram, and requite it by my own,
that, as far as in me lies, I will try to repay the sacrifice you make
to me. If you succeed in avoiding this duel, then, Herr von Bertram, I
promise to deny you no request you may make of me."

"Eva, what are you doing?" Aline here interposed. "I adjure you to
consider what you are saying, and the possible consequences of such a
promise!"

Aline knew that her interference was hardly consistent with delicacy,
but her friend's happiness was at stake, and speak out she must at all
hazards.

"I have considered, and I know what I promise," Eva replied, calmly, in
a clear, firm voice. Having once forced herself to embrace a
resolution, she would not shrink from putting it into action.

Bertram could have shouted for joy, but he perfectly understood how to
retrain any excessive exhibition of delight. "Have I heard aright? Can
I trust my powers of comprehension, dearest Eva?" he said, with the due
amount of rapture beaming in his eyes, as he took her hand and kissed
it eagerly. "I hardly dare to believe it. Will you make me the happiest
of men? Will you grant any request of mine, even one for this lovely
hand?"

"Any one!"

Aline lost her self-possession entirely. She seemed to see the friend
whom she loved about to plunge into an abyss from which she must rescue
her. Greatly agitated, she arose, and interposed. "You are going too
far, Eva!" she said, indignantly; "you must not purchase the prevention
of this duel at such a price; and you, Herr von Bertram, if you are a
man of honour, will not accept such a sacrifice,--you cannot thus take
advantage of the misery of a weak girl. I know that Eva does not love
you----"

Eva interrupted her friend. "Stay, Aline!" she said, in a tone so stern
and decided that it forbade all further contradiction. "Even from you I
cannot suffer any interference with my freedom of action. I will
deceive no one,--certainly not Herr von Bertram," and she turned to the
dragoon: "Aline has told you that I do not love you; she has told you
the truth! I can give you my hand, if you demand it. I cannot give you
my heart, but," she added, with a sad and bitter smile, "that will be a
matter of perfect indifference to you."

"Can you for an instant doubt what to reply, Herr von Bertram?" Aline
again interposed. Eva's harsh words had daunted her for a moment, but
anxiety for her friend gave her courage to make one more attempt to
save her. "Can you, if you are a man of honour, still ask Eva's hand of
her?"

"Aline, I forbid you----!"

"You are certainly the mistress and I the servant, I know that, Eva.
You often forget this; I never do! But now, the duty I owe to my
mistress is lost in that which I owe to my friend. You must not
obstinately persevere in making your whole future life unhappy, and if
I cannot prevail with you to refrain from making such a sacrifice, I
must appeal to Herr von Bertram, to his honour, which forbids his thus
bartering for your hand. What hard-driven bargain for money could be
half so disgraceful? You cannot accept this sacrifice, Herr von
Bertram, for you can never succeed in winning Eva's heart!"

A mocking smile hovered upon the dragoon's lips, but he suppressed it,
and said, in the quiet tone of perfect conviction, "You are wrong,
Fräulein von Schlicht! I shall win this noble heart; it will be
conquered by my devoted affection. I am conscious of sufficient force
and courage to enable me to win it, and therefore, knowing that I shall
succeed in making her whom I love a happy wife, I claim the dear hand,
although she gives it to me without her heart. Yes, dearest Eva, I hold
you to your promise. I claim your 'yes'----"

"You are not yet justified in doing so. My promise was coupled with a
condition," Eva said. She had listened with cold indifference to
Bertram's words. She had no faith in this triumphant love; his mocking
smile, fleeting although it were, had not escaped her, and had
confirmed her in the conviction that he coveted only her hand and her
fortune, and not her heart.

The dragoon was nothing daunted by her coldness; he was determined not
to let the fortunate moment slip from his grasp.

"Your condition is fulfilled," he replied; "I give you my word of
honour that the duel you so dread shall not take place. As soon as I
leave you I will go to my friend Count Waldheim, and beg him to summon
Herr von Heydeck to meet me at Büchner's there to receive my apology
for whatever offensive words I may have used towards him."

"What if, nevertheless, Herr von Heydeck persists in his challenge,
since spoken words cannot be made unspoken?"

"That is not conceivable, but should it be so, I still promise you that
there shall be no duel. I will repeat my apology, and, moreover,
declare that I will accept no challenge. You have promised, dearest
Eva, to atone to me, as far as you can, for the sacrifice of my honour
which I make to you. You can thus atone if I may carry from your
presence the 'yes' I long for. If I leave this house your future
husband, I can say to my comrades that I am bound by a promise to my
betrothed to avoid a duel with Herr von Heydeck. This statement, which
will then be strictly true, will greatly modify public opinion with
regard to my behaviour towards Herr von Heydeck. Be magnanimous,
dearest Eva; give me this precious 'yes' now, that I may leave this
house to fulfil your wishes, your promised bridegroom."

"Do not do this, Eva!" Aline entreated.

"And why not? What difference can it make whether what must be happens
now or this evening?" Eva said, in a hopeless tone. "I am ready, Herr
von Bertram, to accede to your wishes, but upon certain conditions----"

"I will fulfil any conditions that you can impose upon me----"

"By their non-fulfilment, Herr von Bertram, I now declare here, in the
presence of my friend, you will forfeit the right to claim my promise.
I allow you to make known our betrothal, I will present you as my
betrothed to my uncle and aunt, but I require on the other hand that
you should never lay claim to any of a lover's privileges, never
venture to annoy me with professions of affection, or to look for any
such from me; also, the time of our marriage must be appointed by
myself alone, and you are upon no account to venture to influence me to
shorten the period of our engagement----"

"You are cruel, Eva."

"I cannot be otherwise; let there be truth between us. I have told you
that I do not love you, and that only a sense of the duty I owe you in
atoning for the sacrifice you make me induces me to give you my hand.
But my indifference would become hatred should you force me to endure
caresses which I abhor,--the first attempt to do so dissolves our
engagement and sets me free! Do you accept my conditions, Herr von
Bertram?"

"You are very, very cruel; but I cannot say no."

"You agree, then, to my conditions?"

"Yes."

"So be it! Aline, let me present to you my betrothed. Follow me, Herr
von Bertram; I will conduct you to my uncle and aunt."



                               CHAPTER V.


Before Leo von Heydeck returned to his apartments he took a long walk
in the park. He wished to be alone to hold communion quietly with
himself, that he might come to a decision with regard to his future
conduct. He knew that he had arrived at a crisis in his career.

Forced, against his inclination, by a stern father, Colonel von
Heydeck, to embrace the military profession, he had, notwithstanding,
become reconciled to it during the war with France, which he had
entered into with patriotic enthusiasm, and in which he had greatly
distinguished himself.

Esteemed and beloved by his comrades, he had never before now found
himself in a position either to send or to receive a challenge. He had
always considered duelling as a savage relic of mediæval barbarism; but
the insult offered him intentionally in the presence of numerous
witnesses, by Herr von Bertram, was certainly cause sufficient, if any
such could exist, to justify the savage practice.

As he slowly sauntered along the secluded alleys of the park he weighed
and pondered every argument for and against his yielding in this case
to military prejudice. He had a hard struggle with himself to undergo,
but by the time he reached his home he had made up his mind,--he would
be true to his convictions and yield no jot to public opinion.

On the stairs he met his servant who surprised him with the
intelligence that Colonel von Herwarth was in his apartment, where he
had awaited him for a quarter of an hour.

Colonel von Herwarth, the commander of his regiment? What did this
visit portend? Had he heard already of the scene at Büchner's?

Leo paused for an instant, and his heart beat undeniably faster. He
foresaw that the ensuing conversation with the man who was alike his
superior officer and his paternal friend would be of great importance
to him; he must be perfectly prepared before it began. Once more he
passed in mental review the reasons for the resolution he had taken. He
never wavered; for the first time in his life an opportunity was
offered him to step forward boldly and frankly in vindication of a
principle. Firm in his purpose to do so he entered the room.

The colonel had not found the time spent in his young officer's room
long. He had been much interested in what he found there, where there
was nothing except the weapons, arranged upon a wall with an eye for
artistic effect, to remind one that this was the abode of a soldier.
The apartment might rather have been taken for a scholar's study or an
artist's studio.

One side of the room was entirely covered with book-shelves, the
contents of which would hardly have tempted the lovers of light
reading, and the writing-table was loaded with books and papers in true
scholarly disorder; while quantities of sketches in oil, framed and
unframed, occupying every available spot upon the walls, and a large
easel in the centre of the room, upon which was an unfinished picture,
betrayed the artist.

Before this picture, a portrait of a beautiful girl, the colonel was
standing, attentively surveying it, when Leo entered. The dress was
only sketched in, but the face was nearly finished; at least so the
colonel thought, as he admired the delicate features and the glorious
black eyes that seemed to gaze into his own.

Leo's entrance aroused him from its contemplation; he turned and held
out his hand. "I have been awaiting you for some time, Herr von
Heydeck," he said; "but I do not regret the quarter of an hour spent
here, since it has given me an opportunity of admiring your artistic
skill. I knew you were fond of the brush, but I had no idea that you
had reached such a pitch of perfection in the art. What a brilliant
sketch this is! I am sure I have seen that face somewhere. Who is she?
I surely know that girl."

"Scarcely, I think, colonel," Leo replied, unable to conceal a certain
embarrassment. "It is but a daub,--just begun, and not at all like. You
never would recognize the original from seeing this thing."

"And yet--and yet--I surely remember having seen that, young girl
somewhere."

"Probably some chance resemblance, colonel. There is no trace of
likeness in this portrait; it is only a slight sketch from memory. If I
had known that I was to have the honour of a visit from you, I should
not have left it upon the easel. Permit me to remove it."

He took the picture from the easel and leaned it with the face against
the wall,--the colonel shook his finger at him, with a smile: "You are
in a great hurry to hide it away. Have I, perchance, been indiscreet?"

"Not at all, colonel," said Leo, trying unsuccessfully to appear easy
and unembarrassed. "I do not know the lady at all. I met her once in
society, and hardly exchanged a couple of words with her."

"In spite of which she has made so profound an impression upon the
artist that he has painted a charming portrait from memory. But I will
not meddle with your secrets, my dear Heydeck, I have come upon other
and serious business. You will guess what it is when I tell you that my
nephew, Kuno, has been with me. He came to confide, not in Colonel von
Herwarth, but in his uncle; and so I come to you, my dear Heydeck, not
as your colonel and superior officer, but as your true friend, to
discuss this miserable matter in which Herr von Bertram's brutal
insults have entangled you. Give me your hand, Heydeck; I trust you are
convinced that I have your welfare at heart!"

"I certainly am, colonel."

"And there is good reason why it should be so; not because you saved my
life at Gravelotte at terrible risk of your own,--that was your duty,
and I would have done the same in your place,--but because you are the
best officer in my regiment, and a fast friend to that feather-headed
nephew of mine, Kuno, whose admiration and affection for you prevent
his getting into many a scrape. You see my friendship for you is rather
selfish, but none the less genuine.

"To business, then! Kuno tells me that you have got into your head some
romantic and entirely incomprehensible ideas about the immorality of
duelling, and that in consequence you are in doubt as to calling out
Herr von Bertram. Is this true, my dear Heydeck?"

"Not quite, colonel. I am no longer in doubt; I have decided: I shall
not challenge Herr von Bertram."

The colonel, who had been pacing the room to and fro at Leo's side,
suddenly stood still. "The devil you won't!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's
worse than I thought! Kuno was right, then! Do you know the fate of an
officer who allows himself to be accused of dishonourable conduct?"

"I do, colonel, and therefore I am resolved to send in my resignation
immediately."

"Why, forty thousand dev---- No, no, I will not swear; I will
be calm. Only tell me, are you stark, staring mad? Send in your
resignation!--you, before whom there is the most brilliant career? You
must not! 'Tis impossible!"

"I must, colonel, and I rely upon your help in the matter, for this is
the only way in which mischief among my comrades can be prevented."

"But, deuce take it! why don't you send a bullet through that scoundrel
Bertram, as any other brave officer would do, and settle the matter
reasonably?"

"Because my principles forbid duelling. My mind is made up, colonel.
Pray do not attempt to shake my resolution, for I give you my word of
honour that I will not fight a duel."

"There it is!" cried the colonel, in despair. "All's over now! Unhappy,
misguided young man, what have you done?"

"My duty, colonel; I but fulfil a sacred obligation. You, at least,
will not believe that I am actuated by cowardice."

"Cowardice! You? I'll fight the man myself who accuses you of cowardice
in my presence. Your courage has been proved a hundred times in France,
as I can testify. No one can accuse you of cowardice,--that's not what
vexes me; but you can't stay in the service for all that! What would
become of the corps of officers if these cursed democratic ideas of
yours were to find acceptance among us? But you have declared upon your
honour that you'll not fight, and there's no use talking any more about
it. You must send in your resignation, and I'll see that it's accepted.
That's all I can do for you now. Sit down this moment and write it,
and I'll take it with me and attend to it."

Leo did so. While the colonel walked up and down the room, muttering
curses, not loud, but deep, upon the 'd----d democratic nonsense,' Leo
wrote his resignation, and handed it to his superior officer.

The colonel read the paper through. "It is all in order," he said, "and
shall be attended to. There is nothing else to be done now; but
confound that scoundrel Bertram! and deuce take me if I don't find some
way to reward him for his share in this business! I believe the dog
knew your craze about duelling. Did you ever mention your cursed
democratic ideas in his presence?"

"Of course he knows what my opinions are: we used to be friends."

"I thought so. The confounded coward could play the hero cheaply; but
I've not done with him yet. He shall find it no joke to have driven my
best officer from the service. But that will not bring you back again.
I see well enough that with your principles you had better resign. And
you had best leave K---- as soon as possible. Take a journey to get out
of the way of all the gossip and fuss there will be. I'll give you a
leave upon my own responsibility,--and goodbye. I can't help loving
you, my dear fellow, though you are such a d----d democrat; and if ever
you need a true friend, remember Oswald von Herwarth, who never will
forget you at Gravelotte."

The old officer cleared his throat violently, and indignantly winked
away a suspicious moisture from his eyes; then, pulling his cap low
over his forehead, he stamped down-stairs without one more word of
farewell.

Scarcely was Leo alone than he took up the picture which he had leaned
against the wall, replaced it upon the easel, stepped backwards from
it, and regarded it sadly. "So you send me out into the world!" he
murmured. "It is your revenge upon me for my cowardly words of you in
your absence; for it was cowardly so to do violence to myself. Your
punishment is hard, but just. Now that I dare once more to gaze into
the depths of those dark, girlish eyes, why are they not scornful and
angry, but sad and dreamy?"

He stood for a while so lost in thoughts of the few moments he had
spent in Eva's presence, and in contemplation of the picture, that he
did not hear the door behind him open.

An aged officer, leaning heavily upon a stout bamboo cane, entered the
room, and, standing still, gloomily surveyed the young man lost in
revery before the picture; then as he glanced at a mirror hanging on
the wall opposite the door, he saw reflected in its depths his own
image and his son's. He was startled; the astonishing likeness between
them, which he had never before admitted, struck him forcibly and
painfully at the moment.

"So like, and yet so different!" the old man thought, "Yes, he is my
son. I could not disown him if I would. My only son,--so like me,--and
that he should disgrace our name,--'tis maddening!"

He stood for a moment silently watching his son, and then struck the
floor violently with his bamboo cane. "Halloo, Herr Leo von Heydeck!"
he cried. "Colonel von Heydeck requests the honour of a few words with
you!"

Leo turned in surprise. "What, father, you here?" he asked. One glance
at his father's gloomy face told him plainly enough that the old man
was perfectly aware of the events of the last few hours, and had come
to call his son to account. Confused and annoyed, Leo bent his looks
upon the ground.

"You did not expect a visit from me?" the colonel asked,
contemptuously. "You had indeed no right to do so, for old Colonel von
Heydeck has never had anything to do with scoundrels!"

"Father!"

"Why, don't you like the word? I should not have thought you would
notice it! I have just seen the Herwarths, uncle and nephew, and I know
everything. 'Tis the second time a Heydeck has tamely borne such an
insult,--first my vagabond of a brother, and now you, my only son!"

The old man sat down, and continued: "I was on my way here to
remonstrate with you when I met your colonel; he told me you had
declared upon your honour that you would fight no duel, and that there
would be no use in anything I could say; that he had your resignation
in his pocket, and was going to attend to it. He spoke warmly in your
behalf,--my heart was touched by it; you have him to thank that I do
not bestow my curse upon you, as once I did upon my coward of a
brother, but that I am come to you to ask, 'What are you going to do
now?'" The old man looked about him in his son's room, to which this
was his first visit, and frowned, as he went on: "If you have one
single spark of affection for your old father do not disgrace our name
by a Heydeck's painting pictures for money. I know you will answer me
that you cannot live on air, or beg, or steal, and that I cannot
support you, since my pension barely suffices for my own wants. I know
this is what you will say, but I have a proposition to make. Leo, you
must marry!"

Certainly this proposition was the last that Leo expected from his
father. "I marry?" he exclaimed, with a side-glance at the easel.
"Never! How could I dream of it now when I am about to enter upon a new
life, in which the struggle for existence will be hard enough with only
one to provide for."

"All the more reason why this new life should never be sullied by any
occupation unworthy a nobleman," the colonel replied, quite unmoved by
his son's words, "Hear me quietly; we must understand each other, and I
have much to do to-day besides. Your colonel has promised that your
resignation shall find honourable acceptance. I myself will see to it
that Herr von Bertram does not go unpunished for an insult offered to a
Heydeck!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"That's no affair of yours; you are not my guardian. If you claim a
right to publish your convictions in direct opposition to universal
opinion, I, old man as I am, surely have a right to do as honour bids
me. I shall do so, and shall see that the name of Heydeck is not
sullied; it is your part, as far as in you lies, to keep it clear from
stain."

"What do you require of me?"

"Before I tell you I must, that you may understand me, give you some
information concerning the past of a certain member of our family. You
know that I have a brother of whom I have never spoken to you; I am
going to do so now. We were two merry boys together,--Ferdinand two
years younger than I,--and we were very fond of each other, although we
were utterly dissimilar physically and mentally; he was a bookworm,
excellent at learning, while I was a wild, wayward fellow, fonder of my
rifle than of any book. When we left school he wanted to pursue his
studies, while I was bent on entering the army. Our father was a stern,
harsh man, and would not suffer any son of his to be a quill-driver.
All Ferdinand's entreaties, and even the tears of our mother, whose
favourite he was, were of no avail; he had to don the uniform. To the
last moment he implored my father not to force him to embrace a
profession which he hated, but my father contemptuously turned a deaf
ear, and did not even bid him good-bye when he left us, nor indeed did
I, for I was vexed with him for his womanish conduct.

"And so Ferdinand became a soldier, and the reports received of him
from his colonel, an old friend of my father's, were extremely fair. He
was no favourite in the corps of officers: he was too staid and grave,
he was even accused of miserliness, but he did his duty, soon became
ensign, passed a brilliant examination, and scarcely a year after
entering the service gained his epaulettes, while I was two full years
gaining mine.

"Several years went by; then we met on some great occasion. I had been
delighted with the prospect of seeing him, but I soon found that we
did not suit each other. He had grown more staid, I was wilder than
ever,--no two brothers could be more different. All our comrades said
so. I heard remarks of theirs about Ferdinand that made me furious, and
yet I could do nothing to contradict them, for there was no positive
expression of opinion in what was reported to me,--it mostly consisted
of vague sneers from which I drew the worst conclusions.

"Ferdinand was as unpopular as possible; the officers of his regiment
accused him of unsociability, and declared that instead of living with
them he was always shut up in his room, poring over his books, and that
he hoarded every penny of his pay. But they found fault with him
chiefly because he never took part in any social entertainment unless
he knew that gaming would form part of it. Play was his only passion;
his stakes were never large, although when he had a decided run of luck
he would play a little higher than usual, but then only with extreme
caution. It was owing to this caution that he won with great
regularity.

"My head used to spin when I heard my comrades talk of Ferdinand and
his never-failing luck at play, using expressions too vague to admit of
a reply, but easy enough to understand. I made up my mind to speak
frankly with him upon the subject, but before I could do so the
catastrophe occurred which separated us forever. One evening we were
both present at a gay gathering; Ferdinand knew that the thing would
close with play. A young officer of hussars, a Herr von Kleinschmidt,
kept the bank, and was unfortunate. He lost considerable sums and it
vexed him, but it irritated him still more that Ferdinand, whom he
could not bear, played with his usual caution and met with his usual
success. Every time Ferdinand won Herr von Kleinschmidt made some
cutting remark, and his observations were all the more bitter as
Ferdinand scarcely seemed to hear them. Others won far larger sums than
he, but he alone seemed to excite the venom of the angry bank-keeper;
he followed Ferdinand's play with suspicious eyes, and suddenly, when
Ferdinand had won several times upon the same card, the irritated
officer threw his cards upon the table.

"'So long as Herr von Heydeck plays I will not draw another card,' he
said, angrily; and then, with a contemptuous glance at Ferdinand, he
continued: 'I am not a gamester by profession, and am not sufficiently
skilful to enter the lists against a man who makes gaming his study and
knows well how to assist his luck. I hold such play dishonourable, and
the man who practises it guilty of dishonourable conduct.'

"This was followed by dead silence throughout the room. All eyes were
riveted upon Ferdinand, who stood by the card-table ghastly pale,
biting his lips. He replied not a word, but gathered in the money he
had won with a trembling hand and left the room. His comrades gave way
before him, seeming to avoid him as he passed out from among them.

"When I heard such disgraceful words applied to my brother I grew
almost wild with rage. I was on the point of rushing upon his insulter,
but a friend restrained me. 'You can do nothing, Heydeck,' he whispered
in my ear. 'Your brother's honour is lost if he leaves you to defend
it.'

"I saw that he was right. It was hard to bridle my fury, but I did it.
I followed Ferdinand, and overtook him near his lodgings. 'I am your
second,' I said to him.

"He made no reply, and, as I looked at him as we passed beneath a
street-lamp, I saw his lips quiver spasmodically; his cheeks were
ashen, his eyes without lustre; he looked fearfully.

"I went on talking to him, and asked him how I should word his
challenge, but still he did not answer me; and when we reached his
apartments he threw himself upon a lounge and sobbed like a child. My
brain reeled; I did not know what to think of his condition, for it
never occurred to me that fear, pitiable disgraceful cowardice, could
turn a Heydeck into a whining baby. I would not believe him when at
last he composed himself sufficiently to tell me, his teeth chattering
the while, that he could not fight,--could never summon sufficient
courage to stand in front of a loaded pistol. He was beside himself,
not with the thought of the insult that had been offered him, but with
fear!

"He was a coward, an infamous coward; he confessed it to me, and cried
like a child, cursing his father's harshness that had forced him to
enter the army against his will, and that now condemned him to
dishonour, for he could not fight.

"I stood as if turned to stone. I had never dreamed of the possibility
of such cowardice. I left him with contempt, and I have never seen him
since. The next morning I heard that he had sent in his resignation and
was gone; whither I did not learn until long afterwards."

The colonel paused in his story and bent his gaze gloomily upon the
ground. Memory was a greater pain to him than he cared to show.

For Leo his father's narrative possessed an absorbing interest. He had
frequently heard allusions made to the irreconcilable quarrel that had
existed for many years between his father and his uncle, but this was
all he had ever known concerning it. Now the veil was lifted from the
mystery; this explained the scorn and hatred with which the colonel
mentioned the name of his brother, who was now a wealthy man, living
somewhere in the Tyrol. But the story had produced upon Leo an effect
which the narrator never intended. The young lieutenant was firmly
convinced that his father had been mistaken. His uncle Ferdinand had
never refused to fight a duel from cowardice; it was impossible! Had he
not passed through the same struggle with himself which his uncle had
formerly undergone? Small as was the old colonel's comprehension of his
son's motives to-day, it must have been infinitely less with regard to
his brother's motives in his hot-headed youth. Would he not have
suspected Leo of cowardice if his colonel had not borne such
enthusiastic testimony to the young officer's bravery?

Leo was most desirous to hear the rest of the story, but he did not
venture to interrupt the old man's gloomy reverie. He sat silent until,
after a long pause, the colonel at last struck the floor violently with
his cane, and, lifting his head, said, in a loud, harsh voice, "What
good will thinking of it or regretting it do now? What is done is done,
and there's no help for it. The grave will not give up its dead. My
cowardly vagabond of a brother has burdened my soul with another's
blood! I can see him now, the handsome young fellow, curveting over
the field at a review, with his dolman fluttering gayly over his
shoulder,--and then it's all changed: I see only his pale face as he
lies dying with my bullet through his lungs. He forgave me; he knew I
could not help it. I could not endure that a Heydeck should tamely
suffer disgrace. With his dying breath he declared me a man of honour
whom he greatly esteemed, and he died in my arms.

"I can forgive Ferdinand everything but this, that he should have
forced me to shoot down that fine young fellow and rob a poor mother of
her only child! No, I can never, never forgive him! But enough of this;
I did my duty then, and I will do it again, only I hope the bullet this
time will not enter the youthful breast heaving with gay love of life,
but bring rest to the weary old cripple."

Leo would have interposed here, but his father gave him no opportunity,
and continued,--

"Let us finish this once for all. Do not interrupt me. I was sentenced
to one year's imprisonment. As soon as I was free again I hastened to
my father's death-bed. He gave me his blessing, and left his curse for
his unworthy son, whom he would have disinherited had he possessed
anything in the world save his honourable name. For a long time I heard
nothing of Ferdinand. After my father's death a letter arrived from
him; I never broke the seal, but returned it to him with, 'Unopened.
Hans von Heydeck,' written on the envelope. The letter bore the
official stamp of a Hungarian town. Some years afterwards a friend who
had been travelling in Hungary told me that he had met Ferdinand in
Pesth; that he was living there as tutor with a wealthy Hungarian
noble; and after several more years I learned that he had purchased
large estates in the Tyrol,--having become a very wealthy man by his
marriage with a rich tradesman's heiress; that his wife had died about
a year after her marriage in giving birth to a son, who had not long
survived his mother. Ferdinand, therefore, was the sole possessor of
great wealth, which, however, he did not seem to enjoy, as he lived the
life of a hermit in his lonely castle, which he left only for a few
weeks in the year, when his shattered health made a sojourn at one of
the baths desirable.

"My last indirect news of Ferdinand I had about ten years ago. He had
married some time before a very beautiful girl of an ancient and noble
family. This second wife, however, whom he was said to have loved most
devotedly, also died after a short time, leaving him an only child,--a
daughter. He had been inconsolable for her loss, and was leading a more
retired life even than before, scarcely ever leaving his castle,
Reifenstein. Buried in his books, he repelled all advances from his
neighbours, and was regarded in all the country round as a proud,
inaccessible aristocrat. He had become a Catholic, and observed with
great rigour all the duties and fasts of his church, although, in
accordance with a promise made to her Protestant mother, he brought up
his daughter in the Protestant faith.

"After this indirect intelligence, which I had some time since from a
friend visiting in the Tyrol, I heard nothing farther of my brother
until I received a letter from himself, about a week ago. At first I
was undecided whether to break the seal or to return it to him
unopened, as I had done by the first I had from him. At last I opened
it, and yet, after I had read it, I was more undecided than before. The
memory of the disgraceful past prompted me to burn it, while reason
bade me give it to you. Since I received it I have always carried it
about with me. Now I am glad that I did not burn it, since that has
happened which I never could have anticipated.

"I was convinced that an honourable career was assured to you; that,
without any outside aid, you would have attained the highest military
honours. All that is past. Here is your uncle's letter; read it
yourself."

Leo took the letter which his father handed him, and eagerly ran
through it. It was as follows:


"More than thirty years have passed since that miserable evening which
exiled me forever from my native country. Are you still implacable,
Hans? My first letter to you, begging your forgiveness, was returned to
me unopened. Will this one share the same fate? If it should, we are
parted forever. For humbled as is my pride I cannot, for the third
time, offer in reconciliation a hand that has been twice rejected. But
no; I know you will read these lines. These long years must surely have
softened your hard judgment. You will remember sadly, as I do, the
happy days of childhood, and no longer think with hatred and aversion
of the brother whom you once loved so tenderly.

"Let us now, as old men, Hans, forget what occurred in that wretched
night. Let us reflect that we, brothers, are the last of the noble race
of the von Heydecks, and resolve together to do what we can to revive
the half-extinguished lustre of our ancient name.

"Daring the thirty melancholy years which I have passed in exile,--by
my father's curse an outcast from my family,--the consciousness of
being a Heydeck has upheld me and saved me from much degradation to
which want might have compelled me.

"You can never dream of the suffering I brought upon myself by
refusing, as I did, to comply with a custom so long upheld by
aristocratic authority. All the wretchedness of my life has been the
consequence of the events of that night which drove me forth from my
parents,--from you and from my country. My punishment has been bitter!

"At first I became tutor in the family of a Hungarian magnate; then I
entered that of a wealthy banker. In this dependent position I was
subjected to humiliations of every kind. My blood boils now at the
remembrance of how I was forced to yield to the whims of others: to
humour dulness on the one side and intellectual superficiality on the
other. It was a terrible ordeal! After some years, I became acquainted
with a young and beautiful woman, the wealthy widow of a manufacturer,
who had left her all his property. Her beauty attracted me, her wealth
allured me! I was fearfully punished. She made my life a hell on earth.

"I Was foolish enough at the time of our marriage to allow myself to be
persuaded to sign a paper giving to her the entire right of disposal of
her property, and of bequeathing it as she chose in case of her death.
I had sold myself, and did not even receive the proceeds of the sale! I
actually believed that love would bend my wife's wishes to my will, and
went so far, in my devotion to my bride, as to change my faith for her
sake,--I became a Catholic!

"My punishment was sure and speedy. My wife reduced me almost to
despair. While she scarcely allowed me sufficient means for the bare
necessities of existence, she indulged in the wildest extravagance. I
had to resign my beloved studies to accompany her to balls and
masquerades, to concerts and the theatre. If I did not go with her she
found some other escort. It was a horrible time! I was pursued by
continual dread lest my wife might dishonour me. And I had to endure it
all, for if I had attempted a separation I should have been a beggar.
Death came at last to relieve me from my wretched thraldom. She died a
few months after giving birth to a son, and on her death-bed she
testified her hatred of me. She made a will which gave every penny
which she possessed to her son; to me she left nothing. As during her
life I lived but by her bounty, I was, after her death, to be dependent
upon that of her son. I say hers, for I never believed him to be mine!
She died with a smile of satisfied hatred upon her lips. She thought me
crushed forever; but she had forgotten to appoint a guardian for her
child, and this was my salvation. In the eye of the law I was his
father, and as such his natural guardian. Moreover, when after a short
time he died, I was his heir.

"I will say no more, dear Hans, of that horrible time. I was a prey to
the stings of conscience. The thought that I had sold myself for gold
never left me. I was doubly dishonoured!

"Henceforth I lived solitary and alone, given over to my historical and
scientific studies in my old castle in the Tyrol, until my health
obliged me to try the waters at Carlsbad. There I became acquainted
with a charming girl, Countess Hilda von Sarnstein. I won her hand, and
she came with me to the Tyrol. She was an angel. If the memory of my
miserable past had not still poisoned my existence I should have been
the happiest man in the world while by her side. She left me all too
soon; but in my Hilda I have her living image. My daughter is my sole
joy and pride; her gay, happy temperament enlivens as far as is
possible my melancholy retired existence. When I hear her joyous
laughter, I forget for a moment the wretched past. My dearest wish is
to make her happy; and it is in the hope of doing so that I have for
years nourished the scheme which I now tell you. I am rich; after my
death all my property will devolve upon my child, who will bring it to
her future husband. Shall it go to a stranger? Affection for my kindred
has always filled my heart. In the saddest times of my life I
remembered with loving fidelity my home and my parents, of whom I
always contrived to procure tidings until their death; since when I
have followed your career, Hans, with the deepest interest. I have
never lost sight of you or yours.

"When a son was born to you, I rejoiced with you that our noble name
would once more have a worthy representative. I could have wished that
he had been a scholar instead of a soldier, but I am nevertheless proud
of my nephew, the last genuine Heydeck. I have taken pains to learn all
that I could of him, and I know how brilliantly he distinguished
himself in the French war.

"I have often told my Hilda of you and of Leo; her blue eyes sparkle
when she hears his name; she is proud of her cousin, and loves him
without ever having seen him. Could I but see Leo and Hilda man and
wife! I conjure you, Hans, forget what parted us; help me to provide a
happy future for our children. We old people could depart in peace if
we knew our name thus destined to flourish worthily.

"Answer me, Hans, as soon as you can, or better still send your Leo to
me at Castle Reifenstein; he will be received with open arms by your
brother,

                                               "Ferdinand."


Leo dropped the letter, which he had read with the greatest attention.
"Now I understand you, father," he said, sadly. "You desire me to
accede to my uncle's proposition that I should go to the Tyrol and sell
my freedom."

"Yes, that is what I desire," the colonel burst out; "but I see that
you are minded to reject also this last means of securing to our family
a dignified independence in the world!"

"Is it honourable to accept the gift of wealth at the hands of a man
whom you have always heaped with opprobrium?"

"You have no right to condemn him as I do, since you have followed his
example. I have had hard work to make up my mind; but now that it is
made up, I will not yield one jot! Yesterday, I thought my son's
marriage with the daughter of my wretched brother a disgrace; to-day, I
see in it the only possible means of avoiding the shame of having the
last Heydeck depend for existence upon quill-driving or daubing. I give
you my honour that we are separated forever, you and I, if you do not
set off for the Tyrol and your uncle to-morrow! Now you know that there
is no use in one word more. Make your decision, and let me have it in
writing. I will not see you again before your departure!"

The old man arose to leave the room, and Leo did not attempt to detain
him. He knew perfectly well that after the colonel had given 'his
honour' no power on earth could induce him to alter his determination.

Leaning heavily on his bamboo cane, the colonel hobbled to the door,
opened it, and stood pondering for one moment upon the threshold. Then
he turned once more to his son, and, in a much gentler tone than he had
hitherto used, said, "We part, Leo, certainly for a long time, perhaps
forever. If you hear that sudden death has overtaken me, do not think
hardly of your old father; but if you have a spark of love for me obey
me and go to the Tyrol!"



                              CHAPTER VI.


The door closed behind the colonel, and Leo was once more alone, free
to indulge in his own reflections. What troubled him most was his
father's resolve to fight Bertram. It was but too certain that the
obstinate old soldier would act upon his determination as soon as
possible. In imagination he saw his father fall in a conflict with the
man who had so insulted himself, and forgetting his own future, he
thought only of how this duel might be prevented.

A sudden idea flashed upon him, showing him he hoped a means of
attaining this end. In the greatest haste he changed his dress, laying
aside his uniform forever,--since he had already handed in his
resignation and received leave of absence, he no longer considered
himself as belonging to the service, and he hoped, moreover, in the
dress of a civilian to escape immediate recognition on the part of his
former comrades.

Once more he paused before the picture on the easel, and murmured as he
gazed at it, "All this is your work. You drive me forth into the world;
you have destroyed all my hopes; and yet I cannot chide you,--not even
although you turn from me those dark, enchanting eyes! Farewell! I dare
not gaze longer into their depths: they bewilder my heart and soul, and
now I need every faculty I possess to help me to carve out my future.
Farewell, forever! I must see you never again!"

After one long, last look, he took the portrait from the easel and
leaned it with its face against the wall. Then he hurriedly left the
room and the house.

In the street, seeing Count Waldheim in the distance, and wishing to
avoid all discussion of his affairs with any one for the present, he
turned in an opposite direction, called a fiacre, and was driven
rapidly to a retired and extremely handsome villa in the suburbs. Here
a footman in rich livery instantly appeared, opened the carriage-door,
and evidently had been taught to regard Leo as an honoured guest.

"Is Herr Delmar at home?"

"To you, Herr Lieutenant, but to no one else. My master is at dinner,
but he has given orders that you are to be admitted at all hours. I
will announce you immediately."

"No need, I will announce myself."

"As you please, Herr Lieutenant; my master dines in the garden-room."

Leo nodded in answer to the man's low bow, and then hurriedly passed
through the hall and several antechambers on his way to the familiar
garden-room. He paid no heed to the more than princely luxury of the
surroundings, scarcely even glancing at the splendid pictures with
which the walls were hung, but hurried on.

Surrounded by rare tropical plants, in a room the walls of which were
almost entirely of glass, but kept perfectly cool by the constant play
of a fountain, a table was spread, at which sat Herr Paul Delmar, with
a liveried servant behind his chair.

The lord of this magnificent villa, of several other princely estates,
and of a capital of several millions, was a young man thirty years old
at most,--not strictly handsome, but of an interesting, cheerful
countenance, in which sparkled a pair of brilliant black eyes. The nose
was too large and the skin too sallow for beauty, otherwise the
features were admirable, and the whole bearing and air of the man
extremely attractive, especially when the face was lit up by the
frequent half-kindly, half-ironical smile.

"Is that you, Leo?" he cried to the new-comer. "A rare guest, indeed;
sit down. A place for Herr von Heydeck," he gave orders to the servant.

"No, no, Paul, I cannot; thanks," Leo replied.

"Have you dined?"

"No, but----"

"Then I'll take no excuse. Not on your account, Leo; you know how
selfish I am,--my own comfort is my chief care. Nothing would taste as
it should with you sitting there fasting and hungry."

"But I'm not hungry; I assure you I have not the least appetite."

"But I have, and you shall not spoil it by sitting there eating nothing
and watching me. There is nothing in this world of more importance than
a good dinner; I pity any man who does not know how to appreciate so
refined an enjoyment. A bad dinner is the greatest of losses: it can
never be repaired,--it has gone forever! He only who knows how to eat
appreciates the full value of life. Here is your plate, Leo,--my Jean
is an active fellow,--and now take your soup; season it as you like it,
and, for heaven's sake, look like a reasonable being. Such a long face
as yours is as bad for the soup as if the cook had over-salted it."

Delmar set his friend an excellent example, which Leo gradually
followed. The events of the day had made him forget his dinner and turn
from the idea of food, but youth and health soon asserted themselves,
and to his host's satisfaction he did ample justice to the admirable
repast before him.

During dinner he did not touch upon what he had come to say,--he knew
that his friend disliked all disturbing emotions during his meal-times,
and as he wished to secure his entire and undivided attention he waited
until the servant had brought coffee and retired before he began. "I
have come to you to-day, Paul, to ask you to help me."

"Indeed! I shall be only too delighted; but I mistrust you,--you know
it is an old quarrel between us that you always give and never accept."

"To-day I will accept, and a great service from you too,--if you will
do it for me."

"Anything in my power, Leo, is done for you before you ask it. You
could hardly ask too much, as you know."

"I knew what you would say, Paul," the other cried, grasping his
friend's hand cordially.

But Paul withdrew it with a smile. "For heaven's sake don't be
sentimental," he said; "and pray don't imagine that I stir a finger for
you out of consideration for you. Everything that I do, I do solely for
my own sake. It gives me pleasure to do something for you,--it disturbs
the tedious monotony of existence. I may perhaps hit upon something
entertaining; that is why, and only why, you could hardly ask too much
of me! You know very well that I am an incorrigible egotist, and
therefore, and because I am devoured by curiosity, tell me what you
want."

"You shall learn, you miserable egotist, whom gross selfishness drives
to any amount of self-sacrifice for a friend; but before I tell you you
must know what has happened to-day." And Leo described calmly and
frankly the events of the day.

When he repeated his expressions with regard to Eva Schommer Delmar
gave a nod of assent, and said, "A severe but perfectly correct summary
of the heiress's character. I met her to-day just as you were
discoursing so amiably about her. I rode past her carriage and had a
most gracious bow. The fair Eva knows that my millions outnumber her
own, and esteems me accordingly. You are right, Leo; pride of purse is
more disgusting than pride of birth. Fräulein Schommer is an odious
creature."

Paul gave one keen glance at Leo as he spoke, and noticed that the
latter suddenly flushed as he replied, "Certainly _you_ have no right,
Paul, to speak thus of Fräulein Schommer. I did not know that she had
injured you."

"I am not speaking of myself. I was only confirming your judgment, your
own words."

"Which I acknowledge to have been hasty and unjust. You do not dream,
Paul, what disastrous results they had for me. Listen!"

Paul smiled and nodded, promising not to interrupt again; but he did
not keep his word, for when his friend described Bertram's
interference, and repeated word for word what he had said, he started
up in violent agitation, threw away the cigar which he had just
lighted, and exclaimed, "What! the scoundrel dared to accuse you of
dishonourable conduct? Is the fellow mad? And what did you do, Leo?
Struck him across the face with the flat of your sword I trust as he
deserves. At all events, I hope you were not insane enough to challenge
a rogue who could not insult you?"

"You know my principles with regard to duelling."

"Of courage; but who thinks of principles in such a case? I envy you
the capacity to do so. Fortunately then you did not challenge him. Of
course you gave him a suitable memento of the occasion? Go on, Leo; I
will control my cursed temper if I can and not interrupt again."

He lighted another cigar and leaning back in his chair kept his word
this time. With exemplary patience he listened while Leo
circumstantially related all that had occurred: his conversation with
Colonel von Herwarth, his resignation from the service, and then his
interview with his father, finally giving Delmar his uncle Ferdinand's
letter to read.

As the story went on Paul was strongly tempted to break his promise. He
moved uneasily in his chair when Leo told of his resignation, and when
he heard that the old colonel proposed calling out Bertram he was on
the point of bursting into a rage, but he controlled himself, and
suppressed all comment. On the other hand, he quite chuckled over the
old colonel's command that his son should forbear to earn his living by
honest labour, and instead rescue the family honour by a wealthy
marriage. And he read through Ferdinand's letter without a word.

"Now, Paul, you know everything," Leo said in conclusion, "and you must
have some suspicion of what I want of you. It lies in your power to
prevent any duel between my father and Bertram. You once hinted to me
in confidence that you were privy to some disgraceful conduct of
Bertram's. You have but to tell my father of this, and his principles
will forbid his calling out a scoundrel. This is why I am come to you.
I am sure you will relieve me of this anxiety, which is the worst that
I have to endure at present."

Paul leaned back comfortably in his arm-chair and blew forth several
artistically-formed rings of smoke, then sipped his coffee and
proceeded to blow forth more rings, as was his custom when buried in
reflection.

His silence troubled Leo. "You do not answer me, Paul. Can you not or
will you not help me? I remember you were with Bertram a great deal
last winter, but I never really regarded you as his friend."

"Friend of that scoundrel? I wouldn't give that for his friendship!"
And he snapped his fingers. "He was my slave," he continued. "I paid
him well, that I might get rid of him when I did not want to use him
any longer, and I will do it now! Cast the shadow from your brow, you
anxious, heavily-principled son of a hot-headed father. This
nonsensical duel is out of the question. I promise you that I will
prevent it. I settled that in my mind instantly, and it seemed such
child's play to me that I had ceased to think of it. I was thinking of
you, Leo; the fact is that I am more and more convinced that you are
the strangest, most enigmatical human being on God's earth. I regard
you as I should some fabled monster of prehistoric times. We have grown
up together, I thought I knew you, and yet you are continually taking
me by surprise."

"I really cannot see what eccentricity of mine has just at present
provoked this rather unflattering outburst," Leo remarked, not very
well pleased.

"I suppose not; the fact is it is useless to be surprised at you, for
you are made up of eccentricities and never do anything like other
people. You are an artist and a scholar, opposed on principle to war,
nevertheless you became an officer in the army, and behaved like a hero
in the field. You have a friend--a millionaire--who desires nothing
more ardently than to serve you, and you live with the greatest economy
upon your meagre pay, denying yourself every enjoyment, although I
confess you never look like a poor man. You are a democrat of the
purest type, and yet get along delightfully with your aristocratic
comrades without ever being false to your principles."

"I should have thought all this was nothing new to you."

"True; but to-day you have capped the climax of your inconsistencies.
You say yourself that it pains you to send in your resignation, and yet
you do it, although you could by a single word have crushed to the
earth the infamous coward who insulted you, and who of course knew that
you would not call him out. You cannot fight a scoundrel any more than
can your father. You might have done for yourself what you have done
for him."

"That would have been cowardice, and a falsehood besides; for I refrain
from calling Bertram out not because the fellow is a scoundrel, but
because I consider duelling criminal. I will never disgrace myself by
hypocrisy and a denial of my principles."

"Heroism! extraordinary, antediluvian heroism! I repeat, I regard you
with admiring awe, Leo; although I, poor grovelling earth-worm that I
am, cannot climb to your sublime heights. And this is just why I am so
infatuated about you,--for if you were like me! should find you as
desperately tiresome as all the rest of the world,--and why I am
anxious about you, for with your prehistoric truth and honour you'll
hardly have much luck in this present world. Just now for example, you
are in a charming little scrape, and I am really anxious to know how
you will pull through it. You have sent in your resignation and have to
begin life with nothing, or next to nothing. Tell me frankly how much
money you have laid by, for I am convinced that you are an admirable
economist and have contrived to lay by something."

"No, I have laid by nothing, but I inherited from my mother about two
thousand thalers which I have never touched, and which will be amply
sufficient to support me until I have arranged my future existence."

"And you are going to diminish that pittance? Will you not at last be
reasonable, Leo, and see that you can give me no greater pleasure----"

"Not a word more, Paul! You know that you can never offend me except by
offering me money."

"I am dumb, but I cannot suppress the remark that you are a greater
egotist than I. What the deuce is the good of my money if the man whom
I love best in the world will never take a penny of it, and looks as if
he would bite me if I so mach as mention his doing so? But there, I am
dumb. I must take you as you are. You will live on your two thousand
thalers then until you have arranged your future existence,--what sort
of an existence? I am greatly mistaken if you contemplate acceding to
your amiable uncle's proposal."

"Never! the mere idea of marrying for money disgusts me!"

"I thought so. For my part, my sentiments are expressed in the saying,
'Wealth is no disgrace, and poverty no virtue;' but you would of course
refuse your cousin Hilda's hand, just because she happened to be
wealthy."

"No; if I loved her and was loved by her, I should, although I admit it
would be difficult and against the grain, try to forget that she was
rich; but I do not love her, and I never can love her!"

"You don't know her yet. To be sure, judging from her father, whose
letter is not exactly instinct in every line with delicacy of
sentiment, there is not very much to be expected of her; but she may,
nevertheless, be an extremely charming girl."

"And if she were,--if she were possessed of the beauty and amiability
of an angel,--still I could never love her!"

"In--deed, in--deed? You seem surprisingly secure in your knowledge of
yourself. Hm! I suspected as much. I remarked, you may remember, that
you were in a deuce of a scrape. You'll have, at all events, to
sacrifice some one of your principles, for I suppose you number filial
duty among them. Do you forget that your father threatens to disown you
if you sully his name by quill-driving or daubing canvas for a living,
and if you do not start to-morrow for the Tyrol to see your uncle? Take
one piece of advice from me, Leo: obey this last demand of your
father's. Go to the Tyrol and make your uncle a visit,--you bind
yourself to nothing by doing so. It cannot hurt you just to look at
your cousin Hilda--the name sounds really very pretty--besides, it is
best for you to be out of the way for the present of all the gossip
that there will be here. Nothing surely can be more beneficial to your
art than a sojourn among the glorious Alps. Be reasonable for once,
Leo. Time is everything to you now. In time your father, even though he
be as thick-skulled as yourself, must listen to reason, and see that a
Heydeck can work without disgrace if he has not money enough to live
upon."

Paul's advice was so reasonable that Leo could not but accept it.
Undesirable as nearer intercourse with his uncle and cousin must be,
judging from the letter which had produced a very unfavourable
impression, he could not but feel it his duty to conquer his aversion
to the journey which his father had enjoined upon him. Paul was right;
it was very desirable to gain time, for only with time was there any
chance of combating successfully the old soldier's prejudices. And so,
after a short pause of reflection, Leo declared that he would follow
his friend's advice and set out for the Tyrol the next morning, if
Delmar would first assure him that the duel between the old colonel and
Bertram should not take place.

"You may be certain of it this very evening," Delmar said, highly
delighted. "My slave is bound to me by such fetters that if I choose he
will ask your pardon on his knees!"

"That I do not desire."

"What you desire does not concern me at present, but that I fulfil my
promise and make this crazy duel impossible for your father, and that
shall be done immediately. Do me a favour in return, I pray. Take me
with you to the Tyrol to-morrow."

"You want to go to the Tyrol with me?"

"Yes, I do; it is horribly tiresome and stupid here in K----. I cannot
stand it any longer. I want to breathe Alpine air."

"But, Paul, we cannot possibly travel together. Remember I must husband
my means and travel third-class, and stop at second-rate inns."

"I will travel third-class with you; it will be a change, and much
cooler and pleasanter in summer."

"But the second-class hotels? Do you forget what you said only a little
while ago about a bad dinner?"

"For heaven's sake don't call me to account for all the nonsense I
talk! In short, I want to go with you. We will travel afoot, student
fashion, and sketch and amuse ourselves as we can. Of course you will
have to stay with your uncle at Castle Reifenstein, but there will
surely be a tolerable inn somewhere near, where I can take up my
quarters. I want to be at hand to see what becomes of you."

"Do you insist then upon making this sacrifice for me, Paul?"

"For the love of heaven don't grow sentimental again! I have no idea of
making any sacrifice for you. I am not thinking of you, but of myself.
I shall like the joke of it, of travelling afoot instead of _en
millionnaire_, I wish to study life in its various phases, with you for
my companion. On the whole, you see, you are a very entertaining
fellow, that is all. Pure selfishness,--nothing else, I assure you. So
now go home and pack your portmanteau, that we may start early
to-morrow, while I look for our mutual friend at Büchner's, where he is
sure to be at this time, and where I propose to rattle his chains in
his ears."


Bertram had at last attained the summit of his hopes. The lovely
heiress, Eva Schommer, was his betrothed; his dearest wish was
fulfilled, and yet he could not thoroughly enjoy his good fortune. He
listened most amiably to the congratulations of the astonished and
delighted Uncle Balthasar, and to those also of Aunt Minni, who was
less astonished and less delighted, or at all events refrained from any
distinct expression of astonishment and delight. He reciprocated
good-humoured old Balthasar's expressions of esteem and good will, but
yet he could not help feeling as if the betrothal in some way were not
genuine.

And yet Eva, her resolution once taken, accommodated herself to her
position with much more readiness than Bertram would, from what she had
said to him, have supposed possible. She received her uncle's and
aunt's congratulations pleasantly, and when Uncle Balthasar suggested
that she should address her lover familiarly by his Christian name, and
seal their betrothal with a kiss, she refused it is true, but not
unkindly and with a smile. She gave Bertram permission to make the
betrothal public after the usual fashion, by sending cards to all their
acquaintances, but insisted that all congratulations should be
addressed solely to him, positively refusing to receive the usual
congratulatory visits. The next day, if her kind uncle Balthasar was
agreed, she meant to leave K---- for several weeks or even months.

At this unexpected intelligence Uncle Balthasar opened his eyes in
astonishment. "Good gracious, Eva my dear," he said, "the thing is
impossible! You can't think of going alone, and how are we all to be
ready by to-morrow?"

But Eva declared that it would be very easy. She had long desired to
see Switzerland or the Tyrol, and very little luggage was necessary for
a journey to the mountains. Nanette and Wilhelm could easily get
everything ready in the course of the evening: she herself and Aline
might assist; and, if her kind uncle and aunt would only not say no,
nothing should hinder their departure by noon the next day in the
express train.

When did Uncle Balthasar ever say no to any request of his niece's? He
could no more do so than could Aunt Minni, who with a gentle sigh
resigned herself to her fate, and only asked meekly whither they were
going; a question which Eva could not answer. She begged her uncle to
decide where to go,--it would perhaps be best that he should consult
with Aline,--there was the whole evening in which to make their choice.

Eva never asked Bertram's advice as to their destination, and when,
with some hesitation, he asked whether it would not be possible to
postpone for one day their departure, in order that his aunt, Madame
von Sturmhaupt, might express to Eva the pleasure she would so surely
feel in her nephew's betrothal, he received from Eva so quiet and firm
a refusal by way of reply, that it was plain to see that he was not to
found upon the fact of his betrothal any right to make requests.
She declared positively that she would receive no congratulatory
visits,--not one. Her intention to leave K---- on the morrow was, since
Uncle Balthasar had given his consent to the plan, unalterable, and
would assuredly be put into execution.

This was very sharp and decided, but the effect of it was a little
softened when Eva kindly added that she hoped Herr von Bertram would
spend this last evening before her departure in her home-circle, and
that when he returned with the intelligence that his quarrel with Herr
von Heydeck was satisfactorily adjusted, he should learn whither they
intended to go.

This was a distinct dismissal and reminder that his promise was yet to
be fulfilled, and Bertram thus understood it.

He kissed the hand which Eva extended to him, did the same by Aunt
Minni, and took his departure, refusing Uncle Balthasar's offer to
accompany him, on the ground that only the absence of all formal
ceremony on the old man's part could make him really feel like a member
of the family.

But this was not his reason for desiring to leave the room alone; he
had a presentiment that he should find Nanette in the antechamber,
and he had good grounds for wishing to see her alone. He was not
deceived,--the first thing that met his eyes as the door of the
drawing-room closed behind him was the waiting-maid, who was busy very
near the door. She greeted him with a low courtesy; her face was
crimson, and she regarded him with a malicious smile as she whispered,
"I give you joy, Herr Lieutenant----"

"You have been listening!"

"Of course; what was I here for?" she replied, pertly.

"I am not blaming you, my dear; quite the contrary."

"Oh, indeed, I'm not going to listen for you. It is bad enough without
that to have brought me here to this proud Zantuppy. I hate her, I do!
And I'll not stand it long in this low place, let me tell you! 'Tis a
sin and a shame that I must look on while you betroth yourself to the
creature, and you asking me to help you, too!"

In her agitation Nanette forgot to whisper, as she had done when she
first addressed Bertram. She did not speak loudly, although
sufficiently so to cause Bertram fear lest she should be heard in the
drawing-room.

"Do be quiet; speak softly, my dear girl," he begged, seizing her hand.
"You know it is only out of love for you, and that I may be able to
provide more handsomely for you, that I am forced to make a wealthy
marriage. But we cannot talk here,--we may be discovered at any moment.
Come early to-morrow to my aunt's; I will be there. Keep your eyes
open, my dear child, for both our sakes. Farewell, my little darling,
till we meet."

He looked cautiously towards the door: it was tightly closed; he then
snatched one kiss from the extremely placable Nanette and was gone.

This meeting with Nanette did but increase his anxiety of mind. The tie
that bound him to Eva was as yet but weak and frail; until the
betrothal was publicly known it might easily be dissolved, which it
certainly would be if Eva's desire with regard to the quarrel with
Heydeck were not fulfilled. It was of the first importance that this
tie should be made firm and indissoluble, and to this end he must act
with energy and promptitude.

He decided upon a plan of action as soon as he left the villa, but he
did not proceed to its execution with any very great satisfaction, for
he was staking his whole future upon a single card. He had made an
appointment with Count Waldheim to meet him at the Casino, and thither
he betook himself. This interview with Waldheim was the first step in
the carrying out of his scheme; the first, and by no means the
easiest,--he dreaded it.

Waldheim was a gay young officer, but a man of stainless honour,
wherefore Bertram considered him a most important ally. He dreaded
greatly lest he should refuse him his support.

When he reached the Casino he found to his satisfaction that it was
nearly deserted. Count Waldheim sat solitary at a table in the large
dining-hall, a cup of coffee before him, reading a newspaper. He had
remained there solely to redeem his promise to Bertram. "You have
sorely tried my patience," he grumbled, when the man he had been
waiting for at last appeared. "I have been bored here for more than an
hour."

"You will forgive me I know, my dear Count, when you learn that the
hour has brought me the fulfilment of my dearest hopes. You are the
first to learn from me the intelligence of my betrothal to Fräulein Eva
Schommer!"

"Ah--I give you joy!"

The wish did not sound quite cordial, preceded as it was by a
long-drawn-out 'ah,' not at all flattering in emphasis; but Bertram
took no notice of this. He knew Waldheim's opinion of the connection,
and he refrained from saying anything to induce a further expression of
it.

"I am a fortunate man," he continued; "and to you, to your friendship,
I owe my good fortune. Everything has happened as I had anticipated it
would. After your speaking, according to your promise, to Balthasar,
Eva sent for me. I should never have dared to declare myself to her if
she had maintained her former cold reserve, but in this interview her
pride gave way,--her heart betrayed itself. Her agitation, her maidenly
terror, lent me courage. I confessed my love for her; she did not
reject it, and thus I may thank you for my present happiness."

"You do not owe it to me, but to your own skilful play," the Count
replied. "I only hope you will be as content in the end as you are at
present; that you will not find Herr von Heydeck's friend waiting for
you at your rooms."

"No fear of that; but indeed, to speak frankly, I am now extremely
sorry for my attack upon Heydeck. I wish I could recall it."

"What! when it has been the means of your betrothal?"

"Yes, in spite of that, for I cannot but feel that I have done very
wrong. I have attacked a man who possesses no means of defence. I
thought Heydeck a coward, and was content to insult him, but I have
learned better. He will not challenge me; he will bear my insult
unavenged; not from cowardice, but because his principles forbid his
fighting a duel, and he will sooner endure any disgrace than be false
to them."

"Impossible! you are dreaming!"

"No, I am sure of what I say,--sure. If you doubt it ask Heydeck's best
friend, Herr von Herwarth, who will confirm my words."

"Did Herr von Herwarth give you this extraordinary piece of
intelligence?"

"No; I learned it from another source quite as trustworthy. I am not at
liberty to say more with regard to it, but I am in a most embarrassing
position. I have mortally insulted a man whose principles forbid his
avenging the insult, which will consequently ruin his future career. He
will be forced to leave the service in disgrace, and he has no fortune.
In spite of his strange ideas Heydeck is an excellent officer. I cannot
reconcile it to my conscience that I have been the means of driving so
good an officer from the army. Advise me, my dear Count, what to do in
this case."

Count Waldheim listened with increasing surprise to Bertram's words. "I
advise you?" he replied. "I am utterly confused by the contradictory
statements you make. Heydeck is an excellent officer and no coward, and
yet his principles require him to prefer disgrace to duelling. This is
incredible--a contradiction in terms. And then your sudden regret, this
tender consideration for the man whom, saving your presence, you
wilfully and grossly insulted to serve your own purpose. I cannot
understand you nor advise you."

