RIVEN BONDS.

                                A Novel,


                            IN TWO VOLUMES.


                             TRANSLATED BY
                              BERTHA NESS,


                    _FROM THE ORIGINAL OF E. WERNER_,

                 Author of "SUCCESS AND HOW HE WON IT,"
                          "UNDER A CHARM," &c.



                           *   *   *   *   *
                                VOL. I.
                           *   *   *   *   *



                                London:
                           REMINGTON AND CO.,
                    5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.

                                 1877.

                        [_All Rights Reserved_.]






                              RIVEN BONDS.




                               CHAPTER I.


The curtain fell amid thunders of applause from the whole house. Boxes,
pit, and gallery unanimously demanded the reappearance of the singer,
who, in the finale of the act just concluded, had carried all away with
her. The whole audience became excited, and would not be calmed, until,
greeted with applause, which broke forth with renewed vigour,
overwhelmed with flowers, wreaths, and homage of all kinds, the object
of this ovation showed herself, in order to thank the public.

"This is quite like an evening in an Italian theatre," said an elderly
gentleman, entering one of the boxes in the first tier. "Signora
Biancona seems to understand the art of filling the otherwise quiet and
smoothly-flowing patrician blood of our noble Hanseatic town with the
fire of her Southern home. The infatuation for her begins to be quite
an epidemic. If it continue to increase in this way, we shall see the
Exchange voting her a torchlight procession, and the Senate of this
free town, appearing before her _in corpore_, to lay their homage at
her feet. Were I in your place, Herr Consul, I should make this
proposition to both these Corporations. I am sure it would meet with an
enthusiastic reception."

The gentleman to whom these words were addressed, and who was sitting
by a lady, apparently his wife, in the front of the box, seemed unable
to withdraw himself from the universal excitement. He had applauded
with an energy and perseverance worthy of a better cause, and turned
round now, half-laughing, half-annoyed.

"I was sure of it; the critic must place himself in opposition to the
general voice. Certainly, Herr Doctor, in your abominable morning
paper, you spare neither Exchange nor Senate; how, then, could Signora
Biancona hope to find mercy?"

The Doctor smiled a little maliciously, and drew near to the lady's
chair, when a young man, who had been sitting beside her, rose politely
to make way for him.

"Herr Almbach," said the lady, introducing them, "Herr Dr. Welding, the
editor of our morning paper, whose pen--"

"For Heaven's sake, my dear madam," interrupted Welding, "do not throw
discredit on me, at once, in the gentleman's eyes. One has only to be
introduced as critic to a young artist, and immediately one gains his
deepest antipathy."

"Possibly," laughed the Consul, "but this time your keenness has failed
you. Herr Almbach, thank goodness, can never be in a position to come
before your judgment seat. He is a merchant."

"Merchant!" a look of astonishment was turned towards the young man,
"then I certainly apologise for my mistake. I should have taken you for
an artist."

"There, you see, dear Almbach, your forehead and eyes do you a bad turn
again," said the Consul, playfully. "What would your people at home say
to the exchange? I almost fear they would look upon it as an insult."

"Perhaps. I do not consider it as such," said Almbach, bowing slightly
to Welding. The words were intended to carry on the joking tone that
was begun, but there lay in them a half-concealed bitterness, which did
not escape Dr. Welding. He fixed his eyes searchingly on the young
stranger's features; but just at that moment the lady turned towards
him, and resumed the interrupted topic.

"You must allow, Herr Doctor, that Biancona was quite ravishing
to-night. This young, dawning talent is indeed, a new star in our
theatrical firmament."

"Which will some time become a shining sun, if it carry out what to-day
it promises. Certainly, dear madam; I do not deny it at all, even
although this future sun shows a few spots and imperfections at
present, which naturally escape so enthusiastic a public."

"Well then, I advise you not to lay too much stress on these
imperfections," said the Consul, pointing to the pit. "There, below,
sits an army of knights, infatuated about the Signora. Take care, Herr
Doctor, or you will receive at least six challenges."

The malicious smile played round Welding's lips again, as he cast a
glance of irony towards young Almbach, who had listened silently, but
with darkly lowering brow, to the conversation.

"And perhaps a seventh, also! Herr Almbach, for instance, seems to look
upon the opinion which I have just expressed as a species of high
treason."

"I regret, sir, to be so much behind you as regards criticism," coolly
replied the one addressed. "I--" hereupon his eyes flashed almost
passionately, "I am accustomed to worship genius unconditionally."

"A very poetical style of criticism," sneered Welding. "If you were to
repeat that in person to our beautiful Signora, and in the same tone, I
could promise you her most complete favour. Besides, I am this time in
the pleasant position of being able to tell her in the article which
will appear to-morrow, that hers is indeed a talent of the first order,
that her faults and failings are only those of a beginner, and that it
lies in her power to become eventually, a musical celebrity. She is not
one at present."

"In the meanwhile, that is praise enough from your lips," said the
Consul; "but I think we must retire now; the brilliant part of Biancona
is over, the last act offers nothing for her _rôle_, she hardly appears
again upon the stage, and our duties as hosts call us to our reception
evening. May I offer you a seat in our carriage, Herr Doctor? Your
critic's duty is also about at an end; and you, dear Almbach, will you
accompany us, or shall you remain to the last?"

The young man had also risen. "If you and your gracious lady will allow
it--the opera is new to me--I should like--"

"Very well then, remain without ceremony," interrupted the other in a
friendly manner, "but be punctual to-night. We count positively upon
your coming."

He gave his arm to his wife, to lead her away. Dr. Welding followed
them.

"How could you think," scoffed he, when in the corridor, "that your
young guest would move from the spot so long as Biancona had only one
more note to sing, or that he would be debarred from helping to form a
guard to her carriage with the rest of our gentlemen? The beautiful
eyes of the Signora have done much harm already--he has caught fire
worse than the others."

"We must hope not," said the lady, with a touch of concern in her
voice. "What would his father and mother-in-law, and, above all, his
young wife say?"

"Is Herr Almbach married already?" asked Welding, astonished.

"Two years since," replied the Consul. "He is nephew and son-in-law of
my business correspondents. The firm is Almbach and Co., not a very
important, but a most substantial, respectable house. Besides, you do
the young man injustice with your suspicions; at his age one is easily
carried away, particularly when, as here, one so seldom enjoys a
musical treat. Between ourselves, Almbach has rather middle-class
views, and keeps his son-in-law tightly by the head. He will take care
that any harm which those eyes could do, shall be kept far from his
house. I know him well enough on that point."

"All the better for him," said the Doctor, laconically, as he seated
himself by the married pair in the carriage, which took the direction
of the harbour, where the palaces of the rich business men were
situated.

An hour later, a numerous company was assembled in the merchant's
drawing-rooms. Consul Erlau was one of the richest, most influential
men in this wealthy commercial town, and even although this
circumstance was sufficient to ensure him an undisputed position, he
made it, in addition, a point of honour, to hear his house called the
most brilliant and hospitable in H----. His reception evenings gathered
together every notability which the town had to offer. There was never
a celebrity who did not appear several times, and even the star of the
present season--_prima donna_ Biancona, who was here with the temporary
Italian Opera Company, had accepted the invitation which she had
received, and appeared after the end of the performance. The young
actress, after her evening's triumph in the theatre, was of course the
centre of attraction for all the company. Besieged by the gentlemen
with every species of homage, overwhelmed with compliments from the
ladies, distinguished by the host and his wife with most flattering
attentions, she was unable to escape from the stream of admiration
which flowed towards her from all sides, and which, perhaps, was due as
much to her beauty as her genius.

Both were indeed united here. Even without her highly-worshipped
talent, Signora Biancona was not likely ever to be overlooked. She was
one of those women, who, wherever they appear, know how to attract,
and, oft to a dangerous degree, retain eye and senses; whose entrancing
charms do not lie only in their beauty, but far more in the singular,
almost witch-like magic, which certain natures exercise, without any
one being able to account for its cause.

It seemed as if a breath of the glowing South, full of colour, lay upon
this apparition, who, with her dark hair and complexion, her large,
deep, black eyes, out of which shone such an ardent, full life,
contrasted go strangely with these Northern surroundings. Her manner of
speaking and moving was, perhaps livelier, less constrained than the
rules of '_convenance_' demanded, but the fire of a Southern nature,
which broke forth with every emotion, had an entrancing grace. Her
light ethereal-looking costume was not at all conformed to the reigning
fashion, but it appeared to be especially invented to display the
advantages of her figure in the best light, and held its own
triumphantly amongst the more magnificent toilets of the ladies around
her.

The Italian was a being who seemed to stand above all the forms and
trammels of everyday life, and there was no one in the company who did
not willingly accord her this distinction.

Almbach, too, had found his way here after the close of the theatre,
but he was quite a stranger to the circle, and evidently remained so,
notwithstanding the well-meant attempts of the Consul to make him
acquainted with one or another of the guests. All fell through, partly
on account of the young man's almost moody silence, partly on account
of the gentlemen's manners to whom he was introduced, and who,
belonging almost entirely to the circles of the Exchange and Finance,
did not think it worth while to take much trouble about the
representative of a small firm. He was standing quite isolated at the
lower end of the room, looking apparently indifferently at the
brilliant crowd, but his eyes always turned to one point, which
to-night was the magnet for all the assembled gentlemen.

"Now, Herr Almbach, you make no attempt to approach the circle of the
sun of the drawing-room," said Dr. Welding, coming up to him, "shall I
introduce you there?"

A slight uncomfortable blush, at his secret wish having been divined,
covered the young man's face.

"The Signora is so occupied on all sides that I did not venture to
trouble her also."

Welding laughed, "Yes, the gentlemen all seem to follow your method of
criticism, and equally to admire genius unconditionally. Well, art has
the privilege of inspiring all with enthusiasm. Come, I will present
you to the Signora."

They crossed to the other side of the drawing-room where, the young
Italian was, but it really gave them some trouble to penetrate the
circle of admirers surrounding the honoured guest, and to approach her.

The Doctor undertook the introduction; he named his companion, who,
to-day, had for the first time the pleasure of admiring the Signora on
the stage, and then left him to set himself at ease in the "sun's
circle." This designation was not so badly chosen; there really was
something of the scorching glow of this planet, at its midday height,
in the glance which she now turned upon Almbach.

"Then you were also in the theatre this evening?" asked the Signora,
lightly.

"Yes, Signora."

Tie answer sounded curt and gloomy; no other word, none of those
compliments which the actress had heard so plentifully to-day, but the
look in the young man's eyes must have made up for his monosyllabic
reply. It is true that he only met Signora Biancona's for a moment, but
their lighting-up was seen and understood; it said much more than all
spoken flatteries.

The other gentlemen might receive no high opinion of the new arrival's
social talents; who did not even understand how to make a pretty speech
to a lady. They ignored him thoroughly. The conversation, in which the
Consul now took part, became more general; they spoke of music, of a
known composer and his new work, just now causing great sensation, as
to whose conception Signora Biancona and Dr. Welding had a difference
of opinion. The former was full of enthusiasm for it, while the latter
accorded it very little value. The Signora defended her opinion with
Southern vivacity and was supported therein by all the gentlemen, who
took her side from the commencement, while the Doctor persisted coolly
in his own. The battle grew more determined, until at last the Signora
became somewhat annoyed, and turned away from her opponent.

"I regret very much that our Conductor was prevented from accepting
to-day's invitation. He plays this composition perfectly, and I fear it
requires a performance to enable the company to judge which of us two
is right."

The guests were of the same opinion, and regretted the Conductor
exceedingly, none offered to replace him. The playing of this music did
not appear to keep pace with the very remarkable enthusiasm for it,
until Almbach came forward suddenly and said, "I am at your disposal,
Signora."

She turned quickly towards him and said with evident appreciation, "You
are musical, Signor?"

"If you and the rest of the company will bear with the attempt of an
'amateur,'" he made a gesture of enquiry to the master of the house,
and as the latter agreed eagerly, he went to the piano.

The composition under discussion, a modern show-piece in the fullest
sense of the word, owed its general popularity less to its real
worth--of which it had indeed very little--than to its great difficulty
of execution. Even the simple possibility of playing it at all,
required a masterly power over the instrument. People were accustomed
only to hear it performed by high-standing professionals, and therefore
looked half-astonished, half-contemptuously at the young man who
volunteered his services with so little concern. He had certainly
apologised for being an amateur, but still it was presumptuous to
attempt this in Consul Erlau's house, where the playing of so many
celebrities had been heard and admired.

The guests were so much the more astonished that Almbach showed himself
perfectly equal to all these difficulties, as, without even a note of
music before him, he overcame them by playing at once, with an ease and
certainty which would have done honour to a regular artist. At the same
time he understood to put such fire into his performance as carried
away even the older and more expectant hearers. The piece of music
under his hands seemed to acquire quite a different form; he gave it a
meaning, which no one, perhaps not even the composer himself, had
attached to it, and especially the finale, rendered in a somewhat
stormy _tempo_, brought him most plenteous applause from all sides.

"Bravo, bravissimo, Herr Almbach!" cried the Consul, who was the first
to come up, and who shook him heartily by the hand, "we must really be
grateful to the Signora and Doctor, whose musical dispute assisted us
to the discovery of such a talent. You modestly announce an attempt,
and give us a performance of which the most finished artist need not be
ashamed. You have helped our Signora to a brilliant victory; she is
right--unconditionally right, and the Doctor this time remains, with
his attack, decidedly in the minority."

The singer had also approached the piano.

"I, too, am grateful to you for having responded to my wish in so
knightly a manner," she said, smiling; now lowering her voice, "but
take care; I fear my critical enemy will still fight with you as to the
mode in which you proved my opinion. Was the playing, above all the
finale, quite correct?"

A treacherous gleam shot across the young man's countenance, but he
also smiled.

"It accorded with your views, and received your applause, Signora--that
is enough for me."

"We will speak of it later," whispered the Signora quickly, as now the
lady of the house drew near to pay some civilities to her young guest,
and the greater part of the company followed her example. A stream of
phrases and compliments swept over Almbach, his playing was charming;
his execution--where had he studied music? The less he had been noticed
before--the less he was known to them, the more he had astonished all
by suddenly coming forward, added to the young man's modesty, which
hardly permitted him to reply to all the questions addressed to him;
every one present felt himself involuntarily to be a sort of Mecænas,
and was prepared to give the young genius his complete protection. Was
it really modesty that closed Almbach's lips? Sometimes a species of
mockery flashed in his eyes, as again and again this exquisite
performance was extolled; and it was declared that this composition had
never been heard in perfection before. He seized the first opportunity
to escape from the attention paid him, and in this attempt was taken
possession of by Dr. Welding.

"Is it possible to reach you at last? You are regularly besieged with
compliments. Just one word, Herr Almbach; shall we go in here?"

He pointed to an adjoining room, into which both had scarcely entered,
before the Doctor continued in a somewhat sharp tone--

"Signora Biancona was right: that is, according to your performance. My
attack was directed against the composition as it exists in the
original. May I ask where you found this very peculiar arrangement of
it? Until this moment it was quite unknown to me."

"How do you mean, Herr Doctor?" asked the young man, coolly. "I only
know the piece of music in that form."

Welding looked him up and down, an expression of annoyance struggled
with one of undisguised interest in his face, as he replied--

"You appear to gauge the musical knowledge of your audience quite
correctly, if you venture to offer them such things. They hear the air,
and are contented; but sometimes there are exceptions. For instance, it
would interest me very much to know from whom certain variations
emanate, which utterly change the character of the whole; and as
regards the finale, entirely; was this daring improvisation, perhaps,
the attempt of an amateur also?"

Almbach raised his head somewhat defiantly, "And if it were, what
should you say to it?"

"That it was a great mistake of your people to make you a merchant."

"Herr Doctor, we are in a merchant's house."

"Certainly," answered Welding, calmly, "and I am the last to depreciate
that class, especially when, like our host, it begins with earnest,
ceaseless work, and ends in reposing on millions; but it does not suit
all. Above everything, it requires a clear, cool head, and yours does
not appear to me to be quite made to devote itself to the grasping
debit and credit. Excuse me, Herr Almbach! that is only my candid
opinion; besides, I do not blame you at all for your daring. What would
one not do to make a beautiful woman's obstinacy appear right! In this
case, the man[oe]uvre was even _most agreeable_, any other person with
the best will could not have carried it out; I congratulate you upon
it."

He made a half-ironical bow, and left the room; it adjoined the
drawing-room, but the half-closed _portières_ divided it from the
former; quite lonely and dimly-lighted, it offered a momentary solitude
to whomsoever desired it. The young man had thrown himself upon a seat,
and gazed dreamily before him. Of what he was thinking, perhaps he did
not dare to confess to himself, and yet it was betrayed by his starting
up at the sound of a voice, which said in a tone of slight
astonishment--

"Ah, Signor Almbach, you here!"

It was Signora Biancona; whether, on entering, she had really not
perceived who was already there, could not be decided, as she continued
with perfect ease--

"I was seeking relief for a moment from the heat and whirl of the
drawing-room. You, too, have soon withdrawn from the company after your
triumph."

Almbach had risen, quickly. "If it is a question of triumph, there is
certainly no doubt who gained it to-day. My improvised performance
cannot be compared, in ever so slight a degree, with that which you
offered to the public."

The Signora smiled. "I only produced sounds, like you, but I confess,
candidly, it has surprised me, never, until to-night, and here, to meet
an artist who surely long since--"

"Excuse me, Signora," interrupted the young man, coldly, "I have
already declared in the drawing-room that I only lay claim to being a
_dilettante_. I belong to the commercial world."

The same look of astonishment which he had seen on Welding's
countenance in the theatre, was turned towards Almbach's face for the
second time.

"Impossible! you are joking."

"Why impossible, Signora? Because I could play a difficult _bravura_
piece with facility?"

"Because you could play it so, and because--" she looked at him fixedly
for a moment, and then added, with great decision--"because your face
bears the stamp one always imagines genius must carry on its brow."

"You see how deceptive appearances sometimes are."

Signora Biancona did not seem to agree with this; she sat down on the
couch, her pale-coloured dress lay airily and lightly, as a cloud, on
the dark velvet.

"I admire you," she began again, "that you are able, with such artistic
qualities, to devote yourself to an every-day calling. It would be
impossible for me; I have grown up in a world of sounds and tones, and
cannot understand how there is room in it for any other duties."

This time there lay an undisguised bitterness in the young man's voice
as he answered----"Also, your home is Italy; mine, a North-German
business town! In our every-day life, poetry is a rare, fleeting guest,
to whom a place is often refused. Work, striving after gain, stands
ever in the foreground."

"With you, also, Signor?"

"It should, at least, stand there; that it is not always the case, my
musical attempt will have shown you."

The singer shook her head doubtfully. "Your attempt! I should like to
become acquainted with your finished work. But surely it cannot be your
intention to withdraw this talent entirely from the public, and only
exercise it in your home circle?"

"In my home circle!" repeated Almbach, with singular emphasis, "I do
not touch a note there--least of all in my wife's presence."

"You are married already?" asked the Italian quickly, as a momentary
pallor spread over her face.

"Yes, Signora."

This "yes," sounded dull and cold, and the half-mocking expression
which played for a moment on the singer's lips, as she looked at the
man of barely four-and-twenty years, disappeared at this tone.

"People marry very young in Germany, it appears," she remarked,
quietly.

"Sometimes."

The young Italian seemed to find the pause which followed these words
somewhat painful; she changed rapidly to another topic--

"I fear you have already been subjected to the examination of which I
warned you. All the same, the company was charmed with your
performance."

"Perhaps!" said the young man, half-contemptuously, "and yet it
certainly was not intended for the company."

"Not! and for whom, then?" asked Signora Biancona, directing her glance
firmly towards him. And he looked at her; there seemed to be something
alike in both pairs of eyes which now met one another--both large,
dark, and mysterious. In Almbach's glance, too, shone the same light as
in the actress'; here also burned an ardent, passionate soul; also
here, in the depths, slumbered the demonlike spark which is so often
the heritage of genial natures, and becomes their curse when no
protecting hand restrains it, and when it is fanned into flame, then no
more brings light, but only destruction.

He came a step nearer and lowered his voice; its great excitement,
however, still betrayed itself.

"Only for her, who, for me and for us all, a few hours since, embodied
the highest beauty and the highest poetry, borne by the notes of an
undying master-work. You have been worshipped a thousand-fold to-day,
Signora. All that enthusiasm could offer was laid at your feet. The
stranger, the unknown, also wished to tell you how much he admired you,
and he did it in the language which alone is worthy of you. It is not
quite strange to me either."

In his admiration there lay something that raised it above all
flattery, the tone of real true enthusiasm, and Signora Biancona was
actress enough to recognise this tone, woman enough to suspect what was
hidden beneath it; she smiled with enchanting grace.

"I have seen, indeed, how very fluent you are in this language. Shall I
not often hear it from you?"

"Hardly," said the young man, gloomily. "You return, as I hear, to
Italy shortly, I--remain here in the North. Who knows if we shall ever
meet again."

"Our manager intends to remain here until May," interrupted the
Signora, quickly. "So our meeting to-day will surely not be our last?
Certainly not--I count positively on seeing you again."

"Signora!" This passionate outbreak of Almbach's lasted only for a
second. Suddenly a recollection or warning seemed to shoot through him;
he drew back and bowed low and distantly.

"I fear it must be the last--farewell, Signora."

He was gone before it was possible for the singer to utter one word
regarding this strange adieu, and he seemed to be in earnest about it,
as not once during the whole evening did he approach the dangerous
"circle of the sun."




                              CHAPTER II.


"That is too bad. This mania really begins to surpass all limits. I
must forbid Reinhold all cultivation of music if he continues to pursue
it in so senseless a manner."

With these words, the merchant Almbach opened a family council, which
took place in the parlour, in his wife's and daughter's presence, and
at which, fortunately, the special object of the same did not assist.

Herr Almbach, a man about fifty, whose quiet, measured, almost pedantic
manner, generally served as a pattern for all the office people,
appeared to have quite lost his equilibrium to-day, by the above-named
mania, as he continued, in great excitement--

"The bookkeeper came home this morning about four o'clock from the
jubilee, which I had left directly after midnight. From the bridge he
sees the garden house lighted up, and hears Reinhold raving over the
notes, and lost to all sense of sight and hearing. Of course he could
not accompany me to the feast! he declared himself to be ill; but his
'unbearable headache' did not hinder him from maltreating the piano in
the icy-cold garden-room until morning's dawn. I shall be hearing again
from my partners that my son-in-law has been doing his utmost in
uselessness as well as in carelessness. It is hardly credible! The
youngest clerk understands the books better, and has more interest in
the business, than the partner and future head of the house of 'Almbach
& Co.' My whole life long have I worked and toiled to make my firm
secure and respected, and now I have the prospect of leaving it, at
last, in such hands."

"I always told you that you should have forbidden his associating with
the Music-Director, Wilkins," interrupted Frau Almbach, "he is to blame
for it all; no one could get on with that misanthropical, musical fool.
Everyone hated and avoided him, but with Reinhold that was all the more
reason to form the most intimate friendship with him. Day after day he
was there, and there alone was laid the foundation of all this musical
nonsense, which his master seems to have bequeathed to him at his
death. It is hardly bearable since he had the old man's legacy--the
piano--in the house. Ella, what do you say, then, to this behaviour of
your husband?"

The young wife, to whom the last words were addressed, had so far not
spoken a syllable. She sat in the window, her head bent over her
sewing, and only looked up as this direct question was addressed to
her.

"I, dear mother?"

"Yes, you, my child, as the affair affects you most. Or do you really
not feel the irresponsible manner in which Reinhold neglects you and
your child?"

"He is so fond of music," said Ella, softly.

"Do you excuse him also?" said her mother, excitedly. "That is just the
misfortune, he cares for it more than for wife or child; he never asks
for either of you if he can only sit at his piano and improvise. Have
you no idea of what a wife can and must demand from her husband, and
that, above all, it is her duty to bring him to reason? But to be sure,
nothing is ever to be expected of you."

The young wife certainly did not look as if much were to be expected of
her. She had little that was attractive in her appearance, and the one
thing about her that could perhaps be called pretty, the delicate,
still girlishly slender figure, was entirely hidden under a most
unbecoming house dress, which in its boundless plainness was more
suggestive of a servant than of the daughter of the house, and was made
so as to disguise any possible advantages which there might be. Only a
narrow strip of the fair hair, which lay smoothly parted on her brow,
was visible, the rest disappeared entirely under a cap more suited to
her mother's years, and offering a peculiar contrast to the face of the
barely twenty-years-old wife. This pale face with its downcast eyes,
was not adapted to arouse any interest; it had no expression, there lay
in it something stolid, vacant, that nearly approached to stupidity,
and at this moment, when she let her sewing drop and looked at her
mother, it betrayed such helpless nervousness and senselessness, that
Almbach felt obliged to come to his daughter's assistance.

"Leave Ella alone!" said he in that half-angry, half-compassionate tone
with which one rejects the interference of a child, "you know nothing
is to be done with her, and what could she effect here?"

He shrugged his shoulders and continued bitterly; "That is the reward
for the sacrifice of adopting my brother's orphan children! Hugo throws
all gratitude, all reason and education in my face, and runs away
secretly; and Reinhold, who has grown up in my house, under my eyes,
causes me the greatest anxiety, with his good-for-nothing hankering
after all fancies. But with him, at all events, I have kept the reins
in my hand, and I shall draw them so tightly now, that he shall lose
all inclination to chafe against them any more."

"Yes, Hugo's ingratitude was really outrageous!" Frau Almbach joined
in. "To fly from our house at night, in a fog, and go to sea, 'to try
his luck alone in the world,' as he said in the impudent letter of
farewell which he left behind him! Two years since there actually came
a letter to Reinhold from the Captain; and the former hinted only
lately, quite openly, about his probable return. I fear he knows
something positive about it."

"Hugo shall not cross my threshold," declared the merchant, with a
solemn motion of his hand. "I know nothing of this interchange of
letters with Reinhold, and will know nothing. Let them correspond
behind my back, but if the unadvised youth should have the audacity to
appear before me, he will learn what the anger of an offended uncle and
guardian is."

While the parents prepared to discuss this apparently often-treated
theme, with the wonted details and ire, Ella had left the room
unnoticed and now descended the staircase leading to the office,
situated on the ground floor. The young wife knew that now, at midday,
all the people would be absent, and this probably lent her courage to
enter.

It was a large gloomy room; whose bare walls and barred windows caused
it somewhat to resemble a prison. No trouble had been taken to impart
any comfort or even a pleasant appearance to the office. And what for?
What belonged to work was there; the rest was luxury, and luxury was a
thing that the house of Almbach and Co., notwithstanding its
notoriously not inconsiderable wealth, did not allow itself.

At present no one was to be found in the room, excepting the young man,
who sat at a desk with a big ledger open before him. He looked pale and
as if he had been up late; his eyes, which should have been busy with
figures, were fixed on the narrow strip of the sun's rays which fell
slantingly across the room. In his gaze was something of the longing
and bitterness of a prisoner, to whom the sunshine, penetrating into
his cell, brings news of life and freedom from without. He hardly
turned his head at the opening of the door, and asked indifferently--

"What is it? What do you want, Ella?"

Every other wife at the second question would have gone to her husband
and put her arm round his shoulder. Ella remained standing close to the
doorway. It sounded far too icily cold, this "What do you want?" she
evidently was not welcome.

"I wished to ask how your headache is?" she began, shyly.

"My headache?" Reinhold recollected himself suddenly. "Ah, yes, I think
it has gone."

The young wife closed the door and came a step or two nearer.

"My parents are very furious again, that you were not at the feast
yesterday, and were playing, instead, the whole night long," she told
him hesitatingly.

Reinhold knitted his brows. "Who told them? you perhaps?"

"I?" her voice sounded half like a reproach. "The bookkeeper saw the
garden house lighted up, and heard you playing as he returned this
morning."

An expression of contemptuous scorn played around the young man's lips,
"Ah! I certainly had not thought of that. I did not believe that those
gentlemen, after their jubilee, would have time or inclination left for
observations. To be sure for spying they are always ready enough."

"My father thinks--" began Ella, again.

"What does he think?" shouted Reinhold. "Is it not enough for him that
from morning to evening I am bound to this office; does he even grudge
me the refreshment I seek at night in music? I thought that I and my
piano had been banished far enough; that the garden house lay so
distant and so isolated, that I could run no risk of disturbing the
sleep of the righteous in the house. Fortunately no one can hear a
sound."

"Not so," said the young wife, softly, "I hear every note when all is
still around, and I alone lie awake."

Reinhold turned round and looked at his wife. She stood with downcast
eyes and thoroughly expressionless face before him. His glance swept
slowly down her figure as though he were unconsciously drawing some
comparison, and the bitterness in his features became more plainly
displayed.

"I am sorry for it," he replied coldly, "but I cannot help your windows
looking into the garden. Close your shutters in future, then it is to
be hoped that my musical extravagances will not disturb your sleep any
more."

He turned over the pages of his book, and appeared to lose himself
again in his calculations. Ella waited about a minute longer, but as
she saw that not the least notice was taken of her presence, she went
away as noiselessly as she came.

She had hardly left before Reinhold flung the ledger from him
with a passionate movement. His glance, which fell upon the
contemptuously-treated object, and was cast around the office, showed
the most bitter hatred; then he laid his head on both arms and closed
his eyes, as if he wished to see and hear no more of the whole
surroundings.

"God greet you, Reinhold!" said a strange voice suddenly, quite close
to him.

He started up, and looked bewildered and inquiringly at the stranger in
sailor's clothes, who had entered unnoticed and now stood before him.
Suddenly, however, a recollection seemed to shoot through him, as with
a cry of joy, he threw himself on the new-comer's breast.

"Is it possible, Hugo!--you here already?"

Two powerful arms embraced him firmly, and a pair of warm lips were
pressed again and again upon his.

"Do you really know me still? I should have picked you out from amongst
hundreds. Certainly you do look rather different from the little
Reinhold I left behind here. Well, with me I suppose it is not much
better."

The first words still sounded full of deep emotion; but the latter
already bore a somewhat merrier tone. Reinhold's arm still lay fondly
round his brother's neck.

"And you come so suddenly, so completely unannounced? I only expected
you in a few weeks' time."

"We have had an unusually quick voyage," said the young captain,
cheerfully, "and once I was in the harbour, I could not stay a minute
longer on board, I must come to you. Thank God, I found you alone! I
was afraid I should have to pass the purgatorial fire of domestic anger
and to fight my way through the united relatives in order to reach
you."

Reinhold's face, still beaming with the pleasure of meeting again,
became overcast at this recollection, and his arm fell slowly down.

"No one has seen you surely?" he asked, "you know how my uncle feels
towards you, since--"

"Since I withdrew myself from his _all-wise_ rule, which wished to
screw me absolutely to the office table, and ran away?" interrupted
Hugo. "Yes, I know; and I should have liked to look on at the row that
broke loose in the house when they discovered I had fled. But the story
is nearly ten years old. The 'good-for-nothing' is not dead and ruined,
as the family have, no doubt, prophecied hundreds of times, and wished
oftener; he returns as a most respected captain of a most splendid
ship, with all possible recommendations to your principal houses of
business. Should these mercantile and maritime advantages not at last
soften the heart of the angry house of Almbach and Co.?"

Reinhold suppressed a sigh, "Do not joke, Hugo! you do not know my
uncle--do not know the life in his house."

"No, I went away at the night time," asserted the Captain, "and that
was most sensible; you should do the same."

"What are you thinking about? My wife--my child?"

"Ah yes!" said Hugo, somewhat confused. "I always forget you are
married. Poor boy! they chained you fast by times. Such a betrothal
altar is the safest bolt to thrust before all possible longing for
freedom. There, do not fly out at once! I am quite willing to believe
they did not regularly force you to say 'yes.' But how you came to do
it, my uncle will probably have to answer for; and the melancholy
attitude in which I found you, does not say much for the happiness of a
young husband. Let me look into your eyes, that I may see how it really
is."

He seized him unceremoniously by his arm, and drew him towards the
window. Here in broad daylight, one could see, for the first time, how
very unlike the brothers were, notwithstanding an undeniable
resemblance in their features. The Captain, the elder of the two, was
strongly, and yet gracefully built, his handsome, open countenance was
browned by sun and air; his hair curled lightly, and his brown eyes
sparkled with love of life and courage; his carriage was easy and
firm, like that of a man accustomed to move in the most varied
surroundings and circumstances, and his whole bearing had a species of
self-confidence which broke forth at every opportunity, with, at the
same time, such a fresh, open kindliness, that it was difficult to
resist him.

Reinhold, his junior by a few years, made a totally different
impression. He was slighter, paler than his brother; his hair and eyes
were darker, and the latter had a serious, even gloomy expression. But
there lay on this brow, and in those eyes, something which attracted
all the more, as they did not disclose all which lay behind them. Hugo
was, perhaps, the handsomer of the two, and yet a comparison was sure
to be drawn unconditionally in favour of the younger brother, who
possessed, in the highest degree, that rare and dangerous charm of
being interesting, to which, often the most perfect beauty must give
way.

The young man made a hasty attempt to withdraw from the threatened
inspection. "You cannot remain here," he said, decidedly, "uncle may
enter at any moment, and then there would be a terrible scene. I will
take you to the garden house for the present, which I have had fitted
up for my sole use. You will hardly dare to appear before the family,
and your arrival must be known. I will tell them."

"And bear all the storm alone?" interrupted the Captain. "I beg your
pardon, but that is my affair! I am going up at once to my uncle and
aunt, and shall introduce myself as their obedient nephew!"

"But Hugo! are you out of your senses? You have no idea of the state of
affairs here."

"Exactly! The strongest fortresses are taken by surprise, and I have
long looked forward to one day entering like a bomb amongst the stormy
relations, and to seeing what sort of a grimace they would make. But
one thing more. Reinhold, you must give me your promise to remain
quietly below until I return. You shall not be placed in the painful
position of witnessing how the weight of the family wrath is poured
upon my erring head. You might wish to catch some of it out of
brotherly self-sacrifice, and that would disturb all my plans of
campaign. Jonas, come in!"

He opened the door and admitted a man, who, until now, had waited
outside in the passage. "That is my brother. Look well at him! You have
to report yourself to him, and pay him your respects. Once more,
Reinhold, promise me not to enter the family parlour for the next
half-hour. I shall bring all to order up there by myself, if I have
even to take the whole barrack by storm."

He was out of the door before his brother could make any remonstrance.
Still half-bewildered by the rapid changes of the last ten minutes, he
looked at the broad, square figure of the new arrival, who set a
good-sized portmanteau down on the floor, and planted himself close
beside it.

"Seaman Wilhelm Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' now in the service of Herr
Captain Almbach!" reported he, systematically, and attempted a movement
at the same time, probably intended to be a bow, but which did not bear
the least similarity to the desired courtesy.

"All right," said Reinhold, abruptly, "you can leave the luggage here
at present! I must first hear how long my brother proposes remaining."

"We are to stay here a few days with his uncle," assured Jonas, very
quietly.

"Oh! is that decided already?"

"Quite positively."

"I do not understand Hugo," murmured Reinhold. "He appears to have no
idea of what is before him, and yet my letters must have prepared him
for it. I cannot possibly let him bear the storm alone."

He made a movement towards the door, but this was quite blocked up by
the sailor's broad figure, who, even at the young man's displeased
glance of enquiry, did not move from his position.

"The Captain said that he would bring all to order up yonder by
himself," he explained laconically, "so he will do it. He succeeds in
everything."

"Really?" asked Reinhold, somewhat struck by the insuperable confidence
of the words, "You seem to know my brother well."

"Very well."

Hesitating whether he should accede to Hugo's wish, Reinhold went to
the window which looked into the court, and became aware of three or
four faces, expressive of boundless curiosity, belonging to the
servants, who were trying to obtain a peep into the office. The young
man allowed a sound of suppressed annoyance to escape him, and turned
again to the sailor.

"My brother's arrival seems to be known in the house already, said he
hastily. Strangers are not such a rarity in the office, and the
curiosity is evidently directed to you."

"It does not matter," muttered Jonas, "even if the whole nest becomes
rebellious and stares at us. That sort of thing is nothing new. The
savages in the South Sea Islands do just the same when our 'Ellida'
lies-to."

The question may remain undecided, as to whether the comparison just
drawn was exactly flattering to the inhabitants of the house.
Fortunately no one but Reinhold heard it, and he considered it
necessary to remove the object of this curiosity. He desired him to
enter the adjoining room and wait there; he himself remained behind and
listened uneasily if quarrelling voices were to be heard, but to be
sure the family parlour lay in the upper story and at the other side of
the house. The young man debated with himself as to whether he should
remain true to the half-promise which he had made to Hugo, and leave
him to manage alone, or if he should not, at least, attempt to cover
the unavoidable retreat, as, that such lay before Hugo, he believed to
be certain. He had too often heard the condemning verdict accorded to
his brother by the family, not to dread a scene, in which even the
former would be unable to hold his own, but he also knew his own
position towards his uncle too well, not to say to himself that his
interference would merely make matters worse.

More than half-an-hour had passed in this painful anxiety, when at last
steps were heard and the Captain entered.

"Here I am, the affair is settled."

"What is settled?" asked Reinhold, hastily.

"Well, the pardon of course. As much-beloved nephew, I have this moment
lain alternately in the arms of my uncle and aunt. Come upstairs with
me, Reinhold! you are missing in the reconciliation _tableau_, but you
must be prepared for endless emotion; they are all crying together."

His brother looked at him doubtfully. "I do not know, Hugo, if this be
meant for fun, or--"

The young Captain laughed mischievously. "You seem to have little
confidence in my diplomatic talents. But all the same, do not think
that the affair was easily settled. I was certainly prepared for a
storm. But here raged a regular tornado--bah, we sailors are accustomed
to such things--and when at last I could obtain speech, which
certainly was not for some time, the victory was already decided. I
represented the return of the lost son with a masterly hand; I called
heaven and earth as witnesses of my reformation. I ventured upon
falling at their feet--that took, at least with my aunt--I now made
sure of the hesitating female flank, in order to storm the centre in
conjunction with it, and the victory was brilliant. Forgiveness in due
form--general emotion and embraces--group of reconciliation--my Heaven,
do not look so incredulous. I assure you I am speaking in all
seriousness."

Reinhold shook his head, yet unconsciously he drew a breath of relief.
"Comprehend it, who can! I should have thought it impossible! Have
you"--the question sounded peculiarly uncertain--"have you seen my
wife?"

"To be sure," said Hugo, slyly. "That is to say, I have certainly not
seen much of her, and heard even less, as she remained quite passive
during the scene, and did not even cry like the rest. The same little
cousin Eleonore still, who always sat so quietly and shyly in her
corner, out of which even our wildest boyish teasings did not drive
her--and she has become your wife! But now, above all, I must admire
the representative of the house of Almbach! Where is he?"

Reinhold looked up, and for a moment a bright gleam drove all the
gloominess away from his face. "My boy? I will show him to you. Come,
we will go up to him."

"Thank God, at last a sign of happiness in your face," said the
Captain, with a seriousness of which one would hardly have deemed his
merry nature capable, and he added in a lowered voice, "I have sought
for it in vain so far."

                           *   *   *   *   *

The firm of Almbach and Co. belonged to that class whose names on the
Exchange, as well as in the commercial world generally, were of some
position, without being of conspicuous importance. The relations
between its head and Consul Erlau were not only of a business nature;
they dated from earlier times, when both, equally young and meanless,
were apprenticed in the same office, the one to raise himself until he
became a rich merchant, whose ships sailed on every ocean and whose
connections extended to every quarter of the globe--the other to found
a modest business, which never reached beyond certain bounds. Almbach
avoided all more daring speculations, all greater undertakings, which
he was by no means the man to superintend or guide; he preferred a
moderate, but steady gain, which also fell to his share to the fullest
extent. His social position was certainly as different from that of
Consul Erlau as was his old-fashioned gloomy house in Canal Street,
with its high gables and barred office windows, from the princely
furnished palace at the Harbour. The friendship between the former
youthful companions had gradually diminished, but it was certainly
Almbach who was principally to blame for it. He could not be reconciled
to the Consul after the latter had become a millionaire, living in the
style suited to that position. Perhaps he could not forgive him for
occupying the first place, while he himself only stood in the third or
fourth rank, and well as he knew how to utilise the advantages which
the intimate acquaintance with the great firm of Erlau opened to him,
yet he held, all the more, to his strictly middle-class, and somewhat
old-frankish household, and kept aloof from all communication with that
of the Consul. The latter's invitations had ceased when he saw that
they were never accepted; for years the mutual meetings had been
restricted to those occasional ones on Exchange or some chance place,
and lately Almbach had even, when any business matters required a
personal interview, let his son-in-law represent him. It was decidedly
disagreeable to him, that on this occasion the young man had received
the invitation to the opera and the succeeding evening party, and
impossible as it was to refuse this civility, the merchant did not
attempt to disguise from his family his dissatisfaction at Reinhold's
introduction into the "nabob's life," the designation with which he
usually honoured his old friend's household.

Notwithstanding all this, Almbach was a well-to-do, even, as was
maintained by many, a very rich man, and on this account the centre and
support of numerous relations not blessed with over-much fortune. In
this manner the care of his two orphaned nephews, whom their father, a
ship's captain, had left quite without resources, fell to his charge.
Almbach had only one child, to whose existence he had never attached
very much importance, as she was a girl. The Consul and his wife were
the little one's god-parents, and it might always be considered as an
act of self-conquest, that Almbach gave his daughter Frau Erlau's name,
as he particularly hated the aristocratic, romantic-sounding "Eleonore"
and soon changed it for the much simpler "Ella." This designation was
also more suitable, as Ella Almbach was considered by every one to be,
not only a simple, but even a very contracted-minded being, whose
horizon never was extended beyond the trifling domestic events of
housekeeping. The child had formerly been very sickly, and this may
have had a crippling effect upon the development of her mental
faculties. They were indeed of a very inferior order, and the very
prejudiced, strictly domestic education in her father's house,
excluding every other circle of ideas and thought, did not appear
adapted to give them a higher direction. Thus, then, the girl had
grown up quiet and shy, always overlooked, everywhere set aside, and
without the least value, even amongst her nearest relations. They
were wont to consider her quite incapable of self-dependence, even
half-irresponsible, and her eventual marriage did not change things at
all.

Neither of the young people raised any objection to the long-cherished,
and to them long-known, plan of a union. A girl of seventeen and a man
of twenty-two have certainly not much self-decision, least of all when
they have grown up under such repressed circumstances. Besides, in this
case, there was also the habit of always living together, which had
created a sort of liking, although in Reinhold it was really only
pitying tolerance, and in Ella secret fear of her mentally superior
cousin. They gave their hands obediently at the betrothal, which was
followed, after a year's reprieve, by the wedding. Almbach's sceptre
swayed over both as much after as before it, he allowed his new
son-in-law, who, as far as the name went, was literally his partner, as
little independence in the business as his wife did the young mistress
in the household.




                              CHAPTER III.


It was Sunday morning. The office was closed, and Reinhold at last had
a free morning before him, which certainly was seldom his good fortune.
He was in the garden house, to the entire and special possession of
which he had at last attained, to be sure only after many struggles and
by repeated reference to his musical studies, which were considered
highly disturbing in the house. It was here alone that the young man
was in any degree safe from the constant control of his parents-in-law,
which extended even into the young couple's dwelling, and he seized
every free moment to take refuge in his asylum.

The so-called "garden" was of the only description possible in an old,
narrowly-built, densely populated town. On all sides high walls and
gables enclosed the small piece of ground, to which air and sunshine
were sparingly given, and where a few trees and shrubs enjoyed but a
miserable existence. The garden's boundary was one of those small
canals, which traversed the town in all directions, and whose quick,
dark stream formed a very melancholy background; beyond this, again,
walls and gables were to be seen; the same prison-like appearance,
which clung to Almbach's whole house seemed to reign over the only free
space belonging to it.

The garden house itself was not much more cheerful--the single large
room was furnished with more than simplicity. Evidently the few
old-fashioned pieces of furniture had been set aside from some other
place as superfluous, and been sought out in order to fit up the room
with what was absolutely necessary. Only in the window, round which
climbed some stunted vines, stood a large, handsome piano, the legacy
of the late Music Director, Wilkens, to his pupil, and its magnificent
appearance contrasted as singularly and strangely with the room as did
the figure of the young man, with his ideal brow and large flashing
eyes, behind the barred office windows of the dwelling-house.

Reinhold was sitting writing at the table, but to-day his face did not
wear the tired, listless expression, which rested upon it whenever he
had the figures of the account books before him; his cheeks were
darkly, almost feverishly red, and as he wrote a name rapidly on the
envelope, lying on the table, his hands trembled as if with suppressed
excitement. Steps were heard outside, and the glass door was opened;
with a quick gesture of annoyance the young man pushed the envelope
under the sheets of music lying on the table, and turned round.

It was Jonas, servant of the Captain, who for a few days only had
accepted the hospitality offered by his relations, and then had
migrated to a dwelling of his own. The sailor saluted and entered in
his peculiarly rough and somewhat uncouth manner, and then laid some
books on the table.

"The Herr Captain's compliments, and he sends the promised books from
his travelling library."

"Is my brother not coming himself?" asked Reinhold astonished. "He
promised surely."

"The Captain has been here some time," replied Jonas, "but they have
got hold of him in the house; your uncle wished to have a conference
with him on family affairs; your aunt requires his help to make some
alteration in the guest room, and the bookkeeper wants to catch him for
his society. All are fighting for him; he cannot tear himself away."

"Hugo appears to have conquered the whole house in the course of a
single week," remarked Reinhold ironically.

"We do that everywhere," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness, and
appeared inclined to add more about those conquests, when he was
interrupted by his master's entrance, who greeted his brother in the
most cheerful humour.

"Good morning, Reinhold! Now Jonas, what are you staying here for? You
are wanted in the house. I promised my aunt that you should help at the
dinner to-day. Go at once to the kitchen!"

"Amongst the women!"

"Heaven knows," said Hugo, turning laughingly to his brother, "where
this man has learned his hatred for women. Certainly not from me; I
admire the lovely sex uncommonly."

"Yes, unfortunately, quite uncommonly," muttered Jonas, but he turned
away obediently and marched out of the room, while the Captain came
quite close to Reinhold.

"To-day there is a large family dinner!" he began, imitating his Uncle
Almbach's pedantic, solemn voice so well as almost to deceive any one.
"In my honour of course! I hope you will pay proper respect to this
important ceremony, and that you will not again behave in such a
manner, that I can at the utmost use you as a butt for my too developed
amiability."

Reinhold knitted his brows slightly--

"I beg you, Hugo, do be sensible for once! How long do you intend to
continue this comedy, and amuse yourself at the expense of the whole
house? Take care, lest they find out what your amiability consists of,
and that you are really only ridiculing them all."

"That would indeed be bad," said Hugo, quietly, "but they will not find
me out, depend upon that."

"Then do me the kindness, at least, of ceasing your horrid Indian
tales! You really go too far with them. Uncle was debating with the
bookkeeper yesterday about the battle with the monster serpent, which
you served up for them lately, and which, even to him, appeared unheard
of. I became extremely confused in listening to them."

"It put you to confusion?" mocked the Captain. "If I had been there, I
should immediately have given them the benefit of an elephant hunt, a
tiger story, and a few attacks of savages, with such appalling effects,
that the affair of the giant snake would have appeared highly probable
to them. Be easy! I know my hearers; the whole house oppresses me
almost, with its acts of sympathy."

"Excepting Ella," suggested Reinhold, "it is certainly remarkable that
her shyness towards you is quite invincible."

"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Hugo with an offended air. "I cannot
allow any one in the house to exist who is not entirely persuaded of my
perfections, and have already set myself the task of presenting myself
to my sister-in-law in all my utterly irresistible charms. I do not
doubt at all that she will thereupon immediately join the majority--you
are not jealous, I hope."

"Jealous?--I? and on Ella's account?" The young man shrugged his
shoulders half-pityingly, half-contemptuously.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Well, there is no danger! I have sought an interview with her already,
but she was entirely occupied with the young one. Tell me, Reinhold,
where does the child get those wonderful, blue, fairy-tale-like eyes
from? Yours are not so, besides there is not the least resemblance,
and, excepting his, I do not know any in the family."

"I believe Ella's eyes are blue," interrupted his brother
indifferently.

"You believe only? Have you never convinced yourself then? Certainly it
may be somewhat difficult; she never raises them, and, under that
monstrous cap, nothing can be seen of her face. Reinhold, for Heaven's
sake, how can you allow your wife such an antediluvian costume? I
assure you, for me that cap would be grounds sufficient for a divorce."

Reinhold had seated himself at the piano, and let his hands glide
mechanically over the notes, while he answered with perfect
indifference--

"I never trouble myself about Ella's toilet, and I believe it would be
useless to try and enforce any alterations there. What does it matter
to me?"

"What it matters to you how your wife looks?" repeated the Captain, as
he seized some sheets of music on the table, and turned them over
lightly, "a charming question from a young husband! You used to have a
sense of beauty, too easily aroused, and I could almost fear--what is
this then? 'Signora Beatrice Biancona on it.' Have you Italian
correspondents in the town?"

Reinhold sprang up, confusion and annoyance struggled in his face, as
he saw the letter, which he had pushed under the music, in his
brother's hands, who repeated the address unconcernedly.

"Beatrice Biancona? That is the _prima donna_ of the Italian Opera, who
has made such a wonderful sensation here? Do you know the lady?"

"Slightly," said Reinhold, taking the letter quickly from his hands. "I
was introduced to her lately at Consul Erlau's."

"And you correspond with her already?"

"Certainly not! The letter does not contain one single line."

Hugo laughed aloud, "An envelope fully addressed, a very voluminous
sheet of paper inside it, with not a single line! Dear Reinhold, that
is more wonderful than my story of the giant snake. Do you expect me
really to believe it? There, do not look so savage, I do not intend to
force myself into your secrets."

Instead of answering, the young man drew the paper out of the unsealed
envelope, and held it to his brother, who looked at it in astonishment.

"What does it mean? Only a song--notes and words--no word of
explanation with it--just your name below. Have you composed it?"

Reinhold took the paper again, closed the letter and put it in his
pocket.

"It is an attempt, nothing more. She is _artiste_ enough to judge of
it. She can accept or reject it."

"Then you compose also?" asked the Captain, whose face had become
serious all at once. "I did not think that your passionate liking for
music went so far as creating it yourself. Poor Reinhold, how can you
bear this life, with all its narrow, confined ways, wishing to stifle
every spark of poetry as being unnecessary or dangerous? I could not do
it."

Reinhold had thrown himself upon the seat before the piano again.

"Do not ask me how I endure it," he replied, with suppressed feeling.
"It is enough _that_ I do it."

"I guessed long since that your letters were not open," continued Hugo;
"that behind all the contentment with which you tried to deceive me,
something quite different was concealed. The truth has become plain to
me, during one week in this house, notwithstanding that you gave
yourself all conceivable trouble to hide it from me."

The young man gazed gloomily before him. "Why should I worry you, when
far away, with anxieties about me? You had enough to do to take care of
yourself, and there was a time, too, when I was contented, or at least
believed myself so, because my whole mental being lay, as it were,
under a spell, when I allowed everything to pass over me in stupid
indifference, and I offered my hand willingly for the chain. I have
done it; well, yes! But I must carry it my whole life long!"

Hugo had gone towards him, and laid his hand upon his brother's
shoulder.

"You mean your marriage with Ella? At the first news of it, I knew it
must be my uncle's work."

A bitter smile played round the young man's lips as he answered
scornfully--

"He was always a splendid master of calculation, and he has shown it
again in this case. The poor relation, taken up out of kindness and
charity, must consider it happiness that he is raised to be son and
heir of the house, and the daughter must be married some time; so it
was a case of securing, by means of her hand, a successor for the firm,
who bore the same name. It was neither Ella's nor my fault that we were
bound together. We were both young, without wills, without knowledge of
life or of ourselves. She will always remain so--well for her. It has
not been so fortunate for me."

One would hardly have credited those merry brown eyes with the power of
looking so serious as at this moment, when he bent down to his brother.

"Reinhold," said he, in an undertone, "on the night when I fled to
save myself from a caprice, which would have ruined my freedom and
future, I had planned and foreseen everything, excepting one, the most
difficult--the moment when I should stand by your bed to bid you
farewell. You slept quietly, and did not dream of the separation; but
I--when I saw your pale face on the pillow, and said to myself that for
years, perhaps never again, should I see it, all longing for freedom
could not resist it--I struggled hard with the temptation to awake and
take you with me. Later, when I experienced the thorny path of the
adventurous homeless boy, with all its dangers and privations, I often
thanked God that I had withstood the temptation; I knew you were safe
and sound in our relation's house, and now"--Hugo's strong voice
trembled as with suppressed anger or pain--"now I wish I had carried
you with me to want and privation, to storm and danger, but at any rate
to freedom; it had been better."

"It had been better," repeated Reinhold, listlessly; then rising as if
reckless, "Let us cease! What is the use of regrets, which cannot
change what is past. Come! They expect us upstairs."

"I wish I had you on my 'Ellida,' and we could turn our backs on the
whole crew, never to see them again," said the young sailor, with a
sigh, as he prepared to follow his brother's bidding. "I never thought
things could be so bad."

The brothers had hardly entered the house, when Hugo's indispensability
began to show itself again. He was in request, at least on three sides,
at once. Every one required his advice and help. The young Captain
appeared to possess the enviable power of throwing himself directly
from one mood into another, as, immediately after his serious
conversation with his brother, he was sparkling with merriment and
mischief, helped every one, paid compliments to each, and at the same
time teased all in the most merciless manner. This time it was the
bookkeeper who caught him, as Jonas expressed it, to explain the
affairs of his society; and while the two gentlemen were discussing it,
Reinhold entered the dining-room, where he found his wife busied with
preparations for the before-named guests.

Ella was in her Sunday costume to-day, but that made little alteration
in her appearance. Her dress of finer material was not more becoming;
the cap, which inspired her brother-in-law with such horror, surrounded
and disfigured her face as usual. The young wife devoted herself so
assiduously and completely to her domestic duties, that she hardly
seemed to notice her husband's entrance, who approached her with rather
lowering mien.

"I must beg you, Ella," he began, "to have more regard for my wishes in
future, and to meet my brother in such a manner as he can and would
expect his sister-in-law to do. I should think that the behaviour of
your parents, and every one in the house, might serve as an example for
you; but you appear to find an especial pleasure in denying him every
right of relationship, and in showing him a decided antipathy."

The young wife looked as timid and helpless at this anything but kindly
expressed reproof, as she did when her mother desired her to interfere
about her husband's musical "mania."

"Do not be angry, dear Reinhold," she replied, hesitatingly, "but I--I
cannot do otherwise."

"You cannot?" asked Reinhold, sharply. "Of course, that is your
never-failing answer when I ask anything of you, and I should have
thought it was seldom enough that I do address a request to you. But
this time I insist positively that you should change your demeanour
towards Hugo. This shy avoidance and consequent silence whenever he
speaks to you is too ridiculous. I beg seriously that you will take
more care not to make me appear too much an object of pity to my
brother."

Ella appeared about to answer, but the last unsparing words closed her
lips. She bowed her head, and did not make any further attempt to
defend herself. It was a movement of such gentle, patient resignation
as would have disarmed any one; but Reinhold did not notice it, as at
the same moment the old bookkeeper was heard taking leave in the next
room.

"Then we may count upon the honour of your membership, Herr Captain?
And as regards the election of a President, I have your word that you
will support the opposition?"

"Quite at your service," said Hugo's voice, "and of course only with
the opposition. I always join the opposition on principle whenever
there is one; it is generally the only faction in which there is any
fun. Excuse me, the honour is on my side."

The bookkeeper left, and the Captain appeared in the room. He seemed
inclined to redeem the promise he had given to his brother, and at the
same time to convince the young wife of his perfections, as he
approached her with all the boldness and confidence of his nature, with
which a certain knightly gallantry was mingled.

"Then I owe it to chance that at last I see my sister-in-law, and she
is compelled to remain with me a few moments? Certainly she never would
have accorded me this happiness of her own free will. I was complaining
bitterly to Reinhold this morning about your repelling me, which I do
not know that I have merited in any way."

He wished to take her hand, even to kiss it, but Ella drew back, with
a, for her, quite unwonted decision.

"Herr Captain!"

"Herr Captain!" repeated Hugo, annoyed. "No, Ella, that is going too
far. I certainly, as your brother, have a right to the 'thou' which you
never refused to your cousin and childish companion, but as you, from
the first day of my arrival, laid so much stress on the formal 'you,' I
followed the hint you gave me. However, this 'Herr Captain' I will not
stand. That is an insult against which I shall call Reinhold to my
assistance. He shall tell me if I must really bear hearing myself being
called 'Herr Captain' by those lips."

"Certainly not!" said Reinhold, as he turned to leave, "Ella will give
up this manner of speaking to you, as well as her whole tone towards
you. I have just been speaking distinctly to her about it."

He went away, and his glance ordered his wife to remain, as plainly as
his voice demanded obedience. Neither escaped the Captain.

"For goodness sake, do not interfere with your husband's authority!
Would you command friendliness towards me?" cried he after his brother,
and turned again quickly to Ella, while he continued, gallantly, "that
would be the surest way to prevent my ever finding favour in my
beautiful sister-in-law's eyes. But that is not required between us, is
it? You will permit me, at least, to lay the due tribute of respect at
your feet, to describe to you the joyful surprise with which I received
the news--"

Here Hugo stopped suddenly, and seemed to have lost his train of ideas.
Ella had raised her eyes, and looked at him. It was a gleam of quiet,
painful reproach, and the same reproach lay in her voice as she
replied, "At least leave me in peace, Herr Captain. I thought you had
amusement enough for to-day."

"I?" asked Hugo, taken aback. "What do you mean, Ella? You do not
think--"

The young wife did not let him finish. "What have we done to you?" she
continued, and although her voice trembled timidly at first, it gained
firmness with every word. "What have we done to you that you always
scoff at us, since the day of your return, when you acted a scene of
repentance before my parents, until the present moment, when you make
the whole house the target for your jokes? Reinhold certainly tolerates
our being daily humiliated; he looks upon it as a matter of course. But
I, Herr Captain--" here Ella's voice had attained perfect steadiness,
"I do not consider it right that you should daily cast scorn and
contempt over a house in which you, after all that has passed, have
been received with the old love. If this house and family do appear so
very meagre and ridiculous to you, no one invited you here. You should
have remained in that world of which you are able to relate so much. My
parents deserve more respect and mercy even for their weaknesses; and,
although our house may be simple, it is still too good for the scoffs
of an--adventurer."

She turned her back upon him, and left the room without waiting for a
single word of reply. Hugo stood and gazed after her, as if one of the
impossible scenes out of his own Indian stories had just been acted
before him. Probably, for the first time in his life, the young sailor
lost, with his presence of mind, the power of speech also.

"That was plain," said he at last, as he sat down, quite upset; but the
next moment he sprang up as if electrified, and cried--

"She has them in truth; the child's beautiful blue eyes. And I
discovered them only now! Who, indeed, would look for this glance under
that horrible cap? 'We are too good for the scoffs of an adventurer.'
Not exactly flattering, but it was merited, although I expected least
of all to hear it from her! I shall often try that."

Hugo moved as if going into the guest room, but he stopped again on the
threshold, and looked towards the door, by which his sister-in-law had
retired. All signs of mockery and mischief had entirely vanished from
his face; it bore a thoughtful expression as he said, gently, "And
Reinhold only _believes_ she has blue eyes! Incomprehensible!"

                           *   *   *   *   *

In the large concert-room of H----, all the _elite_ of the town seemed
to be gathered on the occasion of one of those concerts which, set on
foot for some charitable purpose, were patronised by the first
families, and whose support and presence there was considered quite a
point of honour. To-day the programme only bore well-known names, both
as regarded the performances as well as performers; and besides, it was
arranged by means of the highest possible prices that the audience
should consist principally, if not entirely, of persons belonging to
the best circles of society.

The concert had not commenced, and the performers were in a room
adjoining, which served as a place of assembly on such occasions, and
to which only a few specially favoured of the outside world had the
right of entrance. Therefore the presence was the more remarkable of a
young man who did not belong either to the favoured or the performers,
and who kept aloof from both. He had entered shortly before and
addressed himself at once to the conductor, who, although he did not
appear to know him, yet must have been informed of his coming, as he
received him very politely. The gentlemen around only heard so much of
the conversation, that the conductor regretted not to be able to give
Mr. Almbach any information: it was Signora Biancona's wish; the
Signora would appear directly. The short interview was soon over, and
Reinhold drew back.

The group of artists, engaged in lively conversation, broke up
suddenly, as the door opened and the young _prima donna_ appeared; she
had not been expected so soon, as she usually only drove up at the last
moment. Every one began to move. All tried to outdo one another in
attentions to their beautiful colleague, but to-day she took remarkably
little notice of the wonted homage of her surroundings. Her glance on
entering had flown rapidly through the room, and had at once found the
object of its search. The Signora deigned to reply to the greetings
only very slightly, exchanged a few words with the conductor, and
withdrew at once from all further attempts at conversation with the
gentlemen, as she turned to Reinhold Almbach, who now approached her,
and went towards the farthest window with him.

"You have really come, Signor?" she began in a reproachful tone, "I did
not believe, indeed, that you would accept my invitation."

Reinhold looked up, and the forced coldness and formality of the
greeting began already to melt as he met her gaze for the first time on
that evening.

"Then it was your invitation," he said. "I did not know if I was to
consider the one sent by the conductor in your name, as such. It did
not contain a single line from you."

Beatrice smiled. "I only followed the example set me. I, too, have
received a certain song, whose composer added nothing to his name. I
only retaliated."

"Has my silence offended you?" asked the young man, quickly. "I dared
add nothing. What--" his eyes sank to the ground--"what should I have
said to you?"

The first question was indeed unnecessary; as the devotion of the song
seemed to have been understood, and Signora Biancona looked the reverse
of offended as she answered--

"You appear to like the wordless form, Signor, and always to wish to
speak to me in notes of music. Well, I bowed to your taste, and have
determined to answer also only in our language."

She laid a slight but still marked emphasis upon the word. Reinhold
raised his head in astonishment.

"In our language?" he repeated slowly.




                              CHAPTER IV.


Beatrice drew a paper out of the roll of music which she held in her
hand. "I have waited in vain for the author of this song to come to me,
in order to hear it from my lips and receive my thanks for it. He has
left to strangers that which was his duty. I am accustomed to _be
sought_, Signor. You seem to expect the same."

There certainly lay some reproach in her voice, but it was not very
harsh, and it would have been hardly possible, as Reinhold's eye
betrayed only too plainly what this staying away had cost him. He made
no reply to the reproach, did not defend himself against it, but his
glance, which seemed magnetically bound by the brilliantly beautiful
apparition, told her that his self-restraint was caused by anything
rather than indifference.

"Do you think I have sent for you to hear the air which is put down in
the programme?" continued the Italian, playfully. "The audience always
desires this air _da capo_; it is too trying for a repetition; I
propose, therefore, instead of this, to sing--something else."

A deep glow covered the young man's features, and he stretched out his
hand, as if with an unconscious movement, towards the paper.

"For mercy's sake! surely not my song?"

"You are uncommonly alarmed about it," said the singer, stepping back,
and withdrawing the music from him. "Are you afraid for the fate of
your work in my hands?"

"No, no!" cried Reinhold passionately, "but--"

"But? No objections, Signor! The song is dedicated to me, is handed
over to me for good or evil. I shall do with it what I choose. Only one
more question. The director is quite prepared; we have practised the
performance together, but I should prefer seeing you at the piano when
I appear before the audience with your music. May I count upon you?"

"You will trust yourself to my accompaniment?" asked Reinhold, with
trembling voice. "Trust yourself entirely without first trying it? That
is a risk for us both."

"Only if your courage fail, not otherwise," explained Beatrice. "With
your power over the piano I have already made acquaintance, and there
is certainly no question as to whether you are sure of the
accompaniment to your work. If you are as sure of yourself before this
audience as you were lately at the party, we can perform the song
without hesitation."

"I will risk all, if you are at my side," Reinhold exclaimed,
passionately. "The song was written for you, Signora. If you decide
differently for it, its fate lies in your hand. I am ready for all."

She answered only with a smile, proud and confident of success, and
turned to the conductor who at that moment drew near. Then ensued a
low, but lively conversation in the group, and the other gentlemen
regarded with undisguised displeasure the young stranger who quite
monopolised the attention and conversation of the Signora and, to their
great annoyance, occupied her until the signal for the commencement of
the concert was given.

The room, in the meanwhile, had filled to the very last seat, and the
dazzlingly-lighted place, in conjunction with the rich toilets of the
ladies, offered a brilliant sight. Consul Erlau's wife sat with several
other ladies in the front part of the room, and was engaged in
conversation with Dr. Welding, when her husband, accompanied by a young
man, wearing a captain's uniform, came up to her seat.

"Herr Captain Almbach," he said, introducing him, "to whom I owe the
rescue of my best ship and all its crew. It was he who came to the help
of the 'Hansa,' when already almost foundered, and it is entirely to
his self-sacrificing energy--"

"Oh pray, Herr Consul, do not let Frau Erlau immediately anticipate a
storm at sea!" interrupted Hugo, "we poor sailors are always so
maligned as regards our adventures, that every lady looks forward with
secret horror to their inevitable relation. I assure you though,
Madame, that you have nothing to fear with me. I intend my
conversational attempts to be confined to the mainland."

The young sailor appeared indeed to understand very thoroughly the
differences of the society in which he moved. It never entered his head
here, when the opportunity was offered him, to recount adventures,
which in his relative's house he lavished so liberally. The Consul
shook his head a little dissatisfied.

"You appear wishful to laugh away all recognition of your services,"
responded he. "I am not the less in your debt, even if you do make it
impossible for me to discharge it in any way. Besides, I do not believe
the relation of this adventure would injure you with the ladies, quite
the contrary. And as you refuse all account of it so positively, I
shall reserve it myself for the next opportunity."

Frau Erlau turned with winning friendliness to Hugo.

"You are no stranger to us, Herr Captain Almbach, even for your
family's sake. Only lately we had the pleasure of seeing your brother
at our house."

"Yes--only once," added the Consul, "and then merely by chance. Almbach
appears unable to forgive me that my mode of living varies so from his
own. He purposely keeps himself and all his family at a distance, and
for years has stopped all visits from our godchild--we hardly know what
Eleanor looks like."

"Poor Eleanor!" remarked Frau Erlau, compassionately. "I fear she has
been intimidated by a too strict bringing up, and being kept much too
secluded. I never see her otherwise than shy and quiet, and I believe
in the presence of strangers she never raises her eyes."

"She does though," said Hugo, in a peculiar voice. "She does sometimes,
but certainly I doubt if my brother has ever seen her do so."

"Your brother is not here, then?" asked the lady.

"No. He declined to accompany me. I do not understand it, as I know his
infatuation for music and especially for Biancona's singing. I am to
see this sun of the south, whose rays dazzle all H----, rise to-day for
the first time."

The Consul cautioned him laughingly with his finger.

"Do not scoff, Captain; rather protect your own heart against these
rays. To you, young gentleman, such things are most dangerous. You
would not be the first who had succumbed to the magic of those eyes."

The young sailor laughed confidently.

"And who says then, Herr Consul, that I fear such a fate? I always
succumb in such cases with the greatest pleasure, and the consolatory
knowledge that the magic is only dangerous for him who flees it.
Whoever stands firm, is generally soon disenchanted, often sooner than
he wishes."

"It appears you have had great experience already in such affairs,"
said Frau Erlau, with a touch of reproof.

"My God, Madame, when year after year one flies from country to
country, and never takes root anywhere, is nowhere so much at home as
on the rolling, ever-moving sea, one learns to look upon constant
change as inevitable, and at last to love it. I expose myself entirely
to your displeasure with this confession, but I must really beg of you
to look upon me as a savage, who has long forgotten, in tropical seas
and countries, how to satisfy the requirements of North German
civilisation."

Yet the manner in which the young Captain bowed and kissed the lady's
hand as he spoke, betrayed a sufficient acquaintance with these
requirements, and Dr. Welding remarked, drily, as he turned to the
Consul--

"The tropical barbarism of this gentleman will not distinguish
itself very badly in our drawing-rooms. So the hero of the much
talked of 'Hansa' affair is really the brother of the young Almbach to
whom Signora Biancona is just now according an interview in the
assembly-room?"

"Whom? Reinhold Almbach?" asked Erlau, astonished. "You heard just now
that he is not here."

"Certainly not, according to the Herr Captain's views," said Welding,
quietly. "According to mine, he positively is. Pray do not mention it!
To-night's concert seems intended to bring us some surprise. I have a
certain suspicion, and we shall see if it be well-founded or not. The
Signora likes theatrical effects, even off the stage; everything must
be unexpected, lightning-like, overwhelming; a prosaic announcement
would spoil everything. The conductor is, of course, in the plot, but
was not so easily persuaded. We shall await it."

He ceased, as Hugo, who until now had been talking to the ladies, came
to them, and immediately after the concert commenced.

The first part and half of the second passed, according to the
programme, with more or less lively interest for the audience. Only
towards the close did Signora Biancona appear, whose performance,
notwithstanding all that had so far been heard, formed the point of
attraction of the evening. The audience received and greeted their
favourite, whose pale features were more charming than ever, with loud
applause. Beatrice was indeed radiantly beautiful as she stood under
the streaming light of the chandelier, in a flowing gauze dress strewn
with flowers, and roses in her dark hair. She acknowledged it with
smiling thanks on all sides, and, when the conductor, who undertook the
accompaniment, had seated himself at the piano, began her recitative.

This time it was one of those grand Italian _bravura_ airs, which at
every concert and on every stage are certain of success, and demand the
audience's applause without at the same time fulfilling higher
requirements. A number of brilliant passages and effects made up for
the depth, which was really wanting in the composition, but it offered
the Italian an opportunity for perfect display of her magnificent
voice. All these runs and trills fell clearly as a bell from her lips,
and took such entrancing possession of the hearers' ears and senses,
that all criticism, all more serious longings, vanished in the pure
enjoyment of listening. It was a charming playing with tones--to be
sure, only playing, nothing more--but combined with the finished
certainty and grace of the performance, it acted like electricity upon
the audience, who overwhelmed the singer more lavishly than usual with
applause, and stormily encored the air _da capo_.

Signora Biancona seemed also inclined to accede to this wish as she
came forward again, but at the same moment the conductor left the
piano, and a young man, who had hitherto not been observed among the
other performers, took his place. The spectators stared in
astonishment, the Consul and his wife gazed at him in surprise; even
Hugo at the first moment looked almost shocked at his brother, whose
presence he had not suspected, but he began to guess at the connection.
Only Dr. Welding said quietly, and without the least surprise, "I
thought it!" Reinhold looked pale, and his hands trembled on the keys;
but Beatrice stood at his side--a softly-whispered word from her mouth,
a glance out of her eyes, gave him back his lost courage. He began the
first chords steadily and quietly, which at once told the audience it
was not to be a repetition of their favourite piece. All listened
wonderingly and eagerly, and then Beatrice joined in.

That was certainly something very different from the _bravura_ air just
heard. The melodies which now flowed forth had nothing in common with
those runs and trills, but they made their way to the hearers' hearts.
In those tones, which now rose as in stormy rejoicing, and again sank
in sad complaint, there seemed to breathe the whole happiness and
sorrow of a human life; a long-fettered yearning seemed at last to
struggle forth. It was a language of affecting power and beauty, and if
it was not quite understood by all, yet all felt that there was a sound
of something powerful, everlasting in it; even the most indifferent
superficial crowd cannot remain void of feeling when genius speaks to
it.

And here genius had found its mate, who knew how to follow and perfect
it. There was no more talk of a risk for both, as the one met the idea
of the other. The most careful study could not have given so perfect a
mutual understanding as was here created in a moment and by
inspiration. Reinhold found himself comprehended in every note, grasped
at every turn, and never had Beatrice sung so enchantingly, never had
the spirit of her singing displayed itself so much. She took her part
with glowing _abandon_; the talent of the singer and the dramatic power
of the actress flowed together. It was a performance which would have
ennobled even the most insignificant composition--here it became a
double triumph.

The song was ended. The breathless silence with which it had been
listened to continued a few seconds longer; no hand moved, no sign of
applause was heard; but then a storm broke forth, such as even the
_fêted prima donna_ had seldom heard, and at any rate is unknown in a
concert-room. Beatrice seemed only to have waited for this moment; in
the next she had stepped to Reinhold, seized his hand, and drawn him
with her to the foot-lights, introducing him to the audience. This one
movement said enough; it was understood at once that the composer stood
before them. The storm of applause for both raged anew, and the young
musician, still half-bewildered by the unexpected success, holding
Beatrice's hand, received the first greeting and first approbation of
the crowd.

Reinhold only returned clearly to consciousness in the assembly-room,
whither he had accompanied Signora Biancona; a few moments of solitude
still remained to him; beyond, in the concert-room, the orchestra was
playing the finale to a most indifferent audience, which was still
completely impressed by what it had just heard. Beatrice withdrew her
arm which lay in that of her companion.

"We have conquered," she said, softly; "were you satisfied with my
song?"

With a passionate movement, Reinhold seized both her hands, "Ask not
this question, Signora! Let me thank you, not for the triumph, which
was more yours than mine, but that I was also permitted to hear my song
from your lips. I composed it in the recollection of you--for you
alone, Beatrice. You have understood what it says to you, otherwise you
could not have sung it in such a manner."

Signora Biancona may have understood it only too well, but in the
glance with which she looked down at him there lay still more than the
mere triumph of a beautiful woman, who has again proved the
irresistibility of her power. "Do you say that to the woman, or the
actress?" asked she, half-playfully. "The road is now open, Signor,
will you follow it?"

"I will," declared Reinhold, raising himself determinedly, "whatever
opposes me, and whatever form my future may take, it will have been
consecrated for me, since the Goddess of Song herself opened the gate
to me."

The last words had the same tone of passionate adulation which Beatrice
heard from him once before; she bent closer towards him, and her voice
sounded soft, almost beseeching, as she answered--

"Do not then avoid the Goddess any more so obstinately as hitherto. The
composer will surely be allowed to come to the actress from time to
time. If I study your next work, Signor, shall I have to discover its
meaning alone again, or will you stand by me this time?"

Reinhold gave no reply, but the kiss which he pressed burningly
hot upon her hand, did not say no. Nor did he this time bid her
farewell--this time no recollection tore him away from the dangerous
proximity. Whatever arose in the distance that time with gentle
warning, had now no place in a single thought of the young man's
mind. How could, indeed, the faint, colourless picture of his young
wife exist near a Beatrice Biancona, who stood before him in all the
witch-like charms of her being, this "Goddess of Song," whose hand had
just conducted him to his first triumph! He saw and heard her only.
What for years had lain hidden within him--what, since his meeting with
her had struggled and fought its way out, this evening decided the
beginning of an artist's career, and of a family drama.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The following days and weeks in the Almbachs' house were not the most
agreeable. It could naturally not remain concealed from the merchant
that his son-in-law had appeared before the public with his
composition, and for this reason, that Dr. Welding, in the morning
paper, gave a detailed account of the concert, in which the name of the
young composer was mentioned. But neither the praise which the usually
severe critic accorded in this instance, nor the approval with which
the song was everywhere received, nor even the intervention of Consul
Erlau, who, taking Reinhold's part very eagerly and decidedly, upheld
his musical gifts, could overcome Almbach's prejudices. He persisted in
seeing in all artistic efforts an idling as useless as it was
dangerous--the real ground of all incapacity for practical business
life, and the root of all evil. Knowing as little as most people that
it had been almost an act of compulsion by which Signora Biancona
had forced Reinhold to appear publicly, he regarded the whole as a
pre-arranged affair, which had been undertaken without his knowledge
and against his will, and which made him almost beside himself. He
allowed himself to be so carried away, that he called his son-in-law to
account like a boy, and forbade him, once for all, any farther musical
pursuits.

That was, of course, the worst thing he could have done. At this
prohibition, Reinhold broke out into uncontrollable defiance. The
passion which, despite all that fettered it outwardly and held it in
bounds, formed the groundwork of his character now broke out into a
truly terrific fury. A fearful scene ensued, and had Hugo not
interposed with quick thought, the breach would have become quite
irremediable. Almbach saw with horror that the nephew whom he had
brought up and led, whom he had tied to himself by every possible bond
of family and business, had outgrown his control completely, and never
thought of bending to his power. The strife had ceased for the time
present, but only to break out afresh at the first opportunity. One
scene succeeded another; one bitterness surpassed another.

Reinhold soon stood in opposition to his whole surroundings, and the
defiance with which he clung more than ever to his musical studies, and
maintained his independence out of the house, only increased the anger
of his father and mother-in-law.

Frau Almbach, who shared her husband's opinion entirely, supported him
with all her strength; Ella, on the contrary, remained, as usual, quite
passive. Any interference or taking a part was neither expected nor
desired; her parents never thought of crediting her with the very least
influence over Reinhold, and he himself ignored her in this affair
altogether, and did not even seem to grant her the right of offering an
opinion. The young wife suffered undeniably under these circumstances;
whether she felt the sad, humiliating part which she, the wife,
played--thus overlooked by both factions--set aside and treated as if
incapable--could hardly be decided. At her parents' bitter and excited
discussions, and her husband's constant state of irritation, which
often found vent at trifling causes, and was generally directed against
her, she always showed the same calm, patient resignation, seldom
uttered a beseeching word, never interfered by any decided
partisanship, and when, as usual, roughly repulsed, drew back more
shyly than ever.

The only one who remained now, as before, on the best terms with all,
and kept his undisputed place as general favourite, was, strange to
say, the young Captain. Like all obstinate people, Almbach resigned
himself more easily to a fact than to a struggle, and forgave more
easily the direct but quiet want of regard for his authority, such as
his eldest nephew had shown him, than the stormy opposition to his will
which was now attempted by the younger one. When Hugo saw that a hated
calling was forced upon him, he had neither defied nor offended his
uncle; he had simply gone away, and let the storm rage itself out
behind his back. Certainly, he did not hesitate later to enact the
return of the prodigal son to ensure his entrance into the house to
which his brother belonged, and his restoration to his relations'
favour. Reinhold possessed neither the capability nor the inclination
to play with circumstances in this way. Just as he had never been able
to disguise his dislike to business life, and his indifference to all
the provincial town interests, so he now made no secret of his contempt
for all around him, his burning hatred for the fetters which confined
him--and it was this which could not be pardoned. Hugo, who espoused
his brother's side positively, was permitted to take his part openly,
and did so on every occasion. His uncle pardoned him this, even looked
upon it as quite natural, as the young Captain's mode of treatment
never let it come to a rupture, while with Reinhold, the subject only
needed to be touched upon in order to cause the most furious scenes
between him and his wife's parents.

It was about noontide, when Hugo entered the Almbachs' house, and met
his servant, whom he had sent before with a message to his brother, at
the foot of the stairs. Jonas was really nominally only a sailor in the
"Ellida;" he had long had his discharge from the ship, and been
appointed solely to the young Captain's personal service, whom he never
left, even during a lengthy stay on shore, and whom he followed
everywhere with constant, unvarying attachment. Both were of about the
same age. Jonas was truly far from ugly; in his Sunday clothes he might
even pass for a good-looking fellow, but his uncouth manner, his rough
ways and his chariness of speech never allowed these advantages to be
perceived. He was almost on an enemy's footing with all the servants,
especially the women of Almbach's household, and none of them had ever
seen a pleasant expression on his face, nor heard a word more than was
absolutely necessary. Even now he looked very sour, and the four or
five dollars he was just counting in his hand seemed to excite his
displeasure, judging from the savage way he looked at them.

"What is it, Jonas?" asked the Captain, approaching, "are you taking
stock of your ready money?"

The sailor looked up, and put himself in an attitude of attention, but
his face did not become more pleasant.

"I am to go to the nursery garden and get a bouquet of flowers," he
grumbled, as he put the money in his pocket.

"Oh! are you employed as messenger for flowers?"

"Yes, here too," said Jonas, emphasising the last word, and with a
reproachful glance at his master, added, "I am used to it, to be sure."

"Certainly," laughed Hugo. "But I am not used to your doing such things
for others than myself. Who has given you the commission?"

"Herr Reinhold," was the laconic reply.

"My brother--so?" said Hugo, slowly, while a shade flitted across his
features, so bright just now.

"And it is a sin the sum I am to pay for it," muttered Jonas. "Herr
Reinhold understands even better than we how to throw away dollars for
things which will be faded to-morrow, and we at any rate are not
married, but he--"

"The bouquet is of course for my sister-in-law?" the Captain
interrupted shortly. "What is there to wonder at? Do you think I shall
give my wife no bouquets when I am married?"

The last remark must have been very unexpected by the sailor, as he
drew himself up with a jerk, and stared at his master in the most
perfect horror, but the next minute he returned reassured to his old
position, saying confidently--

"We shall never marry, Herr Captain."

"I forbid all such prophetic remarks, which condemn me without further
ado to perpetual celibacy," said Hugo quickly, "and why shall '_we_'
never marry?"

"Because we think nothing of women," persisted Jonas.

"You have a very curious habit of always speaking in the plural,"
scoffed the Captain. "So I think nothing of women; I thought the
contrary had often roused your ire?"

"But it never comes to marriage," said Jonas triumphantly, in a tone of
unconquerable conviction, "at heart we do not think much of the whole
lot. The story never goes beyond sending flowers and kissing hands,
then we sail away, and they have the pleasure of looking after us. It
is a very lucky thing that it is so. Women on the 'Ellida'--Heaven
protect us from it!"

This characteristic account, given with unmistakable seriousness,
although again in the unavoidable plural, appeared to be full of truth,
as the Captain raised no objection to it. He only shrugged his
shoulders laughingly, turned his back upon the sailor, and went
upstairs. He found Reinhold in his own rooms, which lay in the upper
story, and a single glance at his brother's face, who was walking
angrily up and down, showed him that something must have happened again
to-day.

"You are going out?" asked he, after greeting him, while looking at the
hat and gloves lying on the table.

"Later on!" answered Reinhold, recovering himself. "In about an hour.
You will stay some time?"

Hugo overlooked the last question. He stood opposite his brother, and
gazed searchingly at him.

"Has there been a scene again?" he asked half-aloud.

The moody defiance, which had disappeared for a few moments from the
young man's face, returned.

"To be sure. They have attempted once more to treat me like a
schoolboy, who, when he has accomplished his daily appointed task, is
to be watched, and made to render an account of every step he takes,
even in his hours of recreation. I have made it clear to them that I am
tired of their everlasting guardianship."

The Captain did not ask what step the quarrel was about; the short
conversation with Jonas seemed to have explained all that sufficiently;
he only said, shaking his head--"It is unfortunate that you are so
completely dependent upon our uncle. If later on it end in a regular
rupture between you, and you leave the business, it would become a
question of existence for you--your income goes entirely with it. You,
yourself, might trust wholly to your compositions, but to think they
could support a family yet would be making your future very uncertain
from the beginning. I had only myself to act for; you will be compelled
to wait until a greater work places you in the position of being able
to turn your back, with your wife and child, upon all the envy of a
small provincial town."

"Impossible!" cried Reinhold almost madly. "By that time I shall have
foundered ten times over, and what talent I possess with me. Endure,
wait, perhaps for years? I cannot do it, it is the same thing to me as
suicide. My new work is completed. If only in some degree it attain the
success of the first, it would enable me to live at least a few months
in Italy."

Hugo was staggered.




                               CHAPTER V.


"You are going to Italy? Why there particularly?" asked the Captain.

"Where then?" interposed Reinhold impatiently. "Italy is the school of
all art and artists. There alone could I complete the meagre, defective
study to which circumstances confined me. Can you not understand that?"

"No," said the Captain, somewhat coldly. "I do not see the necessity
that a beginner should go at once to the higher school. You can find
opportunity enough for study here; most of our talented men have had to
struggle and work for years before Italy at last crowned their work.
Supposing, however, you carry out your plan, what is to become of your
wife and child in the meanwhile? Do you intend to take them with you?"

"Ella?" cried the young man, in an almost contemptuous voice. "That
would be the most certain method of rendering my success impossible. Do
you think, that in the first step I take towards freedom, I could drag
the whole chain of domestic misery with me?"

A slight frown was perceptible between Hugo's eyes--

"That sounds very hard, Reinhold," he answered.

"Is it my fault, that I am at last conscious of the truth?" growled
Reinhold. "My wife cannot raise herself above the sphere of cooking and
household management. It is not her fault, I know, but it is not
therefore any less the misfortune of my life."

"Ella's incapacity, certainly seems settled as a sort of dogma in the
family," remarked the Captain quietly. "You believe in it blindly, like
the rest. Have you ever given yourself the trouble to find out if this
accepted fact be really infallible?"

Reinhold shrugged his shoulders--

"I think it would be unnecessary in this case. But in none can there be
a question of my taking Ella with me. Naturally she will remain with
the child in her parents' house until I return."

"Until you return--and if that do not happen?"

"What do you say? What do you mean?" said the young man angrily, while
a deep colour spread over his face.

Hugo crossed his arms and looked fiercely at him--

"It strikes me you are now suddenly coming forward with ready-made
plans, which have certainly long been arranged, and probably well
talked over. Do not deny it Reinhold! You, by yourself, would never
have gone to such extremities as you do now in the disputes with my
uncle, listening to no advice or representations; there is some foreign
influence at work. Is it really absolutely necessary that you should go
day after day to Biancona?"

Reinhold vouchsafed no reply; he turned away, and so withdrew himself
from his brother's observation.

"It is talked of already in the town," continued the latter. "It cannot
continue long without the report reaching here. Is it a matter of
perfect indifference to you?"

"Signora Biancona is studying my new composition," said Reinhold
shortly, "and I only see in her the ideal of an actress. You admired
her also?"

"Admired, yes! At least in the beginning. She never attracted me. The
beautiful Signora has something too vampire-like in her eyes. I fear
that whoever it be, upon whom she fixes those eyes with the intention
of holding him fast, will require a powerful dose of strength of will
in order to remain master of himself."

At the last words he had gone to his brother's side, who now turned
round slowly and looked at him.

"Have you experienced that already?" he asked, gloomily.

"I? No!" replied Hugo, with a touch of his old mocking humour.
"Fortunately I am very unimpressionable as regards such-like
romantic dangers, besides being sufficiently used to them. Call it
frivolity--inconstancy--what you will--but a woman cannot fascinate me
long or deeply; the passionate element is wanting in me. You have it
only too strongly, and when you encounter anything of the sort, the
danger lies close by. Take care of yourself, Reinhold!"

"Do you wish to remind me of the fetters I bear?" asked Reinhold,
bitterly. "As if I did not feel them daily, hourly, and with them the
powerlessness to destroy them. If I were free as you, when you tore
yourself away from this bondage, all might be well; but you are right,
they chained me by times, and a bridal altar is the most secure bar
which can be placed before all longing for freedom--I experience it
now."

They were interrupted; the servant from the house brought a message
from the bookkeeper to young Herr Almbach. The latter bade the man go,
and turned to his brother.

"I must go to the office for a moment. You see I am not in much danger
of coming to grief by excessive romance; our ledgers, in which,
probably, a couple of dollars are not properly entered, guard against
that. Adieu until we meet again, Hugo!"

He went, and the Captain remained alone. He stayed a few moments as if
lost in thought, while the frown on his brow became still darker; then
suddenly he raised himself as with some resolve, and left the room, but
not to go to the lower floor to his uncle or aunt; he went straight to
the opposite apartments inhabited by his sister-in-law.

Ella was there; she sat by the window, her head was bent over some
needlework, but it seemed as if this had been seized hurriedly when the
door opened unexpectedly; the handkerchief thrown down hastily, and the
inflamed eyelids betrayed freshly dried tears. She looked up at her
brother-in-law's entrance with undisguised astonishment. It was
certainly the first time he had sought her rooms; he came half-way
only, and then stood still without approaching her seat.

"May the adventurer dare to come near you, Ella? or did that condemning
verdict banish him entirely from your threshold?"

The young wife blushed; she turned her work about in her hands in most
painful confusion.

"Herr--"

"Captain!" interrupted Hugo. "Quite right--thus do my sailors address
me. Once more this name from your lips, and I shall never trouble you
again with my presence. Pray Ella, listen to me to-day!" he continued
determinedly, as the young wife made signs of rising. "This time I
shall keep the door barred by which you always try to elude my
approach; fortunately, too, there is no maid near whom you can keep by
your side for some task. We are alone, and I give you my word I shall
not leave this spot until I am either forgiven, or--hear the
unavoidable 'Herr Captain' which will drive me away once for all."

Ella raised her eyes, and now it was plainly evident that she had wept.

"What do you care for my forgiveness?" she replied quickly. "You have
wounded me least of all; I only spoke in the name of my parents and all
the household."

"For them I do not care," said Hugo with the most unabashed candour,
"but that I have hurt you I do regret, very much regret; it has lain
like a nightmare upon me until now. I can surely do no more than beg
honestly and heartily for forgiveness. Are you still angry with me,
Ella?"

He put out his hand towards her. In the movement and words there lay
such a warm, open kindliness and frankness, that it seemed almost
impossible to refuse the petition, and Ella actually, although somewhat
reluctantly, laid her hand in his.

"No," said she, simply.

"Thank God!" cried Hugo, drawing a long breath. "So at last my rights
as brother-in-law are conceded. I thus take solemn possession of them."

The words were followed by the deed, as he drew forward a chair and sat
down beside her. "Do you know, Ella, that since our late encounter you
have interested me very much?" continued he.

"It seems one must be rude to you in order to arouse your interest,"
remarked Ella, almost reproachfully.

"Yes, it appears so," agreed the Captain, with perfect composure. "We
'adventurers' are a peculiar people, and require different treatment to
ordinary mankind. You have taken the right course with me. Since you
read me my lecture so unsparingly, I have left all the house in peace;
I have behaved towards my uncle and aunt with the most perfect respect
and deference, and even robbed my Indian stories of all their appalling
effects, simply from fear of certain rebuking eyes. This can surely not
have escaped your notice?"

Something like a half-smile crossed Ella's countenance as she asked--

"It has been very hard for you, then?"

"Very hard! Although the state of affairs in the house should have made
it somewhat easier for me, they have not been of a description lately,
on which one could exercise one's love of joking."

The passing gleam of merriment vanished immediately from Ella's face at
this allusion; it bore an anxious, beseeching expression, as she turned
to her brother-in-law.

"Yes, it is very sad with us," she said, softly, "and it becomes worse
from day to day. My parents are so hard, and Reinhold so irritated, so
furious at every occurrence. Oh, my God, can you do nothing with him?"

"I?" asked Hugo, seriously, "I might put that question to you, his
wife."

Ella shook her head in inconsolable resignation. "No one listens to me,
and Reinhold less than any one. He thinks I understand nothing about it
all--he would repulse me roughly."

Hugo looked sorrowfully at the young wife, who confessed openly that
she was quite wanting in power and influence over her husband, and that
she was not permitted to share his longings and strivings in the least.

"And yet something must be done," said he decidedly. "Reinhold
irritates himself in this struggle; he suffers tremendously under it,
and makes others suffer too. You had been crying, Ella, as I entered,
and in the last few weeks not a day has passed without my seeing this
red appearance about your eyes. No, do not turn aside so timidly!
Surely the brother may be allowed to speak freely, and you shall see
that I do more than talk nonsense. I repeat it; something must be
done--done by you. Reinhold's artistic career depends upon it, his
whole future; and in the struggle his wife must stand at his side,
otherwise others might do it instead, and that would be dangerous."

Ella looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and alarm. For the
first time in her life she was called upon to take a side openly, and
some result was looked for depending upon her interference. What could
be meant by "others" who might take her place? Her face showed plainly
that she had not the slightest suspicion of anything.

Hugo saw this, and yet had not the courage to go any farther; as going
farther meant planting the first suspicion in the mind of the so-far
quite unconscious wife--being his brother's betrayer--and unavoidably
calling forth a catastrophe, of whose necessity he was nevertheless
convinced. But the young Captain's whole nature rebelled against the
painful task; he sat there undecided, when chance came to his help.
Some one knocked at the door, and immediately Jonas entered, carrying a
large bouquet of flowers.

The sailor was surely more prudent when he executed such commissions
for his master. He knew from experience, that the latter's offerings of
flowers, although received with pleasure by the young ladies, were not
always treated the same by their fathers and protectors, and although
with possible secret annoyance, he always took care to go to the right
address. But this time Hugo's casual remark that the flowers were
intended for his sister-in-law, caused the mistake. Jonas never doubted
that the Captain's remark, meant merely to shield his brother, was made
in earnest; he therefore went straight to the young Frau Almbach, and
presented the flowers to her, with the words--

"I cannot find Herr Reinhold anywhere in the house, so had better
deliver the flowers here at once."

Ella looked down in surprise at the beautiful bouquet which, arranged
with as much skill as taste, showed a selection of the most perfect
flowers.

"From whom are the flowers?" asked she.

"From the garden," answered Jonas. "Herr Reinhold ordered them, and I
have brought them; but as I cannot find him--"

"That will do. You can go," broke in Hugo, as he stepped quickly to his
sister-in-law's side, and put his hand on her arm as if to stop her. A
sign gave more stress to his order, and Jonas rolled away, but could
not help wondering that the young Frau Almbach received her husband's
attention in so peculiar a manner. She had started suddenly, as if she
had been seized with a pain at her heart, and become ashen white. But
the Captain stood there with knitted brows, and an expression on his
face as if he should have liked best to throw the expensive flowers out
of the window. Fortunately, Jonas was too phlegmatic to trouble himself
much about the state of affairs in the Almbachs' house; owing to the
warlike footing on which he stood to the servants he learned but little
about it; so, after wondering slightly, he gave it up, and being
satisfied he had executed his orders conscientiously, troubled himself
no more about the giver of them.

Deep silence reigned a few seconds in the room. Ella still held the
bouquet convulsively in her hand, but her usually quiet, listless
countenance, with its vacant, almost stupid expression, had changed
curiously. Now every feature was dilated as if in agonising pain, and
her eyes remained fixed and immovable upon the gay, blooming beauty,
even when she turned to her brother-in-law.

"Reinhold gave the order?" she asked, as if striving for breath, "then
the flowers only came by mistake to me!"

"Why then," said Hugo, with a vain attempt to soothe her, "Reinhold
ordered the flowers; well, surely they are for you?"

"For me?" Her voice sounded full of pain. "I have never yet received
flowers from him; these are certainly not intended for me."

Hugo saw he could not hesitate any more; chance had decided for him;
now he must obey fate's signal. "You are right, Ella," he replied
firmly, "and it would be useless and dangerous to deceive you any
longer. Reinhold did not say for whom the flowers were, but I know that
this evening they will be in Signora Biancona's hands."

Ella shivered, and the bouquet fell to the ground. "Signora Biancona,"
repeated she, in a dull tone.

"The actress who sang his first song in public," continued the Captain,
impressively, "for whom, also, his new composition is intended; to whom
he goes daily; who enters into all his thoughts and feelings. You know
nothing of it as yet, I see in your face, but you must learn it now,
before it is too late."

The young wife made no reply; her face was as colourless as the white
blossoms which formed the outer circle of the bouquet; silently she
stooped, picked it up, and laid it on the table, but no sound, no
response came from her lips. Hugo waited for one in vain.

"Do you believe the cruelty of disclosing that which one always hides
from every wife has given me any pleasure?" asked he, with suppressed
emotion. "Do you think I could not, by some pretence, have covered the
man's stupidity, and given myself out as the sender of the unlucky
flowers? If I do not act thus, if I discover the whole truth
unsparingly, I do it because the danger has become extreme--because
only you can still save him; and this you must see clearly. Signora
Biancona is about to return to her home, and Reinhold explained to me
just now that he must and will continue his studies in Italy. Do you
comprehend the connection?"

Ella started. Now, for the first time, a desperate fear broke through
the stolid calm of her nature.

"No, no!" she cried, as if beside herself, "He cannot! he _dare_ not.
We are married!"

"He dare not?" repeated Hugo. "You know men but little, and your own
husband least of all. Do not trust too much to the right which the
Church gave you; even this power has its limits, and I fear Reinhold
already stands beyond them. To be sure, you have no conception of that
burning fiendish passion, which enchains and makes a man powerless--so
surrounds him with its bonds, that for its sake he forgets and
sacrifices everything. Signora Biancona is one of those demonlike
natures which can inspire such passions, and here she is connected with
everything which makes up Reinhold's life--with music, art and
imagination. Nor Church nor marriage can protect, if the wife cannot
protect herself. You are wife, and mother of his child. Perhaps he will
listen to your voice, when he will to nothing else."

The young wife's heavily-drawn breath showed how much she suffered, and
two tears, the first, rolled slowly down her cheeks as she replied,
almost inaudibly, "I will try it."

Hugo came close to her side. "I know I have thrown a lighted brand into
the family to-day, which will, perhaps, destroy the last remains of
peace," he said, earnestly. "Hundreds of wives would now rush
despairingly to their parents, so as, with them or alone, to call their
husbands to account, and cause a scene which would break the last bond,
and drive him irretrievably from the house. You will not do this, Ella;
I know it, therefore I dared do with you what I should not have
ventured on so easily with any other woman. What you may say to
Reinhold--what you may insist upon, rests with yourself; but do not let
him leave you now; do not let him go to Italy!"

He ceased, and seemed to expect an answer--in vain; Ella sat there, her
face buried in her hands. She hardly moved as he said good-bye to her.
The young Captain saw that she must overcome the blow alone, so he
went.

When, half-an-hour later, Reinhold returned from the office, he saw the
bouquet of roses lying on the writing-table in his own room, and took
it up under the firm impression that Jonas had put it there. In the
meanwhile Ella sat in her child's room and waited, not for a farewell
from her husband, she had not been used to such tendernesses ever since
her marriage; but she knew he never left the house without first going
to see his boy. The wife felt only too well that she herself was
nothing to her husband, that her only value for him lay in the child;
she felt that the love for his child was the only point by which she
could approach his heart, and therefore she waited here for him in
order to hold the terribly difficult and painful interview. He must
surely come; but to-day she had to wait in vain. Reinhold did not
come. For the first time he forgot the farewell kiss on his child's
brow--forgot the last and only bond which chained him to his home. In
his heart there was only room now for one thought, and that was
Beatrice Biancona.

The opera was over. A stream of people flowed out of the theatre,
dispersing in all directions, and carriages rolled by on every side to
take up their respective owners. The house had been filled to
overflowing, as the Italian Opera Company had given their farewell
performance, and all H---- had tried to show the singers, especially
the _prima donna_, how much charmed it was with their efforts, and how
sorry it was to lose them now the hour of parting had arrived. The
stairs and corridors were still crowded; below in the vestibule people
were closely packed, and at the places of egress the numbers increased
to an uncomfortable, almost dangerous degree.