"I feared so, for unfortunately the whole matter is so strange that my
regret must seem incomprehensible. Who can advise me if you, who saw
the whole affair, cannot? I cannot be the ruin of this unfortunate man.
He is capable of putting a bullet through his brains in his despair,
and if by my fault he should do so I never should forgive myself. If
you will not and cannot advise me, I must follow the dictates of my
conscience. I must retract my offensive expressions to Heydeck in the
presence of witnesses and ask his pardon."

"This then is what you wished to lead up to by the extraordinary story
you have been telling me, Herr von Bertram," the Count said, with
undisguised contempt in voice and look. He arose and buckled the belt
of his sabre. "Do what you think best, or, as you are pleased to
express it, 'follow the dictates of your conscience,' but pray do not
require me or your other comrades to believe that Herr von Heydeck's
unerring aim with a pistol has no share in your magnanimous resolve!"

Casting a last contemptuous glance at Bertram, the Count was about to
leave him, but the dragoon detained him. "You must not leave me thus,
Count Waldheim," he said, "with a suspicion in your mind of my courage
and integrity. The disgraceful doubt which you have expressed gives me
a claim upon your honour to see that justice is done me. I now request
you to see Herr von Heydeck and learn from his own lips the
confirmation of what I told you. If he announces his intention of
calling me out for insulting him, I entirely resign all thought of
begging his pardon. I shall gladly accept his challenge, and rely upon
the fulfilment of your promise to act as my second. If, on the other
hand, he confirms what I told you, and will not send me a challenge
because his principles will not allow of his doing so, you will tell
him from me that I shall await him at Büchner's to retract my words in
the presence of witnesses. Only by fulfilling this my request, Count
Waldheim, can you atone for the shameful suspicion which you have
expressed of an old friend and comrade."

Bertram had his voice and countenance under perfect control, and was
moreover, as we have said, an excellent actor. His simulated
indignation would have deceived a much keener observer than honest
Count Waldheim, and it produced the effect he had intended. Waldheim
felt ashamed of his hasty judgment; he acknowledged that he had sinned
against friendship for a comrade, and, in his regret for having done
so, he consented to do as Bertram requested, which in any other case he
would hardly have done. He promised to find Heydeck, and either to
bring him to Büchner's or to return to Bertram with the intelligence
that he might expect a challenge.

With a pressure of the hand, which the Count returned but half
cordially, Bertram bade him farewell, and took a long and roundabout
way to Büchner's, where the momentous interview was to take place.

When he reached the restaurant most of the tables beneath the awning
were already occupied by the officers of the various regiments in
garrison at K----. Many of those present had been witnesses of the
morning's occurrence, and all were perfectly informed of what had taken
place. The affair had made a great stir among the corps of officers, as
Bertram could plainly see by the gloomy looks with which he was
regarded by his comrades, some of whom took evident pains to avoid
seeing him, that they might not be forced to return his salute.

His self-satisfied mood was somewhat impaired by the annoyance that the
evident avoidance of his comrades caused him. He would have liked to
turn away and leave the restaurant, but he had promised to wait for
Count Waldheim and Heydeck. He looked round to find a seat. If any
table had been quite unoccupied he would have seated himself at it; but
there was not one such to be found,--a few single seats were empty, and
towards one of these he made his way. It was at a corner table, and two
of the officers of his own regiment, and his personal acquaintances,
were already seated at it.

He approached, and, nodding with his usual easy familiarity, he asked,
without noticing the icy acknowledgment of his greeting,--

"Is this chair taken?"

"No," was the reply, "nor the table either; we are just going." And the
two men arose and with a brief salutation left the table, although
their coffee-cups were scarcely half emptied. That they left simply to
avoid Bertram's society was evident, since they stopped near another
table, and, entering into conversation with some acquaintances, ordered
a waiter to bring chairs. Thus they did not leave the place, but took
their seats at another table.

Bertram bit his lips in a rage, but he was powerless to resent the
silent contempt of his comrades. He could not demand satisfaction for
cold glances and slighting acknowledgments of his salute. He was
excessively uncomfortable among these men whom he had been wont to call
his friends, but who avoided him as they would not have done had they
been strangers. The minutes passed on leaden wings; he cast many an
expectant glance towards the promenade outside, but full half an hour
elapsed before Count Waldheim appeared--alone. The Count's humour was
apparently none of the best: his brow was dark. He came up to the table
at which Bertram was sitting, but did not take the chair which the
dragoon pushed forward for him. As he stood beside it he said,--

"I did not find Herr von Heydeck at home; his servant told me that he
had gone out just before, in plain clothes; whither he could not say,
nor did he know when his master would return. From there I went to Herr
von Herwarth, whom I found at home, and I asked him frankly if he knew
anything of Heydeck's intentions with regard to your affair."

"Well? He must have confirmed what I told you."

"He did and he did not. At first he seemed unwilling to speak out. He
believed Herr von Heydeck had not as yet made up his mind. He displayed
a certain hesitation, a reserve, which I only overcame by extreme
frankness. I asked him directly whether it were true that Herr von
Heydeck was opposed to duelling from principle, and he admitted that it
was so, but expressed the hope that in this case his friend would prove
false to his principles and comply with the law of honour. I thought
myself justified after this in telling him exactly what had passed
between us, and it was well that I did so, for Herr von Herwarth is a
man of honour, and quite agrees with me that this matter can be
honourably adjusted only by a duel. He promised to find Herr von
Heydeck, and to use all his influence with him to induce him to
repudiate his extraordinary principles, and only in case he should
prove unsuccessful is he to tell him that he will find you here,
prepared to make him full reparation. I hope I have acted according to
your wishes, Herr von Bertram."

This was not precisely the case, but Bertram dared not confess that the
insistance upon the duel was not at all according to his wishes, and he
thanked Waldheim warmly for his services.

While engaged in conversation with the Count, he had not noticed that
there had suddenly arisen an unwonted stir among the military men
assembled at Büchner's. All eyes were turned towards an aged officer,
who had just appeared beneath the awning. He was standing at the
entrance, leaning on a stout bamboo cane, scanning the assemblage; his
grave stern glance passed from table to table, apparently seeking some
one whom he could not readily distinguish among the numbers of officers
present.

"Gentlemen, does either of you know First Lieutenant von Bertram?" the
old man asked of two young infantry officers, who were seated at a
table playing dominoes.

Before either could reply, Paul Delmar, who had appeared beneath the
awning simultaneously with the old man, answered, "Do you wish to speak
to Herr von Bertram, colonel? Yonder he sits beneath the awning, but in
the farthest comer. Count Waldheim is standing beside him."

"My old eyes are not worth much," growled the colonel. "Sir, I thank
you. Your face is familiar to me, but just at present I cannot recall
your name; my memory leaves me in the lurch. 'Tis the curse of old age;
my senses fail me, and even my memory forsakes me."

"It is many years, colonel, since I had the honour of seeing you, and I
may well be changed since then. I went to school with your son, and as
his friend used to be continually at your house. My name is Paul
Delmar."

"Ah, little Paul, son of the wealthy banker. It is indeed long since I
saw you last. And you know Herr von Bertram?"

"I do, colonel."

"Then do me the favour to conduct me to him and introduce me. I have
something to say to the gentleman, and I know him but slightly, or
rather not at all. Will you oblige me?"

"Certainly, colonel; this way, if you please."

Delmar led the way, the colonel following slowly. Every step evidently
caused the old man pain, but he mastered it and walked on, leaning
heavily on his cane, and saluted respectfully on all sides by the
younger officers, who looked after him with unfeigned sympathy.

When he reached the table at which Bertram was sitting, Delmar said, by
way of introduction, "Herr Premier Lieutenant von Bertram, Colonel von
Heydeck."

Bertram sprang up and suddenly became very pale at sight of the old
officer, whose approach he had not noticed. A grim smile hovered upon
the old man's lips as he remarked the impression he produced; his tall,
slightly bent figure straightened itself proudly as he gazed scornfully
at the dragoon, whose glance could not meet the eyes so bent upon him.

"I have asked for an introduction, Herr von Bertram," said the colonel,
in a loud voice that was distinctly heard everywhere beneath the
awning, "that I might call you to account for a scoundrelly----"

"Stay, colonel! You must not go on!" Paul Delmar interrupted the old
man at this point.

"Sir, by what earthly right?" the colonel burst out, angrily.

"I appeal to your honour, colonel. I am firmly convinced that it is an
unalterable axiom of yours that no man of honour can fight with a
scoundrel whose word is worthless, and it is one of my axioms that no
man of honour has the right to quarrel with a scoundrel with whom he
cannot fight. Herr von Bertram is no opponent for you. You can no more
fight with Herr von Bertram than can any words spoken by him insult
your son; and, besides, there shall be not the smallest provocation for
your challenge, inasmuch as the gentleman will instantly declare before
all present that he recalls every offensive word addressed to your son
this morning, and that he humbly begs pardon for having uttered them."

Paul's words produced a truly magical effect. Bertram upon whom all
eyes were fixed, stood, with downcast looks, like a condemned criminal
incapable of any reply, the consciousness of guilt so manifest in his
countenance that even the unsuspicious Count Waldheim was disgusted
with his friend's cowardice, and stepped back leaving him standing
alone.

The colonel was thunderstruck. That a civilian should dare to treat an
officer thus in a public place transcended his power of belief; his
amazement deprived him of utterance. He looked from Bertram to Delmar.
What to think of it all he did not know. But one thing was perfectly
clear,--that Herr von Bertram must be a scoundrel, with whom no man of
honour could condescend to fight.

Delmar allowed several seconds to pass to give the old officer time to
collect himself, and then continued: "Let me beg, colonel, that you
will allow me to say several words to Herr von Bertram in private,
after which you shall receive from him any satisfaction you may desire.
Herr von Bertram, have the kindness to step into this empty room with
me. You cannot but desire that what I have to say should be said in
private. Go first, if you please."

Paul motioned towards the glass door of a room frequented by Büchner's
guests in winter or in rainy weather. Bertram entered it, and Delmar
followed him. They were quite alone in the large, empty room, and could
speak in low tones without being overheard, although a hundred eyes
were watching them through the wide folding-doors and open windows.

"You have heard what I require of you, Herr von Bertram," Delmar began
the short interview. "I advise you to comply immediately, or you will
force me to produce a certain worthless note, in which you promise to
pay upon your word of honour, and to prove that you have broken that
word by showing a certain check, bearing the signature of Count
Waldheim, which I should like to have him verify."

"What have I done, Delmar, to provoke you to treat a friend with such
cruelty?" Bertram asked, in despair.

"Do not profane the word _friend_," Delmar replied, sternly. "I never
honoured you with my friendship, as you well know. I never concealed my
contempt for you. I bought you with my money. It amused me for a while
to be introduced to certain exclusive aristocratic circles which were
closed to me in spite of my wealth. I made use of you for this purpose.
When you presented me everywhere as your dearest friend, you knew
perfectly well why you did so. I never said one word to you that could
justify you in calling me your friend. But of what use are these
explanations? They are entirely unnecessary between us. I ask now, are
you willing to make the humble--I repeat the word--humble apology which
I require, outside, beneath the awning? Decide quickly. I can give you
no more time."

"If I do so, will you promise me to show no one my note and the check?"

"I will promise you nothing, except that in the case of your refusing
to comply with my demand I will show both publicly."

"But by so doing you will destroy all chance of my ever paying you. You
will lose ten thousand thalers."

"Which you never will pay in any case while you live!" Delmar replied,
with a smile of contempt.

"Which I certainly will pay, and that shortly. I have been betrothed
to-day to Eva Schommer."

"Indeed? I congratulate you. I never had an exalted opinion of the
lady, but I should not have thought she would have chosen exactly such
a husband."

"You see now that I can pay my debt as soon as I am married to the
heiress, but if you ruin me----"

"You will be sent to jail as a forger, and will never refund the money
which I once foolishly lent you and which I considered lost long ago.
True, but that is a matter of entire indifference to me. I require you
to obey me! Make up your mind! Do you hesitate? Well then your fate is
decided!"

Delmar turned towards the door, but Bertram seized his hand, and cried
in a tone of entreaty, "Have pity upon me! Do not ruin me! I will do
what you ask,--only let me make the apology in a less humiliating
form!"

"Not a word shall be changed. I insist upon a humble apology!"

"I will make it, but let me add that my betrothed has requested me to
do so publicly."

Delmar laughed aloud. "A request as modest as it is extraordinary. For
the sake of its oddity I will grant it."

Bertram's face, as he returned beneath the awning, followed by Delmar,
was ashy pale, and there was a strange flitter in his eyes, but his
demeanour was calm and composed. He stepped up to Colonel von Heydeck,
who was awaiting his return with the utmost impatience.

"Colonel von Heydeck," he began in a low voice.

"Louder," said Delmar.

Bertram obeyed; he raised his voice so that it could be heard by most
of those present. "It is my duty as a man of honour, Colonel von
Heydeck, to atone for a wrong committed in my haste this morning, and
this is the more incumbent upon me, as I have been earnestly entreated
by my betrothed, Fräulein Eva Schommer, to do so."

A murmur was heard among the officers present. "Betrothed to the lovely
Eva Schommer! Impossible! Scandalous! Poor girl!" These and similar
expressions were uttered so loudly that for a moment they interrupted
what Bertram had to say, but when curiosity had got the better of
surprise, he continued: "This morning I grossly insulted your son in
this place; I herewith retract the offensive expressions I then made
use of, and publicly beg his forgiveness."

"Humbly!" Delmar interrupted him.

"And humbly beg your son's pardon," Bertram obediently repeated.

"Disgraceful! Infamous! Shameless! The fellow must leave the service!"
Such exclamations were heard on all sides, no longer muttered in low
tones but spoken aloud in disregard as to whether or not they were
overheard by Bertram. The officers retreated from about their late
comrade as from some plague-stricken wretch whose vicinity was
contagion, and Bertram, with Paul Delmar and the old colonel, was left
standing in the centre of a wide circle.

"Are you entirely satisfied, colonel?" Paul whispered to the old man.

"You were right, the fellow could insult neither my son nor myself,"
the colonel replied, not deigning another glance at the lieutenant.
"Come, my young friend, give me your arm, I need some support, and I
may well look to you for it, for you have just done me a most important
service. I should like to thank you, but not here with these hundred
eyes upon us. Let us go outside and walk a while beneath the lindens."

And leaning on Delmar's arm, the colonel hobbled towards the entrance,
the young officers saluting him respectfully as they made way for him
to pass.

Thus Bertram was left alone, shunned by every officer and stared at by
every civilian present. He felt that his fate was sealed, but he would
nevertheless make one more struggle against it. His last hope was in
Count Waldheim, who was standing at a little distance in conversation
with two other dragoons. Bertram approached him, and the Count did not
retreat, but with a haughty air awaited the address of his former
friend.

This was a good sign. He was not too angry then to be appeased. Bertram
relied upon his smooth words, which had so often imposed upon the
Count's guileless good nature,--he summoned all his impudence to his
aid, and succeeded in assuming an air of entire nonchalance as he said,
turning to Waldheim, "That was a hard duty to fulfil. Come, my dear
Count, let us go to Herr von Herwarth that he may confirm what I know
to be true. The fulfilment of my intention of which you were informed
and of which you approved, has been hastened by the appearance of the
old colonel, for my conscience would never have allowed me to quarrel
with one so aged and so honourable. I should----"

"I beg you, sir, to spare me any further remarks," Waldheim said,
interrupting the flow of Bertram's speech; "I forbid you ever to
address me again. I awaited your approach solely for the purpose of
saying this to you. I should else have followed the example of my
comrades and turned my back upon you with contempt."

"Count Waldheim, you shall answer to me for this. I demand
satisfaction----"

"You have lost all right this day to demand satisfaction of any
gentleman; the only weapon I should use upon you is a horse-whip."

The Count spoke so loud that his words were heard by all the
by-standers. "Bravo!" they exclaimed, while Bertram, trembling with
rage, half drew, his sabre from its sheath. His brother officers,
however, closed in a group around Count Waldheim, as if to shield him
from attack.

Bertram stood alone. He might have had the courage to reply to
Waldheim's mortal insult by a cut with his sabre; but he could not
brave such numbers of antagonists. With an oath, he dashed the sabre
back into its scabbard, cast a glance of deadly hatred about him, and
strode away. Behind him he heard scornful laughter and loud expressions
of contempt, but he did not venture to heed them or to look back.



                             CHAPTER  VII.


In the heart of the Tyrol, where the Rothwalderbach and Schwarzenbach
unite to form the waters of the Tausenser Aar, lies the village of
Tausens; it is the centre of the most retired portion of the Tyrolean
highlands.

In former years, before there was any railway near, scarcely a single
stranger ever visited Tausens, although the village is only about four
leagues distant from the nearest town, which is reached by a very good
high-road. Since this town, however, has been provided with a railway
station the village is somewhat more frequented, although even now its
visitors are still confined to a few stout Alpine explorers, who pass
through Tausens to wander up the Schwarzenbach valley and find a path
over the lofty Schiechjoch to the Zillerthal, or who seek the Tauern
mountain group by the way of the Rothwald valley.

The inhabitants of the valleys look after such pedestrians with
a smile,--they cannot imagine what these fellows, with their long
mountain-staffs and ice-picks, their knapsacks on their backs, and
their hob-nailed shoes, according so ill with their city costume, can
want among the mountains. That these people from the city should
undertake such difficult and wearisome expeditions for pleasure, that
they should at peril of their lives ascend the most inaccessible
mountain-peaks to find a passage to a place which they could otherwise
reach much more quickly and easily, seems to these honest countryfolk
so silly that they have but one explanation for it, doubtless a
harmless insanity; and they call these restless, indefatigable climbers
of glaciers and snow-peaks, Bergfaxes (mountain fools). They are very
fond of the Bergfaxes nevertheless, for they always need guides and
carriers for their mountain expeditions, and are willing enough to pay
their guilders for service rendered, thus bringing some cash at least
into the retired valleys.

With the exception of the Bergfaxes, who sometimes take up their abode
in Tausens for a few days to make the ascent of the Drei Maidelspitz or
the Weisshorn from the Schwarzbachthal, or of the Spitzhorn from the
Rothwalden, and who finally depart for the Zillerthal over the
Schiechjoch, scarcely a traveller ever visits Tausens, although its
magnificent situation makes it well worthy of a sojourn.

The view from the platform in front of the inn, which is also the
post-office, is magnificent, and enchantingly lovely. Towards the south
the eye revels for leagues in the broad green fertile valley of the
Tausenser Aar, lying between two fir-clad mountain-ranges, and closed
in in the far distance by the jagged and rocky peaks of the Dolomites.
To the northeast lie the beautiful forests of the Rothwald, with the
snowy pile of the Spitzhorn for a background, and to the northwest the
two glorious glaciers of the Maidelspitz and the Weisshorn.

In this wondrously lovely country the ancient castle of Reifenstein is
a most striking object, commanding as it does the entire panorama of
mountain, river, and valley. The glorious old pile is still in
tolerable repair,--a careful hand has stayed the ravages of time, which
have buried in ruins so many of its contemporaries. Some of the old
walls are crumbling, it is true, but the main structure is in thorough
repair, and two huge round towers are propped from decay by a modern
substructure. Although in the interior these towers are so ruinous that
their summits are inaccessible, their massive masonry defies the
tempests that rage against them from the south and northeast, and will
still for coming centuries bear witness to the despotic sway once
exercised over the three valleys by the lords of Reifenstein.

The reason why, in spite of the great beauty of the view from Tausens,
to which Castle Reifenstein adds its charm, so few travellers in
comparison visit the village, is partly that such comfort can hardly be
expected here as is to be found in the more frequented parts of the
Tyrol, and partly that the passage of the Tausenser Aar valley is
rather tedious, and tourists prefer to reach the chief points of
interest among the mountains by railway. All the more welcome are the
few who visit Tausens, all the more cordially are they received by mine
host the postmaster.

It was always a holiday for Hansel, as he was called by his friends in
spite or his dignified position as postmaster, when a traveller came to
Tausens; not because he reckoned upon the gain it would bring him,--he
cared little for that, for the couple or so of guilders were of but
small account to him. His inn was frequented sufficiently without the
tourists; its comfortable room was never empty of guests, for the
peasants from all the three valleys came by choice to the Post at
Tausens, where the best wine was to be had for miles around. Their
marriages and their burials were celebrated at the Post. To the Post
came every evening, in winter as in summer, the gentlemen of the
place,--the district judge, his associate, the collector, and the
forester. These constant guests were far more profitable to the
postmaster than any traveller could be, and besides he possessed many
an acre of meadow and pasture-land, a good strip of forest, and some
beautiful alms.[1] He was accounted a wealthy man in all the country
round, but his pride was hurt that so few strangers came to Tausens,
while in the Zillerthal and in the Pusterthal the inns were filled to
overflowing with tourists during the months of July and August. This
vexed the worthy Hansel; he had so often heard the judge and the other
gentlemen in his best parlour say that the natural beauty of Tausens
made it well worthy to attract strangers, and hence the small number of
tourists that came his way seemed to him like an unmerited neglect of
his native place. The idea that he could conduce to render the village
more attractive never occurred to him. He would have indignantly
rejected any suggestion that he should modify or change the ancient
customs of his inn for any stranger in the world.

He was standing at his inn-door on a certain beautiful day in July very
much out of sorts. The day before he had been in Niederdorf, where he
had found the inns so crowded that not another traveller could be
received there, and a very grand gentleman had been forced to sleep in
a hayloft, because there was no bed to be had. And he had heard that
the inns at Sandro, Schleuderbach, and Cortina were just as full, not
to mention Brunneck, where for a week every little farm-house had been
filled with tourists.

The whole valley of the Puster was filled with visitors, and not a
single one, not even a Bergfax, had come to Tausens! Thoroughly vexed.
Hansel blew the smoke from his pipe in short angry puffs; he swept the
landscape far and wide with his glance, but it was deserted everywhere,
not a traveller was to be seen.

He turned away in disgust, and was about to enter the house, when
suddenly the frown cleared away from his brow. He had accidentally
overlooked the Schwarzenbach valley, thence, where he had least
expected them, were coming the desired guests; his sharp eye recognized
them in the distance. From his point of view he could see but a short
stretch of the valley-road which followed the many windings of the
rushing, gurgling Schwarzenbach, but walking along this very stretch he
discovered three city-clad gentlemen, followed by two peasants. The
gentlemen carried long alpenstocks, and were walking briskly down the
valley towards the village,--the peasants were loaded with portmanteaus
and plaids.

From the point which the travellers had reached they had a glorious
view of the valley of the Tausenser Aar and of the village. They
paused, and one produced a glass and looked through it. For a while
they stood drinking in the beauty around them, and then they strode
onwards, vanishing in the Lerchenwald, through which the road ran.

But Hansel had seen enough; he rubbed his hands gleefully, and called
loudly into the house, "Nannerl! Nannerl!"

The inn-maid, a fresh, buxom lass, came running at his call. From the
tone of his voice she judged that strangers were to be received, and
she gave her smooth hair a stroke and twitched down her blue apron as
she ran. When however she found no one but Hansel himself, she said,
peevishly, "Here I am. What are you shouting for? There's no one here!"

"But they're coming,--three Bergfaxes on the way from
Schwarzenbach,--they'll be here in a quarter of an hour!"

And true enough, they did come in a quarter of an hour, the three
Bergfaxes,--three broad-shouldered young men, whose city clothes,
terribly dusty although it was, showed that they were gentlemen of good
position.

Hansel called out a lusty "God greet ye!" as they appeared, and offered
his hand heartily to each in turn in sign of welcome. The one with a
black beard shook it with great cordiality, and regarded the postmaster
with a friendly smile. "Hail, beloved son of the Alps!" he said, with
mock pathos. "Receive us weary wanderers beneath your hospitable roof;
strengthen our famished and thirsty frames with food and drink. By Jove
the eternal, I am so rejoiced to get out of that dark wood and to see
your good, stupid face, that I could kiss it but for the stifling
tobacco-smoke."

"Do hush your nonsense, Paul!" one of his companions entreated him.

But the one addressed as Paul exclaimed, "Who dares talk of nonsense
when I give vent to my pent-up emotion in a poetic greeting? Be not
annoyed, oh worthy son of the Alps, by the words of this prosaic
person,--he cannot help it,--there is no poetry in his soul. And would
you earn from me a gratitude that shall endure till time is no more,
bring us wine,--a great deal of wine,--good wine,--the best in your
cellar!"

Hansel understood very little of this address, the northern German
dialect was unfamiliar to his ears; but he comprehended distinctly that
the black-bearded stranger was a little crazy, and very thirsty, as was
to be expected of Bergfaxes.

"A bottle of the best red," he called out to Nannerl, while he relieved
the three strangers of their alpenstocks and conducted them into the
spacious best room.

Here the black-bearded stranger looked about him with a sharp
scrutinizing glance. "Bravo!" he cried. "I like this. Here let us pitch
our tents! Everything clean and shining! Not a speck of dust on the
window-panes, nor a spot upon the table. If the meat and drink are good
one might stay here for a while very contentedly. What think you,
Herwarth?"

"I think," replied the man addressed, "that I shall surely stay some
time here, even although the meat and drink are not all that could be
desired."

"You see, Leo, of what sacrifices a true friend to whom egotism is
unknown is capable. Noble Knight von Herwarth, I bow myself in the dust
before you; it is truly great thus to remain at hand at the service of
your friend, resigning yourself to devour daily the toughest beef that
the Tyrolean cow can afford. You are sublime in your self-renunciation.
You have plunged with genuine heroism into all the perils that await
the respectable northern German from Tyrolean cooking, and you even eat
Leo's portion in addition to your own, lest the poor fellow should
overload his stomach, which, sunk in melancholy as he is at present,
might be injurious for him. Your efforts are Titanic. I daily bless the
lucky star (I mean the golden one at Innspruck) which brought us
together. I bless it in spite of the gnats there which kept me awake
all night."

"Considering that he did not sleep, poor Delmar snored very loudly.
What do you think, Leo?"

"I thought he did very well----"

"Very well; that is not the right word," Herwarth cried. "Delmar snored
wonderfully. There is no discord, from the thunderous groan of a heavy
wagon to the shrill creaking of a rusty lock, that he did not produce.
He is a master of the art. I snore pretty well after a commonplace
fashion, but I bow before you, Delmar."

"'Tis a base calumny. I never snore; you heard yourself in your dreams.
I could not sleep for the gnats, and for admiration of the heroism with
which you have followed your friend into exile. I admire you, and I
long to resemble you, but unfortunately I am made of too coarse a
material. I cannot waft myself aloft to the empyreal heights of your
magnanimity. Now you are determined to remain in this inn even if the
cooking is bad!"

"Are you not going to stay here too?"

"I shall probably stay, not for Leo's sake, but because I like it. I am
determined, in the lack of all other suitable occupation, to devote
myself in future to novel-writing. I can certainly emulate in that line
the many crazy women and hungry literati who fill our magazines with
their intellectual abortions. Leo is to be the hero of my first
romance."

"How flattering! Much obliged, I am sure."

"Not at all, not at all! A hero of romance must always be very
high-toned, very exaggerated, and a little unsound in mind. You see how
well it all fits. An unhappy love is desirable, but not indispensable.
Also we must have a faithful friend. Here are two. Also a romantic
situation. We have it. Leo ought to marry the daughter of a wealthy old
uncle, but he hates the lovely Hilda, and is consumed by a secret
passion for a little milliner's apprentice. Here we have the unhappy
love. He is in deep despair, when his redeeming angel appears in the
person of his faithful friend Kuno von Herwarth. Whilst Leo is
suffering all the pangs of his unhappy love, and working away in the
castle upon the mountains, Kuno, in a noble spirit of self-sacrifice,
has been eating veal three times a day at the 'Post' in Tausens and
drinking sour Tyrolean wine. He rushes to the castle to rescue his
friend. He sees Hilda. He loves her; she loves him. He threatens to
murder the wealthy old uncle if he does not release his friend. A
terrible scene ensues. But he does not murder him: he overcomes him by
his amiable conduct. Final tableau: the old uncle blessing Hilda and
Kuno, while friend No. 2 joins the hands of Leo and his little
milliner. Universal emotion and general content. End.

"There you have a romance as poetic as it is thrilling, especially if a
few episodes are sprinkled about here and there, such as, for example,
a small murder in the torture-chamber of Castle Reifenstein, and a
combat with foils between Hilda and the little milliner, who has
secretly followed her Leo and has gone mad with jealousy. Of course
Kuno separates the combatants. What a scene that will make! I tell you
the romance will produce a sensation. Now I am going to stay here to
study up for this novel; not upon Leo's account. I yield the privilege
of self-sacrifice to you, oh noble Knight von Herwarth, and cleave to
my long-tried selfishness."

Leo and Kuno laughed, but were spared the necessity of a reply to
Paul's long exordium by the entrance of the pretty maid-servant with
the wine. "Will the gentlemen have anything to eat?" she asked.

"Indeed they will, Maidele" (Tyrolean for Marie); "they are as hungry
as wolves," Delmar replied.

"Maidele?" the girl asked, in surprise. "And suppose I am not Maidele?"

"Why, then, you must be Nannerl?"

"Yes, I am Nannerl; but how could the gentleman know my name?"

"A little bird whispered it to me on the Schiechpass, of course; how
else should I have known it? But never trouble your head about that, my
pretty Nannerl, but tell us what you can give us to eat."

"Veal steaks, veal cutlets, veal chops, roast veal, and stewed veal."

"For heaven's sake stop! For one whole week I have heard, morning,
noon, and night, nothing but that fearful word _veal_, nothing but
veal. I cannot understand how there can be an ox or a cow in the Tyrol.
Ah, my poor Herwarth, my prophecy is about to be fulfilled: 'veal three
times a day.' If there is a feeling heart in your bosom, pretty
Nannerl, try to save me from veal for to-day at least."

Nannerl would have been very glad to do so, for she was much pleased
with the stranger gentleman, but she could not, for, as she now
explained, there was no beef to-day, and the chickens were all too
young to kill. By night she could get a pair of larger ones from the
castle, and the next day they could have plenty of beef; but for dinner
to-day they must have veal, since the fisherman had happened to bring
no trout; but Nannerl promised to give the gentlemen an excellent soup
and capital fritters, and thus Paul's comical despair was allayed, the
very good wine having already produced a soothing effect.

"You confuse these people with your nonsense, Paul," Leo said, when
Nannerl had left the room.

"Not a bit of it; I shall get on with these worthy souls excellently
well; they think me harmlessly insane, and they like it. Our noble
Knight von Herwarth thinks the same of me, but I shall convince him
that I can be very serious, and that immediately. We must now plan our
campaign, for after the soup is on the table I refuse to open my mouth
except to eat."

"What have you in your head now?"

"I am composing the introduction to my romance. After a week of
wandering, after climbing the terrible Schiechpass, over rocks and
glaciers, we are at last arrived in Tausens. We find ourselves at the
foot of the rock that bears upon its summit the enchanted castle
Reifenstein. High above us sits enthroned the old monster Uncle Heydeck
and the wicked fairy Hilda, who intends to ensnare our Leo in her
golden enchanted net; but we two, the Knight von Herwarth and the
simple squire Delmar, must rescue our friend, our first duty being to
learn how the land lies, so to speak. At present we know nothing of the
old monster and the wicked fairy Hilda, for the little told us in the
famous letter from Uncle Heydeck has, since it comes from himself, no
claim to be believed. Before we can do anything we must know more of
Uncle Heydeck: what he is thought of here, how he lives, what he does.
We must know further what kind of a person is the blue-eyed Hilda who
is to ensnare our Leo. A blue-eyed Hilda may be either pretty or
confoundedly ugly, a good-natured fool or a dragon. The honest
postmaster, mine host of this hospitable house, will doubtless tell us
all we wish to know upon these points. And here I am ready to sacrifice
myself to friendship. I will inhale the highly unfragrant smoke of the
postmaster's pipe, I will treat the worthy man with the loftiest
courtesy, and in spite of his shooting-jacket, short stockings, and
bare knees, always entitle him Herr Postmaster, that I may learn what
he has to tell. I will drink with him, lead him on to be confidential,
and he shall reveal all that he knows of Uncle Heydeck and the
blue-eyed Hilda. Thus we shall become familiar with the people. We will
investigate the country when, being strengthened by our dinner, we
conduct our friend Leo to the gate of the enchanted castle, where of
course we must separate. He will take up his abode within its walls,
while we, the Knight Kuno and myself, will remain here in Tausens ready
to hasten to his aid so soon as he needs us. He will daily visit us
here, and if possible present us to the old monster and the blue-eyed
Hilda, that we may in turn visit him at the castle. This is a brief
sketch of my plan of our campaign, the details must be left to the
future. If any one has anything to say in objection let him speak now,
or for ever after hold his peace. You first, Kuno, my noble knight;
what do you think of my plan?"

"I do not see what else we can do."

"And you, Leo?"

"I agree in everything but the last part. I hope my uncle will not
suffer my friends to remain down here in the inn. He will certainly
invite you to stay at the castle."

"Don't reckon upon that too surely; I doubt very much whether he
possesses the virtue of hospitality or indeed any virtue at all. Even
should he do so, I shall not accept his invitation. I wish to be
entirely free and unfettered, and am determined to live on veal sooner
than stay at the castle. What do you think about it, Herwarth?"

"I agree with you. We will stay here at the Post and engage rooms, that
Leo may be free to stay with us when we make excursions together among
the mountains."

"Agreed; the rooms are a decided improvement upon my plan. Then it is
all settled, and 'tis fortunate, for here comes the soup."

While the three strangers had been talking together in the inn parlour
the postmaster had been having a gossip with the two peasants from the
Zillerthal who had been their guides across the Schiechjoch. It was
just such a gossip as he enjoyed.

The men, who were in the habit of seeing many strangers and of
continually acting as guides across the glaciers and in difficult
ascents, maintained that of all the Bergfaxes they had ever seen the
gentleman with the black beard and the sallow face was the biggest
fool. They had been with him and his companions four days, and he had
some fresh nonsense for every hour in the day. But he had _nous_ enough
for all that, and he was always first in all the steepest paths. He
didn't care where they walked: ice or rocks were all the same to him;
he was never dizzy, and never tired either. Day before yesterday, when
they went up the Drei Maidelspitz, they had had such a snow-storm that
the guides themselves had been almost frozen, but neither of the three
gentlemen had uttered a word of complaint, and the black-bearded one
had laughed and sung and thought it all right, and the whole expedition
a capital joke.

He was teasing the others all the time, especially the youngest, whom
he called 'Knight;' but he didn't mind it, he only laughed, and all
three were the best possible friends. The youngest was a merry
gentleman and joked a good deal, but he was not such a fool as the
black-beard. The third gentleman, whom they called Leo, was the most
sensible. When he was walking alone he often looked very grave, and
even sad, but then Delmar would join him and talk such crazy nonsense
that he had to laugh.

All three were first-rate people, but they liked Delmar best; he saw to
all the money matters, and was generous as a prince. He was always
deceiving the others, and in a very odd way, very different from the
usual one; when for example he paid three guilders he would pretend
that he had only paid one, and would go on declaring that never in his
life had he known travelling so cheap as it was in the Tyrol.

Jackel, the eldest of the guides, had settled with Delmar what he
should pay them. He told how he had asked for himself and for Seppel
four guilders a day; how Herr Delmar had fallen into a rage and
declared that two guilders a day was extortion. The two other gentlemen
had reasoned with him, but he had insisted that he was a poor
millionaire who could not afford to throw his money away, and that
nothing should induce him to pay more than two guilders a day. Jackel
had then consulted with Seppel to see whether they should go for two
guilders a day, and Herr Delmar had interfered and shouted and stormed
and insisted that they should go for two guilders a day whether they
wanted to or no, and then he thrust a twenty-guilder note into Jackel's
hand and whispered to him to divide it with Seppel, but to say nothing
about it to the two other gentlemen but consent to go for two guilders
a day, and he would give them something besides. And then he went on
screaming and raging as if he were crazy. And when Jackel said he would
go for the two guilders, then Herr Delmar boasted to the others that he
knew how to manage people so as to travel cheaply, and how would the
others get along without him?

And so he had gone on all the four days. He must have as mach money as
the king. He was a great fool; but he had _nous_ enough, and was so
kind no one could help liking him.

The postmaster listened to all this with the greatest interest.
Especially delighted was he when he heard that the three gentlemen had
talked together of staying a long time in Tausens. He instantly called
to Nannerl, and told her to prepare the best room in the house,--the
large corner room, with the view of the castle and the Weisshorn,--and
to make up three beds in it. Such guests were rare in Tausens, and
Hansel determined that they should be made as comfortable as possible.

The Zillerthalers' account had made him very curious to see more of his
odd guests, and especially of Herr Delmar. He was a little afraid of
him, but he determined nevertheless to go to the inn parlour and have a
gossip with the strangers.

He went at the right time. Delmar had just eaten his last mouthful and
was about to light a cigar. The others had also finished their dinner,
and that they had enjoyed it the empty dishes bore witness. The wine
too, as Hansel saw with satisfaction, had been duly appreciated: the
bottle was empty.

Herr Delmar--Hansel knew him at once by his black beard and sallow
face--nodded kindly, and pushing another chair up to the table, said,
"Sit down, Herr Postmaster. We want to spend some time with you here in
Tausens, and would like to hear something about the place. But it's ill
talking with dry lips. Let us have another bottle of wine; and I hope
you will take a glass with us."

Hansel opened his eyes. Here was Herr Delmar talking very sensibly, and
indeed courteously. "Herr Postmaster!" The title was all the dearer to
the worthy man since he heard it so seldom. Friends and acquaintances
always called him Hansel; the men and maids, as well as the peasants,
called him 'Landlord;' but he never, or almost never, was addressed as
'Postmaster,' although he had as good a right to the title as the
postmaster at Bozen. Whoever called him thus won his heart immediately,
and Herr Delmar had taken it by storm.

It was not often that Hansel served the guests himself. He left that to
Nannerl: it was her duty. But to-day he made an exception. He took the
bottle from the table, and himself descended to the cellar, where he
filled it with his very best. His round face beamed as he brought it to
his guests; and when Paul again invited him to sit down and take a
glass, he took his place at the table very proud of the honour.

Hansel was in the best of humours; he was ready to do anything in the
world for these guests,--a mood of which Delmar was not slow to take
advantage. He understood how, by skilful questioning and a remark
thrown out now and then, to draw out the postmaster who was fond of
talking, in the most thorough manner.

He began by asking about the various points of interest in the
surrounding country; about the way to the famous Tausenser waterfalls;
about the names and the height of the mountain-peaks that could be seen
from the windows; thence he led the conversation to Castle Reifenstein,
and of course to its possessor, Herr von Heydeck, and his daughter
Hilda; and when it had arrived at this point all went swimmingly, for
this was a theme upon which the worthy Hansel, who had no idea that he
was being systematically pumped, could talk by the hour together.

With ready garrulity and in the broadest Tyrolean patois, which had
frequently to be explained by him to his North-German questioner, he
answered all questions put to him. The Herr who lived in the castle had
been for many years an object of curiosity, of admiration, and of
superstitious fear to all the country-people about, and to Hansel
himself no less than to the rest. They whispered many a queer thing
about him and his castle among the peasants in the common room of the
inn; and there were terrible ghost-stories told of the old castle.
Everything--the whispers and the stories--was faithfully detailed by
Hansel. He was in his element, and Delmar's skilful questions and
repeated glasses of wine combined to keep him there.

The worthy postmaster's story was no connected narrative, and he often
diverged to expatiate upon other themes; but Delmar always managed to
bring him back to Castle Reifenstein and Herr von Heydeck, so that the
breaks in his account were gradually filled up and the strangers had at
last a distinct picture of the life and character of Herr von Heydeck.
Only the picture, it is true, which existed in the fantastic brains of
Hansel and the Tausens peasantry, and which perhaps resembled but
little the original. Truth and fiction, fact, and fable begotten of
superstition, were mingled in the postmaster's account in a wonderful
mosaic, as was plain to be seen; but nevertheless it possessed the
greatest interest for Leo and his friends.

Many many years before, as Hansel related, the old castle had belonged
to a Count Menotti, who had leased it to a peasant, for the Count never
came to Tausens himself. He lived at Riva on the Lake of Garda, and
cared nothing for his Tyrolean estate except to see that the rent was
paid punctually; of course his tenant had no interest in preserving the
huge pile in good order. Large portions of the gigantic walls fell down
from the rocks into the valley below, and one of the three towers which
Hansel could remember, as a boy, still standing, crumbled to ruins; but
the main building where the tenant lived, and in which he had his barns
granaries and cattle-stalls, was still standing. Its massive masonry
had defied decay.

Although there were valuable forests meadows and pasturelands belonging
to the castle, besides some fertile cultivated fields, the tenant paid
only a small rent; and very naturally, for the Count could hardly have
found another tenant.

In fine all was not right at the castle; strange things happened there
and stranger sights were seen. It was haunted! There were very few old
peasants in Tausens who had not, at some time, had a scare 'up there.'
From the ruined part could often be heard, far down in the valley,
shrieks and groans and wild laughter.

Even by day few of those who lived in the valley willingly went near
the dreadful old pile, and by night no one could be induced to go
there. Old Stoffel, the tenant, could not persuade either man or maid
to sleep there, although he offered them the highest wages and assured
them that the ghost would do no good Christian any harm. No one would
believe him; and so he and his three sons and his two daughters had
to live by themselves in the haunted castle. He had to pay high for
day-labourers. In the brightest sunshine no one liked to enter the
castle, and the bravest fellow would not have taken any money to go
inside either of the great round towers.

Old Stoffel was afraid of these towers himself. Not of the ghosts, he
said with a laugh, but of the stones that might fall from their
crumbling walls. Still the people in Tausens knew better; they did not
believe him; they were sure he had been frightened by the ghost there,
and would not confess it for fear of getting no men to work for him.

Old Stoffel was a wild daring fellow who feared neither God nor the
devil. Indeed, many people thought he had made a bargain with the Evil
One. He never went to church, but frequented the tavern, where he drank
up all his gains. He made his children work for him: he never did
anything himself, and although he was a very old man, he spent his time
in going from tavern to tavern until he died. One morning he was found
dead on the road from Tausens to the castle,--his corpse was perfectly
blue.

The postmaster remembered well that Dr. Putzer said that the old man
had had a stroke, but no one in Tausens believed it, for the doctor was
as great a blasphemer and tippler and as bad a Christian then as he is
at present. Stoffel's time was up, and the devil had wrung his neck,
which was why his corpse was blue,--every Christian knew that.

After the old man's death the Count could find no tenant for the
castle, for no one could be found to pay rent for it. Stoffel's sons,
although they could work, had not sense enough to know how to manage,
and the daughters were not much better. They stayed all together at the
castle, however, although Count Menotti never got much rent out of
them. He tried to sell the estate, and offered it for almost a nominal
price, but who wanted to buy a haunted old nest on a misty mountain in
the Tyrol?

A couple of years had passed, when one day, how long since the
postmaster could not exactly say, but nearly thirty years he should
think, a grand gentleman with his beautiful wife had driven to Tausens.
They stopped at the old Oberwieser's, the postmaster's father's,--the
inn had not then been named the Post. The stranger was Herr von
Heydeck, who had bought the castle of Count Menotti and had come to
inspect it.

Hansel was then a young fellow about eighteen years old, and he had
been bidden by his father to show the strangers up to the castle. He
did not like to do it, but there was no joking with the old Oberwieser,
and so he obeyed.

On the way he told Herr von Heydeck and the handsome lady-wife about
the ghosts in the castle, and how the devil had wrung old Stoffel's
neck when his time was up, and they both laughed,--the lady laughed
most. She often paused on the way up and looked around. She thought the
country lovely, and when they had reached the summit of the rocks and
saw the view from the balcony of the main building of the castle, she
was enchanted. The whole castle must be repaired and newly furnished,
she said, and then it would be a delightful place to invite one's
friends to in summer-time.

In a few days the old place was turned inside out; an architect arrived
with numbers of workmen, and they all went to work. They began
rebuilding in the middle of May, and by the middle of July everything
was finished, and the whole castle splendidly furnished ready for the
master and mistress, who were not slow in making their appearance, with
quantities of servants and numerous guests, mostly officers. There were
but a couple of ladies among them.

And now began such a life in the castle as no one in Tausens had ever
seen before; no emperor and empress could have lived more splendidly.
Every evening almost all the windows in the old pile blazed with light,
and down from the rocks came floating the sounds of revelry and wild
dance-music. In the old baronial hall there was singing and playing and
dancing and feasting and carousing until deep into the night.

In the mean time nothing was heard of the ghost,--the devil was
probably highly content with the goings on, for they were surely far
from correct. Why the mistress and the couple of ladies went about in
the evenings with their shoulders all bare and never minded the men,
but danced and jested with them.

The mistress outdid them all: she was the gayest, and was always
friendly and kind to her guests, and to the servants, and even to the
country-people, to every one except to her husband; he must have felt
very uncomfortable in the splendid castle, and he went alone among the
mountains as often as he could.

Madame, too, often made excursions with her guests, to the waterfalls
in the Rothwald valley, to the lake on the Frauenalm, and to other
beautiful places, but she never went with her husband. She was a
capital mountain-climber, but she was always accompanied by one of the
other gentlemen, most often of all by Count Menotti, a younger brother
of the former possessor of the castle. The Count and madame were always
together, so that even the villagers talked about it. Whether they were
right in declaring that there was sinful intercourse between the Count
and the lady the postmaster did not know: he had never seen anything
wrong, but there was plenty of malicious gossip about them, when one
day there came to Tausens a travelling merchant, who said he had known
madame before her marriage to Herr von Heydeck.

In a gossip over a can of wine he told of how the Count, although a
married man, had been madame's lover for a long time, and that she had
married Herr von Heydeck because it was the only way in which to avoid
public scandal. And certainly all was not right between madame and the
Count and Herr von Heydeck, for the latter's face would grow gloomier
than ever when he chanced on his walks to meet his wife with Count
Menotti. He avoided them as far as he could; accompanied by a guide
only, he explored the loneliest parts of the country, and while madame
was making merry with her guests he was collecting all kinds of herbs
butterflies ugly worms, and even venomous snakes and vipers, which he
would bring home to a room he had had arranged for himself in the
castle.

This wild life lasted for four weeks, and then every one
departed,--leaving however a theme for gossip in Tausens during the
whole ensuing winter. Nothing else was talked of in the inn parlour
among the gentlemen, or in the common room among the peasants. The
postmaster, a young fellow at the time, had to serve the gentlemen who
came in the evening to drink their wine at the inn, and he heard all
they had to say among themselves. Of all the gentlemen there was only
one. Dr. Putzer, who had ever been to the castle while its possessors
were there, and he had gone only because one of the ladies had been
slightly ill and there was no other physician to be had. Herr von
Heydeck had received him very politely, but madame had hardly looked at
him, and so he hated her, and had all sorts of bad stories to tell of
her.

About a year had passed since the gay doings at the castle, when one
day Dr. Putzer brought a piece of news to the gentlemen in the inn
parlour that excited them greatly. He had just had a letter from his
brother, an advocate in Vienna, and he read it aloud. The Vienna man
wrote that madame had died in her confinement, and had left an immense
fortune, not to her husband, but to her new-born child. Castle
Reifenstein belonged to him now, and Herr von Heydeck was only his
son's guardian. After the letter had been read, the gentlemen made many
malicious remarks,--the worst came from Dr. Putzer, who in his tipsy
mood boasted that if he were Herr von Heydeck he would tie a stone
about the little bastard's neck and drown him like a kitten, but Herr
von Heydeck had no _nous_. As he had shut his eyes for fear of his wife
and Count Menotti, and taken no notice of what all the world knew, so
now he would patiently acknowledge the Count's son, and live on as the
brat's steward.

About four days after this conversation Herr von Heydeck arrived at
Tausens, this time accompanied by no brilliant company or numerous
retinue. Only one servant sat beside the coachman on the box of the
carriage inside of which was Herr von Heydeck and opposite him a woman
with a child carefully wrapped in shawls and blankets; it was the nurse
with his dead wife's child.

The Herr only stopped in Tausens long enough to leave word at the inn
for Dr. Putzer to come to the castle as soon as possible, and then
drove on to Reifenstein. Here he took up his abode in his old room,
while the nurse and child lived in another wing of the building. He
sent to the farm in the valley for old Stoffel's two daughters. Trine
and Lene, and the youngest son, Melcher, the stupidest of all, a
perfect blockhead, and they were hired to do all the work of the
household.

Henceforth Herr von Heydeck led the life of a hermit in the castle; the
only man with whom he had any intercourse in all the country round was
tipsy Dr. Putzer, whom he often sent for to visit the child and report
to him the state of its health, for the Herr himself never saw it. The
nurse was strictly forbidden ever to take it out of the apartments
appropriated to her; if she was obliged to leave them herself, she was
ordered to leave the child in the cradle and lock the door after her.
Except the doctor, nobody in Tausens ever saw the baby; even the
servants were not allowed to go into the room where it was.

The nurse was a very proud person; she never condescended to speak a
word to any one except the doctor; she was always polite enough to him.
They two understood one another extremely well; they would sometimes
sit together for hours, while the master was in his room buried in his
books. Once Trine saw him kiss her.

One evening--it was in the beginning of the winter--the doctor came to
the inn parlour and told the gentlemen who were sitting there over
their wine that he had just come from the castle, where matters looked
badly; the child was seriously ill. He could not yet say what was the
matter with it, but he thought it had the smallpox.

The gentlemen were greatly surprised at this intelligence. There had
been one or two cases of smallpox in the neighbouring valleys, but none
in Tausens or its immediate vicinity. It seemed impossible that the
child should have taken it, living as he did in one part of the castle
and seeing no one but his nurse and the doctor. But nevertheless it was
the case, for a few days afterwards he proved to have the smallpox in
its most malignant form, and within a week he was dead.

He was buried the day he died. The doctor ordered this for fear of
contagion. Herr von Heydeck spared no expense. The child had a splendid
funeral, and the master paid a lot of money for masses for his soul,
besides giving the priest a large sum to distribute among the poor. But
for all that he could not stop people's mouths. There were strange
tales told in the village. No one spoke out loud; they only whispered
among themselves. But one and all, gentlemen as well as peasants,
thought that all had not been right at the castle. They did not believe
in the smallpox. The child had died some other way, of which the
master, who was his heir, would know nothing. That was why no one had
been allowed to see the little corpse. This which was whispered at
first was soon talked of loudly, and the doctor confirmed the tale, for
he married the nurse. The wedding was celebrated scarcely two months
after the child's death. The doctor bought the house in Tausens where
he still lives with his wife. Where he got the money no one knew, for
until the boy died he had more debts than hairs on his head; and
when Herr von Heydeck furnished and fitted up the house for the
newly-married pair as if a count and countess were going to live there,
every one in the village said plainly that the master had good reasons
for doing so. He had to show his gratitude to the doctor and his wife,
who had made him a wealthy man.

In the inn parlour the matter was thoroughly discussed in the doctor's
absence. The forester boldly declared his belief that the doctor had
poisoned the poor little boy; but the district judge took him sharply
to account for his words. He had no right to accuse the doctor of what
would warrant the interference of the law; the gossip of the villagers
was unworthy of repetition, and the doctor would be justified in
dealing hardly with whoever did repeat it.

After this warning from the judge, which was soon known throughout the
village, no one dared to utter a suspicion aloud, but the peasants
thought that if a poor labouring man, and not a rich gentleman and a
Herr Doctor, had been suspected of such a crime, the district judge
would have spoken differently.

Herr von Heydeck was a very wealthy man after the death of the boy, but
he altered nothing in his manner of life. He lived just as solitary as
before in the old castle, only leaving it for a few weeks in the year
to visit the baths, for the sake of his health, the doctor said. Then
occurred what surprised every one. Many years had passed since the
boy's death, when, just nineteen years ago, Herr von Heydeck returned
from one of his summer excursions that had lasted longer than usual;
and this time he was not alone. In the carriage beside him sat a lovely
young wife, looking like an angel with her blue eyes and golden curls.
"The gentlemen can see now how she looked," the postmaster remarked,
"for our Fräulein Hilda is very like her."

And the young mistress of Reifenstein was an angel. The village priest
acknowledged that, although she was a heretic. No one in the village
believed it when the doctor told them so until the Herr Pastor had
confirmed it.

At first the people shook their heads and declared that such a thing
had never been heard of in the Tyrol,--that a heretic should be
mistress of Reifenstein. But the Herr Pastor himself comforted them,
and he had good reasons for doing so, for a golden time had come for
the poor in Tausens with the new mistress's arrival. Before long the
people had forgotten that madame was a heretic. Although she never went
to mass or to confession, she used often to go to church to listen to
the sermon, and no one there could be more devout than she.

She never was haughty to any one, but had a kind word for the poorest.
The only people she could not endure were the doctor and his wife. She
made the first visit herself to the wife of the district judge, and
begged her to come often to the castle, but although the doctor's wife
went up to the castle the day after the bride arrived there, Madame von
Heydeck could not have liked the former nurse from the first, for she
never asked her to repeat her visit; and never as long as she lived did
she set foot beneath the doctor's roof. She could not endure the doctor
himself either. She told the judge's wife that she was afraid of his
cunning gray eyes, but since there was no other physician in the
country for miles round, she had to send for him whenever there was
sickness at the castle. He never went there at other times, although
they said he was still good friends with Herr von Heydeck, else how
could he live as he did? He could hardly buy the wine that he drank
with the couple of hundred guilders that he got from the peasants
yearly; and certainly they would not have paid for the silk dresses and
ornaments that his wife wore even on weekdays, not to speak of the show
she made when she went to church on Sundays, or took a journey to
Vienna, which she did two or three times every year.

All the villagers loved the mistress, and the master perfectly idolized
her; he had become another man. There never were again such doings at
the castle as there had been during the first mistress's reign. Herr
and Madame von Heydeck lived for the most part a very quiet retired
life, but they were not entirely without society. The judge and the
collector, with their wives, were often invited to the castle, and
sometimes there were grand visitors from Germany, relatives of madame,
who was a countess.

But this happy life in the castle lasted only a few years. The second
wife began to sicken: she lost her fresh colour; the doctor said the
keen mountain-air did not agree with her, but she would not leave the
beautiful country where she was so happy. At last, one autumn, she had
to follow the doctor's advice. It is just twelve years ago now; her
cough grew so bad that she herself saw that she could not spend another
winter in the castle, around which the cold northern blasts swept
continually. She went away with her husband and her little daughter,
then six years old.

When the carriage drove through Tausens, all the villagers crowded
about it to have a last word from the lovely lady, and she spoke to
every one as kindly as she did to the judge himself.

She never came back. The doctor said she followed his advice too late.
In Italy, at Nizza, they buried her. She died there hardly a year after
she took leave of Tausens.

In a short time the master and his little girl returned. He brought a
governess with him for his daughter, but she found it too lonely at the
old castle. She soon went away again, and the master lived on alone,
and the poor child would have had no woman to speak to if the judge's
wife had not taken pity on it. She talked seriously to the Herr about
his duty to his child, and told him how wrong it was to pay no
attention to her education. And so the Herr took the little girl to
Vienna to school. After that he led a more solitary life than ever at
Castle Reifenstein, never leaving it except to go to Vienna three or
four times a year to see his child; the rest of the time he spent
without one human being to speak to: even the doctor was not allowed to
go often to the castle.

And thus it has gone on until the present day, for even when a year ago
Fräulein Hilda came home from Vienna, her father never altered his way
of life. He sits up there in his gloomy old room with his books and
plants and worms; he has grown old and feeble, so that he cannot take
long walks among the mountains, but only in the castle garden, and he
studies all day long,--his daughter is with him only at dinner and in
the evenings.

But if he is not changed, the Fräulein's return has brought back the
golden time for the poor people in Tausens; the same time that there
was while her mother was alive. Fräulein Hilda is the image of her
mother; just as lovely, but fresher healthier and stronger; just as
kind, but merrier and a wee hit wild,--no rock is too steep and no
mountain too high for her. Not a boy in the village can outstrip her in
a mountain walk, and she clambers about everywhere by herself, looking
for the plants which she thinks will give her father pleasure. If any
one is ill, she is upon the spot to aid wherever help is necessary. She
is a heretic to be sure like her mother, but every one loves her, and
the poorest most of all.

During his narrative the postmaster had emptied many a glass, and when
he described the fair Hilda, her golden curls, her frank blue eyes that
looked for all the world like those of the Holy Mother in the picture
over the altar in church, he grew very earnest, and would have gone on
expatiating upon a theme so dear to him had he not been called away.

His wife had several times timidly opened the door of the parlour a
little way and peeped through the crack, but had quickly withdrawn when
she saw Paul turn and look at her. She did not dare to call her husband
while he was talking so earnestly with the stranger gentlemen, but at
last she lost patience, and sent the maid into the room for him.

"What do you want, Loisel?" the postmaster asked his wife, impatiently;
he would have liked to talk longer with the gentlemen who listened so
attentively to what he had to say; he had quite forgotten that the
post-bag was not yet locked, and that the wagon was waiting that
carried the mail to town once a day.

Quite vexed Hansel set about this duty,--almost the only one which his
office of postmaster imposed upon him,--and in a quarter of an hour it
was concluded. His wife stood quietly by his side while he clumsily
made the necessary entries in the books, then counted over the letters
and locked them up in the old leather bag, which he handed over to the
driver of the wagon. She waited patiently until the crack of the whip
was heard and the wagon rolled off, and then she said to her husband,
"Did you take a good look at the stranger gentlemen, Hansel?"

"I did."

"At the one with the black beard and the yellow face? My mind misgives
me I've seen his face before!"

This remark of his wife's made Hansel very thoughtful. He too when
Delmar first spoke to him had thought his face and figure familiar, and
yet he could not remember ever having seen the stranger before. And
when in the course of conversation it appeared that neither of the
three gentlemen had ever been in the Tyrol, it was plain that he never
could have seen Delmar, since he himself had never been farther from
home than Linz, Bozen, and Innspruck.

During the long conversation Paul had been the principal speaker; the
others had listened in silence. It was Paul who by a timely remark now
and then had recalled mine host, when he was disposed to be discursive,
to the interesting story which was thus related quite connectedly.
Therefore to Delmar Hansel had always addressed himself, and again and
again he found himself wondering why this peculiarly keen face seemed
so strangely familiar to him. Now that his wife had remarked the same
thing, he once more puzzled his brains to remember where he could have
seen the stranger before; but in vain, and Loisel could not help him.

Meanwhile the three friends had taken counsel together in the
postmaster's absence; his recital had given them food for reflection.

"My poor Leo!" said Paul, as soon as the door had closed upon Hansel's
sturdy figure. "Fine stories these! Your uncle appears possessed of
even less honour and courage than your father gave him credit for; but
then on the other hand the fairy Hilda seems worthy of a trial,--she
spurs us on to conquest. What shall we do?"