"It is almost impossible to get through," said Doctor Welding, who,
with another gentleman, descended the stairs. "One's life is imperilled
in the crush below. Rather let us wait until the rush is over!"

His companion agreed, and both stepped aside into one of the deep, dark
niches in the corridor, where a lady had already taken shelter. Her
dress, although simple, betokened that she belonged to the upper
classes; she had drawn her veil closely over her face, and appeared to
avoid the crowd, also to feel quite strange in the theatre, from the
manner in which she pressed herself with evident nervousness firmly
against the wall, when the two gentlemen approached, and, without
paying any attention to her, resumed their interrupted conversation.

"I prophesied it from the commencement that this Almbach would make a
great sensation," said Welding; "his second composition surpasses his
first in every respect; and the first was great enough for a beginner.
I should think he might be satisfied with its reception this time; it
was, if possible, more enthusiastic. Certainly, every one has not the
luck to find a Biancona for his works, and to inspire her for them, so
that she exerts her utmost power. It was altogether her idea to sing
this newest song of Almbach's as introduction to the last act of the
opera, to-day, too, at her farewell; when applause was a matter of
course, she made sure, by those means, of success at once."

"Well, I don't think he is wanting in gratitude," scoffed the other
gentleman. "People say all sorts of things. So much is certain, all her
circle of adorers is furious at this interloper, who hardly appears
before he is on the high road to be sole ruler. The affair, besides,
seems rather serious and highly romantic, and I am really anxious to
see what will be the end of it, when Biancona departs."

The Doctor buttoned his overcoat quietly--

"That is not difficult to guess; an elopement of the first order."

"You think he will elope with her?" asked the other incredulously.

"He with her? That would be objectless. Biancona is perfectly free to
decide what she likes, as to the choice of her residence. But she with
him; that would be more like the case--the fetters are on his side."

"To be sure, he is married," rejoined his companion. "Poor woman! Do
you know her personally?"

"No," said Welding, indifferently; "but from Herr Consul Erlau's
description, I can form a truly correct picture of her. Contracted
ideas, passive, unimportant in the highest degree, quite given up to
the kitchen and household affairs--just the woman in fact to drive a
genial, fiery-headed fellow like Almbach to a desperate step; and as it
is a Biancona who is set up against her, this step will not have to be
waited for very long. Perhaps it would be fortunate for Almbach if he
were torn suddenly out of these confined surroundings, and thrown on to
the path of life, but certainly the little family peace there is would
be entirely ruined. The usual fate of such early marriages, in which
the wife cannot in the smallest degree raise herself to her husband's
importance."

At these last words he turned round somewhat astonished; involuntarily
the lady behind them had made a passionate movement, but at the same
moment as the Doctor was about to observe her more narrowly, a side
door was opened, and Reinhold Almbach appeared, accompanied by Hugo,
the conductor, and several other gentlemen.

Reinhold here was quite a different being from what he was at home. The
gloom which always rested on his features there, the reserve which made
him so often unapproachable, seemed thrown off with one accord; he
beamed with excitement, success, and triumph. His brow was raised
freely and proudly, his dark eyes flashed with conscious victory, and
his whole manner breathed forth passionate satisfaction, as he turned
to his companions.

"I thank you, gentlemen. You are very kind, but you will excuse me if I
retire from these flattering acknowledgments. The Signora wishes for my
company at the entertainment, where the members of the opera assemble
once more as a farewell meeting. You will understand, I must obey this
command before all others."

The gentlemen seemed to understand it perfectly, and also to regret
they had not to obey a similar command, when Doctor Welding joined the
group.

"I congratulate you," he said, giving his hand to the young composer.
"That was a great, and what is more, a merited success."

Reinhold smiled. Praise from the lips of a critic usually so exacting
was not indifferent to him.

"You see, Herr Doctor, I have to appear at last before your judgment
seat," replied he pleasantly. "Herr Consul Erlau was unfortunately
wrong when he considered me quite safe from any such danger."

"None should be considered happy before the end," remarked the Doctor
laconically. "Why do you rush so headlong into danger, and turn your
back upon the noble merchant's position? Is it true we are to lose you
with Signora Biancona? Shall you take flight to the south at the same
time?"

"To Italy, yes!" said Reinhold positively. "It has been my plan for
long. This evening has decided it, but now--excuse me gentlemen, I
cannot possibly allow the Signora to wait."

He bowed and left them, accompanied by his brother. The usually not
quite silent Captain had observed a remarkable reticence during the
conversation. He started slightly, when at Welding's approach the niche
was disclosed in which the woman's dark figure was pressed back in the
shadow of the wall, as if not wishing to be seen on any account, and no
one else did see her, at least no one took any notice of her; she could
not leave her place of refuge without passing the group, which kept its
place after the departure of the brothers. The gentlemen all knew one
another, and took advantage of this meeting to exchange their opinions
about the young composer, Signora Biancona, and the suspected state of
affairs between the two. The latter especially was subjected to a
tolerably merciless criticism. The scoffing, witty, and malicious
remarks fell thick as hail, and some time elapsed before the group
separated at last. Now that the corridor was quite empty, the lady in
the recess raised herself and prepared to depart, but she tottered at
the first few steps, and seized the banisters of the staircase as if
about to fall, when a powerful arm supported, and held her up.




                              CHAPTER VI.


"Come into the fresh air, Ella!" said Hugo, standing suddenly beside
her. "That was torture of the rack."

He drew her hand within his arm, and led her down by the nearest way
into the street. Only here, in the cool, sharp night air did Ella
appear to regain consciousness; she threw back her veil and drew a long
breath, as if she had been nearly suffocated.

"If I had dreamed that my warning would have brought you here, I should
have withheld it." continued Hugo, reproachfully. "Ella, for heaven's
sake, what an unfortunate idea!"

The young wife drew her hand away from his arm. The reproach seemed to
pain her.

"I wanted to see her for once," replied she softly.

"Without being seen yourself?" added the Captain. "I knew that the
moment I recognised you, therefore I said nothing to Reinhold, but I
felt as if standing on hot coals here below, while the criticising
group above was holding forth before your place of refuge, and giving
free course to their amiable remarks and opinions. I can fancy pretty
well what you had to listen to."

During the last words he had hailed a cabman, told the street and
number of house, and helped his sister-in-law into the carriage; but as
he showed signs of taking a seat beside her, she declined his doing so,
quietly but firmly.

"Thanks, I shall go alone."

"On no account!" cried Hugo, almost excitedly. "You are much agitated,
almost fainting; it would be unpardonable to leave you alone in this
state."

"You are not responsible for what becomes of me," said Ella, with
uncontrolled bitterness, "and to others--it does not matter. Let me
drive home alone, Hugo, I beseech you."

Her eyes looked at him entreatingly through their veil of tears. The
Captain did not say another word; he shut the door obediently, and
stepped back; but he watched the carriage as it rolled away until it
was out of sight.

It was long past midnight when Reinhold returned, and, without entering
his house, he went at once to his garden room. The house and
outbuildings lay still and dark; nothing was moving around, all who
lived and worked here were accustomed to be occupied in the daytime,
and required the night for undisturbed repose. It was fortunate that
the garden-house lay so distant and isolated, otherwise his companions
and neighbours would have been much less patient with the young
composer, who could not refrain, however late he might return home,
from always seeking his piano, and often morning's dawn surprised him
at his musical phantasies.

It was a quiet, moonlight, but sharp raw northern spring night. In the
dawning light, the walls and gables which enclosed the garden looked
even more gloomy and prison-like than by day; the canal appeared darker
in the pale moon's rays, which trembled over it, and the bare leafless
trees and shrubs seemed to tremble and shudder in the cold night wind,
which passed mercilessly over them. It was already April, and yet the
first buds were hardly to be seen. "This miserable spring, with its
tardy growth and bloom, its dreary rainy days and cold winds!" Reinhold
had heard these words spoken a few hours since, and then such a glowing
description followed of endless spring, which blossoms forth as by
magic in the gardens of the south, those sunny days, with ever blue
sky, and the thousandfold glorious colours of the earth; the moonlight
nights full of orange perfume and notes of song. The young man must
indeed have head and heart still full of this picture; he looked more
contemptuously than usual on the poor bare surroundings, and
impatiently pushed aside a branch of elderberry whose newly opening
brown buds touched his forehead. He had no more feeling for the gifts
of this miserable spring, and no more pleasure in growing and living as
miserably as these blossoms, ever fighting with frost and wind. Out
into freedom, that was the only thought which now filled his mind.

Reinhold opened the door of the garden room and started back with
sudden alarm. A few seconds elapsed before he recognised his wife in
the figure leaning against the piano standing out clearly in the
moonlight as it fell through the window.

"Is it you, Ella?" he cried at last, entering quickly. "What is it?
What has happened?"

She made a movement of denial. "Nothing, I was only waiting for you."

"Here? and at this hour?" asked Reinhold, extremely distantly. "What
has entered your head?"

"I hardly ever see you now," was the soft response, "at least only at
table in my parents' presence, and I wished to speak to you alone."

She had lighted the lamp at these words, and placed it upon the table.
She still wore the dark silk dress which she had on at the theatre this
evening; it was certainly plain and unornamented, but not so coarse and
unbecoming as her usual house dress. Also her never failing cap had
disappeared, and now, that it was missing, could be seen for the first
time what a singular wealth was hidden beneath it. The fair hair, of
which at other times only a narrow strip was visible, could hardly be
confined in the heavy plaits which showed themselves in all their
splendid abundance; but this natural ornament, which any other woman
would have displayed, was in her case hidden carefully day after day,
until chance disclosed it, and yet it appeared to give her head quite a
different mould.

As usual, Reinhold had no eyes for it; he hardly looked at his young
wife, and only listened slightly and abstractedly to her words. There
was not even the slightest trace of reproach in them, but he must have
felt something of the sort lay there as he said impatiently--

"You know I am occupied on all possible sides. My new composition which
was completed a few weeks since, was brought out publicly to-night for
the first time--"

"I know it," interrupted Ella. "I was in the theatre."

Reinhold seemed taken aback. "You were in the theatre?" asked he
quickly and sharply. "With whom? At whose instigation?"

"I was there alone--I wished--" she stopped, and continued
hesitatingly; "I too wished to hear your music for once, of which all
the world speaks and I alone do not know."

Her husband was silent and looked enquiringly at her. The young wife
did not understand the art of deceiving, and an untruth would not pass
her lips. She stood before him, deadly pale, trembling in all her
limbs; no especially keen sight was required to guess the truth, and
Reinhold did so at once.

"And only for this reason you went?" said he slowly at last. "Will you
deceive me with this excuse, or yourself, perhaps? I see the report has
found its way to you already! You wished to see with your own eyes,
naturally. How could I think it would be spared me and you?"

Ella looked up. There was again the darkly lowering brow she was always
accustomed to in her husband, the look of gloomy melancholy, the
expression of defiant, suppressed suffering, no longer a breath of
that beaming triumph which had lighted up his features a few hours
before--that was when away, far from his own people; only the shadow
remained for home.

"Why do you not answer?" he began afresh. "Do you think I should be
coward enough to deny the truth? If I have been silent towards you so
far, it was done to spare you; now that you know it, I will render
account. You have been told of the young actress, to whom I owe the
first incitement to work, my first success, and to-day's triumph. God
knows how the connection between us has been represented to you, and
naturally you look upon it as a crime worthy of death."

"No, but as a misfortune."

The tone of these words would surely have disarmed any one; even
Reinhold's irritation could not resist it. He came nearer to her and
took her hand.

"Poor child!" said he, pitifully. "It certainly was no happiness what
your father's will decided for you. You, more than any other, required
a husband who would work and strive from day to day in the quiet
routine of daily life without even having a wish to step beyond it, and
fate has chained you to a man whom it draws powerfully to another
course. You are right; that is a misfortune for us both."

"That is to say, I am one for you," added the young wife, sadly. "She
will, perhaps, know better how to bring you happiness."

Reinhold let her hand fall and stepped back. "You are mistaken," he
replied, almost rudely, "and quite misconstrue the connection between
Signora Biancona and myself. It has been purely ideal from the
beginning, and is so still at this moment. Whoever told you differently
is a liar."

At the first words, Ella seemed to breathe more easily, but at the
following her heart contracted as if with cramp. She knew her husband
was incapable of speaking a falsehood, least of all at such a moment,
and he told her the connection was spiritual. That it was so still she
did not doubt, but how long would it be so? This evening, in the
theatre, she had seen the flash of those demon-like eyes, which nothing
could resist; had seen how that woman, in her part, had run through the
whole scale of feelings to the greatest passion; how this passion
carried away the audience to a perfect storm of approbation; and she
could easily tell herself that if it had pleased the Italian so far
only to be the gracious goddess whose hand had led the young composer
into the realms of art, the hour was sure to come in which she would
wish to be more to him.

"I love Beatrice," continued Reinhold, with a cruelty of which he
seemed to have no real conception; "but this love does not injure nor
wound any of your rights. It only concerns music, as whose embodied
genius she met me, concerns the best and highest in my life, the
ideal--"

"And what is left for your wife, then?" interrupted Ella.

He remained silent, struck dumb. This question, simple as it was,
sounded nevertheless peculiar from the lips of his wife, deemed so
stupid. It was a matter of course, that she should be satisfied with
what still remained--the name she bore and the child, whose mother she
was. Strange to say, she did not appear inclined to understand this,
and Reinhold became quite silent at the quiet but yet annihilating
reproach of the question.

The wife rested her hand on the piano. She was visibly fighting with
the fear she had always cherished for her husband, whose mental
superiority she felt deeply, without, at the same time, ever venturing
on an attempt to raise herself to him. In the knowledge that he stood
so high above her, she had ever placed herself completely under him,
without ever attaining anything by it excepting toleration, which
almost amounted to contempt.

Now that he loved another, the toleration ceased; the contempt
remained--she felt that plainly in his confession, which he made so
quietly, so positively; his love for the beautiful singer "neither
injured nor wounded any of her rights." She had indeed no right to his
spiritual life. And she should keep firm hold of that man now, when the
love of a beautiful, universally admired actress, when the magical
charm of Italy, when a future full of renown and glory beckoned to him,
she, who had nothing to give excepting herself--Ella was conscious for
the first time of the impossibility of the task which had been
appointed to her.

"I know you have never belonged to us, never loved any of us," she
said, with quiet resignation. "I have always felt it; it has only
become clear to me since I was your wife, and then it was too late. But
I am it now, and if you forsake me and the child, you will give us up
for the sake of another."

"Who says so?" cried Reinhold, with anger, which exonerated him from
the suspicion that such a thought had really entered his mind.
"Forsake? Give up you and the child? Never!"

The young wife fixed her eyes enquiringly upon him, as if she did not
understand him.

"But you said just now you loved Beatrice Biancona?"

"Yes, but--"

"But! Then you must choose between her and us."

"You suddenly develope most unusual determination," cried Reinhold,
roused. "I must? And if I will not do it? If I consider this ideal
artist love quite compatible with my duties, if--"

"If you follow her to Italy," completed Ella.

"Then you know that already?" cried the young man, passionately. "You
seem to be so perfectly informed, that it only remains for me to
confirm the news others have been so kind as to tell you. It is
certainly my intention to continue my studies in Italy, and if I should
meet Signora Biancona there--if her vicinity give me fresh inspiration
to compose--her hand open me the door to the world of art, I shall not
be fool enough to reject all this, just because it is my fate to
possess a--wife!"

Ella shuddered at the unsparing hardness of the last words.

"Are you so ashamed of your wife?" she asked, softly.

"Ella, I beg you--"

"Are you so ashamed of me?" repeated the poor wife, apparently calmly;
but there was a strange, nervous, trembling inflection in her voice.
Reinhold turned away.

"Do not be childish, Ella," he replied, impatiently. "Do you think it
is good or elevating for a man, when he returns home after his first
success, there to find complaints, reproaches, in short, all the
wretched prose of domestic life? So far you have spared me it, and
should do the same in future. Otherwise you might discover that I am
not the patient sort of husband who would allow such scenes to take
place without resistance."

Only a single glance at the young wife was required to recognise the
boundless injustice of this reproach. She stood there, not like the
accuser, but like the condemned; indeed she felt that in this hour the
verdict was spoken upon her marriage and her life.

"I know well that I have never been anything to you," said she, with
trembling voice, "never could be anything to you, and if I only were
concerned, I would let you go without a word, without a petition. But
the child is still between us, and therefore"--she stopped a moment,
and breathed heavily----"therefore you can comprehend that the mother
should pray once more for you to remain with us."

The petition came out shyly, hesitatingly; in it could be heard the
effort it cost her to make it to the husband, in whose heart no chord
throbbed for her, and yet in the last words there rang such a touching,
frightened entreaty, that his ear could not remain quite deaf. He
turned to her again.

"I cannot stay, Ella," he replied, more mildly than before, but still
with cool decision. "My future depends on it. You cannot conceive what
lies in that word for me. You cannot accompany me with the child.
Besides this being quite impossible in a tour undertaken for study, you
would soon be very miserable in a foreign country whose language you do
not understand, in circumstances and surroundings for which you are
quite unsuited. You must, indeed, now accustom yourself to measure me
and my life with another measure than that of narrow-minded prejudice
and middle-class contracted ideas. You can stay here with the little
one, under your parents' protection; at latest I shall return in a
year. You must resign yourself to this separation."

He spoke calmly, even pleasantly; but every word was an icy rejection,
an impatient shaking off of the irksome bond. Hugo was right; he lay
already too firmly under the influence of his passion to listen to any
other voice--it was too late. A cold, pitiless, "You must resign
yourself," was the only answer to that touching prayer.

Ella drew herself up with a determination at other times quite foreign
to her, and there was also a strange sound in her voice; there lay in
it something of the pride of a wife, who, trampled upon and kept down
for years, at last revolts when extremities are resorted to.

"To the separation, yes," replied she, firmly. "I am powerless against
it. But not to your return, Reinhold. If you go now, go with her,
notwithstanding my prayers, notwithstanding our child, so do it. But
then, go for ever!"

"Will you make conditions?" roared Reinhold, passionately. "Have I not
borne the yoke which your father's so-called kindness forced upon me
for years, which embittered my childhood, destroyed my youth, and now,
at the threshold of man's estate, compels me to conquer, only by means
of endless struggles, what every one requires as his natural right,
free decision for himself? You all have kept me apart from everything
that by others is called freedom and happiness; have bound me to a
hated sphere in life with all possible fetters, and now think
yourselves sure of your property. But at last the hour has come for me
when it begins to dawn, and if it penetrates like lightning to my soul,
and shows in flaming clearness the goal, and the reward at the goal,
then one awakes out of the dream of long years, and finds oneself--in
chains."

It was an outbreak of the wildest passion, most burning hatred, which
welled forth without restraint, without asking if it were poured over
the guilty or the innocent. That is the horrible fiendishness of
passion, that it turns its hatred against everything which it
encounters, even if this hatred meet the nearest, most sacred--if it
even meet bonds voluntarily made.

A long pause, still as death, followed. Reinhold, overpowered by
excitement, had thrown himself on a seat and covered his eyes with his
hands. Ella still stood on the same spot as before; she did not speak
or move; even the tremor which, during the conversation, had so often
passed through her, had ceased. Thus passed a few moments, until at
last she approached her husband slowly.

"You will leave me the child, though?" said she, with quivering lips.
"To you it would only be a burden in your new life, and I have nothing
else in the world."

Reinhold looked up, and then sprang suddenly from his seat. It was not
the words which moved him so strangely, not the deadly, fixed calm of
her face; it was the look which was so unexpectedly and astoundingly
unveiled before him as before his brother. For the first time he saw in
his wife's face "the beautiful fairy-tale blue eyes" which he had so
often admired in his boy, without ever asking whence they came; and
these eyes, large and full, were now directed towards him. No tear
stood in them, neither any more beseeching; but an expression for which
he never gave Ella credit, an expression before which his eyes sank to
the ground.

"Ella," said he, uncertainly, "if I was too furious--What is it, Ella?"

He tried to take her hand; she drew it back.

"Nothing. When do you intend leaving?"

"I do not know," answered Reinhold, more and more struck. "In a few
days--or weeks--there is no hurry."

"I will inform my parents. Good-night." She turned to go. He made a
hasty step after her as if to detain her. Ella remained.

"You have misunderstood me."

The young wife drew herself up firmly and proudly. She appeared all at
once to have become a different person. This tone and carriage, Ella
Almbach had never known.

"The 'fetters' shall not press upon you any longer, Reinhold. You can
attain your object unhindered, and your--prize. Good-night."

She opened the door quickly and went out. The moonlight fell brightly
on the slight figure in the darkness, upon the sad pale face and the
blond plaits. In the next moment she had disappeared. Reinhold stood
alone.

                           *   *   *   *   *

"This house is miserable now," said the old bookkeeper in the office,
as he put his pen behind his ear, and closed the account book. "The
young master away for three days without giving any signs of his being
alive, without enquiring for wife or child. The Herr Captain does not
set his foot across the threshold; the principal goes about in such a
rage that one hardly dares to go near him; and young Frau Almbach looks
so wretched that one's heart aches to see her. Heaven knows how this
unhappy story will end."

"But how, then, did this disturbance come so suddenly?" asked the head
clerk, who also--it was the hour for closing the office--put his
writing aside and shut his desk.

The bookkeeper shrugged his shoulders. "Suddenly? I do not believe it
was unexpected by any of us. It has been smouldering in the family for
weeks and months; only the spark was wanting in all this inflammable
matter, and it came at last. Frau Almbach brought the news home from
some lady's party, and thus her husband learned what half the town knew
already, and what no one hears willingly, of his son-in-law. You know
our chief, and how he always looked upon all this artist business with
dislike; how he fought against it--and now this discovery! He sent for
the young master, and then there was such a scene--I heard part of it
in the next room. If Herr Reinhold had only behaved sensibly and given
in in this case when he really was not innocent, perhaps the affair
might have been set aside, instead of which he put on his most
obstinate manner, told his father-in-law to his face that he would not
remain a merchant, would go to Italy, would become a musician; he had
endured the slavery here long enough, and much more of the same kind.
The chief could not contain himself for rage; he forbade, threatened,
insulted at last, and then, of course, came the end. The young master
broke out so wildly that I thought something would happen. He stamped
his foot like a madman, and cried--'And if the whole world set itself
in opposition, it will still be. I will not be domineered over anyhow,
nor allow my thoughts and feelings to be prescribed for me.' And it
went on in this tone. An hour later he stormed out of the house, and
has not let himself be heard of since. God protect everyone from such
family scenes."

The old gentleman laid his pen aside, left his seat, and wished the
others good-night, while he prepared to leave the office. He had hardly
gone a few steps along the passage when he met Herr Almbach, who turned
in quickly from the street. The bookkeeper struck his hands together in
joyful alarm.

"Thank God that you, at least, are to be seen again, Herr Captain," he
cried. "We are indeed wretched in this house."

"Is the barometer still pointing to stormy?" asked Hugo, with a glance
at the upper story.

The bookkeeper sighed. "Stormy! Perhaps you will bring us sunshine."

"Hardly," said Hugo, seriously. "At this moment I am seeking Frau
Almbach. Is she at home?"

"Your aunt is out with the chief," said the former.

"Not she. I mean my sister-in-law."

"The young mistress? Oh dear, we have not seen her for three days. She
is sure to be upstairs in the nursery. She hardly leaves the little one
for a moment now."

"I will seek her," said Hugo, as with a rapid adieu he hastened
upstairs. "Good-evening."

The bookkeeper looked after him, shaking his head. He was not used to
the young Captain's passing him without some joke, some chaff; and he
had also remarked the cloud which to-day lay on the young man's usually
cheerful brow. He shook his head once more, and repeated his former
sigh, "God knows how the affair will end."

In the meanwhile Hugo had reached his sister-in-law's apartments.

"It is I, Ella," he said, entering. "Have I startled you?"

The young wife was alone; she sat by her boy's little bed. The rapid,
youthful steps outside, and the quick opening of the door, might well
have deceived her as to the comer. She had surely expected another. Her
painful start and the colour in her face, which suddenly gave way to
intense pallor, as she recognised her brother-in-law, showed this.

"My uncle carries his injustice so far as to forbid me the house also,"
continued the latter, as he came nearer. "He persists in thinking I had
some share in this unhappy breach. I hope, Ella, that you exonerate me
from it."

She hardly listened to the last words. "You bring me news from
Reinhold?" asked she quickly, with fleeting breath. "Where is he?"

"You surely did not expect that he would come himself," said the
Captain, evasively. "Whatever blame may be due to him in the whole
affair, the behaviour on my uncle's part was such that every one would
have rebelled against it. On this point I stand on his side, and
understand thoroughly that he went with the intention not to return. I
should have done the same."

"It was a terrible scene," replied Ella, with difficulty keeping back
the tears which were gushing out. "My parents learned elsewhere what I
would have hidden at any cost, and Reinhold was awful in his wild rage.
He left us, but he might have let me receive one word at least, during
the three days, through you. He is surely with you?"

"No," replied Hugo, shortly, almost roughly.

"No," repeated Ella, "he is not with you? I took it as a matter of
course that he would be there."

The Captain looked down. "He came to me, and with the intention of
remaining, but a difference arose between us about it. Reinhold is
unboundedly passionate when a certain point is touched upon; I could
and would not hide my feelings about it, and we quarrelled for the
first time in our lives. He thereupon refused to be friends; I have
only seen him again this morning."

Ella did not reply. She did not even ask what was the cause of the
quarrel; she felt only too well that in her brother-in-law, esteemed so
frivolous, mischievous, and heartless, she possessed the most energetic
protector of her rights.

"I have tried my utmost once more," said he, coming close beside her,
"although I knew it would be in vain. But you, Ella, could you not keep
him?"

"No," replied the young wife, "I could not, and at last I would not."

Instead of any response, Hugo pointed to the sleeping babe; Ella shook
her head violently.

"For his sake I conquered myself, and begged the husband, who wished to
tear himself away from me at any price, to remain. I was repulsed; he
let me feel what a fetter I am to him--he may then go free."

Hugo's glance rested enquiringly on her countenance, that again showed
the energetic expression which was once so foreign to her features.
Slowly he drew forth a note.

"If then you are prepared, I have a few lines to bring you from
Reinhold. He gave me them two or three hours since."

The wife started. The firmness she had just shown could not continue
when she saw her husband's handwriting on the envelope; only his
handwriting, while with mortal agony she had clung to the hope that he
would come himself, if it had merely been to say farewell. With
trembling hand she took the letter and opened it; it contained only a
few lines--

"You witnessed the scene between your father and myself, and will
therefore comprehend that I do not enter his house again. That scene
has changed nothing in my decision. It only hastens my departure, as
the want of tact on your parents' part has given the affair a publicity
which does not make it appear desirable for me to remain an hour longer
in H---- than is absolutely necessary. I cannot bid you and the child
good-bye personally, as I shall not set foot again across a threshold
from which I was driven in such a manner. It is not my fault if a
separation, which I was resolved to obtain for a time, now becomes a
lengthened one that is brought about by a violent quarrel. It was you
who made the condition, that I should either remain or go for ever.
Well, then, I go! Perhaps it will be better for us both. Farewell!"




                              CHAPTER VII.


The Captain must have known what the letter contained, as he stood
close by Ella's side, apparently ready to support her, as in the
theatre; but this time she betrayed no weakness. She looked silently
down at the icy words of farewell with which her husband freed himself
from wife and child. With what haste had he seized the excuse which her
father's harshness and her own words offered him; with what relief had
he shaken off the irksome bonds! This blow did not fall unexpectedly
now. Since that last interview she knew her fate.

"He is gone already?" asked she, without raising her eyes from the
letter, which she still held in her hand.

"An hour ago."

"And with her?"

Hugo was silent; he could not say "No" to this question. Ella rose,
apparently calm, but she leaned heavily on the boy's bed.

"I knew it. And now--leave me alone, I implore you!"

The Captain hesitated. "I came, also, to bid you adieu," replied he.
"My departure was decided without this, and now, in my brother's
absence, nothing keeps me. I shall make no attempt to remove my uncle's
absurd prejudice against me, but I should like to take a word of
farewell from you, Ella, away with me. Will you refuse it me?"

The young woman raised her eyes slowly; they met his, and as if
following an involuntary impulse, held out both hands to him--

"I thank you, Hugo, farewell!"

With a quick movement he caught her hands in his--

"I have ever only been able to bring you pain," he said softly. "By me
came the first news which utterly destroyed your peace; it came too
late, and to-day it was again my hand which brought you the last. But
if I pained you, Ella, must pain you--my God, it has not been easy for
me."

His lips rested for a moment on her hand, then he let it fall, and left
the room quickly; a few moments later he was in the open air.

It was a raw, regular northern spring evening. The rain fell steadily;
mist hung heavily and densely in the streets; even the lamp light only
shone dimly red in the grey atmosphere. The rolling train bore Reinhold
Almbach away in this fog to the south, where fame and love, where his
future beckoned brightly to him; and in the same hour his young wife
lay at home on her knees by her child's cradle, pressing her head in
the pillow to smother the cry of despair, which now, that she knew
herself to be alone, broke forth at last. He had not come once to say
adieu; he had not one kind last word for her; not one farewell kiss for
his child. They were both forsaken, given up--probably forgotten
already.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The blazing glory of the sunset seemed to bathe heaven and earth in a
sea of fire, and illumination. All the wonderful colouring of the south
lighted up the western horizon, and the flood of light poured itself
far away over the town, with its cupolas, towers, and palaces. It was
an incomparable panorama stretching around the villa, which lay outside
the town on a slight elevation visible from afar, with its terrace and
colonnades, surrounded by the lower lying gardens, in which the most
luxuriant southern vegetation displayed itself. There sombre cypresses
raised their gloomy heads; pines waved in the gentle evening wind;
white marble statues peeped forth through laurel and myrtle bushes;
the waters from the fountains rippled and fell on the carpet of
turf; and thousands of flowers sent forth their intoxicating sweet
perfume--everywhere beauty and art, scent and flowers, light and
dazzling colours.

A numerous party was assembled on the terrace and in the adjoining
parts of the park, preferring the enjoyment of this beautiful evening,
and the wonderful view outside, to remaining in the rooms. It seemed
principally to consist of the aristocracy, yet many a figure might be
seen there which undoubtedly betrayed the artist, and here and there
appeared the dark habit of a priest near the light toilettes of the
ladies or brilliant uniforms. The most different elements seemed to be
united here. They walked, chatted, and sat or stood together in
unconstrained groups.

In one of these groups, which had gathered at the foot of a terrace
close to the great fountain, the conversation was conducted with
unusual vivacity; it must be about some subject of general interest.
The few words and names mentioned appeared to rouse the attention of
one of the guests, and he, coming from the terrace, passed close by the
group. He was clearly a stranger, as was denoted by his light brown
hair, eyes, and indeed his whole face, which, although tanned by sun
and air, still did not show the dark colouring of the southerner. The
uniform of a captain set off his strong manly figure very
advantageously, and in his bearing and movements was a happy
combination of the free, somewhat easy manner of a sailor with the
forms of good society. He stopped near the gentlemen who were talking
so eagerly, and listened to their conversation with evident interest.

"This new opera is, and will be the chief event of the season," said an
officer in the uniform of the carbineers, "and therefore I do not
understand how it can be so easily postponed. The performance is
already arranged, the rehearsals have begun, all preparations are
nearly finished, when suddenly everything is interrupted, and the whole
performance postponed until the autumn, and all this without any
apparent reason."

"The reason lies alone in the sovereign pleasure of Signor Rinaldo,"
replied another gentleman, in a somewhat ill-natured tone. "He is
accustomed to treat the opera and public according to his humour and
fancy."

"I am afraid you are mistaken, Signor Gianelli," interrupted a young
man of distinguished appearance, somewhat excitedly. "If Rinaldo
himself demanded the postponement, there is sure to be some cause for
it."

"Excuse me, Marchese, it is not so," replied the former. "I, as
conductor of the grand opera, know best what endless trouble, and what
immense sacrifice of time and money it has cost to meet Rinaldo's
wishes. He brought the whole theatrical world into confusion with his
conditions and requirements, as he demanded changes in the company such
as had never been made before, and everything in the same way. As
usual, all was acceded to, and all expected at last to be sure of his
approval; but now, on arriving from M----, he finds nothing but what is
far beneath his anticipations, he orders alterations and dictates
improvements in the most inconsiderate manner. In vain was it attempted
to dissuade him, through Signora Biancona; he threatened to withdraw
the entire opera, and--" here the maestro shrugged his shoulders
satirically, "his Excellency the Director would not take the
responsibility of such a misfortune upon his shoulders. He promised
everything, conceded everything, and as it was quite impossible to
carry out the so peremptorily demanded additions in such a short time,
even although ordered by the sovereign Signor Rinaldo, the performance
was obliged to be postponed until the next season."

"The Director in this case was quite right to give way to the wish, or,
if you like it, whim of the composer," said the young Marchese
decidedly. "The company would never have forgiven it if bad management
had robbed them of one of Rinaldo's operas. It is known that he would
be capable of carrying out his threat, and really withdrawing his work,
and with such an alternative before him, nothing remained but to give
way unconditionally."

"Certainly; my objection only concerns this species of terrorism which
a strange composer allows himself here, in the heart of Italy, inasmuch
as he compelled the inhabitants to content themselves with his
essentially German ideas of music."

"Especially when these same inhabitants have twice made a _fiasco_ of
an opera, while every new creation of Rinaldo's is greeted with
tempestuous applause by the audience," whispered the Marchese to his
neighbour.

The latter, an Englishman, looked much bored. He only understood
Italian imperfectly, and the rapid, vivacious conversation was
therefore greatly lost to him. Nevertheless he answered the Marchese's
low spoken and contemptuous remark with a solemn nod, and then looked
attentively at the maestro, as if the latter had become an object of
curiosity for him.

"We are speaking of Rinaldo's new opera," said the officer, turning
and explaining politely to the stranger, who so far had remained a
silent listener, and now replied in foreign sounding, but yet fluent
Italian--"I just heard the name. No doubt some musical celebrity."

The gentlemen looked in speechless astonishment at the inquirer; only
the maestro's face betrayed unmistakable satisfaction that there was at
least one person in the world who did not know this name.

"Some celebrity!" repeated Marchese Tortoni. "Excuse me Signor
Capitano, but you must have been a long time at sea, and perhaps come
from another hemisphere?"

"Direct from the South Sea Islands!" said the Captain with a pleasant
smile, notwithstanding the ironical tone of the question, "and as
there, unfortunately, they are not so well acquainted with the artistic
productions of the present times as might be desired in the interests
of civilisation, I beg to receive assistance in my deplorable
ignorance."

"We are speaking about the greatest and most charming of our present
composers," said the Marchese. "He is certainly by birth a German, but
since some years has belonged to us exclusively. He lives and works
only on Italian ground, and we are proud to be permitted to call him
ours. It will be easy for you to make his personal acquaintance this
evening. He is sure to appear!"

"With Signora Biancona--of course!" interrupted the officer, "have you
had an opportunity already of hearing our beautiful _prima donna_?"

The Captain made a gesture of denial. "I only arrived a few days since;
however, I saw her some years previously in my home, where she gained
her first laurels."

"Ah, she was a rising star then," cried the others. "To be sure she
laid the foundation of her fame in the north. She returned to us as a
known actress. But now she stands undoubtedly at the height of her
power. You must hear her, and hear her in one of Rinaldo's operas, when
you can admire her in all her glory."

"To be sure, as then one fire ignites the other," added the young
Marchese. "At any rate you will find in the Signora of to-day a
brilliantly beautiful apparition. Do not delay an introduction and
interview with her."

"Provided it be agreeable to Signor Rinaldo," said the maestro, joining
in again. "Otherwise you may attempt to approach her in vain."

"Has Rinaldo power to decide such points?" asked the Captain lightly.

"Well, at least he takes the right to do so. He is so used to being
master and ruler everywhere that he tries it here also, and, alas, not
without result. I do not understand Biancona. An actress of her
importance, a woman of her beauty, to allow herself to be so completely
ruled by a man."

"But he is Rinaldo," laughed the officer, "and that is saying enough.
Let us confess it, Tortoni, we can none of us compete with his
successes. All hearts fly towards him, wherever he appears; so at last
it is no wonder if even a Biancona bows willingly before the magic
which this man seems to bear about him."

"Hum, it is not done quite so willingly," said Gianelli, grimly.
"Signora is passionate in the highest degree, but Rinaldo, if possible,
even surpasses her. Between them it is quite as often storm as
sunshine, and furious scenes are the order of the day."

"This Rinaldo appears to govern all society as well as his audiences,"
said the Captain, now turning exclusively to the conductor. "Do people
submit to such a thing from one single man, and he a stranger?"

"Because all are blind, and will be to every other merit," cried the
maestro with suppressed violence. "When society once raises an idol to
a throne, it carries on its adoration until it becomes ridiculous.
They regularly worship Rinaldo, so it is no wonder if his pride and
self-appreciation become boundless, and he thinks he can trample on all
with impunity who do not pay him homage."

The Captain looked steadily and with a peculiar smile at the excited
Italian.

"It is a pity that such talent should have so dark a side! But after
all, it is not so much talent as fashion, whim of the public, unmerited
success; do not you think so?"

Gianelli would probably have agreed with all his heart, but the other
gentlemen's presence put some restraint upon him.

"The public generally decides in such cases," he replied, prudently,
"and here it is extravagant in its favours. For my part, I maintain,
without wishing in the least to detract from Rinaldo's fame, that he
might compose the most meritless work and they would extol it to the
skies, because it came from him."

"Very probably," agreed the stranger. "And possibly this new opera is
meritless. I am certainly of your opinion, and shall assuredly--"

"I advise you, Signor to withhold your opinion until you have become
acquainted with Rinaldo's works," interrupted the Marchese, sharply.
"He has certainly made the unpardonable mistake of attaining the summit
of fame in one unbroken course of triumph, and of acquiring greatness
to which no other can reach so easily. This cannot be forgiven him in
certain circles, and he must do penance for it on every occasion.
Follow my advice."

The Captain bowed slightly. "With pleasure, and all the more as it is
my brother whom you have defended so eloquently, Marchese."

This explanation, made with a most pleasant smile, naturally created a
great sensation in the group. Marchese Tortoni took a step backwards in
astonishment, and examined the speaker from head to foot. The maestro
became pale and bit his lips, while the officer with difficulty
refrained from laughing. The Englishman this time understood enough of
the conversation to comprehend the trick which had been played, and
which seemed to arouse his entire satisfaction. He smiled with an
expression of extreme contentment, and with long strides crossed over
immediately to the Captain, at whose side he placed himself silently,
thus giving him an unmistakable sign of approval.

"The musical name of my brother appears only to be known to these
gentlemen," continued Hugo unabashed, "mine doubtless sounded too
foreign to you in the general introduction. We have, indeed, no reason
to deny our relationship."

"Ah, Signor Capitano, I had heard already of your intended arrival,"
cried the Marchese, offering his hand with evident heartiness, "but it
was not fair to cheat us with an _incognito_. To one, at least, it has
caused bitter confusion, although he richly deserved the lesson."

Hugo looked round at once for the maestro, who had preferred to retire
unnoticed. "I wished to reconnoitre the ground a little," retorted he,
laughing, "and that was only possible so long as my _incognito_ lasted.
But it would soon have reached its termination, as I expect Reinhold
every moment; he was detained in the town, while I drove on in advance.
Ah, he is there already."

He really appeared at that moment on the terrace, and the maestro would
have had fresh opportunity to give vent to his anger at the "adoration,
which became ridiculous," as the sudden cessation of all conversation,
the interest with which all eyes were directed to one point, the
movement which spread through all the company, was only due to
Reinhold's entrance.

Reinhold himself had become quite different in these years--quite
different. The young genius who had once fought so impatiently against
the confining limits and prejudices of his surroundings, had raised
himself to be a renowned composer, whose name extended beyond the
boundaries of Italy and his home, whose works were familiar on the
stages of all capitals; to whom fame and honour, money and triumph,
flowed in richest abundance. The same mighty change had also been
carried out in his exterior, and this alteration was not at all
disadvantageous, as instead of the pale, serious youth, there now stood
a man in whom it was evident that he was at home with life and the
world, and only in the man did the always peculiarly attractive style
of his beauty manifest itself entirely. The proud self-consciousness
which now rested upon his _spirituel_ brow, and showed itself in all
his features and his whole bearing, became them well, but there lay
also a heavy shadow on this brow and on those features which happiness
had surely never placed there. His mouth curved with harsh mockery,
with contemptuous bitterness, and the former spark slumbered no more in
the depths of his eyes; now a flame shone there, burning, destroying,
flashing almost demonlike at every emotion. Whatever this face might
have gained outwardly, _peace_ spoke no more from within.

He conducted Signora Biancona on his arm, no longer the youthful _prima
donna_ of a second-rate Italian opera company, which gave wandering
performances in the north, but a star of European renown, who, after
having gathered laurels and triumphs in all important places, now
occupied the first position at the theatre of her native town. Marchese
Tortoni was right; she was dazzlingly beautiful, this woman; there was
the old burning glance, which once understood how to set on fire the
honourable patrician blood of the noble Hanseatic town, only now it
appeared to have become more glowing, more scorching; there was still
the countenance, with its witch-like entrancing magic, the figure with
its noble plastic limbs, only everything seemed fuller, more
voluptuous. The flower had developed to the ripest, almost over-ripe
splendour; she still bloomed, her beauty was still at its zenith, if
even one could not but acknowledge that perhaps in the course of the
next few years the limits would be already passed beyond which she
would be tending irrecoverably to her descent.

Both, especially Reinhold, were seized upon the moment they arrived.
All crowded around him; all sought his vicinity, his conversation. In a
few moments he had become the centre of the assemblage, and some time
elapsed before he could withdraw from all the attentions and flatteries
in order to look round for his brother, who had stood somewhat aloof.

"There you are at last, Hugo," said he, approaching, "I missed you
already. You make one seek you?"

"It was not possible to break through that triple circle of admirers,
which surrounds you like a Chinese wall; I have not attempted such a
piece of daring, but indulged in contemplating what happiness it is to
possess a celebrated brother."

"Yes, this everlasting crush is really oppressive," said Reinhold, with
an expression which showed not contented triumph, but, on the contrary,
unmistakable weariness; "however come now, I will introduce you to
Beatrice."

"Beatrice?--Ah, Signora Vampire! _must_ I, Reinhold?"

His brother's look became overcast. "Certainly you must. You cannot
avoid seeing her in my company, much and often. She is beautiful, and
with reason wonders it has not already been done. What is it, Hugo? You
appear wishful to evade this introduction altogether, and yet you do
not know Beatrice even."

"I do, though," replied the Captain shortly. "I have seen her already
at a concert on the stage at H----."

"But never spoken to her. It is odd one must almost compel you to do
what any other would look upon as a privilege! Usually you are the
first, when acquaintance with a beautiful woman is in question."

Hugo replied nothing, but followed without farther protest. Signora
Biancona, as was her custom, was surrounded by a circle of gentlemen,
and engaged in most lively conversation, which she, however, broke off
immediately the two appeared. Reinhold presented his brother to her.
Beatrice turned to the latter with all her fascinations.

"Do you know, Captain, I have been angry with you already, without
knowing you?" she began. "Reinhold was beside himself when he received
the news of your arrival. He left me in M---- in the most ungallant
manner, in order to hasten towards you. I had to undertake my return
journey alone."

Hugo bowed politely, but more distantly than was his wont to a lady,
nor did he appear to notice that Beatrice's beautiful hand was extended
confidently to Rinaldo's brother, at least he utterly resisted the
temptation of kissing it, which was certainly expected.

"I am very unhappy, Signora, at having roused your ill-will. But one
who disposes so exclusively of Reinhold's presence and company, should
possess liberality enough to forego it a short time in favour of his
brother."

He looked round for Reinhold, but the latter was already engaged.

"I resign myself," said Beatrice, still with charming friendliness, "or
rather I must still resign myself, as, since you came, I have seen
little enough of Rinaldo. There will remain no other remedy than to beg
you to accompany him when he comes to see me."

Hugo made a somewhat measured gesture of thanks--

"You are very kind, Signora. I shall seize with pleasure the
opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my brother's
admired--Muse."

Signora Biancona, smiled--

"Has he called me so to you? To be sure the name is not strange in our
circle of friends. Rinaldo gave it me once, when I led his first steps
to the path of art. A somewhat romantic designation, especially
according to German views, is it not, Signor? You hardly have such in
your north?"

"Sometimes," said the Captain quietly, "only with a slight difference.
With us, muses are ideal, floating in unattainable heights. Here they
are--beautiful women. An undeniable advantage for the artist!"

The words sounded like a compliment, and adhered steadily to the
playful tone which Beatrice herself had commenced; nevertheless she
cast a quick searching glance at the speaker's face--perhaps she saw
the sparkling scorn in it--as she answered sharply--

"For my part, I confess to have no sympathy with the north. Simply
because compelled, did I pass some short time there, and could only
breathe again when Italy's sky rose above me. We southerners cannot
succeed in submitting to the icy, pedantic rules which confine society
there, to the fetters which they would wish even to impose upon
artists."

Hugo leant with perfect indifference against the marble balustrade.

"Good God, that is of no importance. They are easily broken, and then
one is free as the birds in the air. Reinhold proved that sufficiently,
and now he has foresworn home and pedantic rules for ever, which is
entirely due to you, Signora."

Beatrice used her fan violently, although at this moment the evening
breeze blew refreshingly cool.

"How do you mean, Signor?" asked she, quickly.

"I? Oh, I mean nothing, excepting, perhaps, that it must be an
elevating sensation to have thus the entire fate of a man--or even a
family--in one's hands; in tearing him away from his 'fetters,' one
must feel in such a case something like an earthly providence. Is it
not so, Signora?"

Beatrice had started slightly at these words, whether from astonishment
or anger was not easy to decide. Her eyes met his; but this time they
measured one another, as two antagonists do. The Italian's glance
flashed; but the Captain bore it so firmly and quietly, that she felt
it was not such an easy game opposite those clear brown eyes, which
dared fearlessly to break a lance with her.

"I believe Rinaldo has every cause to be grateful to this providence,"
replied she, proudly. "Perhaps he would have sunk amid circumstances
and surroundings which were unworthy of him, if it had not aroused his
genius and shown him the path to greatness."

"Perhaps," said Hugo, coolly. "But people maintain that real genius
never does sink, and the more difficulties it has to penetrate the more
do they strengthen its power; however, that, of course, is also one of
the northern pedantic views. The result has decided in favour of your
view, Signora, and success is a god to which all bow."

He inclined his head and retired. He had said all this in the lightest
conversational tone, apparently quite unmeaningly, but Signora Biancona
must surely have felt the bitterness which lay in the Captain's words,
for she pressed her lips together in most intense internal irritation,
and her fan was moved almost furiously.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


Meanwhile Hugo had sought his brother, whom he found in conversation
with Marchese Tortoni; both stood a little apart from the rest of the
company.

"No, no, Cesario," said Reinhold, at that moment, refusing something.
"I have only shortly returned from M----, and cannot possibly think of
leaving town again. Perhaps later--"

"But the opera is postponed," interrupted the young Marchese, in a
beseeching tone, "and the heat begins to be oppressive. You are sure to
select some _villegiatura_ in a few weeks. Come to my assistance,
Captain," said he, turning to Hugo, just then approaching. "You intend,
surely, to become acquainted with our south, and there is no better
opportunity than in my Mirando."

"Do you know the Marchese already?" asked Reinhold. "Then I need not
introduce you."

"Certainly not," replied Hugo, mischievously. "I introduced myself
personally to these gentlemen, just as they were sitting in judgment
upon you, and I had the harmless pleasure, as an unknown listener, of
rousing them against you by casual remarks. Unfortunately it only
succeeded with one. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, took your part
most passionately; I had to feel the whole weight of his displeasure,
as I allowed myself to doubt your talent."

Reinhold shook his head. "Has he been playing his tricks already,
Cesario? Take care, Hugo, with your jokes! We are here on Italian
ground, where people do not take such things so lightly as in our
home."

"Well, in this case the name was only required to reconcile us," said
the Marchese, smiling. "But we are losing the thread of our discussion
entirely," continued he, impatiently. "I have still received no reply
to my request. I count positively upon your visit, Rinaldo; naturally
on yours also, Signor."

"I am my brother's guest," exclaimed Hugo, to whom the last words were
addressed. "Such a decision depends upon him and--Signora Biancona."

"Upon Beatrice! How so?" asked Reinhold, quickly.

"Well, she is already greatly annoyed that my presence keeps you so
much from her. It is decidedly a question whether she will set you at
liberty for any time, as Marchese Tortoni seems to wish."

"Do you think I should allow myself to be so entirely governed by her
whims?" Reinhold's voice betrayed rising irritation. "I shall have to
show that I can form a decision without her leave. We will come,
Cesario, next month, I promise you."

An expression of great pleasure passed over the young man's face at
this rapid, impetuous assent; he turned politely to the Captain.

"Rinaldo knows my Mirando well, and has always praised it. I hope also
to be able to make your stay agreeable to you. The villa is beautifully
situated, close to the sea shore--"

"And isolated," said Reinhold, with a peculiar mixture of melancholy
and longing. "One can breathe there while one is almost suffocated in
the drawing-room atmosphere. But our friends are going to dinner," said
he, turning the conversation, with an upward glance to the terrace. "We
must, I suppose, join the others. Will you take Beatrice to dinner,
Hugo?"