"Yes, what is to be done?" said Leo. "I am more irresolute than ever.
After what we have just heard of my uncle I am very unwilling to
present myself at the castle."

"But you promised your father."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Your visit to the castle is settled, and you will soon see what next
ought to be done. Be sure matters are not so bad as they seem from the
gossip of the bare-kneed postmaster. The noble Herr von Heydeck, it is
true, does not appear to suffer from an excess of amiability, but the
devil is never so black as he is painted."

"Do you forget the suspicion that rests upon him with regard to the
death of his child?" said Herwarth.

"Nonsense, my noble knight! mad inane nonsense, such as is only
conceived in the superstitious stupid heads of Tyrolean peasants. That
suspicion of murder is of a piece with the ghost-stories which every
old ass in Tausens--our worthy postmaster among them--believes firmly,
and with the highly probable explanation of the death of the old tenant
when 'his time was up.' The judge and the doctor seem to be the only
sensible men in the village. We must try, and I suppose it will not be
very difficult, to make their acquaintance."

"You take the suspicion of murder confoundedly coolly," Kuno rejoined.

"I take it as such nonsense must be taken,--not coolly. I attach a
certain significance to it as showing the low estimation in which uncle
monster is held. It is certainly significant that he should be
suspected of murder; but this may be only a consequence of his
misanthropy and his tastes for herbs, worms, and poisonous reptiles.
Nothing is essentially changed by the postmaster's narrative; therefore
I think we had best adhere to our plans. I, as quartermaster of the
party, will inspect the accommodations of the house and select our
rooms. We will then remove as far as is possible the traces of our
glacier tour, so that Leo at least may present a respectable appearance
to his uncle and the golden-haired Hilda. The Knight Kuno and I will
accompany him as far as the castle, and then leave him to his fate for
a while and return here to rest upon the laurels which we have won upon
our wanderings. Are you agreed?"

Leo and Herwarth had no objection to make, and Paul proceeded to carry
out his plan. He went to the postmaster, whom he found in conversation
with his wife. Both greeted him with a gaze of keen scrutiny, to which
he paid no heed, informing Hansel that he with his friends was minded
to spend some time at the inn if they liked their quarters.

The postmaster highly delighted displayed the accommodations that his
house afforded, and Delmar found the rooms far more numerous and
spacious than he could have anticipated. He engaged the largest and
finest with a glorious view from the windows, of the castle and the
snowy peaks in the background, for a sitting-room, and also a huge room
adjoining with three beds in it, and then, after a short conversation
with Hansel, returned with him to the inn parlour and informed his
friends that they might inspect and approve his choice.

"So everything is arranged," said Paul, rubbing his hands, "except the
price we have to pay. What do you want for the two rooms, Herr
Postmaster? Don't ask too much; be reasonable, and we shall stay here
all the longer."

The postmaster regarded him with a sly smile. "Would two guilders a day
be too much for the two rooms?"

"Two guilders a day! Man, do you think we are made of money? One
guilder is enough, and I will not give more."

"But, Delmar, pray----" Herwarth interposed, but Paul would not let him
speak.

"I am quartermaster, and allow no interference in my affairs. Are you
satisfied, postmaster, with one guilder?"

"'Tis not much, but it will do," Hansel replied, apparently not greatly
disappointed at this reduction in the rent of his rooms. In fact he
laughed when Paul explained that he would have no money transactions
with an underling, but would settle with the postmaster himself daily.
He assured the gentlemen that they should be well provided for and not
overcharged, and then he went off grinning to the kitchen, and told
Loisel that he had rented his two best rooms, and that the gentleman
with the black beard had offered him four guilders a day for them, but
the others were not to know it, to suppose he was only paid one
guilder.

The gentlemen's portmanteaus were carried up to their rooms, and half
an hour later the three friends, having changed their dress, appeared,
and inquired the way to the castle. Hansel advised them to go by the
road, which--although it ran circuitously around the base of the
mountain--would take them to the castle in an hour, and upon which
there was no danger of their losing their way, rather than by the much
shorter foot-path which led from the last house in the village, and
upon which they might easily go astray. He described the foot-path to
them, but counselled them, if they should decide to go by it, to hire
some lad in the village to act as guide.

"Thanks, we will," Paul rejoined; and then the three walked briskly off
up the valley in the direction of the castle.

Hansel gazed thoughtfully after them. "I have seen the black-bearded
one somewhere!" he exclaimed to Loisel, "but I cannot for the life of
me remember where."



                             CHAPTER  VIII.


This eleventh of July was an eventful day for the Post inn at Tausens,
and certainly merited to be underscored with a red pencil, as it was
that very evening by Hansel in the almanac.

The postmaster was still standing at his inn-door looking up the valley
after the three friends, when, just as a winding in the road hid them
from sight, he rubbed his eyes which he had lazily turned in another
direction, and thought he must be dreaming. No, it was no dream, he saw
advancing upon the high-road towards the village the realization of his
most extravagant hopes. Two equipages, each drawn by four horses, were
coming rapidly along the highway.

Since the death of the first madame, for more than a quarter of a
century no four-horse equipage had been seen upon the road to Tausens,
and here were two, one behind the other, and each, as Hansel's sharp
eyes discerned even at a distance, laden with large trunks, while the
light dresses of ladies were visible inside the carriages. These were
certainly grand and wealthy travellers, and that they meant to stay in
Tausens was plain from the quantity of luggage.

With intense eagerness Hansel awaited their arrival; he did not have to
wait long,--the first carriage was close at hand; all right: it turned
aside from the road, and with a sharp turn the coachman reined in his
four fiery steeds before the door of the Post.

A servant in rich livery sprang from the box to open the door and
assist the occupants of the carriage to descend. They consisted of a
very stout elderly lady, a gentleman also elderly, and a young
gentleman who had been sitting on the back seat.

The young man refused the footman's proffered aid; he sprang out, and
turned to assist his elderly companions. With the greatest care and
attention he helped out the stout lady, who descended from her seat
with difficulty, and then he gave his hand to her companion. The lady
thanked him with a pleasant smile, the gentleman in words. "Thanks, my
dear Guido. Here we are at last; my legs are positively stiff, and my
clothes are sticking to me with the heat. There comes the other
carriage. Eva looks as red as a cherry."

The second carriage now drove up; two young ladies were sitting inside,
and on the box beside the driver sat a third, much more showily dressed
than the others. The liveried footman hastened to help this last to
descend from her high perch, and his aid was accepted most willingly,
the young person leaning on his arm as if loth to leave his support.

The young gentleman who offered his aid to the occupants of the
carriage was not as fortunate as the footman; one of the young ladies
said, coldly, "Thank you, Herr von Bertram, I do not need any help,"
and the other said nothing, but the glance of her dark eyes spoke
plainly enough,--his assistance was rejected.

"Why will you not allow me to render you even the small service you
would accept from your servant?" Bertram whispered, quite aggrieved by
his repulse.

"Because I do not wish services forced upon me which I do not require.
When I need your aid I shall certainly request it," was Eva's sharp
reply, as she swept past him towards her Uncle Balthasar, who was in
eager consultation with the postmaster.

Poor Hansel! He stood there like some convicted criminal. He had taken
his short pipe from his mouth out of respect for the grand arrivals,
and in the other hand he held his black cap, with which he repeatedly
slapped his bare knee in his embarrassment. For the stranger gentleman
had demanded three rooms with five beds, with two smaller rooms for the
servants, the one for the lady's-maid near her young mistress, and two
sitting-rooms besides; and with the best will in the world Hansel could
not accommodate him, for the entire inn did not contain so many rooms.

If the three 'Bergfaxes' had not already been in possession! Hansel had
three unoccupied rooms, and beds enough. The servants could also be
taken care of, but that was all the accommodation the house could
afford, since the two best rooms were already occupied by the three
'Bergfaxes.' This Hansel told the stranger gentleman, who was in great
consternation at the intelligence.

Uncle Balthasar gazed in despair at the various huge trunks which the
coachman was taking from the carriages; where could they all find room
in the two apartments? for one of the three must be given up to
Bertram. And what in the world would become of Aunt Minni if she had no
sitting-room where she could recline comfortably all day on the sofa?
And was Eva to be cramped up in one room with Fräulein Aline? The thing
was impossible!

Poor Uncle Balthasar contemplated with horror the tedious drive back to
the town,--five long hours of jolting,--for he thought he foresaw that
Eva would never consent to remain here a single night. He imparted to
her the sad intelligence that the two best rooms had been appropriated
by three gentlemen, who were going to remain some time, so that only
three sleeping-rooms were to be had.

"Only three rooms? That is not very pleasant, to be sure," Eva said,
much less alarmed than Uncle Balthasar had supposed she would be. "What
can be done with Wilhelm and Nanette?"

There was room for the servants. The maid could sleep in the same room
with Nannerl, and the footman in the garret, the postmaster said.

At this arrangement, and at the word 'maid' from worthy Hansel's lips,
Nanette made a wry face, and her anger was great when Eva said quietly,
"That might be arranged. If the rooms are clean and neat we might
manage to stay here for a while."

For a while! The postmaster's face shone at the prospect of a visit of
some duration from such grand guests, while a corresponding gloom
settled upon Uncle Balthazar's countenance. "Well, yes, my dearest
Eva," he assented with a resigned air, "if you say so we will try it.
It will be a little crowded, but just as you say, my dear."

"We will contrive to make ourselves comfortable. The country is
enchanting, and I hope we shall be able to spend some weeks here very
pleasantly and quietly in the enjoyment of nature in this retired
valley, undisturbed by the hordes of detestable tourists that make so
much of the Tyrol odious at this season of the year. First of all let
us see the rooms; the largest and most convenient will of course be
yours and Aunt Minni's, uncle dear. Aunt Minni must be comfortable.
There will surely be a place in her room where we can put a nice sofa;
and if there is no sofa here, Wilhelm must drive to the town before
night and buy one."

"Oh, we have a sofa," the postmaster declared.

At this joyful intelligence every cloud disappeared from Aunt Minni's
face. If she could have a good sofa, where she could doze away most of
the day, and if the cooking was good, she was abundantly content.

"There is another thing that can be done," Bertram remarked. "The host
might ask the three gentlemen to give up one of their rooms. Men do not
need a special sitting-room in an inn; they can make use of the inn
parlour in the daytime. If the host insists, they will consent to
vacate one room, and if they do not, they must be forced to do so!"

Eva cast a look of great disapprobation upon the speaker. "We are not
so selfish as to wish to interfere with the rights of others," she
said. "We shall certainly confine ourselves to our three rooms."

"I don't think Herr Delmar would give up the room," the postmaster
remarked.

The name of Delmar produced an electric effect upon Eva and Bertram.
Guido's face suddenly became leaden in hue, and across Eva's there
flitted a crimson flush, but she quickly recovered herself. "Is one of
the gentlemen who have taken the other rooms called Delmar?" she asked
the postmaster.

"Yes, one of them."

"Is he a northern German?"

"I think so."

"A young man about thirty years old, with dark eyes, black hair and
beard, and an olive complexion?"

"Just so; I think I knew him once somewhere, but I can't tell where."

"And the two other gentlemen? Do you know their names?"

"One I do; they call him Leo. I didn't hear the other's name at all."

"Herr Paul Delmar and his friend Herr von Heydeck!" Eva exclaimed in
some agitation. "What an unfortunate encounter!"

Bertram was not less moved; he bit his lips and did his best to
preserve his composure and not betray the dismay that he felt in
discovering that his two hated enemies, Delmar and Leo von Heydeck,
were in Tausens, and that he might at any moment be brought face to
face with them.

What terrible consequences might ensue from such a meeting if any
explanations should be made! If Delmar should ever give Eva an
account of the odious scene beneath Büchner's awning; if she should
learn by what means Bertram had been forced to make his disgraceful
apology,--that it had not been made in compliance with her wish but for
fear of ruinous revelations,--all would be lost!

He breathed more freely when Aline took Eva's hand and said in a voice
full of tenderness, "We cannot stay here, Eva dear; such a meeting,
such unavoidable encounters in this retired place would be too painful
for you and for all."

"I must say, Eva my dear, that I think Fräulein Aline is right. Let the
trunks be taken out again to the carriages, landlord; we shall not stay
here."

Uncle Balthasar gave this order, quite convinced that Eva would
immediately desire, as he did himself, to leave Tausens; and it almost
seemed as if she agreed with him, for she did not object to his
directions to poor Hansel, when suddenly Bertram, by an imprudent word,
prevented what he himself most desired. He meant to reinforce Aline's
words and Uncle Balthasar's remark, and to confirm Eva's wavering
resolution. "We must go, go instantly, my dear Eva," he said. "We
cannot possibly expose ourselves to a meeting with that man and his
friend Delmar. We cannot subject ourselves to fresh insults, which I
must not even avenge. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to me, to
avoid such an encounter!"

His remark was most unfortunate. It decided Eva to act in direct
opposition to his wishes. "I am the best judge of what I owe to
myself," she said, proudly. "I will not have Herr von Heydeck believe
that I avoid meeting him because I am afraid of him. We shall certainly
remain here for the present."

"Eva, I entreat you not to be headstrong," Aline interposed. "Herr von
Bertram is quite right in this instance. You owe it to him and to all
of us to avoid all chance of a meeting which might have disastrous
consequences. Let us leave here, if we only go as far as the next
village. We can rest there and then continue our tour. Do it for my
sake, Eva!"

Eva would certainly have yielded to Aline's entreaty if coward fear of
an encounter with Delmar and Heydeck had not been plainly imprinted
upon Bertram's pale face. This fear seemed to her so pitiable, so
despicable, that her pride revolted at the idea of flight. No, she
would not retreat; she would not grant such a triumph to the man who
had insulted her.

"I cannot comply with your request, Aline," she said firmly. "Do not
urge it: my resolution is fixed; I shall stay. Come, dear, let us see
the rooms; the landlord will show us to them." She followed the
postmaster into the hall, and the others could do no less than imitate
her example. Guido alone was left standing in front of the house. His
portmanteau was not yet taken from the foot-board of the carriage, and
one of the men was busied in untying the rope that bound it there.
Should he order it to be left where it was? It was not easy to decide.
Like a flash of lightning all that had lately occurred passed through
his mind. Eva had indeed thanked him when he brought her the
intelligence that the duel had been made impossible, but then she had
asked for particulars with regard to what had occurred at Büchner's,
and he had been forced to give her an account that had some similitude
to the truth lest she should hear of it elsewhere.

He told her that after an interview with Count Waldheim he had awaited
Leo von Heydeck at Büchner's, to make him the apology which he had
promised Eva should be made, but that the execution of his design had
been hastened by the intervention of the old colonel and Delmar. He had
skilfully interwoven truth and falsehood in his narrative, but it had
not escaped him that Eva's countenance betrayed a certain distrust of
him while he spoke. He had begged her to allow him to accompany her
upon her tour, and she had not refused, but this journey had been to
him a daily source of the greatest humiliation. He would have liked
nothing better than to withdraw, but he could not leave the field to
his enemies; he must stay.

"Take the small leather trunk to my room," he gave orders to the man,
and then followed the servant into the house.

Meanwhile, Eva had subjected the three vacant rooms to a thorough
inspection, and had found that their neatness and comfort far exceeded
her expectations. One was very spacious; besides two beds it contained
a sofa, wardrobe, bureau, washstands, and two cushioned easy-chairs. It
would be easy to be comfortable here for a while. The second was
considerably smaller, and contained neither sofa nor wardrobe, but then
the prospect from the windows was perfectly enchanting. They looked out
upon the picturesque ruins of Castle Reifenstein, which here intervened
between the eye and the inhabited part of the building. In the
background the view was bounded by the snowy peaks of the Weisshorn and
the Drei Maidelspitz, with the blue shimmering glaciers of the
Schiechhorn between them. The third room, between the first and third,
and connected with each by a door, was small enough, with only one
window; a bed, washstand, and two chairs were all it could contain.

Such were the apartments which the postmaster placed at the command of
the travellers; in addition they could have the exclusive use of a
balcony, upon which a door opened from the wide hall. The magnificent
view from it of Castle Reifenstein and the glacier background made it
seem a most attractive resort, and even in bad weather it might be
used, since it was protected by a broad roof.

Eva's arrangements, after she had seen the three rooms and the balcony,
were soon made. "We will stay here," she said; "we can make ourselves
very comfortable here for a while. The large room with the sofa is
yours and uncle's of course, Aunt Minni; Aline and I shall do very well
in this next largest room, and Nanette can have the one with one window
if Herr von Bertram leaves us."

"Which he certainly will not do," Guido rejoined, having overheard the
last words.

"Then Nanette will sleep in Nannerl's room, and the little room is
yours."

Guido made no reply.

"Come, Aline," Eva said to her friend, "let us arrange our room." With
these words she left the spacious hall in which the conversation had
been held and entered her apartment. Then, while Aline closed the door
after them, she examined the door leading to the room she had assigned
to Bertram. To her satisfaction she found it provided with a heavy iron
bolt, which she pushed home, and then turned to her friend.

Hitherto she had exerted herself to preserve an appearance of quiet
composure, while all the while her heart was beating so violently that
she could scarcely bear it. Now that she was at last alone with her
friend and there was no need longer to control her emotion, she threw
her arms around her and leaned her weary head upon her bosom.

"My poor, poor Eva!" said Aline, with tender sympathy.

"Oh, Aline, I am so wretchedly unhappy!"

With a gentle hand Aline stroked the dark curls from her friend's brow
and kissed her. "Cry, my poor Eva, as much as you want to," she said
lovingly; "the tears which you have so long restrained will soothe your
pain. And then you shall bathe your eyes and compose yourself. Your
betrothed must not see that you have been weeping."

"My betrothed! Why do you torture me with that word? You know how from
the very depths of my soul I hate it!"

"Then it is your duty to break this miserable engagement," Aline
rejoined gravely. "You would not listen to me when you gave your hasty
promise, and therefore I have been silent until now, but I cannot bear
to see you so unhappy. It is my duty as your friend to advise and to
warn you even although I should offend you by doing so. I will not
quietly look on when I see you obstinately determined to seal your
unhappiness forever!"

"But what shall I do, Aline?"

"You must make up your mind to break the fetters which you yourself
forged."

"But I have promised."

"Promised? And is this wretched promise to annihilate your happiness
for life? You used to be indifferent to Bertram, and that was bad
enough; but now I can read in your eyes as in an open book, he becomes
more odious to you every hour of every day, and you would give
yourself--swear love and fidelity before the altar--to this man whose
very touch inspires you with loathing. Will it not be perjury and a far
greater wrong to Bertram than if you should break your hasty promise?"

"He knows well that I do not love him."

"So much the worse. If he does not wish for your heart, for your
love, he is speculating upon your money. Give him a share of your
fortune,--you are rich enough,--but do not sacrifice yourself!"

"How gladly would I do so, but he will not release me. Do not urge me
further. Aline, you only make me more unhappy. I have had a hard
struggle with myself; indeed the fulfilment of the duty I have
undertaken demands all the strength I am mistress of, but it must be
fulfilled. Bertram has sacrificed his future to me. Can money requite
him for the honour he has lost? I cannot retreat. My destiny must be
fulfilled!"



                              CHAPTER  IX.


The road to Castle Reifenstein, upon which the three friends had
started, ran through the village of Tausens and the isolated dwellings
of the peasants on the bank of the Schwarzenbach. After passing the
last of these it left the broad beaten valley road, turned to the
right, and passed around the mountain crowned by the castle, gradually
ascending on the northern more gentle slope until, after many windings,
it reached a bridge leading across a broad, deep chasm in the rocks to
the ancient portals of the castle.

Before the invention of gunpowder Castle Reifenstein had been an
impregnable fortress, although it owed little of its impregnability to
art. Nature had provided for the discomfiture of any possible besiegers
by the inaccessibility of the steep rocks that formed its base on the
southern side.

If the ancient Counts of Tausens, whose nest it was, raised the
drawbridge they were secure from any attack, for on one side it was as
impossible to climb the smooth, straight wall of rock, on the summit of
which stood the castle, as it was to spring across the broad and ugly
chasm, several hundred feet deep, across which the bridge was flung,
and which cut off the rock from the gentle declivity of the mountain on
its northern side. Thus a few archers, placed behind the walls and in
the round tower, could command the entire road up from the valley.

On the eastern side alone the rock was connected with the mountain. A
green meadow, which had latterly been converted into a garden, extended
from the forest upwards to the wall. Art had here contributed towards
rendering the fortress impregnable. A single huge door opened out of
the castle courtyard upon this garden. At either end of the wall had
stood a huge round tower; of one of these nothing remained but the base
in ruins, while the other, in good preservation, stood proudly erect in
close vicinity to the inhabited wing of the castle.

The two towers and the wall of the court-yard formed a more than
sufficient protection for this eastern side of the castle, for only a
few besiegers at a time could approach it through the irregular and
broken masses of rock that covered this part of the mountain. Even the
peasants seldom ventured to approach the castle on this side. They used
the broad road from Tausens almost exclusively, and only a few stout
mountaineers preferred the narrow foot-path that left the broad road
just behind the last house in Tausens and led straight up the mountain,
then turning to the left cut off many of the windings of the road until
it joined it again on the summit at the bridge.

Paul paused at the spot where this foot-path left the road. "Is there
anything more tiresome in the world than a broad, well-kept road like
this?" he said. "All the world can use it,--any fool may walk along it
and go dreaming on to his destination. I hate the smooth white dusty
thing! Look at this inviting foot-path, Leo; it is wonderfully
attractive. Suppose we leave the stupid road?"

"The landlord warned us against it," Leo replied. "He said we should
surely lose our way if we took it."

"Bah, nonsense! These peasants always think that city men will lose
their way; we have the castle always in sight, how can we go astray?
Noble Knight von Herwarth, what do you think?"

"I am for the foot-path."

"Forwards, then! The majority carries the day."

Paul struck into the foot-path which, leading through thick alders, was
too narrow to allow of the friends walking abreast. Leo followed Paul,
and Herwarth came last, but he had hardly gone a few steps before he
stepped upon a loose stone and almost fell. He recovered himself
instantly, but when he attempted to proceed he felt a violent pain in
his ankle. He stood still for a moment and then tried again to walk,
but the pain was too severe: he could not go on.

"What is the matter, noble knight?" Delmar called back to him.

"I do not know: I must stop a moment; my foot pains me. I hope it will
pass away in a moment."

But it did not pass away. The pain, on the contrary, increased with
every attempt to walk. Herwarth had to sit down upon a fallen tree: he
could not go on.

This was a most unpleasant interruption to their expedition. They
consulted what had best be done. Paul proposed to go back immediately
to the village to procure surgical aid, but this Kuno would not listen
to; he was sure that rest would bring him relief; it would be quite
time enough to consult a Tyrolean village doctor when the hurt was
proved to be serious, which he was quite certain was not the case. He
begged his friends to proceed quietly without him, and he would wait
here a couple of hours until Paul should return, after having
accompanied Leo to the castle-gate. By that time the pain would have
abated sufficiently to allow of his walking back the short distance
they had come. It certainly was no misfortune to lie on the soft moss
for a couple of hours and enjoy the lovely landscape.

At first Paul and Leo refused to agree to Kuno's plan, but after they
had examined his ankle, and convinced themselves as far as was possible
for the uninitiated in the science of surgery that the leg was neither
broken nor seriously injured, they consented to do as he desired. They
left him lying comfortably on the grass lighting a cigar, and once more
Leo advised Paul to pursue the road where they could not go wrong.
This, however, the latter was less inclined to do than before.

"Can I leave our wounded knight alone in the desert for so long?" he
asked. "The foot-path is much shorter than the worthy postmaster said.
As soon as I have delivered you safely to your uncle I shall return by
the same path to Kuno."

The shortest road! Many a one among the mountains has found that the
shortest road to his destination has proved the longest for him in the
end. Thus it was with Delmar and Leo.

As long as the foot-path led through the bushes it was easy to trace;
it was evidently not much frequented, but the grass was worn upon it
and it could not be missed; the case, however, was different when it
emerged upon a steep, stony waste,--here it suddenly vanished, and even
Leo's practised eye could find no signs of it over the stones.

"I think it would be better to go back to the road," said Leo, after
vainly searching about.

"Then we must retrace our steps, for we cannot turn to the left, where
it lies, because of that deep chasm."

"Better go all the way back than lose our time and our way, as the
landlord warned us we should among these stones."

"We have come a quarter of a mile at least, and as we have been
always ascending we must be half-way up. I cannot see how we can go
wrong,--there is the castle always before us to point the way. The
nearest way is the best. Let us scramble directly up over these stones,
and we must reach the castle."

Leo was not convinced, but he yielded and followed Paul, who began to
clamber sturdily over the stones.

It was a wearisome ascent. At first the stones were small, often
slipping and turning beneath the feet; but gradually they grew larger,
until they became huge blocks, between which it was often very
difficult to find a way.

It was no longer a stony waste which they were trying to traverse, but
a chaos of immense masses of rock piled one upon another. There was not
the slightest trace of a path; and Delmar, who went first, had to turn
to the right and left continually to advance a single step upwards.
"Leo," he said at last, stopping to wipe his heated brow, "I see now
that you were right, and that I am an ass,--a discovery, by the way,
which I have made frequently during my life. This climbing is the very
devil!"

"If it only led somewhere!" Leo replied; "but I am afraid we are among
the rocks against which our host warned us. I cannot see the castle any
longer."

In fact the castle had vanished. In vain did Paul look in all
directions for its massive proportions. He had forgotten to keep it in
view lately, absorbed as he had been in the difficulties that beset
their progress, and now he noticed for the first time that it was
nowhere to be seen.

In the direction in which Delmar had thought to find it there arose
perpendicularly from among the chaos of rough blocks of stone, a smooth
wall of rock. It might be that the castle was upon its summit, but they
were too near to it to decide this question.

"We're in a deuce of a scrape!" Delmar exclaimed in irritation. "We are
positively lost. I can see no way forwards or backwards. The enchanted
castle has vanished, and I have no idea where it is. I believe the evil
fairy Hilda has conjured it away."

A clear, merry laugh answered this outburst of irritation. Leo and Paul
looked startled in the direction whence it proceeded; but in vain: no
human being was to be seen. So melodious a peal of laughter could have
come only from the throat of a young girl, and she must be hidden by
some one of the giant masses of rock that barred both way and vision on
every side.

Paul thought he knew exactly whence the sound came. His curiosity was
strongly excited, and without reflecting he left the spot where he was
standing with Leo and began forthwith to climb a huge rock upon his
right, from the top of which he hoped to have a more extended view. It
was a difficult undertaking, and not without peril; but Paul's frame
was lithe and his muscles steeled by constant gymnastic exercise. He
succeeded in gaining the summit, and the result amply rewarded his
exertions; for not only could he see far and wide over the chaos of
rocks, but he found himself face to face with the girl whose gleeful
laughter had just resounded in his ears,--she was sitting on this very
rock, a little beneath the summit, on the other side. As she looked up
at the young man there was evident in her eyes an admiration of his
strength and agility which did not escape him and which flattered his
vanity.

"Excellently done. Cousin Leo!" she said, laughing. "You have atoned
for your blunder in losing your way among the Reifenstein rocks by your
agility in climbing them."

Paul was startled by the frank, fearless tone of this address. 'Cousin
Leo!' Hilda von Heydeck then was sitting at his feet, and she took him
for the expected cousin whom she thus familiarly accosted. Even had she
not spoken he would have recognized her, remembering the postmaster's
description, by the masses of golden curls beneath her picturesque
straw hat, only she was far more charming and lovely than he had
anticipated. He had smiled when Hansel, in his enthusiasm, had compared
Hilda to an angel; now he thought the comparison admirable. There was a
rare and wondrous charm in the expression that animated the young
girl's lovely features; and nevertheless the merry, unrestrained
laughter became her well, and did not disturb the truly feminine grace
of her whole bearing.

For the first moment Paul was so surprised by the girl's extraordinary
beauty that he, usually so ready with an answer, could not find a word
to say in reply. His amazement, so evident in his face, increased
Hilda's merriment. She sprang up lightly from where she was sitting and
made a profound courtesy, saying, "I see I must introduce myself, or my
cousin Leo will not deign to say one word to me. Fräulein Hilda von
Heydeck has the honour to receive her cousin among the Reifenstein
rocks. In her own distinguished person she has descended from the
enchanted castle to guide her bewildered cousin into the right path.
And now give me your hand, Leo; we shall soon be the best of friends,
if you are only half as delightful as papa says you are."

She held out her hand to Paul, who took it and kissed it, whereupon she
withdrew it hastily, saying, with a blush, "That is not the custom with
us, cousin!"

"In Germany a man has a right to kiss his lovely cousin's cheek," Paul
replied, having quickly recovered from his first surprise; "but I dare
not lay claim to such a privilege, since I am not the happy man you
think me, but only his poor friend, Paul Delmar."

Hilda blushed crimson. "You are not my cousin Leo?" she asked, in great
confusion.

"No, unfortunately not; I wish I were. My friend Leo is down below
somewhere trying to find a path out of this rocky labyrinth. Leo! Leo!
where are you?"

"Here!" Leo's voice replied, from a considerable distance. He had
mistaken the direction whence the sound of Hilda's laugh was heard, and
had consequently plunged more deeply into the bewildering labyrinth.
Paul's repeated call told him where his friend was to be found; he
scrambled over several rocks and finally reached the foot of the huge
mass upon which Paul and Hilda were standing.

"Most fortunate of mortals!" Delmar called down to him, "come up here.
I will give you a hand, that you may display all the grace you are
master of in ascending. Here you will find the lovely fairy who reigns
in the enchanted Castle Reifenstein, and who has descended to aid us
miserable mortals."

With no less astonishment than Delmar had experienced Leo now looked up
at Hilda, who was standing beside his friend; he, too, recognized her
from the postmaster's description, and he, too, thought her extremely
beautiful. Still her beauty made no extraordinary impression upon him;
he thought the worthy innkeeper's enthusiastic comparison of her to an
angel rather exaggerated; nevertheless he was most pleasantly surprised
by this encounter with his cousin.

Before Paul could hold out a hand to help her she sprang lightly down
from rock to rock until she stood beside Leo, to whom she held out her
hand with the same easy grace with which she had offered it to his
friend. This time, however, although it was grasped cordially, it was
not kissed, and was instantly relinquished.

Leo had anticipated with a certain anxiety his first meeting with the
cousin whose hand had been destined by the will of her father and of
his own to be bestowed upon him. He now stood face to face with the
destined bride whom he had made up his mind never to marry, without any
of the embarrassment he had expected to feel when he should first see
her. No; any uncomfortable sensation of the kind was entirely dispelled
by Hilda's easy frank reception of him as a near relative. She
evidently saw in him, not a future lover, but simply her cousin Leo, to
whom she was ready and pleased to show all the familiar kindness
warranted by their close relationship, and he was instantly as much at
his ease with her as if they had known each other for years.

"It is a very extraordinary but none the less delightful chance. Cousin
Hilda, that led you here to us in the midst of this rocky waste, where,
of all places in the world, I least expected to meet you."

"It is no chance," she replied, looking with a smile at Delmar, who had
just made his descent from the rock. "Papa and I have been expecting
you for some days; a letter from your father told us that you and one
of your friends were coming to the Tyrol. When a little while ago I saw
from my window two strangers coming up to the castle, I instantly
divined that you were one of them, and when I saw you go astray among
the Reifenstein rocks I made haste to join you to show you the path,
which it is impossible that any stranger should find. I had just
climbed this rock to see where you were when I heard voices close by. I
sat down instantly I confess to play the part of eavesdropper, and when
I heard that the 'evil fairy Hilda' had 'conjured away' the castle I
could not help laughing aloud."

As she spoke Hilda gave Paul an arch smile. "To be sure, the 'evil
fairy' afterwards became a 'lovely fairy,' but she will always remember
the first adjective bestowed upon her."

"Be merciful to a poor sinner," Paul begged, "and do not reckon against
him words wrung from his despair in finding himself lost in such a
labyrinth."

"We shall see hereafter whether I can exercise mercy for justice; first
of all I must guide these two erring wanderers up the mountain and into
the foot-path."

"Did you not come down from the castle by some other way, Fräulein
Hilda?" Delmar asked.

"I did, it is true, come by another and a much shorter way," Hilda
replied; "but it is fit only for the feet of the evil mountain-fairy of
an enchanted castle, and not for two fashionable men from the city; I
cannot show you that way."

"Do you suppose that a path you can use will be too difficult for us?
You show very little confidence in our powers. Pray show us the nearest
path."

"I will do so in punishment for your presumption, but upon one
condition. Promise me that the instant you are dizzy you will say so,
that we may turn back; the path lies along the very brink of an abyss."

"I promise; but I shall not have to redeem my word."

"Will you promise too, Cousin Leo?"

"Yes; but you need have no fear, neither Delmar nor I know what it is
to have vertigo."

"Then follow me."

Hilda walked on before. In perfect security, and with an airy grace
that enchanted Delmar, she sprang from stone to stone, and in a few
minutes they had reached the base of the wall of rock, which here
ascended nearly perpendicularly several hundred feet. Here she paused.
"There is still time to turn back," she said, seriously, "and I beg
you, Herr Delmar, and you, Cousin Leo, to do so; I ought not to show
you the path up the rock, an accident might so easily happen for which
I never should forgive myself."

"You shall have no cause for self-reproach," Paul replied, "for I see
the path clearly now. You do not show it to me, I choose it myself. It
leads up the rock just here; it has been worn by the goats, and is just
what I like,--perfectly easy to follow."

The path was certainly plain to be seen by any one who chose to follow
it. It was scarcely a foot broad, and went directly up the side of the
mountain; on one hand was the perpendicular wall of rock, and on the
other the abyss, and the higher it went the steeper and dizzier the
path became.

Paul had taken in at a glance the difficulty and danger of the ascent;
but he did not hesitate a moment to begin it, nor would he have done so
had the path been twice as steep and giddy as it was.

"Herr Delmar, I pray you turn back!" Hilda exclaimed, anxiously; but he
continued to advance fearlessly.

"Let us follow him, cousin," Leo said, with a smile. "Make your mind
easy about Paul; he will carry through whatever he attempts; no power
on earth can stay him. I am convinced that he would take that path even
although he knew that he should fall into the abyss. But he will not
fall; he has no fear, and he is never dizzy."

"And you, Cousin Leo?"

"I? Why should I fear? Only those who love life fear to lose it."

"What can you mean, cousin?" There was a genuine compassion and ready
sympathy in her words that soothed Leo. Hilda looked at him very
reproachfully. Did she know that her father had destined her to be his
bride, and was she wounded that he could speak thus?

"Well, Leo, are you going to stay down there?" asked Paul, who had
already ascended about fifty feet of the path, and who now turned and
looked down at the two cousins. As he looked he leaned forwards so far
over the abyss that Hilda experienced a sudden vertigo. Hitherto she
had never known the sensation even when looking from the dizziest
heights; but when she saw how carelessly Delmar leaned forwards so far
that it seemed as if he must fall, she fairly trembled. "For God's
sake, Herr Delmar, turn away!" she exclaimed.

"Have no fear, lovely fairy!" was the reply. "'Tis true that a magic
power draws me towards you, but I will not choose the direct way to
reach you at present. Indeed, you have calumniated this path,--it is as
easy as possible, and commands a glorious view. Well, Leo, are you not
coming? Do you not like it?"

"I am coming," Leo cried, and quietly walked on after his friend.

Hilda followed him up the height. How often she had ascended the rock
by this path! how often, when, only the hardiest mountaineer could
follow her, had she descended by it into the valley, and never before
to day had she thought of its danger! Now she was fairly tormented by
anxiety.

Not upon Leo's account; he walked on before her with as firm and even a
step as if he had been upon level ground. He, however, neglected no
necessary precaution, testing the firmness of the stony soil, as Hilda
saw, at every step; for him the path had no danger, but it was full of
peril for Delmar, who seemed to challenge it in the wildest fashion.

Where the path was so narrow that there was almost none at all, and the
greatest caution was necessary at every step, Delmar walked as
carelessly as if he were upon a broad road, and at the very most
perilous point he stopped, coolly relighted his cigar, and then walked
on, not even looking down to pick his way, but with his gaze riveted
upon the distant view.

Hilda's heart throbbed as she observed his careless demeanour; she had
warned him, but she did not venture to call to him again. The ascent of
the rocks had never seemed to her half so long, and only when she saw
that Paul had reached in safety the small but secure strip of
meadowland that intervened between the old castle-wall and the edge of
the precipice, did she once more breathe freely and with an easy mind
follow Leo, with whom she soon joined his friend.

Paul received her with a laugh. "Thanks, charming fairy," he said,
again advancing to the edge of the precipice and leaning forwards so as
to overlook the entire path up the rock; "thanks for the greatest
enjoyment I have had in our mountain tour. I delight in a path like
this; it is inspiriting to climb the rocks by it. One false step is
certain death. Life is the meed only of strength and sureness of foot.
Let fear once assail the climber, vertigo is sure to follow and he is
lost; but for a steady brain and strong muscles there is no danger; and
what a glorious prospect we have had over the fertile valleys to the
snowy peaks that bound the horizon on the south! If I lived at Castle
Reifenstein I should choose no other path save this by which to reach
the valley, and I am sure that you also. Leo, will visit us in Tausens
by no other."

"You are much mistaken," Leo quietly replied. "I have come once by this
path, and I shall not again pass over it, least of all in descending to
the valley. I shall take the safer footpath or the road, even although
it be somewhat longer."

"How can an artist be so terrible a Philistine!" Paul exclaimed,
indignantly.

"If not to run into unnecessary peril is to be a Philistine, I
certainly am one. You will admit, I know, that I am not backward in
facing danger when any good end is to be gained thereby."

"I should be the last to dispute that. Do I not know that you, my
unattainable model and example, are all compact of the strongest and
loftiest principles? Do I even try to emulate you? I should be the most
tiresome fellow in the world if but the half of your virtues were mine,
although I confess that they suit you remarkably well; so keep them
all, I pray. Trust one who knows, lovely fairy; your excellent cousin
is the embodiment of pure principles and strong good sense; he has only
one fault: he chooses his friends very foolishly."

"Are you not one of them?" asked Hilda.

"Exactly; that is just it. His reputation suffers from my friendship. I
am principled against principle. My aim in life is to do what I like. I
am a thorough egotist, who has no idol but self. Now is such a man a
fit companion for Leo von Heydeck? He should blush to own such a
friend, by whom he may be judged by others. But here we are safely
arrived at the castle, and I will take my leave. I must bid you
farewell, Fräulein von Heydeck, only asking permission to return and
visit my friend Leo at Castle Reifenstein."

They had, in fact, reached the garden, which lay on the eastern
declivity of the mountain, and before them was the colossal old pile.

"You are not going to leave us, Herr Delmar?" Hilda asked, in surprise.
"You cannot be in earnest. Rooms were arranged for you and Leo two days
ago. Of course you will stay at Castle Reifenstein with my cousin?"

"A most kind and amiable invitation, and so tempting from such lovely
lips that I should not perhaps be able to refuse it had I not promised
to return immediately to Tausens. As, unfortunately, I have so
promised, there is nothing for me to do except to thank you most
sincerely for the hospitality, which, to my regret, I cannot accept."

"To whom can you possibly have made such a promise?"

"To a third friend, the noble knight Kuno von Herwarth, who, but for a
slight accident upon the way, would have accompanied us to the castle.
I promised him that I would return to him as soon as possible, and hard
as it is, I must keep my word."

"Paul is right," Leo added. "Kuno expects him, and I know that his
peculiar egotism would make all persuasion to stay useless. His
selfishness will not permit him to allow Herwarth to wait for him
longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Not at all; you have no comprehension of good sensible selfishness. I
don't trouble myself about Herwarth one whit; but it gives me an
uncomfortable sensation to know that he is lying down below there upon
the grass, looking up at the castle, pulling out his watch every few
minutes, and thinking I might have returned long since. And so for my
own sake--what is Herwarth to me?--I shall hurry back to him."

"Exactly; that is the very kind of egotism in which you excel
particularly."

"If you suppose your sneer will have any effect in detaining me, you
are mistaken. It only confirms my purpose. The delightful goat's track
will take me to our unfortunate friend in half an hour."

Hilda's heart beat afresh as she heard Delmar announce this intention;
she knew how much more dangerous was the descent than the ascent of the
steep path. True, she had fearlessly tripped up and down by it many a
time; but then she knew every stone, every dangerous spot, and was,
besides, accustomed to mountain-climbing. The peril was twice as great
for a stranger, and she trembled at the thought that if his foot should
slip he was lost. She had known Delmar but one half-hour; but his odd
talk and manner interested her much, and he was her cousin's friend.
Surely she might treat him with some degree of familiarity. So when
Paul lifted his hat by way of farewell, she held out her hand to him
with a slight blush at the remembrance of the kiss bestowed upon it
half an hour before. The blush made her look lovelier than ever, and
Paul absolutely lost his heart as he slightly pressed the little hand
thus graciously offered.

"I cannot ask you to break your promise to your friend, Herr Delmar,"
the girl said, not without a shade of embarrassment. "I can only hope
that both you and my cousin Leo's other friend will consent to be my
father's guests at Castle Reifenstein. This I trust my cousin will
arrange with you and your friend to-morrow morning. In the mean time I
have a request to make of you. Perhaps your selfishness will allow you
to grant it."

"Oh, my selfishness is a very convenient selfishness; of course it
allows me to do whatever gives me pleasure, and nothing, I am sure,
could give me greater pleasure than to fulfil any request of yours,
Fräulein von Heydeck."

"It is certainly a most courteous selfishness," Hilda said, with such a
bewitchingly merry glance that Paul registered a silent vow upon the
spot to bring her the moon from the skies if she asked for it.

"Only tell me what you desire, Fräulein von Heydeck," he exclaimed,
"and I will make impossibilities easy!"

"I am not quite so exacting," Hilda replied. "My desire can be easily
complied with: it is only that you should return to Tausens by the
usual way. Since you are such an admirable mountaineer, I will allow
you to take the common foot-path, and show you myself where it is; you
cannot miss your way by it in descending the mountain. Will you do as I
ask, Herr Delmar?"

"Ah, here I recognize the lovely but evil fairy who has already cast
her spells upon me! Nevertheless, a promise is a promise, and must be
kept."

Hilda thanked him merrily, especially for the title of "evil fairy,"
and declared herself quite ready to act as his guide to the foot-path
down the mountain, the shortest way to which was through the garden and
court-yard of the castle. She went first, Leo and Paul following.

Paul could see nothing but his lovely guide; he had no eyes for the
beauty of the garden through which they were passing, and he scarcely
noticed that as they entered a shady walk an old gentleman appeared
walking towards them. Only when Hilda paused and, addressing the old
man, cried joyously, "Papa! here is Cousin Leo with his friend!" did he
turn to scrutinize with a certain curiosity the man of whom he had
heard so much.

The old gentleman was evidently not prepared for the encounter: he had
a book in his hand, and was walking in the garden, reading; apparently
he never would have noticed the strangers if Hilda's exclamation had
not called his attention to them.

When he heard the name of Leo a smile passed over his withered face,
but it vanished in an instant as, with an expression of positive
horror, his eyes opened to their utmost extent, he gazed at Paul, who
approached and, lifting his hat, bowed courteously.

This was an extraordinary reception. For a minute the old man seemed
incapable of speech; he gazed silently at Delmar, whom he waved off
with his hand, retreating a step at his approach. He never even looked
at Leo: Paul absorbed his entire attention.

"Oh, papa, what is the matter?" Hilda asked, in surprise.

But her father did not seem to hear her; the longer he looked at Paul
the more intense was the expression of terror upon his face and in his
eyes; several seconds passed before he could so far control himself as
to stammer in broken words, "What do you want of me?--How did you come
here?--Who are you?"

Delmar had, it is true, cherished no expectation of any particularly
kind or courteous reception at the hands of "uncle monster," and the
picture formed of him in his imagination had not been very flattering,
but what he now saw and heard transcended his expectations: he had not
believed in such a monster as this.

Herr von Heydeck, once tall and handsome, was now a sickly, emaciated
old man, his tall figure was bent, his withered features showed no
trace of their former beauty, and were entirely wanting in the
expression of dignified repose which makes an aged face attractive. The
working of the lips, the protruding light-gray eyes the uncertain
glance of which always avoided your own, made the spare wrinkled
countenance positively ugly.

Paul experienced actual repulsion at first sight of this old man, and
the sensation was heightened by the strange broken questions addressed
to him.

It was not Delmar's habit to show much consideration towards those whom
he disliked, and a sharp reply to the inhospitable queries was upon his
lips, when his glance fell upon Hilda; he saw in her face the terror
and surprise which her father's reception of him was causing her. Could
he wound her? However ugly and unpleasant this old man might be, he was
nevertheless the father of the lovely fairy, and Leo's uncle. In
consideration of this he suppressed the angry retort upon his lips and
replied quietly, "My name is Delmar; I am a friend of your nephew Leo,
whom I have accompanied upon his journey to the Tyrol. I do not know
what further particulars I can give you with regard to myself at
present, Herr von Heydeck."

The old man did not hear his last words, the name alone riveted his
attention. "Delmar! Paul Delmar!" he muttered to himself "I knew it
must be he! What do you want of me?" he continued, aloud. "I must know
what you want. Do not imagine that I am afraid of you! It was only the
first shock of surprise; but I am not in the least afraid of you, not
in the least. Speak! what do you want of me?"

Paul listened with increasing astonishment to these unconnected,
unmeaning words. Had the old man a sudden attack of insanity? It must
be so, else how could he thus receive his nephew's friend? Such a
reception was utterly inexplicable, and least of all could Paul
conceive how Herr von Heydeck had got hold of the name Paul, which he
had muttered to himself. He did not trouble himself, however, to ponder
this, but, seeing Hilda's distress, resolved to cut short so
disagreeable a scene.

"I want nothing of you, Herr von Heydeck," he replied, courteously; "on
the contrary, I bring you something in the person of your nephew
Leo,--my dearest friend. And now I must beg your permission to leave
you, as I must immediately return to Tausens to a friend who awaits me
there."

This quiet reply had the effect of partially allaying the horror that
had filled the old man's mind, and with a degree of self-control he
recovered the consciousness which had nearly forsaken him. He still
regarded Paul with a strange, scrutinizing look, without venturing to
meet his eye. But his composure returned by degrees; his glance fell
upon Leo, and remembering Hilda's words and Delmar's explanation, he
was conscious that he had been guilty of discourtesy and had not yet
spoken to his nephew. "Welcome, Leo!" he said, offering him his hand.
"Yes, I should know you anywhere, you look so like your father, my
Hans. Welcome to Castle Reifenstein. And you, sir, are Leo's friend?
Yes, I remember my brother's letter mentioned that Leo was coming to
the Tyrol with a friend. You, then, are Leo's friend? Herr Delmar? Herr
Delmar? Is that your name?"

"It is; my name is Paul Delmar."

"Paul Delmar; exactly, I knew it; and it is only as Leo's friend that
you come here? you have no further intentions?"

"What further intentions could I possibly have?"

"Of course, of course! What further intentions could you have? Forgive
me for my strange reception of you: my mind sometimes wanders; you must
not take it ill of a feeble old man. I hope, Hilda, that you have the
rooms ready for Leo, and Herr Delmar, Leo's friend?"

"Certainly, papa; they were all ready two days ago; but Herr Delmar
refuses to stay with us, and says he must return to the Post at
Tausens."

"Indeed? I am very sorry."

The 'very sorry' did not sound genuine. The old man's mind was
evidently relieved when he heard that Paul had declined to be his guest
at the castle. Apparently the coldness of his expression of regret
struck him also, for he hastened to atone for it by a request that Paul
would reconsider the refusal. But upon receiving Paul's courteous
excuse for not complying with this request, he forbore to urge it, and
when Delmar expressed his regret in being obliged to return immediately
to Tausens, he did not press him to remain, but gave him his hand in
token of farewell, and expressed, although with some hesitation, a hope
that he would frequently visit his friend Leo at the castle.

Hilda fulfilled her promise; she accompanied Paul through the garden,
the castle court-yard, and the large gateway, across the bridge to the
foot-path, which, lying to the left of the road, passed down the
mountain at some distance from the steep rocky side. She walked beside
Delmar in silence; her father's strange conduct had filled her with
vague anxiety. She felt that there must be some relation which she did
not understand existing between him and Herr Delmar, and she vainly
wondered what it could be. She knew that her father was misanthropic
and inhospitable, but with regard to Leo and his friend he had not been
in the least so until a few moments previously, but had given express
orders that everything should be done to make the young men's stay at
Castle Reifenstein agreeable to them.

What reason could he have for such terror at sight of a stranger, and
for receiving him so disagreeably? She longed to say some word to
Delmar in excuse: she was afraid that he was offended; but what could
she say? In vain she tried to find words suitable to the occasion, and
while she was trying they had crossed the bridge, and she had
accompanied the young man as far as was fitting, and not one word had
she uttered.

Paul, too, who was not often at a loss for words, had been vainly
searching for something to say during their short walk; and thus both
went on together in silence until Hilda held out her hand to him by way
of farewell, when he asked, "Has the lovely fairy no word for me that I
may take as a permission to return?"

Hilda blushed. Why should the words 'lovely fairy' move her strangely
at this moment? She had heard them and laughed at them repeatedly in
the last hour, but now she could not laugh,--she was confused,--for the
tone of Delmar's voice was far more serious than before. She did not
reply directly, but asked in her turn, "Oh, Herr Delmar, what will you
think of us? I do not know what papa had in his mind, but I am sure he
did not mean to offend you. I beg you not to be angry with us!"

"How could I be angry? Your father was under some mistake with regard
to me. What puzzles me is how he should have known that my name is
Paul. Perhaps Colonel von Heydeck mentioned it in his letter."

"No; he wrote only a few words to say that my cousin Leo had gone to
the Tyrol accompanied by a friend, whose name he did not mention, and
that in a few days he would arrive at Castle Reifenstein."

"And yet your father knew my first name, Paul, although I only told him
of my family name."

"I cannot understand it!" Hilda said, dejectedly.

"A riddle indeed. But time will surely bring its solution, and of one
thing I am sure: that I have never given your father any reason to be
angry with me."

"Most certainly not; and I entreat you not to be vexed with papa for
his unkind reception; the next time you come he will be kinder."

"May I come again? Will you allow me?"

"Assuredly; Cousin Leo will be delighted to see you often at the
castle."

"And the lovely fairy?"

"Will never be an evil fairy for you. Adieu, and come soon."

She nodded smiling, and hurried back to the castle much lighter of
heart than she had been a few minutes before.

While Hilda was acting as guide to his friend, Leo had remained in the
castle garden with his uncle. The strange scene of which he had been a
witness had made a disagreeable impression upon him also. While it
lasted he had observed his uncle narrowly, the profound horror he had
testified at sight of Delmar, a horror increased by hearing his name,
and the effort it had cost him to regain his composure. At last the
morbid interest with which the old man watched Paul while he was
present, and with which he followed his retreating figure until it
disappeared behind the wall of the courtyard, vanished. For the first
time Herr von Heydeck seemed to breathe freely, although his mind was
apparently still occupied with Paul alone; he did not turn to welcome
the nephew who had come upon his pressing invitation to visit him from
distant Germany; he did not ask after the brother whom he had not seen
for thirty years; his first words were of Paul.

"This Herr Paul Delmar is your friend?" he asked Leo, with a keen,
suspicious glance.

"My dearest friend from my childhood."

"Ah? from your childhood? You have known him, then, a long while?"

"We were playmates and schoolfellows; we grew up together. He is a few
years older than I, but the slight difference in our ages never
interfered with our friendship."

Again the old man shot a sharp glance of suspicion at his nephew; but
seeing that Leo met his gaze freely and frankly, he shyly averted his
eyes. Lost in thought, he walked silently by Leo's side, forgetting
that the duties of hospitality demanded that he should conduct his
nephew to the castle; he was lost to the present and buried in
recollection of a time long past. Tormenting memories which he had long
laboured to forget, but which would not be forgotten, arose within him
more distinctly and more tormentingly than ever: they filled his mind;
his nephew was forgotten.

Leo did not disturb his uncle's revery, and was very glad not to be
expected to converse. He watched keenly the varying expression in the
features of the old man, who was all unconscious that a scrutinizing
eye was endeavouring to read his very soul. He would else have put a
force upon himself; his hand would not have been clenched, nor would so
gloomy a frown have appeared upon his brow. And certainly he would have
controlled the angry twitching of the thin lips that gave so hateful an
expression to the wrinkled face.

What was going on in this man's soul? Leo asked himself. He no longer
inclined, as he had hitherto, to excuse his uncle's faults, to think
more kindly of him than his knowledge of the past would warrant.
Although he could not divine the mystery that enveloped the old man's
reception of Paul, although he had no conception of what cause his
uncle had to hate Delmar, Leo nevertheless felt that he did hate him
with a fierce hatred that he strove in vain to conceal. The ugly face
was animated by an expression of such savage malice, that Leo could no
longer be in doubt as to the character of this his nearest relative.
The man had no heart; he could not love: he could only hate,--hate with
all his soul!

But no; Leo was wrong! Suddenly there flitted over the sullen, wrinkled
face a smile like a ray of sunshine,--a gentle, loving smile that
transfigured it. Leo, startled by such a contradiction to his thoughts,
looked up to see what had caused such a transformation. The cause was
plain: Hilda was coming quickly towards them.

"But, dearest papa," she called out from some distance, "why are you
and Leo still in the garden? I could not believe you were here when old
Melcher told me. Cousin Leo must be hungry and tired, and you keep him
walking in the garden!"

Herr von Heydeck passed his hand across his forehead as if to smooth
away the ugly frown, and really he almost succeeded in doing so. He
could hardly look kind, but he looked far less sullen and angry, as he
said, in a tone meant to be amiable and gay, "Forgive me, Leo; the
child reminds me of my duty; I was wrong not to take you into the
castle to your room. I am a feeble old man and very forgetful. I have
so much sometimes to confuse me, you must not take it amiss if I have
sinned against hospitality; my Hilda will atone for my omissions."

And Hilda did so; with graceful cordiality she conducted Leo into the
castle and to the rooms that had been prepared for himself and his
friend, her charming face lit up by a happy smile as she saw his
pleased surprise.

Leo was indeed no less surprised than pleased at sight of the bright,
cheerful room they reached after traversing various rooms and a long
dark corridor, and of the glorious view, through open windows, of the
wooded Schwarzenbach valley and its magnificent background of glaciers.

A careful, feminine hand had evidently been busy here in providing
every luxury that could make the expected guest comfortable. Leo was
most touched, however, at seeing a new easel set up by one of the
windows, and beside it, leaning against the wall, a couple of canvases
ready stretched.

"Ah, how kind!" he exclaimed. "A northern room with a glorious
view,--an easel and canvases all ready! I am indeed surprised. How
could you know of my love of painting, my dear Hilda?"

"I know you better than you think, Leo," Hilda replied, gayly. "I have
long known that you were an artist, and I look forward with delight to
overlooking your work. I draw a little, and you must give me some
lessons; my father has told me all about you. Although he shuns all
personal contact with strangers, he is in constant correspondence with
the principal naturalists in all the larger European cities. He has
long made use of his extensive acquaintance among scientific men in
K---- to procure tidings of you and of Uncle Hans. In every letter he
sent there he asked about you both, and nothing pleased him so much as
to receive good news of his only brother and of his nephew. His friends
faithfully replied to him, and thus he has followed your career, even
all through the war; and when I came home from school to live here in
this lonely castle with him, he told me everything that he knew of his
dear relatives. Now you understand how I know that you are not only a
brave officer, but an excellent artist."

"I am no longer an officer, and I only wish I were an artist," Leo
rejoined.

"You are no longer an officer?" Hilda asked, in surprise. "We had not
heard of that."

"Very naturally; I only sent in my resignation a few days ago. My
reasons for doing so I will shortly give to yourself and your father. I
hope he will find them sufficient."

Hilda gave a little nod of assent. She had no doubt that his reasons
for resigning were good, and it never entered her head to imagine that
he had been forced into it by any fault of his own. Desirous as she
naturally was to know what had induced him to quit a career in which,
as her father had informed her, a brilliant future awaited him, her
sense of delicacy prevented her from all further question.

Once more she cast a glance around the room to see that nothing was
wanting, and then took her leave, begging Leo to establish himself
thoroughly in his new home, and assuring him that his luggage would
arrive from Tausens in less than an hour, since she would instantly
despatch a messenger for it. After which, she added, she would await
him in the garden, where the table would be spread in the large
summer-house, and whither she begged he would come to partake of some
refreshment.

Leo was now left alone to occupy himself with a careful examination of
the apartment which was for some time to be his. Everywhere he observed
proofs of kindly loving care. By one window stood a writing-table,
provided with everything that he could require in that line. A
paint-box filled with water-colors and pencils and brushes of all sizes
lay open upon it, and two vases of mountain-flowers adorned a shelf in
the corner of the room.

In a bookcase he found a fine collection of German authors, and the
preponderance of historical works showed that Hilda and his uncle had
been aware of his preference for the study of history.

This regard for his peculiar inclinations, this evident desire to make
his stay in Castle Reifenstein pleasant to him, awakened in Leo a
feeling of remorse. He remembered how unwillingly he had complied with
his father's imperious desire that he should visit these relatives who
received him with such affection. How charming had been the kindly
familiarity of Hilda's manner to him! How evident her desire, by her
care for his comfort, that he should feel at home beneath her father's
roof!

But this father! Leo had never met a human being who had impressed him
so disagreeably at first sight; and yet had not this very uncle given
convincing proof of his friendly interest in his nephew? Would Hilda
ever have been able so to minister to her cousin's tastes and
inclinations if her father had not first taken the trouble to ascertain
what those tastes and inclinations were? Leo reflected that,
disagreeably impressed though he were by his uncle's conduct, the
strange harshness of his first words had borne reference to Paul, and
not to his nephew. What cause the old man could have to hate Delmar Leo
could not guess, but it was none the less certain that, in the sudden
terror caused by Paul's appearance, he had given vent to his hatred in
those first few broken words. The coldness of his uncle's reception of
himself was due entirely to his hatred of Paul, and Leo had no right to
be aggrieved by it,--he had reason to be grateful to the old man for
the kindness shown in the provisions made for his comfort.

True to the principle which forbade his yielding undue influence to
first impressions, Leo was no sooner convinced that he had no cause for
resentment towards his uncle than he exerted himself to conquer all
feeling of repulsion for the old man, or rather to transform any such
feeling into gratitude for the kindness shown him. Although he could
not comply with his wishes in regard to a union between Hilda and
himself, he could at least do his part towards establishing friendly
relations between his nearest of kin and himself, and pave the way for
his father to be reconciled to his only brother.

Filled with this resolve as the result of his short season of
reflection, Leo went into the comfortable sleeping-room adjoining his
sitting-room to remove from his dress all traces of his dusty walk
among the Reifenstein rocks. After which he set out to join his cousin
and uncle in the garden, in compliance with Hilda's invitation.

The way thither, however, after he had left his rooms, was not so easy
to find. He remembered passing through numerous apartments, decorated
partly in mediæval style and partly according to modern ideas, but how
many he had seen of these, or in what direction he had come after
reaching a large central room into which numerous doors opened, he
could not say. He trusted to his luck, however, and from this central
apartment, which he easily reached, he entered a small room, which he
thought he remembered. The beautiful old wainscoting on the walls had
struck his artistic eye, and he now paused to examine it more
leisurely. The work must have dated from the end of the fourteenth or
the beginning of the fifteenth century, and the carving had evidently
been executed by a master's hand. Around the wall, directly under the
ceiling, ran a long inscription cut into the wood-work. Leo tried to
decipher it, but it baffled him, and he determined to devote himself to
the task when he should be less hurried; at present he would not keep
his cousin waiting for him.

He wandered through a long range of rooms. In each he found interesting
and extremely valuable relics of mediæval splendour, and many precious
works of art, upon each of which he would have gladly bestowed
attention had he had the time. One room in especial interested him
greatly: it was Herr von Heydeck's study; a large, gloomy apartment,
into which the narrow windows admitted so little light that a dim
twilight reigned in its remote corners although the sun outside was
shining brightly. Its rays could not penetrate the thick octagonal
panes of glass, set in leaden frames, which had apparently not been
cleaned for years and were hardly transparent any longer. All the walls
were covered with wide shelves filled partly with old books, partly
with boxes and bundles of papers, and partly with bottles; these
bottles, containing all sorts of snakes, lizards, and fish, preserved
in spirits, might well have inspired the uninitiated with disgust.

Close by a window, in a deep embrasure of the wall, stood Herr von
Heydeck's writing-table. It was half covered with open books,
and a microscope placed just against the window and several
magnifying-glasses bore witness to the industry of their possessor.

Leo would have greatly enjoyed a thorough examination of the various
objects of interest that made this old room the very ideal of the
magician's den of an enchanted castle, but he preferred to do so in his
uncle's society, and at present what he most desired was to find the
way to the court-yard. He opened a door in this room, and discovered a
dark, steep winding staircase, which he descended, quite sure that it
would lead him into the open air; but when he reached the bottom he
found himself in a dim, deserted kitchen, only so far lighted by a
window high up in the wall as to enable him to distinguish where he
was. Opening an opposite door, he was disappointed to find, not another
room or hall of entrance from the court-yard, but a narrow, dim
passage, which evidently did not lead out to light and air. Probably
this was the way to the round tower of which the postmaster had had so
much to tell.

Leo's curiosity was now excited. He could not withstand the temptation
to go on and have a look at the haunted tower, especially as he found
that the passage was only a few feet long in the thickness of the old
wall, and that a door at the other end was secured only by a large
bolt. This bolt, although as rusty as such old bolts are sure to be, he
managed to slip quite easily, with a noise that sounded ghostly enough
in the dim, low passage, and the door opened without any difficulty,
but his hopes of finding any interesting mediæval relics here were
disappointed. He had entered a huge round room, evidently occupying the
entire basement of the tower, which must have served in former times
for the dwelling of the warder of the castle, although it had
apparently not been inhabited for many years. The room was lighted by
the old loop-holes, that had been glazed in modern times, and were high
up near the ceiling of the apartment.

Several old pieces of furniture, a dilapidated table, and a child's
crib, in which there were still some dirty pieces of bedding, were
standing in disorder about the room. The thick coating of dust that lay
everywhere upon everything was evidence that for years no one had used
the apartment.

Leo made haste to leave so uninteresting a spot; he closed the door
behind him, producing, as he bolted it again, the same unearthly creak
that had startled the echoes a moment previously, and soon found
himself once more in the spacious deserted kitchen. Here he now
discovered a second door unbolted, by which he entered a large room
with windows opening upon the court-yard. The coarse furniture and
arrangement of this room bore evidence to Leo's mind that it was
probably the abode of the old servant of whom the postmaster had made
mention in his narrative. He would have passed through it to reach the
court-yard by the opposite door, when this was suddenly opened from
without, and an old man appeared upon the threshold with features
inflamed with rage. He shouted out several words in utterly
unintelligible German, and then threw himself upon the young man,
clutching his throat with both hands with a strength and ferocity which
could never have been looked for from his age and appearance. As he did
so he uttered a shriek of rage that sounded more like the howl of a
wild beast than any sound from human lungs.

For a moment Leo was confused by so unexpected an attack. He recoiled
as the man rushed upon him with the evident intention of throttling
him; but in the next instant he freed himself from the griping fingers
at his throat, and threw off his assailant, exclaiming, "Take care!
What do you mean?" words which received no reply save the same
unmeaning howl and a second attack on the part of the old man. This
time however Leo was prepared, and he repulsed his assailant with such
vigour that he staggered backwards and fell on the floor.

Nothing daunted however, the furious creature was on his feet in
an instant, and looking wildly about him, found what he sought,--a
broad-bladed knife that lay upon the window-ledge. This he seized, and
with another cry, rushed once more upon the young man.

It was a struggle for life. Hitherto Leo had only acted in
self-defence; he could no longer spare his assailant. He avoided his
savage thrust by stepping aside, and felled him to the floor with a
blow on the side of his head. He fell headlong and for a moment lost
his hold of the knife; it was but for a moment however: he had not lost
consciousness; and again he would have imperilled Leo's life, when,
"What is the matter here? Melcher, are you crazy?" was heard in a deep
voice, and Herr von Heydeck appeared at the open door. The old man's
hand, raised to strike, fell by his side, and the knife dropped from
his grasp.

Left at liberty by his furious assailant, Leo could see what manner of
man he was. The vacant, animal expression of the old fellow's coarse
features placed it beyond all doubt that he had been attacked by a
maniac. Leo remembered now that when he heard the name 'Melcher' the
Tausens landlord had spoken of this son of old Stoffel's as a
'Troddel,' a name synonymous in the Tyrol with idiot.

Yes, old Melcher was an idiot; the vacant face and the protruding,
watery blue eyes were idiotic; the sudden change in the countenance so
lately animated by bestial rage, and now smiling a dull, unmeaning
smile, was idiotic, and so also was the unintelligible, stammering
speech in which he replied to Herr von Heydeck.

Was there any sense in what he said? Leo could not understand a single
word, but he saw Herr von Heydeck's face grow dark, and noticed that he
glanced anxiously towards the door of the old kitchen and then keenly
at his nephew.

It was evident that his anger was roused by the old man's words; he
turned hastily to Leo with, "What are you prying about here for? Why
should you intrude here?"

"I do not understand you, sir," Leo replied, haughtily. "What possible
motive could I have for 'prying'? Accident led me hither. I was seeking
some means of egress into the court-yard when this old maniac assaulted
me."

"Accident? Melcher tells me he heard the bolt creak."

"He did. I found a door in that deserted kitchen leading to the old
tower. Curiosity prompted me to penetrate its depths, as I would have
explored any other mediæval dungeon. I had no idea you could be angry
about it or I should not have done so."

Herr von Heydeck grew pale as he heard that Leo had penetrated to the
room in the tower. He paid no heed to his apology, the only thing that
interested him was the fact that Leo had seen this room. "And what did
you find there?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"A wretched, uninteresting, deserted peasant-room, which you however
must know far better than I do, and I cannot conceive why my harmless
curiosity should have so vexed you."

Leo's frank quiet explanation had its effect upon Herr von Heydeck; he
saw that he had been hasty with his nephew, and in a much more composed
manner "You are right," he said, "a wretched, uninteresting, deserted
peasant-room; Melcher used to sleep in that tower-room, but it was too
damp, and so it has not been used for years. There is nothing to see
there. There is indeed no reason for my being vexed, but I do not like
to have people ranging all over the castle, and I cannot see how you
came here, since your rooms are in the other wing."

"I lost my way in the labyrinth of rooms as I was looking for the
stairs leading to the court-yard, and I found myself in your study,
whence I thought to descend into the court-yard by the winding
staircase, which however brought me to the old kitchen. Thence I
penetrated to the tower-room."

"I see, I see. Any one not familiar with the castle will very likely
lose his way, but I advise you to be more careful in future. Melcher
will not suffer any man except myself in his quarters. He is an idiot,
but old as he is his muscles are iron; and if I had not chanced to come
into the courtyard to look after you, you might have had the worst of
it. It was fortunate that I came."

"It was indeed, for the old man and for myself, for I should have been
sorry to do him an injury, and yet I might have been forced into it.
How, sir, can you allow so dangerous a maniac to go at large in the
castle?"

"He is not dangerous; he is a harmless idiot. There is no need to mind
him, except when he is irritated and falls into a rage. Take no notice
of him, and be careful to avoid this part of the castle, and he will
not molest you. Look here, Melcher; this gentleman is my nephew; he
will not come here again; you must let him alone."

With a vacant smile Melcher nodded to his master, and picked up and
laid aside the knife, uttering, as he did so, some unmeaning sounds
which were entirely unintelligible to Leo, but which Herr von Heydeck,
acquainted with the Tyrolean patois, and used to the old man's
indistinct utterance, seemed to understand, for he replied to them,
"That's right, Melcher; only lock the door, and I will see you again by
and by."

Then turning to Leo his uncle continued: "The old fellow is afraid you
will intrude upon him again. Be careful not to do it, for it would
throw him into a rage in which he would be quite capable of murder."

"I am not afraid of him," Leo quietly replied; "but I shall certainly
not provoke him intentionally."

"Promise me that you will never try to open that door into the tower
again," Herr von Heydeck said to his nephew as they passed out into the
court-yard.

"Certainly; your wish is quite sufficient."

"Thank you. Then you will have nothing to fear from old Melcher. You
have had but a sorry reception in Castle Reifenstein, Leo, but I trust
you will forget it and yet feel yourself at home here. Now let us go
directly to Hilda, in the garden."

Leo followed his uncle through the court-yard to the shady
summer-house, where Hilda was awaiting them at the head of a
delicately-spread table. She reproached her cousin laughingly for
spending so long a time over his toilette,--her father had grown so
impatient that he had gone in search of him.

Leo's excuses gave his uncle a pretext for inquiring more closely into
the manner in which he had gone astray, and while Hilda poured out his
coffee, Leo described minutely the way he had taken upon leaving his
room. It appeared that instead of taking the door opening upon the
staircase from the large centre apartment he had left it by one leading
to the wing in which Herr von Heydeck had his study. This simple
explanation entirely banished the mistrust which had been evident in
his uncle's manner. The old man saw clearly that it had been with no
desire to pry, but from accident, that Leo had penetrated into the
hidden recesses of the castle. The frown on his brow disappeared, and
he became genial and cordial.

Hilda listened eagerly to her cousin's account of his error; and when
he told of reaching the deserted tower-room by the narrow passage from
the old kitchen, she was greatly amazed. She had never even heard of
such a room; she had been no farther than into Melcher's kitchen, and
had not gone even there since her return from school, for she could
perfectly remember, as a child, making the old servant very angry by
going once alone into his kitchen and looking about her. Why he should
be so jealous of the solitude of his kitchen, and why he should make
such a mystery of the tower-room, Hilda could not divine.

Herr von Heydeck showed uneasiness at the continuation of the
discussion with regard to Melcher and his tower-room, and he several
times tried to change the subject of conversation; but Hilda's
curiosity was excited, and she would recur to it. She was no less
surprised by Melcher's outburst of insane fury than by the existence
of the tower-room. She had always known the old servant as a
good-humoured, harmless old fellow, ready to fulfil her every wish, and
she asked so many questions about the attack he had made upon Leo, that
her father, after fruitless efforts to change the subject, at last lost
patience.

"Do not tease Leo with any more questions, my dear," he said. "The
disagreeable scene is over; do not let us discuss it further."

"But I cannot imagine, papa, why Melcher, who never does harm to any
one, should attack Leo with such fury just because he found him in his
room."

"Why should we try to imagine the motives that rule the actions of an
idiot?"

"But, papa, you know very well that Melcher is no idiot. He knows
perfectly what to do and what not to do, and he certainly would not
guard this tower-chamber, of which I never heard before, so jealously
if he had not some reason for it."

"Perhaps he hoards his savings there, and is afraid of being robbed;
perhaps he keeps some articles of special value to him hidden there.
Who can tell what fancies he may have in his feeble brain? If he is not
entirely idiotic, he is certainly not a responsible person: he has not
the usual amount of intellect. It would be impossible to conceive of
the workings of his small amount of mind. But indeed we have wasted too
much time upon him. I do not want to hear another word about him. We
have far other things to talk of with our Leo than of old Melcher, and
his deserted tower-chamber with which we certainly have nothing to do."

Hilda could not gainsay so determined an expression of her father's
will; she questioned Leo no further upon the forbidden topic, but
listened attentively to the conversation which her father skilfully led
to the subject which interested him most at the moment. Leo had to give
an account of his life in K----, of his father the old colonel, and of
his friends.

It was a matter of course that Delmar's name occurred frequently in his
discourse.

This was what Herr von Heydeck wanted. For good reasons he was very
anxious for exact intelligence concerning Paul's past life,
intelligence which he could procure nowhere so easily as from Paul's
most intimate friend, and to learn all possible particulars with regard
to Delmar he had given the conversation its present turn.

The old man now had his features under perfect control; his face
betrayed no emotion beyond a justifiable curiosity as he said, "Your
friend interests me; he is very like a man, now dead, with whom I had
relations at a most eventful period of my life. The memory of that time
always agitates me, and therefore the sudden appearance of the young
man was such a shock that I lost my self-control and transgressed the
duties of hospitality. I should like to know whether the resemblance
that so struck me is accidental, or whether your friend is really
distantly connected with my old acquaintance."

"Delmar has no relatives; he is alone in the world."

"But he certainly must once have had relatives. Where was he born and
educated? What are his circumstances? You would oblige me very much if
you would tell me all you know of him, for, as I said, I am greatly
interested in him."

Should Leo comply with this direct request? He called to mind the
expression of intense hatred and of horror with which his uncle had
regarded Paul. The quiet manner in which the old man now questioned him
with regard to his friend's past did not impose upon him; he divined
that the information he asked for had a deeper interest for his uncle
than that excited by a chance resemblance, and yet he saw no reasons
for concealing what he knew about Paul. Therefore he made up his mind
to accede to his uncle's desire. He told all that he knew of his
friend, and as he did so he involuntarily warmed with his topic; his
love for Paul, and the esteem in which he held him, lent glowing
colours to the picture that he drew. He observed with pleasure that not
only did his uncle listen to him with interest, but that Hilda's eyes
sparkled as she leaned forward in eager attention.

Leo had known Delmar from childhood; they had gone to the same school,
and as they were near neighbours at home, they had grown to be
inseparable playfellows, and afterwards loyal friends.

Paul's father had not been a wealthy man in the old schooldays. He had
come to K---- with his only son to invest a small capital in some
business. He lived only for this business, which he established and
conducted with great success. He was so engrossed by it that he had not
much time or attention to bestow upon little Paul, whose mother had
died a few hours after the birth of her child.

Thus the boy, who was full of talent, grew up in his father's house
over which an old housekeeper presided, left entirely to himself, and
his heart would have been fairly starved had he not found in Leo a
faithful friend upon whom he could lavish the tenderest affection.

During his school-life, however, a great change took place in his
circumstances. His father embarked in daring speculations, and they
were successful. Herr Delmar grew rich; the small business he had
founded became the greatest banking establishment in K----. The
merchant's time was more than ever absorbed by the cares of business in
his unceasing efforts to accumulate wealth; he saw his son only at
meal-times.

When Paul passed through his college examinations he devoted himself to
the study of history and philosophy. He had pursued these with ardour
for about a year, when his course of life suddenly changed. The young
student had noticed for some time that his father's manner had been
absent, and his air grave and even depressed; the reason of this was
explained to him in a conversation he held with the head book-keeper of
the banking-house. It appeared that Herr Delmar, with unequalled
daring, had, in the hope of doubling his wealth, embarked in a giant
speculation, involving not only his every penny, but also all the
credit that he possessed. If it was unsuccessful complete ruin was
unavoidable, and at present affairs looked gloomy. The money market was
uncertain; the credit of the house was shaken. Herr Delmar was
anxiously awaiting what the future might bring forth.

One day, as the banker was sitting, silent as usual, opposite his son
at the dinner-table, letters were brought to him so unfavourable in
their contents that he broke the silence to say to his son, with a
glance of irritation, "If you had turned your attention to business
instead of studying philosophy and such stuff, you might now have been
of some service to me!" He made no further remark, but arose from
table, leaving his untouched dinner, and shut himself up in his office.

The next morning when the office opened, Paul was standing behind a
desk,--he had applied himself to his father's business, and he then
received from Herr Delmar the first look and smile of affection that he
could remember in his life.

The young man was endowed with so keen an intellect, so excellent a
memory, and such power of ready comprehension, that he soon mastered
the difficulties of a commercial career. Under the skilful tuition of
the head book-keeper he soon became an admirable business man, and
when, a few weeks later, his father, oppressed with care, was stricken
down by illness, he was perfectly capable of conducting his affairs,
with the assistance of the faithful book-keeper.

This time of trial developed all the strength and intellectual vigour
of Paul's character. Under his prudent but brilliant direction the
great banking-house passed successfully through the dangerous crisis.
As bold, but not as venturous, as his father, he avoided all too daring
speculations: he established the business upon a firm basis; and when
Herr Delmar, though only half convalescent, was driven by anxiety to
leave his bed for his office, he found, to his astonishment, that all
peril was past. The great banking-house had emerged from the crisis
with greater wealth and firmer credit than ever.

But Herr Delmar had left his bed too soon. A relapse was the
consequence: recovery was impossible; although too feeble to take any
part in the conduct of his affairs, he lived on confined to his couch
for three years longer. At the end of this time, in the midst of a
night of intense suffering, he felt that his last hour was at hand. He
had Paul awakened and summoned to his bedside. He was in entire
possession of his faculties; his long illness had been powerless to
weaken his vigorous intellect and the conviction that he was dying
never for a moment disturbed the repose of his mind.

He smiled affectionately at Paul when he entered the room, and replied
to his inquiries by a cordial pressure of the hand. "I sent for you,"
he said, in a failing voice, "because I know I shall not live until
morning. I want to thank you for the filial affection you have always
shown me. To you I owe all that I possess; through you I have been
enabled to establish my house; your unselfish devotion preserved my
wealth for me when my previous good fortune threatened to leave me.
Your care and prudence have tripled my property during these years of
sickness when I have been unable to attend to business, and it is no
more than just and right that you should be the only heir to the
fortune you have so contributed to make. There is no one in the world
with any just claim upon my estate. While I was poor my distant
relatives took no notice of me, and since I have grown rich I have
treated them in the same manner. You alone therefore, my dear Paul,
will inherit my property, and with my lawyer's help, I have made a will
to confirm you in the possession of your inheritance if any
unjustifiable claims should be made upon my estate.

"I see that you do not comprehend why a will should be necessary when,
as my only son, you are legally my only heir. I could explain this to
you, but I beg you not to require me to do so. You have always honoured
and loved me as a father should be honoured and loved by a son. I thank
you for it from my very soul, and my last wish is that you should
retain the same affection for my memory."

Paul would indeed have liked some explanation of his father's strange
words, but he did not venture to ask for them, and a few more words of
gratitude for this forbearance were the last uttered by the dying man.
He soon after fell asleep with a smile upon his pale lips, and did not
wake again.

The day after his father's death Paul received a visit from one of the
best-known lawyers in K----, who came to read to him the will which he
had drawn up a year before at Herr Delmar's desire. To Paul's
disappointment it contained no explanation of his father's last words,
but on the contrary surprised all who were present at the opening. In
the introduction to the will Herr Delmar stated that Paul had always
performed all the duties of a son with the greatest self-forgetfulness;
that the maintenance and increase of his business were owing to the
young man's skill and devotion; and that therefore, and not because he
was his son, the testator declared him his sole heir. At the close of
the will Herr Delmar expressly mentioned that he left behind him no
relatives legally entitled to any portion of his estate or who could
have the slightest claim upon Paul.

The singular wording of the testament caused considerable talk in legal
circles in K----, and the lawyer who had drawn it up was of course
applied to by many people, and indeed by Paul himself, for an
explanation, but he assured every one that he knew nothing; he had
strictly followed Herr Delmar's instructions in drawing up the will,
the wording of which was the testator's own.

Why Herr Delmar should have taken such pains to secure his property to
a son who was legally his heir remained a mystery, since no one
appeared to put forward any claim to the young man's inheritance.

Thus Paul entered into undisputed possession of his father's immense
wealth. There was no longer any reason for his continuing to carry on a
business, in which he had never had the least interest, merely to
accumulate money. To the surprise of every one on 'Change, he disposed
of the entire business to a stock company at a very reasonable price,
and invested his capital in safe government securities, in bonds,
mortgages, and real estate. This done, he devoted all his energies to
scientific research.

He lived in K---- the life of a man of wealth. He filled his
magnificent villa with the finest paintings and statuary, and spent
enormous sums upon his library. The greater part of his income,
however, was expended in satisfying what he called his egotism,--his
love of self,--which prompted him to purchase whenever he could the
pleasure of assisting the poor in the quietest manner possible.

"And as an egotist to whom no sacrifice seems great in the interest of
a friend,--whose aid is always ready whenever aid is necessary,--Paul
Delmar lives in K----, where every one who knows him loves and respects
him. I am proud that he honours me with his friendship." Thus Leo
concluded his account of his friend.

Herr von Heydeck had listened to every word, and when his nephew had
finished he nodded in approval; his face wore a very different
expression from that which had animated it while he was questioning Leo
with regard to Paul. He even smiled quite gayly. "Your friend seems to
be an admirable fellow," he said. "I am very glad, doubly so, for I
think I have some reason for special interest in him. I will tell you
about it hereafter. Very rich you say he is,--a millionaire, eh?"

"I do not know the amount of his wealth; he never speaks of it, and
seems to value it but little. In K---- he is said to be worth four
million thalers at least. He is the wealthiest man there."

"Four millions!" exclaimed Herr von Heydeck. "That is enormous! I had
no idea of it! Four millions! Then he certainly does not need any more.
He would not care for a few hundred thousand guilders, and therefore
will not----"

Herr von Heydeck suddenly paused and cast a timid glance at Leo, who
looked inquiringly at him expecting the end of his remark. The old man
did not finish it, but arose and, half turning away, said without
meeting Leo's eyes, "But what nonsense I am talking! What is this Paul
Delmar to me? He is your friend, and as such shall be a welcome guest
at the castle; but don't ask me to interest myself about him. I am an
old man, often ill, and unaccustomed to social intercourse. My head
aches if I converse for any length of time, and then I grow very
confused. That is why I receive no visitors. My head aches to-day. You
must forgive me if I retire to my room. To-morrow we will talk more
together; to-day I must leave you to Hilda. Good-evening."

He waited for no reply, but nodded to Leo without looking at him, and
left the summer-house. Passing quickly through the garden, he was soon
lost to sight among the shrubbery.



                               CHAPTER X.


When Hilda left him, Paul Delmar walked on quickly down the mountain.
The pathway was charming and well worthy of more attention than Delmar
bestowed upon it. It passed by turns through groups of tall larches,
and then through low shrubbery, where there were continual glimpses of
the lovely valley, with the shining snow-peaks in the distance. But
sensitive as Paul was to the charms of mountain-scenery, just now his
mind was too much occupied with his late reception at Castle
Reifenstein to allow of his enjoying this walk down the mountain as he
would have done at another time.

And yet what most occupied his thoughts was not what one might have
supposed would have made the deepest impression upon him,--the strange
and unjustifiable dislike shown him by Herr von Heydeck,--no, the
farewell words of his charming guide were what he dwelt upon,--"At
least I will not be an evil fairy to you. Good-bye, and come soon
again."

How lovely Hilda had looked as she said those words! They were not a
merely conventional phrase: they were sincere. Of course he must do her
bidding; he should indeed have to repeat his visit to the castle on
Leo's account. Only on Leo's account?

He suddenly experienced a sensation almost of pain. Leo had, it is
true, come to the Tyrol only in compliance with his father's desire,
and firmly resolved never to further his uncle's scheme. But could he
remain faithful to this resolve after he had seen Hilda, the 'Fair one
with the golden locks'? Surely her grace and loveliness must conquer
the distaste Leo had for the union desired by his uncle; he never could
withstand such charms.

Paul sighed profoundly as he reflected thus. "He is a lucky
fellow,--Leo!" he said to himself. "Happiness drops into his grasp
without any effort on his part. He needs no help from me. He must soon
see that the union he would have avoided will be his greatest blessing.
What have I to do at the castle? It is better that I should escape from
the enchanted ground before I am too surely entangled in the spells of
the enchantress! It would be base in me to place a pebble in Leo's path
towards happiness,--I, who came to serve him if I could. Happy Leo!"

He sighed again. He was sorry, near as he was to Castle Reifenstein,
not to be able to avail himself of the invitation of the charming fairy
of the place, but loyalty to Leo forbade his seeing Hilda again.

Still, would she not have just cause for offence if he took no notice
of her kind invitation? Oh, she would soon forget the stranger, who was
to her only her cousin's friend. And he would try to forget her,
although he doubted his power to succeed in the attempt.

Paul was so deep in reflections of this kind that he hardly thought of
where he was going, and was greatly surprised at a turning in the path
to see before him the grassy opening where he had left Herwarth. At the
same moment he was hailed by Kuno, who had thought him long in
returning.

"Here you are at last!" he exclaimed. "I was afraid you had lost your
way among the mountains."

His call aroused Paul completely from his revery, and he was instantly
himself again. Herwarth must not guess at the gloomy nature of his
thoughts, and he replied,--

"You are a model of wisdom, noble knight, and a true prophet, who must
of course be without honour in his own country. We did lose our way up
there among the rocks, where we should have been at this moment if a
golden-haired angel had not descended and borne us aloft to Paradise,
where I left our Leo, while I returned to this sordid earth to succour
a wounded knight. How are you? Is your foot better?"

"You did get to the castle then? And you have seen Leo's lovely cousin?
Tell me about it."

"All in due order; you shall hear everything, and the account shall be
as full and detailed as you desire, but you must wait for it until we
are back at the inn. First answer me, as a docile patient should, how
is your foot?"

"Better; it does not pain me now. I think I shall be able to walk very
well after my rest."

Herwarth arose, but his first attempt to walk renewed his pain. "It is
worse than I thought," he said. "I must beg you for your arm to help me
even on the short way back to the inn."

"Shall I not get some of the people from the village with a litter?"
Delmar asked anxiously. "The injury seems graver than we suspected. I
am afraid your ankle is broken."

"No, it is not; I am sure of that. I shall certainly not be carried
through the village on a litter like a dying warrior because of a
slight sprain or bruise. If you will give me your arm I will hobble
back to the inn without more delay."

"As you please. His own way is a man's kingdom of heaven; and if you
choose to hobble through Tausens, you shall do it."

Propped upon Delmar's arm, Herwarth contrived, although with great pain
and frequent pauses for rest, to walk back to the inn. Just before
reaching it he paused once more, not however to rest this time, but in
astonishment. "I must be dreaming!" he exclaimed. "Look up, Delmar, at
the fourth window of our inn. Is it possible? Fräulein Aline von
Schlicht, and Fräulein Schommer."

Delmar, whose eyes had been fixed upon the road, in his desire to help
his companion, looked up, and laughed aloud when he recognized the two
young girls. "Fräulein Eva, sure enough!" he said. "What a charming
meeting we shall have! 'Tis a pity that Leo did not take up his
quarters down here with us; he would take such a childlike delight in
the happy chance that has brought the fair Eva to Tausens. The presence
of my friend Bertram is all that is wanting to make the party quite
perfect."

"It is not wanting: there the scoundrel goes!" Herwarth cried eagerly;
and he was right. Delmar recognized Bertram in the distance walking
along the road, his head bent as if lost in thought.

"True! there goes the worthy soul!" Delmar said, laughing. "What say
you, Kuno? shall I bestow a few more attentions upon him for the sake
of his fair betrothed? The fellow ought to be punished for his
insolence in crossing our path again."

"Let him alone, Delmar. Why provoke gossip? He probably does not cross
our path intentionally."

"As I have before had occasion to remark, you are a model of wisdom,
noble knight. You are right; we will let the rogue alone. Let us leave
him to all the joys of his betrothal,--to the lovely Eva. It is an
admirable match. Lean more heavily on my arm, Herwarth. It is time you
were on the sofa. Come!"

Kuno summoned up all his resolution to endure the violent pain in his
foot that he might not seem a weakling in the eyes of the ladies, who
were regarding him with great compassion. He could not bear his weight
upon it, however, and even with Delmar's assistance he had great
difficulty in gaining the house, where he took what consolation he
could from Aline's pitying smile as she returned his salutation.

More carried than led by Delmar, he reached the apartment Paul had
engaged for their sitting-room, and sank exhausted upon the sofa.
Delmar did all that he could to make him comfortable, relieving the
foot of its boot and swathing the ankle in wet bandages, after which he
declared his intention of going in search of medical aid. "If the
postmaster's tale be true," said he, "the physician here, Dr. Putzer,
although a thorough-paced vagabond, is a man of skill and experience. I
am going to find him."

"What trouble you take for me, Paul! How shall I thank you?"

But Paul had already left the room. In the hall he met the postmaster,
who showed him the way to the doctor's house. At the inner door he
encountered Bertram just returning from his walk, and saluted him after
his usual mocking fashion.

"Rejoiced to see you, Herr von Bertram. The tender regard which has
prompted you to follow me thus touches me and deserves recognition. I
trust your charming betrothed is well. What refreshment I shall have in
the contemplation of your new-born bliss! It will be a lesson in the
noble art of love."

Bertram replied to this sneer by a furious glance, but he suppressed
his rage and only asked humbly, "May I ask for a few moments of
conversation in private with you, Herr Delmar?"

"What can we possibly have to discuss in private, sir?"

"I beg you to listen to me for a few minutes."

"Your modesty shall receive its reward. You may accompany me in a short
walk I am obliged to take through the village, and on the way you can
tell me what you have to say. I have no more time for you."

With these words Paul left the inn, leaving Bertram to follow him, and
rightly suspecting what the ex-lieutenant (he had been forced to leave
his regiment) had to say.

Bertram walked at his side for some time without speaking. He had been
debating with himself for the last hour as to how he should approach
his detested enemy, how induce him to be silent. He had prepared
himself for this interview with the greatest care, and yet, now that he
found himself confronted with Delmar's mocking smile, he forgot all the
fine phrases he had made ready, and did not know how to begin.

"Well?" Delmar asked, when the two men had walked for some distance
without one word from Bertram. "You are silent? If you have anything to
say to me, I advise you to do so quickly, or you may lose the
opportunity."

"I will not detain you long, Herr Delmar," Bertram humbly replied.
"Have patience for a few minutes. As unhappy chance will have it we
meet thus unexpectedly in this retired spot."

"Chance! and you call it unhappy? Then it was not a desire for my
amiable society which attracted you hither? Herr von Bertram, it wounds
me to be thus undeceived."

"You sneer, Herr Delmar, and I cannot answer you, for I am powerless
against you. Is it honourable thus to triumph over the defenceless?"

"No; you are right, and I take shame to myself that I have deserved the
reproof. Tell me briefly and without circumlocution what you desire of
me, and you shall be safe from my contempt for the next few minutes,
but take care not to cross my path again; my promise holds good only
for this interview. What do you want? Answer me at once and to the
point."

"I wish to implore you not to let my betrothed know of the means by
which you forced me to make the declaration to Herr Leo von Heydeck
which drove me from the army. Have compassion upon me, Herr Delmar!"

"Do you deserve compassion?"

"If I sinned my punishment has been great. I never injured you, and yet
you have been the one to give the deathblow to my honour. Do you wish
to rob me of my last hope in life? You have terribly avenged the insult
to your friend. I cannot resent your doing so, but I implore you not to
drive me to despair. Do not take from me the last thing left to me in
life,--the love of my betrothed!"

"Be honest, Herr von Bertram. If you really wish me to spare you,
answer me frankly. Is it really the love of the fair Eva which you
prize so highly? Is it not her millions which are so dear to you?"

"I give you my word of honour, Herr Delmar----"

"Let your honour alone if you wish me to believe you. I want a frank
answer."

"I assure you that I love my betrothed from the depths of my soul. It
is this love that drove me to the course that ruined me. I hoped by a
duel with Herr von Heydeck to win Fräulein Schommer's gratitude and
affection."

"You knew that Leo was principled against duelling."

"I was convinced that he would prove false to his principles. You may
judge of the sincerity of my love for Eva by my submission to her
wishes. Without your intervention I should have offered an apology to
Herr von Heydeck, the same in substance with the one you insisted upon,
although couched in language less humiliating to me. Fräulein Schommer
required this of me when she consented to our betrothal."

"Really? That then was no empty subterfuge of yours. Fräulein Schommer
required that you should make an apology?"

"She did. Only upon this condition would she yield an assent to my
suit."

"Strange! I had not credited the young lady with such delicacy of
feeling. This information so exalts her in my opinion that I doubt
whether I have a right to conceal from her what manner of man he is to
whom she has entrusted her future happiness."

"You will not use my frankness against me? You will not ruin me
because, in accordance with your wish, I have told you the entire
truth? You could not take so mean an advantage of me, Herr Delmar? On
that terrible day you gave me hopes that you would spare me if I
complied with your demand. I did comply, to the annihilation of my
future career. Will you take the last thing that I possess from me,
when you promised to spare me?"

"I expressly told you that I would promise you nothing."

"But you justified me in hoping."

"That I dispute; nevertheless, I will consider the matter. I have made
you no promises, and I will make you none. For the present I see no
reason for pointing out to Fräulein Eva the worthlessness or the
excellence of the man upon whom she has bestowed her fair hand; if time
should develop any reason for my doing so, I shall act as I see fit.
And now, no more of this. We have reached the house I came to seek, and
I have no desire to prolong this interview. One more question. Are you
going to stay any length of time at Tausens?"

"I do not know; Fräulein Schommer seems to think of doing so."

"Does Fräulein Schommer know that Herr von Heydeck is staying here?"

"Yes; and for that very reason she has determined to remain. She does
not wish to appear to avoid Herr von Heydeck."

"She shows pluck, upon my word! Then we can hardly avoid seeing and
speaking with each other occasionally; but I would advise you, Herr von
Bertram, to spare me such annoyance as far as you can. The seldomer we
meet the better it will be for you." And not waiting for a reply,
Delmar, having reached Dr. Putzer's house, left Bertram without another
word. Then, opening a gate in the low iron railing, he entered a front
garden, at the end of which was an arbour, where sat a lady and
gentleman.

Dr. Putzer's house, the style of which was more pretentious than that
of most of the houses in the village, lay at quite a distance from the
road, from which it was separated by a large, carefully-cultivated
garden, that, with its tasteful flower-beds and various rare plants
certainly not to be found in any other of the village gardens, was
worthy of more attention than Delmar now bestowed upon it. Without a
glance at the fragrant and beautiful shrubs on either side of his path,
he walked directly along the white-pebbled way leading to the arbour,
where, as he suspected, the doctor was.

His approach was unnoticed. The lady sitting in the arbour was busy
with some embroidery,--so busy that she did not look up; the gentleman
was leaning back in one arm-chair with his feet resting upon another,
comfortably resigning himself to the enjoyment of a cigar. He sat, or
rather he reclined, with his back towards the approach from the garden.

Delmar paused at the entrance of the arbour; although he had taken no
pains to tread softly, neither the lady nor the gentleman had heard his
step. If he had ever cared to imagine what this couple were like, the
reality would have accorded well with the fancied presentment.

The doctor's wife was still an imposing woman; indeed, her
well-preserved features would have been beautiful if they had not been
disfigured by her girlish cap with pink ribbons, and quantities of
pearl-powder and rouge. The old woman's efforts to look young destroyed
the charm that her regular features might else have possessed.

Her youthful dress, fluttering all over with ribbons and fringes and
lace, bore testimony to a craving for admiration, all the more
ridiculous because, in the retired village where she lived, there was
not probably a man, woman, or child who was not perfectly aware that
she had long passed fifty.

In striking contrast to the extreme elegance of his wife's appearance
Dr. Putzer's dress displayed no care whatever. The white summer coat
that covered his broad shoulders was rumpled and dirty; two buttons
were gone from the front, and it hung loosely about his huge figure.
His still abundant coarse sandy hair was in wild disorder, and the
spectator was led to suspect that the doctor did not often come in
contact with soap and water.

Dr. Putzer was not handsome, although one could see that he might once
have been a personable man. His fat, flabby face had the purple hue of
an habitual drinker; his light-gray eyes were dull and watery, and his
figure, which must formerly have been good, was marred by corpulence.

Paul took in this worthy couple at a glance; he did not need to scan
them long to come to a conclusion with regard to them. Their
distinguishing characteristics were patent to view,--the ridiculous
vanity of the woman and the man's indolence and love of eating and
drinking.

For one moment Paul hesitated. Could he confide his friend to this
drunkard's surgical skill? On the table beside the man was a half-empty
bottle of wine; he had evidently been partaking freely. But Delmar
called to mind that the postmaster, in his story, had laid great
emphasis upon the fact that the doctor, in spite of his dissipation and
general worthlessness, was a skilful physician,--the best in all the
country round,--and this reflection confirmed his resolve. "Have I the
pleasure of seeing Herr Doctor Putzer?" he asked courteously, lifting
his hat.

The doctor's wife looked up at this unexpected address, and at sight of
Paul uttered a slight scream of surprise; the embroidery dropped from
her hand, and she stared at the stranger with wide-open eyes. If her
cheeks had not been plastered with white and red paint, Paul, who
noticed her startled look, would have seen her become ghastly pale.

The doctor, too, seemed strangely startled by Paul's appearance. Upon
first hearing himself addressed he turned his head heavily and
clumsily, but with one glance at his visitor he started to his feet
with a celerity that was almost comical in so corpulent a personage. He
ran his hands through his dishevelled bushy hair, and his little gray
eyes were riveted upon Paul's face. "Holy Apostles!" he cried, in
terror. "Who are you, sir? What do you want of me?"

Here was another strange reception, precisely similar to that accorded
to Delmar by old Herr von Heydeck. Was Tausens then so secluded from
the world that the appearance of an ordinary stranger brought with it
terror and dismay? Just as the doctor and his wife were now doing had
Herr von Heydeck stared Paul in the face.

Paul could conceive no reason for the extraordinary manner in which he
was received in Tausens: he would have liked to make some inquiries
with regard to it; but all that he wanted at present was to procure
medical aid for Kuno as quickly as possible, and he therefore answered,
"My name, which can possess but little interest for you, is Delmar. I
come to request your services for a friend who has injured his foot
among the mountains; will you have the kindness to return with me to
the inn, where he is in great need of your skill?"

"Delmar?" the doctor muttered, seeming to heed nothing but the name in
the young man's reply. "Your name is Delmar, then,--not Menotti?"

Delmar gazed at him in surprise; what made the man think of this name
of Menotti? Paul remembered to have heard it, but he could not recall
at the moment when or where; he only knew that he had heard the name
lately of a Count Menotti, if he were not mistaken.

"Why do you mention the name of Menotti?" he asked, curiously.

"Then it is not your name?" the doctor repeated, without answering.

"No; as I told you, my name is Delmar,--Paul Delmar."

"Strange! The resemblance is most striking. But what am I thinking of?
Young Count Menotti cannot be more than twenty years of age, and the
younger brother is a cripple. But the resemblance! Rosy, what do you
say to it?"

The doctor's wife said nothing, she only nodded her head, never turning
her eyes away from Delmar. She scanned his features with eager
scrutiny, as if to stamp them upon her memory.

For Paul the whole scene was extremely annoying, he especially disliked
being stared at by this odious woman; he did not like charades, and to
find himself a principal actor in one was very disagreeable. He asked
rather sharply, "Who is this Count Menotti whom I so strangely
resemble?"

"A very distinguished nobleman," the doctor replied, continuing to
regard Delmar with curiosity, although he had regained his indolent
calm of manner, out of which it needed some special occurrence to
startle him. "You need not be ashamed of the resemblance, Herr Delmar,
Count Menotti was a very handsome man."

"Was a handsome man? Is he no longer living, then?"

"He died a few years ago. 'Tis strange that you have never heard of
him. Your resemblance to him is so great that I could have sworn you
were akin to him. No son could look more like a father. And you know
nothing of him,--you never heard of him?"

"I think I have heard the name, although I cannot now remember when or
where. But let us drop this resemblance at present, Herr Doctor; at
some future time I hope you will tell me more of Count Menotti. I shall
be some weeks here in Tausens, and shall have abundant opportunity of
conversing with you about this Count whom I so greatly resemble. At
present let me beg you to come to the inn with me as quickly as
possible to the assistance of my friend."

"Excuse me; in my astonishment at sight of you I forgot. Injured his
foot, you say? Pray tell me as briefly as possible how it occurred."

Paul told, and the doctor listened attentively, now and then
interrupting him with an intelligent question. He then declared himself
ready to accompany Paul immediately to the inn, only asking him to wait
until he should fetch some bandages from the house, whither he repaired
with more briskness than could have been expected of his ungainly form.

Paul was left alone with the doctor's wife. He tried to converse with
the lady, but in vain; he received such curt replies to his few general
remarks as made it plain that she did not mean to be drawn into
conversation with the stranger, although she continued to regard him
with the same wearisome curiosity. Therefore Delmar was more than
content when the doctor's clumsy tread was heard approaching from the
house. He had hurriedly made a kind of toilette, and the dirty linen
coat was replaced by one of cloth, rather more respectable in
appearance.

"Here I am, at your service, Herr Delmar," he said. "I am ready to
accompany you, but I must beg you to walk slowly as my size forbids
speed."

Delmar took leave of the lady with a courteous inclination, which she
did not return, and then walked beside the doctor down the pebbled path
to the road. At the gate he turned and saw that Frau Putzer had arisen
from her seat and was standing at the entrance of the arbour, still
watching him.

Paul was annoyed by so disagreeable a degree of attention, and walked
on in silence, while the doctor also seemed to feel no inclination for
conversation; and thus they reached the inn with the exchange of but
very few words upon the way.

They found Kuno sitting at the open window, awaiting them impatiently.
He arose to greet the doctor, but violent pain in his foot made him
wince as he did so. The doctor saw this, and immediately took charge
most intelligently of the case. "The pain is severe," he said. "Let us
see what is the matter. The bone is not broken; that I could see as you
arose. Lean upon me as heavily as you please, my shoulders are broad,
and I will lead you to the sofa, where we will make a thorough
examination."

He spoke with calm and kindly decision. As a physician he perfectly
understood how to inspire confidence in his skill and experience. Kuno,
although he had been prejudiced against the man by what he had heard of
him from the postmaster, could not but yield to the influence exerted
by him upon all his patients. He did just as he was bidden, and a
thorough examination of the foot was made.

"Well, doctor, what is it? Is there any serious injury?" Delmar asked
anxiously, when the doctor had at last finished his investigations.

"No, I can reassure you; it is only a sprain. If Herr von Herwarth is a
docile patient all will be right in a couple of weeks; if not, I cannot
say when the foot will be well again. For two weeks you must not use
the foot at all. You ought to lie in bed. But this would I suppose be
asking too much, and I will allow you to recline on the sofa, begging
you upon no account to touch the injured foot to the floor. If you will
follow my directions, I will promise that you shall walk again in two
weeks, and that after a month you will hardly remember the injury."

"Am I not to walk for two weeks?" Kuno asked.

"Not for two weeks. I will not assume any responsibility in the matter
unless my orders are strictly obeyed."

"They shall be obeyed. I will answer for it," Delmar interposed. To his
own surprise, he found himself agreeably impressed by the doctor's
manner. "A patient is not an individual, but a case; he should have no
will of his own. I will take care of him. I shall see life from a new
point of view. I will enact my part of nurse well. It will be a fresh
sensation in this everlasting monotony. Do not be anxious about this
amiable young fellow, doctor. He shall obey orders, put on bandages,
hobble or sit still, just as you command."

"Excellent! Then I will answer for the result," the doctor said. "I see
that my patient is in good hands. I may leave him. To-morrow afternoon
I will come again and bandage the ankle. Until then, farewell!"



                              CHAPTER  XI.


Dr. Putzer yawned and stretched his huge limbs as he left Herwarth's
room and the door was closed behind him. In a sick-room and in
intercourse with strangers he was a different man from the Dr. Putzer
of private life. Towards a patient and with those whose rank in life
was superior to his own and with whom he had not yet become familiar,
he displayed a gentle courtesy which was entirely foreign to his usual
manner, and which was quite attractive. Whenever he pleased he could
thus assume the air and bearing of a man of refinement and culture; but
as soon as he was left to himself, or to his daily associates, he threw
off all such self-restraint and took no pains to conceal his innate
coarseness of nature.

He descended the stairs, which creaked beneath his heavy tread, and
opening the door of the parlour, called, in thundering tones, "Nannerl!
Where the deuce is the lazy hussy! A half-measure of red!" he added, as
the maid came hurrying from the kitchen. "And send the landlord here. I
have something to say to him."

As he finished he pinched the girl's red cheek with an ugly leer
and laughed coarsely as she recoiled from his familiarity. Then
turning into the parlour he settled himself comfortably in his usual
position,--leaning back in one of the large strong chairs, with his
feet on another of them.

Nannerl soon appeared with the wine, which she placed upon the table,
carefully avoiding, as she did so, any contact with the man whose
coarse familiarity she dreaded.

While she was thus setting out the wine Hansel entered the room, and
observing her annoyance, said angrily, "Let Nannerl alone, Herr Doctor;
your old head ought to teach you better than to tease a poor girl."

The doctor was not at all offended by the rough rebuke, but with a
laugh, offered a glass of wine to the postmaster. "That's right.
Hansel," he said. "Keep strict watch over your maid's virtue. Take a
sip to cool your anger, and then we'll have a gossip. Fine doings here.
Hansel! Two four-horse carriages have not been seen together for many a
year in Tausens; and a couple of strangers into the bargain. I have
just left one of them, who has sprained his ankle."

"I know it. Herr Delmar asked me where you lived."

"Exactly; Herr Delmar came for me. Do you know Herr Delmar? where he
comes from? who he is?"

"No, I don't, but I know his face, although I can't remember where I
have seen it."

"Do you remember Count Menotti, Hansel?"

Scarcely had the doctor uttered this name when Hansel struck the table
with his fist and exclaimed, "That's the man! The Count Menotti! Yes,
yes; just so he looked with his black eyes and yellow face! Now I see!
He may call himself Delmar if he will; he's a Count Menotti for all
that. That's why he wanted me to tell him all those old stories,--about
Herr von Heydeck, and his first wife, and Count Menotti, and the child
that died of smallpox."

The doctor suddenly started from his reclining posture and frowned
furiously at the postmaster. "And you told him all that, you cursed old
blab!" he exclaimed angrily.

"It's no secret. Herr Delmar may as well know what everybody else
knows," Hansel replied stoutly.

The doctor's wrath was not at all appeased, but he made an effort to
control any further expression of it, and rejoined, "True, Hansel, it
is no secret, but where's the use of raking up such old forgotten
tales? Well, it can't be helped,--only I should really like to know
what you did tell him."

The postmaster was not perfectly comfortable at this request. When he
called to mind his long conversation with the strangers, and the
extraordinary eagerness that Herr Delmar had shown in inducing him to
tell all that he knew of the life at the castle and of Herr von
Heydeck, he could not help thinking that the stranger who was so very
like Count Menotti had cross-examined him very skilfully, and the
doctor's request strengthened him in this conviction.

Why had the doctor been so vexed to learn that Hansel had told of Herr
von Heydeck's dead child? Try as he would to seem composed the Herr
Doctor could not conceal his agitation. He was evidently afraid that
the postmaster had told too much, and honest Hansel began to share this
fear himself.

The poor fellow found himself in a very disagreeable situation; if he
refused to tell what he had told the strangers, the doctor would
suspect matters of being worse than they really were, and yet if he
informed him of all that he had said, matters were bad enough, for he
had told enough to make the doctor his bitter enemy. It was very hard
to give the right answer, but something must be done, and Hansel did
his best, extricating himself from his dilemma with greater cunning
than would have been thought possible for him. He told the doctor
faithfully of all he had said to Herr Delmar about Herr von Heydeck,
the life at the castle, about the first mistress, and her relations
with Count Menotti. He reported also that he had spoken of the report
that Herr von Heydeck was by no means sorry for his child's death, but
he never hinted that he had once made mention in the narrative of the
doctor or his wife.

Hansel had the reputation in Tausens of being so honest and
simple-minded a fellow that it never occurred to the doctor to doubt
his frankness, and his mind was set at rest with regard to the extent
of Hansel's revelations; not so, however, as to the stranger's motive
in questioning the postmaster. It could not, the doctor was convinced,
have been ordinary curiosity.

What could have interested the strangers in Herr von Heydeck? Delmar's
striking resemblance to Count Menotti could be no mere chance freak of
nature. Such resemblances between strangers in blood do occur, it is
true, but they are very exceptional, and Delmar's curiosity regarding
matters connected with Castle Reifenstein showed plainly that this was
not one of the exceptions.

But if Delmar were related to Count Menotti, and had not come by chance
to Tausens, what could he want there?

A sudden suspicion flashed upon the doctor's mind, but he rejected it
immediately,--it was so wild and improbable; still, Delmar's presence
made him excessively uncomfortable. To conceal this discomfort from the
postmaster, he talked and drank incessantly. The measure of wine was
emptied and refilled several times, while the doctor's bloated face
grew redder and redder, his eyes more watery, and his speech thicker.
He tried to learn more of the strangers from Hansel, but in vain; the
postmaster knew nothing of them except what he had heard from their
guides from the Zillerthal, and this he freely imparted without in the
least satisfying the other's curiosity. In his good humour the
innkeeper was recounting every particular for the fourth time, although
he could not conceive what interest it could have for the doctor, when
he was interrupted by a message from the doctor's wife.

A servant reported that her mistress was very much annoyed that the
doctor was staying so long from home, and that she begged he would
return thither immediately, since a message from the castle was
awaiting him.

The doctor started up and, pouring down a last glassful of wine, set
out for his home, but his progress thitherward was not of the swiftest,
for his gait was unsteady and his head was confused,--he could not
collect his senses when he tried to divine whether this message from
the castle had any connection with Herr Delmar's arrival at Tausens.

The doctor's wife awaited her husband in the arbour, where she had been
ever since his departure. She was standing at the entrance looking out
for him; but as she saw him approach with a heavy, unsteady gait, she
received him with anything but a smile of welcome, and the words,
spoken in a tone of profound contempt, "The brute is drunk again!"

The doctor was perhaps not entirely unaccustomed to such tender
addresses, at all events he did not resent her words, but replied quite
humbly, "No, Rosy dear, sober,--perfectly sober,--s'help me God," the
thickness of his utterance belying his words.

His wife took no notice of his reply, but, with the expression of
contempt upon her face intensified, she ordered him harshly, "Go to the
brook this instant, and when you are fit to hear it I have a message
for you."

The doctor ventured no word of remonstrance; with wavering steps
he went towards the spot where, to the left of the arbour, a
mountain-brook was pouring through a hollow tree into a stone basin in
the grass. He held his hot hand under the icy stream and hesitated for
a moment, but at the sound of a sharp 'make haste' from the arbour he
delayed no longer, but stooped and let the water pour over his head.
His breath came in quick, loud pants, his face grew dark purple in hue,
and his limbs trembled,--it was a hard ordeal, but he bore the shock
bravely, and let the icy water stream over his brow and temples for
several minutes. Then he stood erect, and shaking his dishevelled shock
of hair like a dog emerging from the water, dried his face with his
cotton pocket-handkerchief, and went back to his affectionate wife in
the arbour. The cold bath had produced its effect,--his gait was
steadier and his head clearer.

"Are you sober enough now to understand what is said to you?"

"Sober enough; but I shall have a stroke one of these days."

"Drink less then, and you will not have to resort to such violent
measures to make yourself sober. You are to go to the castle. Herr von
Heydeck has sent for you."

"I am not his slave; let him wait."

"You'd better go to the brook again,--you can't be sober yet."

"I am sober, I tell you; but I can't see why I should always dance to
his piping. Let him come to me if he wants to talk with me."

"You'll never be anything but a blockhead in spite of all your
book-learning. Don't you see that we must keep straight with the old
man? We are all in the same danger, and must stand together."

"What danger?"

"What danger, stupid? Have you no grain of understanding? Don't you
know who this man is who calls himself Delmar, and what he wants here
in Tausens? You recognized him at once as the son of Count Menotti!"

"Yes; but I can't for the life of me see----"

"Of course not,--but I can tell you! He is the son of Count Menotti and
the noble Frau von Heydeck, the heir of Castle Reifenstein, and he has
come for his inheritance!"

His wife's words did not surprise the doctor; the same idea had
occurred to him, but he had rejected it as impossible. Now the uttered
words gave it distinct form in his mind, and he began to yield it
credence. "I thought of that," he said, reflectively; "but it is
impossible. The boy died long since."

"The old fellow invented that tale for us. Rely upon it he is alive,
and has come to claim his own. It is for this the old man wishes to see
you, and you must go to him, but take care what you say. You must make
him confess that he lied to us. You must threaten him,--you can do
anything with such a coward. But you must not break with him, for we
are all alike in danger. You wrote the certificate of death,--the man
will revenge himself upon you as well as upon the old scoundrel at the
castle. Try to get as much money as you can out of the old fellow. If
the worst comes to the worst we must leave Tausens,--I have no mind to
end my days in a jail."

"It wouldn't be as bad as that."

"It would be bad enough. That man will have no pity for us. I saw that
in his bold black eyes. And you in your stupidity made matters as
desperate as you could by letting him see that you recognized him at
once."

"I was so startled----"

"That's no excuse. But that's over, and we can't help it; we must do as
well as we can. If you are really sober, go immediately to the castle.
Speak as little as possible, and get all that you can out of the old
man's cowardice. I wish I were going in your stead, for it's likely
you'll spoil all. Now go!"

The doctor's wife thus dismissed her liege lord, who did as he was
bidden, although he had but little inclination at present for an
interview with Herr von Heydeck. The fumes of the wine he had drunk
were still clouding his intellect; he could not collect his thoughts as
he wished, and the way to the castle was long and steep.

The warm July day had hardly grown cooler at its close. The sun, it is
true, had already set behind the mountains, but the air of the valley
was heavy and sultry, and made every step a weariness to Dr. Putzer's
massive frame.

He was frequently obliged to rest while on the way, and heat and
fatigue combined to increase his irritation against the lord of the
castle. When at last he gained the bridge leading across the chasm, old
Melcher met him, and in the broken babble which few could understand,
but which was perfectly intelligible to the doctor's accustomed ears,
gave him to understand that his master had been impatiently awaiting
him for more than an hour.

A savage oath was the doctor's only reply, but he hastened his steps,
and passed directly across the court-yard to Melcher's quarters. He
well knew the most direct way to Herr von Heydeck's study; he had been
familiar enough with it in years long gone by. By the winding staircase
from Melcher's room he mounted to the master's study, which he entered
without knocking.

"Here you are at last!" the lord of the castle exclaimed. He had been
pacing the room to and fro for a long while in extreme impatience.
"Could you not come sooner? I sent for you more than two hours ago!"

The imperious tone in which Herr von Heydeck spoke irritated the doctor
still more deeply. "Am I your slave?" he asked angrily. "I ought not to
have come at all in obedience to a command which should have been a
request. A pretty reception you give me! I've more than half a mind to
turn round and go home again."

These words, spoken in a coarse, loud voice, had a strange effect upon
Herr von Heydeck. He recoiled timidly from the angry man; his wrinkled
features twitched nervously, and it was not until he had moved, so as
to place the heavy round table, covered with books, between himself and
his visitor, that he said in a changed and gentle tone, "You need not
be offended, doctor. I did not mean to be cross. You must not take it
amiss that I am a little impatient. I have waited more than an hour,
and have very important matters to discuss with you. Pray be seated."

The doctor threw himself into an arm-chair, that creaked in every joint
with his weight. "I know what you want," he said sullenly; "but get me
some wine first. My tongue fairly rattles in my mouth."

Herr von Heydeck rang a bell, and old Melcher, who answered the
summons, was sent for 'a measure of red' for the doctor. When it was
placed upon the table, Putzer poured out a glassful, emptied it at a
draught, and then, after settling himself comfortably in his chair,
said, "Now I am ready to listen. What do you want of me?"

Herr von Heydeck did not reply. He had waited for the doctor with the
greatest impatience, but now that he had come he could not find words
in which to tell him of what was weighing upon his mind. Startled and
terrified by Delmar's appearance at Castle Reifenstein, Leo's narrative
had banished his fears but for a short time. As soon as he was alone in
his room they returned to torture him. While he gazed into his nephew's
frank, honest eyes, he gave him full credence, but when left to himself
to review the dark past, he was haunted by suspicion lest other reasons
besides friendship for Leo had brought Delmar hither. He felt himself
suddenly menaced by a peril which he had indeed dreaded many years
before, but which had long since ceased to trouble him.

What should he do to avert disaster? He was helpless; a terrible future
was present to his excited imagination. He saw himself driven forth a
dishonoured beggar from the castle which he had for so long considered
his own; saw the gates of a prison open to receive him, condemned to a
disgraceful punishment for a deed which he hoped and believed had been
buried in oblivion.

And there was no one to aid him in this extremity! Suddenly he thought
of Putzer, the accomplice in his schemes,--the man who must suffer with
himself if their secret was discovered,--and he despatched a messenger
to Tausens to require his immediate presence at the castle. The doctor
alone could advise and assist him. But now, when the man sat opposite
to him, and he looked into the bloated face, the leering, watery eyes,
he lost all hope of any support or aid from such a source, and
hesitated to ask him for advice, since in doing so he must confess that
for years he had deceived him.

The doctor waited for a while in vain expectation that Herr von Heydeck
would begin what he had to say. He divined what was passing in the old
man's mind, and inwardly exulted in the terror and embarrassment
plainly to be seen in his face. At last however he grew weary of
waiting, and bringing his fist down heavily upon the table, exclaimed
with brutal violence, "Well! are you going to speak or not? Did you
send for me to come here to be stared at? Tell me what you want of me."