"No, thank you," declined the Captain, coolly. "That is surely your
exclusive right. I do not wish to dispute it."

"Your conversation with her was remarkably short," said Reinhold, as
together they ascended the steps of the terrace. "What was the matter
with you both?"

"Nothing particular. A little outpost skirmish; nothing more. Signora
and I have taken up our positions towards one another at once. I hope
you do not object."

He received no answer, as Signora Biancona's silk dress rustled close
by them, and the next moment stood between the brothers. The Captain
bowed low, with consummate gallantry, before the beautiful woman. It
would indeed have been impossible to find the least fault with this
mode of greeting, and Beatrice acknowledged it with an inclination of
her head, but the glance which she shot towards him showed sufficiently
that she also had taken up her position. The intense hatred of the
roused southerner blazed in her eye, only for a moment to be sure; the
next she turned round, laid her hand on Reinhold's arm, to let him lead
her into the dining-room.

"That seems to me neither more nor less than a declaration of war,"
murmured Hugo, as he followed the pair. "Wordless, but sufficiently
comprehensible. The enmity has begun--at your commands, Signora."

                           *   *   *   *   *

Marchese Tortoni was not wrong in his remarks; the heat,
notwithstanding the early season of the year, began to be oppressive.
The season was not over yet, but many families had already exchanged
their residence in the town for the usual _villegiatura_ in the
mountains or by the seaside, and the rest of the society was also on
the point of dispersing itself earlier than usual to all points of the
compass, until autumn brought them together once more.

In Signora Biancona's house no preparations had been made so far which
might lead to the inference of a speedy departure, and yet one seemed
to be under discussion in the interview which had just taken place
between her and Reinhold Almbach. The two were alone in the singer's
brilliantly and dazzlingly illuminated saloon; but Beatrice's beautiful
face bore an expression of unmistakable excitement. Leaning against the
cushions of the divan, her lips pressed angrily together, she plucked
to pieces one of the beautiful bouquets which ornamented the celebrated
actress' reception-room so plentifully; while Reinhold was walking up
and down the room with folded arms and gloomily clouded brow. It only
required a single glance to guess that one of those stormy scenes was
being enacted which Maestro Gianelli declared were as frequent between
the two as was sunshine.

"I beg you, Beatrice, spare me any more of these exhibitions," said
Reinhold, with great violence. "You cannot alter an affair already
determined upon. Marchese Tortoni received my promise, and our
departure for Mirando is arranged for to-morrow."

"Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the
same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and
then we had already decided to spend our _villegiatura_ in the
mountains this year."

"Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from
Mirando."

"As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to
chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your
brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away
from me as long as possible."

Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her.

"Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted
subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough
that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate,
spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share
his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has
never been impolite towards you."

Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that,
certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much.
The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on
his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the
German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which
governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows
how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any
one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing
wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile.
I--I hate him, and he me not less."

"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress
of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when
you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows
all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my
brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am
not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for
years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo."

"Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I
count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?"

And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches,
complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All
the passion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved
to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her
several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his
foot.

"Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain
anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already
found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a
word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these
continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every
occasion."

He went furiously to the balcony, and, turning his back upon the room,
looked down into the street, where the busy movement of the Corso was
visible. For a few minutes Beatrice's passionate sobs were heard in the
saloon; then all was still, and immediately after she placed a hand on
his shoulder, as he stood at the window.

"Rinaldo!"

Half-reluctantly he turned round. His glance met Beatrice's glowing
dark eye; a tear still stood in it, but it was no longer a tear of
anger, and her voice, just now so excited, had a soft, melting ring in
it.

"You say I am a mistress in the art of hating. Only in hating, Rinaldo?
You have often enough experienced the contrary."

Reinhold now turned completely to her, and returned from the balcony.

"I know that you can love," replied he, more mildly, "love warmly and
wholly. But you can also torment with this love; that I have to feel
every day."

"And you would wish to flee this torment, at least for a time?"

A deep reproach sounded in her voice. Almbach made an impatient
movement.

"I seek peace, Beatrice," said he, "and that I do not find at all near
you. You can only breathe in constant heat and excitement, both are
your conditions of life, and you drag your entire surroundings with you
in the everlasting fire of your nature. I--am tired."

"Of society or of me?" asked Beatrice, with freshly rising fury.

"Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold,
angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!"

"You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened,
half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"

Reinhold, who was already at the door, thought a moment and turned
slowly round.

"Ah, yes; I forgot the departure. Farewell, Beatrice!"

But he was not permitted to make his farewell so easily. Signora
Biancona had long since learned not to defy for any time the man who
now understood how to bend her otherwise capricious will to his own,
and when he again drew near to her all farther opposition was at an
end. Her voice trembled as she asked softly, "And you will really go
alone, without me?"

"Beatrice--"

"Alone, without me?" repeated she, more passionately. Reinhold made an
attempt to withdraw his hand from her, but it remained only an attempt.

"Cesario expects me positively," he said, deprecatingly, "and I have
already explained that you cannot accompany me--"

"Not to Mirando," interrupted Beatrice, "I know that. But what prevents
my altering the original plan, and making my first summer stay in
S---- instead of in the mountains, the great resort of all strangers?
It is near enough to Mirando, half-an-hour by boat would bring you
across to me. If I were to follow you--may I, Rinaldo?"

This tone of flattering entreaty was irresistible, and her glance
begged still more. Reinhold looked down silently at the beautiful
woman, the possession of whose love once appeared to him the highest
prize of happiness. The magic still exercised its old power, and
exercised it now most strongly when he was attempting to escape from
it. The concession was not made in words, but Beatrice saw, as he bent
towards her, that she had conquered this time. When he really left her,
half-an-hour later, the change in the plan of her journey was quite
decided upon, and their farewell was not for a separation of weeks, but
only of days.

It was already becoming dark, and the moon was rising slowly, when
Reinhold reached his own abode, which lay at some distance, in a more
open part of the town. On entering his reception-room he found the
Captain there, who appeared just to have been giving his servant an
impressive lecture, as Jonas stood before him with a most rueful
countenance, which was comically mixed with suppressed indignation, to
find words for which his master's presence only prevented him.

"What is it?" asked Reinhold, somewhat astonished.

"An inquisitorial enquiry," replied Hugo, annoyed. "For years I have
taken trouble in vain with this obstinate sinner and incorrigible
woman-hater, but neither teaching nor example--Jonas, you are to go
instantly up to the Padrona, beg her pardon, and promise to be more
mannerly in future. March! go along!"

"I shall be obliged to send him back to the 'Ellida' at last,"
continued he, turning to his brother, when Jonas had left the room. "The
ship's cat is the only female person there which he has near him; and
it is to be hoped he will not quarrel with it."

Reinhold threw himself on a seat. "I wish I had your unconquerable
humour, your happy gift of taking life like a game. I never could do
it."

"No, the ground notes of your being were always elegiac," said the
Captain. "I believe you never looked upon me as quite equal to yourself
in birth, as I could not take such ideal romantic flight to the
heights, nor penetrate to the depths, like your artistic natures. We
sailors are happy on the surface, and if now and then a storm should
disturb the deep, it does not matter to us, we remain above."

"Quite true," said Reinhold, gloomily. "May you always, stay on your
sunny, bright surface! Believe me, Hugo, it is only muddy below in the
depths, where people seek for treasures; and an icy breath blows above
in the height, where one dreamed of nothing but sunlight. I have tasted
both."

Hugo looked searchingly at his brother, who lay more than sat on his
seat, his head leaning back, as if tired to death, while his gloomy
eyes wandered out over the gardens of the neighbourhood, and at last
remained fixed on the faintly illumined horizon, where the last rays of
daylight just disappeared.

"Listen, Reinhold; you do not please me at all," he broke forth
suddenly. "After years I come to see my brother again, whose name fills
the whole world, to whom fate has given everything it can give to one
man. I find you at the height of renown and success--and I expected to
find you different."

"And how, then?" asked Reinhold, without raising his head or turning
his eyes from the darkening evening sky.

"I do not know," said the Captain, earnestly. "But I know that after a
fortnight only I cannot endure this life, which you have led for years.
This restless rushing from pleasure to pleasure, without any
satisfaction; this constant wavering between wild excitement and deadly
exhaustion does not suit my nature. You should put a bridle on yours."

Reinhold made a half-impatient movement. "Folly. I have become
accustomed to it for long; and besides, you do not understand it,
Hugo."

"Possibly. At any rate I do not require to deaden my feelings."

Reinhold started up. A glance of burning anger met his brother, who
attempted to pierce so far into his innermost thoughts, and who
continued, quite unmoved--

"It is only a means of deadening your feelings which you struggle for
day after day, which you seek everywhere without finding. Give up this
life, I entreat you. You will ruin yourself, body and mind, by it; you
must succumb to it at last."

"How long is it since the joyous Captain of the 'Ellida' has become a
preacher of moralities," scoffed Reinhold, with as much scornful
expression as he could use. "Who would have thought long ago that you
would lecture me in this manner. But do not take any trouble about my
conversion, Hugo. I have foresworn all the pious ideas of my youth,
once for all."

The Captain was silent. This was again the tone of wounding scorn with
which Reinhold made himself unapproachable the moment such topics were
touched upon; this tone, which made all influence impossible, which
jarred so upon every recollection of youth, and made the formerly warm
bond between the brothers strange and cold. Hugo did not even try
to-day to alter it; he knew that it would be in vain. Turning away, he
took up a book which was lying on the table, and began turning over its
leaves.

"I have never heard a single word from you about my compositions,"
began Reinhold, again, after a momentary silence. "You have had an
opportunity here of becoming acquainted with my operas. How do you like
them?"

"I am no connoisseur of music," said Hugo, evasively.

"I know that, and therefore I lay some value on your opinion, because
it is that of the unprejudiced, but acute public. How do you like my
music?"

The Captain threw the book on the table.

"It is agreeable and--" he stopped.

"And?"

"Unbridled as yourself. You and your tones go beyond all bounds."

"An annihilating criticism," said Reinhold, half-struck by it. "It is
well that I should hear it; you would fare badly in the circle of my
admirers. How then do you allow that there is anything agreeable in
it?"

"When you, yourself speak--yes!" explained Hugo, decidedly, "but that
is seldom enough. Generally this strange element predominates which has
given the turn to your talent, and still rules it. I cannot help it,
Reinhold, but this influence which from the commencement you have
followed, which all the world prizes as so elevating, has brought no
good, not even to the artist. Without it you might not have been so
celebrated, but undoubtedly greater."

"Truly, Beatrice is right, when she dreads you as her implacable
opponent," remarked Reinhold, with undisguised bitterness. "Certainly,
she only thinks of a personal prejudice. That you do not even allow the
value of her artistic influence upon me would indeed be new to her."

Hugo shrugged his shoulders. "She has quite drawn you into the Italian
style. You always storm when others only play, but it is all the same.
Why do you not write German music? But what am I talking about? You
have turned your back upon home and all its belongings for ever."

Reinhold rested his head on his hand. "Yes certainly--for ever."

"That almost sounds like regret," hazarded the Captain, looking with
fixed scrutiny at his brother's face. The latter looked up darkly.

"What do you mean? Do you perhaps think I regret the old chains,
because I have not found the happiness dreamed of in freedom? If I
tried any communication it would--"

"Ah, you did attempt some communication with your wife?"

"With Ella?" asked Reinhold, and there was again the old mixture of
pity and contempt, which betrayed itself in his voice the moment he
spoke of his wife. "What good could that have done? You know how I
left; it was done by a complete rupture with her parents, and therefore
naturally a narrow, dependent nature like Ella's would join in the
verdict of condemnation if it were ever even able to raise itself to a
verdict of its own. If the breach between us was formerly wide, now,
after all that has happened, it has become impassable. No, there could
be no talk of that, but I wished to receive news of my child. I could
not bear longer to have my boy so far away, not to be able to see him,
not even to possess a picture of him. I wanted his at any price,
therefore I chose the shortest means, and wrote to the mother."

"Well, and--?" asked Hugo, with interest.

Reinhold laughed bitterly--

"T might have spared myself the humiliation. No answer came--that
certainly was answer enough, but I wanted just to know how the child
was; I thought of the possibility of a mistake, of its being lost--what
does one not think of in such a case?--and wrote again. The letter came
back unopened"--he clenched his fist in wild anger--"unopened, to me!
It is my uncle's work; there is no doubt of it. Ella would never have
dared to offer it to me."

"Do you think so? You do not know your wife. She certainly has 'dared'
to offer it, and she alone could dare it, as her parents have been dead
some years."

Reinhold turned round quickly--

"How do you know that? Are you still in communication with H----?"

"No," said the Captain, quietly; "you may imagine that the state of
mind which existed in the family towards you was also partly carried
over to me. Since I left H---- at that time, a few days after you did,
I have never revisited it, but I correspond still with the former
bookkeeper of the firm of Almbach, who has taken over the business, and
continues it on his own account. I heard a few things from him."

"And you only tell me this now, after being together for nearly a
fortnight?" cried Reinhold, almost furiously.

"I have naturally not wished to touch upon a subject which it seemed to
me you wished to avoid," answered Hugo coolly.

Reinhold walked up and down the room a few times--

"Her parents are dead, then? And Ella and the child?"

"You need not be anxious about them; my uncle left a good fortune, much
more than people thought."

"I knew he was richer than he wished to be deemed," said Reinhold
quickly, "and this certainly alone gave me perfect freedom of action in
my departure. I was not necessary for my wife and child. They were safe
from any change of fate, without even my presence. But where are they
now? Still in H----?"

"Herr Consul Erlau was appointed the boy's guardian," informed Hugo,
rather shortly and distantly. "He appears also to have taken very
active interest in the deserted wife, as directly after expiration of
the time of mourning she moved into his house with the child. There
both were still living, half-a-year ago; so far my news extends."

"Indeed?" said Reinhold thoughtfully, "only I do not understand how
Ella, with her education and her habits, can possibly exist in the
splendid establishment of the Erlaus. I suppose she will have arranged
a few back rooms so as never to appear, or, notwithstanding her
fortune, have undertaken the post of housekeeper. She will never be
able to rise above this ambition. Had it not been so, I should have
borne much, indeed all--for the child's sake."

He went to the window, pushed it open, and leant out. The evening air
blew cool into the close room, where now a long silence ensued, as even
the Captain seemed to have no more inclination to prolong the
conversation. After a time he arose.

"Our departure in the morning is arranged rather early; we must be
awake betimes. Good night, Reinhold!"

"Good night!" replied Reinhold, without turning round.

Hugo left the room. "I wish this Circe of a Beatrice could see him at
such moments," muttered he, shutting the door. "You have conquered,
Signora, and torn him to yourself as your indisputable property--you
have not made him happy."

Reinhold remained a few moments longer immovable, at his place; then he
raised himself and went over to his work room. He had to pass through
several apartments in order to reach it. This abode, which occupied the
entire ground floor of the roomy villa, was not so brilliant as that of
Signora Biancona, but yet more extravagantly furnished, as the
magnificence which reigned there was here ten times surpassed by the
artistic decorations of the rooms; so there pictures hung on the walls,
statues stood in the window niches, whose value could only be estimated
by thousands; here were produced masterly copies of the most splendid
art treasures of Italy. Wherever the eye turned, it met vases, busts,
drawings and beautiful works, which elsewhere would have been each
alone the ornament of any drawing-room, and which here, scattered
everywhere, only served as additional decorations. Everywhere was
wealth of beauty and art such as only a Rinaldo could gather around
him in so lavish a manner, to whom gold as well as fame flowed in
never-ceasing plenty, and who was accustomed to throw the former away
quite recklessly.

In the middle of the study there stood a splendid piano, the gift of an
enthusiastic circle of admirers, who wished to offer a visible
testimony of their thanks to the master; the writing-table was covered
with cards and letters, which bore the names of the first people in the
kingdom, both as regards birth and genius, and which here were
indifferently thrust aside, without the recipient placing the least
value on them; from the principal wall, a life-sized picture of
Beatrice Biancona looked down, painted by a celebrated hand, most
charmingly represented, a really speaking likeness. She wore the
fanciful costume of one of her chief parts in an opera of Rinaldo's,
through the successful representation of whose works she herself had
only risen to be an actress of the first order. The painter had
succeeded in embodying the utterly infatuating magic, the glowing charm
of the original, in this portrait. The beautiful figure appeared
half-turned to the piano in an inimitably graceful pose, and the dark
eyes gazed with deceptively life-like truth down upon the man whom they
had kept so long already in indissoluble bonds, as if even here, in the
sacred place of his works and labour, they would not leave him alone.




                              CHAPTER IX.


Reinhold sat at his piano, improvising. The room was not lighted, only
the moon's rays, streaming fully in, hung over the flood of tones,
which now rose as if the storm were raging in its waves, now rolling up
mountains high, and then again disclosing the depths of an abyss. The
melodies flowed forth passionately, glowing, intoxicatingly, and then
suddenly they would start and change as if to harsh dissonance, to
jarring discord. Those were the tones with which Rinaldo for years had
reigned in the realms of music, with which he carried the crowd away to
admiration; perhaps because they lent language to that demon-like
element which slumbers in every one's breast, and of which every one is
conscious, partly with dread, partly with secret shuddering. There lay,
too, in these melodies something of that wild rush from pleasure to
pleasure, of that rapid change from feverish excitement to deadly
exhaustion, from that striving to benumb all feeling, which, sought for
ever, is never found; and yet there rang forth something powerful,
eternal, which had nothing in common with that element with which it
fought, and which was raised above it, only to be wrecked within it at
last.

The perfume of oranges rose from the gardens and streamed in through
the widely-opened doors on to the balcony, and was wafted
intoxicatingly through the apartments. Clear, full of great beauty and
intense peace, lay the moonlight above the old town, and the dim
distance disappeared in the blue, misty vapour. The fountain rustled
dreamily amongst the blooming trees, and the light which shone in the
falling drops illuminated with powerful distinctness the whole row of
apartments, with their marble treasures of art; it illuminated the
picture in the richly gilt frame, so that the witch-like, beautiful
figure above seemed to live; and the same light fell upon the
countenance of the man, whose brow, amid all this beauty and all this
peace, remained so heavily overcast.

How many years, and, indeed, much besides which weighed more heavily
than years only, lay between those long northern winter nights on which
the young musician created his first compositions, and this balmy
moonlight night of the south, on which the world-renowned Rinaldo
repeated, in endless variations, the principal theme of his newest
opera. And yet all vanished in this hour. Softly, recollection passed
before him, and let long-forgotten days live again, long-forgotten
pictures stand before him; the little garden house, with its
old-fashioned furniture, and the stunted vines over the window, the
miserable little strip of garden with its few trees and shrubs, and the
high, prison-like walls around it; the narrow, gloomy house, with the
so intensely hated business-room. Faint, colourless pictures--and yet
they would not give way, as above them floated smilingly a pair of
large, deep, blue child's eyes, which only there had shone for the
father, and which here, in this orbit, full of poetry and beauty, he
sought for in vain. He had seen them so often in his child's face, and
also once--somewhere else. The remembrance of this was certainly but
dim, almost forgotten; they had only then shown themselves to him for a
moment, before being veiled again immediately, as they had been for
years; but it was still those eyes, which hovered before him, as now,
out of the storming and rolling tones, a magically sweet melody arose.
An endless longing spoke in it, a pain which his lips would not utter,
and thus formed a bridge across into the far distant past. Now had
genius burst the fetters which then oppressed and confined him; now he
stood aloft on the once dreamed-of heights. All that life and success,
fame and love could give had become his portion, and now--again like a
storm, it swept over the notes, wild, passionate, bacchante-like, and
through it ever again that melody came plaintively, with its touching
pain, its restless longing, which could not be pacified.

                           *   *   *   *   *

"I fear our captain will not endure Mirando much longer. It is
dangerous having the sea thus ever before his eyes; he gazes over it
with such longing, as if the sooner that he could sail away from us the
better."

With these words Marchese Tortoni turned to his guest, who, for the
last quarter of an hour had taken hardly any part in the conversation,
and whom the young lord just caught in the act of a surreptitious yawn.

"Indeed not," said Hugo, defending himself. "I only feel myself so
utterly unimportant and ignorant in these ideal art discussions, and so
deeply impressed with the sense of my ignorance, that I have just gone
hurriedly through all the words of command during a storm, in order to
obtain for myself the consolatory conviction that I do understand
something."

"All evasion!" cried the Marchese. "You miss the female element
here, which you adore so much, and now appear unable to forego.
Unfortunately, my Mirando cannot offer you that charm, as yet. You know
I am not married, and have not been able to resolve upon sacrificing my
freedom."

"Not resolve upon sacrificing your freedom," intimated Hugo. "My God,
that sounds shocking. If you have not yet ascended the highest ladder
of earthly happiness, as books express it--"

"Do not believe him, Cesario," broke in Reinhold. "Notwithstanding all
his gallantry and knightliness, at heart he is of an icy nature, which
nothing warms too easily. He plays with all--has no feeling for any;
the ever-recurring romance, which he even sometimes calls passion,
lasts just so long as he is on shore, and disappears with the first
fresh breeze which wafts his 'Ellida' away on the sea. Nothing has ever
yet stirred his heart."

"Abominable character!" cried Hugo, throwing away his cigar. "I protest
against it most solemnly."

"Well you, perhaps, maintain that it is untrue?"

The Captain laughed and turned to Tortoni. "I assure you, Signor
Marchese, that I too can be unimpeachably true to my beautiful blue
ocean bride"--he pointed towards the sea--"to her I am pledged with
heart and hand. She alone understands how to chain and hold me fast
again and again, and if she do allow me now and then to look into a
pair of beautiful eyes, she never tolerates serious faithlessness."

"Until you look at last into a pair of eyes which teach you that you
also are not proof against the universal fate of mortals," said
Reinhold, half-jokingly, half with a bitterness which was intelligible
only to his brother. "There are such eyes."

"Oh, yes, there are such eyes," repeated Hugo, looking out over the sea
with an almost dreamy expression.

"Ah, sir, the tone sounds very suspicious," said the Marchese,
teasingly. "Perhaps you have already met with those kind of eyes?"

"I?" The Captain had at once thrown off the momentary seriousness, and
was again full of the old mischief. "Folly! I hope to defy long enough
yet the 'universal doom of mortals.' Do you hear?"

"What a pity you can find no opportunity here of proving this
determination," said Cesario. "The only neighbours whom we have keep
themselves so secluded that no attempt ever could be made. The young
Signora even--"

"A young Signora? Where?" Hugo jumped up eagerly.

The Marchese pointed to a country house, which, barely a mile distant,
lay half-hidden in an olive grove.

"The villa Fiorina yonder has been inhabited for some months. So far as
I hear they are also countrymen of yours, Germans, who have settled
there for the summer; but they appear to make the most perfect solitude
and invisibility their law. No one is received, no one allowed to
enter. Visitors from S----, taking advantage of their acquaintance at
home, were dismissed, without exception, and, as the family confine
their walks chiefly to the park and terrace, it is impossible to
approach them."

"And the Signora--is she beautiful?" asked Hugo, with most lively
eagerness.

Cesario shrugged his shoulders. "With the best will I cannot tell you.
I only saw her once slightly, and at some distance. A slight, youthful
figure; a head covered with beautiful golden plaits; unfortunately her
face was not turned towards me, and I rode pretty quickly past her."

"Without having seen her face? I admire your stoicism, Marchese, but
guarantee myself solemnly against the suspicion of doing likewise. By
this evening I will bring you and Reinhold information as to whether
the Signora be beautiful or no."

"You may find it difficult," laughed the Marchese. "Do you not hear,
all entrance is forbidden?"

"Bah! as if that would prevent me!" cried Hugo, confidently. "The
affair only now begins to be interesting. An unapproachable villa, an
invisible lady, who is, besides, fair and a German. I will enquire into
it, thoroughly examine into it. My duty as a countryman requires it."

"Thank God that you put him upon this scent, Cesario," said Reinhold.
"Now let us hope that his ill-concealed yawns will not disturb us any
more, when we talk of music. I wished to discuss the parts with you
again."

The young Marchese had risen and laid his hand entreatingly on
Rinaldo's shoulder.

"Well, and the opera? Do you stand immovably by your ultimatum? I
assure you, Rinaldo, it is almost impossible to carry out all these
alterations by the autumn; I have convinced myself of it. A new
postponement will be required, and the public and company have been
waiting for months already."

"They must wait longer." The words sounded haughty, and short in their
decision.

"Spoken like a dictator," remarked Hugo. "Are you always so autocratic
towards the public? The picture which Maestro Gianelli sketches of you
appears to possess some very striking traits of resemblance. I believe
it was not really so absolutely necessary to bring the entire opera
company, including his Excellency the intendant, into such despair as
you have done this time."

Reinhold raised his head with all the pride and indifference of the
spoilt, admired artist, who is accustomed to see his will obeyed as if
it were law, and to whom opposition is considered equal to an insult.

"I dispose of my work and its performance. Either the opera shall be
heard in the form I wish, or not at all. I have left them the choice."

"As if there were any choice!" said Cesario, shrugging his shoulders,
as he turned to his servant to give him an order, and left the two
brothers alone.

"Unfortunately, there appears to be none in this case," said Hugo,
looking after his young host. "And Marchese Tortoni will have you on
his conscience also, if you become thoroughly spoiled at last with this
senseless worship of you. He does his utmost, like the rest of your
adoring circle! They set you up in their midst like a Llama, and group
themselves respectfully around you to listen to the remarks of your
genius, even if it should please your genius to maltreat your
infatuated, surrounders. I am sorry for you, Reinhold. You are driving
yourself with certainty to the rock on which already so many valuable
powers have been wrecked--self-adoration."

"Hum! in the meanwhile you take care that this should not occur,"
replied Reinhold, sarcastically. "You appear to like the part of the
faithful Eckhard in a remarkable degree, and rehearse it at every
opportunity; but it is the most thankless of all. Give it up, Hugo! It
does not suit your nature in the least."

The Captain knit his brows, but he remained quite calm at the tone,
which might easily have irritated another, threw his fowling-piece over
his shoulder, and went out. A few minutes later he found himself by the
shore, and only when the fresh sea breeze cooled his head, did the
Captain's seriousness leave him; he struck at once into the road to the
Villa Fiorina.

To tell the truth, Hugo began to be wearied of Mirando and the
prevailing artistic atmosphere which the Marchese's inclination and his
brother's presence created there. The paradise-like situation of the
property was nothing new to the sailor, who knew so well the beauties
of the tropical world, and the solitude to which Reinhold gave himself
up with an almost sick longing did not at all suit Hugo's joyous
nature. Certainly S----, so much frequented by strangers, lay pretty
near, but he could not sail over to it too frequently, and thus
indicate to the young host that he missed companionship. Therefore this
probably beautiful, and at any rate interesting and mysterious
neighbour was very welcome, and Hugo resolved immediately to utilise
it.

"Let some one else endure these art lovers and art enthusiasts!" said
he, annoyed, as he followed the road by the sea. "Half the day long
they sit at the piano, and the rest of the time talk of music. Reinhold
always is in extremes. From the midst of the wildest life, out of the
most senseless excitement, he rushes head over heels into this romantic
solitude, and will hear and know of nothing but his music; I only
wonder how long it will last. And this Marchese Tortoni? Young,
handsome, rich, of a most noble line; this Cesario does not know what
better to do with his life than to bury himself for months in his
lonely Mirando, to play the _dilettante_ in grand style, and, with his
endless worship, turn Reinhold's head still more. I know how to spend
my time better than that."

At these last words, spoken with great self-satisfaction, the Captain
stopped, as the end of his walk was already, so far, attained. Before
him lay the Villa Fiorina, shaded by high fir trees and cypresses, and
buried almost in blooming shrubs. The house itself appeared magnificent
and roomy, but the chief façade as well as the terrace turned towards
the sea, and were so thickly overgrown and surrounded by roses and
oleander bushes that even Hugo's hawk's eye was not able to penetrate
the balmy fortification. A high wall, covered with creeping plants,
enclosed the park-like grounds, which terminated in the olive grove
which surrounded the estate. It might formerly have been, judging by
the size of the grounds, the property of some great family, then, like
so many others, have often changed owners, and now served as temporary
residence for rich strangers. At all events, in beauty of situation, it
did not yield the palm to Marchese Tortoni's highly prized Mirando.

The Captain had already formed his plan of campaign; he therefore only
scanned the country slightly, made a vain attempt to obtain a better
view of the terrace from the seaward side, measured the height of the
garden walls with his eye, in case of accident, and then went direct to
the entrance, where he rang the bell, and demanded to see the owners,
without hesitation.

The porter, an old Italian, appeared to have received his instruction
for the like cases, as, without even asking the stranger's name, he
explained shortly and decidedly that his master and mistress received
no visits, and he regretted that the Signor had troubled himself in
vain.

Hugo coolly drew out a card. "They will make an exception. It is
concerning an affair of importance, which requires a personal
interview. I will wait here in the meanwhile, as I am sure to be
received."

He sat down quietly on the stone bench, and this immovable confidence
impressed the porter so much that he really began to believe in the
importance of the pretended mission. He disappeared with the card,
while Hugo, quite unconcerned as to the possible consequences, awaited
the result of his impudent man[oe]uvre.

The result was unexpectedly favourable, as in a short time a servant
appeared and addressed the stranger, who had introduced himself by a
German name, in that language, and begged him to enter. He conducted
the Captain into a garden parlour and there left him alone, with the
intimation that his master would appear immediately.

"I must be a lucky man," said Hugo, himself somewhat surprised at this
unexpected, rapid success. "I wish Reinhold and the Marchese could see
me now. Inside the 'unapproachable' villa, expecting the lord and
master of the same, and only a few doors apart from the blonde Signora.
That is certainly enough for the first five minutes, and what my
charming brother could not have attained, although all doors fly open
before him. But now I must be charming,--in lies, that is to say--what
in the world shall I say to this nobleman, to whom I have had myself
announced concerning some important affair, without ever having heard a
syllable about him, or he of me? Ah! some one or other, on some of my
voyages has given me some commission. In the worst case I can always
have mistaken the person; in the meanwhile the acquaintance has been
begun, and the rest will follow of itself. I will arrange the
improvisation according to the character of the person; at any rate I
shall not leave the place without having seen the beautiful Signora."

He sat down and began to examine the room in a perfectly calm state of
mind. "My respected countrymen appear to belong to the happy minority,
who have at their disposal an income of several ten thousands. The
entire villa, with the park, rented for their exclusive use--the
arrangements made at great cost; one does not find this comfort in the
south--brought their own servants with them; I see no fewer than three
faces outside, on which German descent is written. Now the question
remains, have we to do with the aristocracy or the exchange? I should
prefer the latter; I can then pretend it is about some mercantile
affairs, while before some great nobleman, in the nonentity of a
citizen, I--how, Herr Consul Erlau!"

With this exclamation, made in boundless astonishment, Hugo started
back from the doorway in which the well-known figure of the merchant
now appeared. The Consul had certainly aged much in the course of
years; the once luxuriant dark hair appeared grey and scant; his
features bore an expression of unmistakable suffering, and the friendly
good will which formerly enlivened them had given way, momentarily at
all events, to a distant coldness, with which he drew near to his
guest.

"Herr Captain Almbach, you wish to speak to me?"

Hugo had already recovered from his astonishment, and resolved at once
to take every advantage in his power of this unexpectedly favourable
chance. He put forth all his capacities for pleasing.

"I am much obliged to you, sir. I hardly dared hope to be received
personally by you."

Erlau sat down, and invited his guest by a sign to do the same.

"I am also medically advised to avoid visits, but at the mention of
your name, I thought I ought to make an exception, as probably it
concerns my guardianship of your nephew. You come on your brother's
behalf?"

"On Reinhold's behalf?" repeated Hugo uncertainly, "How so?"

"I am glad that Herr Almbach has not attempted any personal
intercourse, as he did once already in writing," continued the Consul,
still in the same tone of cold restraint. "He appears, notwithstanding
our intentional seclusion, to know of his son's presence here. I
regret, however, being obliged to inform you, that Eleonore is not at
all disposed--"

"Ella? Is she here? With you?" exclaimed Hugo so eagerly, that Erlau
gazed at him in utter amazement.

"Did you not know it? Then Herr Captain Almbach, may I ask what has
really caused me the honour of your visit?"

Hugo considered for a moment; he saw plainly that Reinhold's name,
which had opened the doors for him, was nevertheless the worst
recommendation which he could bring, and made his decision accordingly.

"I must first of all clear up a mistake," replied he, with thorough
frankness. "I neither come as my brother's ambassador, which you seem
to imagine, nor am I here, indeed, in his interest or with his
knowledge. I give you my word for it, at this moment he has no
suspicion that his wife and son are in the neighbourhood, or, still
less, that they are even in Italy. I, on the contrary"--here the
Captain thought it necessary to mix a little invention with the
truth--"I on the contrary was put by chance on the track, and wished
first of all to satisfy myself of its correctness; I came to see my
sister-in-law."

"Which had better remain undone," said the Consul, with remarkable
coldness. "You will comprehend that such a meeting could only be
painful for Ella."

"Ella knows best how I have ever stood as regards the whole affair,"
interrupted Captain Almbach, "and she will certainly not refuse me the
wished for interview."

"Then I do so in my adopted daughter's name," declared Erlau
positively. Hugo rose--

"I know, Herr Consul Erlau, that you have gained a father's rights
towards my nephew, and also his mother, and honour these rights.
Therefore I entreat you to grant me this meeting. I will not wound my
sister-in-law with one word, with one recollection, as you appear to
dread, only--I should just like to see her."

Such a warm appeal lay in the words, that the Consul wavered; perhaps
he remembered the time when young Captain Almbach's courage had saved
his best ship, and how politely, but positively, he had rejected the
gratitude which the rich merchant was ready to bestow so oppressively.
It would have been more than thankless to have persisted in his sturdy
refusal towards this man--he gave way.

"I will ask if Eleonore be inclined for this interview," he said
rising; "she is already informed of your being here, as she was with me
when I received your card. I must ask you to be patient for a few
moments only."

He left the room. A short period of impatient waiting passed, when at
last the door was again opened, and a lady's dress rustled on the
threshold. Hugo went quickly towards the new comer.

"Ella! I knew you would not--" he stopped suddenly; his hand, stretched
out in welcome, dropped slowly, and Captain Almbach stood as if rooted
to the ground.

"You do not seem to recognise me quite," said the lady, waiting in vain
for the rest of the greeting, "am I so much altered?"

"Yes, very much," said Hugo, whose glance still hung in intense
astonishment on the figure of the lady before him. The impudent,
confident sailor, who had hitherto always shown himself equal to every
circumstance in his life, stood now dumb, confused, almost stupified.
Who, indeed, could ever have deemed this possible!

This was what his brother's former wife had become, the shy, frightened
Ella, with the pale unlovely face, and the awkward timid manner! Now
only could one see how the dress had sinned, in which Eleanor Almbach
always appeared like the maidservant, and never like the daughter of
the house, and also that enormous cap, which, as if made for the brow
of a person of sixty, had covered the youthful woman's head day after
day. Every trace of all this had entirely disappeared. The light airy
morning dress let the still girlishly, slight, delicate figure display
itself in its full beauty, and the rich ornament of her fair plaits,
which were now worn uncovered, encircled her head in all their heavy,
glimmering, golden glory. Marchese Tortoni had not seen the face of the
"blonde Signora," but Hugo saw it now, and during this contemplation of
some seconds' duration, he asked himself, again and again, what had
really taken place in these features, which were once so stolid and
vacant that one reproached them with stupidity, and which now appeared
so full of intellect and thought, as if a ban had been lifted from off
them, and something, never suspected in them, awakened to life.
Certainly around the mouth there lay a line of tender, unconquered
pain, and her brow was shaded by a sadness it had formerly not known,
but no more did her eyes seek the ground timidly, as if veiled; now
they were clear and open, and they had truly forfeited none of their
former beauty. Ella appeared to have learned not to hide any longer
from the gaze of strangers that with which nature had endowed her. When
she was eighteen, every one asked, shrugging his shoulders, "how does
this wife come by that husband's side?" At eight and twenty, she was an
apparition, fitted to compete with any one. How heavily must the burden
and chains of her parents' house have rested upon the young wife, when
only a few years in freer, nobler surroundings had sufficed to remove
the former shroud, to the very last morsel, and to loose the wings of
the butterfly. The almost incredible alteration proved of what her
youthful education was guilty.

"You wished an interview with me, Herr Captain Almbach?" began Ella, as
she seated herself upon an ottoman, "May I offer you a seat." Words and
bearing were as assured and easy, as if coming from a perfect woman of
the world receiving a visitor, but also distant and cool, as if she had
no deeper concern in this visit. Hugo bowed, a slight colour tinged his
cheeks, as he, following the invitation, sat down beside her.

"I begged for it. Herr Consul Erlau thought himself obliged to deny me
this interview in your name, but I persisted in a direct appeal to you.
I had more confidence in your goodness, my dear Madame."

She looked inquiringly with open eyes at him, "Are we become such
strangers? Why do you give me this name?"

"Because I see that my visit here is considered as an intrusion to
which I have no right, which I was not utterly denied, only on account
of the name which I bear," replied Hugo, rather bitterly. "Herr Consul
Erlau made me feel that already, and now I experience it a second time,
and yet I can only repeat to you, that without the knowledge or on
behalf of another, am I here, and that the other up to this moment has
no suspicion of your vicinity."

"Then, I beg you to allow this vicinity to remain still a secret," said
the young wife earnestly. "You will understand that I do not wish my
presence to be betrayed, and S---- is far enough to make that
possible!"

"Who told you that we are staying in S----?" asked Hugo, somewhat
struck by the certainty of this conviction.

She pointed to some newspapers lying on the table--

"I read this morning that two of the greatest musical celebrities were
expected there. The news has been delayed, as I see, and you are your
brother's guest."

Hugo was silent; he had not courage to tell her how much nearer her
husband was, and he could easily explain the notice in the papers to
himself, as he knew of Beatrice's intended arrival. People were
accustomed always to name her and Reinhold together, and although the
latter was now even staying in Mirando, they considered his coming
as certain, the moment she arrived in S----. Indeed it was also a
pre-arranged meeting between the two, and could not be denied.

"But why this concealment?" asked he, leaving the dangerous point quite
untouched. "It is not you, Ella, who have to avoid or flee from a
possible meeting."

"No! but I will protect my boy at any cost from the possibility of such
a meeting."

"With his father?" Hugo laid a reproachful stress upon the last word.

"With your brother--yes!"

Captain Almbach looked up surprised. The tone sounded freezingly cold,
and a stony, icy look lay on the young wife's countenance, which all at
once displayed the expression of an unbending will, such as no one
would have expected in so pleasing an apparition.

"That is hard, Ella," said Hugo softly. "If you now render yourself
unapproachable--I can understand it, after all that has happened; but
why the boy also? Reinhold tried once already to communicate with his
child; you repulsed him."

Ella interrupted him--

"You have told me that you come without any commission, Hugo, and I
believe you; therefore this subject need not be discussed between us,
let it rest! I was greatly astonished to see you again here, in Italy.
Do you purpose remaining long?"

Captain Almbach took the hint given him, although somewhat taken aback
by it. He was so unaccustomed for his young sister-in-law, whom he had
almost always known as a silent, frightened listener, to govern the
conversation so entirely, and lead it with such decision and ease to
another topic when the former one had become painful to her.

"Most likely longer than I thought at first," said he, replying to her
question. "My stay was originally only intended to be a short one, but
a storm which caught us on the open sea, so dismantled the 'Ellida,'
that I only reached the Italian harbour with great difficulty, and for
the present cannot think of another voyage. The repairs will occupy
some months, and my leave has therefore been prolonged indefinitely. I
certainly never anticipated finding you here."

A shadow passed over the lady's face.

"We are here by medical advice," she replied sadly. "Weakness of his
chest, obliged my adopted father to seek the south; his wife has been
dead some years, and you know that he is childless. I had long since
received all the privileges of a daughter, so that, of course, I also
undertook the duties of one. The doctor insisted particularly upon this
place, which indeed seems to exercise a most beneficial effect, and
however much I might have desired to avoid Italy, I could not persuade
myself to allow the invalid, to whom my presence is a necessity, to
travel alone. We hoped to escape any painful meeting by avoiding the
town in which Signor Rinaldo lives, and chose the most lonely, retired
villa in order to obtain the greatest seclusion possible. Our
precautions were in vain, as I see; you were no sooner in my vicinity
than you discovered my whereabouts."

"I? Yes certainly," said Hugo with involuntary confusion. "And you
reproach me with it."

Ella smiled.

"No, but I wondered that Herr Captain Hugo still entertained sufficient
interest in the little cousin Ella, to insist so obstinately upon
seeing her, when he was at first refused. We thought we had guarded
amply against strange visits. You knew, nevertheless, how to force your
entrance, and this shows me that I even possessed friends in my former
life. Until to-day, I doubted it, but it is a fact which does me good,
and I thank you for it, Hugo."

She raised her eyes clearly and openly to him; and with a charming
smile, which made her face appear intensely lovely, she stretched out
her hand to him. But the kindly thanks met with no response. Captain
Almbach's brow burned deeply red, then he sprang up suddenly and pushed
her hand aside.



                             END OF VOL. I.

RIVEN BONDS.

                                A Novel,


                            IN TWO VOLUMES.


                             TRANSLATED BY
                              BERTHA NESS,


                   _FROM THE ORIGINAL OF E. WERNER_,

                 Author of "SUCCESS AND HOW HE WON IT,"
                          "UNDER A CHARM," &c.



                           *   *   *   *   *
                                VOL. II.
                           *   *   *   *   *



                                London:
                           REMINGTON AND CO.,
                    5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.

                                 1877.

                        [_All Rights Reserved_.]






                              RIVEN BONDS.




                               CHAPTER I.


"No!" said Captain Almbach. "That cannot be! I have to make a
confession to you, Ella, at the risk of your showing me to the door."

"What have you to confess to me?" asked the astonished Ella.

Hugo looked down.

"That I am still the 'adventurer,' whom you once took so sternly to
task. It did not improve him certainly, but he never attempted since to
approach you with his follies, and cannot to-day either. To make my
tale short, I had no idea you were the inhabitant of this villa, when I
directed my steps here. I had myself announced to a perfectly strange
gentleman, because Marchese Tortoni had spoken of a young lady, who
lived here in complete seclusion, and yes--I knew before hand, that you
would look at me in this way--"

Her glance had indeed met him sadly and reproachfully; then she turned
silently away and looked out of the window. A pause ensued--Hugo went
to her side.

"It was chance which brought me here now, Ella. I am waiting for my
lecture."

"You are free, and have no duty to injure," said the young wife,
coldly. "Besides, my opinion in such matters can hardly have any
influence upon you, Herr Captain Almbach."

"And so Herr Captain Almbach must retire, to find the doors closed
against him next time, is it not so?" Unmistakable agitation was heard
in his voice. "You are very unjust towards me. That I, thinking to find
perfect strangers here, did undertake an adventure--well, that is
nothing new to me; but that I was guilty of the boundless folly of
confessing it to you, although I had the best excuse for deception,
that is very new, and I was only forced to it by your eyes, which
looked at me so big and enquiringly, that I became red as a schoolboy,
and could not go away with a lie. Therefore I hear Herr Captain Almbach
again, who, thank God, had disappeared from our conversation for the
last quarter of an hour."

Ella shook her head slightly.

"You have spoiled all my pleasure in our meeting now, certainly----"

"Did it please you? Did it really?" cried Hugo, interrupting her
eagerly, with sparkling eyes.

"Of course," said she, quietly. "One is always pleased, when far away,
to find greetings and remembrances from home."

"Yes," said Hugo, slowly. "I had quite forgotten that we are country
people also. Then you only recognised the German in me? I must confess
honestly that my feelings were not so purely patriotic when I saw you
again."

"Notwithstanding the unavoidable disillusion which your discovery
prepared for you?" asked Ella, somewhat sharply.

Captain Almbach looked at her unabashed for a few seconds.

"You make me suffer greatly for the imprudent confession, Ella. Be it
so! I must bear it. Only one question before I go, or one petition
rather. May I come again?"

She hesitated with her reply; he came a step nearer.

"May I come again? Ella, what have I done to you that you would banish
me also from your threshold?"

There lay a reproach in the words, which did not fail to make an
impression upon her.

"I do not do so either," replied she, gently. "If you would seek me
again, our door shall not be closed to _you_."

With quick movement, Hugo caught her hand, and carried it to his lips,
but those lips rested on it unusually long, much longer than is
customary in kissing a hand, and Ella appeared to think so, as she drew
it somewhat hastily away. Equally hastily Captain Almbach drew himself
up; the slight red tint which had before lain on his forehead was there
again, and he, who was at other times never at a loss for a civility or
suitable reply, said now merely monosyllabically--

"Thank you. Until we meet again, then!"

"Until we meet again!" replied Ella, with a confusion that contrasted
strangely with the calm and decision which she had shown throughout the
whole interview. It almost seemed as if she repented the permission
just given, and which still she could not withdraw.

A few minutes later, Captain Almbach found himself in the open air, and
slowly he began his return to Mirando. He had again carried out his
will, and fulfilled the promise made so confidently that morning. But
he seemed little inclined to make much of his triumph. Looking back to
the villa, he passed his hand across his forehead, like some one
awaking from a dream.

"I believe that the elegiac atmosphere of Mirando has infected me," he
muttered, angrily. "I begin to look upon the simplest things from the
most fantastically, romantic point of view. What is there, then, in
this meeting that I cannot get over it? The Erlau drawing-rooms have
been a good school to be sure, and the pupil has learned unexpectedly,
quickly, and easily. I suspected something of that for long, and
yet--folly! What is it to me if Reinhold learn at last to repent his
blindness! And she does not even know how near he is, so near that a
meeting cannot be avoided much longer. I fear any attempt at
approaching her would cost Reinhold much dearer than that first one.
What a singularly icy expression there was in her face when I hinted at
the possibility of a reconciliation! That;" here Hugo breathed more
freely, perhaps, in unacknowledged but great satisfaction--"that said,
No! to all eternity. And if chance or fate lead them together, now, it
is too late--now _he_ has lost her."

On the mirror-like blue sea a boat glided, which, coming from S----,
bore in the direction of Mirando. The bark's elegant exterior showed
that it was the property of some rich family, and the two rowers wore
the livery of the Tortonis. Nevertheless, for the gentleman, who
besides these two was the sole occupant of the boat, neither the rapid
motion nor the magnificent panorama all around appeared to possess the
slightest interest. He leant back in his seat, with closed eyes, as if
asleep, and only looked up at last when the boat lay to at the marble
steps, which led directly down from the villa's terrace to the sea. He
stepped out. A sign dismissed the two men, who, like all the Marchese's
servants, were accustomed to pay to their master's celebrated guest,
the same respect as to himself. A few strokes of the oars carried the
boat to one side, and immediately after it was anchored in the little
harbour away by the park.

Reinhold stepped on to the steps, and ascended them slowly. He came
from S----, where Beatrice had, in the meantime, arrived. As usual, the
actress here, also, where all foreigners and inhabitants of position
assembled for their _villegiatura_, was surrounded by acquaintances and
admirers, and Reinhold no sooner found himself at her side than the
same fate, and, indeed, to a greater extent, became his. In Beatrice's
vicinity there was no rest and no relaxation for him; she dragged him
at once into the vortex with her. The hours, which he intended to spend
with her, had become days, which in excitement and distraction did not
yield the palm to the last weeks in town, and after having accompanied
her yester evening to a large fête, which had continued the whole night
until morning's dawn, he had torn himself away at day-break, and thrown
himself into the boat in order to return to Mirando.

He drew a deep breath at the quiet and loneliness around him,
undisturbed even by a word of greeting or welcome. Cesario, as he knew,
had early this morning undertaken an expedition to the neighbouring
island, in Hugo's company, from which both were only expected back
towards evening, and for strangers the villa was not yet accessible.
The young Marchese did not like to be disturbed in the seclusion of his
_villegiatura_, and his steward had received orders not to allow any
strange visitors to enter during his residence, an order which was
carried out most strictly, to the great dissatisfaction of travellers,
by whom Mirando was considered a favourite goal for excursions. The
estate, with its extensive gardens, and magnificent buildings, which in
the north would certainly have been called a castle, and here merely
bore the modest name of a villa, was celebrated far and near, not only
on account of its paradise-like situation and the boundless view over
the sea, but also because of the rich art-treasures which it concealed
inside, and which now merely charmed the eyes of the few who had the
good fortune of being permitted to call themselves the Marchese's
guests.

Short of rest, tired, and yet unable to seek repose and sleep, Reinhold
threw himself on to one of the marble benches in the shade of the
colonnade; he felt strained to the utmost exhaustion. Yes, these sultry
Italian nights, with their intoxicating perfume of flowers, and their
moonlight quiet, or the noisy clamour of a feast, these sunshiny days,
with the ever-blue sky, and the glowing splendour of the earth's
colours, they had given him everything of which he had ever dreamed in
the cold, dreary north; but they had also cost him the best part of his
life's strength. The time was long since passed when all existence
appeared to be only one course of glowing intoxication and of inspiring
dreams to the young composer. This had lasted for months, for years;
then gradually weariness came on, and at last the awaking, when this
beautiful world, sparkling with colour, lay so empty and cold before
him, where the ideals collapsed, and freedom, once so fiercely longed
for, became an endless desert, to which no duty, but also no desire set
a limit. With the fetters which he had broken so eagerly and ruthlessly
he had also lost the reins; he wandered out into the boundless, and the
boundlessness had become a curse to him.