The doctor knew perfectly well that it was only by brutal violence of
manner that anything could be done with Herr von Heydeck. Smooth words
had no effect upon him; but every violent gesture, every menacing word,
inspired him with fear, and fear made him docile. Cowardice was Herr
von Heydeck's distinguishing characteristic, and influenced all his
actions.

Thus the doctor's angry words did not now fail of their effect Herr von
Heydeck moved uneasily. "Why should you be so violent, doctor?" he
asked timidly. "I did not mean to offend you. I was only thinking how
best to put into words the important intelligence I have to
communicate."

"Have you not had time enough for that? If you are puzzling your brains
with the invention of fresh lies with which to impose upon me, you may
spare yourself the trouble. Do you suppose I don't know that you have
sent for me because you are afraid of this Herr Delmar?"

"How?--You know?" Herr von Heydeck asked, his anxiety increasing with
every word uttered by Putzer.

"I know more than you care to tell me. You are afraid of this fellow;
and well you may be, for he knows what he wants. Have you seen him?"

"Yes."

"Then there's no need to warn you. One look into his black eyes will
tell you that you've no mercy to look for there. I don't know whether I
can help you. You deceived me and lied to me; you told me your son had
died in Switzerland!"

"My son!" Herr von Heydeck exclaimed indignantly. "You know perfectly
well----"

"Well then, your wife's son. What is that to me? You needn't look so
furious,--I'm not afraid of you. Your cunning has overreached itself,
that's all. If you had been honest and open with me you would have had
nothing to fear now. I could have settled the boy so that you would
never have heard from him again."

"Perhaps that would have been best," Herr von Heydeck said humbly; "but
I could not make up my mind to it then, nor could I now. I hated the
boy whose undeniable resemblance to his father was a constant disgrace
to my name. My dearest wish was for his death, but by natural means,
not by poisonous drugs. If I had left him to you, as you advised, I
should never have had another peaceful moment. Murder!--the very sound
of the word freezes the blood in my veins! I should have been frenzied
by the thought that I had permitted the deed, even although I had not
caused it to be done."

"Who talks of murder? I forbid all such expressions as far as I am
concerned," the doctor rejoined angrily. "Do you imagine that to make
you a rich man I would have stained my soul with blood and put my neck
into a noose?"

"But you offered the first time I spoke to you of the boy----"

"I offered nothing except to relieve you from all anxiety. And that I
would have done if, after I had made out the certificate of the child's
death, you would have handed him over to me instead of keeping him here
in the basement of the tower, in care of Melcher, for a year, and then
carrying him off yourself. What is done should be done thoroughly. But
you are a coward, too timid to act decidedly. You were afraid of me,
and so you cheated me with the story that the boy died a year after you
had put him to board in Switzerland. Now, when he suddenly appears here
to claim his rights, you are trembling again in terror."

"He has really come then to claim his rights? Oh, what do you know
about him, doctor?" cried Herr von Heydeck, wringing his hands.

The doctor gazed with a scornful smile at the despair of the old man,
whom fear seemed to deprive of the capacity for thought. Putzer felt
vastly superior,--his blood was quickened by the wine, his pulses
throbbed feverishly, but his brain had regained more than its wonted
clearness. He had suddenly and advisedly uttered as fact what was only
suspicion, and thus won from Herr von Heydeck an indirect confession;
but this was not enough,--he must know the whole truth, and he was sure
that he could extort it by increasing to the uttermost the coward's
terror.

"Time enough by and by to tell what I know about Herr Delmar, as he
calls himself," Putzer continued. "You will find to your cost that I
know more than you ever meant I should. Perhaps I can devise a means of
getting you out of the scrape, although your affairs do look black
enough; but not one step will I take in the matter, rely upon it,
unless you treat me with entire frankness. You must tell me exactly
what you did with the boy, where you put him to board, and everything
else that you know of him."

"But if you know all about it----"

"That is no affair of yours. I want to hear it from you, and I advise
you not to try to deceive me. I have already meditated whether to offer
my services to Herr Delmar or to stick to you. If you lie to me you
will force me for my own sake to go over to the enemy's camp, and you
know best what that means!"

"For the love of heaven, doctor, you would not betray me?"

"Not unless you force me to it by lies or concealment. Come, begin!
Tell me all that you know of this Herr Delmar, from the moment when I
saw the boy for the last time until the present day."

Herr von Heydeck sprang up from his seat and paced the room to and fro
in the wildest distress. He tried to reflect, to come to some
determination, but his mind was confused; the doctor's threat had so
terrified him that he could think of nothing but the wretched
consequences of such a betrayal, and he lost sight of the fact that his
guilty accomplice had an equal interest with himself in preserving his
secret.

The doctor allowed him no time for reflection. "Will you do as I say,
or not?" he asked roughly. And his threatening manner was, as ever,
effectual.

Incapable of further resistance, the old man again sank into his
arm-chair, and, in the fear of offending the doctor by suppressing some
fact that he might have learned from other sources, gave him the full
and circumstantial account that he demanded.

After Herr von Heydeck had, with the help of the doctor and of the
woman who afterwards became Frau Putzer, established the fact of the
death of the child of his late wife by means of the mock funeral and
the false certificate of death, he kept the boy, whom he loathed doubly
as the child of Count Menotti and as the obstacle to his own fortune,
in the basement of the old tower, tended by Melcher and his half-idiot
sister. Herr von Heydeck never saw it, but, as he sat in his study at
night, he could frequently hear its cries, and they not only awakened
in him the stings of conscience, but tortured him with the dread lest,
if heard by other ears, they should lead to detection and punishment.
The false certificate of death had given him all the wealth that should
have been the child's.

Again and again the doctor's offer to rid him forever of the detested
infant recurred to him, but he recoiled from a crime that seemed to him
far more odious than the child's concealment.

Thus a year passed amid pangs unspeakable for the lord of the castle.
He had cherished a secret hope that the child would not live long in
the gloomy tower, but this hope was blighted by Melcher's account of
the boy's thriving condition. He was almost in despair. He had not
sufficient courage for a fresh crime; and yet it would be impossible to
keep a growing child in the basement of the tower much longer without
discovery. His cries had already been heard by the villagers in the
silence of night, but superstition had lent its aid to protect the
guilty.

"The devil is at his pranks again in the castle," the peasants in
Tausens would say, and they avoided the haunted tower as far as was
possible,--crossing themselves with a muttered prayer if they were ever
near enough to it to hear any inexplicable sounds.

Thus far their superstition had shielded Herr von Heydeck; but who
could say when some man, more courageous than his fellows, might not
attempt to explore the source whence the ghostly cries proceeded? And
then? Why, then discovery, disgrace, and misery were the inevitable
consequences.

The wretched man had almost made up his mind to have recourse once more
to the doctor's aid, when chance pointed a way of release for him. He
saw an advertisement in a paper offering a child for adoption. An
unnatural mother, pleading extreme poverty, appealed to the compassion
of any generous individual who would adopt her child, and consented, if
any such were found, to relinquish all her maternal rights.

As Heydeck read he thought of the hidden child. If this woman had been
successful in only appealing to human compassion, could he not be far
more sure of success in invoking the aid of man's cupidity? And he
devised the scheme which he proceeded to carry into execution.

He put an advertisement in a Berlin newspaper offering a sum of ten
thousand thalers to any one who would adopt an orphan boy and so
educate him as his own that the child should never learn that he was
not the genuine offspring of his adopted parent.

He used every caution with regard to this advertisement. He went to
Berlin, and there, under an assumed name, he himself received all the
answers to his offer,--destroying them after he had read them.

Among these one seemed especially desirable. A merchant by the name of
Delmar, residing in a distant provincial town, declared himself ready
to take the boy. He wrote that he had had the misfortune a short time
before to lose his wife and only child, Paul. The care of another child
would soothe his grief, and by a judicious outlay of the promised
capital he trusted he might insure the boy's future welfare.

That this letter seemed less than the rest the result of greed of gain
would hardly alone have decided Heydeck to accept it as the answer to
his offer, but he was also moved thereto by the consideration that it
came from a small provincial town so distant from the Tyrol that it
could never have had the slightest cognizance of Castle Reifenstein.

Herr von Heydeck went to H----, and made inquiries at the inn there
concerning the man who had written to him. The intelligence that he
received was satisfactory. Delmar was a small tradesman, living very
quietly, but with an excellent reputation. He was a solid, sensible
man, but had been very unfortunate. He had not only lost his wife and
only child, but the bankruptcy of a large Berlin house had so
imperilled his business that his townsfolk were afraid he would be
obliged to dispose of his stock in trade to satisfy his creditors.

After learning these particulars, Herr von Heydeck called upon Delmar.
He introduced himself as a Herr Steineck, commissioned by a lady of
rank to provide for her illegitimate child. If Herr Delmar would bind
himself never to inquire after the child's parents, but to bring him up
as his own son, giving him his own name,--if further, in order that the
boy might never learn from strangers that he was an adopted child, he
would consent to leave H---- and establish himself in another place,
whither he could take the child as his son Paul, the boy should be
immediately handed over to him and also the ten thousand thalers.

Delmar gladly acceded to all these conditions. He promised to leave his
present place of abode, which was full of sad memories for him, to sell
his business and go to some other German town, where he hoped to invest
the ten thousand thalers with success, and where he might make use of
his dead child's baptismal certificate to legitimate his adopted son,
so that no one could have the slightest cause for suspicion that he was
not really and truly his son.

Delmar and Steineck were thus soon agreed; the latter paid down a
thousand thalers for a retainer as it were, and it was settled that
Delmar should immediately proceed to close up his affairs in H----, and
should inform Steineck when he was ready to move elsewhere by an
advertisement in a certain Berlin newspaper. It was made a principal
condition of their agreement that Delmar should never make the
slightest attempt to discover Steineck's place of residence.

A month later Herr von Heydeck read in the Berlin paper that Delmar was
ready to receive the child. To effect the infant's removal was the
hardest part of Heydeck's task. He would admit no one to his confidence
in the matter; neither Dr. Putzer nor his wife should know whither the
child was taken; thus only could the secret remain such forever.

Late in the evening Heydeck left the castle in his carriage, driven by
Melcher; the boy had been drugged, and was in deep slumber. The
Bavarian town of Rosenheim was selected by Delmar as the place where
the child was to be delivered up to him.

All went well: Delmar was on the spot, and received the boy with the
promised sum of money. He immediately departed for Munich, and Herr von
Heydeck returned to the Tyrol, firmly convinced that Delmar had no idea
who had delivered the child to him.

Six months later he informed Dr. Putzer that he had placed the child in
an establishment in Switzerland, where it had died of the measles. As
there was no reason to doubt this, Putzer made no further
investigations in the matter: indeed, any such would have been useless,
so perfect had been Herr von Heydeck's precautions.

Thus everything seemed happily concluded. Herr von Heydeck had no
treachery to fear, for Dr. Putzer and his wife had as much to dread
from discovery as he had himself, and Melcher and his sister, if they
had been capable of understanding matters, were entirely dependent upon
their master, to whom they clung with slavish devotion.

And yet Herr von Heydeck was not content. The phantom of possible
discovery pursued him awake and in dreams. In vain he repeated to
himself that he had nothing to fear, that there was no flaw in the
precautions he had taken; he could not banish the dread lest his sin
should one day find him out.

Become more misanthropic than ever, he secluded himself from all human
companionship, and if he had not been obliged to visit the baths every
year for the sake of his health, he never would have left Castle
Reifenstein.

But when years passed by and nothing was heard further of the boy, when
he married again and enjoyed a happiness of which he had never dreamed,
he became reassured. The dreadful dreams in which he saw his secret
discovered and himself about to receive the punishment of his crime,
tortured him no longer; he had even felt perfectly secure for years,
when suddenly he had been startled out of this security by the
appearance at the castle of his nephew's companion.

His fears had become reality. It was impossible that the dreaded
stranger could have any motive but revenge and the recovery of his
property. Leo's information that his friend was a millionaire, and had
accompanied him to the Tyrol solely out of friendship for him, had
satisfied Herr von Heydeck but for a few moments,--the more he pondered
this information the more improbable did it seem to him. He could not
believe that this meeting was due solely to accident.

Therefore he had in this moment of supreme peril sent for Dr. Putzer,
as the only living being to whom he could look for aid and advice, and
therefore, a prey to torturing anxiety, he made his long confession
with the greatest minuteness, interrupted but rarely by a question from
his listener.

While he gave his utmost attention to these revelations, the idea which
he had thrown out just before, simply to intimidate Herr von Heydeck,
recurred to Dr. Putzer's mind. He too was now more than ever convinced
that Paul Delmar was aware of his parentage and of the right which he
possessed to all that Herr von Heydeck possessed, and that he had come
to Tausens to assert this right. But if this were the case, what the
millionaire coveted was certainly not the possession of an old castle
and some hundred thousand guilders which he could not possibly need,
but the ancient noble name and title, upon which the plebeian merchant
would of course place the greatest value.

Now this was just what Herr von Heydeck had the right to withhold from
his opponent. The doctor knew perfectly well that, in view of the
proofs which Heydeck could adduce, no court in Germany could force him
to give his name to his wife's illegitimate child. Delmar's right to
his mother's property was indisputable, but he had none whatever to the
name and title of a Herr von Heydeck. If he coveted this, he must be
reconciled to Herr von Heydeck, in which case he would no longer be
dangerous, but would doubtless be willing richly to reward the man who
should help him to the fulfilment of his desires.

And this man the doctor would be. In imagination he saw a shining
stream of gold flowing from the millionaire's money-bags into his own
open pockets, for such a lavish young Cr[oe]sus was a very different
customer from miserly old Herr von Heydeck, from whom it had been
difficult, latterly, to extort even as much as sufficed to pay the
doctor's wine-bill.

He would ally himself with Paul Delmar: his safety as well as his
advantage required it; he was not yet quite clear as to how this
alliance was to be most advantageously concluded; he would see about
all that later, when his head should be a little clearer. Now he must
take great care lest Herr von Heydeck should suspect his scheme. Its
success was perhaps dependent upon the old man's placing implicit
confidence in him.

When the doctor was busy thinking he was fond of refreshing himself
with a glass of wine; therefore, while Herr von Heydeck was making his
revelations, he had frequent recourse to the bottle, which, when the
narrator had come to an end, was nearly emptied, while the listener's
good humour had so increased that he found it difficult to restrain the
expression of it. "'Tis a confounded queer story, and you are in for
it," he said, at last. "This Delmar is a devil of a fellow; he'll make
you squeak. I should like to know where the deuce he heard it all. You
say you took every precaution."

"I cannot understand it: I thought I was perfectly safe," Heydeck
replied despairingly.

"You must have done something stupid; what it was the devil only knows;
but you're in for it now; the fellow will pull the house down about
your ears!"

This expression seemed to the doctor so eminently fitted to the
occasion that he burst into a coarse laugh, which so irritated Herr von
Heydeck that he started up, exclaiming, "What are you laughing at? I
should think matters looked grave enough! I ask you for counsel, not
for idiotic laughter----"

This angry outbreak only increased the doctor's tipsy merriment.
"You're a wonderfully fine old fellow!" he said, vainly trying to
steady his voice. "But, still, you're an old coward, afraid of your own
shadow, and a skinflint into the bargain! But never mind, we're the
best of friends, and I'll stand by you in this matter with your wife's
son. He shall not hurt you, depend upon me. But we'll have no more of
the stupid old story to-day: we'll drink and be merry. Take a glass,
you old sinner; come, and don't put such a d----d wry face on the
matter."

He held out to Herr von Heydeck a glass of wine as he spoke, but the
old man rejected it angrily. He had been so absorbed by interest in his
own narrative that he had not until this moment noticed the condition
of his listener. What advice or aid could he look for from this sot?
"You are drunk again," he said with contempt. "Go home and sleep it
off!"

This was just what the doctor desired. He knew that his brain was
confused, and that he was not in a condition to talk without betraying
his secret intentions; therefore he had feigned to be more drunk than
he really was, hoping thus to end the conversation for to-day. "You may
be right, old Solomon!" he exclaimed, with a loud laugh. "I am a little
cloudy, and a nap can do me no harm. I'll come again tomorrow and have
another talk. Sleep in peace; you need not be afraid; you and I are
more than a match for the young fellow!"

He arose, and although he knew he had already drunk too much, he could
not withstand the temptation of the glass that was standing filled upon
the table, but emptied it before he turned towards the door. Then,
nodding a familiar farewell to Herr von Heydeck, who took no notice of
it, he left the room by the same door by which he had entered. When he
reached Melcher's apartment he thought his head felt less confused and
that his gait was sufficiently steady to justify his refusing the old
man's proffered guidance down the mountain, and accordingly he left the
castle alone.

As he reached the court-yard a cool breeze was blowing down the valley
from the snow-mountains in the north, and by the time he had crossed
the bridge the wine had produced its full effect upon him. So far from
being able to reflect upon the best way in which to carry out his
schemes, he needed all the mind he could muster to provide for his
safety in descending the mountain. His capacity for thought was not
quite destroyed, although his brain was thoroughly bewildered.



                             CHAPTER  XII.


"Two weeks to spend in hobbling from the bed to the sofa, and from the
sofa to the bed! it is insufferable!" Herwarth exclaimed when he was
again alone with Paul, after Dr. Putzer had left his room.

In his vexation he did not meet with much sympathy from his friend.
"You are wrong, noble knight," Paul replied, mockingly. "You will not
only suffer it, but after a while you will admit that this enforced
rest is highly beneficial for both of us. I at least am always
delighted to have a good excuse for luxurious idleness. With what
ecstasy shall I now survey from a distance the blue ice-rifts in the
glaciers, in the consciousness that I am not called upon to ascend them
in the sweat of my brow! I verily believe, my dear Herwarth, that you
divined my secret wishes, and in heroic self-sacrifice sprained your
knightly ankle to do me pleasure, that I might lounge and dawdle here
for two weeks. It was true magnanimity on your part, my noble friend.
We shall have some delightful days together. I will send for piles
of books from Innspruck and Bozen, and I have any quantity of good
cigars,--that is, as good as can be had in this confounded Austria. Oh,
we will idle away the time gloriously!"

"Do you think I shall allow you to sit still here in the inn on my
account while such delightful excursions are to be made all round the
country?"

"On your account? You know perfectly well that you have nothing to do
with it, noble knight. I act to please myself. I follow my inclination
for the _dolce far niente_--for a season of repose after all these
nonsensical, tiresome mountain-ascents, of which I have had in the last
week enough to last me my lifetime. I have a horror of your delightful
excursions, where your only gain is an unquenchable thirst. The view of
the mountains from below is far finer than that of the valleys from
above. I will have none of your mountain-excursions."

"But, Delmar, you are the most indefatigable mountain-climber. You have
been the chief instigator of our boldest efforts."

"Have I? Very likely. I sometimes am a prey to whims. I suppose it is
because I have done so much of it that I feel such an unconquerable
repugnance now to any mountain ascent."

"You cannot convince me. I will never consent to have you tied to the
house on my account."

"You will never consent? You do not consider the significance of the
words so calmly uttered, noble knight. You have not the slightest idea
of all to which you will consent. As I said just now, a patient is not
an individual but a case. You will therefore consent to whatever I see
fit; for example, to let me put a fresh wet bandage upon your foot at
this moment. Let me advise you not to irritate me by opposition. Do not
force me to cool your head also with a wet bandage."

"But, Delmar, let us speak seriously."

"You are not to speak at all," Paul replied with a laugh; "but to keep
quiet while I bandage your foot." He proceeded to do this with a firm
and gentle hand, and then continued: "And now, noble knight, let me
beseech you not to fatigue yourself with representations and remarks
which will be of no avail against my obstinacy."

"But, Delmar, I myself cannot bear being shut up in this room for two
weeks, and how can I allow you----"

"As I said before, you will not be consulted upon the subject. Besides,
the doctor spoke of a balcony whither I might take you, with a lovely
view of the castle and the distant mountains. I will immediately
proceed to discover where this balcony is, and whether I can arrange a
comfortable seat there for you. If I can, we will stay in the open air
all day long, and all the evening too if you desire it."

He left his friend, and summoned Hansel in stentorian tones to show him
the way to the balcony. This balcony was the worthy postmaster's pride.
He had himself added it to his inn, and it flattered him not a little
that every stranger who visited Tausens declared it to be a charming
place to enjoy the prospect.

And in truth there could be no more delightful abiding-place for any
one unable to walk than this spacious balcony at the back of the house.
It was protected from sun and rain by a stout roof, and from the blasts
of wind by the house itself, and it was large enough to accommodate
easily more than thirty people. The view from it was glorious,
comprehending a distant prospect of the densely-wooded mountainside of
the valley of the Schwarzenbach, with Castle Reifenstein proudly
crowning the rocky wall at its entrance, and also the glaciers in the
background with the three peaks the Maidelspitz, the Weisshorn, and the
Schiechjoch.

"Wonderful!" Paul exclaimed. "Here let us build our cots." And he
straightway proceeded to make every arrangement for Herwarth's
establishment in ease and comfort, being most cordially assisted in his
task by the good-humoured innkeeper.

When all was ready he returned to Kuno's room for his friend, whom he
supported in triumph to the comfortable easy-chair provided for him.
The injured foot was placed upon another cushioned chair, and a plaid
thrown over it that the noble knight, as Paul said with a laugh, might
present a respectable appearance in case any ladies should visit the
balcony.

"And I think they will not be long in coming," he added. "I remarked
Fräulein von Schlicht's expression as she looked down at you. A wounded
warrior of this description has the same attraction for the fair sex as
a candle has for moths."

Kuno would have resented this unseemly comparison, but how could he
resent anything from so kind a nurse? And besides, Delmar's words were
almost immediately confirmed, for before Herwarth could reply Eva
Schommer and Aline von Schlicht appeared upon the balcony.

"Was I not right?" Paul whispered. "Here come the moths already."

Kuno would have sprung up from his arm-chair to receive the ladies, but
Delmar detained him with a firm hand. "Sit still, my noble knight," he
said; "a patient has no right to be chivalric. Pray take the will for
the deed, ladies," he went on, turning to Eva and Aline. "You see that
this wounded warrior, in his joy at this unexpected meeting in a
strange land, would fain arise to do you reverence, but my strong grasp
detains him. The doctor has forbidden him to stand, and I am an
incorruptible nurse. As his present natural guardian, and in his stead,
I salute you with my most profound obeisance." And he bowed low, still
keeping his hand upon Kuno's shoulder.

The latter still made efforts to rise, until Aline von Schlicht said in
a gentle tone of entreaty, "Do not drive us away from this charming
balcony, Herr von Herwarth. We must go if you are not perfectly quiet.
I hope the injury to your foot is not grave?"

"Nothing of any consequence, Fräulein von Schlicht," Paul answered in
Kuno's stead; "nothing that will prevent his waltzing as gracefully as
ever next winter, if he will only keep quiet for two weeks and obey
orders, which now that I have so charming an ally in my efforts to that
end I have good hopes of his doing. One word from your lips, fair lady,
will be of more effect than whole sermons from mine."

Paul spoke to Aline, but as he spoke he looked at Eva, and scarcely
noticed that Aline approached Kuno's arm-chair and frankly extended to
him a hand, which the lieutenant kissed with more warmth than the
occasion seemed to require.

Delmar's attention was absorbed by Eva, who did not follow her friend's
example, but leaning against the balustrade of the balcony had taken no
part in the short conversation.

Hitherto Paul had seen Eva only in full dress at balls or in brilliant
assemblages, or driving in her carriage. He had always thought her
beautiful, but he regarded her as a purse-proud woman of fashion, and
as such he had a prejudice against her,--a prejudice strengthened by
the marked friendliness of her manner towards himself, the wealthiest
man of her acquaintance, in contrast with the cold reserve she
maintained towards all the other men about her, with the exception
perhaps of Count Waldheim.

Money was of so little value in his eyes, he so detested pride of
purse, that he had intentionally kept aloof from the beautiful heiress;
he would not add another to the crowd of her adorers, and the sweet
smile with which Eva replied to his bow, instead of acknowledging it by
the haughty bend of her head which she accorded to others, increased
his dislike of her, for he thought this smile was given to his money
and not to himself.

By her betrothal to the man for whom Delmar had so thorough a contempt
Eva had lost every claim to his regard. That she had made an apology to
Leo the condition of her betrothal caused him to waver for a moment in
his judgment of her. Only for a moment, however; he had not thought it
worth while to inquire into her reasons for so doing; very likely she
acted from fear lest her precious lover should be wounded, or perhaps
from mere whim. What did he care about the motives actuating the
purse-proud heiress?

His prejudice against her was in full force when she appeared upon the
balcony with Aline, and yet he could not help regarding her with a
degree of interest. She had never looked as lovely, he thought, as in
her simple travelling-dress. The brilliant lady of fashion receiving,
in diamonds and lace, the homage of her ball-room adorers as her right,
with a haughty, disdainful air, was scarcely to be recognized in the
simple lovely girl who stood leaning against the balustrade of the
balcony contemplating Herwarth's reception of her friend, with a look
full of loving sympathy. The dark eyes, wont to flash with disdain,
were full of gentle tenderness, while a charming smile transfigured her
face for an instant as Kuno bestowed his eager kiss upon Aline's hand.
It vanished immediately however to give place to an expression of
profound melancholy, while the dark eyes sought the ground. It would
almost seem that the girl whom Delmar had always thought heartless was
a prey to some deep-seated grief.

Paul was no sentimental enthusiast. When he found himself, after
observing the melancholy in Eva's face, upon the high-road towards
sympathy for the sorrow that brought it there, he started off in the
opposite direction. He was vexed with himself that a pretty face could
have such an influence upon him; his old aversion for Eva stirred
within him, and awakened a desire to prove to the purse-proud girl that
she could not drag every man at her chariot-wheels; that there was one
at least who saw through her and was dazzled neither by her beauty nor
her wealth.

With the scornful smile which so often hovered upon his lips and did
not at all add to his attractions, Paul bowed low to Eva as he
approached, and addressed her in a low tone, "'Tis an unexpected
pleasure, Fräulein Schommer, to meet you here in this retired corner of
the world. I am the more delighted, as it gives me an opportunity to
offer you my congratulations upon your betrothal; congratulations as
sincere as is my admiration for Herr von Bertram, who certainly, as far
as manliness and nobility of disposition are concerned, is worthy of
his lovely betrothed."

As Delmar approached her Eva had raised her eyes to his for a moment,
but at sight of his scornful smile she instantly averted them. A
burning blush crimsoned her cheek and tears rushed to her eyes as she
listened to his words.

With an effort to control herself, she replied, "What have I done, Herr
Delmar,--how have I ever offended you? How given you the right thus to
wound me?"

Paul was prepared for a sharp reply, to which he would have made as
sharp a rejoinder; but tears, and this gentle reproof! He had never
been so nonplussed; he felt ashamed and confused, and hardly knowing
what he said, he stammered, "Indeed, Fräulein Schommer--you are
mistaken--I did not mean to wound you."

"You did mean to wound me, and you succeeded excellently well," Eva
rejoined, still mastering her emotion, and looking directly at Delmar
with eyes before which his own sought the ground. "I know how
unfavourable is your opinion of Herr von Bertram. Your sarcastic
congratulation was an intentional offence which I have not deserved at
your hands."

Delmar felt precisely like some school-boy caught in a particularly
disgraceful trick and forced to listen without a word of reply to a
severe reprimand, the justice of which he could not but acknowledge.
The quiet dignity and the feminine gentleness of Eva's reply to his
ironical address completely disarmed him. His wonted skill in repartee
forsook him, and he could only say simply, in excuse, "Forgive me!"
From the altered expression of his face Eva saw clearly that these
words were prompted by sincere regret for his late attack. The sneer
had entirely vanished, and there was such genuine entreaty for
forgiveness in his eyes that she could not but accord it to him.

"I am not angry," she said, not unkindly; "but it pains me that even
you, whom I have never offended, can take pleasure in wounding me. I
will forget the words in which you couched your congratulations just
now if you will frankly tell me in what way I have provoked your
hostility."

"You subject me to painful embarrassment. I assure you that I entertain
not the slightest hostility towards you."

"You evade me, but I cannot let you escape. I have a right to know of
what you accuse me, what you think gives you the right to speak
slighting words to a poor, defenceless girl. You are Herr von Heydeck's
friend, perhaps you accuse me, as he did publicly, of arrogance,
self-conceit, and despicable pride of purse, and therefore feel
yourself justified in humiliating me? You need not answer, I see in
your face that if you spoke honestly you would be obliged to say 'Yes;'
but I solemnly declare that you do me bitter injustice! You, who know
the misery of being rich, will believe me when I tell you how I detest
and despise this wretched wealth that poisons every enjoyment of life
for me. I purse-proud! I who am forced to feel with shame and pain
every hour of the day that I myself am nothing, that with the exception
of two or three friends every human being who comes near me values me
for my money! And never was I so painfully conscious of this as at the
present moment. For you, with your millions, my wealth is valueless. In
your eyes I am simply an insignificant girl whom you regard with
contempt, and whom you feel yourself justified in humiliating by
offensive words of reproof. But I promised to forget what you said, and
I will keep my word. Let us speak of something else.

"I came out upon this balcony with my friend Aline with a purpose in
view. I knew you were here, and I wished to speak with you. Chance has
brought me to Tausens. I wished to avoid the stream of tourists, and if
possible to spend a few quiet weeks in some retired corner of the
Tyrol. I hoped to find this asylum in Tausens, and my kind uncle
consented to accompany me hither, although he knew that he should be
obliged to forego here many of his daily luxuries and even comforts.
Upon arriving at noon to-day we learned that three gentlemen were
already lodging at the 'Post.' Your name was mentioned, and also that
of Herr von Heydeck, whereupon my uncle and Herr von Bertram would have
left Tausens immediately. But I refused to do so. I am quite sure of
never having given Herr von Heydeck the slightest reason for the
offensive expressions which were the cause of his quarrel with Herr von
Bertram. I can therefore meet him frankly and fearlessly. There is no
reason why I should run away from him, and I shall certainly not do so.
This is why I stayed."

Eva's long explanation had given Paul time to recover from his
embarrassment, and the change in her manner helped him to overcome his
confusion; but he had lost all desire for a war of words. He no longer
regarded Eva with his late dislike. Her frankness and candour inspired
him with esteem and interest; her lament over the misery of wealth
aroused his sympathy. Had he not often felt thus while he despised
those who flattered and cringed to him? He had known that their homage
was paid only to his money, and he could easily conceive how a like
knowledge should embitter Eva's very soul. Her determination, so boldly
expressed, to meet Leo frankly and fearlessly pleased him, and he could
not but say, "I admire your courage, Fräulein Schommer, and I expressed
this admiration to your betrothed when he told me of your resolve."

Eva blushed as Delmar uttered the word 'betrothed.' It sounded
strangely in her ears from his lips. True, there was not a shade of
sarcasm now in his tone, and yet it offended her to hear of Bertram as
her betrothed. She knew that she had no right to object, that any
objection would be extremely unbecoming, and yet when she asked, "You
have already spoken with Herr von Bertram?" she laid a sharp emphasis
upon the 'Herr von.'

Delmar noticed this; it was not the way in which a true-hearted girl
would speak of her lover, and he called to mind Bertram's uneasy
anxiety in the conversation they had had shortly before. Paul was now
convinced that love had hardly tied the knot of this engagement, and he
wondered what inducement could have led the lovely heiress to bestow
her hand upon such a suitor. This wonder so occupied his thoughts that
it was not until Eva had repeated her question that he replied.

"Yes, I have had a conversation with him."

"By your own desire?"

"Why do you ask?"

"From certain expressions of Herr von Bertram's I am led to suspect
that you are no friend of his, nor does he regard you with friendly
sentiments. He feared a meeting with you and with Herr von Heydeck, and
so urged me to leave Tausens that I am surprised to hear of a
conversation between you. Therefore I asked. I wished to know whether
you had sought an opportunity to express the same congratulations to
him that you offered to me."

"He accosted me, and begged me to grant him an interview.

"Was it of a peaceful character?"

"Yes."

"You parted friends?"

"You must excuse me from replying to that question, Fräulein Schommer.
I do not wish to offend you again, and therefore we will say no more
with regard to your betrothed; my opinion of whom must be a matter of
entire indifference to you. Since chance has brought us together here,
and as we shall probably often meet in the next few weeks upon this
balcony, let us avoid all allusion to disagreeable topics. Let us
follow the example of my friend Kuno, and of yours Fräulein von
Schlicht, who, to judge from their cheerful countenances, are certainly
not discussing anything disagreeable, but conversing together most
amicably. I think we can do so, too, if we only consent to forget the
past, and to consider ourselves merely as a couple of travellers
meeting in a retired and beautiful part of the Tyrol, where in the
beauty around us, and in our daily experiences, we can surely find
matter enough for pleasant talk."

"You are right; I will follow your advice; only answer me one question.
I do not see Herr von Heydeck, but only Herr von Herwarth, who I did
not know was your travelling companion; has Herr von Heydeck gone
away?"

"Not very far; he is staying up there in the fine old Castle of
Reifenstein, which belongs to his uncle, a Herr von Heydeck. He will
probably visit us down here but rarely, since he is held in magic
thrall by the soft spells of a lovely fairy, his beautiful cousin
Hilda."

"Hilda von Heydeck?" Eva exclaimed. "An exquisitely beautiful young
girl with lustrous blue eyes and magnificent golden hair. A merry,
frank, charming creature! Hilda von Heydeck a near relative of your
friend's?"

"You know Fräulein von Heydeck?"

"I met her at an evening party two years ago, in Vienna, where I with
my uncle Balthasar stayed a few weeks, and I was so delighted with her
loveliness and gayety that I talked with her almost the entire evening.
How strange that I should find myself so near to her now without having
intended it!"

"She is the cause of our presence in the Tyrol. Leo came to Tausens to
make acquaintance with his charming cousin, whom his father wishes him
to marry, and Herwarth and I accompanied him."

Eva did not reply, she gazed up at the castle on the rocks with eyes
full of a dreamy melancholy; the image of the lovely Hilda arose in her
mind side by side with that of Leo von Heydeck. How often had she
thought of him lately!--not in hatred, but in profound sadness. She
could not hate him, although he had insulted her; she could not but
feel that by her own cold reserve she had given him some reason for his
harsh words. She had thought of him almost as of a departed spirit. Was
he not dead to her,--the betrothed of his mortal enemy? And yet now a
sharp pain, inexplicable to herself, stirred within her at the thought
of the happy hours he was passing in the old castle with his lovely
cousin, who was one day to be his wife. But she knew that such vague,
unjustifiable emotion was unworthy of her; that it was her duty to
endeavour to conquer it; and she did so, forcing herself to say with
apparent calm, "I thank you, Herr Delmar, I trust any disagreeable
meeting with Herr von Heydeck may be spared myself or Herr von Bertram.
Although I do not fear it I would rather avoid it, and I think this may
be quite possible, since Herr von Heydeck must find the castle with its
fairy most attractive. And now let us join our friends, who have a
right to take it amiss that we have held ourselves aloof from them so
long."

It was doubtful whether Eva really entertained the fear lest Aline and
Herwarth should take her _tête-à-tête_ with Delmar amiss. Had she done
so, one glance at the pair would have reassured her; they evidently
needed no other companionship.

Aline stood beside Kuno's arm-chair, and had asked about the manner of
his accident with such tender sympathy, that the happy lieutenant
inwardly declared that such gentle, kindly words from such lovely lips
were cheaply bought by a sprained ankle. He told her how devoted and
kind was Delmar, whom he had only lately learned really to know; and
although Paul had never before particularly interested Aline, she
suddenly found him extremely amiable and agreeable.

Kuno also told of Leo, and of his visit to Castle Reifenstein, finding
a most attentive listener. So absorbed were they that they never
thought of finding Eva's conversation with Delmar too long. Now, when
Eva made kindly inquiries of Kuno as to his suffering, he thanked her
courteously, and all took part in a conversation inaugurated by Delmar
about Tausens and the wonders of scenery in its neighbourhood.

Paul was in the best of humours; he brought chairs for the ladies,
placing them where they could have the finest view of the Schwarzenbach
valley, and then gave a humorous account of all the friends had gone
through on their walk from the Zillerthal. His talent for conversation
was undeniable, and Eva felt the charm of it for the first time.
Meeting him only at balls and large assemblies in K----, she had always
regarded him as a _blasé_ man of the world, probably because his
dislike of the haughty heiress had never permitted him to think it
worth the trouble to let his light shine in her presence. To-day,
however, resigning himself entirely to his natural mood, he soon
overcame the prejudices of his listeners. His dry humour even provoked
the grave Eva's frequent laughter, and she soon almost forgot how
unpleasant had been the first few moments of their meeting. Aline too
was much interested in Herr Delmar's talk, but what provoked her
special admiration was his constant care and consideration for Herr von
Herwarth, and the conscientious fulfilment of his duties as nurse.

The appearance of Uncle Balthasar on the balcony was no interruption to
the pleasant conversation. He greeted Delmar and Herwarth with his
usual kindly good humour, and they returned his salutation in kind. Eva
was especially pleased to see that Delmar, who was generally so ready
with the sharp arrows of his sarcasm in view of any silliness or
weakness, had neither sneering word nor look for Uncle Balthasar.

And yet the young man might well have thought Uncle Balthasar fair
game, as he came tripping out upon the balcony in his trim elegance of
costume, in one hand his fine straw hat, and in the other a delicate
cane, addressing Delmar in the richest Saxon patois: "Aha, my good Herr
Delmar, monstrous glad to see you in the Tyrol, I'm _suah_."

But Delmar never seemed to hear Uncle Balthasar's mistakes either of
grammar or pronunciation; he treated him with all the respectful
courtesy due from a young man to one much older, thereby taking the
kindly old man's heart by storm.

A couple of hours flew swiftly by; the sun had long set behind the
mountains, the valley of the Schwarzenbach lay in dim shadow, from
which only the distant peaks of the Weisshorn emerged, glowing in
crimson light; soon it, too, faded, and a dull ashen gray followed upon
the last shimmer of departed day. The increasing darkness warned Eva
that it was time to leave the balcony, and she arose. "We must not
leave Aunt Minni alone any longer," she said. "She will certainly be
waiting for us at her tea-table."

Uncle Balthasar was enjoying himself hugely,--he would have liked to
spend another hour upon the balcony,--but he followed Eva's lead
immediately, and took leave of Delmar and Herwarth, assuring Paul that
it was _too_ delightful to find such entertaining society in Tausens,
and that he only regretted that "the dear Guido"--it was thus he spoke
of Herr von Bertram--was prevented by headache from taking part in the
delightful conversation.

The name of Guido again provoked on Delmar's face the sarcastic smile
which had vanished from it during the last two hours. "Do you share
this regret, Fräulein Schommer?" he asked hardily.

"No! Good-night," was the brief reply, as, taking her uncle's arm and
followed by Aline, Eva left the balcony.

After the ladies had left, Paul walked to the balustrade and, leaning
upon it, gazed thoughtfully abroad upon the landscape now fading
quickly into the gloom of night.

Kuno, occupied in reflecting upon the last few hours, and upon many a
gentle word of Aline's, did not disturb his revery, which had been
prolonged for nearly half an hour, when suddenly Delmar turned to the
lieutenant and said, "Do you know, noble knight, that I have just made
a discovery which will not be half as new to you as it is humiliating
to me?"

"What have you discovered?" Kuno asked.

"That I have been a confounded ass, a stupid, addled ass! And it is all
the more humiliating to find this out just when I thought myself so
very wise."

"Confessions of a fair soul!" Kuno laughed. "May I ask what has led you
to so unflattering a discovery with regard to yourself?"

"Yes, you may ask, and it is my duty to answer, because it is to you
also that I have so often and so conceitedly displayed my superhuman
wisdom. I must confess to you, and in especial to Leo, the terrible
grief to which I am come with my boasted knowledge of human nature. I
deserve to have my ears boxed,--if there were only some one to do it
for me.

"You make me curious."

"You have often heard me speak of Fräulein Schommer; do you remember
what opinion of her I expressed?"

"Not a very flattering one."

"It was brutal, thick-headed, idiotic! I called her purse-proud, vain,
arrogant, cold, heartless, and I have no doubt I used a great many more
adjectives equally stupid. It is not sufficient that I inwardly confess
and regret the wrong I have done her. I must apologize to you and to
Leo, with whom I have often spoken of her. She is a charming and lovely
girl, noble in disposition, and of great sensibility,--incapable of an
unworthy thought. Faults she may have,--I cannot say,--but pride of
purse is not among them, that I'll swear to."

Kuno laughed. "Take care, take care!" he said. "You seem to me to have
been gazing too deeply into the lovely Eva's dreamy dark eyes. I have
never heard you speak of a girl thus. Keep fast hold of your heart or
you will lose it here on the balcony."

"Do you think so?" Paul asked mockingly. "Your wisdom is profound,
noble knight, almost as profound as my own. One cannot lose what one
does not possess; my admiration for the fair Eva has nothing to do with
my heart. I should hardly have spoken of her so frankly to you had I
been in love with her; reassure yourself on that score. I am only
filled with remorse for having so misjudged her, and perhaps thereby
strengthened others--our Leo for example--in their false estimate of
her. Do you know what I have been pondering for the last half-hour?"

"How should I?"

"I will tell you; I have been dreaming of a happy future for our
friend. It is particularly stupid to indulge in waking dreams, but it
is a habit of mine, and I cannot get rid of it. I saw Leo with a
charming young wife,--saw him wealthy and happy, valued by every one as
a true artist and scholar, and beloved as a friend by all who stand in
need of aid or counsel. I saw him thus, and his lovely young wife gave
me a bewitching glance from her dreamy dark eyes, and smiled the
gentle, kindly smile which I saw to-day for the first time. It was a
dream, Herwarth, but a delightful dream, and I wish I could make it a
reality. Leo and Eva! What a charming couple they would make!"

"You forget that Fräulein Schommer is betrothed."

"To that scoundrel Bertram! That is what vexes me, and what I cannot
understand. This betrothal was a puzzle to me when I thought Fräulein
Schommer a cold, heartless, vain, purse-proud creature; even then I did
not see how she could throw herself away upon the fellow, and the only
explanation I could find was that she had fallen in love with his
smooth, handsome face. But she does not love him; I know it now, and I
know more than that,--I read in her face to-day that this engagement is
a disgrace in her eyes, and that she despises Bertram. And yet she is
betrothed to him! She shrinks when he is spoken of as her lover; she
never speaks of him except as _Herr von Bertram_; she confesses that
his presence wearies her, and yet she is his betrothed! I cannot
understand these contradictions; I must discover what they mean; and if
I find that this Herr von Bertram has played false with Fräulein Eva,
and perhaps with me, let him look to himself. He has not yet reached
the goal of his hopes,--an engagement may be broken,--and I do not
relinquish the hope that my dream may be fulfilled,--that Leo and Eva
may come together at last!"

"But you quite forget Leo's profound aversion for Fräulein
Schommer,--an aversion which was the cause of that wretched scene at
Büchner's. You have indeed been dreaming, my friend; your fancy has run
away with your understanding. Eva and Leo! The strangest combination
imaginable! I find it much easier, after your glowing description of
the beauty and loveliness of his charming cousin, to believe that Leo
will find a balm for all his woes up there at the castle, and that he
will return to K---- happily betrothed to the 'Fair one with the golden
locks.'"

"That he never will!" Paul cried angrily. "I tell you---- But no, I had
better tell you nothing, but change the bandage on your foot; it will
be pleasanter both for you and for myself."

He did so, and then walked again to the balustrade to look out once
more over the valley, now shrouded in black darkness. Nannerl brought a
lamp with a screen, which she placed upon a table beside Kuno. Paul
never noticed it; she asked what the gentlemen would have for supper;
he did not hear her, and Kuno, contrary to custom, gave orders in his
stead. Paul dreamed on, resigning himself to the unrestrained play of
his fancy, although he had just denounced all waking dreams as folly.

A coarse, rough voice saying loudly, "Good-evening, Herr Delmar!"
recalled him to earth from the realms of imagination, and turning, he
saw before him the bloated, purple face of Dr. Putzer, who had just
come with an uncertain step from the house out upon the balcony, and
who thus greeted him with repulsive friendliness.

One look into the doctor's eyes sufficed to tell Paul that he was
intoxicated, and the good impression he had produced upon his first
visit to his patient was entirely obliterated by his present air and
manner. With positive disgust Delmar withdrew the hand that Putzer
would have grasped.

The doctor was in too exalted a frame of mind with the wine he had
taken to notice this repulse; he staggered to the table, dropped into a
chair, and drummed with his fingers upon the table-top. "A can of red,
Nannerl!" he bawled hoarsely, "and be quick! My throat is as dry as
dust with my long walk! Do you know where I have been?" he continued,
turning to Delmar, after Nannerl had brought him the wine and he had
tossed off a glass. "Guess where!"

"I think, Herwarth, we had better go to our rooms," Paul said, paying
no heed to the doctor's question; he did not want to enter into
conversation with the man in his present state, and he thought it best
to vacate the field.

"What are you talking about?" the doctor interposed. "Nonsense! We are
just beginning to enjoy ourselves. Here comes your supper. A measure of
wine for the gentlemen, Nannerl! We'll show you how we drink in the
Tyrol!"

Nannerl, who had just brought the supper ordered by Herwarth, looked
from the doctor to Delmar, and the latter was about to give orders that
the supper should be carried to his room, when Kuno whispered, "Stay,
Delmar; the fellow is tipsy, and may be off his guard in speaking of
the castle and Heydeck. Stay for Leo's sake."

Paul nodded assent and stayed. He could not bring himself to take a
seat beside Putzer, so great was his disgust at the man, but he pushed
his plate and napkin over to the other side, and took his place just
where he could look directly into the doctor's face.

"Now where have I come from?" the doctor repeated after Paul had seated
himself. "Guess! You won't guess? Aha, I see you're a sly one! You know
well enough where I have been. With the old man up there of course.
You've put him in a deuce of a worry. Yes, you're a sly one, but you
can't fool me, and I am not afraid of you as that old coward is. He
thinks his castle and his property are all gone. Such a fright as he is
in! You should have seen him shaking! Ha, ha, ha!"

The doctor leaned back in his chair and laughed, or rather roared,
until it took him some moments to recover his breath.

What did these tipsy sentences mean? Delmar would have attached no
significance to them, coming from such a source, had he not remembered
the strange manner in which Herr von Heydeck had received him, and the
disconnected words he had then uttered. The doctor now spoke of the old
man's dread of losing his castle and his property. Had Herr von Heydeck
in former years had money transactions with Paul's father, the deceased
banker? Was there any bond or note of hand hidden away somewhere? The
name of Delmar had evidently not been unknown to Herr von Heydeck. He
had muttered 'Paul Delmar' without having heard the name of Paul from
its owner.

Delmar's curiosity was excited. He was anxious to learn what was the
mystery at the foundation of Herr von Heydeck's terror of him, and
surely no better opportunity than the present could be found for
gaining this knowledge. The doctor's tipsy garrulity was driving him to
tell all that he knew. By taking care not to awaken any suspicion in
him that he was under examination, Paul might easily learn as much as
he wished.

In an instant he had decided what course to pursue. He went on
carefully cutting the loaf which Nannerl had brought, and, without
looking at Putzer, he casually remarked, "The old man is afraid, eh?
Well, perhaps he has reason to be so."

"Found out! found out!" the doctor roared, with another coarse laugh.
"I told you you couldn't fool me. That's what you've come for, then!
Well, the old miser deserves it. But if you think you can force him to
acknowledge you as his son and give you his name, you're mistaken
indeed. If you can bring proof you can take from him his castle and all
he owns, but not his name and rank. You can never be a Herr von Heydeck
unless he chooses, I tell you that; I, Dr. Putzer!"

With all Paul's self-control he could not quite suppress some
expression of the measureless astonishment which he felt at these
words. The doctor observed this, and laughed more uproariously than
ever, ascribing the look of startled amazement upon Delmar's face to
the young man's dismay at finding his schemes discovered,--a view in
which he was confirmed by Paul's laconic "Do you think so?"

"Do I think so!" he exclaimed, amid peals of stentorian laughter. "Do I
think so! I don't think so at all, I know it; I know everything. You're
a sly one, and so is the old fellow up there, but Dr. Putzer is slyer
than the pair of you together. You can't fool me; I know more than you
think. You may look as mild as milk, but I know what I know! The old
fellow is rich enough, to be sure, but you won't go to law with him for
that. If a man has millions, what does he care for a paltry couple of
hundred thousand guilders? You want to be a Herr von Heydeck, a
nobleman with an ancient name; that's all you need. Ha, ha, ha!"

And he laughed until he brought on a coughing-fit, from which it took
him some time to recover.

Paul's desire to know more was now aroused to the utmost, but he forced
himself to appear quite calm. Replying to Kuno's whispered "Is the
fellow only drunk, or is he insane?" by a sign to remain quiet, he went
on eating his supper with an air of perfect indifference until the
doctor had ceased laughing, and then asked, with a contemptuous shrug,
"Can you prevent my getting it, doctor?"

"I? On the contrary, I'll help you to it!" exclaimed the doctor,
emphasizing his declaration by a blow of his fist upon the table. "The
old man will struggle and resist. You will never be able to do anything
with him, as I know well enough. But leave him to me; I know how to
work upon his fears. If you don't mind a matter of ten thousand
guilders or so, I am yours; but if you are such an infernal miser as
the old fellow up there, you'll never be a Herr von Heydeck as long as
you live. There's nothing to be done with the old man by violence;
cunning must be used, and I have more of that than both of you
together."

"You ask ten thousand guilders? That is a very large sum."

"Are you not a millionaire? And you can do nothing without me,
nothing!"

Paul was prevented from replying by the arrival upon the balcony of
several of the village dignitaries.

The circuit judge, who had been stationed for about half a year at
Tausens, the forester, and the collector, having just returned from a
walk, had come to the inn to enjoy the pleasant breeze upon the balcony
after the sultry day. They were regular evening guests at the Post, and
were a little later to-night than usual on account of the aforesaid
walk.

They saluted the two strangers with great courtesy, nodding to the
doctor with a degree of contemptuous familiarity that testified to the
estimation in which he was held by them. With kindly sympathy they
inquired about the injury to Kuno's foot, adding the soothing assurance
that however grave it might be he could rely upon the skill of the
doctor, who, the circuit judge remarked without any regard for any one
present, although a confirmed drunkard, was an admirable physician.
Just at present, to be sure, he was in an entirely irresponsible
condition, but on the following day, when sober, he would be all they
could desire in a medical man.

The doctor was not in the least offended by this explanation on the
part of the judge; he laughed, and declared that the judge was a little
tipsy himself or he would not accuse others of being so. To show how
thoroughly sober he was he swallowed several more glasses of wine, and
shortly became so uproarious in his merriment that the Tausens
gentlemen, mortified by such a disgraceful scene in the presence of
strangers, called the postmaster and had the drunkard led home to his
house.

Delmar and Herwarth spent another hour in most agreeable conversation
with the three gentlemen upon the various points of interest in the
neighbourhood, after which they bade them good-night, and Paul
conducted Kuno to his room.

Delmar passed a restless and sleepless night after a long discussion
with Kuno as to the meaning of the doctor's mysterious talk,--a
discussion in which neither of the young men arrived at any conclusion.
They could not divine what could induce the man to suppose that Delmar
intended to deprive Herr von Heydeck of his estate and to lay claim to
his name. The account of Paul's reception at the castle threw no light
upon the subject; no one but the doctor could do this, and to him Paul
determined to appeal the next day. Perhaps Leo had in the mean time
received some intelligence from his uncle which would make any such
appeal unnecessary. At all events, Delmar felt it his duty to see his
friend and talk frankly with him before taking any steps which might be
regarded with suspicion by his uncle.

Hitherto Paul's existence had pursued a smooth, commonplace track; he
had always seen clearly the duty that lay nearest him, and even in the
only troubled time he could remember, the years he had devoted to
business before his father's death, he had never doubted what path to
follow. The large accession of wealth that had been the consequence of
the enlargement of his business had never moved him; it was of value to
him only as a source of content to his father, and thus the success
that crowned his efforts left him cold.

Nor had his father's odd will made any great impression upon him; he
regarded it as the result of the morbid desire of the sick man to
atone, by some special acknowledgment of love and esteem, for any
neglect of his son in past years. But now, as he tossed restlessly upon
his bed, this will recurred to his mind, and he racked his brain to
discover any connection that it might have with the doctor's words. In
vain; and the more he pondered the more confused became his thoughts;
his head throbbed: he could not stay in bed; he arose, dressed, and
lighting a candle took a book and began to read. It was long before he
could command his thoughts sufficiently to understand as he read; but
at last his mind became more composed, and before morning he was able
to throw himself upon his bed once more and snatch an hour's refreshing
slumber before he was roused by the early noises in the awakening
village.

Herwarth did not awake until eight o'clock from his long night's rest,
which he declared had so strengthened him that he was eager after he
was dressed to repair again to the balcony. This Paul positively
forbade until his patient had received the doctor, who upon his
professional visit of the day before had promised to come early in the
morning.

Kuno was too grateful a patient to rebel; but the time seemed long
until, shortly after the clock of the village church had struck ten,
the heavy tread of Dr. Putzer was heard outside the door of their
sitting-room.

Upon entering the doctor looked very much as if he too had passed but a
sorry night, his red, bloated face had a weary, dragged expression, his
watery, lack-lustre eyes were dimmer than ever and his step was
unsteady. Still, he was certainly no longer intoxicated, although the
flush upon his cheeks betokened that he had possibly indulged in a
morning glass.

Putzer saluted the two gentlemen with the same quiet affability that
had distinguished him upon his first professional visit, asked
intelligently about the injured foot, and was in his whole bearing so
entirely the educated man of the world, the benevolent physician, that
no one could have recognized in him the brutal drunkard who had been
led from the inn by the stable-boy on the previous evening.

He examined Kuno's foot, expressing great satisfaction at the
improvement produced in it by the wet applications, and he then
proceeded to bandage it more firmly than before, with such gentleness
and dexterity that Delmar was really amazed, and almost wondered
whether this could be the same man who had left them on the previous
evening.

"In two weeks," said Putzer, rubbing his hands after he had finished,
"we shall remove all bandages, and I will go surety that you shall walk
as well as ever if you will remember not to use the foot in the mean
time, except to hobble out upon the balcony, where you must sit with it
up in a chair."

Kuno promised obedience.

"You have no further need of my aid," the doctor rejoined upon this
promise, "unless you should feel any pain again, when I beg you to send
for me. Nevertheless, I hope to see you frequently on the balcony. I
come to the Post every evening and drink my glass of wine, either there
or in the inn parlour. I have the honour to bid you good-morning."

With a more graceful obeisance than would have been thought possible
for his clumsy figure he took his leave, without having made the
faintest allusion to the previous evening. He had reached the door when
he turned once more. "I shall surely have the pleasure of seeing the
gentlemen on the balcony to-night?" he asked.

"Certainly, Herr Doctor," Delmar replied. "Why should you not?"

"Why not, indeed? Still, let me confess frankly that I rather feared I
might have offended the gentlemen yesterday evening. For several days
past I have had a tightness about my head,--a rush of blood to the
brain,--which was of course aggravated by the intense heat and the
unwonted exertion of my ascent to the castle. I may also have taken a
glass or two more of wine than usual. I was, I am ashamed to confess,
but it cannot be denied, stupidly intoxicated, not from excess, but
from feeble health. At this very moment I fear a recurrence of the same
rush of blood to the head. I must have talked all sorts of nonsense
yesterday evening, and perhaps I offended you. Whether this be so or
not I cannot say, for I have not the slightest remembrance of what
occurred. In any case I pray you to excuse me, and not to avoid the
balcony for fear of similar scenes. It shall not occur again."

"You did not offend us, Herr Doctor," Paul declared.

"I did not? That reassures me, and I may then hope to see you again
this evening."

He bowed once more; and as he did so his face grew purple, and when he
would have grasped the handle of the door he had to feel for it twice,
like a blind man. His step too as he went out was strangely unsteady.

"Can he be intoxicated again so early in the morning?" Kuno whispered.

"I think not, he spoke so quietly and sensibly. Remember how
differently he behaved last evening. No, I think he really is ill now."

Paul walked to the window whence he could overlook the path the doctor
must take to the village. Several minutes passed before he came out of
the Post, but then he turned directly into the road to his house,
walking very slowly, and staggering at every step.

A peasant meeting him nodded familiarly, and then looked after him with
a laugh.

"He must be drunk after all," said Paul, "or he is still feeling the
effects of yesterday's debauch. Can he really have forgotten all he
talked about last evening?"

"It would certainly seem so."

"At all events, I had better see Leo as soon as possible. Therefore,
noble knight, when I have settled you comfortably on the balcony I will
leave you to your fate,--not a very hard one in this instance, since I
heard Fräulein Schommer not half an hour ago order her breakfast to be
served upon the balcony,--and I will take my way to the castle to have
a talk with Leo."



                             CHAPTER  XIII.


As soon as Kuno was established upon the balcony and commended to the
kind attention of the ladies, Delmar rapidly ascended the narrow,
precipitous path by which he had reached the castle on the previous
day. He did not heed the heat which had begun to be intense; he
accorded not a look to the magnificent landscape, nor had he any care
for the dangers of the way. What he desired was to reach the castle as
quickly as possible.

His brain was in a chaos of confusion; he was in a labyrinth of
puzzles, out of which he could find no clue. Nevertheless he passed on
his perilous way in perfect security, and soon reached the garden of
the castle.

Here he looked around him, hoping to encounter his friend, but Leo was
nowhere to be seen. In the midst of a thick growth of shrubbery,
however, he saw the flutter of a light dress, and in a moment Hilda
appeared. She must have seen him coming, for she advanced directly
towards him, holding out her hand in greeting, and speaking before he
had time to address her. "You have done wrong, Herr Delmar," she said
reproachfully. "You come from the rocks by the rock-path; I am really
angry with you for not keeping your promise."

Was she really angry? Why then should she have received Paul with so
enchanting a smile? Her words betokened a care for his safety that
delighted him. He thought her far lovelier than upon the previous day,
and far more like an angel, with her wealth of hair framing in so
girlish and beautiful a face. When he had seen her before her straw hat
had concealed its masses; now her head shone in the sunshine like pure
gold.

When he took her hand he felt an intense longing to press it to his
lips, but he remembered her reproof of the day previous and forbore,
contenting himself with a slight pressure, which he rejoiced to fancy
was in some measure returned. "You must not come to the castle by that
path up the rocks," Hilda continued, when Paul did not reply to her
first remonstrance. "You must give me your word not to take it again,
or I shall always be anxious if you come at all late when you have
promised a visit to Leo."

"Would you really be anxious on my account?" Paul asked, never thinking
how low and gentle was the voice in which he put the question, or how
Kuno would have laughed at him if he had heard it.

But Hilda did not laugh; she answered gravely and frankly, "Yes, Herr
Delmar; I have deeply repented my thoughtlessness in showing you that
path, and I should never forgive myself if you were to meet with any
accident there. I have already been anxious about you this morning; you
were so long in coming, when Leo thought you would be here directly
after breakfast. Will you not make me the promise I ask?"

"Any promise that you ask is already made, lovely fairy. Delightful as
is that scramble up the rocks, the path will not exist for me in
future. You have forbidden me to use it, and I, as your obedient slave,
venture no opposition to your command, but obey!"

"Then as a reward I will instantly conduct you to Leo, who is anxiously
expecting you. He would have gone to Tausens himself this morning to
see after his friend Herr von Herwarth, but he was kept here by the
intelligence that a wealthy and well-known family from K---- had
arrived at the Post."

"Then Leo already knows who they are?"

"Yes; the maid from the Post came up to the castle last evening to beg
for some fowls. She reported that a very grand family from K---- had
arrived in two four-horse carriages and were to spend some time in
Tausens. She mentioned their names too as my housekeeper told me. The
name of Schommer was familiar to me,--I met a charming girl, a Fräulein
Schommer, in Vienna,--and so I asked Leo this morning if he knew these
people."

"And he said?----"

"He said yes. But he seemed to me not very well pleased that they
should have come to stay at Tausens. When he told me that he should not
go to the Post this morning because he wished if possible to avoid any
personal encounter with these strangers, I said nothing further,
although I should like to know more of them."

"Perhaps I can gratify this desire, Fräulein von Heydeck. I have the
honour of knowing Fräulein Schommer."

"Ah, how glad I am! I should so like to know whether she is the lovely
Eva Schommer whom I saw nearly two years ago in Vienna, and who so
charmed me that I never left her side for an entire evening.
Unfortunately I could not pursue the acquaintance, for she left
Vienna the next day, and we never met again. Yes, she said her home was
in K----. What a pleasure it would be to see her again here in
Tausens!"

"That pleasure you can easily enjoy. Fräulein Schommer spoke to me last
evening of her pleasant remembrance of you in Vienna."

"Oh, delightful!" Hilda exclaimed. "I have thought of that lovely Eva
so often! I will go this very day to Tausens to see her. We must be
together constantly!" She spoke impulsively, but suddenly she paused.
"I forgot," she said sadly, "that Leo wishes to avoid meeting these
people. Does he know this lovely girl? He cannot wish not to see her.
But no, do not answer my question, Herr Delmar. I had no right to ask
it. If Leo had wished me to know his reasons for not wishing to meet
these people he would have told me them himself. I would rather have
you say nothing to me about it."

"I thank you, Fräulein von Heydeck. It would have been hard to refuse
any request of yours, and yet I have no right to speak of Leo's
position with regard to Fräulein Schommer's family without his express
permission. Of one thing however I can assure you: Leo can make, and
can have, no possible objection to your renewing your acquaintance with
Fräulein Schommer."

"Are you sure of this?"

"Perfectly sure; promise me that you will pay Fräulein Schommer a visit
this afternoon, and I will answer for it that Leo shall accompany you."

"You will greatly oblige me by doing so, for I could not of course seek
out the lady if our guest wished to avoid her."

As they talked, Hilda had conducted Paul into the castle and through
the rooms to the corridor, at the end of which were Leo's apartments.
"You cannot go astray now," she said. "Leo's room lies just before you.
You will find him at his easel. He would not go out for fear of missing
you. When I called him to breakfast he had begun a sketch, and was so
absorbed in his work that he never left it. I did not see it, but I am
hoping to enjoy it when it is finished."

Here Hilda left him, and Delmar went along the corridor to the last
door; he knocked twice without receiving any answer, and then opened it
and entered the room.

Leo had heard neither the knocking, the opening and shutting of the
door, nor his friend's footstep. He was standing lost in thought before
his easel, gazing at a sketch of a head, the result of his last few
hours' labour.

When he had entered his sitting-room in the early morning, refreshed by
his night's rest, and had seen the easel by the window with the canvas
upon it ready stretched, he had been irresistibly tempted to take up
his crayon and enjoy the delight of which he had been deprived for a
week. Yielding to this irrepressible desire, he had made a sketch of
the fair face that filled his dreams both sleeping and waking. It was
so like that he stood now lost in contemplation of it, quite dead to
the outer world, not hearing when Paul entered the room, not noticing
the approach of his friend, who stood behind him for some minutes in
silent admiration of the sketch upon the easel.

"Bravo, Leo! You have outdone yourself! 'Tis the most artistic sketch
you've ever made!"

Leo started like one awakening from a dream that has held him
spell-bound. His first impulse was to snatch the picture from the
easel, and from the eyes of his friend, but Delmar stayed his hand.

"Come, come, Leo! let the picture stay! No artist is justified
in hiding from sight the fruits of his genius. The picture is
wonderful,--a masterpiece. Her eyes had just that deep, dreamy look in
them yesterday when she so bitterly lamented your injustice in accusing
her of pride of purse. You must know that I have concluded a peace with
the fair Eva. I solemnly retract everything derogatory that I ever said
or thought about her; indeed, I frankly confess to you that I never in
my life fell into so pitiable an error as when I pronounced such hasty,
crude, and unjustifiable judgment upon this charming girl. If she would
but allow me, I would beg her pardon on my knees."

Leo regarded Paul with amazement, looking in vain for the sneer that
was wont to play about his lips when he wanted to tease his friend.

Delmar had been steadily contemplating the picture as he spoke in a
tone of honest conviction. Now he turned to Leo, and remarking his
amazement, he continued, with a smile: "You look at me as if you hardly
believed me, and, remembering my folly with regard to Fräulein
Schommer, I cannot blame you. The age of miracles however is not yet
over; the most hardened of sinners may be converted by the logic of
lovely lips, and I am a convert. With a few simple, frank words she has
reversed my ridiculous judgment of her. I wish you could have heard her
yesterday when she so sadly bewailed her misfortune in being 'too
rich.' You, too, would have changed your opinion of her, and no longer
have hated her, as you apparently do at present. Only intense hatred or
intense--affection could have stamped her features so deeply upon your
memory as to enable you to reproduce them in this wondrous way. And as
you assuredly do not love Eva, you of course hate her. And yet how
admirably you have managed to show no trace of this dislike in your
drawing!"

"Paul, do not torture me!"

This simple sentence disarmed Delmar; he grew grave instantly. "I will
not tease you," he said, "although you deserve it for never giving the
confidence you owe a friend to one so devoted to you as I am. Have I
not a right to be angry with you that accident alone--the sight of this
picture--has told me your secret? You love Fräulein Schommer, although
to me you denied that you did so. It was not true friendship, Leo."

"What else could I do? I hardly knew myself at first whether I loved or
hated her; and when I did know, I was ashamed of my hopeless passion."

"Hopeless? It is folly to use such a word. How can a man like yourself,
endowed with physical and mental superiority and distinguished both by
birth and by position, condescend to utter such a word? You never tried
to gain Fräulein Schommer's affection."

"She has repulsed me with proud reserve upon the only occasions when I
have been in her society. And even if she had not done so, I should not
have paid court to her,--she is too rich!"

"Too rich! There it is! That is the root of the matter!" Paul exclaimed
with irritation. "Too rich! It is Fräulein Schommer's misfortune and my
own. While the wretches who envy us for our wealth crowd about us to
gather up servilely the golden crumbs we may throw them, while they
flatter and cringe and worship us as their golden calf, those whom we
esteem and love withdraw from our society. We are too rich for those
disinterested souls who would love us for our own sakes,--they will not
expose themselves to the degrading suspicion of seeking us for the sake
of our wealth! How often I have been devoured with rage when you, Leo,
my dearest friend, have refused to share with me the enjoyments that
wealth can procure! I was 'too rich' for you, and therefore you
bestowed but a few meagre hours of your society upon me when I so
coveted your companionship; therefore you withdrew from me more and
more, and would, I verily believe, have forsaken me utterly if I had
not clutched you and refused to let you go. Poor Eva Schommer!
She, too, is 'too rich,' and therefore throws herself away upon a
heartless vagabond. For the man who would love her disinterestedly
for her own sake she is 'too rich'! The devil take wealth! if it robs
us of all that is best and noblest in this world,--the love of our
friends,--giving us instead only the flattery of fools, ennui, satiety,
and disgust of life!"

Leo had never seen his friend thus agitated. His cheeks were flushed
and his voice trembled with emotion as he spoke. To Heydeck's friendly
remonstrance be made no reply, but, walking to the window, stood gazing
for some minutes at the magnificent view. Then, having recovered his
self-possession, he turned to Leo, and with a gentleness of manner rare
in him, said, "I was cross to you, Leo; forgive me. A sense of the
misfortune that dogs my life overcame me for a moment,--it shall not be
so again. I know that you, in spite of my millions, are my true, my
only friend. Enough of this! we have other matters to discuss. First,
let me tell you that Herwarth's sprained ankle will keep him tied to
his arm-chair on the balcony at the Post for two weeks; therefore if
you wish to see him you must go to him, he cannot come to you."

Leo was annoyed by this intelligence, much as he wished to see his
friend. He would have liked to avoid the meeting with Fräulein Schommer
and Bertram, that would doubtless take place if he visited Herwarth. He
expressed this annoyance to Delmar.

But Delmar would not heed it. "Bertram will hardly dare to put himself
in your way; and as for Fräulein Schommer, it is your duty as a man of
honour to ask her pardon. It is not enough to see that one has been
wrong,--the wrong should be confessed to whomsoever it has injured. But
I will not press you. I am sure that you will do what is right, and I
hope you will come to Tausens this afternoon with your cousin, who
wishes to renew an acquaintance with Fräulein Schommer. And now let us
speak of another matter, of the greatest interest and importance to me.
You must help me to solve a mystery in which I suddenly find myself
involved, and to this end I must tell you in detail all that happened
yesterday."

And Paul began his story, first recalling to Leo's remembrance the
extraordinary reception accorded him by Herr von Heydeck,--dwelling
upon the fact that the old man had mentioned his Christian name,
'Paul,' without hearing it. He then told of his visit to Dr. Putzer and
of the doctor's amazement at seeing him; of his first taking him for a
Count Menotti,--a name which Paul had certainly heard somewhere lately,
he could not remember where; and last he gave an account of the
incomprehensible phrases which had escaped the tipsy doctor during his
evening visit.

Leo listened with eager attention. As Paul went on he thought
involuntarily of the postmaster's information with regard to his
uncle's earlier life, connecting with it the strange interest which
Herr von Heydeck took in Paul Delmar, the deserted room in the tower,
and the old cradle. All this, combined with the tipsy talk of Dr.
Putzer, suddenly aroused in Leo a suspicion, which he at first rejected
as too wild and incredible, but to which every word of Paul's, as he
continued, gave greater probability.

When Delmar ended his recital with, "Now tell me, Leo, what do you
think of this strange tale?" Heydeck had no doubt that he had
discovered its meaning,--a meaning that brought disgrace to his uncle.

"I will tell you, Paul," he said, "but first answer me one question.
Look back to the days of your boyhood, think of your relations with
your father, of his last days, and of his will. Did it never occur to
you that he must have had a particular reason for the terms in which it
was couched? You were his natural heir; why should he have made the
express statement that he left you his property, not because you were
his son, but because of your love for him, and because you were the
founder and preserver of his wealth? What reason could your father have
for such a will?"

"I cannot tell. I have often wondered, but never have arrived at any
conclusion."

"Did you never think haw your father, during all your early childhood,
held himself aloof from you, only according you his parental affection
in later years; and that he may have had some reason for this conduct?
Would not all these apparent contradictions be explained if you were
not his own child, but an adopted son, whose dutiful and filial conduct
at last aroused his genuine affection?"

Paul, who had been leaning back in an arm-chair, here started to his
feet. "What do you mean?" he exclaimed, in great agitation. "Such an
idea never entered my mind; my brain whirls at the thought. But go on;
to what does all this lead?"

Leo obeyed, reminding Paul of the postmaster's narrative, of the
suspicion awakened years before with regard to Herr von Heydeck,--a
suspicion that he had, in connection with Dr. Putzer and his wife,
caused the death of his son, to whose estate he had thus become heir.
Formerly it had been whispered that Herr von Heydeck was not the
child's father, but that the boy was the offspring of Frau von Heydeck
and of Count Menotti.

"There is where I heard the name!" Paul exclaimed; "but go on, go on! I
am upon the rack of expectation!"

Leo went on to speak of the cries which had been so often heard from
the round tower after the child's death, and that no one save Herr von
Heydeck himself and his half-idiotic servants had ventured to go near
this part of the castle. He then told of his losing his way upon the
previous afternoon, of his visit to the deserted room, of the cradle,
and of his struggle with Melcher. From all this, taken in connection
with his uncle's expressions and the doctor's talk, he drew the
conclusion that possibly many years previously his uncle and Dr. Putzer
had combined to remove from the world the unfortunate child which his
uncle was convinced was not his own, but the son of Count Menotti. This
was not effected by murder, of which vulgar gossip had accused them,
but by the removal of the child whose little corpse no one but the
doctor was allowed to see.

For this purpose the haunted tower had been put to use; there they had
kept the boy whose cries, heard in the silent night, had stricken with
terror the superstitious villagers. Afterwards, for his perfect
security, Herr von Heydeck must himself have removed the child. If this
were so, and if the deceased Herr Delmar had been induced to adopt the
forsaken boy, the strange provisions of his will were clearly
explained, as were also the expressions of Herr von Heydeck and the
doctor, who had both instantly recognized the resemblance of Delmar to
Count Menotti, and were doubtless convinced that he had come to Tausens
to lay claim to his inheritance and to the name and title of a Herr von
Heydeck.

"If my suspicion be correct," Leo concluded, "and the more I reflect
upon the matter the more convinced I am that it is so, you are the
boy, the lawful possessor of this castle, whom my uncle has deprived
of his estate and of his name. According to law you are my uncle's
son,--Hilda's brother."

"Hilda's brother!" Paul almost shouted. "Would you drive me mad? Is
it not enough to take from me everything to which I have hitherto
clung,--even the father whom I loved and in whom I had full faith? I,
Hilda's brother! Never I never! I cannot believe it! And yet can I help
believing it?" he continued, after a short pause. "Have you not
succeeded in discovering an explanation for all which I thought
inexplicable? Heydeck, who stole from me my estate and thrust me forth
into the world because he knew that I was not his son, recognizes me by
my likeness to the man who dishonoured him. There is not in my veins
one drop of your worthless uncle's blood, and yet the law makes me
Hilda's brother,--and the worst of criminals, should I ever dare to
entertain for her in my heart one sentiment save that of a brother for
a sister!"

As he spoke, Paul was pacing the room to and fro in the greatest
agitation; his olive cheek was deeply flushed; and such unmistakable
despair was painted in his face, that Leo, who had had no idea of the
depth and strength of the 'love at first sight' that had taken
possession of Paul for Hilda, could have no doubt as to the sentiments
that filled his soul. He was utterly amazed. Paul, with his critical
sneer, his ridicule of all sentimentality, his constant insistance that
the intellect should always maintain its dominion over the affections,
had suddenly lost his heart,--lost it irretrievably to a young girl
whom he had known only for a few hours, and who, in Leo's opinion, was
to be sure very charming and amiable, but not at all the one to inspire
such a man as Delmar with this sudden overmastering passion.

Yet although this love was a riddle to Leo, none the less did his
friend's despair excite his compassion, and he repented having so
pitilessly pronounced the sentence 'according to law you are Hilda's
brother,' without dreaming of the effect it might produce upon his
friend.

"Calm yourself, Paul," he said gently; "do not forget that all I have
said is only hypothetical. I have no facts to substantiate my
supposition, no way of proving even the possibility of its
correctness."

"Who want proof?" Delmar angrily exclaimed. "Did I come here to lay any
claim to the wretched inheritance which that woman, whom I will not
call mother, left her son? You know well enough that I am too rich now.
Or can you suppose that I aspire to the honour of the name of von
Heydeck? I love the name for your sake, Leo; you have ennobled it, and
it is that borne by your cousin, else I should hate it. Proofs! If I
possessed proofs clear as sunlight that this castle belonged to me, and
that I had a legal right to the name of Heydeck, I would consign them
to the flames, that no one upon earth might know that I had a right to
be considered your uncle's son."

"Why then, Paul, should the thought of Hilda bring you such misery? If
you never lay claim to the right which the law would perhaps accord
you, she is not your sister. As you yourself said, no drop of her
father's blood flows in your veins."

"Are you so sure of that,--sure that I am not your uncle's son, whom a
freak of nature stamped with a resemblance to his mother's friend.
Count Menotti? In that case Hilda would really be my sister. I grow
giddy at the horrid thought, and yet I must learn to grasp it. I should
despise myself if, in view of such a possibility, I ever dared approach
Hilda with other than a brother's love. Shall I poison her young life?
If she should love me and become my wife, as I, fool that I was,
ventured to dream a few hours ago, and should then, by any chance,
learn that the law makes her father, mine, how horrible would be her
fate! No, Leo; I will never sacrifice her happiness to my insane
passion! She shall never suspect it. I will be all to her--faithful
friend, true counsellor--that a brother may; but she never shall hear
from my lips one syllable betokening a warmer feeling than the love of
a brother."

"I know you will remain steadfast in this resolution, Paul. I shall not
gainsay it by a single word. Only let me pray you to act calmly and
without passion. You have no right to take my conjecture for reality
without further confirmation; the facts upon which it is founded may
perhaps bear a different interpretation. You must not allow the
happiness of your life to be destroyed by an ill-founded suspicion."

"What would you have me do?"

"Investigate the truth concerning your birth. First spare no pains to
discover, here in Tausens, whether my uncle's son did not really die
here years ago; your wealth will help you to do this. I will do all
that I can to assist you, not only here, but also in Germany, where you
must search out the former home of Herr Delmar, and succeed, if
possible, in establishing proof that you really are his son, and that a
chance resemblance has thus befooled us all. You must not lose courage,
Paul; you have a sacred duty to fulfil, both to yourself and to Hilda."

"Be it so!" Paul replied, with a firm grasp of his friend's hand. "I
will do what you ask; I will investigate this wretched mystery; I will
search for proof that I am the son of this scoundrelly Herr von
Heydeck, as if in this certainty lay my every hope of happiness instead
of my doom to misery; but I am inwardly convinced that your suspicion
is only too well grounded. The task I propose will not be a difficult
one. I know the hand wherein lies the clue to the secret. That wretch,
Dr. Putzer, is your uncle's accomplice. He will do anything for money,
as he clearly made known to me yesterday. _In vino veritas_. If I give
him what he asks, and insure him from all risk, he can easily be
brought to betray his principal and give me the proof I want. I will
not chaffer with him; he may have as much as he asks. I will tell you
more, Leo, if you will come to Tausens with your cousin this afternoon.
Now I leave you to go to Dr. Putzer. Farewell."

The friends separated with a cordial grasp of hands that told better
than in words of their determination to pursue earnestly the task they
had undertaken; and then, when Leo had conducted Paul to the head of
the grand staircase, he returned sadly to his studio.

As Paul passed through the portal of the castle and saw upon the right
the old round tower, a bitter sense of injury possessed him. There was
the place where he had been imprisoned as a helpless infant, while the
avaricious man who was legally his father annihilated all trace of the
existence of the child whom he dared not kill, but would not allow to
live.

"If he had only killed me!" Paul sighed; and the thought suddenly
occurred to him whether it would not be best to end his misery by a
leap from the castle rock. "No! no!" he reflected; "they must not
despise me as a coward."

And yet the thought had a positive fascination for him. Could he not
contrive that a misstep upon the perilous path up the rocks should
cause his death to be considered by his friends the result of chance?
They would--Leo would--mourn him truly, and the will by which he had
made his friend his heir would smooth Heydeck's future career for him.
He would not hesitate then to approach Eva as a lover. The miserable
millions would at last bring happiness to their possessor.

But as he was walking through the garden towards the narrow rock-path,
oblivious of his promise to Hilda, a prey to dire temptation, a voice
was suddenly heard that caused him to pause, startled.

"Where are you going, Herr Delmar?"

He looked up, and Hilda stood before him, with pain and reproach in her
eyes.

Her simple question covered Paul with confusion. He now first
remembered the promise so frankly given a short time before; a promise
he was on his way to break. He might have given an evasive reply.
Indeed, Hilda helped him to do so by adding, "Perhaps you hoped to meet
me here in the garden. Did you speak with Leo about my visit to
Fräulein Schommer?"

But such an evasion seemed unmanly and unworthy of him. "Forgive me,
Fräulein Hilda," was his only reply.

Hilda understood him. "Were you really about to return to Tausens by
the rock-path in spite of your promise?"

"I had forgotten it. Indeed, you have a right to be angry, but if you
knew----"

He hesitated; he could not make Hilda the confidante of his misery.

"What has happened, Herr Delmar? Why do you pause? You are evidently
agitated. What can you have learned in the short time since I saw you?
Tell me, I pray."

As she spoke she kindly offered him her hand, but he did not take it.
He shuddered as he thought of how happy he had been but a few short
moments before when he took that little hand, and of the hopes that had
then dawned in his soul, hopes that must be crushed forever. Should he
press his lips upon it in one farewell kiss? No! not even that. She
must not dream how hard it was to part from her; she must think of him
as of a stranger, and he looked away, that Hilda might suppose he did
not see the hand she held out to him.

But Hilda was not deceived. The interest which she felt in Delmar was
too deep and vivid to allow her to remain ignorant of the change he had
suddenly undergone. She saw that he intentionally avoided taking her
hand, and she was afraid that she had in some manner offended him. Was
he vexed at her suspicion that he had meant to break his word? She had
not meant to call him to so strict an account. "Are you vexed with me,
Herr Delmar?" she said gently; "I did not mean to offend you."

"I know that, Fräulein Hilda," Delmar replied, recovering his
composure. "How could you offend me? I confess that I am agitated by
the conversation that I have just had with Leo about family matters, of
which I am not at liberty to speak. I had forgotten my promise with
regard to the Reifenstein rocks, but be assured I will keep faith with
you now. Farewell, Fräulein Hilda!"

He bowed formally and walked away through the garden towards the
court-yard. In the dim gateway leading into it he turned to look at
Hilda once more. She was standing on the spot where he had left her,
with amazement and sorrow expressed in her whole air and bearing. His
strange manner, his formal farewell, had filled her with vague
misgivings.

He waved his hand in token of adieu, and hurried from the castle across
the bridge to the well-worn foot-path down the mountain. Again, as he
walked on, did that grim temptation to self-destruction assault his
soul. He turned aside among the shrubbery that bordered the pathway,
and penetrating it, reached the brink of the abyss and gazed down into
its misty depths. As he looked his foot slipped upon a loose stone; in
an instant the instinct of self-preservation was on the alert.
Involuntarily he seized the stout branch of a tree growing beside him
and swung himself up to the level ground. As he did so a scornful smile
curled his lip at the thought of the exertion he was making to save a
life now so worthless in his eyes. But dreary as the future seemed to
him, he shrank from the cowardice that would flee from trials and
agonies that might be bravely met. He remembered how often he had heard
Leo denounce the pusillanimity of those who lacked courage to meet the
inevitable shocks of life. And Hilda,--could she ever have even a
kindly thought for the memory of a suicide?

One more look he gave to the abyss at his feet, and then turned back
into the secure foot-path and walked on slowly, lost in thought, to the
village. He was no longer occupied solely with self; his mind reacted
healthily and he thought of his friend. What change might not the next
few weeks bring about in the life of the man who had been to him more
than a brother? Eva and Leo must have opportunities for knowing and
understanding each other. With closer knowledge of his friend, Fräulein
Schommer could not but return his affection. To this end Paul would
exert himself: he would give his life a new purpose; and this
resolution exalted and refreshed him. He had almost forgotten the dark
shadow brooding over his own existence when he was reminded of it by a
sudden glimpse among the trees of the village in the midst of which Dr.
Putzer's house was conspicuous.

He remembered that he had promised Leo to attempt to learn from Dr.
Putzer more concerning Herr von Heydeck. The result of such an attempt
had lost all interest for him, it is true, so convinced was he of the
truth of Leo's surmises, but nevertheless he would, as he had promised,
do all that he could to drag every fact connected with this mystery to
the full light of day.



                             CHAPTER  XIV.


When Paul at last reached the village street, he did not turn in the
direction of the Post, but went directly towards Dr. Putzer's house. On
approaching it he noticed several peasants talking in the road in front
of the garden. Among them was the postmaster, gesticulating eagerly.

Paul would have passed them and entered the garden, but the postmaster
detained him. "If you want to speak to the doctor," said honest Hansel,
taking off his cap, "you come upon a vain errand."

"Is he not at home?"

"He is at home, but you cannot speak with him."

Hansel's answer was made in quite a solemn tone; he was evidently
burning with desire to tell Delmar what he had repeated already three
or four times to the peasants, who listened with eager attention to his
every word; but he waited to be questioned by Paul. As soon as this
occurred the floodgates of his eloquence were opened.

He told minutely all that he had heard from the doctor's servant.
Yesterday evening, when the stable-boy from the Post had taken the
doctor home, he had been received very unkindly by his wife, who had
called him an irreclaimable drunkard, and more hard names besides than
the poorest peasant's wife in the village would have bestowed upon her
husband. The doctor only laughed childishly, and, although his wife
forbade his speaking before the maid, went maundering on unintelligibly
about Herr von Heydeck at the castle, and Herr Delmar, and Count
Menotti.

The doctor's wife had grown quite furious when she could not make him
hold his tongue, and had dashed a bucketful of cold water over his head
to bring him to his senses. She had often done this before, and the
doctor also often held his head under the cold stream of water at the
brook to make himself sober; but on this evening the cold water did him
no good: he grew quite purple in the face, and it was a long time
before he came to himself and got to bed.

To-day they had a great quarrel early in the morning; the maid did not
know what it was about,--they often quarrelled,--but she heard the
name of von Heydeck very often; and towards ten o'clock the doctor took
his hat and stick and went to the Post, to pay his visit to the sick
gentleman there, and as he walked through the garden the maid had
noticed that his face was much redder than usual when he had been
intoxicated the day before. He spoke very quietly and was entirely
himself; but when he came home again, walking very unsteadily and
looking very ill, the doctor's wife flew into a rage, and insisted upon
his letting the water at the brook flow over his head. He refused to do
it at first, but his wife stormed and insisted, and he yielded at last,
as he always did. Scarcely however had he held his head under the
stream for a minute when he suddenly fell on the ground and lay like
one dead.

His wife's screams brought the neighbours to the spot, and they got the
sick man into the house and put him in bed, where he was now lying
perfectly unconscious. He was still living, but he could not possibly
recover. His wife was no true wife to him, but a worthless, miserable
creature. Instead of taking care of her husband, she had left him. As
soon as he was got to bed she had ordered a conveyance from the Post;
and the postmaster had provided it immediately, for he thought she
wanted to send for a doctor. But the wretched woman had never thought
of doing so; she had packed up her clothing and various other articles
in a hurry, and had driven off no one knew whither. She had told the
servant-girl to take care of the doctor and to send for another
physician, but that he would certainly not last long. And so the poor
man was lying in bed, unconscious, with no one but the servant to
attend to him. The postmaster, however, for old acquaintance' sake, had
sent another conveyance for Dr. Atzinger. Dr. Atzinger had just left
the sick man, and had said that he might get over the stroke this time,
but that he never would have the use of his limbs, and that no one must
be allowed to see him. All this the postmaster related to Delmar, who
thus found himself deprived of any hope of immediate aid from Dr.
Putzer in his investigations. This did not trouble him, however, since
he had only been interested to fulfil his promise to Leo, and he was
rather relieved to feel entirely free to devote himself to his friend's
affairs.

Upon his return to the inn, Delmar found the entire Schommer family at
dinner with Herwarth upon the balcony. Bertram alone was missing; he
had not returned from an expedition to some cascades which he had
undertaken that morning; indeed, a messenger had arrived from him
saying that he had gone on to Rothwald, whence he should make a
mountain-ascent, which would probably detain him there until the
following day. Uncle Balthasar told Delmar of this, lamenting that
'dear Guido' could not join their little circle, but he was the only
one who regretted his absence; the others all felt relieved in the
consciousness that they should not see Bertram for some hours at least.

Kuno had enjoyed himself greatly during Paul's absence. Eva declared
with a smile that all the ladies had bestowed upon the invalid their
tenderest solicitude, and had succeeded in compelling him to comply
with the orders of his physician, although he was at times a most
unruly patient, in his determination to prevent them from exerting
themselves in his behalf.

These few hours of unconventional intercourse on the balcony had
established a degree of friendly intimacy between Kuno and the young
ladies which pleased Delmar much. Eva treated him with frank
familiarity, jesting with him as with an old acquaintance. Aline was
not quite so unconstrained; although not less kind, there was a certain
reserve in her manner towards Herwarth. Paul noticed this, and that her
eyes, which evidently rested with pleasure upon the lieutenant when he
was talking with Eva, were quickly averted if he looked towards
herself. It was not difficult for so keen an observer as Delmar to read
the secret of these two hearts. The discovery gave him a melancholy
pleasure. "Another couple who will and shall be happy!" he thought to
himself "It was best that Fräulein Hilda should keep me away from the
path down the Reifenstein rock; a ghastly accident would have scattered
these happy people, and I may be of use here yet." Filled with this
thought, Paul forgot himself and his sorrows. He sat down at the table,
and was the life of the little party. He contrived that Aline and
Herwarth should have frequent opportunity of conversation, while he
entertained Eva, Uncle Balthasar, and even silent Aunt Minni with his
gay talk, seeming to all to be even more merry than on the previous
day. Eva forgot her usual gravity, and Uncle Balthasar was enchanted;
his only sorrow was that 'dear Guido' could not be present to enjoy
'this delightful conversation.' Paul said but little of his visit to
the castle; he simply told Eva that in a short conversation with
Fräulein von Heydeck he had told her of the guests at the Post. The
young girl remembered, with great pleasure, her evening with Fräulein
Schommer in Vienna, and would certainly come to the inn with her cousin
Leo to renew her acquaintance with her. As he spoke, Delmar watched Eva
narrowly, although he was apparently toying indifferently with his
wine-glass. When he mentioned Leo's name, and his intention of coming
to the inn, he saw the girl's cheek flush; she suddenly raised her
eyes, and as quickly dropped them again upon meeting Paul's keen
glance. She turned away to hide her confusion, and addressed a few
words in an undertone to her aunt, who sat beside her.

"Will it be disagreeable to you, Fräulein Schommer, to have Leo come
down to Tausens?"

Eva hastily turned towards him, her cheek still flushed, but all
confusion overcome. "Did you arrange this visit of which you now tell
me, Herr Delmar?" she asked, not without asperity.

"I may have done so. You expressed a wish yesterday to see again
Fräulein Hilda von Heydeck. I could not suppose that you contemplated
going up to the castle, and I therefore proposed that Fräulein Hilda
should come to you. She only half promised, however, and I am not sure
she will be able to fulfil her intent."

"I was not speaking of Fräulein Hilda, but of Herr von Heydeck. I asked
whether you had arranged this visit, because I had hoped you would
remember what I said yesterday."

"You said yesterday that you were not afraid of meeting my friend."

"And I also said that I thought it desirable that any such meeting
should be avoided. It is not fair in you, Herr Delmar, intentionally to
expose me to embarrassment of this kind."

While she was speaking Paul regarded her with gentle gravity; her
reckless frankness enlisted his sympathy profoundly. As she finished he
bent his head, and in a low and gentle tone said, "Your frank, honest
reproof shall receive as frank and honest a reply. I might easily
deceive you by telling you that Leo must see his friend Herwarth, and
that therefore I had arranged this visit; but I will not deceive you.
Frankly and honestly, then, I wish Leo to see you again for his own
sake and--for yours!"

"Herr Delmar, I must beg----"

"Stay, Fräulein Schommer! I know what you would say. You would accuse
me of unjustifiable interference in your affairs which are no concern
of mine; but there you are wrong. I take a deeper interest in them than
you would probably think permissible, but nothing is so near to me in
this world as Leo's happiness. You see I am honest and do not flatter
you."

"No, you have shown me that you do not, both yesterday and to-day; yet
I really cannot see what interest your affection for Herr von Heydeck
can have for me."

"That is not said with your usual ingenuousness, Fräulein Schommer,"
Delmar said earnestly. "You know well that you take a degree of
interest in my friend Leo's destiny, and you ought not to deny it. Leo
bitterly regrets having been misled in an unfortunate moment to say
words which wounded you."

"That is not so, Herr Delmar."

"Excuse me, it is so; and Leo is all the more sensible of his injustice
since he was not true to himself in what he said. Irritated by a
certain haughty demeanour, which Fräulein Schommer is apt to display
towards those whom she knows but slightly, Leo was induced that day, in
answer to his friend Herwarth's badinage, to say what was no sooner
uttered than it was deeply repented. He will never be satisfied until
he has had an opportunity of entreating your forgiveness,--an
opportunity which I am sure you are too magnanimous to deny him."

Eva was much moved by Paul's words. Was he telling the truth, or was
what he said the result of the ironical mood that so often possessed
him? Had he read her heart? Did he know that she could not bear a
grudge to Leo,--that his insulting words had long since been forgiven
by her,--that she only mourned he should have been prompted to utter
them?

"You do not reply, Fräulein Schommer," Paul continued, so gravely that
Eva could no longer suspect him of a sneer. "You hardly seem to trust
my words, and therefore you force me to say more than I had intended.
Do you remember what you said yesterday,--your bitter lament over the
misfortune of being too rich?"

"Yes; why do you ask?"

"You never uttered truer words than those then spoken. Yes, it is your
greatest trial, as it is my own, to be 'too rich.' Your wealth has
poisoned your soul. Conscious of these wretched riches, you receive all
who approach you with haughty disdain, believing them attracted solely
by the glitter of your gold. Such was your treatment of Leo, the
noblest and most disinterested of men, and the cold contempt of your
manner cut him to the quick. And this is not the worst,--an unkind word
can be atoned for by kindness,--Leo would not be implacable any more
than you will be so, but--you are too rich. He loves you, Fräulein
Schommer. Your image is so deeply engraven upon his soul that it stands
upon his easel at this moment wrought by his hand, so like you that it
almost seems your living, breathing self. He loves you, but you are
'too rich.' Not your cold reserve, but your miserable money, repels his
pride. That fortune, which is a bait for the avarice of a--Bertram, is
a barrier between yourself and the man in whose affection you might
find the deepest bliss attainable in this world. But enough of this. I
have presumed incredibly, I know, but I hope not past forgiveness when
you consider how profound is that regard for my friend, in which I
refuse to believe that you take no 'interest.' Fräulein Aline is
looking at us in surprise at our withdrawal from all part in the
general conversation, and we must really devote more of our attention
to these excellent trout."

Delmar had seized a happy opportunity, when the rest of the circle were
variously absorbed, to prepare Eva's mind thus for Leo's visit. He had
succeeded; the girl's glowing cheeks, and the dreamy expression of her
dark eyes, told him how profound was the impression he had produced.
She did not reply, her heart was too full for words.

Beloved by Leo! No, this was no ironical jest of Delmar's; he had
spoken in the tone of intense conviction. She could not doubt his
words; the consciousness, vague although it was, of being loved by the
man whose image she had so cherished in secret, filled her with a sense
of blessed content which not even the knowledge that she was separated
from him forever could at first disturb.

Separated forever! Yes, she was the betrothed of Bertram. When Delmar
had uttered his name she had shrunk involuntarily, as if conscious for
the first time of her detestation and contempt for him. But she was
his; she must keep the vow that bound her to him. It was a duty which
she had voluntarily imposed upon herself, as she now knew, for Leo's
sake. She had sacrificed herself that he might escape a threatened
danger; the knowledge of this gave her strength to bear the misery that
must be her future lot. Her fate was decided, but in the consciousness
that she was beloved, she no longer found it so hard to bear.

Paul divined what was passing in her soul; he saw that his words had
produced upon her an ineradicable impression, but she must not be left
to reflect upon them. He turned away and began a conversation with
Uncle Balthasar, in which the rest speedily joined. Never had Paul
seemed half so merry and entertaining, how could Eva refuse to bear her
part in the general cheerfulness that prevailed? Even Aunt Minni was
startled from her usual indolent serenity, and once or twice actually
laughed. As Delmar had succeeded in banishing his own brooding fancies,
he now prevented Eva from indulging in any such.

Several hours passed thus gayly upon the balcony. Coffee had been
served, and still no one arose to leave it. Uncle Balthasar had
foregone his usual afternoon nap in view of the agreeable society in
which he found himself.

Thus the moments flew by, and no one noticed that Delmar grew slightly
restless, casting frequent glances towards that part of the landscape
where a small stretch of the road from the village could be seen. In
fact he began to be afraid lest his well-devised plan for a
reconciliation between Eva and Leo should fail, in view of the latter's
great unwillingness to approach one whom he felt he had so deeply
offended. He was not however doomed to such a disappointment. The visit
he had so desired was at hand.

In the distance he first noticed the flutter of a light dress, and soon
recognized Hilda, beside whom walked Leo, engaged in earnest
conversation. Paul breathed freely now,--in a few minutes they would
reach the inn. Leo's visit could not have occurred at a happier time.
Eva had been prepared to see him again; she had forgiven him; she had
been told that he loved her, and to this declaration from Delmar's lips
she had replied by no word of reproof. Delmar was convinced that a few
friendly words from either would suffice to banish the shadow that now
lay between them, and then he could make up his mind what to do
next. They must have frequent opportunities of meeting, that was
certain,--frequent occasion for familiar intercourse. Delmar must see
that Bertram did not interfere here.

Although Paul was aware of his friend's love for Fräulein Schommer, he
knew nothing of the state of the girl's heart, except for the gentle
sympathy for Leo which he had read in her eyes. Her readiness to bestow
her hand upon Bertram was inconsistent Paul thought with the existence
of an affection for any one else. And yet this uncertainty did not
deter Delmar from the pursuance of his schemes. He was convinced that
Leo could succeed in winning Eva's heart if only time and opportunity
were given him. She must admire his brilliant talents and respect his
lofty enthusiasm; love would surely follow, and then would come the
time to dissolve her engagement with Bertram, and the end for which
Delmar was now living would be attained.

"There come our friends Fräulein Hilda and Leo von Heydeck!" he turned
to say to Eva, who was talking with Aline, and as he spoke he pointed
towards the road. For a moment Eva lost her self-possession: her cheek
paled and her lips trembled.

"Courage, Eva dear!" Aline whispered. "You must summon all your
self-control."

Aline's efforts to calm her friend were seconded by the extraordinary
surprise which Uncle Balthasar displayed at Paul's information, a
surprise which greatly amused every one.

"Oh, Holy Apostles! Herr von Heydeck!" the old man exclaimed in the
broadest Saxon, with such positive horror imprinted upon his broad,
good-humoured face as only some fearful intelligence should have
provoked. He had not much time to recover from his fright, for a few
moments later Hilda appeared upon the balcony followed by Leo.

Herwarth's and Delmar's laughter at Uncle Balthasar's exclamation of
dismay had restored Eva's composure, and when Hilda hastened up to her,
expressing in her fresh girlish way the delight that it was to her to
meet Fräulein Schommer once more, every trace of embarrassment on Eva's
part disappeared. She returned Hilda's kiss with equal cordiality, and
then presented her to her uncle and aunt as the "charming Fräulein von
Heydeck whom she had met in Vienna, and of whom she had so often spoken
to them." She acknowledged Leo's profound bow most courteously; she
could not be perfectly easy and unconstrained while doing so; the blood
rushed to her cheek as she felt that Delmar was watching her the while.

In spite however of the cordial meeting between Hilda and Eva, all the
members of the little circle, with the exception of Hilda and Paul,
suffered under a certain constraint. They could not but remember the
past, and it was not easy to enter into general conversation. Uncle
Balthasar cast timid side-glances at Leo, who, to conceal his
embarrassment, was making minute, inquiries after Herwarth's health.
Aline was anxiously watching Eva, who was exerting all her self-control
to appear at ease, and even Aunt Minni, usually so perfectly
unimpressionable, seemed aware of the general disturbance, and sat in
her arm-chair with her fat red face studiously turned away from the
terrible Herr von Heydeck.

Paul was quite unembarrassed and much amused by the evident efforts of
every one to appear at ease, the sarcastic smile which his friends knew
so well hovered upon his lips; he was master of the situation which he
himself had contrived, and which was to aid his schemes. He managed
with a jest directed towards Uncle Balthasar to relieve the good old
man from constraint, and then skilfully drew him into conversation with
Leo and Herwarth, so that Eva, Aline, and Hilda were left to talk
together. Aunt Minni always preferring to be left to herself.

It was Paul's fashion in pursuit of any aim to act with great
recklessness, and now, determined to reconcile Leo with Uncle
Balthasar, instead of avoiding all allusion to the scene at Büchner's
and the affront offered to Eva by Leo, he led the conversation directly
to the subject, and thus gave his friend an opportunity to express his
regret to Uncle Balthasar for what had occurred. Leo did this in so
frank and manly a way that the placable old man was entirely satisfied,
and no longer remembered the dismay with which he had received the
announcement of Herr von Heydeck's visit.

For a while Paul left the young girls to themselves; then by appealing
to Eva upon some opinion just expressed by Leo, he drew them also into
the conversation, which thus became general. To his great satisfaction
he noticed that Eva replied willingly and pleasantly to the few remarks
which Leo addressed to her.

But a first visit should not be too prolonged. At the end of an hour
Hilda rose to take leave, after having arranged that Aline, Eva, and
herself should meet frequently, Hilda promising to act as their
cicerone to all the points of interest in the country round.

"If you will allow me, Fräulein Hilda, I will walk some distance with
you and Leo on your way back." Paul said to Hilda; and then turning to
Eva he added, "Will not you, Fräulein Schommer and Fräulein von
Schlicht, improve the occasion for a walk? you have not left the house
to-day,--and I will promise to escort you safely back to the Post."

Hilda of course seconded this proposition, and Eva agreed to it, to the
surprise of Aline, who could not but consent to accompany her friend
after commending Herwarth to the kind offices of Uncle Balthasar.

Eva and Aline started with Hilda, while Delmar walked by the side of
Leo; and how it happened no one except perhaps Paul could have told,
but after a little while Leo walked by Eva's side, while Paul followed
with the two other ladies. Gradually the distance between the two
parties increased, for Delmar walked very slowly, and often stopped to
ask Hilda the names of the various mountain-peaks, or to point out to
Aline some special beauty in the landscape, while he talked so fast and
so eagerly that he absorbed the entire attention of his companions.
They never noticed that Leo and Eva were now a considerable distance in
front of them.

Leo's entertainment of his companion was by no means so glib and ready
as was Delmar's of Aline and Hilda. He was glad that Paul had so soon
procured him this opportunity of speaking to Eva alone and undisturbed;
and yet, now that it was thus his, he could hardly find courage to
improve it. He walked along by Eva's side in silence for some minutes,
and did but grow more and more confused. Never had he felt so utterly
and insanely stupid. Of course Eva could not begin a conversation, and
how she must despise his inability to find the right words in which to
address her! The right words! he thought he could not find them, and
yet they came, when, yielding to the feeling that had mastered him, he
simply asked, "Can you forgive me?"

These were the right words! They came from the heart, as Eva felt, and
she looked up to Leo with a charming smile. "I have nothing to
forgive!" She said nothing more, and yet she seemed to Leo to have
spoken volumes. He could have shouted for joy, so exquisite was the
pleasure that the low whispered words gave him, dispelling the dark
shadow that had rested upon his life. Eva had forgiven him! The words
that she spoke, and still more the eyes that had gazed for a moment
into his, had assured him of this.

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips; he could not help it, and
Eva did not resent his doing so, nor did she withdraw it when he placed
it within his arm. She had forgiven him, there was no cause for offence
between them. He never thought of her wealth, of her betrothal, nor of
the future. He walked silently beside her in a blissful dream of the
present, conscious only of the pressure of that little hand upon his
arm.

They said nothing more; now and then their glances met, and they seemed
to have uttered all that it was in their hearts to say.

"Halloo, Leo!"

It was Paul's shout. Leo looked back in amazement, and noticed for the
first time that he and Eva had left the road and were walking along the
foot-path, very much in advance of the others.

"It must be time for me to turn back; we have really come quite a
distance," said Eva, withdrawing her hand from Leo's arm.

"May I come to Tausens again to-morrow?"

"Yes."

Again he kissed her hand rapturously, and she allowed it, although at
the sound of Delmar's voice near by she withdrew it more quickly than
before. Paul had shouted at the request of Hilda, who, now that they
were approaching the steepest part of the way, thought it too difficult
climbing for Eva, unaccustomed as she was to mountain-walks.

Twilight was settling down upon the landscape as Eva, Aline, and Delmar
took their leave and returned to the Post, while Leo and Hilda pursued
their way up the mountain.

"Eva is a charming girl," said Hilda.

"She is an angel!" Leo replied. He said nothing further; Hilda glanced
up at him in surprise, but he did not notice it as he looked down, lost
in dreams. An arch smile flitted across the girl's face; she nodded
archly at her cousin, who did not see her, and said no further word to
disturb his revery,--she thought she could divine its subject.



                              CHAPTER  XV.


Eva had anticipated a first meeting with Leo with absolute dread, and
yet one brief hour and two or three words had sufficed to dispel the
dark cloud between them. They were reconciled.

A delicious sense of repose and peace filled Eva's soul as she silently
accompanied Aline and Delmar back to the inn. Paul guessed that she was
in no mood for conversation, and so left her free to pursue her
thoughts.

And when they were again all seated upon the balcony, and the three
gentlemen from Tausens made their appearance as usual, Paul contrived
that no one should notice that Eva scarcely took any part in the
conversation. Aline alone saw how quiet the girl was, and divined the
cause of her silence.

Only when the two young girls had retired to their room did Aline put
her arms about her friend, and, looking into her dark eyes, ask, "Are
you reconciled?"

"Yes, Aline. Oh, I am so happy!" was the reply. And then Eva poured
into her friend's ready and sympathizing ear an account of all that
filled her heart, all she had heard from Delmar, telling last of the
few words she had exchanged with Leo, and of the kiss he had imprinted
upon her hand at parting.

Aline listened with the deepest interest, never interrupting her, but
when she had finished she asked, in a low tone, "You love him, Eva?"

"Yes, with my whole soul! Now I dare tell you. Aline, of the warm
interest I felt in him long before I ever saw him. You and Lieutenant
Herwarth had told me so much of him, of his heroism in the field, of
his humanity to the conquered; he was my ideal of a hero, and when I
first saw him I was confused and strangely moved, for all my
expectations were so much more than answered. I was so happy when Uncle
Balthasar presented him."

"And yet you received him so coldly that he could not but feel hurt!"

"It was my misfortune, Aline! I have shed many a secret tear at the
thought of it. Delmar is right: wealth has poisoned my soul and filled
me with unjust suspicion. I take shame to myself for ever thinking that
my money could have any attraction for him. And so I threw away the
happiness of my life. He loves me, but he will not approach me,--we are
separated forever! I am betrothed to Bertram!"

Eva wept bitterly, while Aline clasped her closer in her arms. "You
must not be unhappy, Eva," she said earnestly; "you must not sacrifice
your life to an illusion! This miserable engagement should never have
been entered into. There is still time to break it; you must not give
your hand to a man whom you detest and despise while your heart belongs
to another. Courage, Eva! Your fate is in your own hands. Break the
disgraceful chains that fetter you!"

"I cannot, Aline! Bertram has my promise; he knows that I do not love
him, but he will hold me to my promise. Would not Leo von Heydeck
despise me if he thought me capable of wantonly breaking a promise for
which Bertram has sacrificed his entire future? And if I did so, I
never could be really happy. Leo is himself betrothed."

"Herr von Heydeck betrothed?" Aline asked in surprise.

"Yes; he has complied with his father's desire that he should be
betrothed to his cousin Hilda. Herr Delmar told me this."

"My poor Eva----"

"No, not so, Aline! I was indeed wretched when I thought that Leo von
Heydeck hated and despised me. Now that I know that he cherishes for me
a pure, disinterested affection,--that he loves me, although he knows
that we are separated forever,--I am no longer unhappy. The thought
that I am sacrificing myself for his sake consoles me. I gave my
promise to Bertram that Leo von Heydeck might escape a great peril,--I
cannot be unhappy."

"You deceive yourself, Eva; you must not sacrifice yourself to a
phantom of the imagination. Bertram loves not yourself, but your money;
with money you can atone to him for his lost future."

"Say no more, Aline, I cannot bear it; you must not think so meanly of
the man who, although I cannot esteem or love him, has never given me
reason to believe him so sordid a wretch as you describe. I will keep
the promise I have given. Do not try to shake my resolution, it is
firmly fixed."

"I have no right to urge you further," Aline said sadly, "but answer me
one question, what are you going to do now? Will you return Fräulein
Hilda's visit? Will you thus provoke frequent opportunities of meeting
Herr von Heydeck? I should think such interviews would be alike painful
for yourself and for him."

"You are wrong; we are reconciled. If our future destinies separate us
forever, we may at least avail ourselves of these few chance weeks of
friendly intercourse. I am resolved to enjoy this time, troubled by no
sad thought of the future. When I leave Tausens I will go to meet my
fate serenely, for I know that Leo von Heydeck will have none but
kindly thoughts of me."

"A most extraordinary purpose!" Aline rejoined, as she looked at her
friend with a dubious smile; "but so be it,--it may result in good.
Then we are to enjoy the society of our friends at Castle Reifenstein
as if there had never been any unpleasantness between Herr von Heydeck
and yourself I confess I am curious to know what Herr von Bertram will
say to this."

"Do not mention his name to me now!" Eva exclaimed impatiently,
instantly however kissing her friend, and saying, in a gentle
tone of entreaty, "My dear true Aline, do not be angry with me for my
cross words,--you know how tenderly I love you, and how I depend
upon your counsel and sympathy. Let me enjoy this short season of
happiness,--even Herr von Bertram shall not alloy it for me,--he has no
right to do so; I am still my own mistress. And now goodnight, my
dearest friend."

Thus with a tender caress they separated for the night, but it was long
before either fell asleep. Eva resigned herself to waking dreams, and
Aline's thoughts were occupied with her friend's fate. She had long
since surmised that Eva was far from indifferent to Leo von Heydeck;
her surmise had just been made a conviction, and she now knew that Leo
reciprocated her friend's sentiments. Aline had the most sincere
affection for Eva; she took the deepest interest in her future; she
knew how firm and loyal she would be to a given promise, and that no
entreaties would avail to make her false to her idea of right. She had
often declared that nothing should cause her to recall the words spoken
to Bertram, and this declaration she had just repeated, although she
now knew that Leo loved her.

Nevertheless she must not be allowed to carry her resolve into
execution. Bertram was utterly unworthy of such a sacrifice. Aline had
become entirely convinced during the last week of his mercenary
disposition; she saw plainly that it was Eva's wealth and not herself
that he coveted. The constant coldness and reserve that characterized
her manner towards him had created in him almost a feeling of hatred
for his betrothed, the existence of which, in spite of the servile
smoothness of his manner, could not always be concealed from Aline's
eyes, made keen as they were by affection for her friend.

In Fräulein von Schlicht's opinion there was only one person who could
be of use here, and that was Paul Delmar. Aline would speak with him,
or--no, it would be far better to confide the whole matter to Herr von
Herwarth, who was intimate with both Herr von Heydeck and Herr Delmar.
He would know what to advise. This thought soothed her, and she fell
asleep with a happy smile upon her lips.

The next morning the whole party again met upon the balcony. Bertram
alone was missing; he had not yet returned from his expedition. Delmar
was in his gayest humour,--only Fräulein von Schlicht noticed that he
was rather pale, and that his eyes lacked something of their wonted
brilliancy; the others were content to yield to his influence and laugh
at his jests.

Leo and Hilda came down from the castle in the early morning to arrange
a walk to some waterfalls, and all went as smoothly as possible. Eva
received Leo with a smile that transported him to the seventh heaven,
and Hilda greeted Delmar as amiably. For a moment Paul forgot his rôle;
he grew very grave as he took Fräulein von Heydeck's proffered hand,
but the next instant he was gayer than ever, rallying the cousins upon
their condescension in descending from their rocky throne to mix with
the humble inhabitants of the valley. Hilda was ready in her replies,
and merriment was the order of the day.

When the party were about to start upon their expedition. Aline
declared that she was still fatigued with her walk of the previous day,
and preferred to remain quietly upon the balcony. She therefore begged
Delmar to join his friend Herr von Heydeck, and leave to her the charge
of the lieutenant. She made the request in so gentle a tone of
entreaty, and Kuno seconded her so eloquently, that Delmar could not
but comply. Thus Aline remained alone with Kuno on the balcony, for
Uncle Balthasar made one of the walking-party, and Aunt Minni, as soon
as breakfast was over, retired to her room and her beloved sofa.

Aline's wish was fulfilled; she now had an opportunity of speaking to
Herwarth of Eva, and her relations with Bertram. She found it difficult
at first to allude to so delicate a topic, but Fräulein von Schlicht
was too natural and frank a person to yield for long to girlish
shamefacedness; she was convinced of Herwarth's truth and honour and of
his friendship for Leo, and so she gave him her entire confidence with
regard to Eva and Bertram. She told him that her friend was bound only
by her promise,--that she had not the smallest esteem or affection for
her betrothed,--and that if her engagement were not broken the
happiness of her future life would be entirely destroyed. Of course
Aline never alluded to Eva's sentiments for Leo von Heydeck, she had no
right to do so; it was of her relations with Bertram alone that she
spoke; and she concluded with an earnest request that Herwarth would
induce Delmar to exert the influence which Herwarth had told her he
possessed over Bertram to force the lieutenant to free Eva from her
promise.

As Aline spoke, Kuno watched her with enthusiastic admiration; she had
never seemed to him so bewitchingly lovely. Her cheeks flushed, her
blue eyes sparkled in the glow of her devotion to her friend as she
eagerly explained and entreated. He was only too happy to be the
recipient of her confidence, and he promised with ardour to do
everything that she desired. It was only natural that when she offered
him her hand in token that the compact between them was sealed he
should refuse immediately to resign it, but should retain the 'white
wonder' in his clasp and imprint upon it a fervent kiss.

It is not quite safe for a young girl to pour confidences into a man's
ears, especially when their subject is love, and Aline had proof of
this. Kuno's ardour embarrassed her; she tried to withdraw her hand,
but he clasped it only the more firmly, and even drew its owner nearer
to him, as he reiterated his promise to do all, everything, always that
she could desire if only she would not repulse him, but would listen
while he told her that life was worthless to him unless he might keep
as his very own the little hand he then held. How could Aline withdraw
it?

When at noon the pedestrians returned from their waterfalls, they found
Aline and Kuno still together, and the lieutenant rapturously presented
to them Fräulein von Schlicht as his betrothed.

Here was a delightful surprise, and yet afterwards every one, with the
exception of Uncle Balthasar who was unaffected amazement itself,
professed to have foreseen it all along.

Delmar regarded Kuno with eyes that sparkled strangely. "Number One!"
he said. "You're a lucky dog, my noble knight! Have you not made fools
of us after all? Confess: was that sprained ankle accident, or did you
so contrive it that pity might bring her nearest of kin to minister to
you? And if it were so, my congratulations are none the less sincere, I
swear to you, Herwarth, that for only one hour of such happiness as
yours I would give not only a miserable foot but my head into the
bargain!"

Involuntarily his glance sought Hilda. Their eyes met, but were
instantaneously averted, and Delmar turned hastily away to conquer the
emotion that threatened to overcome him. In Hilda's look of tender
sympathy he read, "You too might be as happy!" Poor child! She did not
dream of the woe that awaited him, making it impossible that he should
be happy. The thought shot a pang through Paul's heart; there was no
bliss in the conviction of Hilda's tender sympathy for him, it only
made his fate harder to bear. With all his self-control, the struggle
was wellnigh too much for him. He hurried away,--anywhere to avoid
again meeting Hilda's eyes.

Eva, too, was much moved as she embraced her friend, and wished for her
every blessing that life could bring. "You happy girl!" she whispered.

"You will soon be just as happy," Aline replied, in as soft a whisper,
glancing at Leo, who was warmly congratulating the lieutenant. But Eva
brushed away a tear and made no answer.


Never had Hansel, our worthy postmaster, enjoyed such delightful days
as those which ensued upon the betrothal of Fräulein Aline with the
Herr Lieutenant von Herwarth. He went about the house with a constant
grin upon his broad face which beamed with special satisfaction
whenever he saw Herr Delmar, for Hansel was proud to acknowledge that
it was owing to Herr Delmar that his wildest dreams were now
transcended by reality.

The honest fellow listened daily to exclamations of admiration from
Herr Schommer and the ladies over the wonderful degree of comfort to be
found in this excellent inn, although Tausens was so retired a spot.
Every day he listened to thanks and praise of his wonderful energy and
skill in ministering to the wishes of his guests. Sometimes when Uncle
Balthasar was exhausting himself in surprise, and the young ladies
uttered cordial thanks in addition, Hansel, to be sure, would become
confused, and quite unable to suppress a maidenly blush, but he liked,
notwithstanding, to be so lauded.

Indeed, his guests had good cause to be amazed and grateful, for each
day brought some fresh surprise, prepared as Herr Delmar assured them
by the worthy Hansel, for whom Herr Delmar had a positively
enthusiastic regard.

A large box full of books, the best works upon the Tyrol, and the
latest novels, arrived from Innspruck. Hansel had ordered them from a
bookseller there, sparing no expense to provide amusement for his
guests if the weather should chance to be rainy.

Several furniture-wagons arrived from Bozen laden with comfortable
lounges and arm-chairs. Hansel had sent for these by express, because
he heard that Aunt Minni was fond of such luxuries. He showed a most
refined aptitude in supplying every desire of his wealthy guests. Money
was no object to him; no expense was spared in any direction.

And the table,--Herr Delmar had indeed maligned Tausens when he had
declared that there was nothing to be had there but veal. Hansel sent
to Bozen, Triest, Riva, and even to Venice, to procure delicacies
wherewith to tickle the palates of his guests. He sent his own
messengers, empowering them to make the required purchases. Uncle
Balthasar declared that nowhere in the world could a better table be
found than at the Post at Tausens. He really could not understand it,
for the charges were extremely moderate, not a kreutzer higher than at
other Tyrolean inns where not a delicacy was to be had.