Certainly, the internal Prometheus-like spark preserved the artist from
the fate which overtook so many others, from that helpless sinking into
a sensation of being surfeited and indifferent to everything; but the
same power which ever and ever again forced him out of it, drove him
helpless hither and thither, seeking the only thing which was wanting,
and ever would be wanting. Italy in all its beauty was not able to give
it to him, not Beatrice's glowing love, not art, which had offered him
the fullest wealth of fame--the phantom melted so soon as he stretched
out his arms towards it. And even if the wondrous flora of the south
had displayed itself to him in all its exhilarating glory, still he
would not have found the blue flower of the fairy legends.

Reinhold started up suddenly from his dreams, something had disturbed
him in them. Was it a step, a rustle?--he raised himself, and, with
extreme surprise, saw a lady standing only a few paces distant on the
terrace, gazing out over the sea. What could it mean? How did this
stranger come here, now when Mirando was not accessible to visitors;
she could only a few minutes since have passed through the open door
leading into the saloon, which contained the celebrated collection of
pictures, belonging to the villa, and appeared to have remarked the
solitary dreamer in the colonnade as little as he had remarked her.

Reinhold had long since become indifferent to woman's beauty, but
involuntarily this apparition enchained him. She stood under the shadow
of one of the gigantic vases which ornamented the terrace; only the
bowed head was caught by the full sunlight, and the heavy blonde plaits
gleamed in the rays like spun gold. Her face was half averted. Her
delicate, clear and nobly chiselled profile could hardly be seen. Her
slight figure in its airy white robes leaned lightly in an undeniably
graceful attitude against the marble balustrade; her left hand rested
on it, while the drooping right one held her straw hat decorated with
flowers. She stood immovable, quite lost in contemplation of the sea,
and had evidently no idea that she was observed.

It was still early in the day. The morning had risen bright and clear
out of the sea, and now lay smiling sunnily in dewy freshness over the
whole country. A blue mist still encircled the mountains and the
distant coasts, whose lines seemed to tremble as if blown with a breath
on the horizon, and the still moist air was quivering as if with a
silvery light. There was something fairy-like in this morning hour and
this surrounding, above all in yonder white figure with the golden
glimmering hair, and Mirando itself, with its white marble pillars and
terraces, appeared like a fairy castle, which had risen out of the
liquid depths. Deep blue was the arching sky above, and deep blue the
sea laving its feet. The scent of flowers was wafted hither from the
gardens, but ghostly silence reigned everywhere, as if all life were
banished or sunk in sleep. No sound anywhere, nothing but the gentle
splashing of the sea, ever the same dream-like murmur of the waves,
which kissed the marble steps, and before one nothing to be seen save
the blue, heaving expanse, which extended far away into boundless
distance.

Reinhold remained motionless in his position, he would not disturb the
charm of this moment by any movement. It was as if a breath of the old
legendary poems of his home were wafted to him, long forgotten but
rising now suddenly before him with all their melancholy charms.
Suddenly this deep calm was interrupted by the clear joyfulness of a
child's voice. A boy of about seven or eight rushed up the steps of the
terrace, a large shining mussel shell in his hand, which he had picked
up somewhere on the shore. The child was evidently most delighted with
his discovery, his whole little face beamed, as, with glowing cheeks
and streaming locks, he hastened towards the lady, who turned her head
round at his cry.

With a half suppressed exclamation, Reinhold sprang up and remained as
if rooted to the ground. The moment she had turned her face completely
towards him, he recognised the stranger, who bore Ella's features and
yet could not be Ella. Bewildered, deadly pale, he stared at the lady,
whose poetical appearance he had just been admiring, and who yet, in
every feature, resembled his so despised, and at last forsaken wife.
She, too, had recognised him; the intense pallor which also overspread
her face, betrayed it, as did her sudden start backwards. She grasped
the marble balustrade as if seeking for support, but now the boy had
reached her and, holding the mussel aloft with both hands, cried
triumphantly--

"Mamma! dear mamma, see what I have found!"

This roused Reinhold from his stupor. Bewilderment, fright,
astonishment, all disappeared as he heard his child's voice. Following
the impulse of the moment, he rushed forward, and stretched out his
arms, to draw the boy eagerly to his breast.

"Reinhold!"

Almbach stopped as if struck; but the name was not for him, only for
the boy, who, immediately obeying her call, hastened to his mother.
With a rapid movement she placed both arms around him, as if to protect
and conceal her child, and then drew herself up. The pallor had not
left her face yet, her lips still trembled, but her voice sounded firm
and energetic.

"You must not trouble strangers, Reinhold. Come, my child! We will
go."

Almbach started, and stepped back a pace; the tone was as new to him as
the whole person of her, whom he once called his wife. Had he not
recognised her voice, he would have believed more than ever in a
delusion. The little one, on the contrary, looked up in surprise at the
rebuke. He had not even gone near to the strange gentleman, and
certainly had not troubled him, but he saw in his mother's
colourlessness and excitement that something unusual had occurred, and
the child's large blue eyes fixed themselves defiantly, almost
antagonistically upon the stranger, who, he guessed instinctively, was
the cause of his mother's alarm.

Ella bad already recovered herself. She turned to go, her arm still
held firmly round her boy's shoulder, but Reinhold now stepped hastily
in her way--she was obliged to stop.

"Will you be so good as to allow us to pass?" said she, coldly and
distantly. "I beg you to do so."

"What does this mean, Ella?" exclaimed Reinhold, now in passionate
excitement. "You have recognised me, as well as I have you. Why this
tone between us?"

She looked at him; in that glance lay the whole reply; icy-cold,
annihilating scorn; he had indeed never deemed it possible that Ella's
eyes could look thus, but he turned his to the ground beneath them.

"Will you be so good as to leave us the road free, Signor?" she
repeated in perfectly pure Italian, as if she imagined that he did not
understand German. There lay a positive tone of command in the words,
and Reinhold--obeyed. His self-possession quite lost, he moved aside
and let her pass. He saw how she descended the steps with the child,
how a servant below, in strange livery, who seemed to have waited,
joined them, and how all three hurried through the gardens; but he
himself still stood above on the terrace and tried to remember whether
he had been dreaming and the whole had not been merely a picture of his
imagination.

The noisy locking of the door which led to the picture gallery, brought
him back to his senses. A few steps took him there, and throwing the
door open roughly he entered the saloon, where the steward of Mirando
was just engaged in letting the blinds down again, which he had drawn
up to give a better light.

"Who was the lady with the child, who was just now on the terrace?"
With this hasty question, Reinhold rushed in upon the man, who seemed
shocked when he saw his master's guest before him, having believed him
still to be in S----; he hesitated with his reply in evident confusion.

"Pardon me, Signor, I had no idea that you had returned already, and as
Eccellenza and the Signor Capitano are only expected this evening, I
ventured----"

"Who was the lady?" persisted Reinhold, in feverish impatience, without
paying attention to the answer. "Where did she come from?--quick, I
must know it!"

"From the villa Fiorina," said the steward half-wonderingly,
half-frightened at the questioner's eagerness. "The strange lady wished
to see Mirando, and let her servant apply for her. Eccellenza has
certainly ordered that no visitors are to be admitted during his
residence here, but this morning no one was at home, so I thought I
might make an exception;" he paused, and then added, in a tone of
entreaty, "It would be sure to cause me great trouble with Eccellenza,
if Signor Rinaldo were to tell him."

"I? no," said Reinhold, absently, "what was the lady's name?"

"Erlau, if I understood rightly."

"Erlau?--oh!" Almbach passed his hand over his forehead; "That is all,
Mariano, thank you," said he, and left the saloon.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The day had become burningly hot, nor did the evening bring coolness or
refreshment. Air and sea did not appear to be stirred by any breath,
and the sun went down in hot clouds of mist. In the villa Fiorina also
they seemed to suffer from the oppression. The inhabitants confined
themselves probably to the cooler rooms, as the jalousies had not been
opened the whole day, and the glass doors which led to the terrace
remained closed. The German family hardly occupied half of the
capacious dwelling which it had engaged entirely for itself. A
few rooms to the right of the garden saloon were arranged for the
Consul--those on the opposite side were inhabited by his adopted
daughter, with her child; the servants were located in the back
apartments, and the rest remained empty.

The evening was already far advanced when Ella entered the garden
saloon, which was illuminated by a lamp. The Consul had retired to
rest, and she came from her boy, whom, after he had fallen asleep, she
had left to his attendant's care. Perhaps it was the dim light which
made her face still appear pale; the colour had not returned to it
since the morning, even although her features seemed perfectly calm.

She opened the glass door and stepped out on to the terrace. Outside,
perfect darkness reigned already; no moon's rays pierced the clouds
which still enveloped the sky, no breath of wind from the sea moved the
blooming shrubs; sultry and heavy, the air seemed regularly to weigh
upon the earth, and the sea lay in idle repose, almost motionless. It
was alarming in this dense stillness and darkness, yet Ella appeared to
prefer this to remaining in the lighted garden saloon. She stood
leaning against the stone balustrade, as in the morning, partially
still in the pale circle of light which fell through the open door on
to the terrace, and, although indistinctly, displayed the slight form.

A few moments may have passed thus, when she was startled by a noise
near her. With a low cry, she tried to take refuge in the house, as
close by her there stood a tall, dark man's figure; at the same moment,
however, a hand was laid upon her arm, and a suppressed voice said--

"Be composed, Ella, it is neither a robber nor a thief who stands
before you, although you have forced me to choose the path of such an
one."

The young wife had recognised Reinhold's voice at the first word, but
she only drew back nearer to the threshold of the glass door.

"What do you desire, Signor?" said she coldly, in Italian. "And what
does this intrusion at such an hour mean?"

Reinhold had followed her, but he did not again attempt to touch her
arm, or even go near her.

"Above all, I wish you to have the goodness to speak German to me,"
retorted he, with difficulty restraining his excitement. "I have not
quite forgotten our own language, as you seem to suppose. Whence do I
come? From yonder boat! The terrace, at least is not so inaccessible as
the doors of your house, which remained closed to me."

He pointed towards the sea. It was a risk to ascend the high stone
terrace from a tossing boat, but Reinhold did not seem to be in a mood
to think of the possibility of danger. He had apparently been there
already when she came out, and now continued more excitedly--

"It is probably not unknown to you that I have been here once already
this morning. But you refused me, or rather Erlau did, because as a
matter of course I was not so wanting in tact as to enquire for you. He
neither received me nor the note, which contained my petition, yet you
must both have known what brought me here, so nothing but self-help
remained. You see I have gained admittance after all."

He spoke with keenest bitterness. The proud composer felt the double
rejection which he had experienced to-day to be a deadly insult. One
could hear how he struggled with his pride, even now, for every word,
and it must have been a powerful motive which brought him here,
notwithstanding all, and by such a path! His wife had clearly no share
in it, as he stood opposite her in gloomy, unbending defiance. As a
boy, Reinhold Almbach could never bear to humble himself, not even when
he knew himself to be wrong, and during the latter years he had too
often gained the dangerous experience that any error he committed was
covered by the right of genius, which may permit itself to do almost
anything.

While these last words were being spoken, they had entered the garden
below. In the middle of it Ella stopped.

"Signor Rinaldo appears to have mistaken his way, this time," said she,
certainly in German, but in the same tone as before. "Yonder in S----,
lies the villa where Signora Biancona resides, and it can only be a
mistake which landed his boat at our terrace."

The reproach hit him; Almbach's defiant look sank, and for a few
moments he was at a loss for a reply.

"I do not seek Signora Biancona this time," replied he at last, "and
that I am not permitted to seek Eleonore Almbach, she showed me
sufficiently this morning. It was not my intention to offend you again
by sight of me; it would have been spared you, had you acceded to my
written request. I came to see my child alone."

With a rapid step the young wife reached the bedroom door, and placed
herself before it. She did not speak a word, but in the evident
internal emotion there lay such an energetic protest, that Reinhold
immediately understood her intention.

"Will you not allow me to embrace my son?" asked he, angrily.

"No," was the firm reply, given with the most positive determination.

Reinhold was about to fly into a passion; she saw how he clenched his
fist, but he forced himself to be calm.

"I see that I did your late father injustice," said he, bitterly; "I
took it to be his work that all news of my boy was withheld from me.
Did you read my first letter yourself, and leave it unanswered?"

"Yes."

"And returned the second unopened?"

"Yes."

Reinhold's face changed from red to white; mutely he gazed at his wife,
from whose lips he had never heard an expression of her own will, much
less any opposition--whom he only knew as humbly and silently obedient,
and who now dared to refuse with such decision to grant him what he
considered his own right.

"Take care, Ella," said he, firmly, "whatever may have taken place
between us, whatever you may have to reproach me with, this tone of
scorn I will not endure; and above all, I will not tolerate being
refused the sight of my boy. I will see my child."

The demand sounded almost threatening. The young wife's pale cheeks
began to colour slightly, but she did not move from her place.

"Your child?" asked she, slowly; "the boy belongs to me, me only; you
lost every right to him when you left him with me."

"That may still be questioned," cried Almbach, beginning to wax
furious. "Are we judicially separated? Has the law given Reinhold to
you? He remains my son, whatever there may be between you and me; and
if you refuse me my rights as a father any longer, I shall know how to
enforce them."

The threat was not without effect, but it quite failed in its purpose.
Ella drew herself up, and exclaimed with quivering lips, but with great
energy--

"You will not do that; you have not the conscience to do it, and if you
had, there is, thank God, another power to which I can appeal, and
which is, perhaps, not quite so indifferent to you as the family bonds
and duties which you broke so lightly. The world would learn that
Signor Rinaldo, after he had forsaken his wife and child for years, and
had not enquired after them, now dares to threaten his wife with the
same laws which he scorned and spurned with his feet, because she does
not choose that her boy should call him father; and all your fame, and
all the adoration yonder, would not protect you from the merited
contempt."

"Eleonore!"

It was a cry of rage which escaped his lips as she uttered the last
word, and his eyes flashed in terrific wildness down upon the delicate
form standing before him. Once Reinhold's passion was excited to its
utmost, it knew no limits, and all around him were wont to tremble.
Even Beatrice, although so little his inferior in violence, dared not
at such moments irritate him farther; she knew where the line was
drawn, and once this was reached she always yielded. Here it was
different; the first time for years he was stranded by another's will;
before the eyes which met his own, so clear and large, his defiance
succumbed altogether--he was silent.

"You see yourself that it would be worse than mockery were you to
resort to law," said his wife, more calmly.

Reinhold leaned heavily against the seat near which he stood. Was it
shame or anger made the hand tremble which buried itself in the
cushion?

"I see that I laboured under a serious mistake when I believed I knew
the woman who was called my wife for two years," replied he, in a
singularly compressed tone. "Had you only once shown yourself to be the
same Eleonore whom I meet now, much would have remained undone. Who
taught you this language?"

"The hour in which you forsook me," replied she, with annihilating
coldness, as she turned away.

"That hour seems to have given you much more that was once foreign to
you--the pleasure of revenge, for example."

"And the pride, which I never knew, towards you," completed Ella. "I
had first to be crushed to the ground, but it awoke and showed me what
I owed to myself and my child, the only thing you had left to me, the
only thing that kept me up; for his sake I began again to learn, to
work, when the time for learning lay far behind me; for his sake I
roused myself above the prejudices and trammels of my education, and
gave my life a new direction when my parents' death made me free. I
must be everything now to the child, as it was everything to me, and I
had sworn that my child should never be ashamed of its mother, as his
father was ashamed of her, because externally she was inferior to other
women."

Almbach's brow was dyed a deeper red at the last words--

"It was not my intention to dispute Reinhold with you," said he
hastily. "I only wished to see him in your presence if it must be. You
know only too well what a weapon the child is in your hands, and you
use it mercilessly against me, Ella." He came nearer to her and for the
first time there was something like a tone of entreaty in his voice.
"Ella, it is our child. This link at least extends out of the past into
the present, the only one between us which is not broken. Will you
break it now? Shall the chance which brought us together really remain
merely chance? It lies in your hands to make it a turning point of fate
which may perhaps be for the good of us both."

The hint was plain enough, but the young wife drew back, and on her
countenance again that expression, full of meaning--that "No!" spoke to
all eternity.

"For us both?" repeated she. "Then you really believe I could find
happiness by your side, after all you have done to me? Truly Reinhold,
you must be much impressed with your own value, or my worthlessness,
that you venture to offer it to me. Certainly, when could you have
learned respect for me? It was not possible in my parents' house. I was
brought up in obedience and submission, and I brought both to my
husband. What was my reward for it? I was the last in his house, and
the last in his heart. He never thought it worth while to ask if the
woman, to whom he had bound himself, was really so contracted in mind,
so incapable of appreciating anything higher, or if she were only
rendered timid by the oppression of her mode of bringing up, from which
we both suffered. He rejected my shy attempt to approach him,
scornfully, woundingly, and let me feel hourly and daily that only the
merit of being his child's mother gave me any claim upon his endurance.
And when art and life were opened to him, he cast me aside as a burden,
which he had borne long enough with dislike; he gave me up to be the
talk of the world, to scorn, to dishonouring pity; he left me for the
sake of another, and at this other's side never asked if his wife's
heart were broken at the death-stroke he had dealt her--and now, you
think that only one word is needed to undo all this! You think you only
require to stretch out your hand to draw to yourself again that which
once you rejected! Do you think it? No; one cannot play so with what is
holiest upon earth; and if you thought the despised, repulsed Ella
would obey the first sign by which you signify that you would take her
back into favour, I tell you now she would rather die with her child,
than follow you once more. You have set yourself free from your duties
as husband and father, and we have learnt to do without the husband and
father. You have shown it, plainly enough, that we are the 'bonds'
which fettered the wings of your genius--well, now they are broken,
broken by you, and I give you my word for it, they shall never oppress
you again. You have your laurels and your--muse; what do you want with
wife and child also?"

She ceased, overcome with excitement, and pressed both hands against
her stormily heaving bosom. Reinhold had become deadly pale, and yet
his eyes hung on her as if enchained. The lamp-light fell full upon her
face and the fair plaits as on that evening when he announced the
separation so mercilessly. But what had become of that Ella who then
hung timidly and shyly on his looks, and obediently followed every
sign, every mood? No one trait of her was to be discovered in the being
who stood drawn up opposite him, so haughty and proud, and who hurled
back so energetically upon him the humiliations she had once received.
They could burn, these blue fairy-tale eyes, burn in glowing
indignation; he saw this now, but he saw also, for the first time, how
wondrously beautiful they were, how ravishing the whole appearance of
the young wife--in the excitement, and amid the anger and rage of the
highly irritated husband, something flashed out which almost resembled
admiration.

"Is that your final word?" asked he at last, after a pause of some
seconds.

"My final one!"

With a rapid movement, Reinhold drew himself up. All his antagonism and
pride broke forth again at this mode of refusal. He went towards the
door, while Ella remained immovable at her post, but at the threshold
he stopped once more and turned back.

"I did not ask if my wife's heart were broken by the death-stroke which
I dealt her," repeated he in a smothered voice; "Did you feel it at all,
Ella?"

She was silent.

"I certainly did not believe it then," continued Reinhold bitterly,
"and to-day's meeting makes me doubt more than ever that your heart
suffered from a separation which certainly wounded your pride more
deeply than I had ever deemed possible. You need not guard the door so
anxiously; I see, indeed, that I must first dash you aside in order to
reach the child, and that courage I possess not. You have conquered
this time; I renounce my purpose of seeing him again. Farewell!"

He went. She heard his steps outside on the terrace, then the rustle of
the shrubs as he pushed his way through them, and at last the stroke of
the oars, which bore the boat away from the shore. The wife breathed
more freely, and left the place she had defended so energetically. She
went to the glass door; perhaps a slight anxiety arose in her as to
whether the venturesome leap from the terrace would be as successful as
the ascent to it had been, but in the darkness nothing could be
distinguished. As before, the sea lay in idle calm. Far above, the
still, sultry night spread its wings, and flowers bloomed all around,
but every trace of Reinhold had disappeared.




                              CHAPTER II.


The clear balmy spring days were followed by summer's burning glow. The
gulf and its environs lay day after day illuminated by the sun in all
their beauty, but also in the almost tropical heat of the south; only
the sea breeze brought any coolness, so that the sea was the object of
most excursions which were now undertaken.

This repose of nature, which had continued for some weeks, was followed
at last by an outbreak; a thunderstorm raged in the air, and stirred up
the ocean to its innermost depths. The storm had come up so quickly,
broken loose so suddenly, that no one had been prepared for it, and it
had lasted for more than an hour already, with undiminished fury.

A boat shot through the foaming waves, and, apparently overtaken by the
storm, found itself struggling with the billows. For some time it had
been in danger of being seized without hope of rescue, and dashed out
into the open sea, but now with full sails set it flew towards the
coast, and after a few futile attempts succeeded at last in being
landed.

"That is really racing with the storm for a wager," cried Hugo Almbach,
as he, wet through with rain and spray, was the first to spring on
shore. "For this once we have fortunately escaped the wet embrace of
the goddess of the sea. We were near enough to her."

"It was lucky having such a true sailor with us," said Marchese
Tortoni, following him in a not less wet condition. "It was a
master-work, Signor Capitano, bringing us safely on shore in such a
storm. We should have been lost without you." Reinhold lifted the half
unconscious Signora Biancona, who clung to him, trembling and deadly
pale, out of the boat. "For heaven's sake, calm yourself, Beatrice! The
danger is over," said he impatiently, as the last occupant of the boat,
the English gentleman, who had been present at Hugo's former
_incognito_ discussion with Maestro Gianelli, also gained _terra
firma_.

In the meanwhile, Jonas poured forth all his contempt upon the two
sailors to whom the guidance had originally been entrusted, and who
fortunately did not understand the terms of praise addressed to them in
German.

"They call themselves sailors, they want to manage a ship, and when a
paltry storm comes on, they lose their heads and cry to their saints.
If my Herr Captain had not seized the rudder out of your hands, and I
taken the sails upon myself, we should now be lying below with the
sharks. I should like you to experience such a storm as our 'Ellida'
underwent before we ran in here, then you would know what a little
blowing on your gulf means."

The little blowing would have been looked upon by any one else than the
sailor as a regular stiff storm. At all events it had endangered the
lives of the party, and they owed their safety only to the energetic
guidance of Captain Almbach, who now turned aside from the Marchese's
and the Englishman's expression of thanks.

"Do not mention it, Signor! Such a trip is nothing new or unusual to
me. I only pitied you, on account of the disagreeable circumstances in
which you had been placed by the temper of a pretty woman."

"Yes, women are to blame for everything," muttered Jonas furiously,
while Hugo continued in an undertone--

"I knew two hours ago what the sky and sea prophesied to us,
notwithstanding their bright appearance. You know how earnestly I
opposed the trip; however, Signora Biancona insisted positively upon
it, and condescended to scoff at the 'timid sailor,' who could not even
'venture upon his own element.' I think surely my courage will be
rather less doubtful in her eyes; hers on the contrary"--he broke off
suddenly, and made a few steps to the other side. "May I enquire how
you feel, Signora?"

Beatrice still trembled; but the sight of her opponent, who stood
before her like the perfection of politeness, and perfection of malice,
restored her consciousness to some extent. That he opposed the
expedition had been sufficient to make her insist upon it with intense
obstinacy, and render the other gentlemen deaf to all warning by her
mocking remarks. The deadly fear of the last hour had given her a
bitter lesson, certainly, and it was still more bitter to be obliged to
owe her life to Captain Almbach, who had become the hero of the day,
while she during the danger had shown herself anything but heroic.

"Thank you--I am better," answered she, still struggling between anger
and confusion.

"I am delighted to hear that," assured Hugo, as in the midst of the
rain he made her an unexceptionable drawing-room bow, "and now I shall
put myself at the head of an expedition of discovery into the interior.
Go on Jonas, reconnoitre the territory! Reinhold, you are no stranger
here in the neighbourhood; do you not know where we are?"

"No," replied Reinhold, after a short and rapid glance around.

"And you, Marchese Tortoni?"

Cesario shrugged his shoulders--

"I regret that I also am unable to give you any information. I seldom
leave the immediate environs of Mirando; besides, in such weather it is
almost impossible to know one's bearings."

This certainly was true; earth, sky and sea seemed to flow into one
another in rolling mist. He could see barely a hundred yards over the
raging sea, and not much farther over the land. No hills, no landmarks
were visible; a dense grey veil of fog imprisoned everything, and yet
Captain Almbach did not allow that to be any excuse.

"Unpractical, artist natures!" muttered he, annoyed. "They sit there
for months in their Mirando and go into ecstasies day after day about
the incomparable beauty of their gulf, but do not know the coast, and
if once they are a mile away from the great tourist highway, they have
no idea where they are. Lord Elton, will you be so good as come to my
side? I think we are both best suited to being pioneers."

Lord Elton, who at the first meeting had been much pleased with Hugo's
mischievous nature, and who had been highly impressed by him to-day,
acceded immediately to the request. With the same imperturbable calm
which he had shown before in danger, he placed himself at the sailor's
side and went forward, while the other gentlemen followed with
Beatrice.

"It appears to me that chance has thrown us on a rather benighted
coast," said Hugo, scoffingly, upon whose temper the weather did not
exercise the slightest influence. "According to my calculations, we
must be quite ten or twelve miles distant from S----, and on our left
some hills are faintly visible through the fog, with very suspicious
looking ravines. Gennaro's band is said to frequent these mountains.
What should you say, my Lord, if we were to taste some of the regular
Italian romance of horror?"

Lord Elton turned with sudden liveliness to the ravines pointed out,
which certainly looked unpleasant enough in the thick fog, and scanned
them attentively.

"Indeed, that would be very interesting."

"Provided there were a pretty 'brigandess' amongst them, not
otherwise," added Hugo.

"Gennaro's band has no woman with it. I have learned all particulars,"
said the former, seriously.

"What a pity! The band seems to be very uncivilised still, that it has
so little consideration for the natural wishes of its honoured guests.
However, that would be something for my Jonas--a life without women! If
he were to hear us he would desert and take his oath of allegiance to
Gennaro's flag; I must take care of him."

"Do not joke so thoughtlessly," interposed the Marchese. "Remember,
Signor, we have a lady with us, and are all unarmed."

"Excepting my Lord, who always carries a six chamber revolver with him
as a pocket match-box," said Hugo, laughing. "We others did not think
it necessary to load ourselves with weapons when we undertook this
harmless expedition. Besides, we have more efficacious protection
to-day than two dozen carabineers would give us. In this rain no
brigand would venture forth."

"Do you think so?" asked Lord Elton in unmistakable disappointment.

"Certainly, my Lord! and for my part I think it will be better to
forego the pleasure party in the mountains this time. Is it not also
remarkable that we two, the only non-artists in the party, are the only
two who appear to have any sense of the romance of the situation? My
brother," here Hugo lowered his voice, "walks by Signora Biancona like
an irritated lion; besides he is now in his lion's mood, and it is
wisest to approach him as little as possible. Signora never brought
tragic despair to such perfection of expression on the stage as at this
moment, and Marchese Cesario stares illogically into the mist instead
of admiring our highly effective expedition in the rain. Ah, there
something peeps out like a building, and Jonas returns from his
_reconnaissance_. Well, what is it?"

"A _locanda_!" reported Jonas, who had gone on in front and was
returning hastily. "Now we are sheltered," added he triumphantly.

"Heaven has mercy," cried Hugo, pathetically, as he turned round to
impart the welcome news to the others. The prospect of shelter being
near did indeed revive the sinking courage of the party; they redoubled
their steps, and soon found themselves in the covered entrance of the
house indicated.

"The rough sailor's cloak has been made enviably happy to-day," said
Captain Almbach, as he removed his garment from Signora Biancona's
shoulders in the most polite manner. "I knew we should require it
to-day, therefore I ventured to bring it with me. The cloak quite
protected you, Signora."

Beatrice pressed her lips hastily together, as with forced thanks she
returned the shielding wrap. It had been hard enough to accept it from
Captain Almbach's hand; however, he was the only person in possession
of such a thing, and no choice remained to her, if she did not wish to
be quite wet through. But like all passionate natures, she could not
endure mockery, and this detested courtesy of her opponent never gave
her the opportunity of decided antagonism towards him, and kept her
mercilessly fast within the limits of social requirements.

The _locanda_, which lay rather lonely by the shore away from the great
tourist highways, was not one of those which are frequented by more
distinguished guests, and left much to be wished for as regards
cleanliness and comfort, but the weather and their thoroughly damp
state did not allow the guests to be particular. At any rate there were
some apartments which were called guest chambers, and really at times
served young painters and wandering tourists as a night's quarters.
Beatrice was horrified on entering, and the Marchese looked with mute
resignation at these rooms, which were certainly very unlike those of
his Mirando; Lord Elton on the contrary reconciled himself better to
the inevitable, and so far as the two brothers were concerned, Reinhold
appeared quite indifferent to the style of the reception, and Hugo much
amused by it. They now learned also that they were quite twelve miles
distant from S----, and that another travelling party had already
sought refuge here from the storm. But fortunately it had arrived at
the beginning of the same, and in a carriage, therefore had not
suffered from the rain like the lady and gentlemen just reaching it, at
whose disposal all which the place contained was readily placed.

A quarter of an hour later, Hugo entered the general public and
reception-room, and with his foot softly pushed aside a black, bristly
object, which had laid itself just before the door with admirable
coolness, and now left its place grunting crossly.

"These dear little animals appear to be considered quite fit for a
drawing-room here; with us they are merely so in a roasted state," said
he, quietly. "I wanted to see where you were, Reinhold. My God, you are
still in your wet clothes. Why have you not changed?"

Reinhold, who stood at the window and gazed out at the sea, turned and
cast an abstracted look at his brother, who already, like the other
gentlemen, had made use of the padrone's and his son's Sunday clothes
brought hastily to them.

"Changed my clothes? Oh to be sure, I had forgotten."

"Then do it now!" urged Hugo. "Do you wish to ruin your health
entirely?"

Reinhold made an impatient deprecating gesture. "Leave me alone! What a
fuss about a storm of rain."

"Well, the rain storm was within a hair's breadth of being fatal to
us," said Captain Almbach, "and I can bear testimony, as pilot, that my
ship's crew behaved bravely, with the single exception of Donna
Beatrice. She made rather extensive use of her rights as a lady, first
by bringing us into danger, and then increasing its difficulties
tenfold."

"For which you have the triumph that she owes her life to you, as do we
all," suggested Reinhold, indifferently.

Hugo looked sharply at his brother. "Which in your case you seem to
value very slightly."

"I, why?"

He did not wait for the reply, and turned again to the window; but Hugo
was already at his side and put an arm round his shoulder.

"What is the matter, Reinhold?" asked he again in the tone of former
tenderness with which he once surrounded the younger brother--whom he
knew to be oppressed and miserable in their relations' house--and which
had now become so rare between them. Reinhold was silent.

"I hoped you would at last find the rest here which you sought for so
passionately," continued Captain Almbach, more seriously, "instead of
which you rush about worse than ever during the last week. We are
barely, even nominally, the Marchese's guests any more. You drag him
and us all into this constant change of distractions and excursions.
From ship to carriage, from carriage to mules, as if every moment of
repose or solitude were a torture to you, and once we are in the midst
of the excitement you are often enough like a marble guest amongst us.
What has happened?"

Reinhold turned, not violently but decidedly, away from Hugo's arms.

"That, I cannot tell you."

"Reinhold--"

"Leave me--I beg you."

Captain Almbach stepped back; he saw the repulse did not proceed from
temper; the faint, constrained tone, betrayed suppressed pain only too
well, but he knew of old that nothing could be gained from his brother
in such a state of mind.

"The storm seems to be at an end," said he, after a short pause, "but
at present it will be useless thinking of our return. We cannot under
any circumstances venture on the boisterous sea again to-day, and the
road will be in a bad enough state, too. I have promised the gentlemen
to obtain some information respecting it for them, as to whether our
return would be possible to-day, and if we may not expect a second
outbreak from the clouds. The verandah up there seems to offer a
tolerably free view; I will try it."

He left the room, and ascended the stairs. The verandah lay on the
other side of the house; it was a large stone adjunct, which probably
dated from a former more brilliant period of the building, now, like
the latter, neglected, half decayed, but extremely picturesque in its
ruins and with its creeping vines, which climbed around the pillars and
balustrade. A long open gallery led into it, and Hugo was just going to
pass along it, when he was arrested. A pigeon fluttered immediately
before him, chased by a boy in distinguished, fashionable-looking
dress. The tame bird, accustomed to mankind, did not think seriously of
flight; it flitted, as if playfully, along the floor, and only when the
little arms were stretched out to catch it, did it soar easily up to
the roof of the house, while the eager little follower rushed forward
in wild career, and so ran up against Captain Almbach.

"See there, Signorino, that was nearly becoming a collision," said
Hugo, as he caught the little one; but the latter, still full of
eagerness for the chase, stretched both hands up above, and cried
vivaciously in German--

"I do so want the bird. Can you not catch him for me?"

"No, my little sportsman, I cannot, unless I could put on wings," said
Hugo, playfully, as he examined the boy closer, astonished to hear his
own language. He started, looked intently into his eyes a few seconds,
and then lifted him up suddenly, to fold him with increasing tenderness
in his arms.

The little one permitted the caress to take place calmly, but somewhat
astonished. "You speak just like mamma and uncle Erlau," said he
confidingly. "I do not understand any one else, and at home I
understood all."

"Is your mamma here also?" enquired Hugo, hastily.

The child nodded, and pointed to the other side. Captain Almbach put
him down quickly, and stepped on to the verandah with him, where Ella
was coming towards them, and stood still in speechless surprise when
she saw her boy holding his uncle's hand.

"Must we meet here?" cried the latter, greeting her eagerly. "I thought
you never left Villa Fiorina, especially in such weather."

"It is the first excursion, too, that we have attempted," replied Ella.
"My uncle's continued improved health led us to undertake a visit to
the temple ruins in the mountains, but on our return journey the storm
overtook us, and as the horses threatened to become unmanageable, we
were glad to find shelter and refuge here."

"We are in the same plight," reported Hugo, "only it was worse for us,
as we came by water."

A momentary pallor spread over Ella's countenance.

"How? You are accompanied by your brother? I imagined it when I saw
you."

Hugo made a gesture of assent. "You told me you wished to avoid a
meeting at any price," began he again.

"I. wished it; yes!" interrupted she, firmly, "but it was impossible.
We have seen each other already."

"I thought so!" muttered Captain Almbach. "Thence his incomprehensible
reserve."

"Why did you not tell me you were guests of the owner of Mirando?"
asked Ella, reproachfully. "I believed you to be in S----, and went
unsuspectingly to see the villa. Only when too late did I learn who was
staying in our immediate neighbourhood."

Hugo scanned her face with a rapid glance, as if he wished to assure
himself of her self-possession.

"You spoke to Reinhold?" said he, in extreme anxiety, without noticing
her reproach. "Well, then?"

"Well, then?" replied she, with an almost harsh expression, "Do not be
afraid! Signor Rinaldo knows now that he must remain at a distance from
me and my son. He will acknowledge us at any possible meeting as little
as I shall acknowledge him."

"To-day it would certainly be impossible," replied Hugo seriously, "as
he is not alone. I fear, Ella, even that will not be spared you."

"You mean a meeting with Signora Biancona?" Ella could not preserve her
lips from trembling as she uttered the name, however much she forced
herself to appear calm, "Well, if it cannot be avoided, I shall know
how to endure it."

During this conversation they had drawn near the balustrade. The storm
was really over, and the sluices of heaven seemed to have exhausted
themselves at last, but the air still hung damp and laden with rain.
The wet vines, torn and disordered by the storm, still fluttered about,
and drops of rain ran down from the saint's picture in the badly
sheltered niche in the wall. Below rolled the sea, still wildly
disturbed; the usually so quiet sapphire blue mirror was only a wild
chaos of iron-grey currents and white foaming crests of waves, which
broke hissing and surging on the shore. But the mist, which until now
had enveloped the whole country in an impenetrable veil, commenced to
melt at last, and land-marks came out distinctly already; only around
the higher points did it still cling and hang, while in the west a
clearer gleam of light began to struggle with the disappearing clouds.

"How did you recognise my little Reinhold?" asked Ella suddenly, in
quite an altered tone. "You did not see him at your last visit, and
when you left H---- he had barely passed his first year of life."

Hugo leant down to the child, and lifted up its little head.

"How I recognised him?" replied he smiling; "by his eyes. He has yours,
Ella, and they are not so easily mistaken, even if they look out of
another's face. I should know them amongst hundreds."

His tone had almost a passionate warmth. The young wife drew slightly
aside.

"Since when have you begun to pay me compliments, Hugo?"

"Are compliments so unusual to you, Ella?"

"From your lips, certainly."

"Yes, certainly. I dare not venture upon what you allow to every one
else," said Captain Almbach, with a slight accent of bitterness. "The
attempt has once already obtained me the name of 'adventurer.'"

"It seems as if you could never forget that word," said Ella, half
smiling.

He threw his head back defiantly. "No, I cannot, as it pained me, and
therefore I cannot get over it, even until this moment."

"Pained you?" repeated Ella. "Can, indeed, anything pain you, Hugo?"

"That is to say, in other words--'have you then indeed a heart, Hugo?'
Oh, no, I do _not_ possess such an article at all; I came off badly at
the distribution of the same; you must surely have discovered that."

"I do not mean that," interposed Ella, "I give you all credit for the
warmest feelings."

"But no earnestness, no depth?"

"No."

Captain Almbach looked at her silently for a few seconds; at last he
said softly--

"Was it necessary, Ella, to give me such a harsh lesson, because T
ventured lately to kiss your hand, which perhaps displeased you? I know
what this 'No' means. You see I understand hints, and shall take note
of to-day's. You need not be afraid."

A slight blush passed over Ella's features, as she saw that he
understood her. "I did not wish to wound you, indeed not," she
answered, and put her hand out heartily, but Hugo stood obstinately
averted, and appeared not to notice it.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked. It was a touchingly-beseeching
tone, and it did not fail in its intention. Captain Almbach turned
round suddenly, and caught her offered hand, but in his answer
excitement and the old love of teasing struggled again, and were
suppressed with difficulty, as he replied--

"If my late uncle and aunt could see us now, they would observe with
intense satisfaction how their daughter holds the incorrigible Hugo by
the head--he who will usually obey no other reins--how she will not
permit him to go even one step beyond those limits which she finds it
good to draw. No, I am not angry with you, Ella--cannot be so--only you
must not make obedience too hard for me."

Both were still engaged in lively conversation, when Marchese Tortoni
and Lord Elton also entered the verandah from the gallery.

"Look there," said the former, astonished, to his companion, "that is
the reason why our Capitano's observations are so endlessly prolonged
that we are obliged to look him up at last. It is indeed an
extraordinary nature. An hour ago he forced our boat through storm and
waves, and now he plays the agreeable to a young signora."

"Yes, an extraordinary man," agreed Lord Elton, who had taken such a
blind fancy to Hugo, that he thought everything perfect in him.

The unbearable sultry air in the close rooms appeared to have driven
the whole party out on to the verandah, as immediately after the two
gentlemen Reinhold and Beatrice appeared also. If his wife were
prepared for this encounter, he certainly was not, as he became pale as
death, and made a movement as if to turn back; but at the same moment
the boy's fair, curly head appeared from behind the young wife, and, as
if transfixed, the father stood still. His glance directed openly to
the child, he appeared to have forgotten all else around him.

"What a lovely child!" cried Beatrice, admiringly, as she stretched her
arms out with perfect assurance; but now Ella started up! with a single
movement she had withdrawn the boy from the intended caress, and
pressed him firmly to herself.

"Excuse me, Signora," said she, coldly, "the child is shy with
strangers, and not accustomed to _such_ caresses."

Beatrice seemed somewhat offended at this repulse; however she saw
nothing more in it than a mother's over-due anxiety. She shrugged her
shoulders imperceptibly, and a scoffing side-glance fell upon the
stranger, but it soon remained enchained by the latter's appearance,
although recognition only took place on one side.

Before Ella's recollection, that evening stood forth in perfect
distinctness when she, alone, without knowledge of her people, her veil
drawn closely over her face, hastened to the theatre, in order to see
the one who had so completely alienated her husband. She had seen
Beatrice in all the brilliancy of her beauty and talent, intoxicated by
the cheers and homage of the public, and she bore the impression
ineffaceably away with her.

Beatrice, also, had only once seen Reinhold's wife, at the time when
she first began to be interested in the young composer, and Ella did
not then suspect anything of her evil influence. A short meeting of a
few minutes sufficed for the Italian to perceive that this quiet, pale
being, with downcast eyes, and that ridiculously matronly costume,
could not possibly bind such a man to her, and this knowledge was
extensive enough for her not to take any further notice of the young
wife. At all events it was impossible for her to associate the
colourless, half ridiculous, and half pitiful picture, which she
carried in her recollection, in the remotest degree with this
apparition, which stood so unapproachably proudly there, which held its
fair head so high and erect, and whose large blue eyes looked at her
with an expression which Beatrice was unable to explain to herself. She
only saw that the stranger was very haughty, but also very beautiful.

The two gentlemen seemed to think the latter also, as they came nearer,
bowing politely; Lord Elton gazed at Ella with open admiration, and the
Marchese, whom Hugo had often reproached for blamable indifference to
ladies' acquaintance, said with unusual eagerness to him--

"You appear to know the Signora. May we not also count upon the
pleasure of being introduced to her?"

Captain Almbach, as if to protect her, had placed himself by the young
wife's side. Between his eyebrows lay a frown which seldom appeared on
his cheerful brow, and it became still deeper at this request, which
could not possibly be refused. He therefore introduced the two
gentlemen, and named his countrywoman to them as Frau Erlau. He knew
that Ella, in order to anticipate unpleasant enquiries, to which the
name of Almbach might easily give rise, bore that of her adopted
father, so long as she remained in Italy.

Beatrice's eyes flashed with offended pride. She was not accustomed to
herself and Reinhold being mentioned last in such cases, and here she
was not even named at all. Captain Almbach ignored her altogether, and
appeared actually to do so on purpose, as the angry look which she cast
towards him was received with aggravating coldness; but even Cesario
was struck by the want of tact that his usually charming friend
displayed. While he uttered a few civilities to the strange lady, he
waited in vain for the continuation of the presentation, and as this
did not ensue, he undertook it, in order to atone for the Captain's
supposed impoliteness.

"You have forgotten the most important part, Signor," said he, turning
the affair quickly into a joke. "Signora Erlau would hardly be grateful
to you were you not to mention the very two names which, doubtless,
interest her most, and which are certainly not unknown to her. Signora
Biancona--Signor Rinaldo."

Beatrice, still enraged at the insult offered to her, only vouchsafed a
slight inclination of her head, which was similarly returned; but
suddenly she became observant. She felt how Reinhold's arm quivered,
how he let hers fall, and moved a step away from her as he bowed. She
knew him too well not to perceive that at this moment, notwithstanding
his apparent calm, he was terribly agitated. This intense pallor, this
nervous quivering of his lips, were the sure sign that he was forcibly
suppressing some passionate emotion. And what meant this glance, which
certainly only met that of the stranger for a few seconds, but it
flashed with unmistakable defiance, and melted again into perfect
tenderness when it fell on the child at her side. She herself, indeed,
stood quite impassive opposite him; not a feature moved in the
countenance cold as marble. But this face was also remarkably pale, and
her arms encircled her boy with convulsive firmness, as if he were to
be torn away from them. Yet she replied in a perfectly controlled
voice--

"I am much obliged to you, Signor. I had indeed not yet the pleasure of
knowing Italy's principal singer and Italy's celebrated composer."

Reinhold's blood surged through his veins, as again, and this time
before strangers, the endless breach was shown him which separated him
from his former wife. Now it was she who assigned him the place which
he had to occupy towards her; and that she could do it with such calm
and ease roused him to the uttermost.

"Italy's?" replied he, with sharp accentuation. "You forget, Signora,
that by birth I am a German."

"Really," replied Ella, in the same tone as before. "Indeed I did not
know that until now."

"One seems to be soon forgotten in one's home," said Reinhold, with
savage bitterness.

"But surely only when people estrange themselves. In this case it is
quite comprehensible. You, Signor, have found a second fatherland, and
he to whom Italy has given so much can easily forego home and its
recollections."

She turned to the other gentlemen, exchanged a few passing indifferent
words with them, and then gave her hand quietly and openly to Hugo in
farewell.

"You will excuse me, I must go to my uncle. Reinhold bid Captain
Almbach adieu."

It was only too true. Ella possessed a terrible weapon in the child,
and understood how to use it mercilessly. Reinhold experienced it at
this moment. To him she relentlessly denied the sight and presence of
his boy, although she knew with what passion he longed for him; and now
she let him see how this boy stretched out his little arms to his
uncle, and offered his mouth for a kiss; let him see it in the presence
of the woman for whom he had forsaken them both, and whose presence
forbade him to insist upon any of his rights as a father--the revenge
penetrated to the innermost depths of his heart.

Beatrice, quite contrary to her usual custom, had not taken part, even
by a single syllable, in the conversation; but her darkly burning
glance did not move from either of the two, between whom she suspected
some secret connection, although her thoughts were immeasurably far
from the truth itself. For the present, however, Ella now put an end to
any further conversation. She took little Reinhold by the hand, and
after a slight, haughty bow, which included the whole party, she left
the verandah with the child.

"You appear to have introduced some incognita to us, Signor Capitano,"
said Beatrice, with cutting scorn. "Perhaps you will be so good as to
explain to us exactly who the princess is who has just now condescended
to leave us."

"Yes, by heaven, very proud, but also very beautiful!" cried the
Marchese, his admiration breaking forth, while Hugo replied coolly--

"You are mistaken, Signora. I told you the name of the German lady."

The young Italian went up to his friend and laid his hand on the
latter's shoulder.

"Signora's mistake is easily understood. Do not you think so also,
Rinaldo?--Good God, what is the matter--what ails you?"




                              CHAPTER III.


"Nothing," said Reinhold, recovering himself with a great effort. "I am
not well; the stormy voyage has upset me. It is nothing, Cesario."

"I believe the best we can do is to think of our return," interrupted
Hugo, who deemed it necessary to distract attention from his brother,
as he saw that the latter could no longer control his agitation. "A
repetition of the storm need not be feared, and as the padrone has
promised to procure us a carriage, we can reach S---- this evening if
we start soon."

It was the first time that Beatrice cordially agreed to any proposition
made by Captain Almbach. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, considered
any great haste very unnecessary, and raised several objections. All at
once the lonely _locanda_ seemed to have gained remarkable attractions
for him. But as he could not succeed in his wishes--for Reinhold also
insisted upon an immediate return--he joined Captain Almbach, who went
to see about the carriage.

"I fear you made up some tale for your brother and me, when you
declared that a certain villa was inaccessible," said he, teasingly.
"It was suspicious at the time when you confessed your failure so
openly, and let our jokes fall so quietly upon you. I could swear that
I had seen this charming figure and those glorious fair plaits once
before, when I rode past the villa. I understand, of course, that you
would not make us the confidants of your adventure, still----"

"You are mistaken," interrupted Hugo, with a decision which made it
impossible to doubt his words. "There is no talk of an adventure here,
Signor Marchese. I give you my word upon it."

"Ah, then pardon me," said Cesario, seriously; "I believe your
apparently intimate acquaintance with the lady----"

"Arises from a former acquaintance in Germany," completed Captain
Almbach. "I certainly had no suspicion of this meeting, when I believed
I was seeking a perfect stranger in the Villa Fiorina; but I repeat it,
that the word 'adventure' must not be connected in the remotest degree
with that lady, and that I claim the most perfect and unqualified
respect for her from all."

The very positive tone of this explanation might, perhaps, have
irritated another listener, but the young Marchese, on the contrary,
seemed to find unmistakable satisfaction in it.

"I do not in the least doubt that you are quite justified in your
demand," replied he, very warmly. "The whole bearing of the beautiful
lady answers for it. What imposing dignity, and what a perfectly
charming appearance! I never saw any woman unite the two so
thoroughly."

"Really?" Hugo's voice betrayed by no means pleasant surprise, as he
looked at his companion, whose cheeks were deeply suffused with colour,
and whose eyes sparkled. Captain Almbach did not utter another word,
but his countenance told plainly enough what he thought. "I believe
this ideal-man also begins to care about other things besides airs and
recitatives--however, it is quite unnecessary."

Beatrice stood alone up in the verandah. She had not followed Reinhold
and Lord Elton, who also descended. Her hand buried itself
unconsciously in the wet vine-leaves, while her dark eyes were fixed
steadily on the sea. Lost in gloomy meditation, she only clung to the
one thought, which her lips now uttered, as half threateningly, half
frightened, she whispered----"What was it between them?"

Autumn had come, and brought strangers and inhabitants back from the
seaside and mountains to the large ever stirring and bustling central
point of Italy. It was indeed not such an autumn as leads nature to its
grave in the North, with gloomy, rainy days, raw stormy nights, rolling
mists, hoar and night frosts. Here it lay mildly in golden clearness
and indescribable beauty over the wide plains, from which at last the
summer's heat had subsided; over the mountains, which, at other times
were day after day enveloped in hot vapour, encircled with white
clouds, now again showed their blue outlines undisguised; and over the
town, where the great wave of life which for several moons had rolled
slowly, now flowed forth with renewed power.

Signora Biancona had also returned. Her stay in S---- had been as
unexpectedly and quickly terminated as was Reinhold's in Mirando. He
seemed as if, all at once, he could not endure his usually favourite
place any longer. Almost immediately after their stormy sea excursion,
he insisted positively that the original plan should be adhered to, and
the _villegiatura_ in the mountains, long since decided upon, be
carried out. The Marchese's objections, even his openly-displayed
annoyance--having counted upon a lengthy visit from his guests--were in
vain, as Beatrice also agreed somewhat eagerly to Reinhold's plan, and
thus Cesario remained alone in Mirando, while the others went to the
mountains, from which they had now just returned.

It was during the forenoon. Signora Biancona was sitting in her
boudoir, her head resting on her arm, and her hand buried in her dark
hair, in an attitude of eager attention. The conductor, Gianelli, had
taken up his position opposite to her. Whatever his real feelings
towards the envied Rinaldo might be, he was much too clever not to show
outwardly all necessary respect and consideration to him, who, in the
world of art, as in society, was all-powerful; and towards the
beautiful _prima donna_ he was now all attention and devotion, which he
showed in voice and manner, as, continuing the conversation already
begun, he said--

"You had commanded, Signora, and that was sufficient for me at once to
set all machinery in motion. I am fortunate in being able to fulfil
your wish, and impart the fullest information upon a certain subject."

Beatrice lifted up her head with liveliest eagerness. "Well?"

"This Signor Erlau is, as you supposed, a merchant from H----. He must,
indeed, belong to the richest of his class, as everywhere he appears
like a millionaire. He has rented the entire Villa Fiorina, near S----,
for himself and his family, and here, also, he inhabits one of the most
expensive houses. His household is arranged in great style; part of the
servants brought from Germany. He bears important introductions to his
embassy, of which, however, he has not made any use as yet, because his
state of health necessitates retirement. His move here, in fact, was
only made in order to put himself under the treatment of one of our
most celebrated doctors----"

"I know all that already," interrupted Beatrice, impatiently. "When I
heard the name, I did not doubt that it was the same Consul at whose
house I visited during my stay in H----. But the lady who accompanies
them--the young Signora?"

"Is his niece," explained Gianelli, who made an intentional pause after
the first words.

The singer appeared to consider. "She certainly was presented to me as
Signora Erlau. A relation, therefore. I did not see her in those days.
I surely should have remarked her; one does not so easily over look
such a figure."

The maestro smiled with a malicious expression. "She is _said_ to bear
the same name, certainly, as her adopted father; she is _said_ to be a
widow--_said_ to have lost her husband many years since. At least, they
wish such to be believed in Italy, and the servants have strict orders
to answer all enquiries in this manner."

Beatrice listened attentively to this explanation with its double
meaning, "'_Said_ to be;' but is it not so? I suspected that some
secret lay hidden there. You have discovered it?"

"Servants are never silent, if one understands to apply in the right
manner," remarked Gianelli, scornfully. "I only fear it is an extremely
delicate point, and as it concerns Signor Rinaldo----"

"Rinaldo!" exclaimed Beatrice, "how so? What has Rinaldo to do with it?
Did you not say that it concerns Rinaldo?"

The maestro bent his head, and said in his softest tone, "I was then,
indeed mistaken, Signora, when I premised that the cause of your wish
to learn more particulars about the Erlau family originated with Signor
Rinaldo."

The singer bit her lips. She certainly might have foreseen that the
motive which dictated the commission she had given him could not escape
the observing eyes of a Gianelli.

"Let us leave Rinaldo out of the question!" said she, with an effort to
appear calm. "You were about to speak of Signora Erlau."

"It would be somewhat difficult to separate one from the other,"
suggested Gianelli. "I only fear Signor Rinaldo is unfortunately not
favourably disposed towards me already, certainly from no fault of
mine. I fear I might arouse his extreme ill-will if he discovered it
was I who made such a communication, and especially to you"--he paused,
and drew figures on the floor with his walking stick, in well-feigned
confusion.

"To me, especially!" repeated Beatrice, violently, "then this
communication is not intended for me? You must speak, Signor Gianelli!
You shall not withhold one word, not one syllable either! I require, I
demand it of you."

"Well then----" he seemed really about to come to the explanation, but
the game was too interesting to give it up so soon, and the maestro
himself had too often suffered from the temper of the beautiful _prima
donna_ to be able to deny himself the satisfaction of keeping her still
longer on the rack of eagerness.

"Well then, you surely are aware of Signor Rinaldo's former bonds; but
in, Italy few or none know that he was already married. I myself was
only informed of it on this occasion. You, of course, were acquainted
with the fact."

"I know it," replied Beatrice, suppressedly, "but how does that concern
this?"

"Indeed it does to some extent. You do not know Rinaldo's wife,
Signora?"

"No. Though yes; I saw her once momentarily. A very insignificant
person."

"They do not seem to think so, here," remarked Gianelli, again in the
same soft tone. "Notwithstanding her seclusion, the beautiful fair
German begins to create a sensation."

"Who?" Beatrice rose so suddenly and wildly, that the maestro thought
it wiser to retire a few steps. "Of whom are you speaking?"

"Of Signora Eleonore Almbach, who certainly bears her adopted father's
name here, probably to avoid inquisitive inquiries."

"That is impossible," exclaimed the singer, now with extreme violence.
"That cannot be. You deceive me, or have been yourself deceived."

"Excuse me," said Gianelli, defending himself, "my source is the most
authentic. I will answer for its correctness, and Signor Rinaldo will
be obliged to confirm it."

"Impossible!" repeated Beatrice, still quite without her
self-possession. "_This_ apparition his wife! I saw her formerly, of
course, although only for a few minutes. Was I then blind?"

"Or was he so?" completed Gianelli to himself; but he said aloud, "I am
inconsolable to have excited you so, Signora; you will give me credit
for not wishing to speak, but you regularly forced this information
from me. I regret this exceedingly."

His words restored Beatrice somewhat to consciousness. She felt what
she had to expect from the pity of the man who had played the spy on
her behalf.

"Certainly not!" replied she in a hasty but vain attempt to recover her
self-control. "I--I thank you, Signor. I am merely surprised, nothing
more."

The maestro saw that he could not do better than retire, but as he
prepared to leave, he laid his hand assuringly upon his heart--

"You know, Signora, that I am quite at your commands, and if you deem
it necessary to insist upon my unconditional silence in this affair, no
assurance is needed that this also is at your service. Quite at your
commands."

He left the room with a low bow; he was in earnest with the last words.
Gianelli was too good a reckoner not to consider as a valuable secret,
something which sooner or later might be employed against the hated
Rinaldo. If he were to make the piquant story public in society,
nothing more could be done with it; in his sole possession, on the
contrary, it might be very useful. At present it ensured him influence
over Beatrice, and, indirectly, even over Rinaldo, to whom it could, at
the very least, not be agreeable that his family affairs should become
generally known.

In the best of humours the maestro passed through the saloon, and
entered the antechamber, where at that moment the sailor Jonas was
alone. Captain Almbach had sent him to his brother with some message;
he supposed the latter to be with Signora Biancona. Reinhold, however,
was at the manager's, but was expected every moment. Jonas learned this
from some servant who had gone into Beatrice's service from that of the
same manager who had taken the Italian Opera Company to Germany, and as
a trophy of his northern journey was able to maltreat a few words of
German. As the sailor had received orders to give his master's note to
the latter's brother himself, nothing else remained for him than to
wait; he therefore took up his position in the ante-room, through which
Reinhold was sure to pass. He had certainly remarked that the door of
one of the back rooms stood open, and that some one was in there,
apparently one of the Signora's lady's maids, who was occupied with a
dress of her mistress. However, as this somebody was a woman, she
naturally did not exist for Jonas, who, dissatisfied and silent as
usual, withdrew into one of the window recesses, and remained there
above a quarter of an hour without taking the slightest notice of his
neighbour.

Signor Gianelli, as regards women, seemed to entertain the most
opposite views; he had barely discovered the open door and the young
girl, before he immediately altered his course, and steered in that
direction. Jonas naturally did not understand any of the conversation,
conducted in Italian, which now took place between the two, but so much
was clear to him, that the maestro endeavoured to play the agreeable,
apparently without particular success, as he only received short, and
rather defiant-sounding replies, and at the same time the heavy silken
folds were so adroitly draped that he could not come nearer without
crumpling the light satin. This lasted a few minutes, then Signor
Gianelli appeared to try and make some serious attempt, as a cry of
annoyance was heard, followed by the angry stamping of a little foot.
The dress flew aside, and the young girl fled into the ante-room, where
she stood still with arms folded defiantly and eyes sparkling with
rage. But the maestro had followed her, and without being intimidated
in the least by the opposition, gave signs of trying to enforce the
kiss which evidently had been refused him before, when he stumbled upon
a most unexpected obstacle. A powerful hand caught him suddenly by the
collar, and a strange voice said impressively--

"That is to be left alone."

At the first moment the Italian appeared staggered at this interruption
from a stranger whom he had not perceived at all; but on looking more
closely at the latter, and discovering that he had only a common sailor
to deal with, he drew himself up with great self-importance and evinced
great annoyance. He immediately reversed the order of affairs, and
pretended to be the one insulted. How could any one dare to attack a
man in his position, especially in Signora Biancona's apartments; he
should lay a complaint to the Signora; what sort of a person was it who
took such a liberty? and thereupon a flood of not exactly flattering
names swept over poor Jonas.

The latter endured the insults heaped upon him with immovable
placidity, as he did not understand even one word of them; but when the
Italian, deceived by this quiescence, took it into his head to make a
threatening gesticulation with his stick, there was an end of the
sailor's calm, as he understood this pantomime very well. With a sudden
movement he had caught the stick from the maestro, the next moment had
seized him and regularly thrust him out of the room, thrown his stick
after him, and locked the door, all without speaking a single word, and
returned quietly to his window recess as if nothing had happened. But
here the young girl came at once towards him, stretching out both hands
to him, with southern vivacity and overflowing with gratitude.

"It is not necessary! Was done willingly," said Jonas, dryly, but as he
put out his arm as if to refuse her thanks, a little hand was placed
upon it, and a clear voice said something in the softest tones, which
was undoubtedly intended to express her acknowledgments.

Jonas looked most indignantly, first at his arm, then at the hand,
which still lay upon it, and after having gazed at both for some time,
he condescended at last to cast a glance also at the person to whom the
hand belonged.

Before him stood a young girl of at most sixteen years, so lythe, so
intensely slight and graceful a figure, that she presented the greatest
contrast imaginable to the broad form of the sailor. A wreath of
splendid blue-black plaits surrounded the little face, which, with its
dark brown complexion and burning black eyes, certainly sprang from the
South of Italy. The little one was pretty, without doubt very pretty,
that could not be denied, and the liveliness with which she endeavoured
to show her protector how very grateful she was rendered her still more
charming.

"Yes, if I only understood the cursed language!" muttered Jonas, in
whom, for the first time, something like regret arose that he had
thrown away, with such obstinate determination, the rare opportunity
offered him during the summer of learning Italian. He shook his head,
shrugged his shoulders, and in this way made pantomimic signs that he
did not understand Italian, which the young girl seemed to think quite
unheard of and also very disagreeable.

"I was to find Mr. Reinhold," growled Jonas, who, strange to say,
seemed to long to impart some information, which was not usually his
case with women. He made the discovery, however, that even this name
was not understood, as now it became his companion's turn to shake her
head and shrug her shoulders.

"Yes, indeed," said the sailor angrily, "he could not even retain his
honest German name! Rinaldo he lets himself be called here--God have
pity on him! Robbers and rogues are called by such names with us at
home. Signor Rinaldo," exclaimed he, as he drew out his master's note,
which bore the same name. This address was of course well enough known
in Signora Biancona's house; any farther understanding was now,
however, unnecessary, as just at the moment when the two were bending
their heads eagerly over the letter, the door of the ante-room was
opened and Reinhold himself entered.

The young girl remarked him first. In one moment she was away from the
sailor's side and in the middle of the room, where she made a graceful
curtsy and then disappeared in the direction of the saloon, probably to
announce the long-expected one to her mistress; while Jonas, who could
not conceive how any person could fly away thus lightly and rapidly,
and disappear tracelessly in a few seconds, stared after her so
steadily that Reinhold was obliged to go up to him and ask what brought
him there. Ashamed, and somewhat confused, he delivered his errand and
gave up the note, which Almbach opened and read rapidly. The contents
seemed to be very indifferent to him--

"Tell my brother I am engaged already for to-day, and therefore beg him
to accept the Marchese's invitation merely for himself. If possible at
all, I shall appear towards evening."

He put the note in his pocket, dismissed the messenger by a gesture,
and passed into the saloon. Jonas now had his orders and ought to have
returned home; instead, however, he sought the servant who had given
him the required information before, and the latter made the discovery
that the inaccessible sailor, so chary of words, had all at once
become very inquisitive, as he enquired very particularly about
Signora Biancona's household and its _personnel_, and tolerated the
Italian's horrible German--who was so proud of his knowledge of the
language--with exemplary patience.

Reinhold, meanwhile, had entered the boudoir. He no longer required any
announcement to its mistress, and she came towards him at once; but had
he not been so entirely absorbed in other thoughts he must have seen at
the first glance that something had happened to her. The Italian's dark
warm colouring could appear pale at times; this was evident now, when
the glowing blood which usually throbbed in her cheeks had disappeared
to the very last drop; but it was an unnatural pallor, and her eyes
burned all the more scorchingly. Beatrice was actress enough to be
able, for a few moments at least, to control her temper when it was
required to gain some object, and she wished to obtain one to-day. A
trait of dark determination lay in her face; she wished to see clearly
at any price.

"I met Gianelli below in the street," began Reinhold, after the first
greeting. "He appeared to come from your house; was he with you?"

"Certainly! I know you are prejudiced against him, but I cannot
possibly decline to see the conductor of the opera, when he comes on
purpose to discuss something as to its performance with me."

Reinhold shrugged his shoulders. "That could be done at the rehearsals.
Are you a young beginner, who requires protection, and must fear
offending any one? I should have thought that you, in your position,
could behave with as little consideration as I do. However, I will give
you no directions about it. Receive whom you will, even Gianelli! I am
far from wishing to place any control upon you."

The tone sounded icy, and Beatrice's voice trembled slightly as she
replied, "That is new to me. You used to watch over my visitors most
despotically; formerly no one could cross my threshold who was not
agreeable to you."

Reinhold had thrown himself into a seat. "You see I have become more
tolerant."

"More tolerant!--more indifferent."

"You have often enough complained of my despotism," remarked he, with a
slight tinge of sarcasm.

"And yet I bore it because I knew it sprang from love. It is only
natural that with the one the other should also cease."

Reinhold made an impatient movement. "Beatrice you demand what is
impossible, when you require that a human heart should ever and for
ever glow with those volcanic feelings which alone you call love."

She had approached his seat, and placed her hand on its back, while she
looked down at him with a strange expression.

"I see certainly that it is impossible to require from the cold heart
of a Northerner such love as I give and demand."

"You should have left him in his north," said Reinhold, gloomily;
"perhaps the cold there would have been better for him than the
everlasting glow of the south."

"Is that intended for a reproach? Was it I who tore you from your
home?"

"No! I went voluntarily, but--be just, Beatrice!--you were the moving
power. Who urged me constantly to the resolution? Who held my artist's
course again and again before my eyes? Who dubbed me a coward as I
started back at the responsibility, and at last placed the fatal choice
before me of flight or our separation? Excuse me--you knew how the
decision must fall."

The Italian's dark eyes flashed threateningly, but she forced herself
to be calm.

"Our love depended on it," declared she, proudly; "our love depended on
it, and your artist's career. I rescued a genius for the world when I
rescued you for myself."

He was silent. The defence appeared to find no echo in his heart. She
bent lower to him, and her voice sounded sweet and fascinating again,
but the unnatural expression did not leave her features.

"You are dreaming, Rinaldo. This is one of your moods again, which I
have so often had to fight against. Is it the first time then, that an
unhappy, unsuitable marriage has been dissolved in order to form a
happier union?"

Reinhold leaned his head on his hand. "No, certainly not; but that does
not affect this case; my marriage has not been dissolved, and we--have
never thought of marriage."

Beatrice started, and her hand slid from the back of the chair.

"You were not free?" she murmured.

"It would only have cost me one word to be so. I knew I should not be
prevented, and means enough were open to you to obtain dispensation,
which would have permitted a Catholic to make this marriage. But we
both dreaded the indissoluble bond; we wished to be free and
unfettered, without limits in our love as in our life--well, we are so
still at this moment."

"What do you mean by this?" Beatrice pressed her hand upon her heart as
if breathless. "Do you still consider your marriage to exist?"

"Oh, no, certainly not; and if I did, the daring of such an idea would
soon be made plain to me. You do not know what an offended wife and
mother is in the pride of her virtue. If the sinner were to devote his
whole remaining life to penance and repentance, he would still not be
restored to favour."

The words were intended to sound scoffingly; he did not suspect the
boundless bitterness they betrayed as he hurled them forth; but
Beatrice understood it only too well, and with this recognition, her
self-control, so far preserved with such difficulty, broke down
irretrievably.

"You have, perhaps, tried it already with the offended wife," cried she
furiously. "She is in your neighbourhood; I myself was witness of your
meeting. That is why your eyes encountered each other in so mysterious
a manner; that is why you could not tear your gaze away from the child;
that is why she drew back from me, as if from something unholy. Have
you attempted the penitent scene already, Rinaldo?"

Reinhold had sprung up; anger and astonishment struggled in his
countenance. "So you know already who Signora Erlau is? But why do I
ask! The spy, this Gianelli, has just left you; he has traced it out
and communicated it to you."

A dark look passed over the singer's features for a moment, as she
remembered the distinct commission she had given to the spy, but in her
inward excitement shame found no place.

"You knew it in Mirando," continued she violently, "and she occupies
the Villa Fiorina close by. Will you try to make me believe you had not
seen each other before, not spoken?"

"I do not wish to try and make you believe anything," said Reinhold
coldly. "How I stand to Eleonore, our utterly estranged meeting must
have shown you sufficiently. Calm yourself. You have nothing to dread
from that side. What else has taken place between me and my _wife_ I
shall not confess to _you_."

A slight, but yet perceptible tone of contempt lay on the two words,
and it seemed to be understood.

"It appears you place me _below_ your wife," said Beatrice weeping.
"Below the woman whose only merit was and is that of being the mother
of your child; who never----"

"Pray, leave that alone!" interrupted he, with decision. "You know I
never permit you to touch upon that point, and now I shall endure it
less than ever. If you must get up a scene for me, do it, but leave my
wife and child out of the drama."

It was as if his words had let a storm loose, so raging, so unmeasured
did the Italian's passion now break forth, dragging every trace of
self-control along with it.

"Your wife and your child!" repeated she, beside herself. "Oh, I know
what these words signify to me; I must experience it often enough. Have
they not forced themselves between us from the first moment of our
meeting until to-day? To them I owe every bitter hour, every strange
emotion in your heart. They have lain upon you like a shadow, amidst
the growth of your artist's renown, amidst all your conquests and
triumphs; as if they had cursed you there in the north, with the
recollection of them, you could not tear your self away from them; and
yet there was a time when they were the oppressive fetters which
separated you from life and future--which you must break at last!"

"To exchange them for others," completed Reinhold, whose violence now
burst forth, "and the question is, are these others lighter? There, it
was only the outward circumstances which confined me; my thoughts,
feelings and actions were at all events free. You would fain see these,
also like myself, without a will, at your feet, and that you could not
attain this, or at least not always, I have had to atone for by hours
of endless excitement and bitterness. Your love would have made any
other man into your slave. Me it forced to stand in constant opposition
to your love of ruling, which tried to take possession of every
innermost thought and feeling. But I should have thought, Beatrice,
that you had hitherto found in me your master, who knew how to preserve
his own independence, and would not allow his whole being and nature to
be clasped in chains."

The storm had now been called up. Henceforth there was no restraint, no
more moderation; at least not for Beatrice, whose passion foamed out
ever wilder.

"I must hear that, too, from the lips of the man who so often called me
his muse? Have you forgotten who it was who first awoke you to the
knowledge of your talents and of yourself; who alone led you up to the
sun's height of fame? Without me, the admired Rinaldo would have
succumbed under the fetters which he did not dare to break."

She did not realise how deeply her reproach must wound his pride as a
man. Reinhold was roused, but not with that haughtiness which, until
now, too often darkened his character; this time it was a proud,
energetic self-consciousness with which he drew himself up.

"That he _never_ would. Do you think so little of my talent, that you
believe it could only force open its path with you, and through you? Do
you think I should not have found my way alone, not alone have swung
myself up to the present height? Ask my works about it! They will give
you the reply. I should have gone sooner or later. That I went with
you, became my doom, as that broke every bond between me and home, and
also drew me upon paths which the man as well as the composer had
better have avoided. For years you kept me in the intoxication of a
life which never offered me even one hour's real contentment or true
happiness, because you knew that when once I awoke your power would be
all at an end. You might postpone it, hinder it never--the awaking came
late, too late, perhaps; but still it came at last."

Beatrice leaned upon the marble chimney-piece by which she stood; her
whole body trembled as with fever; this hour showed her indeed what she
had long felt, without wishing to acknowledge to herself--that her
power was in truth at an end.

"And who do you think shall be the sacrifice to this 'awaking?'" said
she in a hollow voice. "Take care, Rinaldo! You forsook your wife, and
she bore it patiently--_I_ shall not bear it. Beatrice Biancona does
not allow herself to be sacrificed."

"No, she would rather sacrifice." Reinhold stepped before her and
looked her firmly in the face. "You would plant the dagger--is it not
true, Beatrice?--in yourself or me, all alike, if only your revenge
were cooled? And if I seized the weapon from your hand, and returned
repentant to you, you would open your arms to me again. You are right,
Eleonore bore it more patiently; not a word, not a reproach restrained
me, the cry of anguish was smothered in her heart. I did not hear even
one sound of it; but at the moment in which I left her, I was the one
rejected--my return was shut out for ever. And if I came to her now, in
all the brilliancy of my fame and success--if I laid laurels, gold,
honour, everything at her feet, and myself also--it would be in vain;
she would not forgive me."

He broke off, as if he had said too much already. Beatrice did not
reply one word; not a sound came from her lips; only her eyes spoke a
gloomy, unnatural language; but Reinhold did not understand it this
time, or would not understand it.

"You see this separation is irretrievable," said he, more quietly. "I
repeat it, you have nothing to fear from that side. It was you, not I,
who provoked this scene. It is not well to awaken the ghosts of the
past--at least not between us. Let them rest."

He left her and went into the adjoining room, where he busied himself
with the music lying on the piano, or seemed to busy himself with it,
to escape further conversation.

"Let them rest!" that was said so gloomily, so quietly, and yet it
sounded like scorn from his lips. Could he not even banish the ghosts
of the past? And he demanded it of the woman who saw menaced by them
what she deemed to be her highest good, her love for him, which,
notwithstanding all that had passed between Rinaldo and herself in the
course of years, still clung to him with all the strength of her inward
being; whose glowing, passionate nature had in love as in hate never
known any bounds. Whoever saw Beatrice now, as she raised herself
slowly, and gazed after him, must have known that she would not let
them rest, nor would she rest herself; and Reinhold should have
considered, when he opposed her so defiantly, that he did not stand
alone against her revenge any longer, and that in this hour he had
betrayed, only too well, by which means she could strike a deadly blow.
The glances of evil token which flashed there did not menace him, but
something else which he was unable to protect, because the right to do
so was denied him--his wife and child!




                              CHAPTER IV.


"I wish, Eleonore, we had stayed in the Villa Fiorina, and not
undertaken our migration here," said Consul Erlau, as he stood still
before his adopted daughter, whom he had surprised in tears on his
unlooked-for entrance into her room. "I see I have made you suffer far
too much by it."

Ella had soon effaced the traces of weeping, and now smiled with a
calmness which might well have deceived a stranger.

"Pray, uncle, do not be anxious on my account! We are here for your
sake, and we will thank God if your recovery, which has begun so
promisingly in the south, is completed here."

"Still I wish that Dr. Conti were at any other place in the world,"
replied the Consul, annoyed, "only not just in the town which we would
avoid at all cost, and where I am obliged to put myself under his
treatment. Poor child, I knew you were making a sacrifice for me in
this journey; how great it is I only now am learning to see."

"It is no sacrifice, at least no longer now," said Ella, firmly. "I
only dreaded the possibility of a first meeting. Now this is overcome,
and all the rest with it."

Erlau examined her features enquiringly, and somewhat suspiciously.
"Indeed! then why have you wept?"

"Uncle, one cannot always control one's mood. I was cast down just
now."

"Eleonore!" The Consul seated himself beside her, and took her hand in
his. "You know I have never been able to overcome the thought that this
unhappy connection commenced in my house, and my only satisfaction was
that this house could afford you a home afterwards. I hoped that now,
when years lie between, when everything in and around you has so
completely changed, the injury you once received would pain you no
longer; and instead I must see that it continues to burn undiminished
and unforgotten--that the old wounds are torn open afresh, that
you--"

"You are mistaken," interrupted Ella, hastily, "you are quite mistaken,
I--have long made an end of the past."

Erlau shook his head incredulously. "As if you would ever show that you
suffered! I know best what reticence and self-control are hidden under
these fair plaits. You have often displayed more of it than you could
answer for to your second father, but his sight is keener and goes
deeper than that of others; and I tell you, Eleonore, you cannot be
recognised since the day when that Rinaldo, regardless of all refusals,
at last forced an interview upon you. What exactly passed between you I
do not know to this day; it was trouble enough even to obtain the
confession from you that he was with you. You are utterly inaccessible
in such matters, but deny it as you may, you have become quite another
person since that hour."

"Nothing took place at all," persisted Ella, "nothing of importance. He
demanded to see the child, and I refused him."

"And who answers for it that he will not repeat the attempt?"

"Reinhold. You do not know him! I have dismissed him from my door; he
will never pass it a second time. He understood everything, only not
how to humble himself."

"At any rate he had tact enough to leave Mirando as soon as possible,"
said Erlau. "This vicinity would have been unbearable for any length of
time. But his withdrawal was not of much use, as then Marchese Tortoni
sprang up, who raved so uninterruptedly to you about his friend that I
felt obliged at last to give him a hint that this subject did not
receive the slightest sympathy from us."

"Perhaps you did it too plainly," suggested Ella, softly. "He had no
conception of the wounds he touched, and your harsh repulse of it must
have seemed remarkable to him."

"I do not care! Then he can obtain the commentary upon it from his
much-admired friend. Were I to allow you to endure Signor Rinaldo's
glorification for hours, certainly we were not much better off here.
One cannot take up a newspaper, receive a visit, hold a conversation,
without stumbling upon his name; every third word is Rinaldo. He seems
to have infected the whole town with his tones and his new opera, which
seems to be considered here as a sort of event of the world. Poor
child! and you must be quiet under it all, must witness how this man
regularly revels in victories and triumphs, how he has attained the
zenith of success, and maintains it undisputed."

The young wife rested her head on her hand so that the latter shaded
her face.

"Perhaps you deceive yourself after all. He may be celebrated and
worshipped like no other--happy he is not."

"I am glad of it," said the Consul, violently, "I am extremely glad of
it. There would be no more justice or right in the world if he were.
And that he has seen you, as you allow yourself to be seen now, does
not conduce much to his happiness, I hope."

He had risen at the last words, and walked up and down the room with
his old vivacity. A short silence followed, which Ella at last
interrupted--

"I want to beg something of you, dear uncle. Will you grant it me?"

Erlau stopped. "Gladly, my child. You know I cannot easily refuse you
anything. What do you wish?"

Ella had fixed her eyes on the ground, and did not look up while she
spoke.

"It is that Rein--that Reinhold's latest work is to be performed the
day after to-morrow."

"Yes, to be sure, and then the adoration will become unendurable,"
growled Erlau. "You wish to escape from the first commotion about it--I
understand that, perfectly; we will drive into the mountains for a week
or a fortnight. Dr. Conti must give me leave of absence for so long."

"On the contrary. I wanted to beg you--to go to the opera with me."

The Consul looked at her with a countenance full of the most intense
astonishment.

"What, Eleonore! I cannot have heard aright? You wish to go on that day
to the theatre, which hitherto you have so decidedly avoided as soon as
Rinaldo's name was connected with it?"

Notwithstanding the shielding hand, one could see plainly how the deep
red which coloured her cheeks rose to her temples, as she replied
almost inaudibly--

"I never ventured to enter the opera house at home, when _his_ music
reigned there. I always felt as if every one's eyes would be directed
to me and seek me, even in the darkest background of our box. In your
drawing-rooms and in those of our acquaintances I seldom or never heard
his compositions. People avoided them whenever I was present; people
knew what had taken place, and tried to spare me in every way. I never
attempted to break through this fence of shielding consideration which
you all drew around me. Perhaps I was too great a coward to do so,
perhaps also, too much embittered. Now," she raised herself suddenly,
with a violent motion, and her voice gained perfect firmness, "now
I have seen Reinhold again, now I will learn to know him in his
works--him and her."

Erlau's astonishment continued; apparently this affair surprised him in
the highest degree, but it was very evident that he was not accustomed
to refuse his favourite anything, even if it seemed to him to be a
point requiring consideration. For the present, however, he was
relieved from an immediate consent, as the servant entered with the
announcement that Dr. Conti had just driven up, and that Captain
Almbach also was in the drawing-room.

"Certainly, Herr Captain Almbach is most enviable in his want of
diffidence," said the Consul. "Notwithstanding all that has passed
between you and his brother, he asserts his right as a relation just
the same as if nothing had occurred. Hugo Almbach is the only person in
the world who could do this."

"Do you not like his visits?" asked Ella.

"I!" Erlau smiled. "Child, you know that he has won me as completely as
every one else whom he chooses to win, perhaps only excepting my
Eleonore, for whom he seems to entertain quite incredible respect."

He then took his adopted daughter's arm, and led her to the
drawing-room. The medical visit did not last long, and Hugo in about
half-an-hour also quitted the Erlau's house, which he was wont to visit
frequently. Whether Reinhold knew of it could not be decided, certainly
he suspected it; but there appeared to be a tacit agreement between the
brothers not to touch upon this subject. It was not Captain Almbach's
way to force himself into a confidence which was determinedly and
continuedly withheld from him, and therefore he followed Reinhold's
example, who observed utter silence about the meeting in the _locanda_,
and never mentioned his wife's or child's names again, since he knew
they were in his neighbourhood. What might be really hidden beneath the
impenetrable reticence, Hugo could not discover, but he was convinced
that it did not arise from indifference.

Captain Almbach had reached his brother's dwelling, and entered his own
room, where he found Jonas, who seemed to be waiting for him. In the
sailor's appearance to-day there was decidedly something unusual; his
wonted phlegm had given way to a certain restlessness, with which he
waited until his master had taken off hat and gloves and sat down.
Hardly was this done, than he came forward and planted himself close
beside the Captain's chair.

"What is it then, Jonas?" asked the latter, becoming attentive. "You
look as if you meant to make a speech."

"That is what I wish to do," said Jonas, as he placed himself in an
attitude half solemn, half confused.

"Indeed? That is something new. I was always under the impression
hitherto that you would prove a most valuable acquisition to a Trappist
monastery. If, however, by means of all the classical recollections
here, the spirit of oratory has come to you also, I rejoice at it.
Begin then, I will listen."

"Herr Captain Almbach"--the sailor's spirit of oratory did not seem to
be sufficiently developed, as for the present he could not get beyond
those three words, and instead of continuing, he gazed persistently and
fixedly on the floor as if he wished to count the Mosaic stones.

"Listen, Jonas, I am suspicious about you," said Hugo, impressively. "I
have been suspicious about you for more than a week, you do not growl
any more; you cast no more furious looks at the padrona and her maids;
you sometimes lay your face in folds, such as any one with power of
imagination might consider the first feeble attempt at a smile. I
repeat it, these are highly serious symptoms, and I am prepared for the
worst."

Jonas seemed to discover that he must express himself somewhat more
clearly. He made an energetic start, and actually completed half a
sentence.

"Herr Captain Almbach, there are men--"

"A most indisputable fact, which I do not in the remotest degree intend
to attack. So there are men--well, go on."

"Who may like women," continued Jonas.

"And others who may not like them," added the Captain, as a second
pause ensued; "an equally undeniable fact, of which Herr Captain Hugo
Almbach's seaman, William Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' is offered as an
example."

"I did not wish to say that exactly," responded the sailor, whom this
arbitrary continuation of his evidently studied speech quite
disconcerted. "I only meant to say that there are men who appear to be,
no one knows how unkind towards women, and yet at heart are not so at
all, because they think nothing about them."

"I believe that is a very flattering illustration of my character,"
remarked Hugo. "But now tell me, for Heaven's sake, what do you purpose
with all these prologues?"

Jonas drew several long breaths; the next words appeared to be too hard
for him. At last he said, stammeringly--

"Herr Captain Almbach, I know, of course, best what you really
are--and--and--I know a young woman."

A smile, which he suppressed with difficulty, quivered about Captain
Almbach's lips, but he compelled himself to remain serious.

"Really!" said he, coolly, "that is, indeed, a remarkable event for
you."

"And I will bring her to you," continued Jonas.

Now Captain Almbach began to laugh aloud. "Jonas, I believe you are not
sane. What in the world am I to do with this young woman. Shall I marry
her?"

"You shall do nothing with her," explained the sailor, with an injured
countenance. "You are only to look at her."

"A very modest pleasure," scoffed Hugo. "Who then is the lady
concerned, and what necessity requires me to look at her?"

"It is the little Annunziata, Signora Biancona's lady's maid," replied
Jonas, who now became more fluent of speech. "A poor, quiet young
thing, without father or mother. She has only been a couple of months
with the Signora, and at first all went well with her; but there is a
man," the sailor clenched his fist with intense rage, "called Gianelli,
and he is the conductor; he follows the poor thing at every step, and
never leaves her in peace. She has repulsed him once very roughly, and
on that account he maligned her to the Signora, and since then the
Signora is so unkind and violent to her, that she can stand it no
longer. In _that_ house, indeed, she does not see much good, and
therefore she shall leave, and must leave, and I shall not allow her to
remain any longer."

"You appear to be very fully informed about that little Annunziata,"
remarked Hugo, dryly. "She is an Italian; have you learned all these
details by pantomimic means?"

"The Signora's servant helped us now and then, when we could not get
on," confessed Jonas, quite openly. "But he speaks horrible German, and
I do not like him putting his finger into everything. Without reference
to this, though, she shall get away from the whole crew; she must
absolutely go into a German house."

"On account of the morals," added Hugo.

"Yes, and besides on account of learning German. She cannot speak a
single word of it, and it is really sad when people cannot understand
one another. So I thought--you often go to Herr Consul Erlau, Herr
Captain Almbach--perhaps young Frau Erlau may want a maid, and in such
a rich household it cannot matter one person more or less, if you were
to put in a good word for Annunziata." He stopped and looked
beseechingly at his master.

"I will speak to the lady," said Captain Almbach, "and at all events it
will be better for you only to introduce your _protegée_ after I have
had a decided answer; I will also look at her then. But one thing more,
Jonas"--he put on a grave expression--"I presume that nothing
influences you in the whole matter, excepting pity for the poor
persecuted child?"

"Only pure pity, Herr Captain," assured the sailor, with such honest
frankness that Hugo was obliged to bite his lips, so as not to give way
to renewed laughter.

"I really believe he is capable of imagining that," murmured he, and
then added aloud, "I am glad to hear it. I was convinced of it from the
first; as you know, Jonas, _we_ shall never marry!"

"No, Herr Captain," answered the sailor; but the answer sounded
somewhat wanting in heartiness.

"Because we think nothing of women," said Hugo, with immovable
seriousness. "Beyond pity and gratitude, the story never goes; then we
sail away, and regret remains with them."

This time the sailor made no reply, but he looked at his master as if
much taken aback.

"And it is indeed most fortunate that it is so," ended Captain Almbach,
with great emphasis. "Women on our 'Ellida!' Heaven preserve us from
them!"

With which he left Jonas and went out of the room. The latter looked
after him with an expression in which it was difficult to decide
whether it consisted more of annoyance or sadness; finally, however,
the latter sentiment seemed to prevail, as he let his head droop, and
uttered a sigh, saying, in an undertone--

"Yes, certainly, she is a woman also--more's the pity!"

Hugo had gone across into his brother's study, where he found him
alone. The piano stood open, but Reinhold himself lay extended on
the couch, his head thrown back on the cushions. The face, with its
half-closed eyes and high forehead, with its dark hair falling over it,
looked alarmingly pale. It was an attitude, not of repose, but of the
most supreme fatigue and exhaustion, and he barely changed it at his
brother's entrance.

"Reinhold, really this is too bad of you," said the latter, coming up
to him. "Half the town is in commotion with your opera; in the theatre
everything is in a whirl; people openly fight for tickets. His
Excellency the Director does not know where his head is, and Donna
Beatrice is in a regular state of nervous excitement. And you, the real
promoter of all this disturbance, dream away here in _dolce far
niente_, as if there were no public nor operas in the world."

Reinhold turned his head towards the new comer with a feeble,
indifferent movement; his face showed that his dreams had been anything
but sweet.

"You were at the rehearsal?" asked he. "Did you see Cesario?"

"The Marchese? Certainly, although he was no more at the rehearsal than
I was. This time he preferred to give a performance himself in the
higher equestrian art; I have just paid a high tribute of admiration to
his bravery."

"Cesario? How so?"

"Well, he rode no less than three times up and down the same street,
and regularly under a certain balcony; let his horse curvet so
senselessly that one dreaded an accident every moment. He will break
his own and his beautiful animal's neck too, if he should try that
often. Unfortunately this time mine was the only, probably not much
wished for, physiognomy which he saw at the window."

The evidently irritable tone of these words caught Reinhold's
attention--he half raised himself up.

"At which window?"

Hugo bit his lips; in his anger he had quite forgotten to whom he
spoke. His brother remarked his hesitation.

"Do you mean the Erlau's house?" asked he, quickly. "It seems to me you
often visit it."

"Sometimes, at least," was Captain Almbach's quick response. "You know
I have always enjoyed the privilege of neutrality there; even when the
battle was raging most fiercely in my uncle's house, I have asserted
this old privilege there, and it is tacitly recognised by both
parties."

Reinhold had raised himself entirely, but the eagerness had quite
disappeared from his features; in its place was a dark expression of
enquiry, as he said--

"Then Cesario has also the _entrée_ of the Erlau's house? Of course you
introduced him there."

"Yes, I was so--stupid," said Captain Almbach, speaking angrily,
"and I seem to have caused something very charming by it. We had hardly
left Mirando when Don Cesario--who cannot resolve to sacrifice his
freedom---who rides past the only lady in the neighbourhood without
looking at her even--loses no time on the strength of that introduction
in making himself agreeable at the Villa Fiorina; and this was done,
the Herr Consul tells me, in so pleasant and modest a manner that it
was impossible to repulse him; the more so, as our departure from
Mirando removed the only cause of their seclusion. Then he was
fortunate enough to discover Herr Doctor Conti, who was making his
_villegiatura_ somewhere in the vicinity, and bring him to the Herr
Consul. The doctor's treatment produced results beyond all expectation,
and Don Cesario is almost looked upon in the family as the saviour
of life, which he knows how to make use of. Trust one of those
women-haters! They are the worst of all; Jonas has just given me a
speaking example of it. He has started a wonderful theory of pity, in
which he believes firmly as in the Gospel; but all the same, it has
caught him hopelessly, and the aristocratic Marchese Tortoni is on the
same path."

It could not have escaped any calm observer, that under the Captain's
mocking speech, which was usually only dictated by mischief, a
bitterness lay concealed which, with all his scoffing, he could not
quite control; but Reinhold was far from calm. He had listened as if he
would read every word from off his brother's lips, and at the last
remark he started up wildly.

"On what path? What do you mean by it?"

Hugo stepped back as if struck, "My God, Reinhold, how can you fly out
like that? I only meant--"

"It concerns Ella, does it not?" interrupted Reinhold, with the same
violence. "To whom else can these attentions be paid?"

"Certainly, to Ella," said Captain Almbach. It was the first time for
months that this name had been mentioned between them. "And just for
this reason, it can and must be indifferent to you."

Simple as the remark was, it seemed to hit Reinhold unexpectedly hard.
He strode up and down the room once or twice, and at last stopped
before his brother.

"Cesario has no idea of the truth," said he, in a suppressed voice;
"he made some enthusiastic remarks to me at the beginning. I may have
betrayed to him, involuntarily, how much they pained me, as since then
he has not touched the topic again."

"Erlau appears to have given him a similar hint," added Hugo. "He tried
to find out something about it from me--if any and what connection
existed between you and that family. I naturally avoided it, but he
seems to suspect some former enmity between you and Erlau."

Reinhold looked down gloomily. "This connection will indeed not long
remain a secret. Beatrice knows it already, and, as I fear, from a very
unsafe source, whence no silence can be expected. Cesario must learn it
sooner or later, after what you have just disclosed to me. He is
romantic enough to take anything of the sort seriously, and give
himself up, with his whole soul, to a hopeless passion."

Captain Almbach leaned with folded arms against the piano, a slight
pallor lay upon his face, and his voice trembled faintly, as he
answered--

"Who tells you that it is hopeless?"

"Hugo, that is an insult," stormed Reinhold. "Do you forget that
Eleonore is my wife?"

"She was," said Captain Almbach, emphasising the word strongly. "You
surely think now as little of asserting such rights as she would be
inclined to admit them."

Reinhold was silent. He knew best with what determination even the
slightest appearance of any right was denied him.

"You have both been satisfied with mere separation," continued Hugo,
"without requiring judicial divorce. You did not need it, and what
restrains Ella from it I understand only too well. In such a case final
decisions as to the possession of the boy must be made. She knew that
you would never quite sacrifice your paternal rights, and trembled at
the thought of giving you the boy even for a time. Your tacit
resignation of him was sufficient for her; she preferred to give up all
satisfaction, in order to remain in undisturbed possession of her
child."

Reinhold stood there as if struck by lightning. The glow of agitation
which had so lately coloured his brow disappeared; he had become deadly
pale again, as he asked, in a suppressed voice--

"And this--this you think was the sole reason?"

"So far as I know Ella, the sole one which could prevent her completing
the step which you had commenced."

"And you think that Cesario has hopes?"

"I do not know it," said Hugo, seriously, "but we both know that
nothing stands in the way of Ella's freedom, if she were really
disposed to assert it still. You forsook her, gave her up entirely for
years, and all the world knows why it was done, and what kept you
continuously away from her. She has not only law, but also public
opinion on her side, and I fear the latter would compel you to leave
the boy with her. Beatrice stands terribly in the way of your paternal
rights."

"You think that Cesario has hopes?" repeated Reinhold, but this time
the words sounded moody and full of menace.

"I believe that he loves her, loves her passionately, and that sooner
or later he will try to woo her. He will then certainly learn that the
imaginary widow was the wife of his friend, and still bears that
friend's name, but I doubt if this will exercise any influence upon
him, as not the slightest shadow falls upon Ella. Only your friendship
may receive an irrecoverable blow; but even without this, it would be
at an end, so soon as passion speaks; consider this, Reinhold, and do
not let yourself be carried away to any rash act. You broke your
bonds in order to set yourself free. Thereby you also made Eleonore
free--perhaps for another."

Captain Almbach's voice fell at the last words, and, as if to suppress
or conceal some violent emotion, he turned quickly to depart. Although
his brother's agitation, whom he left alone, did not escape him, he had
not the remotest suspicion of the firebrand which his words threw into
the other's breast.

If Reinhold had shown almost nothing but fatigue and indifference
lately to those around him, if a sensation often overcame him that for
him there was an end of life and love, this moment proved that the same
wild passion could still rage in his heart which had once drawn the
young artist away from his bonds at home; and the manner in which the
storm had been loosed, betrayed, if not to others yet to himself, that
which hitherto he _would_ not know, and which now disclosed itself to
him with merciless distinctness. The defiance and bitterness with which
he had armed himself against the wife who dared to let him feel that he
had once deeply offended her, and that she would now and never more
pardon this offence, succumbed before the burning pain which suddenly
blazed forth in his breast. But although his pride taught him to meet
the coldness, indifference and irreconciliation with harshness, he
still could not prevent it that so soon as the picture of his child
rose before him its mother's form also stood by its side. Certainly it
was no longer the same Ella, who a few months previously barely held a
place in his recollection, but the woman, who on that evening, when for
the first time he recognised what he had so frivolously given up, and
what he had irretrievably lost, had shown him such an energetic will,
and such a never dreamed of depth of feeling. Near the child's fair
curly head there hovered, ever and ever, the face with those large,
deep blue eyes, whose glance had struck him so annihilatingly. He did
not confess to himself with what passion he clung to this picture, with
what longing he dreamed away hours in these recollections; he did not
even confess the thought which lay unexpressed in his soul, that the
woman who still bore his name, who was the mother of his child,
notwithstanding all that had happened, still belonged to him, and
although he had forfeited the right of possession, at any rate no other
dared approach her.

And now he must hear that another already stretched forth his hand to
the prize, and offered everything to gain it. His brother's words
unsparingly disclosed the motive, to which alone he owed it, that Ella
had not answered his flight with letters of divorce. Only for the
child's sake was she still called his wife; not because one trace of
liking for him lingered in her heart. And if she were now to take the
step once avoided; if on her side she removed the chain, now when a
Cesario offered her his hand, who could prevent her; who could blame
the woman, who after the lapse of years sought at last in a purer,
better love, recompense for the treachery her husband had exercised
towards her? The danger did not lie in the fact that Marchese Tortoni,
who was handsome, rich, and who, belonging to one of the noblest
families, was the aim of so many aspirations, could raise his wife to a
brilliant position; that could only come under Erlau's consideration;
but Reinhold knew that Cesario, with his noble and thoroughly pure
character, with his glowing enthusiasm for everything beautiful and
ideal, might indeed win the heart of an Eleonore--yes, must win it--if
this heart were still free; and this conviction robbed him of all
self-possession. There was once an hour in which the young wife had
lain full of despair on her knees by her child's cradle, with the
annihilating consciousness that at that moment her husband was
forsaking her, his child, and his home for another's sake--that hour
now revenged itself on him, who was guilty of it, revenged itself in
the words, which stood as if written in letters of flame before his
soul--"Therefore you made her free also--perhaps for another."




                               CHAPTER V.


A storm of applause rolled through the opera house, and the curtain had
not even been drawn up as yet. It was for the overture, whose last
tones had just resounded. The theatre was filled to overflowing in
every place, with the sole exception of one small proscenium box close
to the stage; this was occupied by a single elderly gentleman, probably
some rich eccentric, whom it pleased to procure by lavish expenditure
of money the entire possession of a box, as on such an evening it would
otherwise hardly have been obtained. Every where else the dazzlingly
lighted spaces and tiers of boxes, with their rich parterres of ladies,
offered a brilliant and variegated picture. The world of artists, as
well as aristocracy, was fully represented. All which the town
possessed in the way of beauties, celebrities and persons of
distinction, had appeared to prepare a new triumph for the much admired
favourite of society. And was this merely what it was all for? No young
composer was offering his work timidly to the approbation or
disapprobation of the public: a recognised and undisputed sovereign in
the realms of music stepped before the world with a new display of his
talent, in order to gain a new conquest by it. This certainly lay
written very plainly, although not as if it were agreeable, upon
Maestro Gianelli's face, who conducted the orchestra. At the same time
he did not venture to fail in zeal or attention. He knew only too well
that if he attempted here, where of course a portion of the success
depended upon him, to intrigue against the all-powerful Rinaldo, it
must cost him his post, perhaps his entire future, as in such a case
the disfavour of the public would be ensured to him. Therefore he did
his duty to the fullest extent, and the overture was performed with
perfect execution.

The curtain rustled, and in anticipation the composer received the
homage of eager silence. Before the first act was half concluded there
was not one of the audience who had not already forgiven Reinhold the
tyranny with which he had disposed of all means in his hands, and
insisted mercilessly on having his views carried out. The
representation was in every respect perfect, and the scenery a
masterwork. All felt that it was a different hand to that of the usual
manager which had ruled here, and raised simple theatrical effects
everywhere to artistic beauty; but all these external advantages
disappeared before the all-attracting power of the work.

It was, perhaps, the most perfect which Rinaldo had ever composed in
his own peculiar line, a line by many so much admired, and by so many
others deplored. At all events this time he produced the very best in
that style to which Beatrice's influence had drawn him; was it the
highest which he could produce? This question was absorbed at present
in the ringing applause with which the audience greeted this new
creation of their favourite. Was it not Rinaldo again with all the
fiery spirit of his genius, of which none could tell positively whether
it were at home above, in the heights of idealism, or below in the
depths of passion, and which roused again in men's hearts all feelings
which lay between these two poles.

The storm raged over the northern heaths, and the billows surged
against the coast. As mists are driven along the cliffs, so rose and
fell the tones in chaotic confusion, until at last a dreamlike,
beautiful melody dawned forth. But it only hovered like a fleeting
vapoury picture over the whole, never completed, never ringing forth
clear and full, and soon it was lost amid other sounds, which not so
pure and sweet as it, yet attracted with a singularly strange charm.
The mists separated, and out of them appeared the demon-like beautiful
form, which was the chief performer and central figure of the whole
opera. Loud acclamation greeted Signora Biancona's appearance on the
stage. Beatrice showed to-day that she still understood how to be
beautiful, as at the commencement of her career. What art may have done
towards it was not now brought into consideration, enough that the
apparition standing before the public was perfect in every respect. The
half fantastic, half classic costume displayed her figure in all its
grace, her dark curls flowed loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes
gleamed with the old devouring fire. And now that voice was raised,
which had been the admiration of almost all Europe, full and powerful,
filling the extensive space--the singer still stood at the zenith of
her beauty and artistic strength.