And not only in luxurious lodgings and delicate fare did he testify his
desire to please. Every wish expressed in other respects by the
strangers, and especially by the ladies, was fulfilled almost before it
was uttered.

Fräulein Eva, upon a short walk where the postmaster was guide,
expressed her special admiration for a certain point of view and a
desire to visit it frequently. The next morning a couple of convenient
wooden benches and a table were erected upon the spot, and the path
leading to it was found to have been cleared of stones during the
night. Labourers were also employed to open and clear various
mountain-paths in the neighbourhood of the inn, making many charming
places accessible for the ladies. But Hansel's tenderest care for his
guests was shown in an arrangement which excited the unbounded surprise
of the entire village. Fräulein Aline von Schlicht was not very strong,
walking fatigued her, and she therefore often remained at home with the
invalid lieutenant when some pleasant expedition on foot was to be
made. One evening Fräulein Eva expressed her regret that in consequence
of the entire want of mules and riding-horses in Tausens her friend was
obliged to lose so much of the beauty around them, and that Herr von
Herwarth also would know nothing of the finest points of view, since he
would have to spare his sprained ankle for some time to come. An hour
afterwards the village schoolmaster departed for the railway-station in
Hansel's own conveyance, the driver being ordered to drive furiously so
as not to miss the train, and two days later an Italian appeared from
Bozen bringing four strong mules, which he quartered in the stable at
the Post, and placed at the disposition of the guests there, two of the
animals being provided with side-saddles.

Hansel, admirably careful host that he was, must have overheard Eva's
remark, and instantly ordered the mules and their owner from Bozen.

Their host's care and attention did not alone conduce to make the stay
of the Schommer party in Tausens agreeable. After Herwarth's betrothal
to Aline there was constant and delightful intercourse between the
inhabitants of the castle and the guests at the inn.

Every day Leo and Hilda came from the castle to carry off Eva and
Delmar to some point of beauty in the neighbourhood, while Aline
remained upon the balcony with her betrothed, and kindly Uncle
Balthasar felt it his duty to bestow his society upon 'our dear Guido,'
who never took part in the daily walks. Besides the mountain-paths were
too steep for the old man, and thus Hilda, Eva, Delmar, and Leo were
left to themselves to enjoy the exquisite weather and to explore, with
Hilda for a guide, all the beauty and grandeur that abound in the
neighbourhood of Tausens.

The steep mountain-paths were for the most part so narrow as to allow
only two persons to walk abreast; and upon first leaving the village
Hilda and Eva usually went before, followed by the two young men; but
this arrangement did not last long,--it was but natural that in any
climbing Eva should lag behind her fleet-footed guide and that Leo
should hasten to assist her unaccustomed steps, while Delmar walked
with Hilda, who never needed assistance, and that in this order they
should continue to pursue their way even when there were no
difficulties to surmount.

And when, after his two weeks of rest, Herwarth was able to mount a
mule and take part in these expeditions this arrangement was in no wise
altered, for naturally he rode beside his betrothed, who no longer
desired to be left at home upon the balcony. Another mule was sometimes
provided for Eva in very steep ascents; but Hilda, the mountain maid,
could never be induced to admit that walking upon her beloved mountains
could fatigue her, and her boldness and agility were quite equal to
those displayed by Leo and Delmar.

These expeditions had a rare charm for all who took part in them.
Conventional constraint vanished in the familiar intercourse thus
induced. A greater degree of intimacy was established among the party
than would ever have been possible in the life of a city.

When Leo led Eva along the narrow pathway upon the brink of some steep
abyss and she grew giddy with a glance into its misty depths, she would
cling to her guide in full confidence in his strength and sureness of
foot; he would bear her in his arms across a foaming mountain-brook,
lift her on and off of her mule, all small services which she could not
but permit him to render her, and which filled him with a sense of
ecstasy.

When at some distance from the others he walked with her beneath the
fragrant firs, as she leaned upon his arm he would gaze into the large
dark eyes lifted to his own and forget past and future in a dream of
the present, a dream which Eva shared, and it banished all memory of
the hateful tie that bound her to Bertram. She would listen with a
happy smile to Leo's words, and now and then her cheek would flush,
although he never breathed a word of the love which she knew possessed
his soul. Yes, she knew;--there was no need of a confession from his
lips.

Delmar did not, as did Leo and Eva, yield to the enjoyment of the
moment without resistance; but even he could not withstand the charm of
these daily walks by Hilda's side, of constant intercourse with one so
frank and fair.

In her gay unconsciousness Hilda never concealed from Paul how happy
she was; she talked so merrily and freely that he could not but adopt
the same familiar tone. He tried at first to treat her with reserve;
she must not know how wildly his heart beat in her presence; he must be
to her but an every-day acquaintance, no more to her than any other
stranger.

He would have avoided being alone with her, but that was impossible. If
Leo and Eva were to come together they must be left to themselves;
their love must so increase in familiar intercourse as to conquer any
prejudice that might separate them even after Eva's engagement to
Bertram should be annulled. If he would promote his friend's happiness,
Paul must be Hilda's sole companion upon these mountain-walks.

Thus he was forced to take with her the lead in all their expeditions,
although he offered her none of those small services which Leo rendered
to Eva with such delight. Hilda would have laughingly rejected them,
for she needed no assistance even on the steepest paths and dizziest
heights. Her head never for an instant swam even when she stood upon
the extreme brink of some frightful abyss and gazed down into its
depths; she sprang with graceful agility from stone to stone in
crossing the mountain-torrents, and was always at hand to give aid,
although she never needed it.

Once only Paul was forced to proffer Hilda the aid of his strong arm;
they had reached the banks of a rushing brook, across which there had
formerly been a bridge, which a late freshet had carried away. There
were no large stones in the midst of the water by which Hilda could
cross. Had she been alone she would, it is to be feared, have dashed
across without minding a thorough drenching, but that would never do
with any one by to see her, and she looked eagerly for some way to gain
the opposite bank.

"You will have to let me carry you across, Fräulein von Heydeck," Paul
said, after searching in vain for a place where Hilda could cross
without his aid.

"Shall I not be too heavy for you, Herr Delmar?" the girl asked, with
an arch smile.

For answer he lifted her lightly in his arms and strode through the
foaming water. How easily he seemed to do it, and yet the light burden
was almost too much for him. His heart throbbed so that he thought she
must hear it; his cheeks flushed crimson, and he almost staggered
beneath her light weight, when Hilda shrank from the dashing water and
leaned more closely upon his shoulder.

And yet he could have wished to bear her thus in his arms for hours.
With a sigh he released her upon the opposite bank of the stream, and
she thanked him, and laughing at his thoroughly drenched condition,
passed on through the forest, while he stilled the wild throbbing of
his heart and the rushing of the blood in his veins as best he might.

How variable and whimsical he must seem to Hilda! he thought. Now he
would adopt a cold tone towards her, and now indulge in outbursts of
the wildest merriment, striving with a jest to deaden the agitation of
his soul. He saw that these jests were not pleasing to Hilda; she grew
very grave when he was recklessly gay; he would not distress her, and
so restrained himself and compelled himself to talk earnestly and
quietly. For this she rewarded him with eager interest and ready
sympathy.

He would have held himself aloof from her, but that was impossible; she
regarded him not as a stranger, but as her cousin Leo's dearest friend,
of whom he had talked so much and so often that she felt thoroughly at
home and at her ease in his society, and she treated him with a frank
familiarity that was irresistibly attractive to him, and the influence
of which he could not resist.

Often, as they walked fearlessly along the brink of frightful abysses,
he remembered his despairing desire to end a life that could offer him
no future save pain and anguish. As he talked gayly with Hilda such
thoughts would assail him; he would pause for an instant and gaze with
longing into the blue depths. Why should he live on? Eva and Leo were
reconciled. All that remained for him to do was to break the tie
between Eva and Bertram and his work in the world would be at an end.
But as he wandered on at Hilda's side the spell that her presence threw
around him would inevitably exert its power; gloomy thoughts would be
banished, and the love of life and all that makes life fair would stir
strongly again within him, although he deceived himself into the belief
that his only desire was to live until Leo's happiness should be
secured and Dr. Putzer be sufficiently recovered to tell him all that
he feared to learn.

Convinced that after at most a few more days he should be separated
from Hilda forever, he at last resigned himself utterly to the
enchantment of her presence, unaware of how her constant society fed
and increased the love which he felt for her. Consequently he grew
calmer; the feverish excitement which drove him to indulge in
extravagant merriment subsided: he took cheerful part in the general
conversation; and when they rested after some long ascent at the
wished-for point of view, he could thoroughly enjoy both the enthusiasm
of the others and the glories of the landscape. Still, when at the end
of the day the entire party would sit discussing their expedition, upon
the balcony, Paul was apt to fall into a gloomy revery from which it
needed a word from Hilda to rouse him. Thus the days and weeks passed
at Tausens with very little change, and no one divined what was going
on in the mind of him to whom all turned for enjoyment and sympathy.

One person however suspected that Delmar was by no means so careless as
he seemed. Guido von Bertram watched him keenly whenever he had an
opportunity, with many a misgiving that a storm was gathering above his
head. When it would break he could not tell, and he racked his brains
for some means whereby he might escape it.

The ex-lieutenant played but a sorry part in Tausens. When he returned
from his mountain-expedition, on the day of Herwarth's betrothal, he
found the entire party assembled upon the balcony, for Leo and Hilda
had despatched a messenger to the castle to inform Herr von Heydeck
that they should not return until late in the evening.

Uncle Balthasar had brewed a bowl of punch in honour of the occasion,
and the three gentlemen from Tausens had taken part in the festivity.
Uncle Balthasar was in an ecstasy; he repeatedly proposed the health of
the betrothed couple, and made them a short congratulatory speech in
his comical patois. His only disappointment was that 'dear Guido' was
not yet returned; and when 'dear Guido' did actually make his
appearance upon the balcony, the old man's happiness reached its
climax; he immediately filled him a glass of punch and required that he
should drink the health of the betrothed couple.

The surprising intelligence deprived Bertram for an instant of his
self-possession, and his face showed the dismay that he felt. In fact,
there was reason for it. Herwarth, Leo's most intimate friend,
betrothed to Aline, Eva's friend and confidante! What results might not
ensue! Probably a reconciliation between Eva and Leo. True enough,
there was his dreaded enemy beside his betrothed, and the two were
conversing as easily and pleasantly as if there had never been the
slightest misunderstanding between them. At the moment Leo was standing
with his hand on the back of Eva's chair; he bent above her and said
something in a low tone of voice. And she? She looked up at him with a
gentle smile, so lost in what he was saying that she never heard Uncle
Balthasar's joyous exclamation, "Here is our dear Guido!" and did not
know that her betrothed was looking on while she conversed familiarly
with his mortal enemy.

They were reconciled! The phantom which had scared Bertram since the
day of his betrothal had become a terrible reality. Eva loved Leo von
Heydeck,--her sweet smile, the tender light in her eyes as she looked
at him, revealed the fact even more plainly to Bertram's jealousy. He
grew giddy; he saw his whole future in peril, his fairest hopes
destroyed, and himself upon the brink of an abyss. But he must suppress
all manifestation of the dismay that he felt. Mechanically and with a
hand that trembled he took the glass which Uncle Balthasar offered him.

Fortunately, the individual members of the little party were too much
occupied with themselves to pay much attention to Bertram. Leo and Kuno
had indeed been aware of his entrance upon the balcony, but they did
not deign him a glance. Delmar however bestowed some notice upon him,
saying with the sarcastic smile which Bertram so detested, "When you
have congratulated our friends as in duty bound, Herr von Bertram, let
me pray you to bestow upon me the short time which the fatigue of your
expedition allows you to accord us this evening. Here is a place by my
side."

This was a command which Bertram did not dare to transgress. With rage
in his heart he obeyed.

He offered his congratulations to the betrothed couple. Aline received
them with the merest bow required by courtesy, and Kuno noticed them
not at all,--for him Herr von Bertram did not exist.

Guido controlled his anger; he did not dare to resent the contempt
shown for him by Herwarth. He had to pay his respects to his betrothed
after two days of absence,--a duty he would gladly have omitted. He
offered her his hand; she placed her own within it, but withdrew it
instantly. She asked one or two cold questions as to whether he had
enjoyed his excursion, and then turned and continued her conversation
with Leo, who did not accord him even a glance.

"Come, Herr von Bertram, I am waiting for you impatiently," said Paul.

Bertram obeyed, and took the vacant place beside his tormentor.

"Tell me of your excursion,--you know the interest I take in all that
concerns you. Egotist as I am however, I am not so selfish as to detain
you long when you must be so very much fatigued with your walk. Give me
only five minutes, and then when you have taken a couple of glasses of
Herr Schommer's excellent punch, I will not keep you an instant
longer."

This was another disguised command. This man was a tyrant, who refused
to allow his slave the slightest freedom of action, but Bertram obeyed.
With morbid loquacity he began to tell of his excursion, of the
glorious views from the Spitzhorn, and of the difficulties of the
ascent. He broke off however in the midst of his discourse, having
taken two glasses of punch, when Delmar took his watch from his pocket
with a meaning glance; he declared he was really too tired to continue
his description, and neither the request of the judge, who wanted to
hear more of the ascent of the Spitzhorn, nor Uncle Balthasar's
entreaty could detain him. He arose and took leave. Eva again gave him
her hand, scarcely interrupting as she did so her conversation with
Heydeck,--which, indeed, she had continued steadily, never paying any
attention to Bertram's loud description of his mountain-ascent or of
the natural beauty of the Rothwald valley.

Thus passed Bertram's first meeting with Leo since the scene beneath
Büchner's awning; he had suffered a fresh defeat and had left his enemy
at Eva's side; the worst he had to fear had nearly occurred.

Bertram had in fact had a most fatiguing walk; he was very weary, but
nevertheless he tossed restlessly upon his bed. There was no sleep
there for him,--he started up whenever the sound of gay laughter from
the balcony reached his ears, only to bury his head again among the
pillows to shut out if possible the hateful noise.

And even late in the night when all was still, when nothing stirred in
the rooms on either side of him, and he knew that Eva, as well as Aline
and Uncle Balthasar, had retired for the night, sleep fled his eyelids.

He thought with horror of his future. What would become of him if that
demon Paul Delmar should reveal to Eva her entire right to recall her
promise? He could not return to K----, where his debts were immense and
his honour and credit both gone. How should he even live from day to
day?

His property, which had been considerable, he had squandered in the
wildest dissipations; his creditors had abstained from resorting to
extreme measures only in the hope which he had held out to them of his
marriage with the wealthy heiress. If his engagement with Eva were
broken, nothing could keep him from their clutches should he attempt to
return to K----. The moisture stood in cold drops upon his forehead as
a vision of his probable future rose distinctly before him. A jail and
the disgraceful habit of a convict were all he had to look for. The
check with Count Waldheim's forged signature was in Delmar's
possession, and unfortunately it was not the only witness to be brought
against him. A well-known usurer in K---- possessed similar papers,
having been easily induced over Count Waldheim's name to furnish
Bertram with a large sum of money for the liquidation of a pressing
gaming debt.

With the recklessness of a thorough gamester, Bertram had lived along
from day to day in the hopes of winning Eva's hand. To escape dishonour
he had become a forger; to cover one counterfeit check he had drawn up
another for a larger sum. Delmar had helped him upon one occasion,--he
had not dared to apply to him again; and so he had gone on plunging
deeper into debt and disgrace, until he saw no means of escape save by
a marriage with Eva.

A jail! Horrible thought! There was no sacrifice he would not make to
escape such a fate. Once in a feverish vision of so frightful a future
there had risen in his excited fancy the thought of a certain casket,
in which Eva kept her most valuable jewels, diamonds, and ready money;
but he had rejected this thought with horror. Now it recurred to him
again. He knew the casket well; it was of ebony, with Eva's monogram
inlaid in gilt on the lid. He had helped to pack it into the
travelling-carriage when they had left K----, for Eva took it with her
wherever she went; it was dear to her as her dead father's gift.

Just before leaving her home Eva had opened it in his presence to put
in a large sum of money designed for travelling expenses, and he had
admired the brilliancy and size of the diamonds it contained. He had
asked his betrothed why she took such valuable jewels with her upon a
tour among the mountains, and had received for a reply that she never
left them behind her when she went from K----, since the casket with
the diamonds was her father's last gift to her, and she was nervous
lest it might be stolen if she did not have it with her.

As he now tossed restlessly in bed, the ebony casket, with the
glittering diamonds and the large roll of notes, recurred to Bertram's
mind. What might be the possible value of the diamonds? Uncle Balthasar
had mentioned that his brother had paid more than ten thousand thalers
for them in Berlin. Besides the diamonds the casket contained other
jewels, worth at least several thousand more, and then the money.
Bertram did not know how much there was, but the bundle of large notes
was thick, and there were two or three packets of gold besides. There
must have been several thousand thalers,--a trifle for Eva, the wealthy
heiress, but a treasure for one who looked forward to a jail as his
only future.

Physical exhaustion at last overcame him; his eyes closed and he sank
into an uneasy slumber, in which his dreams were still of the ebony
casket and its contents. He dreamed that Eva gave it to him. He counted
the money: it amounted to a huge sum. He took up the diamonds, and was
just feeding his gaze upon their lustre, when Leo von Heydeck snatched
them from his hand. He turned and grappled with him; but just as he
would have overthrown his foe he felt himself in Delmar's iron grasp,
and heard his sneering voice cry, "To jail with the scoundrel, he stole
both money and diamonds!" In his struggle to free himself he awoke.

Trembling in every limb, he sat up in bed and looked about the room,
which was lit up by the pale moonlight. It was some minutes before he
could recover from the effects of his feverish dream, and he could not
rid himself of the thought of the ebony casket. Eva had it in her room
upon a table beside her bed; at least it had been there on the previous
morning, for he had noticed and recognized it as he passed by the open
door of her room.

He was now wide awake, and his glance fell upon the door that connected
his room with Eva's. In the moonlight he saw the glitter of the key in
the lock. Were Eva and Aline sound asleep? They had taken a long walk
in the morning and had retired late. Bertram had heard the postmaster
say that the young ladies had returned quite fatigued from their
expedition. Honest Hansel had forgotten to mention that Aline had not
joined them.

If he could succeed in unlocking the door and opening it without noise,
it would be easy enough to enter the room unheard by the sleeping
girls. To possess himself of the casket would be but the work of a
moment, and no one would dream that he could have taken it.

Bertram got out of bed, slipped on his dressing-gown, and noiselessly
crept to the door leading to Aline's and Eva's apartment. He listened
with his ear at the key-hole. The profound silence told of the deep
slumber of the occupants of the room. With the greatest caution he
succeeded in turning the key noiselessly in the lock; all that
was to be done was to open the door as silently. His heart throbbed and
his hand trembled as he took hold of the latch. "Courage! Boldly
ventured is half won," he said to himself, as he pressed down the latch
and pushed against the door, which however did not yield to his
efforts,--it was bolted on the inside. "Fool that I am!" he exclaimed
to himself as with a whispered curse he stole back again to his bed.

The sun stood high in the heavens when Bertram next awoke. He
remembered the events of the night as those of a terrible dream, and
yet strangely enough, its fantastic images pursued him in his waking
hours. His thoughts dwelt perpetually upon the ebony casket, and upon
how he could gain possession of it without being suspected of the
theft.

Theft! It was an ugly word, and had not occurred to him during the
night, but in the light of day the deed he contemplated showed for what
it was, and he acknowledged to himself, with an angry flush that proved
him not quite dead to a sense of shame, that the appropriation to
himself of the casket, even although it belonged to his betrothed, was
nothing more or less than a common theft.

Such thoughts however were uppermost but for a moment. He reflected
again that a theft was no worse than a forgery, nor more severely
punished by the law. The possession of the casket would enable him to
escape punishment for forgery, by providing him the means wherewith, if
the worst came to the worst, he might seek refuge in foreign lands. It
was folly to shrink from a word, and he found some excuse for himself
in the consideration that all that was Eva's might soon be legally his.
Was she not his betrothed? If she kept her promise to him it would be
easy to contrive some way of restoring the casket to her at a future
day; and if she broke her engagement with him she deserved no mercy at
his hands, and he must look out for his own safety.

While he dressed, his mind was filled with thoughts of this description
with which he silenced the last whispers of conscience. He left his
room and betook himself to the balcony. He feared that he should find
Delmar at breakfast there, but that could not be helped. As long as the
balcony served the guests of the inn for a dining-room it was
impossible to avoid seeing them there.

But to Bertram's satisfaction, Delmar was not on the balcony, nor,
indeed, was Eva to be found there. Uncle Balthasar and Aunt Minni were
sitting at the breakfast-table with Fräulein von Schlicht and Herwarth,
and they had finished drinking their coffee.

Uncle Balthasar received him with some good-natured badinage about his
late rising, telling him that Leo von Heydeck and Fräulein Hilda had
carried off Eva and Herr Delmar upon a mountain-excursion early in the
morning. They had started at six o'clock, and would not return until
evening, for Eva had ordered her servant Wilhelm and a boy from the inn
to follow them with lunch packed in baskets.

Guido was relieved, it is true, to know that there was no chance of his
meeting his enemies for some hours to come, but vexation at Eva's
treatment of him far overbalanced this relief. Had she forgotten that
she was betrothed to him? Did she not outrage decency by thus wandering
about the country with Delmar without even giving her future bridegroom
a choice whether or not to join them? This conduct on her part gave him
a right to treat her with the same want of consideration, and again he
thought of the ebony casket.

Uncle Balthasar also probably felt uncomfortable at the slight put upon
his 'dear Guido' by his niece, and tried to excuse it by remarking that
Eva would not have him disturbed after his fatigue of the previous day,
and that he, Uncle Balthasar, was quite ready to accompany him if he
felt like a morning walk, an offer which Bertram declined almost
roughly, explaining that he was far too tired to take another walk, and
that he would go to his room and write letters. He finished his
breakfast in silence, replying in monosyllables to Uncle Balthasar's
good-humoured inquiries with regard to his expedition of the previous
day, and immediately rose and left the balcony. With Aline and Aunt
Minni he had not exchanged a word, and his morning salutation to
Herwarth had been barely acknowledged.

As he passed along the passage to his room he noticed that the door of
Eva's apartment was open. The thought suddenly occurred to him, "What
if this were the right moment?" He looked cautiously about him,--no one
was to be seen. He hastily entered the half-open door, and found
himself face to face with Nanette, who was putting the room in order.

"Nanette!"

There was so distinct an expression of surprise unmixed with pleasure
on Bertram's face as he uttered her name, that Nanette could not but
perceive it, and her temper was not at all improved by doing so. She
gave the intruder an angry glance, and said in a sharp tone, with an
emphasis upon every word, "Much obliged, I'm sure. Herr von Bertram
does really remember my name. I shall certainly find some way to show
my gratitude for such condescension. No need to shout until one is out
of the woods. If you want to catch gold-fish, see that no one throws
stones in the water."

The girl was really angry; her eyes fairly flashed with malice. Bertram
saw that she was offended by his neglect of her, and just now she might
prove a most valuable ally; she must be appeased. He looked round once
more to see that there was no one near, and then entering the room,
closed the door carefully behind him. Yes, there beside the bed stood
the table upon which was placed the ebony casket,--the goal of his
desires. He needed but to stretch out his hand and it was his. But
Nanette must be won over to his schemes.

With the sweetest smile at his command he regarded her. "What's the
matter, my little darling?" he asked, in the tenderest of tones. "Are
you angry with me? What have I done? Here am I so happy to have a
chance of seeing you alone at last, hoping you would run into my arms,
and you receive me with hard words. How can you do so, you naughty
little thing?"

He approached her and would have put his arm around her waist, but she
pushed him away. "Don't touch me!" she said crossly. "You think it
needs only a couple of smooth words to wind a silly girl around your
finger; but you shall find to your cost that you are wrong! I'll show
you what it is to turn a poor girl's head and then break her heart for
the sake of a purse-proud Zantuppy. You shall learn who I am, my fine
Herr Lieutenant!"

"But, my darling----"

"Hands off, or I'll scream!" the girl exclaimed, when Guido made
another attempt to put his arm around her; and she struck at him with
the coarse dust-cloth she had in her hand. "I'll not be fooled again
with your flattering, deceitful speeches. It's all very well to call me
'darling' now, and make eyes at me, but for a whole week you've never
even looked at me. I hate Fräulein Eva's stupid black eyes, but the
haughty thing shall know who used to steal to my chamber at night when
I lived with the Privy Councillor's lady. She'll be furious enough, and
the Herr Lieutenant will see what will become of his gold-fish. Ugh! I
can't stand these vulgar commoners! While she drives her four horses, a
girl worth ten of her must perch like a scarecrow on the box; and while
she's off in the woods with Herr Delmar and Herr von Heydeck, Nanette
has to stick at home in a wretched inn and sleep in the garret with a
stupid maid! I've lived with the best, and I'll not stand it. I'll give
them all something to think of, and the Herr Lieutenant into the
bargain. I'll have my revenge, and I hope you'll enjoy it."

Nanette paused for breath, and would then have continued with her angry
outburst, but Bertram interrupted her: "Has jealousy made you mad,
girl? Do you not know that I hate your mistress as much as you do?
Can't your bright eyes see that? You are the only one whom I love, you
foolish little darling----"

"I have not seen much of it this last week."

"How can my foolish little pet be so blinded by jealousy? Can we live
on air, my dear? We have nothing,--for your sake I must be the victim."

"A pretty victim!"

"And hard enough it is; I am sometimes almost wild with fury when I see
how the odious creature treats you; but let her once be my wife, and I
will repay with usury every hard word she ever gave to my sweet angel;
she shall suffer for her arrogance, and you shall have everything
that heart can desire,--a charming villa, a superb carriage, silk
dresses, and as many jewels as you want. We will live together in
Paradise,--that shall be your revenge!"

Nanette's eyes sparkled: the malicious look passed from her face. She
smiled, and did not shrink from the lieutenant's encircling arm; but
she shook her head nevertheless, and said, "Those are only castles in
the air. You don't know the Zantuppy,--she guards her money like a
dragon, or like the foul fiend himself!"

"I do not see that----"

"But I do! There in that black box she has more money than she can ever
use; but she keeps it locked up, like a perfect miser. Only a little
while ago, in Munich, when I asked her for a paltry advance of fifty
thalers of my wages to buy a new bonnet and a silk mantilla for the
journey, what did she do? Glared at me out of her stupid black eyes,
and said, 'I do not desire to see my maid tricked out in finery; you
shall have your wages as you earn them, but not a penny in advance to
gratify your vanity.' Those were her very words. I should have liked to
box her ears!"

"Odious creature!"

"Yes; and is it not hard to see you making eyes at her and never even
looking at me?"

"Can I help it, you foolish child? If she guessed how dear you are to
me she would dismiss you instantly, and I should never have a chance of
seeing you. I have suffered enough this last week, but I hope we can
arrange matters better in future. I have a plan by which we can often
be together undisturbed. With your help it can easily be carried out."

"What is it?"

"It is simple enough. You are often busy here while Eva and the rest
are on the balcony. I might come to you here, but that would be too
dangerous; we might be surprised here at any moment, and all would be
lost. And you cannot come to my room either, for fear of being seen;
but if you will always take care that the bolt on this side of the door
between the rooms is slipped back, we can be together as often as we
choose and not a human being suspect it."

Nanette gave an ugly laugh as Bertram made this proposal. "Not so
stupid as you think," she said. "Thank heaven I can see through a
millstone, and have long known your silly admiration for Fräulein
Aline's doll-face. You would like to pay her a quiet visit now and
then. No, I thank you, Herr Lieutenant!"

"You are perfectly insane with jealousy!" Bertram exclaimed, forgetting
his wonted caution in his surprise at an accusation so unfounded.
Warned however by the angry flush on Nanette's cheek, he restrained his
vexation, and continued in a tone of mild reproach: "How can you
entertain so odious a suspicion, my pet? I detest that waxen-faced
Aline almost as much as her friend. I cannot understand how you can
speak so."

"Are you to be trusted, I wonder?"

"You will really provoke me, Nanette. This is all I have in return for
my affection. At great risk I come to look for you, to speak with you
for a moment, and you receive me thus unkindly. Come, lock the door
into the passage and unbolt the one leading to my room, where we can
then talk further without any danger. We can hear the moment Frau
Schommer leaves the balcony, and you can slip back here again without
the slightest fear of detection."

The invitation was too tempting to be refused. Nanette locked the door
into the passage, and unbolted the one between Fräulein Schommer's and
Bertram's rooms.

Guido's end was attained to his great satisfaction, and he now had so
much to say to Nanette, of the future that awaited her when he should
have married the heiress and her wealth should be his, that the girl
quite forgot her former jealous ill humour, and imparted to him the
import of the various conversations she had lately contrived to
overhear between her mistress and Fräulein Aline. Fräulein von Schlicht
had done all that she could, Nanette said, to induce Eva to break her
engagement, but Eva had declared firmly that she would keep her
promise.

This intelligence was very soothing to Bertram, and he began to think
that it would perhaps be better to resign his designs upon the casket;
but he reflected that Eva's purpose would never be maintained should
she ever learn from Delmar that her promise was the result of falsehood
upon the part of her betrothed. Half an hour passed thus in
confidential discourse, when the door leading from the passage to Aunt
Minni's room was heard to open. Nanette, at this note of warning,
slipped back into Eva's apartment, and the next instant Bertram heard
her push the bolt home. He uttered a low curse. "D--n her stupid
jealousy!" was the flattering phrase bestowed upon Nanette, as he
walked to the window and sat down to ponder upon some other means of
obtaining the casket. He could devise none, save by taking it at night.
Although Eva's room was often open in the daytime, there would be no
possibility of concealing it elsewhere in the house, where it would be
immediately missed; and to carry it off to the forest by daylight, when
the inn was full of people, would be equally impossible.

Nevertheless he did not resign his project, and he determined to
accustom Nanette to a frequent unbolting of the door, in hopes that,
grown careless, she might some time forget to bolt it again.

This determination he carried out during the ensuing weeks. He could do
so all the more easily by reason of the part which he was compelled to
play with regard to the rest of the party. Herwarth, and Leo who came
daily with Hilda from the castle to join in excursions among the
mountains, took no notice whatever of Eva's betrothed. They never even
looked at him, and Aline only spoke to him when common courtesy
required that she should do so.

Eva did not hold herself so entirely aloof; she preserved towards
Bertram the same cold politeness that she had always shown him,
allowing him to call her by her first name, although she never
addressed him otherwise than as Herr von Bertram. All familiar approach
on his part she repelled by a frigid reserve. Bertram was made to feel
that the slightest attempt to assert his rights as her betrothed would
be fruitless, and he could not but see how much more familiar was her
manner towards Delmar, Herwarth, and even Leo than towards himself.

Warned by his enemy, Guido never ventured to take part in the daily
excursions. He made one of the party only at breakfast, dinner, and
supper, and here Delmar endured his society no longer than he thought
absolutely necessary.

If, at the end of an hour at most, Bertram made any attempt to join in
the general conversation, Delmar was sure to make some remark which
contained a command to leave in disguise,--a command which the former
dragoon hastened to obey. His observation, quickened by terror, told
him that at the first sign of rebellion against his enemy's authority
the storm which he so dreaded would burst above his devoted head.

In these last few weeks Paul had greatly changed. Often when the others
were conversing eagerly he would sit gazing dreamily out upon the
distant mountains, in a way very unlike himself. When he roused himself
from such brooding reveries, Bertram almost always caught an angry
glance from his dark eyes, which convinced him more and more that he
meditated striking a blow at his prospects, and that, for some hidden
reason, his hand was stayed for the moment. He guessed that this blow
was the breaking of his engagement with Eva, for any one could see the
pleasure Delmar took in the growing intimacy between Leo and Fräulein
Schommer, and that he would gladly remove any obstacle to their
happiness.

The firmer this conviction became in Guido's mind the more was he
strengthened in his resolve to insure his own future by the possession
of the ebony casket, and he availed himself of every opportunity for
the private interviews he had contrived with Nanette. Almost every
evening they met in his room, and to his great satisfaction he saw that
he was gradually destroying in her frivolous mind all mistrust of him,
although every evening when she left him he still heard the low
creaking of the bolt as it was pushed into its staples, and Eva's door
remained not only closed to him but fast bolted.



                             CHAPTER  XVI.


Four weeks had passed since the arrival of the strangers at the inn at
Tausens; every day, favoured by the clear summer skies, they had made
delightful excursions among the mountains, and still no one talked of
leaving; Uncle Balthasar indeed, instigated thereto by Aunt Minni, who,
in spite of her comfortable quarters, missed the luxuries of the villa
in K----, had once or twice asked his niece how long she intended to
stay at Tausens, but he had received no decided answer. The kindly old
man, seeing how his pet was enjoying herself, would have been the last
to wish to cut short her enjoyment, even had he not been so thoroughly
at his ease as he was. For his own part he declared he never had been
so much entertained as in the agreeable society in which he now found
himself. Every evening the party at the inn was joined by the cousins
from the castle, and by the judge, the forester, and the collector from
the village, and Uncle Balthasar was in his glory. Also he spent as
much time as he could with 'dear Guido,' only regretting that his
favourite was not duly appreciated by the rest of the party. He gladly
accompanied him upon his walks from time to time, never dreaming that
the former dragoon's only reason for desiring his society was the hope
that he entertained of gaining some certainty as to his future
prospects from the old man's artless talk of Eva and her relations with
Delmar and Leo.

In fact, poor Uncle Balthasar was deeply grieved that Delmar, Herwarth,
and Leo should treat Bertram with such haughty reserve, and that Eva
did not comport herself towards her lover as a girl should, but showed
a decided preference for the strangers. The kindly soul therefore took
care that Bertram should always have a place at the breakfast-table
which made it possible for him to avoid all necessity of speaking with
Delmar or Herwarth.

Such a seat Uncle Balthasar had provided, between himself and Aunt
Minni, for his 'dear Guido' on a certain clear, rather cool morning in
August, when the party had assembled upon the balcony at the Post. It
was rather late, nearly nine o'clock; there was to be no long walk
to-day, because the young people had made so distant an excursion the
day before. Leo and Hilda had not come down from the castle, but had
invited Eva and Delmar, with Herwarth and his betrothed, to spend the
day with them in the castle garden and in seeing all that there was of
interest within the old walls.

Conversation did not flow as easily as usual this morning. Herwarth and
Aline talked, it is true, but Delmar sat gazing dreamily abroad over
the valley, and Eva rarely spoke.

Paul had lately lost much of his former vivacity; he sometimes had no
power to rouse himself and conquer his depression, and would sink into
a revery, from which he awakened only when he observed Hilda regarding
him with a look of trouble on her lovely face. Then perhaps for a while
he would be as merry as ever, although this would not last long. He
would leave the rest, lagging behind upon some side-path if they were
walking, or absenting himself upon some slight pretext from the party
on the balcony.

After a month of hard struggle Paul at last confronted a crisis in his
fate. The goal which he lived to attain was reached. Between Leo and
Eva there was now only the promise given by the latter to Bertram. The
heart of each was laid bare to the other. It was in Paul's power to
remove the obstacle that separated the lovers. Why did he hesitate to
pronounce the word that would avail to do so? He excused this to
himself by urging that he must first keep the promise given to Leo,
whereby he was pledged to learn all that could be known of his past
from Dr. Putzer. He did not confess even to himself that he dreaded
keeping this promise; that he shuddered when he received from Dr.
Atzinger, who was in constant attendance upon the sick man, daily
intelligence of the slow improvement in his patient's condition; that
his heart had throbbed fast when he heard that Putzer would soon be in
complete possession of his faculties and able to receive Delmar's
visit; and that on this very morning, as he sat silent at the
breakfast-table, he was lost in gloomy reflection because Dr. Atzinger
had reported on the previous day that he hoped on the ensuing morning
to allow Delmar the long-talked-of interview with the sick man.

This visit Delmar was now anticipating with harrowing anxiety. In the
sleepless night he had passed he had reviewed in detail every
circumstance of the last few weeks. Four weeks since death would have
been welcome to him, in view of the horrible certainty that Hilda was
legally his sister, although bound to him by no natural tie; all that
had given life an interest to him then had been the hope of insuring
his friend's happiness; he thought this hope now upon the point of
fulfilment, and yet a possible death seemed to him far from welcome
now.

What had produced this change in the last month? Was his conviction
that Hilda was legally his half-sister shaken? No, on the contrary it
had been confirmed; after his conversation with Leo he had written to a
prominent lawyer in K----, instructing him to make every possible
inquiry as to Herr Delmar's place of abode and family circumstances
before he had come to reside in K----; placing at his disposal the
means for making these investigations thorough at any cost. The result
had been such as to remove all doubt in Paul's mind, had any such
existed, as to his relationship with Hilda.

The lawyer had established the fact that Paul Delmar, the son of Herr
Delmar, had died a few days after his mother,--there were official
records of this,--and also that Herr Delmar had established himself
in K---- shortly after leaving his native place. He had brought to
K---- with him a child, whose certificate of birth and baptism as his
son Paul had been shown to the proper authorities. Of course, as the
lawyer wrote, the fact that Herr Delmar had produced an adopted son as
his own could be proved beyond a doubt; but this would never be done
unless by Herr Paul Delmar's desire.

After this intelligence from his lawyer, Paul needed no confirmation
from Dr. Putzer of his relation to Herr von Heydeck, but nevertheless
he was determined to obtain it. Towards ten o'clock Dr. Atzinger made
his appearance, and announced that his patient had exceeded his
expectations by himself earnestly entreating that Herr Delmar would
visit him.

When Paul heard this he sprang up from the breakfast-table and would
have hurried away, when suddenly his glance fell upon Bertram, who was
observing him narrowly. The thought instantly occurred to him that
after this interview with Dr. Putzer he might not be able to endure
another twenty-four hours in the society of his friends. Therefore
before seeing the sick man Eva must be released from her bondage.

He stood reflecting for a moment, and then turning to Herwarth, Aline,
and Eva, he begged them not to delay their visit to the castle upon his
account; he should in all probability shortly follow them, although he
might be detained longer than he anticipated by Dr. Putzer. Eva's offer
to wait for him he decidedly refused to accept; and only when they had
all promised to set off without him did he turn to Bertram, saying,
"Before I see Dr. Putzer, Herr von Bertram, you will perhaps grant me
the pleasure of fifteen minutes' conversation with you. Shall we walk?"

Certainly no invitation could have been more suavely and courteously
expressed, and yet Bertram's face grew ashy pale, and his heart sank
within him as he bowed and stammered a few words of assent to Delmar's
proposal.

As soon as Paul had requested Dr. Atzinger to await him at Dr.
Putzer's, he left the balcony and led the way, Bertram following,
to the village street, where first he moderated his pace, that the
ex-lieutenant might walk beside him.

"Do you know, Herr von Bertram, why I have thus requested your
company?" he began.

"Indeed--Herr Delmar--I cannot conceive----"

A look of contempt from Delmar greeted these stammered words of denial.
"Your embarrassment assures me that you are perfectly aware of what I
wish to discuss," Paul continued. "I will therefore come to the point
at once. Your unnatural relations with Fräulein Eva Schommer must cease
this very day,--this very hour!"

"Herr Delmar----"

"Do not interrupt me. Experience must have taught you that when I speak
I mean what I say. For the last four weeks I have watched Fräulein
Schommer narrowly; there is no need to tell you that your betrothed
abhors you, that she loves my friend, Leo von Heydeck, with all her
soul, and that nothing but her inexorable sense of right withholds her
from retracting the promise by which she bound herself to you. You know
all this as well as I do. If you were a man of honour, such knowledge
would suffice to induce you voluntarily to renounce----"

"Herr Delmar, you insult me! Remember your promise!"

"I promised you nothing, and I cannot conceive how the mention of a
fact of which you are perfectly cognizant can insult you; but we will
not quarrel about words. The fact is that you do not voluntarily
dissolve an engagement which you never should have contracted, and that
you thus force me to make use of the power over you which I possess.
Listen then to a brief declaration of my intentions. Either you will,
in order to preserve at least the semblance of honour, make known to
Fräulein Schommer in a letter that you release her from her promise,
that you voluntarily dissolve the engagement between you, after which
you will instantly leave Tausens, so that all further explanation may
be impossible, or Fräulein Schommer shall learn from me what reasons
moved you to make your public apology to Leo von Heydeck, and I will
present in K----, to be cashed, a certain forged check.

"If you do as I require I am ready to hand over to you a sum of five
thousand thalers as soon as your letter is sent to Fräulein Schommer.
If you refuse, you will be expelled this very day from our circle,
where there is really no room for a detected forger. Make your choice!"

Guido trembled with futile rage while Delmar went on speaking with calm
decision. Had he only been alone with his foe, he would have throttled
him. But they were walking along the village street, the observed of
many eyes. Bertram knew that he was in his enemy's power, and he knew
Delmar, and that his was no vain threat. He dared not make any
resistance; he only hoped to gain time. He thought of the ebony casket,
and of Nanette. If Delmar would only grant him a little time, a few
days, he might bring the maid over to assist in his plans, now that she
was daily yielding more and more to his influence. Therefore he
suppressed all expression of anger; nothing could be wrung from this
man by opposition; submission and entreaty must be tried.

"You are fearfully hard upon me, Herr Delmar," he said, with feigned
humility. "Was it magnanimous to leave me so long in torment between
fear and hope? I implore you to give me a few days in which to prepare
myself for the step you demand of me. I will speak with my betrothed,
and will entreat her to tell me frankly whether indeed she cannot look
for happiness in a life spent by my side. And if, as I fear she will,
she tells me that she cannot, that she can only give me her hand
without her heart, and that her promise alone binds her to me, then I
can fulfil your desire honourably, Herr Delmar. Why, after keeping me
waiting for weeks without pronouncing judgment against me, do you
suddenly insist upon handing me over to disgrace? Only give me a few
days' respite, and I promise to do your bidding."

Paul's eyes gloomily sought the ground. A word of entreaty always had
great weight with him; it was only where he met with resistance that he
was hard. True humility and docility were sure to disarm him. Earnestly
as he wished that Leo's fate should be decided, much as he desired to
be at liberty to do as he pleased, it is more than probable that he
would have yielded to Bertram's entreaty if a suspicion had not
suddenly dawned upon him that the man meant to play him false. Why
should he desire an interview with Eva? Did he hope to induce the
wealthy heiress to buy her freedom from him? Such a scheme might well
be attributed to the scoundrel, and Paul was convinced that Eva would
be ready to sacrifice her entire fortune if by so doing the detested
tie might be severed. The sudden suspicion steeled him against
Bertram's entreaty, and he replied, "Not a day, not an hour, will I
give you; you must decide upon the spot!"

One look into Delmar's calm, resolute face convinced Bertram that he
had no respite, however short, to expect; he still might perhaps
succeed in moving him in another respect, and with a profound sigh he
continued: "You are terribly severe and cruel with me, Herr Delmar. How
have I deserved such scant mercy at your hands? In a miserable moment
of my life, a prey to despair, I was led to invoke destruction upon my
head by that stroke of the pen. I was half frantic. I had to choose
between disgrace and death by my own hand. Love of life conquered, and
I forged that signature, an act which I have repented bitterly ever
since. You then saved me from merited disgrace, for which I was
inexpressibly grateful to you. I felt the wrong I had done you in
handing you the forged check, and I was never without a sense of
devotion to you as my saviour from dishonour. And yet you are now the
one to invoke disgrace upon my head. Remember how you have punished me
already. You forced me to public dishonour among my comrades, to resign
from the army, to destroy all my hopes in life, and now you thrust me
into the abyss from which a marriage with Eva would save me.

"You are enormously wealthy, and you know nothing of the misery of
poverty; therefore you thrust me forth into the world with a paltry
pittance of five thousand thalers. You offer me five thousand thalers
as indemnification for what you take from me! Can five thousand thalers
begin life afresh for me and worthily support the name I bear? Can I
even live for a few short years upon such a sum? Be magnanimous, Herr
Delmar, and let me have, not as a gift but as a loan, a sum sufficient
to buy an estate upon the income of which I can live as a landed
proprietor, and in time repay you. You will not miss it, and I shall be
forever grateful to you."

With inexpressible contempt Paul regarded the speaker who thus in his
servile entreaty for money laid bare all the meanness of his sordid
soul. He would gladly have paid any sum to secure Leo's happiness, but
to supply this aristocratic beggar with the means for a life of
dissipation would in his estimation be a sin against humanity. Utterly
disgusted, he turned away; he would have nothing more to do with the
fellow. "Not a word more, Herr von Bertram!" he exclaimed, harshly;
"you have heard my offer, which I now almost regret having made; you
must now decide whether to accept or to reject it. You would squander
fifty thousand thalers as quickly as five thousand at the gaming-table.
I know that I was wrong in offering you money. But I did so, and will
stand by my word, if you declare yourself ready this minute to do as I
command you. The time which I was free to devote to you is past. I must
have a simple 'yes' or 'no'! Answer me!"

"I implore you, Herr Delmar----"

"'Yes' or 'no'! Not another word! If you do not reply, I shall
understand it as 'no,' and you must abide by the consequences."

Not yet could Bertram bring himself to utter the decisive 'yes.' He
still hesitated, but Paul left him no time for further reflection. When
Bertram paused he turned from him with contempt, and would have
returned to the inn. His firmness conquered.

Bertram saw that all would be lost, and the promised five thousand
thalers besides, if he did not instantly submit. He hastened after
Delmar. "Yes, Herr Delmar!" he exclaimed, "I submit to your wishes; I
confide in your magnanimity!"

"You have made prudent use of the last moment," Paul rejoined coldly;
"follow me to my room."

Again he led the way, Bertram following him. At the door of the inn
they met Aline, Eva, and Herwarth about to start for the castle. "I
will soon join you," Paul said, as he passed them. Bertram never lifted
his eyes from the ground, and they did not appear to notice him.

Arrived in his room, Delmar directed Bertram to his writing-table. "Sit
there," he said; "take a sheet of paper, and write. I will dictate to
you a letter that shall serve as the last chapter of the miserable
romance of your betrothal. You shall extricate yourself from this
wretched business as a man of honour; at least you shall appear such in
Fräulein Schommer's eyes. It is of course more than you deserve, and is
probably great folly on my part; it is not done for your sake, but
because I owe some reparation to Fräulein Schommer for a former unjust
estimate of her, and I should like to save her from the humiliating
conviction that she has been betrothed to so utter a scoundrel as
yourself. Therefore I will surround your brow with the halo of
high-souled renunciation. Write!"

Bertram bit his lips, not daring to vent the rage that was consuming
him. Without a word of reply he took up a pen, and wrote down the words
which Delmar, standing behind him, dictated over his shoulder.


"Four terrible, agonizing weeks have I passed, weeks in which each day
was torture to me. With every miserable hour I have become more and
more clearly convinced that you, dearest Eva, have accorded me a right
to remain near you as your betrothed only in consequence of a promise
too hastily given. I have seen that your heart belongs to another, and
that it never can be mine.

"I do not blame you; I only bewail the ill fortune that shatters all my
life's fairest hopes. I should be indeed lost to all sense of honour if
I attempted to hold you, my beloved Eva, to a promise given me when you
were ignorant of your own heart. You, at least, shall not be unhappy. I
give back to you the faith which your inexorable sense of rectitude
forbids you to recall. I voluntarily release you from your engagement.

"I shall not, I cannot, see you again. It is with the deepest pain that
I leave you, but there is some consolation for me in the thought that
you will not think of me with hatred, but will accord me some measure
of friendly remembrance in the knowledge that I have sacrificed my
happiness to yours.

                                          "Guido von Bertram."


The letter was written. Paul took it, and read it aloud, laughing
bitterly as he finished it. "Excellent!" he said; "an epistle which
might worthily find a place in any romance, and which is certainly not
dear at five thousand thalers. Uncle Balthasar may still speak with
genuine emotion of his 'dear Guido;' the fair Eva may think kindly of
the noble self-renunciation that inspired the letter, and perhaps
privately repent that she did the writer such injustice. Even Leo will
shake his head, unable to conceive how such words could have been
written by him who penned them. Seal it with your signet-ring, and I
myself will deliver it to Fräulein Schommer."

Bertram obeyed in silence. He sealed the letter and gave it to Delmar,
who in return took from his pocket-book five thousand thalers in large
notes, which he handed to the ex-lieutenant, saying, "Our business is
now concluded, Herr von Bertram. I leave you, never to see you again. I
myself will order a carriage for you from the postmaster. It will be at
the door in five minutes; just in time for you to catch the midday
train from the railway-station. In a quarter of an hour you will have
left Tausens. Only upon this understanding; do I give you this money. I
shall reclaim it if I find you still here when I return from a visit I
am about to make in the village. And if you should dare to attempt to
obtain an interview with Fräulein Schommer, I shall ruthlessly use
against you the forged check in my possession. Make haste with the
packing of your portmanteau; you have but a quarter of an hour's time
at the most."

Delmar expected no answer, and received none. Bertram swept up the pile
of notes, and with a last look of hatred as his only farewell to Paul,
hurried away to his room, where he locked himself in, while Delmar
quietly went down-stairs and ordered Hansel to have a conveyance
brought to the door for Herr von Bertram, who wished to catch the
midday train. After which he proceeded to pay his visit to Dr. Putzer.

When Bertram found himself alone in his room, he no longer restrained
the expression of the rage that possessed him. Muttering curses upon
the failure of his schemes, he paced the floor like some caged wild
beast. All was over! He was powerless in the grasp of his deadly foe;
thrust forth thus into the world with a paltry pittance of five
thousand thalers to atone for the millions he had lost.

How gladly he would have murdered his pitiless, inexorable enemy! But
even in the midst of his paroxysm of anger he shuddered at the thought
of Delmar's cold, quiet manner, which always had power to overawe his
coward will.

His fate was decided; he must submit. The ebony casket again recurred
to him. Just then there was a rustle in the next room. Eva and Aline
had gone to the castle. Nanette must be there alone. Hitherto he had
not thought of making her his accomplice in the theft; this now
occurred to him. Only with her aid could he hope to make the coveted
prize his own.

But if he did thus gain possession of it, would not suspicion instantly
fall upon him? Eva would miss her treasure as soon as she returned from
the castle, and Delmar would not leave her long in doubt as to who had
stolen it. He pondered the matter. Eva could not possibly return from
the castle before two a clock; she was to dine at three at the inn. But
by two he might be far away. If he took the train to Toblach, and then
drove to Schleuderbach, he could reach the Italian frontier before even
a telegraphic message could be despatched in search of him, although
Delmar should immediately institute a pursuit of the fugitive. Once
across the frontier he would surely be able to elude all discovery.

What would Eva say when she found her precious casket missing and
divined who had taken it? As he thought of the letter he had just
written, and the contrast it formed to the act he contemplated, he
laughed bitterly. But his time was short, every minute was precious, he
dared delay no longer. He knocked cautiously at the door leading to the
next room. The bolt was withdrawn, and Nanette opened it. She was
received by him with a tender embrace. "My little darling," he said,
"how fortunate I am in seeing you once more before I leave!"

The girl looked at him with terrified surprise. "What do you mean, Herr
von Bertram? You are going away? How? Where?"

"I will tell you, my pet, and you only. I have just received
intelligence that a suit has been instituted against me in K---- for
leaving there without leave of absence from my superior officer. I am
to be arrested here to-day and taken back a prisoner to K----. I must
fly or I am lost; in a quarter of an hour I must leave Tausens."

"What will become of Fräulein Schommer?"

"Do not mention her. I am glad to be rid of her even in this way. I
hate her, but it breaks my heart to leave you. Oh, Nanette, if you
really cared for me you would leave all and come with me! You should be
my darling little wife, with nothing to do but enjoy yourself all day
long!"

Nanette listened, speechless with rapture. Here was a proposal she had
never ventured to hope for! A great gentleman, and the betrothed
besides of her hated mistress, asked her to fly with him and be his
wife,--his real wife,--a lady of rank! Her head grew giddy at the
thought. She could hardly believe her ears.

But Bertram went on pouring forth his insidious protestations and
entreaties until she could doubt no longer. And when he pointed to the
ebony casket and said that it contained what would give them a
careless, happy life in Italy, she made no resistance to his taking it
from the table where it stood, and bewildered and submissive only asked
whether they should not be found out. He soothed her with the assurance
that they should both be far beyond the Italian frontier before the
absence of the casket was detected or any pursuit thought of.

Before many minutes were past Bertram had won the girl over to his
purpose; she consented to accompany him in his flight, she became his
accomplice. By his directions she locked on the inside the door leading
from Eva's room to the passage, and then followed her grand gentleman,
who carried the casket, into his room where he locked the door of
communication and put the key in his pocket.

Time was precious, and Bertram made haste to thrust the casket, which
must be hidden from sight while he was leaving the inn, into his
portmanteau. Here however he encountered an unexpected difficulty. On
each side of the box was a large ornamented gilt handle, by which it
had usually been lifted. These handles made the box too large for the
interior of his portmanteau. As Bertram tried in vain to pack away the
casket so that the small trunk would close, he muttered an oath. He
could not possibly allow the box, which the postmaster and the inn
servants knew to be Eva's property, to be seen in his possession, and
there was no way of concealing it except by packing it into the
portmanteau, which was too small for it. He tried to bend one of the
metal handles, and as he did so it broke off in his hand. "So best!" he
said, throwing it aside, and then wrenching off the other, which he
also threw on the floor. The casket now fitted perfectly inside the
portmanteau, filling it however so completely that Bertram was forced
to leave most of his clothes behind him.

In a few minutes the portmanteau was locked, and Bertram himself
carried it down to the conveyance which was awaiting him at the
inn-door. The postmaster stood by it, cap in hand, expressing sorrow
that the gentleman was about to leave him. His surprise was great when
Nanette suddenly made her appearance in her bonnet and shawl and took
her seat beside Herr von Bertram in the carriage.

"I will take this opportunity of driving to town," she said, observing
honest Hansel's amazement. "I have several commissions to execute for
my mistress, and I will come back towards evening in the carriage.
Adieu, Herr Postmaster!"

"Drive on!" cried Bertram. "I must catch the midday train!" The driver
cracked his whip, and the horses started at a rapid pace.

Hansel looked after the carriage as long as it was in sight, and then
turned into the inn with a wise shake of his head. This sudden
departure of the young nobleman, and so strangely accompanied too, did
not seem to him just what it should be. But these great people from the
city certainly did have many queer ways, and as long as Herr Delmar had
ordered the carriage everything must be right, and thus Hansel forced
himself to think.

He went up-stairs to see that Herr von Bertram had forgotten nothing in
his room, and to his surprise found the door locked. This was
vexatious. The Herr must have locked it absently and put the key into
his pocket. Ten to one he would forget to give it to the driver when
they reached the railway-station.

Hansel went grumbling and fetched his master-key, which opened all the
bedrooms in the house; but when he entered Bertram's apartment he found
it in a condition which greatly increased his misgivings with regard to
the sudden departure. One or two suits of clothes and a quantity of
linen lay about the floor in disorder. They could not have been
forgotten; they must have been left behind intentionally. All these
clothes had been brought to the inn in Herr von Bertram's portmanteau,
and yet Hansel had noticed that it had looked much fuller without all
these articles in it when the gentleman had put it into the carriage
just now. Again Hansel shook his head; he did not know what to make of
all this, and he resolved to ask Herr Delmar about it as soon as he
returned to the inn.



                             CHAPTER  XVII.


After Delmar had ordered the carriage for Bertram, he walked slowly
along the village street towards Dr. Putzer's. The nearer he came to
the house the more he lingered; never had he experienced such a dread
as possessed him at thought of the coming interview which would decide
his fate.

But he was ashamed of what seemed to him cowardice, and as he paused
for an instant at the small grated gate opening into the doctor's
garden he braced himself to meet his fate, reflecting that no delay
would postpone the inevitable, and then walked quickly through the
garden to the house-door.

Dr. Atzinger received him. "You have been long in coming, Herr Delmar,"
he said. "Our patient has been impatiently awaiting you. If I had
yielded to his wishes you would have seen him some days ago; but even
now, I confess frankly, I should have liked to postpone this interview.
I think him far too weak for any agitation of mind, and I have yielded
to him in this instance only because I feared more from the effect of
his restless impatience than from the conversation with you, which he
evidently considers as of the first importance. Unfortunately I cannot
be present at this interview. He has asked to see you alone, and I must
therefore entreat you to use extreme caution, remembering that any
over-excitement on his part is certain death. Pray do all you can to
soothe him."

Paul willingly promised all that was asked of him. He felt no
irritation towards Putzer, who had been but the tool of Herr von
Heydeck.

Atzinger conducted him to the door of the doctor's bedroom, saying as
he opened it, "Here is the man you so wish to see; now remember, my
dear friend, to send him away as you promised, as soon as you feel
exhausted."

"Yes, yes; tell him to come in," was the reply, in feeble tones.

Delmar entered, and Dr. Atzinger left him alone with the patient.

The room was large and sunny, and supplied with every comfort that
could be procured in a retired Tyrolean village. The sick man's bed was
so placed that as he lay with his face turned to the window he had a
full view of the steep rock crowned by Castle Reifenstein.

Upon Paul's entrance the invalid raised himself into a half-sitting
posture and turned his face full towards his visitor. "I have been
longing for you for many days, Herr Delmar," he said, in a faint,
scarce audible voice. "You are come at last, and I thank you. I was
afraid I should never see you again."

Was this Dr. Putzer? Delmar never could have believed it from the
evidence of his senses. There was absolutely no resemblance between
the wine-flushed bloated countenance which Paul remembered and this
ashy-pale flabby face, save for the light disordered hair that fell
on either side of it. And just as little did the invalid's weak gentle
voice resemble Dr. Putzer's hoarse brutal tones.

Delmar was so shocked and startled by the alteration he observed in the
man that he could at first find no words in which to reply to his
salutation.

The doctor continued: "Sit here, Herr Delmar, close by my bed; I have
much to say, and not much strength wherewith to say it. I must pray you
to lend me your patient attention."

Paul obeyed; he drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, filled with
pity for the sick man, whose every word evidently cost him a painful
effort. His compassion got the better of his desire to hear what the
man had to say. "Talking is too much for you, Herr Doctor," he said
kindly. "You must not exert yourself I beg you reserve what you have to
tell me for another day, when you are stronger and better, and let us
discuss only commonplace topics at present. I will pay you a daily
visit, and your friend Dr. Atzinger tells me that you will be much
stronger and more equal to the task you have imposed upon yourself in a
few days."