The melodies flowed forth, still more glowing, more fiery, and before
the audience a picture of sounds was unfolded which seemed to borrow
its colours, now from the brightest sunlight, now from the scorching
heat of a crater. It pourtrayed the lost wild life of one whose cup was
filled to the brim, and who drained it to the very dregs. This rushing
forth beyond all bounds and limits, the volcanic glow of feelings, the
goblinlike play with tones carried the hearers irresistibly away on the
sea of passion, there to cast them adrift between shuddering and
enchantment, between heaven and hell. At times, indeed, notes rang out
like pæans of joy and triumph, but between were startling, harsh
discords, and then again sounds of that first lost melody were wafted
back, which ran through the entire opera like a soft, intensely painful
yearning plaint. As a dream of love and happiness passes through the
soul of man without ever descending to reality, so breathed and died
these tones in the distance, while in the foreground stood ever and
ever again the one figure, which Rinaldo had endowed with the highest
dramatic power, of which he was a master like none other, which he had
surrounded with all the magic of his melodies, whose sensual,
entrancing charms were laid like a ban upon the listeners' souls.

Beatrice was, if any one, adapted to understand this music exactly in
its innermost being and nature and to do it justice; she, whose
peculiar element was passion, who, as an actress, had sought and found
her triumph in it only. It rang out of every note of her singing,
quivered out of every motion in her acting, which raised itself to a
greater dramatic height than ever before, while she represented hate
and love, devotion and despair, rage and revenge with life-like truth.
It was as though this woman poured forth a stream of fire, which
imparted itself to the audience, who, half charmed, half alarmed,
followed her performance. Never yet had the singer been so entirely
part of her task, never yet had she delivered it so perfectly as this
time. No one guessed, indeed, for what prize she struggled, what urged
her to employ her best powers. Was it not to win back _him_, whom
already she had more than half lost! He had admired the actress before
he had learned to love the woman, and the actress now called all the
power of her talent to her aid, in order to maintain that of the woman.
For the first time the storm of applause was indifferent to her, as it
succeeded every scene; for the first time she did not care for the
worship of the crowd; she only waited for the one glance of passionate
rapture which had so often thanked her on such evenings--but to-day she
waited in vain.

"Signora Biancona surpasses herself tonight," said Marchese Tortoni,
enthusiastically, to Captain Almbach, who was in his box. "Often as I
have admired her, I never saw her like this before."

"Nor I," replied Hugo, monosyllabically.

Cesario looked at him in undisguised astonishment. "That sounds very
cool, Signor Capitano. Have you no other expression of admiration for
this woman, who stands so close to your brother?"

Hugo's countenance was indeed as cool as his tone, while he replied
quietly, "That is just Reinhold's taste. Sometimes our views lie very
far apart. However, it would be unjust not to admire Signora Biancona
to-night without reserve, and I do it, too--that is to say, from a
spectator's point of view. Close to her, such a passion, beyond all
reason, which seems to know no limits, would be rather unnatural. I can
never quite dismiss the thought that one day Donna Beatrice will carry
this truly masterful acting into reality, and could be a sort of Medea
there also, who only breathes forth death and ruin. That she _can_ do
it, one sees by her eyes and--although I do not otherwise exactly
belong to the timid class, I could not love such a woman."

"And yet Reinhold's works require exactly this fiery representation,"
said the Marchese, reproachfully, "and of that only a Biancona is
capable."

"Yes, to be sure, she has always been his doom," murmured Hugo, "and he
will never be free so long as this doom reigns over him."

The two gentlemen had long since remarked Consul Erlau in the opposite
stage box, and exchanged greetings with him. They never suspected that
he was not alone any more than did others of the audience, as the lady
who accompanied him sat far behind in the background of the box,
entirely concealed by the folds of the half lowered curtain, but yet so
that she could quite overlook the stage, and her companion, when he
spoke to her, took the precaution of rising and stepping back also. She
wished, evidently, to avoid being seen, and also to avoid a visit from
the two gentlemen.

Ella had actually obtained the fulfilment of her wish by her indulgent
adopted father. So far she knew but few, and only the unimportant
compositions of her husband, several songs and fantasias, nothing else.
The peculiar field of his labours and its results--the opera--was
unknown to her. In consequence of the deadly wound inflicted upon her,
she had never been able to conquer herself sufficiently to witness the
triumphs which his operas obtained in her native town, those triumphs
which were founded on the ruins of her life's happiness; and what she
learned from the newspapers, or through strangers to whom her near
connection with the admired composer was not known, only plunged the
dagger deeper into her soul. Now, for the first time, the tone poet,
Rinaldo, appeared before her in the most genial of his works, now she
learned to know the power of those notes which so often had conquered
friends and foes, and even carried away opponents to admiration, and
the effect was overpowering. Half bent forward, listening breathlessly,
the young wife followed every note of the music; she was now still
capable, amid all the beauties which developed themselves before her,
of gazing into the dark depths which were disclosed therein. For the
first time she understood her husband's character entirely and wholly,
this glowing artist's nature with all its contradictions, with its
storms, tempests and struggles; for the first time she comprehended
what the deeply injured wife _would_ not comprehend until now, the
inner need of nature which compelled Reinhold to tear himself loose
from the confined fetters of provincial every-day life and to follow
the call of his genius, which made this catastrophe for him a struggle
between life and death.

That he also broke those bonds, which under every circumstance ought
to have been held sacred by him, that he sacrificed the duties of a
father and a husband, who forsook his own for what would have been
justifiable independence of a free man, could not be exonerated even by
his genius; but in Ella's heart there now dawned, softly suggested, the
question--what had she herself been in those days to her husband, that
she should have required him to resist temptation, which came before
him in the guise of a Beatrice Biancona, and what could she offer
against a passion, whose glowing romance had, from the first, ruled the
artist more than the man. The wife entrusted to him was then far too
much oppressed with the burden of her education and surroundings, to be
able to raise herself in any degree to his height; in her place there
stood another in all the glory of her beauty and talent, and this other
showed the young composer the path of liberty and fame. He had
succumbed! Ella felt from the depths of her inmost heart that he would
not have done so, could she have been to him then what she was to-day.

For the last time the curtain was drawn up, and until the last note
Reinhold showed that he had been true to himself. The finale was as
grand as the entire opera, and created a thrilling effect. Yet the work
was wanting in one thing, the highest, for which not all the brilliant
flashes of genius could atone, namely, harmony with itself. It had no
peace, and awoke none in the minds of the audience. The composer
appeared to have infected his work with the conflict which lay
unappeased in his own breast; it was after all but the despair of life,
of happiness, of himself. When the nightlong tempest had raged until
exhausted, no fluttering morning's red peeped forth, promising a new
and better day; on the wide, dreary waste of waters only the wreck was
driven about, and clinging to it the shipwrecked traveller reached his
native coast at last--too late to be saved. When wearied and wounded to
death he sinks down there; once more is heard completed, as if 'twere
ghostly tones from the far off unapproachable distance, that dream-like
melody for the first time ringing out full and perfect in death, and
the notes fade and die softly, as the life-blood ebbs away.

The reception of this opera by the audience far surpassed any success
which Rinaldo had ever gained. Surely this music and performance were
certain of approbation from a southern public. There every spark took
fire, there each flame ignited and spread from one to another. One
would have imagined the applause must have exhausted itself at last,
the acclamations must have moderated themselves, but to-day even the
most exalted enthusiasm appeared capable of rising still higher. After
the close of each act, after every scene, it broke forth anew, and
ended at last in a regular uproar with which the whole house demanded
the composer's appearance most tumultuously.

Signor Rinaldo let them wait long before he acceded to this demand, he
allowed Signora Biancona to come forward alone, again and again, in
despite of all the stormy cries which were for him. Only at the end of
the opera, when the calls resembled a riot and the enthusiasm could no
longer be controlled, only then did he show himself and was greeted in
such a manner by the audience as must have satisfied the most
immeasurable ambition.

Proudly and calmly Reinhold stepped on to the stage; he stood almost
immovable amid the enthusiastic acclamations. He had long since
learned to accept all triumphs as something due to him, and great
as were to-day's, not for one moment did they deprive him of his
self-possession. His dark eyes swept slowly along the rows of boxes,
but suddenly remained fascinated at a certain point. It was as though
an electric shock had at once passed through his whole being, he
started so violently, and his glance flashed--that glance of passionate
delight for which Beatrice tonight had in vain laid out all the power
of her talent; and if the fair head which had only become visible for
one moment did disappear again at the next, yet he knew who was
concealed behind the curtains of the box, who was witness of his
triumph.

"Eleonore, that was imprudent!" said Erlau, also retreating from the
balustrade. "You leaned too far forward. You were seen."

The young wife made no reply; she stood erect, both hands grasping
the back of the seat from which she had risen in perfect
self-forgetfulness. The large eyes, full of tears, were still directed
unabashed to the stage where Reinhold just then came forward again to
thank the audience, that cheering excited crowd, for whom he was the
sole centre of attraction. All the thousand eyes were fixed upon him
alone; all these lips and hands announced his victory, and while
wreaths and branches of laurel fell at his feet, his name, as if
carried aloft by one surging wave, resounded back in a thousand echoes.

                           *   *   *   *   *

At the ---- Embassy a large _soirée_ took place, the first
entertainment of its kind for the season. A numerous assembly of guests
moved through the magnificent apartments of the ambassadorial hotel.
Trains swept and uniforms flashed in the rooms beaming with light and
scented with the perfume of flowers; near charming ladies' faces and
distinguished wearers of orders might be seen many grave, noteworthy
figures in simple civilian's dress, and amongst all these well-known
forms and names, many foreign ones were mixed, who, according to their
appearance and title, claimed more or less attention, to lose
themselves again in the throng of guests.

Reinhold and Captain Almbach were also amongst those invited; the
former was, as usual, the object of flattery and compliments from all
sides, although demonstrated rather less noisily than so lately in the
theatre. Reinhold had for long been considered one of the greatest
celebrities in society. His new opera made him quite the lion of the
season, and nowhere could he show himself without being surrounded and
congratulated by every one present.

The charming representative of his work, Signora Biancona, shared this
universal attention with him. Unfortunately, this time it was
impossible to express the admiration of both at the same time, as they
seemed rather to avoid than seek each other. Observant lookers-on
declared that some slight rupture must have occurred between them, as
they had arrived separately and never once drew together. Nevertheless
the actress was continually surrounded with admiration, due, probably,
in no small degree to her beauty. Beatrice understood perfectly how to
"drape" herself for the drawing-room as well as for the stage, and if
her toilette generally displayed something fantastic, it harmonised so
peculiarly with her style of appearance that she only appeared the more
fascinating. The singer preferred black, like many of her country
women, and had selected it again to-day, but the dress composed of
velvet, satin and lace was still most extravagantly magnificent, and
rich jewels glistened on the dark ground. Single crimson flowers,
apparently scattered carelessly here and there in her hair, seemed to
fasten the black lace veil, and with these the Italian's dark
complexion and burning flash of her eyes, formed a whole, which if
intended to create an effect, certainly attained this result in the
highest degree.

"Ah, Herr Almbach, so I find you here?" asked Lord Elton, who, glad to
find any one with whom he could speak English, came up to Captain
Almbach. "I wanted to see you for several days. Your brother's new
opera----"

"For mercy's sake, my Lord, do not talk about that!" interrupted Hugo,
with a gesture of horror, "since the day of its performance I have been
nearly plagued to death with my brother's opera; everybody feels in
duty bound to congratulate me too. How often have I wished for a
revolution, an earthquake, or at least a slight outbreak of Vesuvius,
so that at least something else may be talked of in society."

Lord Elton shook his head half-laughingly, half-disapprovingly. "Herr
Almbach, you should not speak so recklessly, if a stranger heard you he
might misunderstand you."

"Oh, I have amused myself several times by getting rid of some of his
worst admirers by such expressions of my sentiments," said Hugo, quite
unconcerned. "I do not feel obliged to offer myself upon the altar of
my brother's popularity by listening to their speeches. How Reinhold
can endure this triumph so long, I cannot conceive. Artist natures must
be very peculiarly organised in this respect; my sailor's nerves would
have given way long since."

Lord Elton seemed to enjoy the Captain's humour again to-day; he
remained steadily at his side, and was a silent, but yet very attentive
listener to all the remarks which Hugo as usual poured forth
mercilessly upon every known and unknown person.

"If I only knew why Marchese Tortoni suddenly makes such a comet-like
course through the room," mocked he; "that door seems to be the magnet
which attracts him irresistibly--ah! yes, now indeed I can understand
this move."

The last words sounded so unmistakably angry, that Lord Elton also
looked attentively at the entrance. There appeared Consul Erlau with
Ella on his arm. Marchese Tortoni was immediately at her side, and all
three passed through the doorway. The lady wore an apparently simple
white costume, but one could see that Erlau liked to display himself as
a millionaire, even so far as his adopted daughter was concerned. The
white lace dress, which floated so lightly around Ella's delicate
figure, far surpassed in costliness most of those heavy velvet and
satin robes which rustled through the room, and the row of pearls which
adorned her neck was of such enormous value, that many of the sparkling
jewels were as nothing beside it. Her fair head merely wore its natural
ornament; no diamond, not even a flower, decorated the rich blonde
plaits, whose faint golden glimmer harmonised so wondrously well with
the delicate pink colour of her complexion. That figure required no
studied artifice of the toilet to prove itself beautiful, it was so
without any such aid, and if the ladies' glances soon discovered what
cost was concealed under this seemingly simple costume, the gentlemen
had no less keen eyes for the poetry of the apparition which sailed
past them.

The three had arrived in the middle of the room, when, by chance, one
of the groups in whose midst Reinhold had been, suddenly broke up, and
he himself appeared standing almost immediately opposite to his wife.
It was not the first encounter of this kind between the husband and
wife, and they must always be prepared for the possibility of meeting
on such occasions. And so Ella seemed to be; only for a moment did her
arm tremble on that of her companion, and a fleeting colour came and
went in her cheeks; then, however, the large eyes swept calmly on, and
she turned to the Marchese, who was telling her the names of some of
the persons present. Reinhold, on the contrary, stood as powerless as
if he had forgotten everything around him. Although his wife's present,
appearance was no longer strange to him, yet she looked quite different
by the dim lamp-light of the garden room at Villa Fiorina, in the
gloomy, rainy light of the verandah on that stormy day, and in the
half-dark background of the opera box. He had never seen her as
to-night, in the dazzling flood of light in the saloon, in the airy
pale dress; and, despite the place and surroundings, it came wafted to
him, as a recollection of that dream-like morning hour at Mirando, when
the sea broke so deeply blue beneath the castle terrace, and the scent
of flowers arose from the gardens, while the white figure leaned
against the marble parapet--certainly her face was turned from him
then, but now it was turned to another. At the sight of Cesario, who
still maintained his place by her side, dream and recollection
vanished; before Reinhold rose his brother's words which had robbed him
of all peace almost ever since that conversation. "Perhaps for
another," resounded in his heart. An ardent, threatening glance fell
upon Cesario; returning to the circle he had barely left, he withdrew
with a violent movement from the Marchese's greeting and address.

The latter looked at him astounded. He had not the remotest idea of the
cause of this sudden avoidance, but he suspected for long already, that
more than enmity only, as he had imagined, lay between Reinhold and
Erlau. It had not escaped him that some secret connection had taken
place between Ella and his friend, and to-day's encounter confirmed
this notion only too strongly. Cesario was too proud to take refuge in
espionage like Beatrice, and so he endured an uncertainty, whose
explanation he had as yet no right to require of Ella or the Consul,
and which Reinhold would not explain to him.

The German merchant was almost a stranger in the gathering, yet his
companion's appearance soon began to create a sensation. Erlau had, to
be sure, knitted his brows at the unexpected sight of Reinhold, but
when he perceived that Ella remained apparently quite calm, the meeting
rather gave him satisfaction. The Consul was evidently very proud of
his adopted daughter, and noted the admiring glances and whispered
remarks which followed her everywhere. He told himself that her former
husband must see these glances, must hear these remarks, and with a
scarcely concealed triumphant expression he walked on past the groups.

The throng of guests moving up and down, and the numerous reception
rooms, made it easy for those to avoid each other who did not wish to
meet.

About a quarter of an hour after Erlau's arrival, Captain Almbach drew
near to greet him.

"Are you here, Herr Captain Almbach?" asked the Consul, astonished.

Hugo made a slightly ironical bow. "I have the honour. Does it
displease you so much?"

"Certainly not! You know I am always pleased to see you; but out of our
own house one only meets you in your brother's company. It appears
impossible to go anywhere in society without running up against Signor
Rinaldo."

"He is intimate with the master of the house," explained Hugo.

"Naturally," growled the Consul. "I should like to find one circle that
does not adore him, and in which he does not reign. I could not refuse
our Ambassador's invitation, and wished, too, to show my poor Eleonore
something more than merely a sick-room. Have you spoken to her?"

"Of course," said Captain Almbach, looking across the room where Ella
was standing engaged in conversation with the Marchese, Lord Elton, and
some ladies; "that is to say as much as Marchese Tortoni made it
possible for me to do so. He claims the lion's share of the
conversation. I retire modestly."

"Yes, my dear Herr Captain, you must accustom yourself to that,"
laughed Erlau. "In society Ella is seldom at liberty to converse with
one alone. I wish you could see her do the honours of my drawing-room.
Here, we are almost entire strangers, otherwise I assure you Marchese
Tortoni and Lord Elton would not be the only ones who would annoy you
in this way."

Ella in the meanwhile had finished her conversation, and left the group
with a slight bow, in order to return to her adopted father. As the
Marchese, much to his displeasure, was detained by one of the ladies,
Ella was crossing the room quite alone, when suddenly, in the middle of
it, a dark velvet dress pushed past her so closely and rudely that it
seemed as if done on purpose. Looking up, she perceived close to her
the beautiful but, at this moment, alarming countenance of Signora
Biancona.

Ella betrayed neither fear nor confusion, she took her lace dress up
slowly, and moved slightly aside. There lay on her part a quiet, but
very determined protest against any contact in this movement, and
Beatrice seemed to understand it only too well, still she came even
nearer. Ella felt a hot breath close to her cheek, and heard the
whispered words--

"Signora, I beg for a moment's audience!"

Ella answered with a look of astonishment and indignation. "You--of
me?" asked she, equally low, but with an unmistakable intonation.

"I beg for a few moments," repeated Beatrice, "you will grant me them,
Signora?"

"No!"

"No?" said the Italian's voice, in hardly concealed scorn. "Then you
fear me so much that you dare not be alone with me even for a short
time?"




                              CHAPTER VI.


Signora Biancona appeared to have touched the right chord. The bare
possibility of such an idea broke down Ella's opposition. "I will hear
you," replied she, quickly, "but where?"

"In the little verandah at the right of the gallery. We shall be alone
there; I will go first, you need only follow me."

With an almost imperceptible motion, Ella bowed her head. The few words
had been exchanged so rapidly and softly, that no one had overheard a
syllable, no one even noticed the close vicinity of the two ladies,
who, at that moment, were only surrounded by strangers; therefore, none
remarked it when Signora Biancona immediately afterwards disappeared
from the room, and Ella a few minutes later followed her example.

The gallery, adorned with statues and paintings, next to the
reception-room was almost empty. Only few guests had sought the cooler
apartment, at the end of which a glass door led into a half-open
verandah, which by day probably offered an extensive view over the
surrounding gardens, but tonight had been included in the entertaining
rooms, as it also had been decorated with flowering and foliage plants,
and if not so brilliantly lighted as the saloons, yet was sufficiently
so; at any rate it was quite empty, and the half-hidden room, lying
somewhat apart, which was unknown to most of the guests, offered the
possibility of an undisturbed conversation.

Beatrice was already there when Ella's lace dress rustled through the
doorway, but the young wife remained very close to it, without
advancing even a single step beyond. With just the same unbending,
proud bearing which she had shown at the first meeting in the
_locanda_, did she now await the commencement of this half-compulsory
interview. The Italian's eyes hung with a truly devouring expression on
the white figure which stood opposite to her, flooded with the light of
the lamps, and whose beauty moved her to the bitterest hatred.

"Signora Eleonore Almbach!" began she at last, "I regret having to
explain to you that your _incognito_ is already betrayed. For the
present only to me, but I do not believe that it can be long
maintained."

"And upon whom would it fall?" asked Ella quietly. "I did not spare
myself when I assumed this _incognito_.

"Whom then? Perhaps Rinaldo?"

"I do not know Signor Rinaldo."

The words sounded so icily positive, that it was impossible to
entertain any doubt as to what she meant to express, and Beatrice was
silenced for a moment by them. It was quite beyond her to understand
the pride which could not even forgive a Rinaldo for a breach of faith
once made.

"Indeed, I was not prepared for this denial," replied she. "If
Rinaldo--"

"You wished to speak to me," interrupted Ella, "and I promised to
listen to you. That the decision has cost me something, I need hardly
explain to you; at least I did not expect to hear this name from you,
nor do I wish it. Let our conversation be as short as possible. What
have you to say to me?"

"Above all, I have to beg you to employ a different tone in our
interview," said Beatrice, with irritation. "You are speaking to
Beatrice Biancona, whose name is surely known to you in other ways than
merely through our personal connection with one another, and who may
indeed endure hatred and enmity on the part of an opponent, but not the
contempt you are pleased to express."

Ella remained perfectly unmoved at this demand. She stepped a little
aside, under cover of the tall foliage plants, so that she might not be
seen from the gallery, and then turned again to the speaker.

"I did not seek this interview. It was you, Signora, who to some extent
forced me to it, therefore you must allow me to preserve the tone which
I deem to be suitable towards you; none other is at my disposal."

A glance of wild, deadly hatred shot out of Beatrice's eyes, but she
felt that if she now gave way to her passion, it would rob her of all
power, and prepare her antagonist a new triumph. She therefore crossed
her arms, and replied with annihilating scorn--

"You make me do severe penance, Signora Almbach, for having been the
conqueror in a struggle whose prize was your husband's love."

"You are mistaken," responded Ella, coldly. "I _never_ struggle for any
man's love. I leave that to women who first gain such a prize with
difficulty, and then must ever tremble lest they lose it."

The last words seemed to have touched a sore spot. Beatrice paled.

"Certainly you had a right to claim him on the strength of the bridal
altar," said she, still retaining the former contemptuous tone. "Only,
alas, even this talisman does not protect one from the misfortune of
being forsaken."

Now it was she who aimed mercilessly for a wound which she herself had
made, but the arrow glanced harmlessly back. Ella drew herself up erect
and proud--

"Certainly not from the pain of such a fate, but at any rate from its
shame. For the forsaken wife there remain the interest, the sympathy of
the whole world; for the forsaken lover--only contempt."

"Only that?" said Beatrice grimly. "You mistake, Signora; one other
thing remains for her--revenge!"

"Is that intended for a threat to me?" asked Ella. "Whoever challenges
your revenge, may seek to protect herself against it; I am free from
it."

"Of course, you came from the north where passion is not known, as we
understand the word," cried the Italian. "With you prejudices, duties,
the world's opinion, stand for ever and ever in the front--a woman's
_love_ only comes in the second rank."

"Certainly in the second rank." Ella's tone was now one of unconcealed
scorn. "In the first stands woman's honour; we are accustomed to place
it unconditionally and everywhere in front--a prejudice certainly from
which Signora Biancona has long since emancipated herself."

Ella did not know the rival whom she irritated, otherwise she would not
perhaps have ventured to let the pride of the deeply injured wife speak
in so crushing a manner; the effect was an appalling one.

It was as if all at once a demon sprang up in the Italian, as if her
whole being really shot forth "death and destruction," so flashed her
dark eyes; a half smothered cry of fury broke from her lips, and
forgetting everything around her, she took one or two steps forward.

Ella shrank back at this more than threatening movement--

"What does that mean, Signora?" said she firmly. "Violence perhaps? You
forget where we are. I see that I was wrong to accede to this
interview, it is high time to end it."

Beatrice appeared to recover her senses to some extent; at least she
stood still, although the unnatural expression of her eyes had not
faded; convulsively her hand crushed the black lace veil which fell
over her shoulders; she did not notice that in doing so one of the red
flowers detached itself from her hair, and fell to the ground.

"You shall learn to repent these words--this hour, Signora," hissed she
through her clenched teeth. "You do not know revenge? Very well, I know
it, and shall know how to show it to you and him."

She swept away and left the young wife alone behind, who could not
bring herself to re-enter the drawing-room immediately after this
scene, and encounter Erlau's anxious enquiries. Drawing a long breath,
she sat down on one of the seats, and rested her head on her hand. This
wild hatred and threat of vengeance did shake her, but it showed her
the truth also, through all veils. Only the successful rival is
hated, only what is lost is avenged, or at least what is given up for
lost--the infatuation was at an end.

But whom did these threatening words concern? Reinhold? The wife paled;
she herself had offered a firm bold front to the menace; but at this
thought a breath as of trembling fear passed through her soul, and as
if in half unconscious pain she pressed her hand to her bosom and
whispered--

"Oh, my God, that cannot be. She loves him surely."

"Eleonore!" said a voice quite close to her.

Ella started up. She recognised the voice at the first sound, even
before she saw the figure, which stood on the other side of the
doorway, as though it did not dare to pass. Reinhold seemed to gain
courage when he saw no repelling movement, and entered completely.

"What is it?" asked he uneasily, "I find you alone here in this distant
room, and just now I saw another come from it and hurry through the
gallery. You spoke--"

"To Signora Biancona," added Ella, as he stopped.

"Did she insult you?" cried Reinhold irately. "I know her look, which
betokened no good. I almost suspected it when I saw her disappear so
suddenly from the drawing-room, and you were to be seen no more. I came
too late, as it appears. Did she insult you, Ella?"

His young wife rose, and made a movement as if to leave--

"If she had done so, you understand surely that your protection would
be the last which I should claim."

She tried to pass him, and reach the door. Reinhold made no attempt to
detain her, but his glance rested upon her with such sad reproach, that
she stopped involuntarily.

"Eleonore," said he softly, "one more question before you go--only one.
You were at my opera--why deny it? I saw you, as you saw me. What urged
you to go?"

Ella lowered her eyes, as if it were a fault of which she was accused,
and a treacherous warmth flowed over her brow and cheeks, as she
hesitatingly replied--

"I wanted to become acquainted with the composer, Rinaldo, in his
works."

"And now that you have become acquainted with him?"

"Do you wish for my judgment upon your new creation? The world says it
is a masterwork."

"It was a confession," said he with strong emphasis. "I did not,
indeed, imagine that you would hear it, but as it was so--did you
understand it?"

His wife was silent.

"I only saw your eyes for one moment," continued he passionately, "but
I saw that tears stood in them. Did you understand me, Ella?"

"I comprehended that the author of such tones could not endure the
narrow circle of my parent's house," replied Ella firmly, "and that
perhaps he chose the best for himself when he broke through it and
plunged into a life full of warmth and passion, such as his music
paints. You have sacrificed everything to your genius--I bear you
testimony that this genius was worthy of the sacrifice."

The last words sounded intensely bitter; they seemed to have touched
the same chord in Reinhold.

"You do not know how cruel you are," said he in a like tone, "or rather
you know it only too well, and make me suffer tenfold for every pang I
once caused you. What indeed is it to you, if I rise or succumb in a
life which the world deems unequalled happiness, which I often, so
often already, would have given away for a single hour of rest and
peace! What is it to you, if your husband, the father of your child, be
devoured with wild longing for reconciliation with a past which he
could never quite tear out of his heart, if at last he despairs of
everything and of himself! He has merited his fate; therefore the rod
was broken over him, and the elevated, virtuous pride of his wife
denies him every word of reconciliation, denies him even the sight of
his child--"

"For Heaven's sake, Reinhold, control yourself," interrupted Ella
anxiously. "We are not alone here--if a stranger heard us!"

He laughed bitterly--

"Well, then he would hear the great crime, that the husband has for
once dared to speak to his wife. And if all the world learn it, I care
no longer upon whom the discovery, whom the condemnation falls. Ella
you must remain," interrupted he beside himself, as he saw she wished
to depart. "For once I must ease my breast of what I have carried about
with me for months, and as you are at other times so inaccessible to
me, you must listen to me now and here. You must I say."

He seized her arm, so as to detain her by force; but at the same moment
Marchese Tortoni appeared at the door, and stepped almost furiously
between them.

Reinhold let his wife's arm go, and drew back. Cesario's appearance
showed him that the latter must have been present at least during the
last scene; with dark brow and a grave look the Marchese placed himself
at once by Ella's side.

"May I offer you my arm, Signora?" said he, very positively. "Your
uncle is uneasy at your absence. You will allow me to accompany you to
him."

Reinhold had already mastered his astonishment, but not his excitement.
The interruption at such a moment irritated him to excess, and the
sight of Cesario at his wife's side robbed him completely of his
self-control.

"I request that you will withdraw, Cesario," said he violently and
dictatorially, with that superiority which he had always employed
towards his young friend and admirer, but he forgot that he no longer
held the foremost place with the latter. The Marchese's eyes flashed
with indignation, as he replied--

"The tone of your request is as singular, Rinaldo, as the request
itself; you will therefore understand if I do not accede to it. I
certainly did not understand the German words which you exchanged with
Signora Erlau, but yet I saw that she was to be compelled to stay when
she wished to go. I fear she requires protection--pray command me,
Signora!"

"You will protect her from _me_?" cried Reinhold, becoming excited. "I
forbid _you_ to approach this lady!"

"You appear to forget that it is not Signora Biancona in this case,"
said the Marchese, cuttingly. "You may have a right there to forbid or
allow, but here--"

"I have it here more than any other."

"You lie."

"Cesario! You will answer for this to me," cried Reinhold angrily.

"As you please," replied the Marchese, equally violently.

Ella had up to this time tried in vain to interrupt the sentences which
were exchanged rapidly between the wildly excited men; they did not
listen to her, but the last words, whose meaning she understood only
too well, showed her the whole extent of the danger of this unhappy
meeting. With quick decision she stepped between them, and said with a
determination which commanded attention even at this moment--

"Marchese Tortoni, do not proceed any farther! It is a
misunderstanding."

Cesario turned at once to her. "Pardon, Signora! We forgot your
presence;" said he more calmly. "But you overlook the fact that in
Signor Rinaldo's words there lies an insult to you, which I am not
inclined to tolerate. I cannot and shall not retract my words, unless
you were to convince me that he is right."

Ella struggled with herself in agonising indecision. Reinhold stood
silent and gloomy; she saw that he would not speak now, that with this
silence he wished to compel her, either to deny or acknowledge him as
her husband; but to deny him, meant in this case to call forth the
worst consequences. The insult had taken place, and with the two men's
characters, a fatal meeting was inevitable. If it were not withdrawn,
no choice remained to the wife.

"Signor Rinaldo goes too far when he still claims rights which he once
possessed," replied she at last. "But no insult lay in his words, he
spoke--of his wife!"

Reinhold breathed more freely--at last she confessed it before Cesario.
The latter stood as if struck by lightning. Often as he had sought for
a solution of the enigma, he had never expected one such as this.

"Of his wife!" repeated he almost stupified.

"We have been separated for years," said Ella voicelessly.

This explanation restored the Marchese's steadiness. He immediately
guessed the cause of the separation; did he not know Beatrice Biancona?
The one name made all clear to him, and left no doubt as to whose side
the fault lay on now. The Captain was right in his conjecture; the
discovery, instead of frightening Cesario away, rather made him break
forth in passionate partizanship for the beloved and injured wife.

"Well then, Signora," said he quickly, "it only rests with you, whether
you will recognise a claim, which Rinaldo founds upon a past, which
exists no longer, and which he himself surely destroyed. You alone have
to decide whether I may still approach you, if in future I may dedicate
a feeling to you, which I confess openly is now more than the cold
admiration of a stranger, and which one day you must accept or refuse."

He spoke with all the ardour of a long suppressed emotion, but also
with the noble, immovable confidence of a man, to whom the beloved one
is elevated above all doubt, and the language was sufficiently plain;
it pressed urgently for a decision, from which the wife shrank back
tremblingly.

"Yes, indeed Eleonore, you must decide," said Reinhold, now taking up
the word. His voice all at once sounded unnaturally calm, but the
glance which hung openly on his wife with an expression as if in the
next moment the fiat of life or death should fall from her lips, showed
better how it was with him. For one second's duration both their eyes
met, and Ella could have been no woman had she not now seen that the
most perfect, annihilating revenge lay in her hand. One single "Yes"
from her lips would avenge all that she had suffered. Slowly she turned
to Cesario.

"Marchese Tortoni--I beg you to desist--I still consider myself bound."

A short portentous pause followed the words. Ella saw what a struggle
between pain and pride of the man, who would not show how deeply he had
been struck, went forward in the young Italian's beautiful features;
she saw him bow to her, without speaking a word, and turn to go; but
courage failed her to cast a glance to the other side.

"Cesario!" cried Reinhold, going a step towards him as if in rising
repentance. "We are friends."

"We _were_ so," replied the Marchese, coldly. "You surely comprehend,
Rinaldo, that this hour separates us. My accusation against you I
must certainly retract! your wife's explanation exonerates you from
it--farewell, Signora."

He left the husband and wife alone. Neither spoke during the next few
minutes. Ella bent low over one of the perfumed flowers, and a few
tears fell upon the broad shining leaves. Then her name was borne to
her ear by a trembling breath--she seemed not to hear it.

"Eleonore!" repeated Reinhold.

She raised her eyes to him. Intense pain still rested on her face, but
her voice sounded under perfect control again.

"What have I said then? That I shall never make use of the freedom
which your step gave me? That was certain from the first; without this
the experience of my marriage protects me from any second one. I have
my child, and in it the object and happiness of my life. I require no
other love."

"You, certainly not," said Reinhold, with quivering lip, "and my doom
is indifferent to you--you have always loved your child only, and never
me. For his sake you could break through all the prejudices of your
bringing up and become another woman; you could not do it for your
husband."

"Did he then ever give me such love as I found in my child?" asked
Ella, in a very low voice. "Let it be, Reinhold! You know who stands
between us, and will ever stand."

"Beatrice? I will not accuse her, although she was more to blame for my
departure then than you perhaps believe. Yet, I was always master of my
will--why did I yield to the fascination? But if I have now recognised
its deception, and tear myself away--"

"Will you forsake her, as you forsook me?" interrupted his wife, in
reproachful condemnation. "Do you think that _that_ could reconcile us?
I have lost all belief in you, Reinhold, and it will not be restored to
me, even if you sacrifice a second person now. I have no cause for
sparing or considering this Biancona, but she loves you; she offered up
all for you, and you yourself gave her an undisputed right of
possession for years. If even you would now destroy the fetters you
forged for yourself she would still part us for ever. It is too late; I
_cannot_ trust you any more."

Immeasurable sadness rang in the last words, but at the same time
unbending firmness. In the next moment Ella had left the room. Reinhold
was alone.

                           *   *   *   *   *

It was on the day following this entertainment, already towards
evening, when Captain Almbach entered Reinhold's drawing-room.

"Is my brother still not visible?" asked he of the servant who met him.

The latter shrugged his shoulders, and pointed across to the locked
door of the study.

"You know, Signor, that we dare not disturb him. Signor Rinaldo has
locked himself in."

"Since this morning!" murmured Captain Almbach; "that begins, indeed,
to be alarming. I must absolutely find out what has happened."

He went to the study door, and knocked in such a manner that it could
not be unheard.

"Reinhold, open the door! It is I."

No answer came from within.

"Reinhold, twice to-day have I demanded admittance to you in vain. If
you do not open the door now, I shall think some misfortune has
happened, and burst it open in a minute."

The threat seemed to have some effect. Steps were heard inside the
room; the bolt was pushed back, and Reinhold, standing before his
brother who entered quickly, said impatiently--

"Why this disturbance? Can I never be alone?"

"Never!" said Hugo, reproachfully. "Since this morning you have been
inaccessible to everybody--even to me; and your face shows that you are
more fitted to bear anything than being alone. That unfortunate
_soirée_ last night; Heaven knows what befel you all! Ella suddenly
disappeared from the room, and I am convinced you spoke together.
Marchese Tortoni, who also became invisible, returned with a
countenance as if he had received his verdict of death, and left the
party the next moment. I find you in the gallery in a state of
excitement beyond description, and Donna Beatrice looked like the last
judgment day, as she entered her carriage. I bet that she alone has
caused all the mischief. What is the matter between you?"

Reinhold folded his arms, and looked gloomily at the ground. "Nothing
more now--we are separated from henceforward."

Captain Almbach stepped back in intense surprise. "What does it mean?
You accompanied her."

"Yes, she knew how to manage that, and so at last it came to a decision
between us."

"You have broken with her?" asked Hugo.

"I--no," replied Reinhold, with a bitter expression; "it was told me
plainly enough that I might sacrifice no 'second.' It was Beatrice who
brought the rupture violently about. Why must she force me to an
interview so immediately after it had become clear to me what I had
lost for her sake? She called me to account for my thoughts and
feelings, and I told her the truth which she demanded--mercilessly
perhaps, but if I was cruel, she challenged me to it ten times over."

"I can imagine it, from what I know of Biancona," said Hugo, in an
under tone.

"From what you know of her?" repeated his brother. "Do not believe it!
Did I not only really learn to know her last evening? It was a scene; I
tell you, Hugo, even you, with all your energy, would not have been
equal to her. One must have something of a fiend in one's nature to
resist such a woman. That hour put its seal upon our separation."

The words were full of gloomy moodiness, but betrayed no relief, no
removal of any weight. Captain Almbach shook his head.

"I fear the story will certainly not end there. This Beatrice is not a
woman to waste away in helpless tears. Be upon your guard, Reinhold!"

"She threatened me with all her vengeance," said Reinhold darkly, "and
so far as I know her, she will keep to it. Let her then! I do not
tremble before what I called up myself--with happiness I had parted
already."

"And if this separation continued irretrievable, do you not believe in
the possibility of a reconciliation with Ella?" asked Hugo, gravely.

"No, Hugo, that is over. I know that she cannot forget. Not one voice
in her heart speaks for me now, if it even ever spoke. The cleft
between us is too wide, too deep; no bridge leads across it now. I have
given up the last hope."

The brothers' conversation was interrupted at this moment by Jonas, who
entered hastily.

Reinhold looked up, annoyed that his brother's servant should venture
to enter his study so unceremoniously, and Hugo had a rebuke ready on
his lips, when a glance at the sailor's face arrested it.

"What is it, Jonas?" asked he uneasily. "Is it anything important?"

"Herr Captain!"--the sailor's voice had quite lost its usual quiet
tone, it trembled audibly----"I have just come from Herr Erlau's
house--you know that I often go there now--the old gentleman is beside
himself; all the servants are running about--Annunziata cries her eyes
out, although she really is not to blame for it, and young Frau Erlau
just now----"

"What has happened?" cried Reinhold, with the dread of presentiment.
"Some misfortune?"

"The child is gone," said Jonas, desperately; "since this forenoon. If
they do not find it again, I believe the mother will lose her life."

"Who? Little Reinhold?" enquired Hugo, while his brother stared at the
messenger of evil, without power over a single word. "How could it
happen? Was no one there to look after him?"

"He was playing in the garden as usual," related Jonas, "and Annunziata
with him; she went into the house for a quarter of an hour, as she
often does. When she returned, the garden door was open, the child
gone, and not a trace of him to be found. They have roused all the
neighbourhood, searched all the environs, but no ponds nor pits, where
the little one could come to grief, are anywhere near, and if he had
run away, he is big enough, after all, to find his way back again. No
one can understand the mystery."

The brothers' looks met. In both their eyes stood the same terrible
thought. The next moment, Reinhold, pale as a corpse, and trembling
with excitement in all his limbs, seized his hat from the table.




                              CHAPTER VII.


"I will soon procure the solution," cried Reinhold. "I know where to
seek it. You go first to Ella, Hugo! I will follow--perhaps with the
child."

The more thoughtful Hugo caught him quickly by the arm.

"Reinhold, I implore you, do not be too hasty! We do not know the
particulars so far. The child may have strayed away, and, as it does
not speak Italian, not have found its way back yet. Perhaps it has
already been brought home to its mother. What are you going to do?"

"Demand the restoration of my son," cried Reinhold, with fearful
wildness. "That, then, was the vengeance which this fury had thought
of. Ella and me--she would strike us both with one single deadly blow!
but I will succeed in reaching her. Let me alone, Hugo! I must go to
Beatrice."

"That would be of no use," cried Captain Almbach, whom the expression
on his brother's face alarmed, and who endeavoured in vain to restrain
him. "If your suspicion be well founded, she will know, too, how to
play her part. You will only irritate her more. We must adopt other
means."

Reinhold broke away by main force. "Leave me alone; if any one can, I
shall compel her to deliver up my child! If I do not compel her--well,
a catastrophe must ensue."

He rushed away. Beatrice's house lay rather far from his; yet he
traversed the distance in less than a quarter of an hour. Usually, he
required no announcement there; all the doors flew open before him; he
was wont to be considered as master here. To-day the servant who opened
the door assured him positively the Signora could not be spoken to by
any one, not even Signor Rinaldo; she was very ill, and had strictly
forbidden--

Reinhold did not let the man complete his sentence. He thrust him
aside, hurried through the ante-room, and tore open the drawing-room
door. The room was empty, equally so the adjoining boudoir; the doors
of the remaining rooms stood wide open, nowhere was she whom he sought,
not a sign of her; she had evidently left the house.

Reinhold saw that he came too late, and in the overwhelming
consciousness of this discovery, he felt vaguely that Beatrice's flight
had saved him from a crime. In his present state of mind he would have
been capable of anything towards the abductor of his child. By calling
all his strength together, he forced himself to be calm, and returned
to the servant, who had not dared to follow him, but stood frightened
and uncertain in the anteroom.

"Signora has gone then--since when?"

The servant hesitated in his reply. The questioner's face appeared to
betoken no good.

"Marco, you must answer me! You see that I shall not be deterred by any
excuse; you seek to deceive me, according to the Signora's commands.
Once more, when did she go, and where?"

Marco was evidently not initiated into the secret, as he was not at all
prepared for this question. However, he may have listened to part of
the scene which took place the preceding evening between his mistress
and Signor Rinaldo, and explained to-day's affair in his own way. It
was quite in keeping with Beatrice's violent character, that she should
now have left the town for a few days, if only to render it impossible
to continue the performance of Rinaldo's opera, and that the latter
should be beside himself with anger was easily comprehended. It was
not, indeed, the first disagreement between the two, and all quarrels
so far had always ended in a reconciliation. With the prospect of such
a readjustment of affairs, the servant was clever enough not to injure
himself with the ruling side, and therefore intimated that Signora had
left the house early this morning, with the distinct order that all
enquiries were to be replied to "that she was ill." She had driven away
in her own carriage; where, he did not know.

"And where did she drive to?" asked Reinhold, breathlessly. "Have you
not heard what address she gave the coachman?"

"I believe--to Maestro Gianelli's house."

"Gianelli! then he, too, is in the plot. Perhaps he may still be
reached. Marco, so soon as Signora arrives, or any news of her, let me
know at once! At once! I will pay you with gold for every word. Do not
forget this!"

With these words, almost thrown at the servant in his flight, Reinhold
hastened away. Marco looked astounded after him. To-day's scene was
enacted much more tempestuously than any former ones under similar
circumstances, and Signor Rinaldo's excitement surpassed anything he
had seen before. What then had happened? The maestro could not possibly
have eloped with Biancona? It really almost looked like it.

In Consul Erlau's house naturally intense confusion and excitement
reigned. Captain Almbach, who had hurried there without delay,
undertook at once the management of the enquiries which had been
already set on foot with the greatest energy and caution, but even he
could not discover anything. In the meanwhile, the one fact was
clear--that the child had disappeared tracelessly, and so remained. As
to whether it had left the garden voluntarily, whether it had been
tempted out, all supposition was at a loss. No one had noticed anything
unusual, no one had missed the little one until the moment when
Annunziata returned to fetch him. The poor little Italian was dissolved
in tears, and yet she was quite blameless in the occurrence, as her
young mistress herself had called her into the house. The boy was old
enough not to require constant supervision, and he often played alone
in the perfectly enclosed place. Hugo had not yet dared to give words
to the suspicion which he shared with his brother, and which every
moment became more lively. He had only hinted slightly at an abduction,
and was at once met with utter incredulity. Robbers in the middle of
the street, in the most aristocratic quarter--impossible! A misfortune
was more likely. Once more they began a search, notwithstanding the
approaching darkness, in the neighbouring gardens and the rest of the
vicinity.

In the meanwhile, Erlau essayed in vain to pacify his adopted daughter,
and to point out to her the possibilities and probabilities which still
might let her hope for a happy termination; Ella did not hear him.
Silent and deadly pale, without shedding a single tear, she sat by his
side now, after having taken part for hours in the vain researches,
which she even to some extent had conducted herself. Although Hugo had
not alluded to that possibility by a syllable, the mother's thoughts
took the same direction, and the more inexplicable the child's
disappearance remained, the more irrepressibly did the recollection of
her yesterday's encounter force itself upon her, the recollection of
Beatrice's wild hatred, and burning threats of vengeance; and clear,
and ever clearer arose the presentiment that this was no case of
accident or misfortune, but that it was one of crime.

A carriage dashed madly up the street, and stopped before the house.
Ella, who started at every noise, imagined in every arrival a messenger
bringing news, flew to the window; she saw her husband descend and
enter the house. A few minutes later he stood before her.

"Reinhold, where is our child?"

It was a cry of deadly fear and despair, but also a reproach more
wounding than could be conceived. She demanded her child of him! Was he
alone to blame that it had been torn from the mother?

"Where is our child?" repeated she, with a vain attempt to read the
answer in his face.

"In Beatrice's hands," replied Reinhold, firmly. "I came too late to
rescue it from her; she has fled already with her prey, but at least I
know her track, Gianelli betrayed it to me; the rogue was cognizant, if
he were not literally an assistant, but he saw plainly that I was in
earnest with my threat to shoot him down if he did not tell me the road
she had taken with the child. They have fled to the mountains in the
direction towards A----. I shall follow them at once. There is not a
moment to be lost, only I wished to bring you the information, Ella.
Farewell!"

Erlau, who had listened to all much shocked, wished now to interpose
with questions and advice, but Ella gave him no time for it. The
certainty, fearful as it was, restored her courage; she stood already
at her husband's side.

"Reinhold, take me with you!" implored she, determinedly.

He made a gesture of refusal. "Impossible Eleonore! It will be a
journey as for very life, and when I reach the goal, perhaps even a
struggle between it and death. That were no place for you; I must fight
it out alone. Either I shall bring you your son back, or you see me now
for the last time. Be calm! The possibility of his rescue is now in his
father's hands."

"And the mother shall, in the meanwhile, despair here?" asked his wife,
passionately. "Take me with you! I am not weak--you know it. You need
fear no tears or fainting from me when action is required, and I can
bear all, only not the fearful uncertainty and inactivity, only not the
anxious waiting for news, which may not arrive for days. I shall
accompany you!"

"Eleonore, for God's sake!" interposed Erlau, horrified. "What an idea!
It would be your death."

Reinhold looked at his wife silently for a few seconds, as if he would
examine how far her strength went.

"Can you be ready in ten minutes?" asked he, quietly. "The carriage
waits below."

"In half the time."

She hurried into the adjoining room. The Consul wanted to forbid, beg,
entreat once more, but Reinhold cut him short.

"Leave her alone, as I do," said he, energetically. "We _cannot_ give
way now to cold consideration. I do not see my brother here, and I have
not time to seek him. Tell him what has happened, what I have
discovered. He must take the necessary steps here at once to ensure us
help, which we may perhaps require, and then follow us. We shall first
take the direct route to A----. There Hugo will find farther
information about us."

He turned, without waiting for a reply, to the door, where Ella already
appeared in hat and cloak. The young wife threw herself, with a short
tempestuous farewell greeting, on to her adopted father's breast, to
whose protest she would not listen; then she followed her husband.
Erlau looked out of the window as Reinhold lifted her into the
carriage, entered it himself, shut the door, and the horses started off
in full gallop. This was too much for the shaken nerves of the old
gentleman, especially after the alarm and excitement of the last few
hours; almost unconscious, he sank into an arm-chair.

Hardly ten minutes later Hugo entered; he had already heard from one of
the servants of his brother's sudden arrival and equally sudden
departure with Ella. At his first hasty questions, Erlau recovered a
little. He was beside himself at his daughter's decision, still more at
the independence of her husband, who had borne her away without any
more ado. Arrival, explanation and departure, all had taken place as in
a hurricane; this mode of action resembled a regular elopement, and
what could the poor wife do on such a journey? What might not occur,
what happen, if they really overtook this dreadful Italian? The Consul
was nearly in despair at the thought of all the possibilities to which
his favourite was exposed.

Hugo listened silently to the report, without betraying especial
surprise or horror. He appeared to have expected something of the sort,
and when Erlau had ended, laid his hand soothingly on the latter's arm,
and said quietly, but yet with a slight tremor in his voice--

"Let it be, Herr Consul! The parents are now on their child's track;
they will, it is to be hoped, find the little one and--each other
also."

                           *   *   *   *   *

A carriage moved up the steep twisting road of the pass, which led
through the mountains to A----. Notwithstanding the four powerful
horses and cheering cries of the driver, it proceeded but slowly. This
was one of the worst spots in the whole chain of hills. The occupants
of the carriage, a lady and gentleman, had descended from it, and
struck into a foot path, which shortened the road almost by half; they
stood already on the summit, while the conveyance was still some
considerable distance behind them.

"Rest yourself, Ella!" said the gentleman, as he led the lady into the
shade of the rocky wall. "The exertion was too much for you; why did
you insist on leaving the carriage?"

His wife still kept her fixed, comfortless gaze turned to the pass,
which on the other side descended into the valley, and whose windings
could be partly overlooked.

"We are a quarter of an hour sooner at the top, at any rate," said she,
feebly. "I wanted to look out over the road, perhaps even discover the
carriage."

Reinhold's glance followed the same direction, in which nothing,
however, could be discerned but the figures of two men, looking like
peasants, who coming down the hill lustily, sometimes disappeared in
the turns of the road, soon again to reappear.

"We cannot, indeed, be so near them," said he pacifyingly, "although we
have flown since last evening. You see, at least, we are on the right
track. Beatrice has been seen everywhere, and the child beside her. We
_must_ overtake her."

"And when we do--what then?" asked Ella, listlessly. "Our boy is
unprotected in her hands. God knows what plans she will pursue with
him."

Reinhold shook his head--

"Plans? Beatrice never acts upon plans or calculations. The impulse of
the moment decides everything with her. The thought of revenge has
suddenly overcome her, and like lightning she has carried it out, like
lightning fled with her prey. Where? To what end? That is not even
clear to herself, and for the moment she does not enquire. She wished
to strike you and me in our most vulnerable point, and she has
succeeded; more she did not wish."

He spoke with great bitterness, but with most perfect certainty. They
stood alone at the summit of the pass; the carriage was still far below
them, and just then disappeared at the last turn of the road. The
mountains here bore an abrupt, wild character; almost naked the sharp
rocks rose upwards, now in mighty groups, now wildly split and broken.
Only aloes could take root in the clefts of the yellow grey stone, and
here and there a fig tree spread its meagre shade. Yonder, on the other
side of the valley, a building hung in dizzy height on the mountain's
wall, a castle or monastery, grey as the rock itself, and barely to be
distinguished from it at this distance. Lower down at the edge of an
abyss, a little hill-town had nestled itself, which built in and upon
the rock seemed almost to form part of it, and its deserted decayed
appearance harmonised with the loneliness around. Still lower, whirled
the broad rushing stream, occupying almost the entire width of the
valley, so that there barely remained space for the road by its side.
Over the whole scene, however, lay that glowing sunlight of a southern
autumn day, which is not inferior at all to the power of a northern
midsummer one; although the sun had long left its noontide height, the
air was still quivering with heat; sharply and harshly illuminated,
every single object stood out almost painfully clear to the sight, and
the heated stones literally burned under the scorching rays to which
they were incessantly exposed.

"It would be folly to precede the carriage, even only by another step,"
said Reinhold. "It would overtake us in a moment on the downward route.
Now we have a view over the whole."

Ella did not contradict him; her countenance bore plainly enough an
expression of the most extreme physical and mental exhaustion. This
drive of twenty hours without rest, added to the deadly fear at heart,
the ever renewed agonising excitement when the track sought for now
appeared and again was lost--this was too much for the mother's heart,
and the woman's strength. She sat down on a piece of rock, leaned her
head silently against the mountain's side, and closed her eyes.

Her husband stood by her and looked down silently at the beautiful pale
countenance, which in its deadly exhaustion appeared almost alarming.
The sharp points of the rock buried themselves deeply in her white
forehead and left red marks there. Reinhold slowly pushed his arm
between the stone and his wife's fair plaits; she did not seem to feel
it, and encouraged by it he put his arm quite round her, and attempted
to give her a better support against his shoulder.

Now Ella started slightly and opened her eyes; she made a movement as
if she would withdraw from him, but his look disarmed her--this look
which rested upon her with such painful, anxious tenderness; she saw
that he did not tremble less for her at this moment than he trembled
for his child. She let her head sink back again, and remained
motionless in his arms.

He bent low over her--

"I fear, Eleonore," said he, with an effort, "you have had too much
confidence in your strength. You will break down."

Ella shook her head denyingly--

"When I have got my boy again--perhaps then. Not before."

"You will recover him," said Reinhold energetically. "How? At what
cost? I do not certainly yet know; but I know how to master Beatrice
when the demon is roused in her. Have I not often stood opposed to her
at times, when perhaps every other person had trembled before her, and
have known how to enforce my will? Once more, for the last time I shall
try it, should she and I become the sacrifice."

"You believe in danger, also for yourself?" Ella's voice sounded as if
full of trembling fear.

"Not if I meet her alone, only if you approach her; promise me that you
will stay behind at the last station, will not show yourself when we
arrive. Remember that in the child she has a shield against every
attack; every means of force on our side, and everything would be lost
if she were to see you at my side."

"Does she hate me so much?" asked Ella, astonished. "I irritated her,
it is true, but yet it was you who offended her most deeply."

"I?" repeated Reinhold. "You do not know Beatrice. If I came before her
penitent, wishful to return, there would be an end of her hatred and
her revenge. One single oath, that I and my wife are separated and
remain so, that I have given up all idea of a reunion, she would give
you back your child without a struggle, without resistance. If I
_could_ do this, the danger would be over."

Ella's eye sought the ground; she did not dare to look up, as she asked
almost inaudibly--

"And can you not do it, then?"

His eyes flashed, he let his arm drop from her shoulders, and stepped
back--

"No, Eleonore, I cannot, and I shall not, as it would be perjury. So
little as I shall ever return to the bonds which I had felt degraded me
long before I saw you again, so little shall I give up a hope which is
more to me than life. Oh, do not draw back so from me! I know I may not
come near you with sentiments to which I have forfeited the right,
but you cannot prescribe my feelings to me, and if you did not see
before--would not see--Beatrice's burning hatred to you, and you alone,
must show you, how much you are avenged."

Ella made a sudden deprecating motion--"Oh, Reinhold, how can you at
this moment--"

"It is perhaps the only one in which you do not reject me," interrupted
Reinhold. "May I not, in the hour when we both tremble for our child's
life, tell the mother what she has become to me? Even then when I first
trod Italy's shore, there lay upon me something like a suspicion of
what I had lost. I could not rejoice over the newly-won freedom the
artist's career gained at last; and the richer and more brilliant my
life became externally, the deeper grew that longing for a home which
yet I had never possessed. You, to be sure, do not know the dull pain
which will not be still even in the midst of the whirl of passion, in
the noise of triumph, in the proudest success of one's creations, which
becomes torture in solitude, from which one must fly, even if only by
means of intoxication, by the wildest excitement. I believed that it
was only the longing for my child; then I saw the child again--saw
you--and I knew what this longing craved for; then began the atonement
for everything of which I had been guilty towards you."

He spoke quietly, without reproach or bitterness, and the words seemed
therefore to act all the more powerfully on Ella; she had risen as if
she would flee from his tone and gaze, and yet could not.

"Spare me, Reinhold!" begged she almost imploringly. "I can feel and
think of nothing now but my child's danger. When I have the boy safe in
my arms, then--"

"Well, then?--" asked he in breathless eagerness.

"I shall perhaps not have the courage any longer to pain his father,"
added Ella, while a flood of tears rushed from her eyes.

Reinhold did not say another word; but he held her hand firmly in his
own as if he would never loosen it again. At the same moment, the
carriage appeared on the top of the hill, and the driver stopped to
give himself and the tired animals a little rest.

Almost simultaneously, the two peasants who had been visible before on
the road, arrived from the other side. They stared curiously at the
beautiful pale lady and strange, distinguished-looking gentleman who
stepped towards them and asked where they came from. They named a place
which lay at the exit of the valley, some miles distant.

"Have you seen no carriage?" enquired Reinhold.

"Certainly, Signor. A travelling carriage like yours; but they had only
two horses, you have four."

"Did you see the occupants?" interposed Ella, in a trembling voice. "We
seek a lady with a child."

"With a little boy?--quite right, Signora. She is a good way before
you; you must drive sharply if you would overtake her," said the elder
of the two men while stepping nearer, somewhat alarmed, as the lady
looked as if about to sink down at the news; but at the same moment her
companion threw his arm round her, and supported her.

"Courage, Eleonore! We are near the crisis; now we must act."

He lifted her into the carriage, and sprang in after her. The few words
which he addressed to the driver must have contained some unusual
promise, as the latter swung his whip sharply across the horses, and
away they went after the object of their pursuit.

The latter had indeed gained a considerable advantage, and their
carriage was also driven at a rapid pace. Beatrice was alone in it with
little Reinhold, who, tired with crying and the restless, fatiguing
journey, had fallen asleep. The fair, curly little head was pressed
deeply into the cushions; his hands were twined instinctively around
the side rests, as if they sought a support against the incessant
jolting and shaking of the uneven road. The child slept soundly and
deeply, but Beatrice hardly noticed it just now. She was in that state
of supreme mental irritation which even puts a limit to the wildest
passion. She was as if in a heavy, stupid trance, from which only one
object stands out with fearful distinctness--the recollection of that
hour when Rinaldo cast himself free from her, when he called her the
curse and misfortune of his life, and acknowledged to her with proud
defiance that his love belonged to his wife alone. These words pierced
the Italian's heart ever again as if with a burning thorn. Whatever she
had done, however she may have sinned, she had loved this one man with
all the ardour of her soul--to this one she had been unfailingly true;
she had considered his love as her right, of which no power on earth
could deprive her, and now she lost it through the woman whom she
feared the last of all others--through his wife. His wife and his
child! They had ever been the dark shadow which menaced this happiness,
and which now, coming forward out of the gloomy past, took form and
life in order to destroy it.

Beatrice had hated both, even before she knew them. Did she not know
best what place they still maintained in Reinhold's remembrance? Had
she not often enough tried in vain to tear him away from it? There
must surely be something in the once despised power of sacred
wedlock; it was victorious at last against the beautiful, charming
Biancona--against the admired actress; and now made her taste the whole
agony of being forsaken, to which she had once so indifferently
condemned another, without asking if that other's heart broke under
this unmerited fate. The fetters, apparently dissolved, had never quite
loosed the fugitive; now they encircled him again, and Beatrice felt,
with desperate certainty, that she had never possessed the place in his
heart which once more his wife occupied.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


The passionate woman did indeed not act upon any plan or calculation
when she seized upon this last extreme means of cooling her revenge.
Her appearance in the Erlau's garden entirely concerned her hated
rival. She did not find Ella, but instead found the boy alone, without
supervision; and the idea, as well as the execution of his abduction,
were the work of a moment. At first the child willingly followed the
beautiful stranger, who drew it caressingly towards her, and when he
commenced to become frightened, and asked to be taken back to his
mother, it was already too late. Beatrice never thought of the possible
consequences of her step when she carried her prey away triumphantly;
she only felt that no stroke from a dagger could hit Ella's heart so
deeply and certainly as the loss of her child, and that this loss would
raise an everlasting barrier between the parents. It was this which she
had wished. But now she must see how to ensure the booty. Gianelli must
give his hand to aid the flight so hastily undertaken.

Now more than a day's journey lay already between the child and its
parents; but they must make a halt some time; some time this aimless,
planless flight must come to an end.

The vengeance had succeeded beyond expectation--what now?

Little Reinhold still slept. Had he only borne his father's features,
perhaps that had preserved him from all ill; but this golden fair hair,
this rosy countenance, and those deep blue eyes--just now closed, to be
sure--all belonged to the mother--the woman whom Beatrice hated as she
had never yet hated anything in the world, and this likeness was
ominous to the sleeping child. The burning eyes of his companion rested
for some minutes fixedly on his face; then she suddenly started as if
frightened at her own thoughts, tore her gaze away from the boy, and
turned aside.

Yonder, up above, she beheld the carriage which was following theirs. A
travelling carriage was very rare on this road, and it came in the same
direction--came with the greatest speed. Beatrice guessed at once what
it meant. So her track was already betrayed, and the pursuers were at
her heels--let them, indeed! She felt herself to be all-powerful so
long as she had the child in her hands.

Rising quickly, she ordered the coachman to lash the horses to their
greatest pace. He obeyed, and now commenced a wild race between the two
carriages. More than once the powerful animals could hardly keep up,
more than once the drag threatened to break and overturn the occupants.
None paid any attention to it, and promises of excessive rewards
spurred the two drivers on to scorn any danger. It was a furious,
reckless drive; rocks and ravines seemed to fly past on both sides;
ever higher rose the mountainous wall, the more the road descended;
ever nearer rushed the river; yet the four-in-hand had undeniably the
best of it. Both carriages now rolled down the valley, but the space
between them was diminished every moment--a few hundred yards, and the
fugitives would be overtaken.

The first vehicle thundered across the bridge which here united the two
banks. Beyond, it suddenly stopped. Beatrice herself had given the
order to do so; she saw that now no evasion, no escape was possible,
she must be prepared for extremities. The carriage stood close to the
edge of the river, which shot along with intense rapidity. Slowly
Beatrice opened the door, while with her left hand she grasped little
Reinhold, whom the mad gallop had awoke, and who gazed affrighted into
the foaming, raging waves which rushed past close below him. He did not
know how near his parents were. Now the second carriage had reached the
bridge, and the moment Ella beheld her child all consideration and
recollection were at an end. She forgot Reinhold's warning not to show
herself, to leave the decisive step alone to him; and bent far out of
the door.

"Reinhold!" resounded across--it was a cry of inexpressible, trembling
fear. The child cried out as it recognised its mother, and stretched
both arms to her. Weeping noisily, it tried to go to her: but this
sight was its ruin. Beatrice had become white as a corpse when she saw
the husband and wife side by side. Together, then! What should have
separated had united them, and if in the next moment Reinhold reached
the fugitive, and tore his son from her, they would be bound together
for ever, and for the forsaken one there would only remain contempt or
revenge.

But the choice was already made. A single step, quick as lightning
towards the stream, decided all. Beatrice had not loosed her hold of
the child, and with the strength of despair drew it down with her into
the flood of death.

A scene of indescribable confusion followed this horrible deed. The
drivers of both carriages had sprung down from their seats and ran
objectlessly up and down the banks; they did not even attempt to give
any succour, which was only possible at the sacrifice of their own
lives. Ella stood on the bridge; she wanted to cast herself in after
those whom she could not rescue; but better help was at hand. She saw
the waves splash up high as her dearest disappeared amidst them--saw
how these waves also closed the next moment over her husband's head.
Reinhold had thrown himself in immediately after his child, which, in
the fall, had torn itself away from Beatrice, and now re-appeared at
some little distance. Moments of agony ensued, in comparison with which
all previous suffering was but play. For Ella, life and death were
struggling together in these foaming, hissing waves, with which the two
bodies fought, the one helpless, almost powerless to resist, the other
toiling fiercely to the one point which at last he attained. The father
grasped his child, drew it to himself, and strove to reach the shore
with him. Now he planted his foot upon the rocky ground, now he seized
the overhanging rocky points on which to support himself; and now, too,
the mother regained power and motion. She rushed to both. Slowly
Reinhold mounted the cliff; his breast heaved with fearful exertion;
his arms bled, wounded by the sharp stones to which he had held, but
these arms encircled his boy whom he clasped against his heart for the
first time for years, and sinking down half-unconsciously, he placed
the child in its mother's arms.

                           *   *   *   *   *

"Then this is really and irrevocably to be a farewell visit?" asked
Consul Erlau of Captain Almbach, who sat near him. "Your departure
comes very suddenly and unexpectedly. What will your brother, what will
Eleonore, say to it? Both calculated quite positively upon keeping you
here a few weeks longer."

On Hugo's usually light brow there lay a shadow to-day, and on his
features a strange, bitter expression, as he replied--

"You will soon reconcile yourselves to the parting. Reinhold will
not feel my absence in the constant society of wife and child; and
Ella--" he broke off suddenly. "Consider it as being all for the best,
Herr Consul. They will both be far too much occupied with each other
and their newly-recovered happiness to ask after _me_."

"Yes, indeed," rejoined the Consul, "and the greatest loser in this
reconciliation am I. For years I have looked upon Eleonore as my child,
have considered her and the little one as my indisputable property; and
now, all at once, her husband makes good his so-called rights and takes
them both from me, without my being able to raise any objection to it.
I do not understand Eleonore, that she has pardoned him so readily."

"Well, it was not done so very readily," said Hugo gravely. "He met
with resistance enough, and I hardly believe ha would ever have
overcome it without that catastrophe which finally came to their
assistance. He bought the reconciliation with his child's rescue. Ella
would have been no wife and mother if she had turned away from him
then, when he laid her boy, uninjured, in her arms. That moment atoned
for all, and you know as well as I that saving the child nearly cost
the father's life."

"Yes, certainly, he could do nothing more sensible than become
dangerously ill after the affair," grumbled Erlau, who decidedly seemed
to be in a very uncharitable mood. "That was enough to call Ella to his
side at once, from which she was not to be removed again, and he very
wisely would not let her leave him. One knows all that. Danger and
fear, care and tenderness without end! You surely do not require me to
rejoice over this reconciliation? I wish we had left this Italian
journey alone, then I should have kept my Eleonore, and Herr Reinhold
could have continued his genial, romantic artist's life here. That
would have been perfectly right for me."

"You are unjust," said Hugo reproachfully.

"And you out of sorts," added Erlau. "I do not understand exactly what
has happened to you Herr Captain; your brother is out of danger, your
sister-in-law amiability itself, the little one has attached himself
most tenderly to you, but your cheerfulness seems quite to have left
you since everything has been swimming in love and peace around us. You
play no jokes upon any one, you annoy no one with your teasings and
nonsense, one hardly ever hears a word of fun from you. I fear
something has got into your head, or even your heart."

Hugo laughed loudly but somewhat forcedly.

"Why not, indeed! I can no longer bear to remain such a time on shore,
and give up the sea. This inactivity of months wearies me. Thank God,
it is coming to an end at last. Early to-morrow I depart, and in a few
more days I shall be out on the waves again."

"And then we all fly apart quite prettily to every point of the
compass," said the Consul, who still could not get the better of his
irritation. "You sail to the West Indies, your brother and Eleonore
will also leave; I go back to H----, a most pleasant solitude which
awaits me there at home! Herr Reinhold certainly was gracious enough to
promise me that I should see his wife and child from time to time. From
time to time! As if that could satisfy me, after having had her about
me every moment for years. Of course, now the husband and father must
decide about it! I am convinced he will never let her leave him for a
week; he is just as overwhelming in his tenderness as he once was in
his carelessness."

It almost seemed as if the subject of the conversation were painful to
Captain Almbach, as he broke it off quickly by rising and taking leave
of the Consul heartily, but yet rather curtly and hastily. Erlau
evidently saw him go with regret, as however great was the prejudice
which he entertained against Reinhold, he was as decidedly prepossessed
in Hugo's favour, and if the latter had been the repentant prodigal,
the Consul would have regarded the reconciliation with a much more
favourable eye than he did now where every feeling of justice was lost
in the pain of the impending separation from his favourite. It only
slightly consoled the old gentleman that he took his restored health
home with him; his house appeared very desolate to him now, and he
sighed deeply as the door closed after his guest.

Hugo, in the meantime, returned to his brother's abode which he still
shared. His room, in consequence of the preparations for his departure,
was in the greatest disorder already. He had ordered Jonas to pack up,
and put all ready for the early morning, and the sailor had partly
obeyed these directions, as the boxes stood open on the floor, and the
travelling requisites lay about on the table and chairs.

But there seemed to be no talk of packing at present, as Jonas sat
quite calmly on the lid of the large travelling chest, and near him
little Annunziata, whom he had probably called to help him in this
difficult business. The conversation between them, notwithstanding the
young Italian's very defective knowledge of German, was in full course,
and Jonas had also placed his arm, unabashed, round her waist, and was
just in the act of stealing a kiss from her, which did not seem to be
the first, and most likely would not have been the last, if Hugo's
appearance had not put an end to any farther confidential arrangements.

The couple started up, alarmed at the unexpected opening of the door.
Annunziata recovered herself first. She fled with a slight exclamation
past Captain Almbach into the ante-room, where she disappeared and left
the explanation of the situation to her companion. Jonas however,
transfixed from fright, and stiff as a statue, stood without moving,
looking at his master, who now entered completely and shut the door
behind him.

"Do you call that packing the boxes?" asked he. "Then you have gone so
far happily with your exercise of pity?"

Jonas sighed deeply--

"Yes, Herr Captain, I am so far," replied he, resignedly.

The confession was made with such comical humiliation, that Hugo had
difficulty to suppress a smile; still he said with a grave face--

"Jonas, I never thought to experience such things in you. It is only
lucky that you are a man of principles, which will not allow you to let
such follies become serious. Principles before everything! Our
'Ellida,' lies ready to sail; to-morrow we start for the harbour, and
when we return from the West Indies, you will have driven this love
story out of your head, and Annunziata in the meanwhile will have taken
another--"

"She will leave that alone," cried Jonas furiously. "I will kill her
and myself too if she does anything of the kind."

"Will you not extend the killing to me also?" asked Hugo coolly. "You
seem to be quite in the humour for it. You have gone so far as kissing,
that is certain. I have actually witnessed with my own eyes how seaman
William Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' has kissed a woman, and I should have
thought that with this fact, enough to set one's hair on end, all would
have stopped."

"Preserve us," said Jonas, defiantly. "That is only the beginning--then
comes the marrying."

"Will you marry too?" asked Captain Almbach, in a tone of most intense
indignation. "You will marry a woman? But consider, Jonas, that women
are to blame for everything, that all mischief in the world originated
with them, that a man only has peace and quiet when far from them,
that--"

"Herr Captain," replied the sailor, who contrary to all respect,
interrupted his master in the middle of his speech, as he heard his own
words from the other's lips--

"Herr Captain, I was an idiot."

"Oh! your Annunziata seems to have inspired you with much
self-knowledge already, and that is the more admirable as language in
your conversation plays a very inferior part. Your chosen one speaks
German thoroughly badly, and you have not caught much more Italian than
merely her name. To be sure I saw just now how capitally you managed to
help yourselves. Your conjugation of '_amare_,' if not quite
grammatical, was extremely comprehensible."

"Yes, indeed, we know how to help ourselves," said Jonas, full of
self-consciousness. "We understand each other however always, and on
the main point we understand each other at once. I like her, she will
have me, and we shall marry each other."

"And so it ends!" finished Hugo. "And how about our departure, amid
these suitable arrangements?"

"I shall still go to the West Indies, Herr Captain," answered Jonas
eagerly. "We cannot marry in quite so head-over-heel a fashion, and my
bride will meanwhile remain with young Frau Almbach, who has promised
to take care of her. When I return, however, Annunziata thinks my
seafaring must end. She thinks when she takes a husband that he must
stay with her also, and not sail about for years on all kinds of seas.
We could set up a little public house in some place, where I should not
be so far from the ocean, and should always meet with my comrades,
Annunziata thinks."

"Your Annunziata seems to think a great deal," remarked Captain
Almbach, "and you naturally submit like a converted woman-hater and
obedient bridegroom to this opinion of your 'future.' Then on this
voyage, the 'Ellida' is to have the honour of counting you amongst her
crew? Afterwards she must look out for another sailor and I for another
servant?"

"Yes, afterwards," said Jonas, somewhat shamefacedly. "If--if you do
not also--Herr Captain--you had better marry too."

"Don't come to me with your proposals!" cried Hugo, jumping up angrily.
"I should have thought it would be sufficient at present, that you come
under petticoat-government. Now, pack my boxes and take leave of your
Annunziata! As we start very early tomorrow, I--have also still to take
leave."

The last words sounded so peculiarly forced, that Jonas looked up
astonished. He knew that it was not his master's wont to let farewells
in any place be hard for him, and yet he fancied that this one made
Hugo's heart right heavy. Fortunately the sailor was in similar plight;
therefore he did not trouble much about it, but set to work to pack,
while Hugo went across to the rooms which his sister-in-law inhabited
now. He stood motionless for a few moments before the closed door, as
if he did not dare to enter; then all at once, as if with sudden
determination, he put his hand on the latch and opened it.

Ella sat at her writing table. She was alone, and in the act of closing
a letter she had just concluded, when her brother-in-law entered, and
came quickly to her.

"Have you announced your return to Germany?" asked he, pointing to the
letter. "Herr Consul Erlau will make all H---- rebellious with his
despair at being obliged to return without you and the little one."

Ella laid her pen aside and rose. "I am sorry that uncle should feel
our parting so much," replied she; "I have already tried my utmost to
procure a substitute, and by letter begged one of his relations to take
my place in his house now that other duties call me. His wish for us to
accompany him to H----, and for us to live with him for a time, I could
not agree to on Reinhold's account. We have once already given society
there cause to busy themselves about us; if we return now, there would
be no end to the painful curiosity and interest, and Reinhold still so
much needs consideration. He cannot bear the slightest allusion to the
past as yet, without exciting himself dangerously. We must certainly
seek another quieter residence."

"At all events, it is fortunate that you have decided him to return to
Germany at all," said Hugo; "he has been estranged from home long
enough, both as regards his life and his musical labours. It is time
that he should at last take root in his fatherland."

Ella smiled. "You preach that to me and him daily, and yourself long
restlessly to go far away? Confess it now, Hugo, you can hardly wait
for the day of your departure, and it is difficult enough for you to
endure the few weeks you still have with us."

"The difficulty is removed already," said Hugo, with feigned unconcern,
"I leave tomorrow."

"To-morrow?" cried Ella, half-astonished, half-alarmed. "But you
promised, though, to remain until our departure."

Captain Almbach bent low over the papers and writing materials on the
table, as if searching for something amongst them.

"Things have changed since then, and I have received news from the
'Ellida' which calls me away at once. You know that with us sailors
that sort of thing often happens quickly and unexpectedly. I was just
going to tell you and Reinhold of it, and bid you farewell at the same
time, as I must start early in the morning."

He had poured it all out hastily, without looking up. Ella's eyes were
fixed gravely and searchingly upon his face.

"Hugo, that is an excuse," said she, decidedly; "you have received no
news, at least, none so urgent. What has occurred? Why will you go?"

"You interrogate me like a criminal judge," said Hugo, jokingly, with
an attempt to regain the old cheerful tone. "Be prudent, Ella! you have
to deal with a confirmed sinner, who will indeed confess nothing."

"Yes; I see that something has happened to drive you away," said Ella,
uneasily, "and for long I have known that something has come between us
which estranges you from Reinhold and me more every day. Be candid,
Hugo. What have you against us? Why will you forsake us now?"

She had gone closer to him, and laid her hand upon his arm
beseechingly, but perfectly unembarrassed. Captain Almbach's
countenance was intensely pale, as he looked silently on the ground; at
last he slowly raised his eyes.

"Because I can bear it no longer," he broke out with sudden violence;
"I have urged your reconciliation with Reinhold so long, and now that
it has taken place, and I must look on at it daily, hourly--now only I
feel how little talent I have for being a saint or for platonic
friendship. I must go away if I do not wish to be ruined. My God, Ella,
do not look at me as if an abyss were opened out before you! Have you
really had no conception, then, of the state of mind I am in, and what
these last weeks at your side have cost me?"

Ella had shrunk back at these last words, her pallor and the expression
of deadly fear in her face gave an answer, even before she opened her
lips to reply.

"No, Hugo, I had no conception of it," replied she, in a trembling
voice. "When we first met, I felt myself obliged to repel a fleeting
fancy. That it could ever be serious with you, I never deemed
possible."

"Nor I either," said Hugo, glumly. "At the beginning, I too, believed I
could laugh and scoff away this feeling--scoff it away like all others;
and now it has become earnest, such bitter earnest, that I was on the
high road to learn to hate my brother, to loathe the whole world, until
the latter part of my time here became a hell--perhaps it will be
better out on the sea, perhaps not either. But go I must, the sooner
the better."

Something so wild, so passionate lay in those words, and Hugo's whole
manner betrayed so plainly the difficulty with which he had suppressed
his internal agony, that Ella found no courage for a harsh reply. She
turned silently away. After a few moments Captain Almbach again came to
her side.

"Do not turn from me, Ella, as from a criminal!" said he, with
returning gentleness. "I am going, perhaps never to return, and the
hour of my confession is also that of my farewell. I might, indeed,
have spared you it, should not have made your heart heavy too with what
oppresses mine. God knows I had the honest intention of being silent,
and bear it until I had departed; but after all, one is but mortal, and
when you begged me to remain, and looked so kindly at me, there was an
end of my self-control. Reinhold himself prophesied that I should some
day meet those eyes which would put a stop to all scoffing, all
thoughtlessness. The only misfortune was, that I must find them in his
wife. If this were not so, I had better have bid adieu to all freedom
and independence for these eyes' sake, have become a quiet, steady
married man, and have denied my whole nature; but it would have been a
pity for old Hugo Almbach after all--therefore, probably Heaven raised
an obstacle, and said 'No.'"




                              CHAPTER IX.


Captain Almbach tried in vain to speak in his old scoffing way; to-day
it would not come to his aid. His lips quivered, and his words sounded
like the bitterest irony. Ella saw how deeply the wound had eaten into
the man whom in this respect she had considered invulnerable.

"You should have gone long since, Hugo," said she, in gentle reproach,
"now it is too late to spare you the pain; but if a sister's love--"

"For God's sake, refrain from that," interrupted he impetuously. "Only
none of that respect, friendship, and all the fine things with which
ideal people console themselves in like cases, and which kill an
ordinary man, when his throbbing heart is expected to satisfy itself
with them. I know, indeed, that you have always looked upon me as a
brother, that your heart has always and ever clung to Reinhold, even
then, when he betrayed and forsook you; but I cannot bear to hear it
now from your lips. Of course it serves me right. Why did I become
untrue to her, my beautiful blue bride of the ocean, to whom now only I
belong? She makes me atone for ever having thought of forsaking her for
another, and yet it always seemed to me as if I gazed into her blue
depths when I looked into Ella's eyes." He threw his head back with a
half-defiant motion. "And to me those, eyes unveiled themselves first,
then, when my brother never suspected what riches he called his own. I
knew better than he what the woman was whom he gave up for a Biancona's
sake, and in despite of that he bears away the prize for which I could
have given everything. Such demon-like, artistic natures always conquer
one of us who have nothing to oppose excepting a warm heart and ardent,
bounteous love. Reinhold takes back what never, even for a moment,
ceased to be his own property, and I--go; so we are all provided for."

An immeasurable bitterness lay in these words, which betrayed only too
well that his love for his brother could no longer resist a passion
which appeared to have changed Hugo's entire nature. He made a movement
as if to leave the room. Ella held him back.

"No, Hugo, you shall not go thus," said she, firmly. "Not with this
bitterness against Reinhold and me in your heart. Our happiness has
already had to be rebuilt on the ruins of a stranger's life; it would
be too dearly paid for if it were to cost us our brother also. We
should never, never get over it if we knew you were unhappy far
away--unhappy through us."

She had raised her eyes to him beseechingly and sadly. Captain Almbach
looked down upon the young wife with a singular mixture of anger and
tenderness.

"Do not trouble about me," replied he, with emotion, "I do not belong
to those men who at once yield themselves up to despair because they
must tear themselves away from that on which their whole heart now
hangs, and if in the wrench, a piece of the heart goes too, well, he
can bear it still as it is. I shall bear it; whether I shall overcome
it is a different question. When Reinhold is quite recovered again,
tell him what has driven me away from being near him and you. I do not
wish to stand before my brother as a hypocrite, and I should have
confessed it to him myself long since, only that I still dreaded the
excitement for him of such an acknowledgment; he has become only much
too irritable on every point which concerns you. Tell him that Hugo
_could_ not stay--not one hour longer--and that he had given you his
word not to return again until he could appear before his brother's
wife as he ought."

The hand, which was extended to her in farewell, grasped hers with a
convulsive pressure, when the door opened, and little Reinhold rushed
in, flying to his uncle with childish eagerness--

"Uncle Hugo, you are going away?" cried he breathlessly. "Jonas has
packed his boxes, and says you will leave to-morrow morning. Uncle
Hugo, you shall not; you must stay with us."

Captain Almbach lifted up the boy, and pressed his lips with passionate
violence upon the child's--

"Take that kiss to your mother," whispered he in a half-smothered
voice. "She will surely dare to take it from your lips. Farewell my
child. Farewell, Ella!"

"Mamma," said little Reinhold, as he looked astonished after his
uncle--who had put him down so hastily and then left the room--"Mamma,
what is the matter with Uncle Hugo? He cried actually, as he kissed
me."

Ella drew the child nearer to her, and now her lips also touched the
child's forehead, which was still damp, as if from two tears having
fallen upon it.

"It grieves your uncle to leave us," answered she, softly. "But he must
go--God grant that he may return to us one day."

                           *   *   *   *   *

The course of time had altered but little in the old seaport and
commercial town of H----. It looked just the same as ten years ago,
when the Italian Opera Company gave its first performances there. The
older portion of the town lay just as gloomy and full of corners, the
newer as aristocratic and quiet as in those days. In the streets and by
the harbour the old busy life and activity still reigned, and now, on a
spring evening, the old damp, foggy atmosphere lay again upon the town
and its environs.

In the Erlau's house, unusual excitement prevailed. The extensive
establishment usually conducted with such superior quiet and
punctuality, to-day seemed to be quite out of gear. There was incessant
running to and fro; the whole suite of rooms was thrown open and
illuminated; the servants were in gala livery, and were called first to
one place, and then to another with different orders. The carriage had
been despatched more than an hour ago to the railway station, and just
now the relative who superintended the Consul's household, an elderly
lady, entered the drawing-room, accompanied by Dr. Welding.

"I assure you, Herr Doctor, one can do nothing with my cousin,"
complained she, as she sat down in an arm chair with a countenance
expressive of exhaustion. "He disturbs the whole house, and drives all
the servants into confusion with his orders and arrangements. Nothing
is festive and brilliant enough for him. Of course I rejoice to see my
dear Eleonore again, and to become personally acquainted with her
celebrated husband; but the Consul has made me so nervous already with
his excitement that I only wish the reception ceremonies were over."

"But this is the first time he welcomes his adopted daughter to his
house again," said Welding. The Doctor was barely altered in the long
lapse of time, he merely looked a little older. It was still the same
sharp, intelligently-cut face, the penetrating glance, and tone of
irony peculiar to him in his voice, with which he now continued: "Herr
Reinhold Almbach appears most decidedly to maintain the superiority of
his influence over his wife compared with that of the Consul. You know
he has actually managed that Erlau should always go to them in the
'capital,' and we were not allowed, not withstanding all promises, to
see Frau Eleonore until her husband determined to accompany her here.
He cannot spare her for a single week it appears!"

"No, certainly not," cried the lady excitedly. "You should only hear my
cousin relate all about it; he who was at first so prejudiced against
Reinhold, is now quite reconciled to him and Eleonore's happiness.
Between them reigns a love so pure and clear, so firm and strong, and
yet surrounded by such a fairy-like, poetic halo, that it almost sounds
like a legend in our time, so wanting in happiness and love!"

The Doctor inclined himself ironically. "Perfectly right, dear Madam. I
see with pleasure what appreciative attention you bestow on my
articles. Exactly the same sentiment appeared in No. 12 of the morning
paper, in a review of the _libretto_ of Reinhold's newest opera."

"Really? Was it in the morning paper?" asked the lady, somewhat
confused; she seemed glad that at this moment the Consul entered the
room, who, without perceiving the Doctor, in his joyous excitement
hastened towards her at once.

"My dear cousin, I have been seeking for you everywhere. The carriage
may return from the station any moment, and we had agreed to receive
the dear guests together. Has the red boudoir been sufficiently
lighted, as I ordered? Is Henry downstairs in the vestibule with the
other servants? Have you--"

"Cousin, you make me nervous with your incessant inquiries," cried the
lady, in a rather irritated tone. "Is it then, the first time you have
confided the arrangements of an entertainment to me? I have twice
already assured you that everything is ordered according to your
wishes."

"That is not enough for to-day," said Welding, joining in the
conversation. "This time the Consul himself undertakes the part of
master of the ceremonies, and inspects the whole house, from garret to
cellar. Woe to him who does not appear before him in gala dress!"

"Scoff away!" laughed the Consul, "I shall not let it spoil the
pleasure of the meeting, and indeed, I am quite reconciled to you, Herr
Doctor, since you introduced such a hymn of praise about Reinhold's
last work in your morning paper."

"Excuse me, I write no hymns of praise," said the Doctor, somewhat
piqued. "On the contrary, I often experience that my criticisms are
favoured with much less flattering names by the artists. Lately,
our great dramatic and heroic tenor, who, as you know, retains his
high-tragic, stage pathos even in real life, called my verdict on one
of his principal parts 'the outflow of the blackest malice, which the
black soul of man had ever produced!' What do you say to that?"

"Well, Reinhold, too, had to endure plenty from your pen," suggested
Erlau. "Fortunately, he did not see our morning paper in Italy in those
days, otherwise he would have had to read very unpleasant things about
the lamentable direction of an undeniably great talent; of unpardonable
wastefulness of the most precious gifts; of the mistakes of a genius,
which, capable of the highest, yet was on the road to ruin himself and
art; and many more such civilities."

"With which you were quite unanimous at the time," added Welding.
"Certainly, I was an open opponent of Reinhold's. Unconditionally, as I
ever recognised his great talents, much as I encouraged him in his
first artistic attempts, I decidedly objected to the line he struck out
later in Italy. Now it has become quite different. His latest work
shows an alteration for which one can only wish him and art success. He
has forced himself through wild fermentation to perfect freedom and
clearness of artistic composition. His genius seems to have found the
right course at last; this work stands thoroughly at the height of his
talent."

"Naturally--and that is alone Eleonore's merit," said Erlau, with
unshaken confidence, while his cousin listened very devoutly to the
Doctor's words.

"Does Frau Almbach help her husband to compose?" asked Welding,
maliciously.

"Leave your malice alone, Herr Doctor! You know quite well what I
mean," cried the Consul, annoyed. "Now Henry, what is it?" asked he,
turning to the servant who entered quickly, and announced that the
carriage was arriving.

"Cousin! for mercy's sake go slower! All the servants are in the hall,"
cried the old lady, who had prepared to receive the arrivals solemnly
and with dignity, and was now dragged forward so hastily by the Consul,
who seized her arm, that the magnificence of her train could not be
displayed to advantage. Erlau did not listen to her protestations, she
was obliged to rush to the stairs with him. Dr. Welding, who had come
by chance, without knowing the hour of the arrival, considered himself
entitled, as friend of the house, to witness the family scene. He
therefore remained in the drawing-room while the first speeches of
reception and welcome were made outside. With great tenderness the
Consul greeted his adopted daughter and little Reinhold, who, in
fullest joy, hung on his neck. His cousin, on the contrary, seemed to
have taken forcible possession of the bigger Reinhold, whom she
conducted into the drawing-room amid a stream of compliments, while the
others lingered in the first rooms.

"I rejoice exceedingly to make the acquaintance of my dear Eleonore's
husband, whom I may surely greet as a relation as well as the renowned
Rinaldo," assured she, while still in the doorway. "And all H---- will
be proud once again to see its distinguished townsman within its walls.
Herr Almbach, we can only wish you and art success in your newest work;
it stands thoroughly at the height of your talent. Your genius has at
last--yes, at last--"

"Discovered the right course," suggested Dr. Welding, most amicably, as
he stood near.

"Discovered the right course," continued the lady, freshly inspired.
"You have forced your way through wild fermentation to most perfect
freedom, and to higher spheres."

"Not quite true to the words, but it will do," murmured Welding to
himself, while Reinhold, somewhat taken aback at this shower-bath of
æsthetic form of speech, bowed to the lady. Fortunately, the latter now
saw Ella enter on the Consul's arm, and hastened to embrace her and her
boy, while the Doctor went towards Reinhold.

"May an old acquaintance recall himself to your recollection, Herr
Almbach? I am not quite so bold as to receive you at once with
criticising praise such as you have just experienced, but I do not
welcome you the less warmly in your home."

"Aunt means it kindly," said Reinhold, half making an excuse for her.
"It was rather astounding for me at first----" he stopped.

"To be received with one of my reviews," added the Doctor. "Oh, your
aunt often does me the honour of reproducing my articles, although
certainly sometimes on rather unsuitable occasions and with her own
variations, for which I do not undertake the responsibility; for
instance, with the 'higher spheres' I have usually nothing to do."

Reinhold smiled. "Time has left no marks upon you, Doctor; you still
preserve your old _role_. Every third word you utter, is one of
sarcasm."

"Pretty well," said "Welding, shrugging his shoulders, and turning to
Ella, who greeted the old friend heartily as she stretched out her hand
to him.

"Well, how do you find our Eleonore?" cried the Consul, triumphantly.
"Does she not bloom like a rose? And the 'little one' has become so big
that we must soon seek another designation for him."

Dr. Welding smiled, and this time, as an exception, without any
maliciousness, while he replied, "Frau Eleonore has remained just like
herself. That is the best compliment which one can pay her. Certainly,
dear madam, I am not the last who will rejoice at this meeting, and
also that the Erlau drawing-rooms, at any rate for the next few weeks,
will stand again under your sceptre. Between ourselves," he lowered his
voice, "it becomes sometimes rather serious when your aunt takes the
lead in conversations on art."

The excitement and pleasure of meeting had made the arrivals only
retire to rest very late. The morning sun was shining clearly and
brightly in at the windows, when Ella entered the apartment which had
been her sitting and work-room during her residence in the Erlau's
house. It still displayed all the former costly furniture with which
Erlau had surrounded his favourite. Reinhold was there already; he
stood at the window, and looked down upon the streets of his native
town, which he now visited for the first time after nearly ten years'
absence. It was no longer the young composer who, in obstinate struggle
with his surroundings and family, destroyed his fetters as well as his
duties, so as to throw himself into a course which promised him fame
and love, and which attained both by force; but neither was it the
Rinaldo, whose wild, social life in Italy, had so often challenged the
world's condemnation, which appeared to know no other bridle, no other
law than his own personal will, and to whom the admiration on the part
of the public and all around him, threatened to become so ruinous.
There lay nothing more in his manner of haughty overbearing or wounding
brusqueness, only that quiet self-consciousness was displayed, which
showed to the advantage of the man as well as of the composer. In his
eye still flashed some of the old passion, which had formed Rinaldo's
peculiar element in life as in his works; but the wild, unsteady flame
which once burned in this glance was extinguished, and what now beamed
there was better suited to the quiet, rather sombre expression of his
features. Whatever a wild, surging life might have buried in this
countenance, it spoke now only of what it had conquered; and the
dreamy, thoughtful gaze which at this moment was seeking the gable of
the old house in Canal Street, where it arose plainly from amidst the
confusion of houses, was quite that of the former Reinhold--of that
Reinhold who, in the small, narrow garden-house, had sat so often
before his piano, and called forth those tones which then might only be
raised in the night if he did not wish to be upbraided for the "useless
phantasies" which the world now called the outpourings of his genius.

Ella drew near her husband. Her appearance, indeed, justified the
Consul's declaration, she bloomed like a rose. The last three years had
robbed this charming figure of none of its grace, but instead had given
her an expression of happiness in which she had once been wanting.

"Have you received letters so early?" asked she, pointing to two open
writings which lay on the table.

Reinhold smiled--

"Of course! They were sent after us from the residence, and the sender
of this letter," he lifted up the one, "you will not guess, I am sure.
My newest work has brought in one thing at any rate, which is more
precious to me than all the ovations with which we have been
overwhelmed--a letter from Cesario. You know how deeply hurt he
withdrew from us and rendered impossible every attempt on my part at
approaching him or being reconciled. He could not forgive you for
having so long been silent towards him, nor me, that I stood in the way
of his happiness; I have had no sign of his being alive for three
years, as you know. The first performance of my opera in Italy has
broken the ice at last; he writes again with the old cordiality and
enthusiasm, congratulates me upon my new work, which he exalts far
above its deserts, and announces at the same time his intended marriage
with the daughter of Princess Orvieto. She will be his wife in a few
weeks."

Ella had stepped to her husband's side, and over his shoulder read the
letter which he held in his hand, and in which there was not a single
word of allusion to her.

"Do you know the bride?" asked she at last.

"Only a little! I saw her once only in her father's house, and merely
remember her as a pretty lively child. She was educated in a convent,
and then was paying a short visit in her parents' house. But I know
that this union, even in those days, was a favourite wish of the
families on both sides, to which Cesario's dislike to every bond which
could fetter his future, as to any marriage in fact, was the only
obstacle. Now, when years have passed, and the young Princess is grown
up, they appear to have resumed the plan again, and Cesario has given
way to his relations' pressure. Whether this _marriage de convenance_
can give what such an ardent romantic nature as his is requires, is
certainly another question."

Ella looked thoughtfully on the ground--

"You said though, that the bride is young and pretty, and Cesario is
surely the man to inspire love in such a youthful creature, who is just
entering life from a convent's education."

"We will hope so," said Reinhold gravely. "The second letter is from
Hugo, and dated from----"

A slight blush passed over the young wife's countenance, as she asked
with lively eagerness--

"Well, is he coming at last? May we expect him?"

Reinhold shook his head gently--

"No Ella, our Hugo will not come this time either; we must resign
ourselves not to see him. Here, read it yourself!"

He handed her the somewhat bulky letter. The first page contained mere
descriptions of voyages, which were sketched quite in the Captain's
lively manner, sparkling with fun and humour; only just at the end were
personal affairs touched upon.

"I have employed my stay in S----" wrote Hugo, "to pay a visit to
Jonas, who has been settled here over a year with his Annunziata. You
have fitted out the little one so richly, that they have made quite a
pretty hotel out of the modest inn they intended to set up, and are
going on very well indeed. The young woman has learned German at last,
and is altogether a very charming hostess, but Jonas I have had to take
regularly to task; it really is appalling how that tiny creature,
Annunziata, governs this bear of a sailor, according to all the rules
of art. I have spoken seriously to him; reminded him of his manly
dignity, prophesied that he will come hopelessly under petticoat
government, if it continue thus--what did the wretch answer me? 'Yes,
Herr Captain, but one is so inhumanly happy with it!' So of course
nothing remained but to leave him to his inhuman happiness and
petticoat _régime_.

"One more piece of news I have for you, Ella. Yesterday, by chance, I
took up an Italian newspaper in which I met with the announcement that
a union between the houses of Tortoni and Orvieto was impending.
Marchese Cesario will shortly be married to the only daughter of the
Princess. You see that even an idealist does not die of an unhappy love
now-a-days; instead, he consoles himself after a year or more with a
young and probably beautiful woman of princely blood. Only the
thoughtless one, the adventurer, cannot recover from having looked too
deeply into a pair of blue eyes. I cannot come, Reinhold, not yet! You
know the word which I passed to your wife; it still banishes me from
your threshold. Heaven knows how long I must wander about on the sea
without seeing you again; but if the recollections do not still weigh
my heart down as at the beginning, yet they will not leave me. My
'Ellida,' lies in the harbour ready to sail once more, and to-morrow
she will fly out afar again with her captain. So farewell, Reinhold!
Kiss your boy in my name! To Ella I shall surely dare send a greeting,
as you will give it to her? Perhaps we shall see each other again."

Ella folded the letter up and put it down silently--

"I hoped still that he would return to us this time, at least," said
she at last--her voice sounded sad.

"I did not expect it," replied Reinhold gravely, "as I know Hugo. Much
in his character seems to glide off lightly and without traces, and
perhaps really glides off, but once he has grasped anything with his
whole soul, then he will not let it go for all his life. He preserves
his love more truly and better than--I did."

"Did you love me then, when I was entrusted to you?" asked Ella, with
gentle reproach. "Could you love the woman who did not understand you
nor herself in those days? We had to be separated first in order to
recover one another entirely and completely, and nothing would remind
me of our separation if I did not see that shadow on your brow, ever
and again, which reawakens the one recollection."

Reinhold passed his hand over his forehead--

"You mean Beatrice's death? I know, indeed, that she prepared her fate
with her own hand, and yet I cannot always silence the voice which
accuses me of complicity in the sin of forsaking her, of driving her to
despair, to madness; she wished to strike us a crushing blow, and
struck herself."

"And from the waves, which gave her her death, you rescued for me and
yourself the highest, our child and our love," said his wife softly.
"See, there comes our Reinhold. Will you show the child this heavily
clouded brow?"

Little Reinhold put his head in at the door, and when he saw his
parents in the room sprang completely inside, so rosy and fresh, so
full of life and fun, that the father's gloom and the mother's
seriousness could not resist his coaxing and romping. Ella kissed her
boy's forehead tenderly, while Reinhold drew her and the child to
himself. They had held him very indissolubly, these fetters, which
once, in youthful infatuation, he had burst and broken, until he learnt
to feel yonder in the life so ardently longed for, amidst all the
dreamed-of treasures, that he had left the best at home; until the
longing for the past awoke, and forced its way powerfully and
irresistibly; until he could obtain once more, fighting through sin and
the horrors of death, that which he himself had thrust from him--his
wife and child; and in the gaze with which he now looked down upon both
there stood written plainly and clearly the confession which his lips
did not speak--that the happiness, so long and restlessly sought for,
and ever denied him, was found again here at last.