A grim smile, which reminded Paul of the Dr. Putzer of his remembrance,
flitted across the pale face. "My dear friend Dr. Atzinger is an
ignoramus!" the sick man replied. "I shall never be stronger; I
shall shortly be found dead in my bed,--perhaps to-day, perhaps
to-morrow,--any time within the next fortnight. I know this with
absolute certainty, and therefore I was so impatient to see you, for I
must and will speak with you. I will not die without being revenged
upon the worthless woman whose fault it is that I lie here a dying man,
and who has had no thought except for her own safety. She expected me
to die without ever being able to utter another word, and she robbed me
of every cent I possess that she might escape danger; but she was
mistaken,--I still live, and will use my last breath in revenging
myself upon her."

The doctor's voice grew stronger and his eyes flashed as he said these
words. But the momentary excitement over, he sank back exhausted among
his pillows. Paul feared he was dying, and rose hastily to call Dr.
Atzinger, but Putzer divined his intention. "Stay," he gasped; "it will
pass off,--in a moment I shall be strong enough."

Again Paul obeyed, and after resting for a few minutes, the doctor
continued: "Indignation at that wretched woman exhausted me; it shall
not occur again. I will husband my strength for what I have to do.
There may be no to-morrow for me, and you shall not leave me until I
have armed you for my revenge upon that fiend. I might tell you much,
but I think you already know most of what I have to say. You would not
have come to Tausens if you had not known that Herr von Heydeck has
defrauded you of your inheritance, and if you did not wish to recover
it from him. You know this, but you do not know what it is most
important that you should, and you perhaps imagine that with the help
of certain proof of which I am ignorant you can force Herr von Heydeck
to acknowledge you as his son and to leave you his property and his
name. Is not this so?"

Paul made no reply except by a faint motion of the head, which the
doctor took for assent, and continued: "I thought so. You will scarcely
undertake a wearisome lawsuit for the sake of the property. I have
heard that you are very rich, that you are the possessor of millions.
Is this true?"

"Yes, it is true!" Paul replied, firmly.

His answer satisfied the doctor. "Then I am right. Herr von Heydeck's
wealth does not allure you; you did not come to Tausens to demand your
rightful inheritance? Answer me, am I right?"

"Yes!" Paul said, distinctly.

"Then it is the name and title of von Heydeck that you covet. I thought
so. Well, Herr Delmar. I shall have to depress your hopes slightly. I
think I remember, before my illness, when I was not exactly myself,
having told you that you could lay no claim to the name of Heydeck.
What I then said is true; you are the son of Count Menotti, not of Herr
von Heydeck!"

"But Herr von Heydeck acknowledged me as his son, and such I therefore
am in the eye of the law," Paul rejoined, hoping to incite the doctor
to further revelations by this insistance. His hope was fulfilled.

"You think so, but you are mistaken," the doctor continued. "You think
you know all about it because you probably possess proof that Herr von
Heydeck delivered you over to Herr Delmar as a child, and that you are
the boy whom Herr von Heydeck gave out for dead in order that he might
appropriate to himself the child's maternal inheritance. All this you
know, but you do not know that there was no child by Herr von Heydeck's
marriage with his first wife; that you were the illegitimate child of
your mother and Count Menotti; that you were born before Herr von
Heydeck was married to your mother, and that therefore you can lay no
claim whatever to the name of Heydeck."

The words were spoken. Paul saw the yawning abyss which was to have
swallowed up his hopes suddenly disappear, and a sunny future expand
before him. The burden which had wellnigh crushed him for weeks beneath
its weight fell from him. Hilda was not even legally his sister, nor
was Heydeck his father, but a stranger, to whom he was bound neither by
the law of the land nor by that of nature. His brain reeled at the
thought that if the sick man's words were true there was no longer any
obstacle to separate him from his love.

The doctor perceived how deep was the impression produced upon Delmar
by his words, but he ascribed his agitation to a false cause. "I see,"
he said more kindly than was his wont, "that my information pains you
because it annihilates your hopes, but I could not spare you. You must
know the entire truth that you may not proceed to false measures in
dealing with Herr von Heydeck,--measures which might defeat your
object. This object there is a chance of your attaining if you will
follow my advice. I will put into your hands proof that you are not the
son of Herr von Heydeck, and it may be the very means of enabling you
to induce the cowardly old miser to leave you his name and title."

"Give me this proof, Herr Doctor," Delmar cried, in the greatest
agitation, "and I assure you that at no price will I consider it dearly
bought! Ask what you will for this proof, and I will give it you!"

Paul's eager words called forth a melancholy smile upon the doctor's
shrunken features. "That is a fine promise, but valueless to me," he
rejoined. "Four weeks ago I would have thanked you for it; to-day it
moves me not at all. In a few days this miserable body of mine will be
six feet deep in the ground. I have all I want till then, and all that
you have could not induce me to do your bidding against my will. But I
will be revenged upon my wicked wife, who made my home a hell, who
poisoned my life! I will atone for the wrong I did you. You have been
my benefactor in this illness, my friend Atzinger tells me that you
have sent a carriage for him daily, and given him a generous fee for
attending me. I will show my gratitude to you. Listen to me, and I will
tell you what you ought to know, and give you the proof which you
need." The doctor then told his tale; he spoke in low, measured words,
husbanding his forces, for he felt that he needed all the strength that
he could muster. The import of his communication was as follows:

When Herr von Heydeck bought Reifenstein and passed some weeks there
with his handsome wife, Dr. Putzer was a gay young fellow; he had
studied well, understood his profession, and hoped to lead a pleasant
life in Tausens. He soon found however that the position of a village
doctor was by no means so pleasant or so lucrative as he had supposed,
and that its income would never afford him the social enjoyments which
he desired. He was fond of a glass of good wine, and he needed
periodicals and scientific books to aid him in his studies. He had no
mind for a hermit's life. The paltry fees which he received from his
peasant patients but poorly sufficed for half his needs; he became
deeply involved in debt, out of which he racked his brains in vain to
find any means of extricating himself. Under these circumstances he
thought it most fortunate that the wealthy Herr von Heydeck should buy
Reifenstein, and that he should be sent for to visit the castle in his
medical capacity. He took pains to recommend himself to the lord of the
castle, whose love of scientific pursuits he humoured; and he
succeeded. He became the confidant of Herr von Heydeck, who often
bewailed to him the sorrow caused him by his unworthy wife, but never
alluded to the past. It struck Putzer as very strange, this mystery
enshrouding the past of Herr von Heydeck and his handsome wife. The
husband lived in disgraceful dependence upon Madame von Heydeck's
whims, never even venturing to remonstrate when Count Menotti publicly
conducted himself as her declared lover.

The mystery was explained for the doctor when Herr von Heydeck, after
his wife's death, came to Castle Reifenstein with his child. When
Putzer was sent for to see the boy, a single glance at the child told
the physician of the criminal deception that had here been practised
upon the world. The newspapers three months before had announced the
birth of a boy; but the child who had inherited his mother's property
was at least a year and a half old, and must have been born before Herr
von Heydeck's marriage, which had taken place not quite a year
previously.

Herr von Heydeck, reading the doctor's thoughts in his face, could not
refrain from giving him his entire confidence, especially since he
needed his aid. He confessed to him that the infant was the child of
the Count Menotti, and had been born some months before his own
marriage. It was solely for the sake of bestowing an aristocratic name
upon the child that its mother had consented to marry Heydeck, after he
had promised in writing to acknowledge the child as his own within a
year after their marriage. Within that time the intelligence of Frau
von Heydeck's confinement was spread abroad in society, but the fruit
of it, a boy, was pronounced so sickly and weak that no one except the
nurse was allowed to see it.

This nurse, Rosy, was the foster-sister and confidante of Frau von
Heydeck, and had contrived the entire scheme. It was by her advice that
the marriage with Herr von Heydeck had been contracted, and to her
keeping was entrusted the document whereby Heydeck bound himself to
acknowledge the child as his own. With this in her possession she ruled
her master with a rod of iron after his wife's death.

Dr. Putzer, on his first visit at the castle, easily comprehended the
relations between the castle's lord and the pretty waiting-maid. The
young physician was taken with her handsome face and pert coquettish
ways, while her by no means spotless past was of no consequence in his
eyes. Loaded down with debts he had but one wish, and that was to
secure for himself a comfortable and assured existence; the safest way
to attain this end was by a marriage with Rosy; together they could
gain such an ascendency over Herr von Heydeck as to induce him to share
his wealth with them.

They were soon agreed, and Heydeck weakly yielded to their mischievous
influence. Rosy suggested to him that the boy's death would be the best
luck that could befall him; but Heydeck, although scarcely too
conscientious, was too cowardly to commit so grave a crime as murder.
He consented to rid himself of the boy, but not by death; he would
cause the intelligence of his death to be spread abroad, and he would
bring him up in secret, until death did actually come, as he hoped it
soon would, to the weakly, sickly child.

The doctor and his betrothed lent Heydeck their ready aid; the doctor
wrote the official certificate of the child's death,--he had spread the
report of its fatal contagious disease that no one might desire to see
the corpse,--and he fitted up the basement of the tower, whither the
unfortunate child was taken and committed to the care of the two
half-idiotic Melchers.

The scheme which had been hatched in Rosy's brain was successful: the
mock funeral took place, the boy vanished, and Herr von Heydeck was his
heir. He paid the doctor and Rosy well for their services, and upon
their immediate marriage hoped he was rid of them. Here however he was
mistaken; his crime did not go unpunished, for he never was able to
shake off the mastery maintained over him by the intriguing Rosy, not
even when he secretly conveyed the boy away from the castle and falsely
told the doctor that the child had died in Switzerland. Whenever Rosy
wanted to extort money from Heydeck she threatened him with betrayal,
not of the mock death of the child, in which crime she herself was an
accomplice, but of that first deception of Heydeck's, whereby he had
made official announcement of the birth of a child, who was in reality
already more than a year old.

Rosy could produce the proof of this deception; she had carefully
preserved the document entrusted to her by Frau von Heydeck, with a
series of letters which made the fact of the deception incontestable.
She could prove that the boy was Frau von Heydeck's illegitimate child,
and if she did so to the relatives of her deceased mistress they would
certainly come forward to assert their claims to an inheritance of
which Heydeck had illegally possessed himself.

Rosy thus held the lord of the castle in perpetual thraldom, reducing
him almost to despair in forcing him to satisfy her avaricious greed.
She was the wretched man's evil genius.

The doctor's life too was scarcely less wretched than Heydeck's; his
wife made, as he had said, his house a hell. She never ceased
tormenting and aggravating him, and he had recourse to drinking to
drown his misery. Only in forgetfulness could he find relief. The
wicked woman made a perfect slave of him; he hated her, but rarely
ventured to disobey her.

The worm will turn however, and sometimes when his courage was screwed
up with wine the doctor rebelled against the tyranny that oppressed
him. At some such moment he formed the plan of appropriating to himself
the power which his wife possessed over Herr von Heydeck, thinking
thus to make the evil woman subject to his will. He stole from her
the papers by which she ruled Herr von Heydeck, and in spite of her
rage when she missed them, bade her defiance, and never revealed the
hiding-place where the important documents were concealed.

By this bold stroke he was at least enabled now and then to intimidate
his wife by threats that he would deliver over the papers to Herr von
Heydeck; but he was never able to shake off the yoke of her stronger
nature, and his life was almost as miserable as before.

The absolute hatred with which he regarded her was fiercer than ever as
he lay ill and helpless in bed; he could not forgive her for causing
his attack by insisting upon his plunging his head beneath the cold
water, and for then leaving him neglected and alone, that she might
escape the punishment of the crime which Delmar had probably come to
Tausens to investigate.

To revenge himself upon her the doctor now handed Paul the papers,
which he had instructed Dr. Atzinger a few days previously to fetch
from their hiding-place, and which he had since kept beneath his
pillow. The worthless woman, the doctor declared, should perish in want
and misery,--she had spent everything that she had extorted from Herr
von Heydeck in dress and finery, and had only taken a small sum with
her upon her flight. With these papers her power over Herr von Heydeck
was gone,--he would certainly do nothing more for her when he knew that
she could do him no further harm.

In possession of these documents Delmar could, the doctor explained,
force Herr von Heydeck to bequeath to him his name. Through fear lest
he should lose his money and be dragged through a disgraceful lawsuit
the old coward, so said the doctor, could be made to do just as Delmar
pleased.

With a sensation of absolute rapture Delmar received the precious
papers which secured to him a happy future, from the hands of the sick
man, who never dreamed how worthless in Paul's estimation was a
high-sounding, aristocratic name.

Delmar thanked the doctor warmly, but the sick man shook his head. "I
have done this not for your sake, but my own," he said. "I know that my
detestable wife will perish in want; I am content. I pray you leave me
now, Herr Delmar, my strength is exhausted. We shall never meet again.
Farewell!"



                             CHAPTER XVIII.


Never had the heavens been so blue or the sunshine so bright,--never
had the hemlocks filled the air with such exquisite fragrance as upon
this blissful day, when Paul lightly trod the forest-path towards
Castle Reifenstein. A shepherd-boy upon a distant mountain jodelled
down to him, and Paul could not refrain from jodelling back a full
clear note, that echoed far over the sunny valleys.

He could have embraced the world. He had suddenly been transported from
the black depths of despair to the heights of hope. A future, with
Hilda by his side, beckoned him. Where were all the gloomy reveries of
the last few weeks? As he walked briskly up the steep ascent, he
thought with horror of the dark temptation to self-destruction that had
once assailed him. Yes, Leo was right when he declared that only a
coward would ever seek such a solution of the problem of life,--that a
true man should possess a 'heart for any fate.' When he had nearly
reached the castle he heard well-known voices near him, and could not
forbear giving another genuine Tyrolean jodel.

"That is Delmar's voice!" Leo exclaimed.

"Oh, no; it is long since Herr Delmar has shouted so gayly," Hilda
replied.

A second louder and gayer jodel was Paul's reply, as he turned in the
direction whence the voices came, and passing through a short stretch
of woodland, reached a small rocky plateau, whither Hilda had brought
her guests because it afforded them the best view down into the fearful
chasm in the rocks.

"You were wrong, lovely fairy," said Paul, as he joined the small
party, taking Hilda's offered hand as he spoke; "no man upon earth can
shout as gayly as I can when inspired by the hope of seeing you."

'Lovely fairy!' Paul had never bestowed this title upon Hilda since the
first day of their meeting; since then he had always addressed her
ceremoniously as 'Fräulein von Heydeck,' and only rarely, in eager
conversation, as 'Fräulein Hilda.' Hilda heard therefore in surprise,
and, blushing at the remembrance of that first day, looked up at him.
How changed he seemed since yesterday! His dark eyes sparkled with
gayety, a happy smile played about his lips,--he was the same frank,
light-hearted man whom she had so liked at their first interview, and
yet--no, not the same; he had become far handsomer and more attractive;
she had never liked him half so well as now.

Leo also noticed the change which the few hours since he had last seen
his friend had effected in him. "What good news do you bring us?" he
asked. "I have hardly ever seen you look so gay."

"Have you found that out already?" Paul asked in his turn, with a
laugh. "I revere your powers of observation, and will reward them with
a share of the treasures to be found in my pockets. But good children
should restrain their curiosity and wait patiently until it is
satisfied. If you love me, do me the kindness to act as guide to
Fräulein Eva and our betrothed couple on their way to the castle
garden, and resign your former guide, the lovely fairy of the castle,
to me for a few minutes. I trust she will grant me a hearing for that
short space of time."

This request had so strange a sound that Hilda grew confused, and
looked uncertain whether to grant it, but when Delmar added, in a low,
eager tone, "It is my first request; can you refuse me?" she shyly
placed her hand within his offered arm and lingered with him behind the
others, whom Leo, as Delmar had asked him to do, conducted to the
castle garden.

Paul walked along slowly at Hilda's side, preserving an entire silence
until their friends were out of hearing. Then he turned to his
companion and said, "I owe you an explanation of much that must have
struck you strangely in my manner and behaviour during these last few
weeks. Will you hear me, Hilda? Will you let me be frank with you?"

It was the first time that Delmar had called the girl by her first
name,--that he had spoken to her in so earnest and yet so confidential
a tone. She divined what he wished to say, but she did not refuse to
listen. Her low-whispered 'yes' enchanted him; it told him that he did
not hope in vain.

Paul continued: "That little 'yes,' dearest Hilda, makes me
inexpressibly happy; it tells me that you trust me, and I would have
you trust me, now and forever, freely and unconditionally. You must
have seen that from the first moment when I met you, my lovely fairy,
in the labyrinth of rocks, my heart has been yours. I revelled in the
hope of one day winning your heart and your hand also. I was happy,
exquisitely happy! But my dream of bliss lasted but two short days. I
was suddenly and rudely awakened from it by the startling and as I
thought absolute certainty that your father never would bestow upon me
your hand, and that therefore I must not even try to win your heart. I
can never, my dear Hilda, tell you what created in me this belief. Here
you must trust me implicitly. You must never know the dark mystery that
interposed between us, nor the cause I thought there was for the utter
despair to which I was a prey. Life lost all value in my eyes; the
reckless gayety which sometimes distressed you, as well as the morbid
melancholy that assailed me when I was alone, was the result of the
terrible conviction that possessed me that you never could be my
own,--that I could never be more to you than a faithful friend and
brother.

"But to-day I have learned, to my unspeakable joy, that all my fears
were but idle baseless visions,--that I was deceived, and that I
deceived myself,--that I may in all honour tell you how passionately I
love you, and may hope, if you will but let me try to win your love in
return, that your father will consent to give you to me. Will you, can
you love me, Hilda? Will you come with me to your father and hear me
pray him to give me this dear hand for my very own?"

Hilda looked up into his face with a happy smile, and he needed no
reply in words; indeed she could have given him none, for in an instant
his arms were about her, and his kisses sealed her lips.

She extricated herself from his embrace, and her pleading eyes
restrained his passionate outburst. He still however clasped in his the
little hand, which he kissed repeatedly, saying, "Come, come to your
father, lovely fairy! This moment must confirm the happiness of my
future life."

Hilda conducted him across the castle court-yard to her father's study,
whither Herr von Heydeck had withdrawn from the presence of his
daughter's guests.

He was so absorbed in his work that he did not hear the door open; only
when Paul and Hilda stood close beside him did he look up from his
books, and as his gaze rested upon Delmar the same look of horror with
which he had greeted his first appearance passed into his face. Again
he put up his hand, as if to ward off some attack, while he seemed
incapable of speech.

Paul was no whit daunted however. "Do not repulse me, Herr von
Heydeck," he said, in a gentle voice. "I come not as your enemy, not to
demand, but to entreat. I pray you to receive me as your son in
granting me your daughter's hand."

The simple words fairly overwhelmed the old man. He had started forward
in his arm-chair; he now sank back into it helplessly. "You--you ask to
be my son? You sue for Hilda's hand,--and you know?----"

It was only with great difficulty that he gasped forth these broken
sentences.

"I know everything," Paul replied calmly. "I come from Dr. Putzer's
death-bed; he gave me these papers, which I now hand over to you. I
pray you to destroy them; forget the past as I have forgotten it.
Receive me as a son, who never will forget the respect he owes to the
father of his dearest Hilda."

Herr von Heydeck clutched with a trembling hand the papers which Paul
held out to him. He glanced at their contents, and his face was
illumined by an expression of intense joy. The next instant he had torn
the dreaded documents into countless shreds, after which he buried his
head in his hands and burst into a convulsive fit of sobbing.

Paul did not disturb him, but whispering low reassuring words of
tenderness to the astonished and frightened Hilda, he waited calmly
until Herr von Heydeck had regained his composure. Only when the old
man lifted his head and looked from his daughter to her lover with
tear-dimmed eyes did Paul repeat his entreaty, adding, "Hilda has given
me her heart,--you will not refuse my suit, Herr von Heydeck?"

"No, no; you shall be my son!" Herr von Heydeck exclaimed. "God grants
me thus an opportunity of repairing the grievous wrong I did you. My
Hilda will atone for my sin. She will be to you the angel of light
which her sainted mother was to me!"

Again he was overcome by mingled emotions of joy and sorrow. His
conscience had been burdened with the consciousness of his guilt; he
had trembled at the thoughts of discovery for years, and he could not
bear the sudden joy of this moment. Again he sobbed convulsively, only
stammering, in broken accents, "Leave me now, my children. I must be
alone. God bless you!"

Paul drew Hilda away from the room, knowing how greatly the old man
must stand in need of repose, and the girl, not venturing to oppose her
father's request, went with him willingly.

When however the study-door was closed behind them she paused. "What is
the matter with my father? What wrong can he have done? Why should he
be so overcome?" she asked, with an appealing look into her lover's
eyes.

Paul clasped her tenderly in his arms. "Do you not believe, dearest,
that I love you infinitely more than life?" he asked.

"Yes; I trust you implicitly."

"Then promise me, in this supreme moment, that you will never again ask
me what your father's words meant. It is not my secret but his, and I
could not in honour betray it even to you. But I swear solemnly that it
is the only secret that shall ever be between us,--no thought of my
heart shall be concealed from you. Will you not trust me? Believe me, I
but obey the dictates of honour when I beg you to forget what you have
heard. Will you promise me never to question either myself or your
father upon the subject?"

"This kiss shall seal the promise that you ask!"


Leo had conducted the guests to the garden, there to await Paul and
Hilda; he tried to engage them in pleasant talk, but he could not
fairly succeed, for his thoughts would wander. They were with his
friend, the change in whom he could easily interpret, for he knew that
Paul had just had an interview with Dr. Putzer; and that the result had
been a happy one for Hilda's lover, was plainly to be seen in his
sparkling eyes and gay mood. And Paul had also had an interview with
Bertram, which must have been satisfactory, or he would hardly have
uttered the laughing remark about the treasures in his pockets. What
did he mean? He had glanced so meaningly as he spoke, first at Eva and
then at Leo. Heydeck was restless and impatient,--he guessed that one
short hour might decide his fate, and yet he could not understand how
the decision could be fortunate for him. He could conceive but of one
happy future, and that seemed unattainable. He loved Eva with a
passionate devotion which the familiar intercourse of the past few
weeks had deepened tenfold. He knew that his love was returned,
although no word that could betray his devotion to her had ever passed
his lips. He had never transgressed the bounds of friendship, nor had
she ever given him the slightest right to do so.

The consciousness that she was not indifferent towards him enchanted
him, but at the same time it filled him with a despair that would often
wellnigh overcome him when he was alone in his room standing in rapt
contemplation of the picture,--the work not of his hand but of his
heart. Eva's dark eyes gazed at him from the canvas with a look that
seemed to promise the fulfilment of his boldest hopes, and in gazing he
was sometimes beguiled into delicious dreams, from which he was
startled by the consciousness of reality, and a stern voice within him
crying, "Lost, lost forever!"

He knew that Paul could force Bertram to resign all pretensions to
Eva's hand, but even if Eva should be free she was still lost to him.
Could he, a poor artist, whose future life must be one of hard labour,
aspire to the hand of the millionaire heiress? He had sacrificed to his
principles a brilliant military career, his entire future, and even his
father's affections. Could he be untrue to himself now? Honour forbade
his ever addressing a word of love to Eva Schommer,--she was too rich!

When he wandered beside her through the lovely scenes among which their
daily excursions were made, and she talked frankly and unrestrainedly
with him, he could not but resign himself to the spell of her presence,
but when he was once more alone those two words, 'too rich,'
annihilated every hope within him. And now, while he awaited Paul's
return, they destroyed all his anticipations of pleasure,--there could
be no happiness for him whatever might be the result of Delmar's
interview with Bertram; this was the verdict of his reason, but
nevertheless his heart rebelled against so cold a sentence, and
throbbed impatiently at the thought of his friend's return.

It was not long before Paul and Hilda made their appearance beneath the
archway of the garden gate, arm in arm, their happiness so plainly to
be seen in the countenance of each, that Leo knew, and Eva, Herwarth,
and Aline suspected, what had happened, and hastened to meet them.

Paul received them with a laugh. "I see," he said, giving his hand to
Leo, "you guess what I have to tell you, but nevertheless I am not
going to be defrauded of the pleasure of presenting to you my lovely
betrothed, Hilda von Heydeck. The betrothal has duly taken place, and I
beseech your congratulations."

They were given in fullest measure. As Leo grasped his hand, Kuno
reminded him of how, four weeks before, he had exclaimed, "Number One!"
and had declared that he would purchase such bliss, not only with a
miserable foot, but with his head.

"Exactly, I said so, and I repeat it," Paul replied, with a gayety
which had its root however in deep earnestness. "Only fortunately,
noble knight, the sacrifice of my head, which was nearer to being
consummated than you dream of, was not required. I said 'Number One'
then, never thinking that this lovely fairy would make me the happy
'Number Two.' Now we must find a 'Number Three,' that the trefoil may
be perfect."

Then turning to Eva, he whispered, so as to be heard by her alone, "Is
there do hope, Fräulein Schommer, of your aid in making a happy 'Number
Three'?"

Eva did not reply, save by a blush and a reproving glance, which
assured Delmar he was understood, as she turned to Hilda and warmly
wished her every happiness. Her reproving look, however, glanced
harmlessly aside from Paul's armour of gayety, he only nodded and
laughed, as he continued aloud, "Number Two is proud and happy to
return thanks to his friends for their kind congratulations, which he
receives as the result of his share of the treasures which he brought
with him to Castle Reifenstein. It was due to my position as confirmed
egotist to provide for my own welfare first; now I am at liberty to
fulfil other duties which I have undertaken. I have certain interesting
communications to make to Fräulein Schommer. Will she kindly grant me
an audience of a few minutes?"

Eva looked up at him, confused and in doubt, but he suddenly dropped
his jesting tone and continued very gravely, "You owe the interview I
request both to me and to yourself. Pray add your entreaty, Hilda, to
mine."

Hilda smiled; she knew what Paul wished to say to Eva; he had briefly
informed her on their way to the garden, and she eagerly seconded his
request, and proposed that she herself should conduct Leo, Aline, and
Herwarth through one wing of the castle, while Delmar showed Eva
through the other, and that they should then all meet in the large
hall. As she made this proposal she exchanged a glance of secret
understanding with Paul.

Eva still hesitated, but Paul would take no refusal. He offered her his
arm and led her through the garden across the courtyard and up the
grand staircase to the wing in which were Leo's apartments. On the way
he pointed out to her everything of interest in the interior decoration
and architecture of the ancient pile, calling especial attention to the
massive antique furniture of some of the rooms. At any other time all
this would have been especially interesting to Eva, but to-day she
scarcely looked at all the rare antiquities, and even at last ventured
to interrupt the flow of Delmar's antiquarian enthusiasm, saying, "You
certainly had something else to say to me, Herr Delmar, when you asked
me for this _tête-à-tête_."

"You are right, Fräulein Eva," Paul replied, hastening along the dim
corridor, at the end of which was Leo's studio. "I will no longer
excite your curiosity, since we have reached the room which I think the
most appropriate place in which to tell you what I have to say."

He opened the door of a room which Eva entered. "Have you any idea of
where we are?" Paul asked. The girl looked about her at the comfortable
arrangements of the room, and her glance suddenly fell upon the easel,
from which a face which she could not but recognize, regarded her with
a gentle smile. The tears rushed to her eyes,--she knew well where she
was, and with a burning blush she turned instantly to leave the room.

"You are unkind. I have not deserved this," she said, in a tone of soft
reproach, as she laid her hand upon the door-latch.

Delmar, however, prevented her from opening the door; he took her hand
and gently led her to the easel. "You must not, Fräulein Eva," he said
earnestly, "at such a moment as this give any consideration to mere
conventionalities. This is a turning-point in your existence. Look at
this picture. You know who has painted it, and you know that Leo's hand
never could have executed so true a presentment of yourself if your
image did not fill his heart and soul,--if you were not present at all
moments to his mental vision. Far more convincingly than in words must
this picture tell you of his entire devotion to you, and it is for this
that I have brought you here."

"You are cruel!" was Eva's only reply. She had withdrawn her hand from
Paul's, but she no longer thought of fleeing from the room. With
sensations both of rapture and of pain she contemplated the picture.
Yes, Delmar was right. The hand that had executed so true, so lifelike
a resemblance must have been guided by the heart.

"I do not deserve your reproach," Delmar continued. "My only desire in
bringing you here is to make you happy; you must see for yourself the
truth of what I once told you of Leo. And now since there can be no
doubt in your mind of the intensity of his affection for you, I may
give you the letter which Herr von Bertram sends you through me."

He handed Eva Bertram's letter and watched her narrowly as she took it,
half in surprise and half in terror, and read its contents.

He hoped to see her lovely features illumined by joy at her release,
and gratitude to the messenger of freedom, but he was bitterly
disappointed. Eva's face, so far from beaming with joy, expressed only
profound sorrow, and a tear fell upon the paper as she read. When she
had finished, her hands dropped at her sides and she gazed at Delmar
with eyes filled with grief and regret.

"I thank you, Herr Delmar," she said gently. "I will preserve this
letter as my most precious treasure. Although every line is a reproach
to me for the weakness which at present prevents me from appreciating
the happiness it should bring me, in time I shall conquer this
weakness. I will read the noble words again and again, and they shall
strengthen me if I should ever falter in the path which duty clearly
points out for me to pursue. I will leave Tausens this evening. I dare
not see Herr von Heydeck again. I pray you conduct me immediately to
the inn; tell your friends how it grieves me to part from them, but
that I now know my duty and cannot act differently."

Paul's astonishment and dismay at Eva's words are hard to describe; he
had imagined all this so differently; he had anticipated with such
certainty her thanks to him for her release, and now---- "I cannot
understand you," he cried, in great agitation. "You wish to go to
Tausens,--to leave without seeing Leo again? What reasons under the sun
can you have for such a course? That letter releases you!"

"You are mistaken, Herr Delmar," Eva replied with dignity. "I am less
free now than ever before. I have to atone for grievous wrong done to
my betrothed." It was the first time that she had ever thus designated
Bertram. "He was a victim of the wretched mistrust of every one from
which my soul has so long suffered as from some disease. I believed
that he loved, not myself, but my wealth, and therefore I treated him
with cold severity,--yes, even with insulting harshness. I did not know
the nobility of his character. I have learned it from the lofty
self-renunciation of this letter. My eyes are at last opened. He has
already sacrificed his future to me, and now for my sake renounces his
last hope. To make me happy he gives me back my promise; but I will not
accept this sacrifice at his hands. I know my duty and will fulfil it!"

"Good God, what nonsense! This is sheer madness!" Delmar cried, almost
beside himself. "Is not that letter my----" He stopped short. He could
not possibly tell Eva how he had occupied himself with her affairs of
late, and that he had dictated Bertram's epistle in the hope of sparing
her feelings. What was to be done in view of Eva's inconceivable
resolve he could not see; he paced the room to and fro, racking his
brains for some way out of the dilemma which was of his own
fabrication.

"Herr Delmar, let me pray you to conduct me back to Tausens," Eva said,
at last.

"No, Fräulein Eva; you must not leave the castle without seeing Leo.
You are mistaken about Bertram; you do not know your own heart. I will
not let you act so hastily."

"I know my duty, and nothing that you can say will hinder me from its
performance."

"Madness, sheer madness! my brain fairly reels at such insanity! What
is to be done with these conscientious people who, from a pure sense of
duty, sacrifice themselves and their dearest friends to confer
happiness upon blockheads and scoundrels? You know your duty! Do you
owe no duty then to yourself and to Leo, who loves you passionately and
will be unutterably wretched if you run after that scoundrel?"

"Herr Delmar! I will permit no such expressions with regard to my
betrothed, whose noble heart I have learned to know, alas, too late. If
you will not conduct me to Tausens I must find the way thither myself,
for I must not and will not see Herr von Heydeck again!"

Eva could not however fulfil this intention in spite of her firm
resolve to do so, for scarcely had she spoken when hasty steps were
heard in the corridor, the door opened, and Hilda entered with Leo,
Aline, and Herwarth, and followed also by Eva's servant, honest
Wilhelm, his sheepish face quite crimson with hurry and agitation.

"Forgive us, Eva dear, for coming for you so soon," said Hilda, "we
could not help it, for your servant was anxious to see you instantly;
he brings very extraordinary tidings from Tausens."

"Do not be frightened, my darling," Aline whispered, putting her arm
around her friend. "Be sure that whatever has happened, although it may
cause you momentary pain, will conduce to your happiness."

"But what has happened? Do not keep me in suspense, Aline!" Eva
exclaimed.

Aline beckoned to Wilhelm, who came forward and told, as well as he
could, all that Uncle Balthasar had commissioned him to say. The story
was confused enough; the fellow was so agitated and embarrassed that he
hardly knew what he was saying, but from his rambling tale his hearers
gathered that Herr von Bertram had run off with pretty Nanette, who had
stolen Aunt Minni's purse full of money out of her bureau, and that
Uncle Balthasar was afraid they had taken the ebony casket besides.

"Impossible!" Eva exclaimed indignantly; "the man who could write this
letter is incapable of such baseness. I appeal to you, Herr Delmar, to
vindicate Herr von Bertram."

"I could not if I would," said Delmar, whose good humour had been
entirely restored by Wilhelm's tale, and who had even laughed when
Wilhelm mentioned Uncle Balthasar's fears lest Bertram and Nanette
together had stolen the ebony casket.

"You must, Herr Delmar! You yourself brought me Bertram's letter, and
you know its contents."

"Only too well, and that is just why I cannot undertake the writer's
defence. But even I agree that we should not condemn the fugitives
without proof positive of their guilt. We must instantly return to the
village and learn the truth. You, Leo, will of course accompany us. My
darling," he whispered to Hilda, "you must come too,--we must all be
together to celebrate Number Three's betrothal."

"Did you succeed?" Hilda whispered.

"Not yet," Delmar replied, in as low a tone. "I have been a terrible
blockhead, but, fortunately, this Bertram is a worse rogue, and his
roguery will stand us in as good stead as my wisdom could have done."

Paul's proposal to go instantly to Tausens was of course put into
immediate execution. Naturally, on the way thither the lovers walked
together, and there was nothing for Eva to do but to accept Leo's
escort. She walked at his side in extreme confusion, not daring to lift
her eyes to his.

"Are you offended, Fräulein Schommer?" Leo asked, after they had gone
on for some time in silence.

"What right have I to be offended?"

"You certainly have a right if you think that I permitted Paul to take
you to my room to show you the picture which you never should have
seen. I swear to you that I had not the faintest idea of my friend's
intention, or I should not have allowed him to fulfil it. He has
offended you, and me through you, in permitting you to see what was
utterly unworthy to be shown to any one, and I shall certainly take him
to task for so doing."

"I am not offended," Eva replied in a faltering voice.

"You must be, Fräulein Eva! It must vex you that I should have dared,
without your permission, to paint your picture from memory, but I give
you my honour that Delmar saw it only by accident, that I never would
voluntarily have shown it to him, and that you never ought to have
known of its existence."

Eva did not reply, and the rest of the way to Tausens was passed in
perfect silence.

When the party arrived at the inn, they found the wildest confusion and
excitement prevailing there. The postmistress and Dr. Atzinger, with
the men and maids of the house and several peasants, were standing in a
group before the door talking eagerly. They parted and made way for the
newcomers to enter the inn.

"This is a most unfortunate day!" Dr. Atzinger whispered to Delmar,
detaining him as he would have passed him. "Dr. Putzer, who seemed so
wonderfully well this morning, is dead. He wished to rest after his
conversation with you, and when I went to his room half an hour
afterwards, I found him dead in his bed. I hastened hither to let you
know of it, and have just heard what has happened here. These are
strange occurrences!"

The intelligence of the doctor's death did not surprise Delmar,--he
could not pause now to reflect upon its suddenness. As briefly as
possible he instructed Dr. Atzinger to make arrangements for a suitable
funeral, and then hurried after his friends up the stairs to the hall
into which the various apartments for the guests opened.

Here they found Uncle Balthasar and Hansel pacing to and fro in eager
conversation, discussing the various discoveries that had been made in
Bertram's and Aunt Minni's apartments. From time to time Uncle
Balthasar stepped into his room, the door of which stood open, that he
might administer a few words of consolation to his wife, who lay
moaning on her sofa, returning shortly to continue his consultation
with the postmaster as to what had best be done,--a consultation in
which neither had arrived at any conclusion.

The good old man was awaiting his niece's arrival with the greatest
impatience, and from Herr Delmar, in whom he had implicit confidence,
he looked for instant advice. He had constantly assured his Minni that
Delmar would know exactly how to compel the waiting-maid to relinquish
her booty. His heart was lightened of its load when the party from the
castle made their appearance. "Thank God, my dear, that you are come!"
he exclaimed, cordially embracing his niece. "What to think of this
confounded affair I'm sure I can't tell!"

And Uncle Balthasar went on to tell as well as he could what there was
to be told; his good heart rebelled at the thought of the possibility
that his dear Guido had run off with a thief, but proof seemed too
strong for him; he had with difficulty prevented the postmaster from
sending a couple of men on horseback in pursuit of the fugitives; he
would not resort to so extreme a measure without consulting his niece
and Herr Delmar.

Neither, until this moment, had Eva believed in Bertram's guilt, but
now, when the postmaster showed her into Bertram's room where the floor
was strewed with linen and articles of clothing, and held up to her the
two gilt handles which she recognized as those belonging to her casket;
when he related to her and to all that he had found Bertram's door
locked, and had opened it with a master-key; that Nanette had driven
off in the carriage with Bertram; that he had helped him lift his
portmanteau into the vehicle, and had wondered at its weight; that the
box, if it were stolen, must have been packed into the portmanteau, or
it would have been seen,--all these revelations wellnigh destroyed
Eva's confidence.

And there was other ground for suspicion of the fugitives. Nanette had
been in Aunt Minni's room just before her departure, and Aunt Minni had
left the key in the drawer where she kept her purse. The purse was now
gone.

Uncle Balthasar had first suspected from the finding of the metal
handles in Bertram's room that the waiting-maid had stolen Eva's
casket; he could not believe in Bertram's guilt. What lover would steal
his betrothed's money and jewels! Still it was strange that the handles
should be found in Bertram's room where his clothes were scattered
about. Hansel besides maintained that the box could have left the inn
only in Bertram's portmanteau.

There was still however a doubt as to whether the ebony casket were
really gone. The door leading from the hall into Eva's room was locked,
and Hansel had found, upon trying to open it with his master-key, that
it was also bolted inside. He had tried to enter the room from
Bertram's apartment, but his key was constructed only for the doors
opening upon the hall, and they had not yet been able to inspect the
interior of Eva's room.

Neither Hansel nor Uncle Balthasar had thought of sending for the
locksmith to force the lock; this simple expedient was now suggested by
Delmar, and the village locksmith opened the door without difficulty.
The casket was missing, and there was no longer any room for doubt as
to who had stolen it; even Uncle Balthasar declared indignantly that
his dear Guido was neither more nor less than a common thief.

"Did the casket contain articles of value?" Delmar asked.

"All my jewels and my dear father's last gift to me, with a sum of
money, the amount of which I do not precisely know."

"But I can tell you, my pet, that it must have been four thousand
thalers, at least," said Uncle Balthasar.

"The scoundrel shall not escape with his booty!" Paul exclaimed. "Herr
Postmaster, have your two fleetest horses saddled. Leo, you and I will
pursue the rascal, and if we cannot catch him we'll send a telegram
after him."

The postmaster would have obeyed, but Eva prevented him. "You must not
think of any pursuit, Herr Delmar," she said pleadingly. "Even although
Herr von Bertram should be guilty, I would not for the world have him
apprehended as a thief. And I cannot believe in his guilt; his
letter----"

Paul laughed. "That magnificent letter again! There is nothing left for
me but to make a clean breast of my sins; only to you however, and to
my dear Hilda, from whom I have promised never to have a secret. Will
you come out on the balcony with Hilda and me and listen to me for a
few moments?"

With a blush Eva acquiesced. She put her hand within Hilda's arm and
went out upon the balcony. Delmar followed them, whispering to Kuno as
he passed him, "Pray be ready, my noble knight. As soon as I call bring
every one out upon the balcony. I make you responsible for Leo; bring
him, by fair means or foul, living or dead; only bring him."

"What are you about now?"

"Number Three! Some people must have happiness thrust upon them. Bring
me Leo!"

"You shall have him," Kuno smilingly assured him, in a low tone; and to
make sure, after a few whispered words to Aline, he took Leo's arm and
walked to and fro in the hall with him, consulting as to the best means
for the recovery of Fräulein Eva's casket.

Meanwhile, Paul had joined Eva and Hilda upon the balcony. He had
promised to make a full confession of his sins, and he did so, telling
Eva with entire frankness how he had known for a long time of Bertram's
utter worthlessness. He did not conceal the fact that he had not
intended at first to open her eyes to the true character of her
betrothed, and that his determination to do so had been the result of
the more intimate acquaintance with her which had reversed his former
harsh judgment of her, and of the knowledge that Leo loved her and was
perhaps loved in return.

As frankly he explained to her that he had delayed unmasking Bertram
until Leo and herself should have had time to learn to know each other,
and until Leo's affection should have grown so intense as to break down
the stubborn pride that forbade his passion for the heiress. Paul
concluded by confessing that he had that very morning forced Bertram to
write the 'lofty-minded' letter, every word of which he had dictated
himself, and that he had thus driven the desperate man to shameless
robbery.

One fact however Delmar suppressed: he said no word of the sum he had
paid Bertram as the price of the letter. "My tale is ended," Paul
concluded, "and is, after all, only a continuation of our conversation
in Leo's room at the castle. You then said, in conclusion, 'I must not
and will not see Herr von Heydeck again.' Tell me frankly, Fräulein
Eva, will you not reverse that decree?"

While Delmar spoke, Eva had listened with her mind and heart in an
uproar of conflicting emotions. She felt indignation and disgust at
Bertram's baseness, and she was covered with shame that she should ever
have had the slightest confidence in him or given him a right to claim
her hand. At the same time she was conscious of an ecstatic sense that
she was saved from infinite peril; that she was free from the
disgraceful fetters that had bound her, and that she might aspire to
the fulfilment of her wildest dreams of happiness. She looked
gratefully into Paul's eyes as he put this last question to her, and
said frankly and honestly, "Yes!"

For which Hilda threw her arms around her and embraced her tenderly,
while Paul called out, "All's well that ends well! Come all of
you,--Kuno, Leo, Uncle Balthasar!"----

And they came: Herwarth laughing as he conducted Leo, Uncle Balthasar
wondering where there was any cause for merriment, and Aline hastening
to embrace her friend.

"Come here, Fortune's favourite that you are!" Paul called out to the
astonished Leo. "By the right which I possess, as your elder and wiser
friend, and which I have won over the lovely Eva by former service, I
herewith place her dear hand in yours, and proclaim you the happy
Number Three!" Then turning to the rest he said, "Dear friends, I ask
your congratulations for the newly-betrothed pair, Eva Schommer and Leo
von Heydeck. May all the good the gods provide for happy lovers be
theirs!"

"Amen!" said Kuno; and Uncle Balthasar added his voice, although he did
not yet understand what it was all about.

Leo heard the words spoken, uncertain whether he were awake or
dreaming; he held Eva's hand in his,--she did not withdraw it, and when
he looked into her blushing face her eyes met his own. A happy smile
was upon her lips. She certainly did not resent Delmar's words, however
surprised she might be. He pressed her hand, and felt a gentle pressure
in return.

Was Paul jesting? Leo asked himself. In Eva's beaming eyes he read what
destroyed in an instant the foolish prejudice that had separated him
from his love. He forgot the pride that would have held him aloof from
her; he forgot the miserable words 'too rich!' Love conquered; he bent
above Eva, and said in low intense tones, "You do not repulse me? You
are then my own forever?"

And as he heard her whispered 'yes' he forgot everything but his great
happiness, and imprinted his first kiss upon her lips.



                              CHAPTER XIX.


There was a larger assemblage of officers than usual beneath Büchner's
awning,--almost every seat was occupied. After early parade the young
men had resorted thither to discuss the entertainments to which the
evening was to be devoted, and various civilians also belonging to the
aristocracy had lounged into Büchner's to enjoy the ices for which the
restaurant was famous, and which were particularly tempting on so warm
a July day as the present.

One of these latter, a young man of distinguished appearance, had taken
a foremost seat near the iron railing, against which he had negligently
propped his feet in the same attitude as that assumed by his neighbour,
a cavalry officer, while both rocked gently to and fro in their tilted
chairs. The young civilian held in his hand a newspaper, which however
he did not read, his attention being entirely devoted to the promenade
and the many handsome equipages with their fair occupants that were
perpetually rolling past.

In one of these the brilliant beauty of a young lady especially excited
his admiration. She was sitting beside an aged officer with whom she
was conversing gayly as she gracefully acknowledged the respectful
salutations of many of the officers, and greeted with a special smile
the young dragoon before mentioned, who relinquished his negligent
attitude while her carriage was passing, and stood up to salute her.

"An exquisitely lovely girl!" the civilian said to his neighbour. "I
envy you the smile she gave you, Count Waldheim. One might almost
barter his soul for such a glance and smile. Tell me who she is, and
why I have never been presented to her."

"I can further your wishes in the matter of an introduction, Count,"
Waldheim replied. "I am quite intimate at Frau von Heydeck's, and,
although they are rather exclusive, I think I can obtain permission to
introduce a friend."

"Frau von Heydeck? Married? I am bitterly disappointed," said Count
Tiefstetten.

"You will have to relinquish all thoughts of conquest there," said
Waldheim, laughing, "for Frau von Heydeck is not only a wife, but the
happiest woman in the world, still desperately in love with her
husband, who deserves it. He is a charming fellow, a nobleman in the
truest sense of the word, and with a brilliant reputation as an artist
besides."

"An artist?" Count Tiefstetten asked, in amazement. "And his wife
drives in a splendid equipage with those magnificent horses?"

"It is easy to see that you have been abroad for some years and are
just returned among us, or you would hardly ask such a question. Leo
von Heydeck's picture, at our art exhibition last spring, a full-length
of his wife, established his reputation as an artist, and he is besides
one of the wealthiest men in our city. His wife, who was a Fräulein
Schommer, was a great heiress. But he is an eccentric fellow in spite
of his wealth. His habits are as simple as if he were obliged to work
with his brush for his living, and he persists in his eccentricities,
although his father the old colonel, whom you saw just now seated
beside Frau von Heydeck, is highly indignant with him for doing so. Leo
von Heydeck is not an amateur artist; art is his profession. He sells
his pictures, which command very high prices, and supports himself
entirely upon the proceeds of his profession, never making any use of
his wife's income. You never even see him in her brilliant equipage. If
you like, and do not mind paying a high price, you can order your
portrait of him."

"Very odd! And what does his wife say to these whims?"

"Oh, she adores him! I verily believe she would like to throw her
wealth to the winds and struggle along with him as the wife of a poor
artist. It is owing entirely to her that old Colonel von Heydeck, Leo's
father, who has always held in sovereign contempt all daubers who
support themselves by the work of their hands, and who was furious at
his son's ways, is nevertheless reconciled to him. The old fellow could
not withstand the charms of his lovely daughter-in-law, who is ready to
gratify his every whim. He is fairly in love with her himself, and has
given up his love of retirement, taking up his abode in her charming
villa, and living in perfect concord with her and her old uncle,
Balthasar Schommer. He drives with her daily, and she has so thoroughly
tamed the old bear that he consents to visit his son's studio
frequently, and even begins to be proud of his work."

"They must be very remarkable people. I am more curious than ever to
know them, and I rely upon your promise to present me to Frau von
Heydeck."

"I will do what I can, but as I told you, the Heydecks are very
exclusive."

"They do not entertain, then?"

"A small circle, frequently. There is no house in the city where I have
had pleasanter evenings than at theirs, although they never give large
parties. Leo is a queer fellow; he hates grand entertainments, and is
happy only in the society of his intimates, artists, and men of
science. In these tastes he is upheld by his friend and cousin, the
wealthy Herr Delmar, and by another friend and former comrade, a Herr
von Herwarth, with all of whom he and his wife are upon terms of the
greatest intimacy."

"Who is this Delmar? Bourgeois, I suppose; some relative of the lovely
Frau von Heydeck?"

"No; he is married to a cousin of his friend Leo, a daughter of an
uncle who died about six months since. He was an early friend of Leo's,
and by his marriage is still more closely united with him. He is also
excessively intimate with the third in the small circle, Herr von
Herwarth, who married Frau von Heydeck's dearest friend. All three were
married on the same day, and have since lived on terms of the closest
intimacy.

"Leo, as I said, is upheld in his eccentric ways by Delmar, who is
enormously wealthy and a very queer fellow too. He will give immensely
to any artistic or scientific enterprise, in support of which Heydeck
too will draw upon his wife's means, but neither of them has the least
idea of the enjoyment their money might bring them.

"Delmar, to be sure, is something of a gourmand, but he is far from
knowing how to spend his millions. He might easily purchase a title and
orders, he might easily enter the court-circles, but he cares nothing
for such things. Nevertheless he is an excessively interesting man,
whom every one is happy to meet, and he is much respected for his
benevolence and generosity.

"I in especial have cause to hold him in high esteem, for about a year
ago he did me a great service in unmasking a certain scoundrel whom I
had until then considered to be a man of honour, and my friend Delmar
deserves the gratitude of the entire corps of officers for effecting
the resignation in disgrace of the rogue, a Herr von Bertram."

"Bertram? Guido von Bertram?" asked Count Tiefstetten.

"Exactly; that was the fellow's name. Do you know him?"

"I think I do. I knew a certain Herr Guido von Bertram slightly about
half a year ago in Saxony. He frequented the gaming-tables there. He
was frequently seen with a very pretty woman, who called herself Frau
von Bertram; but who, I was told, was not really his wife. He was said
to be a professional gamester, and I rather avoided him during my stay
in Saxony. I should hardly have remembered the name when you mentioned
it had I not seen it half an hour ago in the newspaper. There is the
paragraph, read it yourself."

Count Waldheim took the paper offered him by Count Tiefstetten, and
read, "We have news from Florence which cannot fail to make a stir in
our aristocratic circles. It concerns the scion of one of our most
distinguished families, a Herr Guido von Bertram, who was a year ago
the hero of a scandalous scene at Büchner's restaurant. On that
occasion, in our account of the affair, we suppressed the names. Herr
von Bertram was obliged to resign from the army in disgrace, and to-day
there is no reason why we should spare him, since he will shortly
receive his punishment as a common swindler and thief. We therefore
give to our readers the letter which we have received from our special
correspondent in Florence:

"'The arrest of a German nobleman, a Herr Guido von B----, is the talk
of the day here. You hear him discussed everywhere, and the most
contradictory reports are abroad with regard to his antecedents and the
reason for his arrest. We have the following intelligence from a
trustworthy source:

"'About six months ago Herr von B---- appeared here in Florence,
renting superb apartments, where he lived in splendid style. He
appeared at the theatre with his wife, who was not exactly handsome but
very attractive in appearance, and who excited considerable attention
by her brilliant toilettes, and especially by a magnificent parure of
diamonds which she wore.

"'Herr von B---- easily effected an entrance into our fashionable
circles where he played his part as a wealthy man of the world,
although it was noticed that the manners and culture of Madame von
B---- by no means corresponded with her elegant appearance. Very
unfavourable reports concerning the lady and the freedom of her
behaviour, and even with regard to her relations with her husband, were
shortly in circulation. It was said that the aristocratic couple
quarrelled after a most plebeian fashion, and that Herr von B---- even
maltreated his wife.

"'In consequence of these reports certain houses closed their doors
against the pair; others however were less particular, and the wealthy
German nobleman was still received, especially at entertainments where
there was sure to be high play.

"'Herr von B---- understood so well how to maintain an appearance of
wealth that he easily found credit whenever he wanted money. (One of
our principal bankers has discounted his note to a large amount.) And
he would perhaps have continued to play his part among us had not an
accident induced our police to put him under surveillance. In fact,
they received very strange information from a young German, Wilhelm
Schultz by name, the servant of a nobleman but lately arrived in
Florence from M----. Schultz saw Herr von B---- and his wife adorned
with her diamonds in the theatre, and instantly recognized the latter
as a former waiting-maid in a wealthy family where he had been footman.
He informed the police that Herr von B---- had been betrothed to an
heiress, but had eloped with her waiting-maid, stealing and carrying
off at the same time a casket containing a large sum of money and a
rich parure of diamonds.

"'The information appeared incredible; but the story was maintained
with such persistence that the police authorities felt themselves
compelled to investigate the matter, and the result is that Herr von
B---- proves to be a thorough-paced gamester and an arch swindler, who
has procured large sums of money upon forged notes of hand. His arrest
took place at the railroad depot, just as he was about to leave
Florence forever. Upon his person was found the diamond parure worn by
his wife, whom he had left without letting her know whither he was
going.

"'The noble pair are now quite harmless. The former waiting-maid has
made a full confession, confirming all that was stated by Wilhelm
Schultz. After the theft of the diamonds, which was effected in the
Tyrol, she came with her betrayer--who promised to marry her, but never
kept his promise--to Italy, where he led her from place to place, so
maltreating her that she declares that she would have left him but for
fear of starvation in a strange country. The diamonds in which she made
such a show are the property of her former mistress.

"'Herr von B---- boldly denies the truth of her tale, but as there is
abundant proof against him in the forged notes of hand, he will not
escape due punishment.'"

The correspondent's words were verified. A month later 'dear Guido' was
condemned to several years' imprisonment with hard labour. Nanette was
left at large. She could only have been prosecuted for theft, and as
neither Frau Schommer nor Frau von Heydeck proceeded to such a measure,
she went unpunished, although the diamonds were taken from her and
returned to their rightful owner, Frau von Heydeck. Wilhelm Schultz,
doubtless, having suffered from her wiles, would have gladly seen the
waiting-maid sent to jail, but he was forced to be satisfied with the
probability that her future fate would be far from prosperous.



                               FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 1: Meadows high up on the mountains, where the wealthy
peasants pasture their cattle in summer.]



                                THE END.



                _PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO._

                           *   *   *   *   *

                        THE WORKS OF E. MARLITT.
                    TRANSLATED BY MRS. A. L. WISTER.


                         _AT THE COUNCILLOR'S_;
                        OR, A NAMELESS HISTORY.

                Sixth Edition, 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.

"Pure in tone, elegant in style, and overflowing with the tender and
openly-expressed sentiment which characterizes human romance in
Germany."--_Worcester Spy_.


                           _THE SECOND WIFE_.

               Twelfth Edition, 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.

"A German story of intense interest by one of the best-known writers of
romance of that country."--_Washington Chronicle_.


                     _THE OLD MAM'SELLE'S SECRET_.

               Eleventh Edition, 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

"It is one of the most intense, concentrated, compact novels of the
day.... And the work has the minute fidelity of the author of the
'Initials,' the dramatic unity of Reade, and the graphic power of
George Eliot."--_Columbus, Ohio, Journal_.


                             _GOLD ELSIE_.

                Ninth Edition, 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

"'Gold Elsie' is one of the loveliest heroines ever introduced to the
public."--_Boston Advertiser_.

"A charming book. It absorbs your attention from the title-page to the
end."--_The Chicago Home Circle_.

"A charming story charmingly told."--_Baltimore Gazette_.


                    _THE LITTLE MOORLAND PRINCESS_.

                Sixth Edition. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

"A charming story."--_New York Observer_.

"The plot is admirably contrived."--_Philadelphia Evening Bulletin_.

"Delightful for the exquisite manner in which its characters are
drawn."--_Boston Evening Traveller_.


                           _COUNTESS GISELA_.

                Sixth Edition. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.

"One of the very best of its class, and is a genuine representation of
court, burgher, and rural life in Germany. The translation is spirited
and faithful."--_Philadelphia Press_.

"There is more dramatic power in this than in any of the stories by the
same author that we have read."--_N. O. Times_.



                       TRANSLATED BY MRS. ELGARD.


                             _OVER YONDER_.

    Fifth Edition. 8vo. With full-page Illustration. Paper, 30 Cts.

"'Over Yonder' is a charming novelette. The admirers of 'Old
Mam'selle's Secret' will give it a glad reception, while those who are
ignorant of the merits of this author will find in it a pleasant
introduction to the works of a gifted writer."--_Daily Sentinel_.


                              _MAGDALENA_.

            Together with "THE LONELY ONES," by Paul Heyse.

 Fourth Edition. 8vo. With two full-page Illustrations. Paper. 35 Cts.

"Paul Heyse's 'Lonely Ones' is an idyl--a perfect little picture in its
way."--_Baltimore Statesman_.

"Both of these stories are exceedingly clever and
entertaining."--_Richmond Enquirer_.



                           GET THE STANDARD!

"It ought to be in every Library, also in every Academy and every
School."--Hon. Chas. Sumner.

                              WORCESTER'S
                           QUARTO DICTIONARY.

A large, handsome volume of 1854 pages, containing considerably more
than 100,000 Words in its Vocabulary, with the Correct Pronunciation,
Definition, and Etymology.

                               *   *   *
               FULLY ILLUSTRATED. LIBRARY SHEEP. $10.00.
                               *   *   *


                              "WORCESTER"

is now regarded as the standard authority, and is so recommended by
Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Sumner, Holmes, Irving, Winthrop,
Agassiz, Marsh, Henry, Everett, Mann, Quincy, Felton, Hillard, and the
majority of our most distinguished scholars, and is, besides,
recognised as authority by the Departments of our National Government.


                       _THE COMPLETE SERIES OF_
                       Worcester's Dictionaries.

Quarto Dictionary. Illustrated. Library sheep. $10.00.

Universal and Critical (Octavo) Dictionary. 8vo. Library sheep. $4.25.

Academic Dictionary. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. Half roan. $2.00.

Comprehensive Dictionary. Illustrated. 12mo. Half roan. $1.75.

School (Elementary) Dictionary. Illustrated. l2mo. Half roan. $1.00.

Primary Dictionary. Illustrated. 16mo. Half roan. 60 cents.

Pocket Dictionary. Illustrated. 24mo. Cloth, 63 cents; roan, flexible,
85 cents; roan, tucks, gilt edges, $1.00.

Many special aids to students, in addition to a very full pronouncing
and defining vocabulary, make the above-named books, in the opinion of
our most distinguished educators, the most complete as well as by far
the cheapest Dictionaries of our language.

                               *   *   *

*** For sale by Booksellers generally, or will be sent, carriage free,
on receipt of the price by

                       _J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO._,
                PUBLISHERS, BOOKSELLERS, AND STATIONERS,
                715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Too Rich - A Romance" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.